~~ All the Way Home ~~ If chickens could come home to roost, then so could Carl. That was the way he thought of it, anyway. He wasn't a bird, of course, but the shoes rather were. Curved, sleek bodies with sharp pointy bits, flitting past him in shades of crimson, stripes of gold and polished, basic black. It was lunch hour in DC, and Carl watched from his bench as the powerful suits poured out into the white city, which was awash in bright sunshine. The hot rays belied the fall calendar. Carl wished he could have made it back sooner, for the summer shoes. Strappy sandals and naked toes. His favorite time of the year. But the energy of the city in autumn had its charms, too. The students were back, the politicians were humming. Everyone walked with purpose, and Carl loved the brisk cadence of their footsteps on the concrete all around him. He did not often watch the men, but today, his first day back, he tracked the sharp lines of their dark suits around the Mall. Was this still Mulder's town, he wondered? Did he walk nearby with his long Armani strides and cheap leather shoes? Carl searched the men as best he could, watching the slope of their limbs and the curves of their ears, but nothing seemed familiar. He grew irritated, then bored. If Mulder wasn't here, so be it. He had been just a crutch, anyway, an amusement for Carl these last eleven years. All the nights when he couldn't go out and watch the shoes, he would lie in bed and remember his earlier collection. They sent Mulder for you, he would remind himself, and he was the best. Carl smiled to himself, remembering. He'd been better. But that was then and this was now and there was a woman with four inch black sandals walking past. He followed her with his ears -- click, click, click -- until she disappeared into the crowd. His dick twitched in his pants. Almost, he thought. But not quite. This was his first day, and he wanted a special shoe. He was prepared to go home frustrated, if need be, rather than settle for off the rack at Macy's fuck-me pumps. Been there, fucked that. Carl grinned as the screams filled his memory. He wanted a young one this time. A little girl with a closet full of big shoes. Carl could tell the type with just one glance, and he wanted to take her favorite pair. It was near the end of the hour when he saw her. The crowds were beginning to thin, and she was clearly late from her lunch. An intern, he guessed. Twenty-three at the most. Her thighs pushed at the edges of her narrow skirt with each hurried step. She had a short stride, full of confidence. She couldn't know what he was when he fell into place behind her. Snap, snap went her heels on the pavement. Manolo Blahnik navy sandals, with conic toes like that supersonic airplane in France and spindly, sexy heels that came to a perfect point. Carl's mouth grew dry as his erection swelled in his shorts. At the crosswalk, she stopped, blonde and pouting. He smiled at her. "Excuse me," he said, "I can't help but noticing your shoes." She looked startled, then pleased. "They're new," she said over the rushing traffic. "I probably shouldn't have splurged so much, but I saw them in the window and just couldn't resist." "I know just the feeling." "They were so worth it," she confided, obviously pleased to have found a fellow fanatic. "My feet tingle with happiness every time I put them on. They're my absolute favorite." "I see." The light changed then, and she gave him a little wave. "Bye, now." Click, clack, click, clack. Carl followed the line of legs down to those spectacular shoes. "Bye," he whispered. XxXxX The night city. It was a world almost as strange as any that Mulder's aliens might have inhabited. Turned over in space, half a world from day, individual shapes meshed into a single purple-black form. The shadows and street lamps danced past her car window, each defined by the presence of the other. Scully left the radio off as she drove. Her head was still buzzing with memories of Mulder, a '96 Merlot and an AMC screening of "Vertigo." She parked under a tree, its scraggly branches and waving leaves throwing a kaleidoscope pattern across her windshield. The engine cut out and left her enveloped in thick silence. Home at last. Sleepy, she rested her head and watched as a cat crouched low and lithe at the curb before streaking across the street. She wondered what it would be like to have eyes that came alive in the dark, to know what curiosities lay hidden in the achromatic landscape. As the cat's tail twitched away into some bushes, her cell phone gave a smothered ring. She dug it out from her pocket. "Scully." "When I get back to work, the first thing I'm going to do is start an X-File on Kim Novak's eyebrows. Not a horror film, my ass. Every time Hitch went in for a close up on those puppies I was afraid for my life." She sighed, but with affection. "Mulder, you're supposed to be in bed." "My neurons can grow back just as easily on the couch. Besides, what kind of date would I be if I didn't walk the lady to her door?" She sat up and craned her neck around to peer out the rear window. "How did you--" "I've done the drive a million times, Scully. This time of night, no traffic on the Key Bridge...pretty easy calculation." He paused for effect. "It's not brain surgery." "Right," she said, leaning back again. "And it wasn't a date." She heard the leather sofa creak as he shifted his weight. "No? Let's examine the evidence. I counted two people, low lighting, and a bottle of wine. Plus, you admitted that you were here to check me out." Her lips curved in a smile. "To check up on you, Mulder. There's a difference." "Remind me to speak to my HMO, then. The neurologist I saw last week only gave me thirty minutes. I'm due another three and a half hours." "Perhaps he's not as vested in your good health as I am." "Is that what you are, Scully? Vested?" His voice was low and teasing. "Exactly what sort of benefits are you expecting to accrue?" "I was thinking of a mutual fund." "Oh," he said, his voice catching the edge of wonder. She pressed the phone closer to her cheek and smiled. So many years of telling herself no-no-no, the impossible thing that wasn't supposed to be now was and she was still learning how to say yes-yes-yes. Practice, in the darkened car with the sound of his breathing tickling her ear, was perfect. "It's almost one in the morning," she said. "Get some sleep." "Yeah." She sat up to leave, fingers curled around the plastic door handle, when his voice stopped her. "Scully..." "Hmmm?" "Do you remember your dreams?" Rubber band images and fragmented conversation. Missy was alive. Skinner in Bermuda shorts. Mulder, sometimes moving breathless over her, sometimes rushing away from her into danger. Both versions caused her to wake to the sound of her voice calling his name. "Yes, I remember." "I remember, too. That's why..." "That's why what?" He was quiet for a long moment. "I think they took my dreams. In the surgery, I mean. I haven't had one since before I went into the hospital." The car window was fogged and cool. She rested her forehead against it. "Mulder, that's not possible. Dream waves are generated in your brainstem, along with breathing and heart rate. Your injury was to the lateral left cortex." "I know." "More likely you just aren't remembering your dreams right now," she continued. "Medication and stress can both affect memory function." He chuffed. "God, Scully, if my memory were susceptible to drugs and stress, the last ten years would be one big blur." "You have a point." She sat up with a sigh. "Give it time, Mulder. It's only been three weeks." "Easy for you to say. Your picture wasn't passed around to the Hoover building security guards." "I see your talent for hyperbole has remained intact." "It doesn't take a whole brain to do desk work, Scully. The accounting department alone is proof of that." "Mulder, you would be bored to tears." "Yeah, you're probably right. I'd hate to evaporate the brains I have left." He joked, but she winced. Three weeks was not enough time for her, either. "I'll smuggle you home some tabloids to read tomorrow, how's that?" "Spoken like a true partner." "A truly tired partner," she replied, smothering a yawn and then reaching for her door handle. "Good night, Mulder." "Night," he said. A pause. "Sweet dreams." Outside, the night air was heavy and cold, like a wet blanket. The slick, deserted streets shimmered under yellow lamps, and her heels clicked a measured rhythm as she crossed to her apartment building. The first scream made her jump. Keys in hand and pulse pounding, she waited several breathless seconds. It came again -- sharp, terror-filled and human. She began to run. "Help, someone, please help!" Scully followed the voice for two blocks. The cries were getting closer, moving toward her. Her breaths came in rapid white puffs as she rounded the corner. "Help!" She crashed into someone running just as fast. A girl, maybe sixteen years old. Her fingers bit hard into Scully's arm. "There's a man," she panted, her dark eyes wild and bright. "He's got a knife." "Where?" Scully could see no one else on the street. The girl gulped air and jerked a nod behind her. "Back there," she said. "He's got a knife." "Stay here." Gun drawn, Scully jogged off in the direction indicated, scanning the shadows for any sign of life. A man emerged from a darkened front stoop. "What is it?" he asked, wide-eyed. "I heard screaming." Scully glanced at his scruffy robe and hedge-hog hairdo. Not the guy, she decided. "Get back inside," she said. He saw her gun and did as he was told. She walked farther, passing parked cars and trees. A dog barked from an open apartment window. There was no man with a knife. After another block and a half, she hit the edge of Montrose Park. She stood in the middle of the street for a moment and searched the thick tree line for a glimpse of movement. If he'd escaped into the park, he was as good as gone. After another minute, Scully gave up the pursuit and hurried back to where she had left the girl. There was someone with her now, a man in a long dark coat. He had hold of her arm. "FBI!" Scully called, drawing her gun once more. "Get away from her." The man dropped his hand immediately, and the girl shoved him. "Where the fuck were you?" she hissed. He took a drag on his cigarette. "Around." "You know this man?" Scully asked, moving closer to the pair. She saw the man was younger than she'd first guessed. He was in his early twenties, Asian, with hair that fell across his forehead to cover one eye. "Yeah." The girl sounded disgusted. "I know him." He gave a thin smile around his cigarette. "See?" he said to Scully as he flicked away the ash. "It's love." Scully ignored him but lowered her weapon. "I couldn't find the man you were talking about," she told the girl. "There was nobody back there." The girl lit her own cigarette and eyed Scully with curiosity. "You really FBI?" Scully withdrew her badge and displayed it silently. The girl gave a long exhale of appreciation. She wore six tiny silver hoops in her right ear and her black hair was held from her face with what seemed to be a red plastic clothes pin. "What's your name?" Scully asked. "What's yours?" Scully flipped her ID open again. "Dana Scully." "I'm Vee," the girl said after a moment. "He's Jimmy." "Pleased to make your acquaintance," Jimmy said, extending his hand. There was a spider web tattooed up the front of it. Scully decided to pass. "What happened here tonight?" she asked. "Who was the man chasing you?" Vee glanced down the street and shrugged. "Beats me. Some homeless guy looking for change, probably. It doesn't matter now. He's gone." "Homeless guys don't usually chase people with knives," Scully said. "So he was a psycho homeless guy. Or maybe I imagined the knife." She tapped her cigarette impatiently, but Scully detected a slight tremor. Vee took another quick puff. "Anyway, thanks and all, but can I go now?" Scully frowned. "Go where, exactly? This man could still be around here someplace, and from your description he sounds dangerous. You should at least file a police report." "Police?" Vee snorted. "I don't think so. Seriously, I'll be fine. I just got jittery when Jimmy didn't show on time. Sorry to trouble you." She matched Scully's even gaze. A liar, Scully thought. But a good one. "Such a vivid imagination," Jimmy said, brushing back a lock of Vee's hair. She ducked from under his touch. "Screw you." He gave an indulgent laugh and dropped his cigarette to the ground. The ember red tip glowed for a few seconds, then dissolved into a thin trail of smoke. "Agent Scully, thank you for your time. I promise that she won't bother you again." His tone indicated that she was dismissed. Scully narrowed her eyes, not about to be managed by a twenty-two year old kid in need of a haircut. "Someone may have wanted your girlfriend dead," she told him. "I'd say I'm the least of your problems." Vee turned away sharply. Jimmy's gaze lingered over Scully. "No problems," he murmured. "Good night." They walked away, his head bent low towards hers, and Vee's cursing floated back in the night. Scully watched them grow smaller in the distance. At the corner, he put his arm around her shoulder, and this time she did not shrug him off. A moment later they were gone. The bitter wind whipped past Scully, chafing at her raw knuckles. She walked to the center of the long, dark street and scrutinized the shadows one last time. Nothing. She returned home that way, alone walking the double yellow line, her footsteps only a little faster than usual. XxXxX Scully scooted her chair into the path of the ray of warm sunlight slanting through the basement window. These days her lunch consisted of a large salad and two or three JAMA articles detailing patient recovery from brain surgery. It was an awkward affair that involved turning pages with her left hand while she made blind, haphazard stabs at rolling cherry tomatoes with her right. She had searched Medline's data base for sleep disorders, but so far had found nothing on cessation of dreaming following left temporal lobe injury. Not that she was surprised; Mulder's brain had always been unique. The desk phone rang, jolting her from her thoughts, and she wiped her mouth before answering. "Scully." "Agent Scully, could I see you in my office?" Her hand froze in the process of setting down her napkin. Skinner, not his secretary. Usually this meant trouble of a personal sort, and she was not yet ready for another round. "Sir?" He cleared his throat. "As soon as possible, please." "Of course." She discarded her lunch half-eaten, slipped on her suit jacket and headed for the stairs. Kimberly looked surprised to see her. Scully paused at the corner of the desk. "What's going on?" she asked, but the other woman shook her head. "I have no idea. Something big. He had me clear his whole afternoon schedule." Scully glanced at the silent, closed door, but it wasn't giving away any secrets either. Steeling her shoulders, she knocked and entered. "Agent Scully, come in. Thank you for coming so quickly." Scully remained near the door, surprised by all the faces in the room. There was a woman in her chair, wearing a wrinkled gray pantsuit and faded make up. Thick black curls sprung loose from the knot at the base of her head. The man in Mulder's seat was younger, leaning forward and scribbling notes on the yellow pad in his lap. Against the far wall, a man she recognized as Adam Grenier scowled in her direction. "I want to state again what a categorically bad idea I think this is," he said. The woman sighed. "Yes, we're all terribly aware of your position, Adam." "Agent Scully," Skinner said. "I believe you know Adam Grenier, our current head at the Behavioral Sciences Unit. These are two of his agents, Amelia Russell and Richard Arkin." Agent Arkin stood to shake her hand, while Russell offered a polite nod. "Sir, may I ask what this is about?" Scully said. "Sit down," he answered, "and take a look at this." Scully accepted the proffered folder and crossed to sit in an empty chair. Inside the folder she found a photo of a young woman, dead and sprawled next to a line of day lilies. "That's Kerri Ann Talbot," Agent Russell said. "Her body was found at the edge of Arlington National Cemetery twelve years ago." "Her name sounds familiar," Scully said, flipping past the photo. But underneath was one just like it, a brunette this time, her limbs askew and her eyes unseeing. "I'm not surprised," Grenier cut in. "Ms. Talbot's death received a great deal of attention in the press. She was the first one killed." "The first we know about," Russell replied. She turned in her seat to face Scully. "There were six other women murdered in DC that year. All of them raped, strangled and dumped somewhere in the city. People were scared to leave their homes." "Yes, I remember now," Scully said. She thumbed through the rest of the photos, trying to recall the ending. There were no mug shots. "We turned the god damn city upside down," Grenier said, stalking across the room. "Turned over every rock. But this psycho never crawled out." "No leads at all?" Scully reached the back of the folder without encountering one single evidence report. Just two dozen gruesome shots and seven tragic faces. "It was Patterson's greatest failure," Grenier said. He glanced at Scully. "Mulder's too." Scully felt her stomach clench. "Mulder worked this case in '88?" "For a few months," Skinner answered. "Near the end." She frowned at the photos on her lap. The word "end" implied resolution, and there was none here that she could see. "What happened?" "The killings stopped," Russell sighed. "Jessica Gellar was found almost eleven years ago today. She was the last one." "Until now," added Arkin, and Grenier glared at him. Russell handed Scully another folder. "Ten days ago Grace Johnson was reported missing by her roommate. The next day a couple of kids out fishing found her body down by the river, raped and strangled." The photo was eerily similar -- bruises on the neck, a blank, washed-out stare, her long blond hair tangled in the emerald grass. "How can you be sure it's the same guy?" Scully asked. "It's him." Grenier's voice was grim. "I'd know this sick sonofabitch anywhere." "The murders from eleven years ago all had a couple of things in common," Arkin said, "things that were kept secret from the press. See, the killer apparently has some kind of foot fetish. He steals their shoes and, well...cuts off their little toes. Grace Johnson was found the same way. Shoes gone and her little toes missing." "We've been following the case since then," Russell continued. "Grenier and I caught it first back in '87." She shot him a pointed look. "So I guess you could say it's been our failure, too. I swear to God that I never wanted another crack at it, though. Not like this." Skinner leaned across his desk. "There's been another death," he said. "Last night, around 1 am. A couple of tourists found her this morning in Montrose Park. Apparently, she was a student at Georgetown University, but at this point--" Scully jerked in her seat. "I'm sorry, did you say Montrose Park?" "Yes, why?" "I live near there," Scully breathed, feeling her salad roll around in her gut. The acid taste of vinegar burned the back of her throat. "Freaks you out, doesn't it?" Russell remarked dryly. "Shit, the whole city's going to freak out," Grenier spat. "Just like last time." Skinner cleared his throat. "We need to know how Mulder is doing. I realize he's not due back for another several weeks, but..." "You want Mulder to investigate this?" Memories of her late night chase dimmed as she realized what they were asking. "That's impossible. He's still undergoing therapy for weakness in his right arm. There's some mild aphasia. Not to mention the kind of strain a case like this brings...Sir, you can't be serious about involving him." "See, she agrees with me," Grenier said. "There's no need to bring Mulder in on this." "I'm afraid it isn't up to you," Russell snapped. Softening, she turned to Scully. "No one wants to see Mulder get hurt, I promise you. But we have no choice." "This was found this morning, lying beneath Elizabeth Kinney's right hand," Arkin said, handing her a clear plastic evidence bag. It held a newspaper clipping dated October 29, 1988. "I don't understand," she said. "Turn it over," Russell replied softly. It was Mulder. Eleven years ago, in faded black and white. He stood near a line of police tape, looking drawn and tired as two anonymous men carried a body bag in the background. "You see?" Russell asked. "We didn't choose Mulder. He did." XxXxX XxXxX Chapter Two XxXxX There was something to be said for setting minimal goals, Mulder thought as he folded clean tee-shirts into a pile on his coffee table. Three loads of laundry made for a full afternoon. He matched the last of the cotton edges in perfect symmetry, then started mating the socks. It was trickier than it looked. The fingers on his right hand fumbled a bit, and he swallowed a curse as one black sock slipped to the floor. Scully had shown him pictures of neurons, with their tiny bodies and branching arms sketched in black and white or stained glowing green with dye. "They don't grow back," she had said. "But other neurons can form new connections and take over the work of the cells that have been lost." Sometimes he thought he could feel them growing, his brain itching as the spindly dendrites stretched across the empty space. At night he wondered about the lost cells. Maybe they were in a lab, with people in white coats trying to grow his brain in a dish. Or maybe they were in someone else's brain now, sprouting like jungle vines, strangling the thief from the inside out. Revenge on the microscopic level. He thought he could live with that. He had four pairs of socks lined up in neat balls when there was a knock at the door. Four-thirty. Maybe Scully was skipping school, he thought with a smile. He didn't bother with the peep hole. He threw the door open wide and suffered the consequences, just like always. It was Scully. But she wasn't alone. "Mulder," she said, "can we come in?" He stood with his hand still frozen on the doorknob. Vaguely, he registered Skinner and some young guy he didn't know. Even Scully seemed to blur before his eyes. He saw only Adam Grenier's clenched jaw and Amelia Russell's wrinkled suit. "Not again," he said. XxXxX The moon was just beginning again, a toenail-sized hole punched into the smooth navy sky. Vee watched it from Jimmy's window while he rolled around in bed with his phone, talking business under the sheets. She snatched the last of his cigarettes from the dresser, lit it, and cracked the window so she could tap the ashes down on the street below. The butt was just filter by the time he noticed her again. "It's forty fucking degrees outside, Vee. Shut the window already." She turned her head to blow smoke at him. "Shut it yourself," she said, and slipped from her perch. He caught her around the waist. "Don't be like this," he said, nuzzling her hair, but she stayed rigid in his arms. "You know it's not my choice." "It is your choice. It's your fucking deal, Jimmy. Don't pretend it's not." "You're right," he sighed, releasing her. "You got me. It's all a big plan of mine to send you out on the streets with a psychotic murderer." "You weren't the one who nearly got killed," she said. "And I don't hear you volunteering to make the pick-up." "You know I can't go. I get busted again and it's an automatic ten years." She crossed her arms over her chest. "So you think I'll get caught, is that it?" "Of course not. But I can't take that kind of risk." When she didn't answer, he frowned and picked up his cell phone. "Fine. I can have Quoc do it if that will make you happy." "Wait." She stopped him with a hand on his wrist. The first time she had seen Jimmy was in the Roach Room, down in the basement at Panache. She'd had six guys on the couch with her, pretending to ooh and ahh as she passed her fingers in and out of the lighter flame, but they had been more interested in slipping their fingers under her skirt. Jimmy had smoked cigarettes and just watched from the other side of the room. By the time the pack of groping hands had given up on her, so had he. She hadn't seen him again until the end of the night, when she'd come out of the bathroom into the dark hallway. He'd grabbed her and pulled her behind black velvet curtains. "Fire Child," he'd called her, his voice soft and filled with admiration. "Not afraid of anything." Later, when his hands had crept under her skirt, she had not moved them away. "I'll do it," she said. "Quoc's an idiot." Jimmy gave her a slow smile. "You're right. Dumb as a box of hair, and not as pretty either." He pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head. "Listen, don't worry about some old bum in the park. You probably just stepped on his turf." Vee laid her head on his chest and said nothing. The men who slept in the park wore scruffy beards and three layers of clothing, not a Halloween mask with the face of Richard Nixon. And Richard Nixon hadn't been carrying a candy bag, either. Not at all. She squeezed her eyes shut against the image of the young woman's drooping arms, which swayed as the man carried her into the bushes. Richard Nixon was a murderer. XxXxX This is what they should have scraped away, Mulder thought as the image of seven dead women swelled like a wave inside his head, cresting in a splash of bent bodies and yellow crime scene tape. If he had to lose brain cells, the ones burned with those memories would have been his first choice. He looked at the group standing in his hallway and resisted the temptation to slam the door. "Mulder?" Scully said, her eyebrows knitting in concern. "Are you all right?" Skinner looked uncomfortable. "Agent Mulder, if this is a bad time..." "No, come in. I'm fine." He stepped aside and allowed the ghosts to follow them into the room, where they stood in an awkward semi-circle around his laundry pile. "I'm Richard Arkin," said the young agent he did not recognize. "It's an honor to meet you, sir." He extended his hand formally, as if Mulder were some VIP and not standing in a chaotic living room wearing sweats and ratty tee-shirt. "You look good, Mulder," Russell said, and he gave her credit for sounding like she almost meant it. She had told him years ago that once you had seen a person naked, they could never be fully clothed in your presence again. Since he'd been naked at the time, her statement had stuck with him. "So," he said finally, unable to take the canned pleasantries any longer. "Maybe it's not really him. It's been almost eleven years now." "Eleven years and nine days," Grenier answered. He narrowed his eyes. "The BSU doesn't fuck around, Mulder. You know that. We wouldn't be here if it wasn't him." Mulder frowned, his head starting to throb. "Yes, why are you here, Grenier? I quit the BSU a long time ago." "Eleven years exactly." Grenier crossed the room to peer into the fish tank before meeting Mulder's eyes again. "I looked it up." "Well, this is a hell of an anniversary party, thank you." Grenier spread his hands in a mock-gesture of good will. "Hey, don't thank me. I wasn't the one who issued you the invitation." "What are you talking about?" "Mulder." Scully touched his arm. "Come sit down and let them explain." As if they could, he thought. As if anyone could come up with the words. Kerri Ann and Angela and Maureen and Susan and Rachel and Michelle and Jessica. He didn't want to hear who was next. "Grace Johnson," said the new guy, a kid with big hands and big ears. He handed Mulder a picture, and somehow Mulder made himself look. "She was found nine days ago down by the river." Mulder exhaled slowly as he took in her slim white wrists and dark purple bruises on her neck. He counted four separate strangulation marks on the girl's throat; it had taken her a long time to die. Blonde like Jessica had been. So much fight in such a tiny body. *I'm so sorry for your loss* He had gone to the funeral like everyone else because the killer might have been there. Instead he had found only victims. Mr. and Mrs. Gellar, divorced parents thrown together one last time, had stood opposite one another like sentries of grief as the mourners poured out of the church doors. "I'm so sorry for your loss," he had said to the mother, as if she had misplaced Jessica, or watched her disappear down the rabbit hole. "...Elizabeth Kinney this morning in Montrose park." The new guy was still talking, handing him another folder. "We got lucky because the Captain at the oh-nine remembered the case and flagged it right away." Lucky, thought Mulder, counting five hand marks on the neck the time. Right. "The Coroner puts the time of death between eleven-thirty and two a.m., " Russell said. "So at least we're working with a fresh crime scene." Mulder closed the folder and rubbed his head with one hand. "He never left them out for very long -- twenty-four hours at the most. Never did us a damn bit of good." "Well, actually..." Russell hesitated, and he caught her looking at Grenier. "Actually, there is something new this time." "What?" Scully shifted beside him and withdrew a plastic evidence bag from her jacket. "Do you recognize this, Mulder?" He scanned the yellowed newsprint inside the bag. "It's a Gary Tanzini special. He used to snap crime photos for the Post. I punched him in the nose, and he won the Pulitzer. Who said life's not fair?" "He won for the Pulitzer Prize for that picture?" Scully asked. "No, for a whole series on the murders," Mulder replied, fingering the fragile edge of the aging picture. "Tanzini never met a tragedy he couldn't exploit." "Well," Russell said. "He obviously has at least one true fan. We found that this morning with Elizabeth Kinney's body." Just as she said the words, hot needles of pain lanced down the left side of his face. His right hand tingled, spasmed, and he dropped the newspaper cutout. "Mulder, are you okay?" Scully leaned into him, and he could smell the last traces of her perfume fighting with the sweat and dust of a long day. Ordinarily he welcomed her familiar scent, but at that moment it burned his nostrils and made him dizzy. "Fine," he said through gritted teeth. He retrieved the paper and looked up at Grenier. "So that's it. You're here because you think this has something to do with me." "Are you saying you don't think that's the case?" Skinner glanced from Grenier to Mulder. Mulder tossed the photo next to his laundry and leaned back on the couch. "It could mean anything. Maybe he's upset because his first kill went unnoticed in the press. Maybe he wants to make sure you know he's back, that he's the same guy from before. All I can say for sure is that this is an unusual departure for him; none of the murders eleven years ago had any sort of message attached." "But it is a message," Russell pressed. "And apparently it's to you." "Yeah, and what the hell would you like me to do about it, Russell? Write him back?" "If that's what it takes to bring him in." Mulder looked away, silent. He'd had four months against this animal, at a time when he'd been at the top of his game, and come up with nothing. "I can't help you," he said at last. "I'm sorry." "Fine," replied Russell, standing up. "You can just watch the body count in the papers, then." Fuck you, he thought, but couldn't make himself say the words out loud. Because that's all any of them had ever been able to do -- count the graves and the tears. If Russell was going down that road again, she was already fucked. Grenier finally moved from his place against the wall. "I think you've made a wise decision, Mulder. If he's killing to get your attention, the last thing you should do is give it to him." Mulder shook his head. "It's not about me," he said. "It never was." "Finally, a point of agreement." He bent to pick up the newspaper photo and slipped it into his jacket. "Good to see you back on your feet, Mulder. Take it easy coming back, okay?" He didn't seem to require an answer, so Mulder didn't give one. Instead, he walked them to the door, Scully lingering by his side as the rest filed out. Russell stopped on the threshold. "Do you remember the last thing you said to me before you left?" Mulder tightened his hold on the doorknob. "It was a long time ago, Amelia." She ignored him. "You said that if there was ever a lead on this case, we should call you. You remember that?" "If I thought there was any way I could help you, I would. But the truth is--" "The truth is that there were hundreds of newspaper photos taken back then, both before and after you quit." She paused, her expression softening. "I heard about what you've been through, Mulder, and I'd love nothing more to give you a pass one this one. But I don't think you get to walk away this time. I don't he's going to let you." "And I think you're wrong." "I hope so." She gave him a sad smile. "I hope so." He closed the door behind them and turned to find Scully regarding him with serious eyes. "Are you all right?" she asked. "Jesus," he said, heading for the couch. "If I do sign on with the case and more people die, it's my fault because I'm letting this psycho play cat-and-mouse with me. If I don't sign on and more people die, it's my fault for not helping with the investigation." "None of it is your fault, Mulder." He snorted. "You must not have read the reports from eleven years ago. It was my fault then, too." She sat next to him. "Is that why you left?" "It's not that simple," he said, reaching for a balled up pair of socks. He passed them from hand to hand as he considered his answer. "Or maybe it is that simple, I don't know. They brought me in to catch the bad guy, Scully, and instead I watched three young women die." "You did all you could." "You weren't there. You don't know." The words came out more harshly than he'd intended. They had shared many private hells together, but this inferno was his own. "I do know. I know you." He squeezed the sock ball in his fist. "I didn't know me," he whispered at last. "Not at the end." He looked over at her. "I guess that's why I left." She said nothing, but placed her hand on top of his. He rested his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. "I almost couldn't. I almost couldn't walk away." "Is that why Grenier is angry with you? Because you left?" He gave a humorless laugh. "Patterson was furious; Grenier probably held a parade." "And Russell?" Scully asked, her voice soft. He opened his eyes and looked at her. Calm, patient. Waiting for him to tell her what she'd already guessed. He sighed and withdrew his hand from under hers. "I was involved with Amelia for a short time back then. A few nights, nothing serious on either end. Mainly I think she was using me to get out of a bad marriage." "I see." Her expression didn't change. "Did it work?" "Yes." He hesitated, unsure of whether he should spill the rest of the story. Like it mattered anymore, he thought finally. "Grenier was the other half of that marriage." Scully let out a long breath and shifted on the sofa so they were both facing forward. "Well, that explains some things." "Yeah, I guess it does." He rubbed his face with both hands, then remembered there were other things still unexplained. "Hey," he said, looking sideways at her. "Is this your case now, too? I noticed Skinner came along for the ride." "That's all it was," she said. "They needed Skinner to sign you over to them if you agreed to the investigation, and I was here as a medical consultant more than anything else." "And your medical opinion is?" "You're still healing, Mulder. It wouldn't be a good idea for you to be working a case right now. But..." "No one should have to work this case," he cut in wearily. "Eleven fucking years. I'd hoped he was dead." "Mulder, last night..." "Grenier might call you in, you know. Or Russell. God, Scully, this case eats people alive. You shouldn't..." "Mulder." The edge in her voice finally caught his attention. "What is it?" She took a deep breath. "I may have found a witness." XxXxX The shoes, a pair of sleek, black velvet heels, quivered on his lap. He stroked them. Maybe she hadn't seen. She ran, chastised the voice in his head. She saw. He could feel his heart contract with each pump, the blood audible as it sloshed around inside him. How the hell was he supposed to have known there would be a girl in the trees? Who the fuck hung around in a tree at night? "Fuck," he said, and squeezed the shoes until they bent. He had been careful, yes he had. Grabbed her in the parking lot, taken her to the field -- no one around for miles -- gloves, a mask. It took a while to squeeze the life out of someone. Maybe the Mulder move had been too bold, he thought, beginning to sweat. It was a tease, a final fuck you. Now he wondered if it had been wrong to draw his attention in that way. There wasn't supposed to be anything left for him to find. He thought of the girl in the tree. A special tree, he suspected, visited often like a much-loved friend. He thought he might pay a visit himself. Then Mulder could look all he wanted. XxXxX XxXxX Chapter Three XxXxX Their usual meeting place was cordoned off with yellow police tape, so Vee waited behind some tall bushes at the edge of the park. The wind sliced through the branches and pinched at her frozen fingertips. Jackson was almost half an hour late. She touched the envelope of cash inside her pocket and decided to give him another five minutes. "No way in hell I'm doing this again," she muttered, stamping her boots on the hard ground. "Quoc can freeze his nuts out here for all I care." A man jogged by her hiding spot, his breath puffing in the air in front of him, and she startled at the intrusion. Richard Nixon's grinning face still burned in her memory, along with the sound of his footsteps pounding the pavement as he chased her down the street. The jogger's cadence was shorter, and Vee allowed herself to exhale. He'd be a fucking idiot to come back here now, she thought. "There you are." Vee jumped at the tap on her shoulder. "Jesus, Jackson! What the hell are you doing?" "Looking for you." He nodded down the road to the crime scene. "What happened? Someone get iced?" "Yeah, last night." She willed herself not to think of the girl's white arms and vacant eyes. Instead, she glanced at Jackson's hands, stuffed deep inside his denim jacket. "You brought the stuff?" He sniffed and rubbed his nose. "Yeah, I brought it. You got the cash?" "Don't I always?" "Then let's get on with it. It's fucking freezing out here." She withdrew the envelope from her pocket, tilting it so it was visible in the white beam of the streetlight. "Now you." He hesitated, glancing around them, then sniffed again. "Ten Gs?" "You want to count it now? Out here?" Vee was getting irritated. "No, no. It's fine. Here's the stuff." He handed her a plastic bag filled with powder, and she gave him the money. They had barely completed the exchange when bright light flooded the bushes. A siren blared briefly. "This is the police," said a voice through a bullhorn. "Please come out slowly, keeping your hands where we can see them at all times." Vee felt her knees go weak, but she glared at Jackson. "You bastard." "Little girl, this was an easy choice. There was no fucking way I was going back to jail." He flashed a mirthless smile that showed off his chipped front tooth. "Give Jimmy my love, eh?" "Come out from there. Now." A man with a flashlight and a nine mm revolver appeared at the edge of the bushes. With a last withering look at Jackson, Vee went. Four patrol cars had materialized from nowhere, and uniformed cops walked up and down the sloping paths, searching for what Vee could not guess. A small crowd gathered near the gate to watch them pat her down and stuff her in the back of a cruiser. The noise was shut outside. She sat on the cold leather seat, staring at the metal grid, and thought of her bed at home. It was a Tuesday, and her mother made latkes on Tuesday. But wait, no, she remembered. First one of the month Mom worked late in the ER. She wouldn't be home yet. She wouldn't know. Vee slouched down and closed her eyes. Her head was beginning to throb at the temples. She rested it against the cool glass and watched the men in black congratulate themselves on nailing a hardened criminal. When her gaze shifted again to the onlookers at the gate, she sat up a bit. There was a man at the back of the crowd. His hair stood on end and the slope of his shoulders was familiar. He caught her staring and disappeared in the space of one blink. Maybe it was just the way the shadows fell. Maybe it was the way he seemed to be staring right at her. She shuddered inside her thin coat and pulled away from the window, back into the dark of the patrol car. Maybe it was just her imagination. But she was suddenly not so upset to be locked in the back of a cop car. XxXxX The rubber mask squeaked as he stuffed his fists deep into his pockets. He was cold, he was angry, but he knew he still had the upper hand. The cops wouldn't know the right questions to ask, and what was this girl going to tell them, exactly -- go arrest a dead president? He considered forgetting the whole damn thing. Then he remembered her look of recognition in squad car. "Shit," he muttered, and kicked the front tire on his car. At least he knew where the little bitch was now. And cop shops were his specialty. He smiled a little, thinking of how soon they would release her. A bit more patience, he thought, and this whole thing would be finished at last. XxXxX Scully staggered into the basement office, trying to make it to the desk before the two-foot stack of folders and the cardboard coffee cup slipped from her arms to the ground. She muffled a curse as hot coffee sloshed over her fingers but managed to set everything down with no major disaster. "Good morning to you, too." She jumped and turned. "Mulder," she said when she saw him standing in the fuzzy early morning light. "What are you doing here?" He waved a brown paper bag at her. "Blueberry muffins," he said, and looked pointedly at her coffee cup. "I'll share if you will." "From La Parisienne?" she asked, trying to decide whether it was worth halving her morning caffeine. He nodded, and she slid over to give him a corner of the desk, taking a few careful sips before handing him the cup. Their fingers brushed. "Mulder, you're freezing," she said, covering his hand with hers. "Yeah, well, they never did a stellar job with the heat down here." She met his eyes. "How long have you been waiting here?" "Not that long," he answered, shrugging off her concern. When she did not back down in her gaze, he slipped one hand free and touched her knee. "It's okay, Scully, really. I'm all right." She hesitated and then nodded. "Okay." He tapped her knee lightly. "What about you? How are you doing?" "What do you mean?" He inclined his head in the direction of the folders. "I see you've been doing a little light reading." "Oh, that." She took a deep breath. "I was up half the night and barely made a dent. This man certainly didn't escape capture due to a lax investigation. Mulder, is it really true that over half of the law enforcement personnel in DC were involved with this case at one time or another?" He rubbed his face with his hands. "Yeah, that sounds right. At one point, the task force was logging over a hundred phone calls a day from people who had supposed leads on the case." "Hard to follow every single one," she replied, eyeing the teetering stack of folders between them. She paused. "Do you think he might be in there someplace, just overlooked?" "It's possible." He pushed away from the desk, crossing the room to stand by the bookshelves. "But that's not where I would start." She watched him trace the edges of one shelf for a few moments. "Mulder, I thought you said you didn't want to get involved with this case again." "Yeah, I did," he answered without turning around. "But I realized something last night." "What's that?" He faced her. "This guy can be caught, Scully. He *was* caught. That's why we haven't heard from him in eleven years. It's the only explanation that makes sense." "Possible," she agreed. "But what if he simply moved somewhere else?" "No," he said, shaking his head. "No, he did time, I'd bet on it. He was escalating at the time of the last murders -- Michelle Palevski and Jessica Gellar were killed less than one month apart. If he had moved and started killing somewhere else, the bodies would have been piling up fast enough for any local PD to take notice." "Okay, so he was in prison for the last eleven years. What for?" Mulder paced the office with slow, deliberate steps. "Eleven years is a long time. Assault, maybe, given his history. Kidnapping. Conceivably some combination of breaking and entering, robbery and drugs, especially if they related to his foot fetish." "My thinking exactly," said a voice from the doorway. They both turned to see Amelia Russell standing on the threshold. "I knew you still had your edge," she said to Mulder as she entered. "Patterson always said he didn't really train you, just pointed you at a case like a loaded weapon. And then...bang, it was solved." "I don't remember it quite like that," Mulder replied. "See, that's the remarkable thing about memory," Russell said to Scully. "Even the eidetic ones are selective." Mulder move to stand at Scully's side, the case folders piled high in front them. "Is there a reason that you came down here, Russell?" he asked. "I came to see if Agent Scully would be willing to talk to you about helping with the investigation. It seems I need not have bothered." "I had a couple of ideas last night," he said. "But Scully is still the one you want to talk to. She may have a witness." Russell looked sharply at her. "What?" "I live about three blocks from where Elizabeth Kinney's body was found," Scully said. "Two nights ago, at approximately the time of the murder, I met a young woman who claims to have been chased by a man with a knife. She was running from the direction of Montrose Park. I looked around the area for the man in question but couldn't find any trace of him. The girl then told me she thought it might have been a homeless person, and claimed she overreacted." "My God," Russell murmured. "This could be the just the thing we need to crack this thing wide open. Grenier is out there now, coordinating a team of black and whites to canvass the neighborhood for possible witnesses. Do you know anything else about this girl? How can we find her again?" "She said her name was Vee, and she had a male companion called Jimmy. They headed off in the direction of downtown." "Description?" Russell asked, pulling out a notepad and pen. Scully gave her the basic details. "Jesus, I can't believe it," Russell said when she had finished. "Maybe he finally fucked one up. I'm going to run across town with this. You two want to come along?" "No, I want to visit GW and talk to some of Beth Kinney's friends," Mulder said. Scully glanced over at him. "If you give me a few minutes, I can go with you. I'd like to give out a description of Vee to local high schools. She couldn't have been older than sixteen, so it's possible someone there might know who she is." "Good idea," he agreed. He looked at Russell. "What's Arkin doing now? I could grab him instead and let Scully track down Vee." Russell raised her eyebrows. "You need a car? I can get one if you're not supposed to be working on the books." Mulder slowly flexed his hands in front of him. "Not allowed to drive yet." "If I remember correctly, that's a probably a good thing." Russell said. "Well, Amelia, you know the amazing thing about memory," he answered. "It's selective." She laughed. "Touché. And sure, you can have Arkin. He's upstairs running through recent prison release records. I had the same thought, that this creep has been behind bars somewhere for the last eleven years. If we can find this Vee person, maybe she can ID him from the books." She looked at Mulder. "I'll find Arkin and meet you upstairs in five minutes, okay?" "Fine," Mulder said as she left. He picked up his coat and slid one palm across the desk toward Scully. "I'll see you later, maybe over at Grenier's check-point. Let me know if you find anything on Vee." "Sure," she replied, and tilted her head at him. "Go easy on the co-eds." He smiled. "Scully, I've got a chaperone." "Yes, I know. Go easy on him, too." His smile widened to a grin. "Now there I make no promises." XxXxX "So explain to me what we're doing here?" Arkin asked as they sat in his idling car, waiting for foot traffic to clear from in front of the main George Washington University parking lot. "Are you not convinced it's the same killer?" "No, I think it's him." "Then I don't understand. What is there to gain from talking to Beth Kinney's friends? This guy isn't someone she knew. He's a stranger who grabbed her off the streets." "All the more reason to find out what kind of person Beth was. We don't know where he grabbed her or why. Maybe there's something in her last days that could give us some insight into why she died." Arkin slid the car into a spot and cut the engine. "I thought the best way to learn about the killer's mindset was to study his crimes -- the timing, the method, the commonalities among the victims..." "And that's what we're doing," Mulder said as he got out of the car. He squinted at the surrounding buildings. "We want New Hall, right? Arkin nodded, and they began walking. "So what you're suggesting is that the victims might have more in common than long legs and fancy shoes." "I'm saying we won't know unless we ask." They reached the tan brick building and followed a young man with a backpack in through the front door. A slender brunette answered their knock at the third-floor apartment. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her voice was hoarse as she asked how she could help them. "Are you a roommate of Elizabeth Kinney's?" Mulder said softly. The girl clasped a hand to her mouth and nodded. "Yeah, I am. Was." "My name is Fox Mulder, and I work at the FBI. This is Agent Arkin." At the second name, the girl looked up. "Richard? I didn't recognize you." Arkin flushed and cleared his throat. "Hi, Sarah. I'm sorry about Beth." "Wait a second," Mulder said, turning to Akrin. "You knew Beth Kinney?" The younger agent shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, yeah, a little bit. My kid sister Danielle is a junior here. She lives on the second floor." "Beth interviewed him last year for the Hatchet," Sarah supplied helpfully. "About being a profiler." "Excuse us a moment," Mulder said, and walked Arkin down the hall by the arm. "You knew the victim and you didn't say anything?" "I didn't think it was relevant. And I didn't *know* her -- I just spent an hour in the campus coffee house answering a few questions about profiling." Mulder shook his head. "Not cool, Arkin. This is not the kind of information you keep to yourself." "I know, I know." He sighed. "I'm sorry. It's just...ever since we found Beth, all I've been able to think about is Danielle. What if it had been her? She's scared out of her mind and I'm supposed to tell her everything is going to be all right. I just didn't want to drag these kids into it. I'm sorry, my mistake, okay? It won't happen again." Mulder held his gaze for a few seconds. "You met her," he said at last. "What was she like?" "Smart. Pretty. Confident. Just a real nice kid." He swallowed with difficulty. "I couldn't believe it when they told me she was the girl in the park. I wish to hell I could say I'd known her better -- then I might have some insight into why this bastard grabbed her." "Well, you know her friends," Mulder said. "That's a start." Arkin drew a shaky breath, and they both looked back at Sarah standing in the doorway with her tissues in hand. "Let's get going then," he said. XxXxX Scully sat at Mulder's desk, the folders pushed aside to make room for her laptop as she compiled names of the local high schools. When the phone rang, she reached blindly to answer it. "Scully." "Agent Dana Scully?" said an unfamiliar voice. Scully leaned her head in one hand and closed her eyes, suppressing a yawn. "Yes, this is she. Who is speaking?" "This is Detective Pearson down at the oh six. We arrested a girl last night who says she knows you." Scully sat up, her heart beginning to quicken. "A teenager?" "Yeah, she won't give us her name. We picked her up at Montrose Park on drug possession. Word on the street is she's one of Jimmy Cho's girls." "I'll be right there," Scully said, already gathering her coat. "Whatever you do, do not let her leave." "Oh, don't worry. She's keeping us company for quite a while yet." He paused. "You guys looking at her for drug charges?" Scully stretched backwards, speaking even as she hung up the phone. "No," she said, "serial murder." XxXxX In the subway car, Carl watched a woman in a business suit as she held the rail and swayed with the motion of the car. She had narrow and glorious navy blue pumps; he imagined the feel of the leather on his skin. It wasn't until after she had left, her heels clicking on the platform, that he noticed the newspaper she had been reading. POLICE WON'T CONFIRM CONNECTION IN KILLINGS He snatched up the section and devoured the tiny article on page four. "Idiots," he breathed. "What the fuck are they talking about, a possible connection?" He scanned the three paragraphs again. It had to be a press mistake, he thought. The cops knew his work by now. Jesus, who was running the FBI these days? *Maybe you're the only one left.* He wondered if it were true. Grenier, Russell, Mulder... maybe they were all gone now. Maybe they had forgotten who he was and what he could do. Eleven years was a long time to be away. He got off at Federal Triangle and went to stand outside the Hoover building, across the street amid the dozens of people hurrying along the sidewalk. The wind came screaming down the rows of buildings, and most folks seemed to want to get back inside quickly. Their rapid footsteps blended with the sound of the blood pounding in his ears. You'll just have to remind them, he told himself. They'll come back and set everything straight. A woman came out of the front entrance. She was rather far away, but he noticed her immediately. Daring, three-inch heels. Long skirt with a slit that showed off her strong calves. Such tiny little feet. He thought of her ten pink toes lined up in a perfect row. The image stayed with him as he followed her to her car and watched her drive away. XxXxX XxXxX Chapter Four XxXxX Scully paused on the low, flat steps of the precinct, her hair plastered against her cheek in the roaring wind. The whistles and howls blocked out all other sound, but underneath she sensed a regular cadence, like a heartbeat. Or footsteps. She clawed the hair from her eyes and turned to study the street behind her. No one was in sight. Leaves rattled along the sidewalk, tumbling over one another as a plastic bag danced in midair. The front door to the station banged open, startling her in her scrutiny, and two uniformed cops hurried down the steps. As their voices faded, swallowed by the wind, she listened again but heard nothing hidden under the rushing gales. She turned and climbed the rest of the stone steps, leaving the wind pounding angrily on the door behind her. Inside, the station smelled of warm, stale air that had been cranked through an ancient heating system. There was a bench covered in scattered newspapers, and the faded green walls displayed posters of cartoon characters warning kids to stay away from drugs. "Excuse me," Scully said to the man behind the front desk, "I'm looking for Detective Pearson." "Straight back on the left." Scully threaded her way through the maze of desks to find a large black man with graying temples hunched over a computer keyboard. He pecked at it with two fingers. "Detective Pearson?" Scully said when he failed to look up. He swiveled to face her. "Agent Scully, I presume. Thanks for coming." He tilted his head, appraising her, then nodded at the computer. "You know how anything about opening attachments?" "Uh, sure." She moved so she could see the screen. "Trouble with a case file?" "Naw." He grinned. "My son started college this fall, and it's either master this e-mail thing or lose contact until graduation. This thing he sent today is supposed to be the latest standing in the football pool." "Well," she said, leaning over to show him, "just enter your server name here, your password here...now click download, and there you go." "Hey, thanks," he said as the list of names popped up. He scanned them quickly, then chortled. "A four for the week! All his little computer models, and he'd do better flipping a coin." "I see Denver covered," Scully remarked. "You know football?" She smiled. "You work in law enforcement, and it's the water cooler chatter every Monday morning." "Guess so," he agreed, rising to his feet. He perched on the edge of his desk "But speaking of chatter, we haven't been able to get word one out of your little friend. You said you wanted her for serial murder? She looks like a drowned kitten to me -- couldn't hurt a flea." "We think she may be a witness to a murder that took place in Montrose park Sunday night," Scully explained. "She reported seeing a man with a knife in the area at approximately the time of death." Pearson let out a low whistle. "That college girl killed in the park? I heard about that. But the papers said no one has officially connected her death to the girl found a couple of weeks ago. Now you guys think it's the same guy?" "There were a number of similarities between the two crimes," Scully answered. "Right now we're exploring every angle. Would it be all right if I spoke with Vee for a few minutes?" "Vee, huh?" He shook his head and sighed. "Such a tough name for a little kitten. Sure, sure you can see her -- she called you, after all. Right this way." Vee sat slouched at the table in an interrogation room, looking considerably more defeated than when Scully had seen her last. She had pulled the metal ring from the top of her coke can and was sliding it down her fingers one at a time. At Pearson and Scully's entrance, she sat up straight. "Seems you weren't lying about your connections, kid. Agent Scully hurried down here in the middle of her day at your request. I hope you'll show her the same courtesy." He glanced at Scully. "She's a minor, so I've got to stick around. Hope that's okay." "It's fine," Scully answered, her eyes on Vee. "Detective Pearson told me about your trouble last night." Vee shrugged but ducked her head. "Yeah, they got me," she said. "The big bad criminal." She glared at Pearson. "You must be so proud." "I've got your mug shot on my fridge," he replied. "You asked to see me," Scully said, moving closer to the table. "Why?" "I want to make a deal." Her chin stuck out, the bravado returned, but her eyes were still dark with fear. "What kind of deal?" "I can tell you stuff about that guy in the park, the one with the knife. And if I do, you let me walk." "I don't have the authority to make that kind of deal." "But *he* does, right? And he has to do what you say." Scully and Pearson exchanged a glance. "I'm afraid that's not the way it works," she said. "The FBI has separate authority from the District of Columbia Police Department." "The DA has discretionary power in these cases," Pearson said, pulling up a chair. "And I might be willing to go to bat for you with the DA's office if you give me a good reason to." Vee looked from Pearson to Scully and back. "How much would I get?" The Detective considered. "Well, you're young, it's your first offense...we might be able to settle on some kind of probation." When Vee still seemed to hesitate, Scully spoke up. "This man chased you with a knife, Vee. He's already killed at least one person and he knows what you look like. I would think it would be in your best interest to help us catch him." "Okay." Vee sighed and leaned across the table. "Okay, I'll do it on one condition -- my mom can't find out about any of this. I'll tell you everything, I'll do the probation, whatever. She just can't know about it." Pearson shook his head. "No dice. You're under eighteen and we need a legal guardian to approve any kind of arrangement." "Then fuck it." Vee shoved her chair back and stood up. "What about your father?" Scully asked. "He's dead." Vee turned away, hugging her waist with her arms. "Go ahead and do whatever you want to me. It doesn't matter anyway." Scully walked around the table, moving to stand between Vee and Pearson's watchful gaze. The girl's eyes remained glued to the ground, but Scully spoke softly to her. "You think things will be better for your mother if she has to come down to the morgue and identify your body? Is that what you want?" Vee shrugged. "He hasn't come after me yet." "Yes, he has. He chased you two night ago, and you have no reason to think he won't come back, not if he thinks you can identify him." "But I can't," Vee whispered. "I can't identify him." "You must have seen something." Vee was silent. "Her name was Elizabeth Kinney, you know," Scully continued after a minute. "She was twenty-one years old, a senior at George Washington University. She brushed her teeth Sunday morning thinking it was just like any other day. Twelve hours later she was dead. How do you think her mother is feeling right now?" "Stop, just stop." Vee swiped at the tears on her cheeks with the cuff of her sweatshirt. "Don't you get it? I can't help you! I never saw his face!" "What did you see?" Scully pressed. "Tell me." Vee balked, taking a step backwards. "Her arms...they were so white, like a ghost. I saw him carry her into the bushes." "What did he look like?" Vee's eyes went blank and she stared at the wall, as if visualizing the scene projected before her. "He was tall, over six feet, and dressed in dark clothing. The jacket went all the way to his knees. He wore a face mask that looked like Richard Nixon, but his hair stuck up around it." At the word "mask," Scully felt her heart sink. So much for a positive ID. "Is that it?" she asked "Can you remember anything else about him?" Vee thought for a minute. "Um, he was strong. He carried her like she weighed nothing at all. Oh, and he was white. I know because I saw his neck from the side. But that's it." Pearson got up from the table with a sigh. "Not exactly the ace you were hoping for, huh?" he said to Scully. Vee hung her head. "I told you I couldn't identify him." Despite her frustration, Scully gave the girl's arm a light squeeze. "It's all right. We know more now that we did this morning, and that's something. Would you mind sitting down with me and going over everything that happened that night? Maybe there is a detail we've overlooked." "Yeah, okay." Vee drew a shuddering breath and wiped her palms on her jeans. "But first I'd like to call my mother." XxXxX He knew better than to follow her into the police station. He hadn't survived all those years in that hellhole prison just to fuck up and land himself back inside again. Still, when the cab had dropped him off on the corner, when he'd seen her stop and look around, a tingle shot up his spine. None of the others had ever sensed him before, not until it was too late. Her car was in the small visitor lot -- a blue Camry, and new if he was any judge. He stroked the smooth hood, then pressed himself against the driver side door, removing the slim piece of metal from his jacket. As a cop walked past, smiling at him, he smiled back and popped the lock open with one quick motion. He climbed inside, his knees pressed almost to his chest, and placed trembling hands on her steering wheel. She was so small he barely fit in her place. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he imagined her tiny feet on the pedals. After a few minutes he started going through her things: several pens, sixty-seven cents in spare change, tube of coral-colored lipstick (which he opened and sniffed), tissues... nothing of real interest to him. Except. He pulled open the glove box and withdrew sheaf of papers. Registered to Dana Katherine Scully, it said, with her address plain as day. XxXxX "This is our room," Sarah said as she opened the door for Mulder and Arkin. "Beth had the right side." Mulder took in the rumpled chenille bedspread, the armchair layered in sweaters and the desk piled high with papers and books. "Looks like my office," he said to Sarah. She answered with a small smile. "Beth wasn't the most organized person on earth, but she was the smartest girl I ever knew. Professors who swore they never gave out A pluses were always making exceptions for Beth." "She was at a charity dinner Sunday night, is that right?" Arkin asked. Sarah nodded. "As part of her work on the Hatchet. They were raising money for inner city kids to go to summer camp in the mountains." Mulder wandered over to Beth's chaotic desk to examine her personal effects. He passed over the chemistry textbook and collection of British poets anthology in favor of the framed black-and-white photographs that adorned her wall. "Did Beth take these?" he asked "Yes, she took a couple of photography classes last year and really fell in love with it." Sarah paused as her voice cracked. "I thought she was really good." "I think so, too," Mulder answered as he studied the snapshots. Sarah was in one, along with two other girls he didn't recognize. They were standing under a street lamp at night, wearing short skirts and tiny clips in their hair, their eyes alight as they shared some sort of gleeful secret together. Mulder thought that if he leaned close enough, he could hear the laughter bubbling right out of the scene. Sarah materialized at his shoulder. "This one was her favorite," she said, tapping the far right photograph. "That was Ben on their first date." Mulder took it off the wall for a closer look, and he understood immediately why it had been Beth's favorite. Emotional connection aside, it was just *good*. She had captured Ben in a three-fourths profile, an extreme close-up. He was smiling but his eyes were focused on the ground, as if she had just told him a joke that made him blush. A man in love who wasn't ready to share it with the camera. "She, um, took his car that night." "To the charity dinner?" Mulder asked as he replaced the photo. "Yeah. His car was back in the garage, though, so..." "She must have made it back to campus." Sarah's eyes filled with tears, and she nodded. "I'm sorry," she said, backing away. "I don't think I can talk about this anymore right now." "That's fine," Mulder assured her. "We're almost done here, I promise." She left the room, and Mulder returned to Beth's desk. Arkin joined him. "Find anything interesting?" "Nothing new so far. I mainly just wanted to get a sense of who she was." Arkin sighed. "A real good kid." "Yeah." Mulder picked up a book on photography and began flipping through it. Several pages were dog-eared, including one near the back that caused Mulder to freeze in place. "What is it?" Arkin asked, leaning over. "It's Tanzini's photo, the one that was found on her body." "You're fucking me." "No, look. There are a couple of Tanzini specials in here, all taken during the first series of murders eleven years ago." "Makes sense, doesn't it?" Akrin said. "Considering that series won the Pulitzer and all." Mulder stared down at the book, which also had hand-writing in the margins. Beth had drawn an exclamation point next to one of the photographs -- a street crowd circled by police tape as they watched one of the bodies being taken away -- and the message "call Irene." "You knew her friends," Mulder said. "Who's Irene?" "Never heard of her. But it's not like I knew all her friends. Could be anyone. Why? You think it's important?" "I think that it's interesting that one thing that differentiates this murder from all the rest is that photograph, and that the *same* photograph turns up among the victim's possessions." Arkin flipped through the book. "That one and about a hundred others. She's got marks on a bunch of these." "True. I think I'll hang on to it anyway." As they left, they passed Sarah and several of her friends, where they were talking quietly in the living room. "We're finished for now," Mulder said. He held up the book. "Is it okay if I take this?" Sarah nodded as she stood. "Sure, fine. Anything that helps." "Did Beth know anyone named Irene?" "Irene?" The girl's brow furrowed in thought, but then she shook her head. "No, I don't think so. She never mentioned her, anyway." "Okay, thank you." Mulder handed her his card. "If you remember hearing about an Irene, or you think of anything else you think we should know, please call me." "I will." Arkin ruffled her hair. "Take care of yourself, okay?" They left the apartment in silence, Arkin more subdued than when they had arrived, Mulder lost in thought with the book tucked under one arm. It was lunch break at GW, so students were streaming through the doors as the agents tried to exit. Outside, there was one man standing motionless amid all the activity. Mulder recognized him immediately. "Tanzini," he murmured, and Arkin followed his gaze across the campus to where a large man in an overcoat was leaning against a bike rack. "What the hell is he doing here?" Mulder felt the old anger flash hot and quick inside him. "Scavenging," he replied, walking off the path and over toward the photographer. "Mulder," Tanzini said at his approach. "They say that time heals all wounds. What do you think?" "I think you better leave these kids alone, or I'll hold my own press conference and let everyone know what a snake you really are." Tanzini chuckled. "My superiors are well aware, I promise. Why do you think they pay me the big bucks?" "It's about money, then?" Mulder yanked his wallet out of his pocket and tossed a pair of twenties at Tanzini's feet. "Here, take these. Take a couple more. Whatever it takes to get you the hell out of here." "Agent Mulder, relax. I'm unarmed, see?" He opened his coat to demonstrate his lack of a camera, then stooped to pick up Mulder's money. Folding it carefully, he handed it back. "I just wanted to talk to you for a minute." "How did you know I was here?" If lizards could smile, Mulder thought, they would look like Gary Tanzini. The other man put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "You know a newsman never reveals a source. But my sources do tell me interesting things these days. Word on the street is that he's back." "I don't know what you're talking about," Mulder replied tightly, and Arkin looked at the ground. "Oh, come on," Tanzini said. "Grace Johnson, Elizabeth Kinney -- both of them strangled with their little toes cut off. It's got to be the same guy." "No comment." Tanzini held his gaze for another moment, then shook his head. "Sure, okay. We both know I'm right." "Stay out of this, Tanzini. I'm warning you." "That was always your problem, Mulder. You didn't see that we're on the same side." "I know where I stand," Mulder answered. "And it sure as hell isn't next to you." Tanzini sighed. "Look, despite what you think, I don't take any personal pleasure from photographing these crimes. I'm just there to tell the story, to let people know what's going on. And the more people that know about it, the more likely it is that one of them will come forward with information to help your case." Mulder was silent for a moment. "You let us worry about the case," he said finally. He turned to Arkin. "We're done here." As they turned to leave, Tanzini called after them. "What makes you think you can catch him this time, Mulder? He's already killed two girls right under your nose, and you're stuck poking around a dorm room for clues." Mulder froze for a fraction of a second, but kept moving without turning around. Arkin fell back. "Mr. Tanzini," he said. "You know anyone named Irene?" At this, Mulder did turn around. The photographer looked confused. "Irene?" he said. "Can't say that I do. Why?" Arkin exchanged a look with Mulder, who shrugged. "Might be a clue," he said, and both agents walked away. XxXxX Scully pinched the bridge of her nose as she stepped out of the interrogation room into the hallway; two hours of questions and Vee's story hadn't changed. She had seen the aftermath of the murder but not the murder itself, and there was no way she could identify the man's face. Scully wished she could be sure the killer knew it, too. She pulled out her phone to call Mulder when she noticed a tall woman standing ramrod straight at the other end of the hallway and staring through the tinted window into the interrogation room. It wasn't until she wiped the tears from her face, an exact mimic of the silent gesture Scully had seen Vee make, that Scully realized who she was. "Mrs. Kroener?" The woman jerked at the sound of her name, as if noticing Scully for the first time. "Yes." "I'm Dana Scully and I work at the FBI. I've been talking to your daughter for the past few hours." "Virginia is in trouble with the FBI, too?" Mrs. Kroener sounded desolate. "No," Scully said gently. "She was a witness to a murder the other night in Montrose Park. We wanted to ask her some questions about what she saw." Mrs. Kroener's mouth twisted, and she swallowed several times in quick succession. "Ginny saw someone killed? Oh, my God." "She didn't see the actual killing, no." "Oh, God." The woman turned back to the window, where inside Vee had laid her head down on her arms. "I don't understand. I don't understand how this happened." "Mrs. Kroener..." Scully hesitated. "There is a slight possibility that Virginia could be in danger if this man thinks she can identify him. Detective Pearson has agreed to step up the police patrol on your street, but you might consider having her stay out of town with a friend or relative just to be safe." The other woman nodded, her eyes still on her daughter. "I have a sister in Baltimore. But I don't know if Ginny will stay there." Scully said nothing. "When she was four," Mrs. Kroener continued after another moment, "we went to a picnic sponsored by our temple. There was a clown there for the children, handing out balloons. One little boy let his go by accident, and he started crying inconsolably. Ginny took one look at him and marched right over with her balloon. 'Don't be sad,' she said. 'We can share.' I thought to myself then that I would never have to worry about her. That she...she had a good heart." "I'm sorry," Scully whispered, and Mrs. Kroener nodded. "I should go talk to her. Please excuse me." Alone in the hallway, Scully once again pulled out her phone. It rang in her hand. "Scully," she said, expecting to hear Mulder on the other end. "Agent Scully, this is William Beasley from the pathology lab at Quantico. Do you remember me?" "Yes, of course. What can I do for you?" "I've completed the post-mortem exam on Elizabeth Kinney. There were some abnormalities in the brain tissue, markings that I've never seen before. Word around here is that you're something of an expert in the unexplained, so I thought you might like to come take a look." "What kind of markings?" Beasley hesitated. "I can't do them justice over the phone. It's best you see for yourself." "I'm on my way." XxXxX XxXxX Chapter Five XxXxX XxXxX Exhausted, Scully left the labs at Quantico eight hours later, with more questions than she had answers. The crystal chill of the night air woke her up a bit as she walked across the parking lot, but the heft of her briefcase, loaded with thick new files, still weighed her down. "Some expert," she muttered, slamming the car door shut behind her. The discolored neurons in Elizabeth Kinney's brain were as foreign to her as they had been to Beasley's team. She leaned her head back and sighed. It had taken six years, but she'd finally realized that her knowledge alone was never going to be enough; her science needed his hypotheses. She picked up the phone. "Mulder," he said a minute later. "Mulder, it's me." "Scully, hey. Are you still over at Quantico? How's it going?" "We're done for now, but Beasley was right that there is an odd discoloration on parts of Elizabeth Kinney's visual cortex. It could be evidence of an old injury, I suppose, or a viral infection, but we didn't find any evidence of this in her medical records." "Why don't you bring what you have over here? We can take a look at it." She glanced at her dashboard clock. "It's late, Mulder." "Come over," he urged. "I...I have something I want to talk to you about, too." She took a deep breath and made up her mind. "Okay, fine. But I'm going to need food." "It will be here before you will," he promised, and she hung up the phone. She leaned forward, about to turn the key in the ignition, when she noticed her glove box was not closed properly. Twisting around, she scanned her car for anything else out of place. Nothing. She hesitated a moment longer, then shut the door on the glove box so it latched. By the time she reached Mulder's apartment building, she had forgotten the incident entirely. His hallway smelled like disinfectant, but even the dim light couldn't disguise the fact that it never looked any cleaner. There was a draft coming through the vents, and Scully shivered as she knocked. Mulder opened the door an instant later, his dark figure surrounded by buttery light and warmth. "Hey," he said as he took her elbow and drew her inside. "It's freezing out there," she said, shedding her coat and slipping off her high heels. She flexed her sore toes. "How can it be this cold so early in November?" "Have some tea," he suggested. "It'll warm you up." He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a mug of green tea. She wrapped her hands around it and sniffed experimentally. He was still standing by her side, watching, so she took a small sip. She didn't have the heart to tell him she had OD'd on green tea during her battle with cancer; it had been one of the few things she could keep down at the time, and just the scent of it called up memories of nausea and a thousand red hot needles pressing behind her eyes. "Better?" he asked as she swallowed another taste. The cup burned against her palms, which were raw from the dry air and repeated washings, but she clutched it tighter. "Yes, thank you." "Good. Let's eat first, okay? I got Chinese." They sat on his couch, facing one another with plates of spicy chicken and tofu on their laps. Beside them, his coffee table was a collage of shoe pictures, dozens of dazzling high heels, and she recognized some of them as those believed to belong to the murdered women. Her gaze slid from the array of shiny photos over to her own shoes sitting neatly under her coat. "It's the shoes that do it for him, isn't it," she said. "Yes," he said without hesitation. "At the root of this guy's psychosis is a garden variety shoe fetish. Last time we tried to get to him that way, chasing down leads in sex shops, shoe stores, that sort of thing. Nothing panned out." He popped another bite in his mouth. "You wouldn't believe how many people out there are into shoes, and I mean *really* into shoes." Scully picked up one photo, a close-up of a navy pump covered in sequined flowers. The tag at the bottom said it had belonged to Jessica Gellar. "The shoe fetish is quite common," she said. "The theory is that it's because our brains are wired so that that sensory processing from the feet is right next to the processing for the genitals. In some people, the two regions may actually overlap." "And the shopping region?" he asked. "Do women have that one right next to the shoe neurons, too?" She frowned. "Mulder." "Scully." He mimicked her tone, but he was smiling. "Have you looked in your closet lately?" She considered her four racks of shoes and finally smiled, too. "Okay, you have a point. I like shoes." "Why?" he asked, looking genuinely curious. He cleared his throat. "Is it...is it what you said about..." "No!" she answered in a rush. "No, that's not it." "Then what?" She thought a moment, glancing over at her shoes again. She took in their delicate slope down to the toes, their solid heels, the way the light gleamed off the soft leather. "They have such personality," she said at last, turning back towards Mulder. He didn't look at her like she was crazy, so she continued. "They make me feel stronger, in a way, like I take up more space in the world." He smiled. "In those shoes, Scully, you certainly do." "It's not just the height," she said. "That matters, yes, but it's the sound, too. The rhythm goes all the way through me -- I feel it, I hear it. It's like an extension of what's inside me." She broke off and shook her head. "I'm afraid I'm not explaining this very well." He extended his leg until he touched her stocking-clad foot with his toes. "No, I get it." She pressed back with her toes and smiled at him. "Plus, they look cool." "No argument here." Their dinner over, she put aside her plate and shifted so her feet were on the ground. She saw he had several pages of notes to go along with the shoe pictures, but the handwriting was cramped and awkward. Concerned, she studied his face for signs of fatigue. There were lines around his eyes. "Mulder, are you doing okay? We can always talk about this tomorrow." He shook his head, moving so that his position mirrored her own. "No, I'm all right. It's been easier than I expected actually." He paused. "The only strange thing is that I'm still getting these weird sensations in my right hand." He held it out for demonstration. "It's like someone has an electric razor buzzing under my skin." She took his hand in hers, holding tight. "Is it doing it now?" "No." "Squeeze," she said, and his fingers curled around her palm. She released him and held up one finger. "Can you touch my fingertip with yours? Good, how about now? And over here?" "Give it to me straight, Doc," he said after a few rounds. "How long have I got?" "Not funny." She refused to meet his eyes. "Scully," he said, demonstrating excellent dexterity as he captured her fretful hands in his. He leaned over so that their foreheads touched. "I'm okay. I promise." She forced herself to nod. "But you weren't," she whispered. He didn't remember being on that cold table in the DOD, didn't even remember his rescue. She had to live with those images alone. "I know," he murmured near her ear. "I know." After another minute, she pulled away, breaking contact, and they both sat back. "So," she said, "what did you find out from Elizabeth's friends?" "Nothing that really stands out as a lead right now," he admitted. "Except for one thing -- Richard Arkin knew her. She interviewed him for the school paper a couple of months ago." "You're kidding me." "Nope. His sister is a student there." "Then what the hell is he doing on this case?" Mulder shrugged. "He said he was okay with it, that their contact was brief and that he didn't know anything that would be important to the case." "Strange that he wouldn't mention it before." "Yeah, he agrees that was a mistake." He reached under the table and pulled out a book. "We also found this among Beth's things. It contains the photograph found on her body. Could be a coincidence -- she bought this book for a class last year -- but the fact that she'd actually marked the pages seemed strange to me." "Who's Irene?" Scully asked, looking at the section on Tanzini's photos. "Don't know yet. I've got Arkin working on that one." He paused. "We ran into Tanzini on the campus." "You what?" "He was hanging around the dorm, probably after another prize. I told him to get lost." She eyed him. "With words, I hope." He grinned. "I was a good boy, don't worry." Scully closed the book with a sigh and reached for her briefcase. "I just wish Vee could have been more help." "Well, there's the mask information we didn't have before. That's something." He shook his head. "A homicidal maniac in a Richard Nixon get-up. Only in DC." "Here's what we found in the autopsy," she said, handing him a folder. "The top ones are coronal sections of her brain, near the back. Occipital cortex." "Vision stuff, right?" he asked as he scanned them. "Yes, and these are the original samples. They have not been stained with anything." "Then what are these purplish lines, here?" "I don't know," she replied. "I've never seen anything like it before. The cells aren't decayed, just discolored. Her blood and other tissue samples came back normal." "Huh," Mulder said, holding one of the photos closer to the light. "Looks like a long, curved line here...a circle here. Any sort of pattern that you saw?" "None we could decipher." She looked at him hopefully. "Any theories?" "Sorry to disappoint you, but not at this time. I can check the computer and let you know." She let out a long breath and leaned back against the couch. "Okay, your turn. What did you want to talk about?" He set down her folder and took his place next to her. "This guy is good, Scully. He's the best I've ever seen. We can wait around for him to make a mistake, but who knows how many girls could die before that happens?" "I agree. But what choice to we have?" "I've been thinking. How did he get so good? How did he just show up here twelve years ago and start killing people in such a way that the entire DC police force and the FBI couldn't catch *one* break on the case? The answer is practice. Kerri Ann Talbot can't have been the first person he murdered. He was already skilled by then." "You think there are others." "I know there are," he said, excited now. "And that has to be the way to nail him. Find the first victims, back when he was just learning and still sloppy. It's the one thing we didn't try eleven years ago. These days, information systems among local PDs are much more integrated. We can have them comb their old files for any murders that might fit this guy's general MO." "Not a bad idea," she agreed. "Glad you approve," he answered. "Because if I get a hit, I'll need someone to come with me." "Of course." She yawned and propped her feet up on his table, knowing it was time to go home but unwilling to move. Her shoes waited for her by the door. "Here, feel," he said suddenly, placing a hand on her belly. "It's doing it now." She froze under his touch, not even breathing. His palm print melted through her blouse onto her skin, and he began a slow sweep of his thumb, catching one of the delicate buttons on each rhythmic pass. "Feel that?" he murmured. Her mouth went dry. "I...yes." "Tingles," he said, as if she weren't already buzzing from head to toe. Heat curled up the back of her neck, making her ears burn. "Mulder..." "What?" The button popped free under his rubbing, and his thumb slid under the loose cloth. She felt every ridge of his fingertip as it teased the skin above her bellybutton. "I need to go." Another button broke free, and he began stroking her with all fingers, his golden skin half-hidden by the white edges of her blouse. Does it still count if you keep your clothes on? she wondered. "Stay," he coaxed, his breathing warm and heavy near her ear. She could feel his exhales on her neck. "I can't." She placed her hand over his but didn't still his movements. After another second, he stopped and tangled his fingers with hers. She turned her head to look at him, to make sure he wasn't taking her no as a rejection, and found him dark-eyed and hungry. His hair stood on end near the scar at his left temple, which combined with the heat and power of his rigid muscles as he held himself in check, made him look slightly dangerous. She had never seen him quite this way, and he sight both thrilled and terrified her. This was not Mulder, her friend. Not her partner, Mulder. This was a Mulder she didn't know yet. He squeezed her hand, where it rested with his on her stomach. "You should know by now, Scully, that I have possibly the world's worst timing." "No, it's not you. Mulder..." "What?" He had relaxed back into his familiar self, but her heart was still quivering inside her chest. "Things are different for me now," she murmured. "After Africa, after you being gone like that. It's like you said in your dream -- the world is turned upside down." He nodded slowly. "Except for me," he said with a smile. "I'm still here." She cupped his cheek and smiled back. "Exactly." "Scully, I hope you know," he said, ducking his head, "that's not going to change. I mean, no matter what." "I know." He nodded again, then used their joined hands to pull her with him as he stood. She refastened her blouse and gathered her things. At the door, he watched her slip on her shoes. "Those have one distinct advantage I don't think you've considered," he said as they lingered by the door. "Yeah?" she asked. "What's that?" "They make you the perfect height to do this." He leaned down and kissed her gently, just long enough for her to feel the soft pressure of his lips and his heat against her face. Before she could kiss him back, he was busy opening the door. "Night, Scully," he said, looking awfully pleased with himself. She stood dumb-struck another moment before collecting her swirling senses. She paused in front of him on her way out the door. "Good night, Mulder," she murmured, and pecked him on the corner of his cheeky grin. His eyes widened as she pulled away. "You're right," she agreed. "The perfect height." And she maintained her cheeky grin all the way to the car. XxXxX It was possibly the most risky thing he'd ever done, entering her home. His heart was beating so fast that the beats ran together, and he could feel the hot rush of blood in his face. In the closet, the smell of her perfume lingered on her clothes. His shoulder brushed the plastic of a dry- cleaning bag as he climbed inside the cramped space. With shaking fingers, he turned on the light. And gasped. Four rows of shoes, in perfect alignment. He got hard at just the sight of them. She is the perfect one, he thought, the one to show them all. Surely Russell, Grenier and Mulder would come back to find the man who killed a pretty FBI agent. He selected a black, open-toed sandal and rubbed it against his cheek. His mind made up, he began going through the rest of her things in an effort to know the best way to grab her. Not in her home. Never there. He expected her to scream and there was no way the neighbors wouldn't hear. He pulled down a box from the shelf and pawed through the papers inside. Some letters, cards. Wait. A picture. She was outside, wearing an FBI jacket and talking to... He couldn't believe it. Mulder. Shit. He trembled so much he nearly dropped the box. It was almost too good to be true. Planning, he thought, it would take more planning. He kept the picture but shoved the box back up on its shelf. On his way out, he stopped, hesitated; he took the sandals, too. XxXxX XxXxX Chapter Six XxXxX Mulder sat up straight, gasping and blinking in the darkness as the blanket slid from his legs to the floor. Purple ink blot images expanded and shrunk in his memory, and the sound of twigs snapping gave way to the soft burble of his fish tank. A dream. At last. It slipped like a shadow from consciousness even as he dug his fingers into the couch in an effort to hold on. There had been branches hitting him in the face...he was running...Irene was there, but he could never get close enough to see what she looked like...Scully. Still breathing hard, he lay back and let the couch cushions rise up around him. His phone prodded painfully at his hip, so he picked it up, hitting the first memory button. It was ringing her number by the time he held it to his ear. "Hello?" she mumbled a moment later, her voice thick with sleep. He raised his head enough to see his clock read five- oh-six. Oops. "Hey, Scully," he said, keeping his voice soft. "It's me." "Mulder, what's going on? Are you all right?" He heard the covers rustling on her end. "I'm fine," he assured her. "I just had a dream." "Oh," she replied, sounding confused. Then she said it again. "Oh! See, I told you they would come back." "Yeah, okay." He smiled into the receiver. "I guess you deserve an 'I told you so' every once in a while." "Usually I'm just too polite to say it," she answered, and he snorted. "Usually you're just not in a position to say it." He heard her shifting under the blankets again and imagined her curled up in bed with the phone pressed to her ear. "You're awfully cocky for someone who woke me up at five in the morning." "Scully, I'm all kinds of things at five in the morning." "Yes, and the continued success of our partnership depends on you refraining from phoning to share them." The emerging dawn cast gray light into living room, reflecting his possessions in long, thin shadows on the walls. Trees, he remembered, with white light shining through them. The cold, crawling feeling from his dream returned, and he realized that his main reason for calling was to hear her voice. To make sure she was okay. "Mulder?" she said, as he was listening to her breathe. "You didn't fall asleep on me, did you?" "I'm still here." When he didn't say anything further, she prodded him again. "You never told me about your dream." He sat up and swung his feet over onto the hard floor, rubbing his morning stubble with one hand. "I don't really remember it that well." Running, leaves crunching, trees and white light. He felt his neurons stretching with spindly arms, trying to recapture the important part of the fuzzy memory, but there was only empty space. "Well, give it time," she said gently. "Yeah," he answered, thinking that time was the one thing he didn't have. Two dead girls in the space of one week meant that the killer had not enjoyed his time off. Mulder touched the tender skin at his hairline. If there was a clue somewhere, short-circuited in his sparking brain... "...crazy, but I was reading last night that..." "What?" he interrupted. "About the anomalies we found in Beth Kinney's visual cortex," she said, with a touch of impatience. "I remembered I had actually seen similar patterns in *stained* cortex from a monkey study a few years ago, so I dug out those articles last night and reviewed them." "Back up to the part about you being crazy." There was a short silence on the other end. "Not me, Mulder. The..." She hesitated. "Theory." Despite his nagging worry, her words made him relax into a grin. "You mean *your* theory, Scully? You have a crazy theory to share with the class?" "You want to hear what I found or not?" She sounded annoyed now, so he decided not to push it. "By all means, lay it on me." She sighed. "I can't explain it, and it may not even be related, but results from animal studies have found radio- labeled neurons in the visual cortex that correspond to recent patterns of visual activity." "Animals with radio-active brains? What?" "It's a way to see what cells were active during a set period of time," she explained. "Cells use glucose when they're active, so if you give a monkey radio-labeled glucose, the cells that are active during that period of glucose administration will light up later." "Okay, I get it. So in visual cortex, you would see which cells were activated by the monkey looking at things." "Exactly. And studies have shown that the images the animal sees can actually be reflected on the brain, kind of like a fun house mirror. In any case, the staining patterns in these experiments are similar to the discolored neurons in Elizabeth Kinney's brain." She paused. "Only without the radio-active label." As what she was saying sunk in, Mulder got up and began to pace the room. "Scully, you're telling me that we might have a picture of what Beth Kinney was looking at right before she died?" "Well, I wouldn't go that far; we still don't know what caused the discoloration of her neurons. Plus, even if there were a discernable pattern, there's no guarantee that we could accurately reconstruct it." "Can we try?" "It's a long shot, Mulder. And it's just a theory, remember?" He smiled. "But crazy enough that it might just work." XxXxX Scully stepped into her closet, scrunching her toes on the cold wood floor as she considered her choices. The overhead bulb illuminated her army of black suits. She selected one that was still encased in plastic from the dry-cleaners, pressed and neat, and combined it with a pale blue shell and her new black leather ankle boots. It seemed the more ridiculous her life was, the more serious her clothes became. And it was definitely a three-inch-plus kind of day. The kind of shoes that gave a person the necessary authority to ask the tech boys to find out what a dead girl had seen before she died. She hung her robe on a hook but stopped short in her turn to exit. Her box of keepsakes hung over the edge of the top shelf, its lid displaced. Frowning, she pulled it down and rifled through the contents, unable to recall opening it recently. Everything was in order, so she replaced the lid and slid it back into its proper place. With a last, puzzled shake of her head, she smoothed the coat sleeve of the nearest suit and closed the door behind her. XxXxX Okay, he had made some mistakes. He could admit that. The park was too public a place to dump the body, and Lord knew he was still deep in shit over that little slip-up. But not for long; he had a new plan all in order now. He dug out his folder, the one with all the old newspapers in it, and went over the old kills one more time. SHOE KILLER HITS AGAIN! CAPITAL CRIMES: 8 DC MURDERS STILL UNSOLVED FBI PROILER TO JOIN MANHUNT Mulder, he thought as he studied the haggard man in the photo, knowing now that he must have gotten the message. He grinned. "Time to come out and play." By evening, she would be dead. And it would be Mulder's move. XxXxX Mulder returned to the basement, on his second cup of coffee before seven a.m. to find Grenier standing next to his desk. Mulder watched silently from the door for a minute as the other man lifted several of sheets of paper with one fingertip and peered at the contents underneath. "My shopping list," Mulder said eventually, and Grenier dropped his hand. "Oh, you're here." Mulder sipped his coffee. "Yeah, but I could go back out again if you weren't finished snooping." Grenier's jaw tightened and he stepped away from the desk. "You're working for me now, Mulder. It's not spying to wonder what my agents are doing with their time." "Golf, mainly," Mulder replied. "But I'm managing to work the case between holes." Grenier met his humor with stony silence, and Mulder moved to collect the papers on the desk. "You want to know what I'm thinking, Grenier, why don't you just ask me?" "You still don't take any notes," Grenier answered, frowning. Russell knocked on the open door even as she entered the room. "It would be a waste of paper, Adam." She glanced at Mulder. "How's it going? I heard Scully couldn't pull anything useful from the girl in the park." "No, the guy was wearing a mask. I talked to Scully last night, and we're going to pursue a slightly different angle." Off Russell's inquiring look, he said, "I've put out a notice to local departments across the country detailing the basic MO and asking if they've seen anything similar in their old files, particularly files from about 15 years ago. If we can find where this guy got started, we might be able to find out who he is." Grenier shook his head. "Jesus, Mulder, that could take weeks to get a hit." "Or days," Mulder pointed out. "It depends on how quickly people check their records. All I need is one crusty old detective to look at the sheet and say, 'I remember this.'" "It's a long shot at best," Grenier answered. "I say we push the mask angle. There can't possibly be that many places that sell Nixon these days." Russell nodded. "It's focused, it's on target. I like it." "I do, too," Mulder agreed. "I think you should stick with it." "But you're still going after cold cases," Grenier said. "Of course." Mulder smiled. "You've got the whole BSU at your disposal," he said. "You couldn't possibly need one brain-damaged agent, especially if he doesn't take notes." "Suit yourself," Grenier answered with a glare. "I'll be upstairs dealing with the mayor for the next hour, if anyone needs me." Mulder shook his head as the other man left. "Just like old times," he said to Russell. Her mouth twitched in a smile. "Not exactly, no. Adam's been gone a whole," she checked her watch, "thirty-three seconds, and we haven't laid a hand on each other." Mulder sank into his chair and scrubbed his tired eyes. "The last hand I remember is his, connecting with my jaw. Not that I blame him, after what happened." "You think that was about the sex?" she asked, tilting her head at him. "Oh, Mulder, for someone who has such great insight into the criminal mind..." "What?" She sighed. "I *wish* he'd been angry about the sex. Then we might have had some hope of rebuilding our marriage. But Adam was always about work; he saw nothing else, not even me. Not until the end, anyway, when I finally got his attention by screwing the FBI's Golden Boy right in the task force headquarters." Mulder looked away, and she moved to stand next to his chair. "I'm sorry," she said. "That came out wrong." "No, I don't think it did." Russell was quiet for a long moment. "If Adam couldn't see me, it was mainly because he was angry that Patterson couldn't see him. He studied hard, he took all the notes he could, but he could never make the pieces fit the way you can. None of us could." Mulder threw a pencil at the ceiling. "So the entire BSU was happy to see the door slam on my way out, is that what you're saying?" "Let's just say it was kind of like playing on the Bulls with Michael Jordan." He grimaced. "Sorry about that." "I'm not," she replied with a small smile. "I can say I got to play with the best." "Thanks," he said. "Me, too." After another moment, he cleared this throat. "I guess things must be okay if you can still work with him. I mean, considering..." "We took a break. I worked Violent Crimes for a year. Plus, we're both seeing other people right now, which helps." She ducked her head, trying to meet his eyes. "What about you? You seeing anyone these days?" "Uh, not...not like that, no." "Uh-huh." She held out her hand. "Let me see your phone." "Why?" "Just let me see it." He fished it out of his pocket and handed it over to her. "They were bulkier back then," she mused as she flipped it open. "But I seem to remember a period of several months when I was number one." Mulder's mouth went dry when he saw her hit the first memory button. "Amelia, no..." "It's ringing," she said, ignoring him. He grabbed for the phone, but she turned away. A second later, he could hear Scully's voice on the other end, "Mulder, I was just about to call you. My car won't start so I'm going to be a little late." He swiped at Russell again and missed. "Agent Scully, it's Amelia Russell. I'm sorry to hear about your car trouble. Can we send someone to pick you up?" He missed Scully's response because he was too far away. "Give me that," he mouthed. "No, everything's fine. I think Mulder's new angle on the case sounds promising. Yeah...okay, here he is." His hand closed over the phone before she could say good-bye. "Scully, what's happening? What's wrong with your car?" "I don't know. This morning I got in and the engine wouldn't turn over. I'm just going to catch a cab. See you in half an hour or so, okay?" "Okay, Scully." He clicked off to find Russell eyeing him with a triumphant grin on her face. Despite himself, he smiled back. "You think you're so clever." "So how long has she been number one?" Mulder looked at the floor, feeling something break open inside him at the prospect of admitting the truth. Amelia waited, and at last he met her eyes. "Since the beginning," he said simply. XxXxX XxXxX Chapter Seven XxXxX The Bureau was large, and Scully had learned not to waste the endless hours she spent walking from one end of the building to another. Phone tucked under her jaw, she flipped through the latest task-force updates with one hand as she clutched her lunch bag with the other. "Okay, then, how soon can you tell me what's wrong with it?" Her voice echoed in the basement stairway. "Fine. Yes, I'll be at this number all afternoon." She hung up as she reached the familiar, murky hallway, where Mulder's office was the only source of light. As she paused to shift her belongings and put away the phone, she heard laughter coming from inside, wafting into the hall along with the spicy scent of pizza. She walked towards the door but stopped short when she heard Mulder and Russell talking. "Remember Paul Peterson?" Mulder was saying. "'Pants' Peterson?" Russell answered. "Of course I know him. I was there the night he got caught on the fence, remember?. Believe me, you don't forget a hairy ass like that one any time soon." "He made SAC last week. Organized Crime." "No way!" "Way," Mulder countered. "And you know what this means, of course?" "Proof that my mom was right," she said with a sigh. "Life really isn't fair." "No, just think of it -- all those brown nosers in OC will now have to pucker up and kiss..." Russell laughed, and the sound caused a sharp twinge in Scully that took her by surprise. She blinked as she drew back from the door. It wasn't as though she thought Mulder had sprung into existence the day she had walked into his office. Of course not. But until that moment, she hadn't considered the fact that there were parts of him she would never know, parts that lived only in memories that she didn't have. She took a deep breath and relaxed the death grip she had on the paper bag containing her lunch. Squaring her shoulders, she entered the office. "Hey," she said, and Mulder sat up in his chair. "Scully, I was just about to call you. Where have you been? Everything okay with your car?" "The tow truck was an hour late, and then I decided to go straight to the lab with the images, since that reconstruction we talked about is going to take some time to complete." "Reconstruction?" Russell asked. "What's that about?" Mulder glanced at Scully and pushed to his feet. "Oh, probably nothing," he said vaguely, and Scully felt the air in the room shift as he moved to stand at her side. Russell, she realized, was welcome in the basement as an old friend. Not as a partner. Russell apparently sensed this, too, because she put aside her paper plate and stood to leave. "I should go check in with Adam," she said. "You going to keep working on the list?" "Paroled felons 'R us," he replied. "Scully and I will take the rest of June." "Great," Russell said as she collected her jacket. "I'll talk to you both later, then." She left the room, and Mulder nudged the pizza box in Scully's direction. "I saved you a piece." She eyed the greasy box top and shook her head. "I've got a sandwich, thanks." She grabbed Russell's empty chair and drew it up next to the desk. "What have you been up to this morning?" "Phoning parole officers about recently released violent offenders to make sure everyone's been checking in on time." He sat on the edge of the desk next to her. As she went to take the first bite of her sandwich, he grinned and held out a long list of printed names. "Saved you some of those, too." XxXxX He got into her apartment the same way he had the night before -- right through the front door. His shoes were special, of course, and he had learned long ago not to make any noise when he walked. They never knew he was coming until he clapped his hand over their mouths. Hard, so they couldn't bite. Thick leather gloves, in case they tried to anyway. It took him some searching to find her phone. He dug it out from under the unmade bedcovers, wondering who she could have been talking to, curled up under the sheets. Out of curiosity, he punched the first memory key as he wandered over to her closet. Just to see. "This is Fox Mulder. Leave a message at the beep." "Shit!" he said, and the phone clattered onto the floor. He stared at it as his heart began to pound. Number one on her home phone. This was going to be better than he ever expected. He picked up the phone and took it back over to the bed. Sitting down, he fingered her silky pajamas as he hit the memory key again. Do you fuck her? he thought as the message played once more. Does she put those pretty heels in the air for you? He broke the connection before the beep, then promptly redialed. Mulder asked him to leave a message as he groped around under the bed for her shoes. Yesterday's pair, discarded with one pump turned over on its side, sat in the shadows near the foot of the bed. He pulled them onto his lap and stroked the smooth, worn leather. "This is Fox Mulder. Leave a message at the beep." He grinned and stuck his fingers inside one shoe, feeling the individual hills and valleys created by her tiny toes. He clicked off the phone. "I've got a message for you, Fox Mulder," he whispered. "Just wait and see." Her phone was easy enough to split open; he added the necessary bits in less than five minutes. On his way out, he paused at the closet door. It was cracked about six inches, revealing the rows of glorious shoes inside. Swallowing hard, he managed to tear himself away. That was for later. First, he had to catch a cab. XxXxX There was a light rain falling, more of a mist than anything else, and Vee watched the ends of her mother's hair curl as they stood outside of Union Station. She stood still and unsmiling while her mother straightened her jacket collar and wiped a smudge off her chin with her thumb, just as though Vee were heading off to her first day of kindergarten. "You know I would go with you if I could," the older woman said. Vee turned her head away. "I know." "It's just that I lost so much time last spring when Daddy died." "It's fine, Mom." Vee cut her off impatiently, and her mother halted her fussing, her hands wilting in the air between them. "You should go," Vee told her. "You're going to be late for the hospital." "I can at least walk you to the train. Remember your Aunt Bridget will meet you in Baltimore -- right at the station, so be looking for her, okay?" "You told me a million times." Vee scuffed one of her boots on the ground, her eyes already on the doors of Union Station. "Let's go then." Her mother sighed. Inside, they fought the press of hundreds of weary travelers. Vee swiftly threaded her way through the men in suits and careening children, forcing her mother to work to keep up with her. Her ticket bought, Vee found the gate where her train waited for departure, but the security man wouldn't let her mother pass. "Not without a ticket," he said. "Sorry." "Fine," her mother answered flatly. "Wait here." "Mom, this really isn't necessary..." "I am watching you get on that train, Virginia," her mother answered. "Now wait here." A few minutes later, her mother returned with the cheapest one-way fare possible, and they entered the gate together. Vee would have boarded without looking back, but her mother caught the end of her jacket. "Ginny..." Vee turned. "What?" "Be careful. Please." She reached out and engulfed Vee in a hug. "I know this isn't you," she whispered fiercely. "I know you're not happy. And when you come back, I promise we're going to find a way to fix it." Vee looked up at the ceiling in an effort to hold back the sudden tears. This is me, Mom, she thought. Everything you ever said not to do, I've done. She reached around her mother with the arm not holding her suitcase and patted her awkwardly. "I've got to go now, Mom." With a sniff, her mother nodded and released her. "Call me when you get there." Vee entered the train and slumped down in the nearest seat, clutching her small suitcase on her lap. Outside, her mother was the only one standing still amid the crush of passengers hurrying to board at the last minute. Her mother waved, and Vee looked away. When she turned back to the window moment later, her mother had gone. Nothing matters anymore, Vee thought. Her head spun, her heart raced -- her body was so light she felt she might disappear. "Is this seat taken?" asked a woman with large glasses and a frumpy skirt. "No," Vee replied, feeling herself move without even willing it. "Here, you can have the window." She pushed her way off the train into diesel-scented air. A conductor touched her arm. "The train leaves in two minutes, miss." Vee ignored him and began walking back to the main part of the station. As she past a round, silver garbage can, she tucked her ticket into it. XxXxX Mulder had the phone in one hand and a ball of therapeutic clay in the other. "Not for three weeks?" he said as he practiced squeezing. "Okay, what's your last known address for McGreggor?" He set aside the clay and jotted down the information relayed to him. "Got it, thanks." "A hot prospect?" Scully asked from where she was manning her phone across the room. "Not any hotter than the other two dozen names we already have," he answered. He tossed his clay in the air and caught it neatly. "You're getting better," Scully observed. "The Yanks will be calling any day. Keep your eye out for scouts lurking in the halls, Scully." "They're liable to get swallowed by all the boxes," she replied. "I wouldn't quit your day job just yet." He gestured expansively at the chaos surrounding him. "Leave all this glamour for millions of dollars and legions adoring fans? I wouldn't dream of it." Scully didn't get a chance to answer because there was a knock at the door. "Come in," Mulder called, and an older man entered the room with a tired felt hat in his hands. He glanced at Scully before settling his gaze on Mulder. "Agent Mulder, my name is Elliot Gellar. Do you remember me?" Mulder sat up slowly, all traces of humor evaporating from his features. "Of course I do." He rose and moved around the front of the desk. "You're Jessica's father." "That's right. We spoke many years ago, at...at the funeral." He looked down at the hat in his hands. Scully got up from her chair and approached the man. "Mr. Gellar, I'm Dana Scully, Agent Mulder's partner. Would you like to sit down? I can take your coat." "No, no. Thank you, dear, but I can't stay." "What can we do for you, Mr. Gellar?" Mulder asked. His chin came up. "I won't keep you, I promise. I just saw the papers and I had to know...is it him?" Mulder glanced at Scully, who turned her gaze to the floor. "Yes, I believe it's him," he said softly. Gellar swallowed convulsively and clenched his hat. "All these years, I thought he was dead. I tortured myself with it, every waking hour of every day. What if he'd died just a little sooner? Jessie might still be alive." "Sir, are you sure you wouldn't like to sit down?" Scully's voice was gentle. He shook his head. "I've been doing some reading, you know," he said to Mulder. "On the kind of work you do, and the kind of animals you chase. I don't know how you manage it, day after day." I couldn't manage it, Mulder thought, but he said nothing. "My wife thinks *I'm* the monster for wanting to know all the details," he continued. "But I have to know. I keep waiting for the one thing that will explain it all, the thing that will tell me why Jessie had to die. Last year, I saw an interview with a serial killer on television. He was talking about his victims. 'She was dead the moment I saw her,' he said, and that's when I knew." "Knew what, Mr. Gellar?" Scully asked when he didn't say anything further. He drew a shuddering breath. "There was nothing I could have done. Nothing Jessie could have done. It was over the minute he saw her. Maybe..." He broke off, hesitating. "Maybe that goes for you all, too. There was nothing more you could have done." "We have some new avenues to explore this time," Mulder said. "We're doing everything we can." Gellar nodded. "I know. That's part of why I wanted to come here, to tell you that I understood how hard you tried." He cleared his throat. "I should be getting home now. Good luck with the search, and please -- let me know if you learn anything, will you?" "You have my word," Mulder answered. Scully walked the older man to the door, and he shook her hand politely before leaving. "Whew," she said when he had gone. "That was intense." "Yeah." Mulder lowered himself into the nearest chair, rubbing his face with his hands. "Jesus." "You okay?" Scully asked after a moment. "Yes," he said. "No." She walked over and leaned against the desk next to him. "What is it?" "It's exactly what he said, Scully. That's been the most terrible thing about this, the thing I hardly can even bring myself to think about." She waited, and he sighed. "Gellar wonders what if this guy had died before he could kill his daughter. But now he knows that wasn't a possibility." "Yes," Scully agreed. "And?" Mulder traced the edge of the desk with one finger until he bumped into her hip. He did not meet her eyes. "I was the best, Scully. I know you're not supposed to say things like that, but it's true. I was supposed to catch this animal, and I gave up. I thought he was dead, too." At last, he raised his head enough to look at her. "Maybe another day, another week..." "You can't think like that," Scully broke in. "You don't know that anything else you could have done would have led to this man's capture." "That's just it," he replied. "I'll never know." XxXxX The rain had soaked Vee through to her skin, and her hair was plastered against her neck by the time she reached Jimmy's apartment. She fumbled the key with numb, wet fingers, but finally managed to open the door. Her damp suitcase wobbled before toppling over in the entryway. "Fuck it," she muttered, and kicked it for good measure. She shut the door behind her. "Hello?" she said to the empty living room. Silence. Either Jimmy wasn't home, his stereo was broken, or he was sleeping one off in the bedroom. Vee helped herself to a Coke from the fridge and wandered down the hall to his room. "Jimmy?" she called. "Are you in there? I jumped the train, and..." She pushed the door open and froze. Jimmy was on the floor, unconscious, and standing over him, with that smiling rubber mask, was Richard Nixon. He lunged at her. Vee screamed and grabbed the first thing she could get her hands on, the oak bookcase to her right. She pulled it over, saw the hundreds of CDs, books and tapes crash down on Nixon, then ran like hell before he could get up. Getoutsidegetoutsidegetoutside. Her legs threatened to buckle under her as she pounded down the staircase toward the front door. Behind her, she could hear Nixon's footsteps gaining ground. "Please God, please God," she muttered, her hand trembling over the banister. His knife clattered against the metal rail. Sobbing, she threw herself out the front door, stumbling into the rain. Her heart slammed painfully against her chest, her lungs on fire, but she did not stop running. At the corner, traffic came to a squealing halt as she zigzagged across the dark street. She did not look back. XxXxX Scully hung up the phone and leaned her head in one hand. "I need some coffee," she said. "You want anything?" Mulder shook his head, not even looking up from his computer screen. She stood up and stretched as the phone rang. When Mulder made no move to answer it, she said, "I guess I'll get that." A moment later, she stretched out the receiver towards him. "It's for you. Sheriff Lydell from Bakersfield, Ohio." Mulder grabbed the phone. "What can I do for you, Sheriff? Yes, I sent that teletype." Scully went to leave, but he stopped her by waving his hand. She turned and waited. "Really," Mulder said. "And this was in nineteen eighty- five? What about the second one? I see." Scully felt her pulse pick up as Mulder stood and began gathering his things. "What is it?" she said, but Mulder was still listening to the man on the other end of the phone. "Get me everything you have on both murders," he said. "We'll be there as soon as we can." He hung up the phone and picked up his jacket. "What?" she asked. "You got a hit?" "Could be," he replied. "Bakersfield has two unsolved murders from late nineteen eighty-five and early nineteen eighty-six. Both victims were young women. Both had mutilations on the feet. If we're lucky, we can get a flight out of here tonight." Scully was already collecting her belongings. "Any suspects?" she asked as they closed up the office. "Not yet." He paused. "But this is him, Scully. I can feel it. These are the bodies he thought we'd never find, and they're the ones we're going to use to nail him." XxXxX Carl parked in a darkened alley, out of view of the street, and tried to calm himself down. So far all he had to show for the day was another dead body, and this one had worn the most despicable kind of sneakers -- cheap and dirty. He adjusted his headset, making sure he could hear over the rain drumming against the roof of his car. His cab. At least he had that. He'd driven past her apartment building fifteen minutes earlier and seen the light in her bedroom window. Was she going out tonight? Or would he do better to catch her in the morning, on her way to work? His headset clicked on, and he heard ringing. A moment later, a woman's voice said, "Yellow Cab. What number are you calling from?" He sat up as he heard Scully give her number. "I need to go to Dulles," she said. "How soon can you get here?" Carl was already starting his engine. It was dark, raining. She wouldn't even realize he had the wrong name emblazoned on his car. "We'll have someone there in fifteen minutes, ma'am," said the woman. Carl planned to be there in ten. XxXxX XxXxX Chapter Eight XxXxX The rain poured over his cab in sheets, but Carl sat warm inside with the engine idling. Her apartment was just around the corner. He had pulled over to wait out his ten minutes, and to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. Rope -- check. Knife -- check. Childproof locks engaged -- check. Dana Scully was getting in, but she wasn't getting back out again. He hummed tunelessly and drew a happy face in the condensation on his window. Outside, a car rushed past him, and he saw it pause at the corner, its red turn signal winking at him through the rain-blurred windshield. He leaned over the steering wheel to catch the license plate illuminated in his high-beams. Government issue. "Shit," he muttered, just as her phone rang. His headset clicked on when she answered. "Hello?" "Scully, it's me. I'm outside." Carl sat up in his seat. "Shit, shit, shit!" he said, his voice growing louder with each exclamation. He pounded the wheel with his fist. "Mulder, what are you doing? You're not supposed to be driving." "Don't worry, I used my left foot." "Mulder..." "Kidding," he said. "I'm feeling fine, really. And I could drive this route blind-folded. Think of this way -- I just saved you sixty bucks in cab fare." "GOD DAMMIT!" Carl roared. He shook the wheel hard enough to jostle the cab in place. Grinding his teeth together, he gunned the engine. The car fish-tailed around the corner and accelerated up the street toward Mulder. "I'm driving to the airport," Scully was saying. Carl barely heard her over the pounding in his ears. He clenched the wheel until his knuckles locked. "Fine, I'll--" The crunch of metal on metal cut off Mulder's response as Carl dragged his cab alongside Mulder's sedan. "Jesus!" Mulder said, but Carl didn't slow down. Still accelerating, he sped off into the rain without looking back. XxXxX "You're sure you're okay?" Scully glanced at Mulder as she adjusted the rearview mirror. Hunched and scowling, with his wet hair stuck in clumps to his head, he looked like a wounded sea monster come in from the cold. "Maybe we should stop by the hospital and catch a later flight." "It's just a dent," he said. "What?" she said, alarmed. She reached for his injured arm. "The car, the car," he said impatiently, pulling away from her. "I'm fine." Her brow furrowed as she debated whether to override his insistence, but eventually she drew back and settled into the driver's seat. "We'll be lucky to make it at this point, anyway," she said as the engine turned over. "Well, you're a hell of a lot better off with me than in that cab," he muttered. "That guy didn't even slow down when he hit me." "You said that cab was white, Mulder. I called Yellow Cab. So you can rest easy...my life was never in jeopardy." He didn't answer, instead turning his head to look out into the black, rain-streaked night. The sidewalks were deserted, but he felt the seconds ticking down until the next murder. He was willing to bet the killer had already selected his next victim, perhaps was actively stalking her. *I'm going to get you where you live* he willed to the empty, shadowed streets. *By tomorrow night, you'll have a name, you sonofabitch.* XxXxX Carl skidded around a corner, still driving at speeds to match his racing heart, leaving arcing splashes of water in his wake. "Think," he ordered himself, clutching the wheel. "She said the airport. That means they're going somewhere. Where? Where?" Fuck, it was too late to follow and find out. Maybe he could call and ask what flight they were taking. "All wrong, all wrong," he muttered, shaking his head. "Why the hell are they going to the airport?" *Ohio* said a little voice inside him. Carl screeched the cab to a halt in the middle of the road. "No," he whispered. Car horns blared behind him as drivers flashed their beams into his car. He squinted and pushed the mirror away with an angry shove. "Fine!" he yelled. "What the fuck do you know, anyway?" It can't be Ohio, it can't be Ohio. He drove without seeing anything, taking mindless turns, until up ahead... ...a woman. Waving to him from under her umbrella. Pretty legs sticking out from beneath her raincoat, all wet and cold in those sheer stockings. And the shoes -- tiny pinpoint heels and a gold buckle at the front. Carl licked his lips. The rope was still there. The knife. Yes. I'll teach you to leave town, he thought as he brought the car to a stop at the curb. He punched the locks on the doors, and the woman climbed inside. "Thank you so much," she said with relief. "I thought I'd never get out of that rain. This has been the absolute day from hell." Carl smiled. "Sit back and relax," he said as he clicked the locks into place. "Let me make it all better." XxXxX Mulder awoke with a jerk, as though someone had shaken him, but he was alone in the center aisle of the plane, sprawled across four seats. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. The vibrating whine of the plane's engine hummed around him, but in his head, he still heard the echoes of screams and twigs snapping. It was the dream again, with running and Nixon's face in the shadows. Only this time he recognized the person who was screaming. Him. He twitched under the too-small blanket, which slid to the floor, and he retrieved it with a touch of surprise; someone had covered him up. Still horizontal, he tilted his head all the way back until she came into view across the aisle -- upside down and frowning as she massaged her right foot. "Hey," he said, and she paused to glance at him. "Hey, yourself. You timing is improving, Mulder -- the flight is just about over." He checked his watch and stretched. "Tell me you saved my bag of peanuts, Scully. I'm starving." A moment later the foil packet landed squarely on his chest. "What a partner," he said as he sat up and tore it open. It ripped in half, launching peanuts all over his lap and the surrounding seats. "Well done," Scully observed. "I don't know my own strength," he replied as he popped the several of the stray nuts in his mouth. "This physical therapy thing really works." "Good to know," she answered, still rubbing her foot. "Maybe I'll be like the Bionic Man, rebuilt to be better than before." She stopped massaging to look at him. "Promise me you will only use your powers for good." "I'll start right now," he said, downing the last of the peanuts. He stood up and moved to take the aisle seat next to her. "Cramp?" he asked, nodding at her foot. "Yeah, but it's a little better now." "Let me see." He tugged her slightly off balance, placing her stocking-clad foot in his lap. "Mulder, what..." "Here?" "Ow, yes!" Her foot jerked, but he held her still. "Just a second," he promised, kneading the spot below the cramp. He knew he had the right place when she relaxed and leaned her head back against side of the plane. "I've been thinking about the Nixon mask," he said after a moment. "What?" "Why he wears a mask," Mulder clarified, using his thumb to press against her instep. "It's not something I would have expected. This guy is proud of his killings. He leaves them out for everyone to see. Killers who wear masks -- particularly masks depicting another person -- are generally uncomfortable with their crimes, at least at some level." "Maybe deep down he is uncomfortable with them," she answered. "Maybe." He squeezed her foot. "When we catch him, we can ask." "Mmmm." She had closed her eyes, and he smiled as he slid his palm over the top of her foot and down the other side, comparing their size. Sometimes he forgot how very little space she did take up in the world. "You know the average person walks enough in his or her life to go around the earth three times?" He stroked the arch of her foot with one finger. "No wonder it hurts." She flexed her foot once, her eyes still closed. "I feel like I've clocked that much just today." "One day would be more like nine thousand steps," he corrected absently. He was busy tracing the bumpy slope of her toes. "I wonder if there could be a Jungian aspect to the shoe fetish," he said a minute later. "Mulder, if there's anything in our collective unconscious about shoes, it's probably because Nordstrom's spends so much on advertising." He smiled. "But there's evidence that our ancestors wore shoes as far back as ten thousand years B.C. -- that's about 250,000 generations of half-off sales." She opened her eyes and regarded him with interest. "For someone who owns a grand total of three pairs of shoes, Mulder, you seem to know a lot about the subject." "I read," he said with a shrug. "It sticks." He gave her a sideways glance. "I guess this means my brain still works okay." "Mulder." Her voice was soft and full of affection. "You have the best brain I know." He ducked his head, surprised at the flush of pleasure he got from her words. "Really?" "Really." She wiggled her toes in his lap and smiled. "And your hands aren't bad, either." He knew a hint when he heard one, and resumed his task two- handed, rolling his thumbs over the soft flesh covering the ball of her foot. "How's that?" "Not...bad," she said with a sigh, relaxing against the plane once more. Her eyes closed. "I do love you," she said, and his hands froze. Only his heart continued moving. His sudden stillness caused Scully to open her eyes again, and he turned his head to look at her. She was calm and certain, and, he realized, so was he. He gave her a slow smile. "I know," he said, and she arched an eyebrow. "Yes?" she said. "Yes." He leaned over her out-stretched leg. "I just didn't think you would actually say it out loud unless the plane was crashing." "Very funny." She nudged him playfully with her foot. "Actually, Mulder..." He felt her toes creep up his inseam. Again, he stopped breathing. "If this plane *were* falling from the sky, I'm not sure I would waste my time talking." "Uh, no?" he managed. She was kneading the inside of his thigh, warming the skin there with her slow caress. "No." At her ankle, her pulse fluttered under his fingertips, and he began unconsciously mimicking her rhythm by sliding his palm along the underside of her leg. She arched her back and squirmed, sending pulses of pressure down his thigh. "What...what would you do, Scully?" Her fingers trailed over her throat as she considered the question. "Mmm, I could show you," she allowed, "except..." His insides lurched. "Except!" "Except the captain has turned on the seatbelt sign." She leaned across her legs to stroke his cheek. "Time to get upright and securely fastened, Mulder." Before he could react to her touch, she was gone -- feet back on the floor, seat belt around her waist. "Upright, fastened," he muttered as he fumbled with his belt. "Need some help?" Her tone was so innocent. "You have done quite enough, thank you." To his credit, he tried to sound upset. Her laughter said she wasn't fooled. The plane began its measured descent, and Mulder felt like an astronaut returning from the moon -- a strange and beautiful place he'd seen every day but had never been allowed to visit. Her hand slipped through his, soft and strong and unfamiliar, and Mulder sat back and let the universe spin around him. XxXxX XxXxX Chapter Nine XxXxX There was a light snow falling by the time they reached the town of Bakersfield, Ohio -- population six thousand. "And two," Mulder added as they crossed the border. Scully squinted out the window as she drove, taking in the sparse number of buildings on the main drag. "Hopefully we won't be here long enough to count." "What's the matter, Scully? You have something against small-town charm?" "I like charm just fine," she answered as she pulled into the driveway of the Bakersfield Inn. The engine cut out. "But let's face it, Mulder -- we're not going to catch this guy here. Even if these murders were committed by the same man we're searching for, he's long gone from this place." "Ah, but the clues remain." They retrieved their overnight bags from the car and headed for the entrance to the Inn. He held the door open for her, and they both stamped snowflakes from their shoes on the mat inside. "Welcome," said a round-faced woman behind the front desk. She put aside an Agatha Christie novel to greet them. "You all must be the FBI, right?" "Right as rain," Mulder agreed. He brushed off his overcoat. "Or snow, in this case." "First of the season," the woman said. "You're lucky you made it in before it hit." She took out her ledger and consulted. "Let's see...I can give you separate rooms on floors one and two, or else I've got two rooms together on the second floor that share a common bathroom. Which do you prefer?" Mulder glanced at Scully, who said, "The joined ones are fine." She returned his look. "I'll just make sure to lock the bathroom door." "Okay, if you'll just sign here," the woman said. "Oh, wait, and I forgot. Pete Lydell dropped this off for you earlier." She handed then a thick manila envelope. "Great, thanks," Mulder said. "Is there anyplace to grab something to eat around here?" "No, sir, I'm afraid everything is locked up tight as a drum." She thought for a moment. "Let me see if I can have Patsy rustle you up something from our kitchen. It won't be much, but it'll take the edge off." "That would be wonderful, thank you," Scully said. His bag slung over his shoulder, Mulder had the file open before they reached the stairs. "Lydell says he'll meet us in his office tomorrow at eight-thirty," he reported as they climbed. "And these seem to be copies of the reports on two murders he told me about over the phone." Scully paused outside her door. "Anything new?" "Susan Perry's body was found here in Bakersfield," he reported, scanning as he flipped through the pages. "Dee-Ann Tucker was found in Kirby, where she apparently lived." He glanced at her. "I wonder how far away that is from here." "About ten miles back on Route 80," Scully answered. "We passed signs on the way into town." "Huh," Mulder said, eyeing the folders again. "I would have expected them to be closer together." Scully smothered a yawn in the sleeve of her wool coat. "You can give me the rest of the highlights in a few minutes. I've got dibs on the shower." He nodded absently and let himself into the room. Tossing his bag in a chair, he stretched out on the bed and turned on the nearby lamp. As he held up the top folder, a series of photographs slid out onto his stomach. The first one was a color portrait, air-brushed and matted, showing a young woman with a wide smile and mischievous hazel eyes. Her pink blouse was open at the collar, and he could just make out a delicate necklace that spelled out "Susan" gold script. A senior year portrait, he guessed, taken only a few months before she died. Just eighteen years old. Reluctantly, he traded the bright and happy picture for those that followed -- black and white crime scene photos showing her bruised neck, scattered clothes, and mutilated toes. When he held it up next to the light, he detected tooth marks on the side of her left foot. Her little toe had been chopped off. The photos from the second murder looked much the same. Dee- Ann Tucker died on or about February 3, 1982, having been reported missing by her mother the previous day. The search team found her body propped under a tree in the local schoolyard -- raped, strangled and missing both little toes. He had read both files front to back by the time Scully entered from the bathroom a half hour later. Her hair was wet. He gave an appreciative glance at the curved, bare legs that stuck out from under her robe, and an even more appreciative glance at the sandwich plate she held in her hand. "Courtesy of Patsy downstairs," she said, joining him on the bed. "Thank God," he said as he sat up. "Man does not live by peanuts alone." She tucked her legs under her and took one of the sandwiches from the plate. "Anything else of interest in the files?" she asked. "Looks like the same guy from DC," Mulder answered with his mouth full. "Both of the murdered girls had toes missing." "Did they have any suspects back at the time of the original investigations?" "Nothing that panned out. The local boys chalked it up to a drifter who had moved on to another town." Scully looked thoughtful. "Could be possible, I suppose." "No, our killer is a nice, corn-fed Midwestern boy, all right." he replied. "From a small town where everyone knows everyone. All we have to do is find out who knew this animal twelve years ago." "Great," she said with a sigh. "There are only six thousand people. Should take us no time at all." He shook his head. "There are two people who knew him for sure," he said, tapping the folders next to him. "We can start there." XxXxX Scully fell asleep halfway through "M*A*S*H," curled in her fuzzy robe with the blue light flickering over her face. He muted the television and watched her for a few minutes, letting the gentle rhythm of her breathing wash over him like waves. At last he rolled out of bed and padded on bare feet to the closet, where he found a worn cotton blanket. He took it back to the bed and sat by her hip as he tucked it around her, stretching across and caging her body with his own. She opened her eyes, and he froze in place above her. "Mulder?" "It's okay," he murmured, reaching up to stroke the curve of her face with his finger. "Go back to sleep. I'll take your room tonight." She blinked at him a moment longer, then stretched, arching under the blanket and brushing his belly with her own. He sucked in his breath as she released a sleepy sigh. He swallowed with difficulty and leaned down to kiss her temple. "Night, Scully," he whispered. As he moved to pull away, she stopped him with two hands on his chest. His face hovered inches from hers. "No, wait," she said. Breathless, he waited. "What?" "I think..." She shifted under him, her hands sliding up so her fingers splayed across his cheek. "I think the bed..." Her face tilted up to his. "...is crashing." Her hands fell away as their lips met, brushing first at one angle, then the other. They connected only with their kiss. Mulder quivered just above her, his fingers digging into the bed sheets. He tasted her mouth and smelled her skin and felt her twisting with need beneath him, her breath hot against his face. She whimpered, and he was lost, crawling over her even as she urged him into bed with eager, stroking hands. The blanket slipped to the floor. He panted in between frantic kisses on her lips, her ears, her eyes. The ends of her hair were still damp, and he took the curled tips in his mouth, sucking off the last sweet drops. He wanted to taste her everywhere. His cock poked around inside his sweat pants, and when she parted her legs he rubbed himself between them. "Oh, yes," she murmured, her eyes drifting shut. She slipped her hands under his shirt and stroked the length of his back, her nimble fingers finding the sensitive skin on the sides of his ribcage. "Scully," he whispered against her mouth, and she swallowed the sound as she wrapped her legs around him. Arching away from her, he tugged open her robe, releasing her body heat and clean, spicy scent into the air between them. Her fingers curled into his tee-shirt, tugging upwards, and he obliged her by shrugging it off. She returned her touch immediately, tracing his ribs down to his belly as she planted tiny kisses along his jaw. He tried, he tried not to go from zero to fucking in sixty seconds. The avalanche of need inside him almost didn't care that it was her hand on his cock, pumping so sweetly. But he forced himself to open his eyes. To see her. To remember the shadow curve of her waist, the warm weight of her breasts, the feel of her pointed hot tongue on his skin. Her breathing grew light and fast as touched between her legs. He stroked her gently before trailing hot and wet fingers down her thigh. Her hips jerked under his hand, and he returned to his purposeful rhythm at her center. She turned her face away, her cheek pushed deep into the pillow as she panted in little "oh" shaped breaths and followed the movements of his hand. He was prepared to rub her this way for as long as she needed, trying to give her the time to let go. But Scully clenched around him after only a few seconds, gasping and shaking under his fingers. He kissed the pulse fluttering at her throat, and she twisted her fingers in his hair. "Good," she said, licking her lips. Her eyes were still closed. "Take your time," he said as he rolled next to her. He traced a circle around the nipple closest to him and tried to control the spasms of his hips against her thigh. "Time," she answered, tugging down the waistband of his pants. He slid them down and off in one motion. They kissed face to face for several long moments before she rolled herself on top of him, the terry cloth robe slipping down to her elbows like a wrap. Her breasts peeked out from between the folds, and he watched her eyes as he took both nipples in his fingers and rolled them gently back and forth. Her lips parted, her eyelids heavy, she reached behind her to stroke him from root to tip. After another moment, she shifted onto her knees. He squeezed his eyes shut briefly. "Slow," he warned through clenched teeth. "Yeah, yeah," she agreed, positioning him between her legs. She slid downwards a couple of inches, then stopped, and he forced himself to hold back a groan. "Okay?" he asked. He could feel himself pressing tight inside her. "Mmmm." She closed her eyes and wrinkled her forehead the way she did whenever she was thinking hard about something -- her lips pursed, her skin flushed. Thinking about fucking me, he thought, and nearly went over the edge right then. "Oh," she said, a sound of surprise and delight as she opened up and he slid all the way inside. She leaned down and kissed him softly, then drew away to look into his eyes. "Well?" He kissed her back, once hard. "Mayday," he said, and then gripped the bed as her laughter rippled through him. She reached up and matched her palms to his, folding their fingers together. He bumped his hips against her, and she made a small, choked sound of pleasure as she bore down with an answering push. They made love slowly at first, her cheek against shoulder, his hands caressing her smooth back under the robe. Then her fingers found his nipples with a light scrape, and he began to sweat. She licked the side of his neck. "Can't," he said, more to himself than her, as the tempo started to carry him away. "Can'tcan't." He was pumping himself into her with smooth, short strokes. "You can," she whispered back, her breathing uneven. She sat up, bringing him deeper, and he groaned. He held her hips as she rose and fell, until the pulses of pleasure began shooting down his spine. She swooped down and kissed him, and he hugged her tight as he shook and shook. When he opened his eyes again, his heartbeat slowing, Scully was draped over him with a satisfying dead weight. He mapped the individual ridges of her vertebrae with his fingers, learning every velvet ridge. Her skin was every bit as peach-fuzz soft and smooth as it had been under his hands seven years earlier, when she had dropped her robe for him in the candlelight. He felt a lump form in his throat at the small reminder of her innocence back then, amazed that the same star-bright, cocky young woman was the Scully he now loved. He kissed her ear, and she tightened her arms around him. Her hips, he noted, were still bucking against his at odd intervals. The inner clenching sent shivers though him, but he softened and slipped out of her all the same. She twitched and murmured something into his shoulder. "More?" he breathed, reaching down to stroke her lightly. She buried her hot face in his neck and nodded, already pushing against his fingers. He let her set the easy pace. His need assuaged, this time he could pay attention -- feel the edges of her teeth against his shoulder, hear the hitches in her breathing. He urged her on with whispered words, the damp threads of her hair tickling his lips. She came with a quick yelp and a long, shuddering sigh. Afterward, they drifted in a pile of heavy limbs and lazy kisses. Through sleepy eyes, he noted the grainy shadows dancing on the ceiling, and he chuffed against the fragrant hollow of her throat. "What?" she murmured. "We left the TV on," he explained, amused. She kissed the back of his neck. "So turn it off," she said. So he did. XxXxX Sheriff Lydell, as Mulder and Scully discovered, was actually the county sheriff and worked out of the neighboring town of Kirby. The six inches of snow had been cleared overnight, so Scully had no problems on the roads. Even the cows were out, twitching their tails at the side of the road as they rooted around under the snow for something to eat. At the Kirby town border, they passed a small sign that read "Ohio Is For Lovers." Scully smiled. She kept her eyes focused straight ahead, but when she stretched her hand across the seat, she found Mulder's fingers there, waiting. They parked outside the gray concrete building where Sheriff Lydell's office was located. He greeted them inside with hot coffee and a pair of old leather chairs on rickety wheels. "Sit, sit," he insisted. "I'm glad you were able to make it despite the storm." Not the usual phenotype for a small-town Sheriff, Scully thought as they sat. Pete Lydell was perhaps four inches taller than she was, with thinning hair, wire-rimmed glasses and a caterpillar moustache. He chewed it for a moment before launching into his explanation of why he had contacted them. "Susan was the first murder I investigated," he said, clearing his throat. "So far, Dee-Ann has been the only other one. You can see then why I remembered them. I almost couldn't believe it when I read your bulletin off the wires yesterday." Mulder pulled out the files he'd brought with him. "It does seem like your two murders here fit the pattern we've seen in our case. I think it's likely that we're looking for the same perpetrator." "Sonofabitch," Lydell murmured. "After all these years." "What I need from you is anything not found in these files," Mulder said. Lydell gnawed his upper lip again as he thought. "It was a long time ago," he said slowly. "And I don't think there's too much that didn't make it into the files. Susan was just eighteen years old, you know, and Dee-Ann had a three-year old daughter at home. We wanted this guy bad, looked at every angle we could." "I think the killer probably knew these girls," Mulder said. "At least casually. And it's possible that he knew them from the same place. I know they lived in different towns, but were you able to come up with any connection between the two of them?" "See, that's the thing. We looked at that." Lydell shook his head. "They didn't go to school together, didn't work together, didn't attend the same church...didn't even have any mutual friends that we could find." Mulder frowned, and Scully held out her hand for the files. "May I see those?" He gave them to her. "What about the smaller things -- repairmen, hairdressers, that sort of thing?" Mulder asked. "Nope." Lydell sighed. "We checked out those folks, too, and every one of them came back clean." Scully noticed that both victims had work addresses on Sycamore Street, and pointed that out to Mulder. "Are these two places close to one another?" she asked Lydell. "They're about three blocks apart, yes. Susan was a checker at Byron's Pharmacy, and Dee-Ann worked part-time at Lucille's Restaurant." "Is that near here?" Mulder asked, already getting up from his chair. Scully rose, too. "Sure, it's our main shopping area. Just down the street and around the corner." "Then let's start there." They side-stepped the icy patches on the sidewalk as Lydell led the way to Sycamore Street. The shoppers were already out and about, bundled in thick winter coats with their noses buried in their collars while they hurried from store to store. Lydell jangled a cow bell as he opened the door to Byron's Pharmacy. He took off his wide-brimmed sheriff's hat and approached the young man behind the counter. "Morning, Steven." "Hey, Sheriff. You here for more of those cold pills?" "No, I'd like to talk to Jerry, if he's around." Steven nodded to the rear of the store. "Sure, he's in back doing the ordering." Jerry had a large belly and an easy smile. He pumped Lydell's hand several times before scraping several chairs across the room so Lydell, Mulder and Scully could sit, too. "What can I do for you folks today?" he asked, eyeing the strangers with curiosity. "It's about Susan, Jerry." The older man needed no further clarification. "Oh," he said, the light dimming from his eyes a bit. He shuffled some papers on his desk. "Is there...is there some new information?" "This is Agents Mulder and Scully from the FBI," Lydell explained. "They think the man who killed Susan may be in Washington, DC now." "I see." His mouth tightened. "Killing more little girls, right?" "Not if we can stop it," Mulder answered gently. "That's why we're here." "Jerry, we need to know who else worked here at the time Susan did," Lydell said. The other man's eyes widened. "You think it was one of my people? No way anyone I knew could have hurt that sweet little girl." "Probably not," Lydell soothed. "But just for the record, who was working with Susan back then?" Jerry leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin. "Well, let's see now. I don't have need for a lot of people. Back then, it was Susan and Nick Greer and Martha Vilbin." He frowned. "You can't possibly think Nick had anything to do with this." "Nick Greer is one of my deputies now," Lydell told Mulder and Scully. "I don't think he could be involved. For one thing, he still lives right here in town. Never been to DC as far as I know." "No short-term workers you might have hired around that time?" Mulder asked. Jerry shook his head. "Sorry, no." "Thanks, Jer," Lydell said as they rose. "You've been a big help." "Sure thing." Jerry glanced from Mulder and Scully to the Sheriff. "You'll let me know if..." "I promise," Lydell assured him. "Anything I hear, you'll be the first to know." They left the shop, and as they walked down the blocks to Lucille's restaurant, Lydell said, "Susan was Jerry's niece. Her death about ripped him apart." At Lucille's Restaurant, the owner, a man named Bud Lovett, also vouched for every single one of his employees. Most still lived right in the area, and he couldn't imagine any of them hurting poor Dee-Ann Tucker. Outside on the street, Lydell sighed. "I was afraid it would turn out this way. We interviewed most of these folks at the time of the murders, and nothing popped out even then." "Maybe he didn't work with the women," Mulder replied, scanning the storefronts. "Maybe he worked near them." Before Scully could reply, Mulder was stalking across the street, his open coat flaring in the wind. She followed with Lydell close on her heels. "You going to go store by store?" he called, sounding confused. "Not necessary," Mulder answered without looking back. "Tell me -- what kind of shoes were Susan and Dee-Ann wearing when they disappeared." He came to a sudden stop on the sidewalk. "Susan had been dressed up for a holiday party," Lydell answered. "And Dee-Ann was a bridesmaid in her sister's wedding the day she was killed. So they were both wearing fancy-type shoes, I would say." "Exactly," Mulder murmured, tipping his head back to look at the store sign hanging over their heads. Scully followed his gaze. SILLIMAN'S SHOE SHOP Scully turned around and faced the street. With a chill, she realized she could see both the pharmacy and the restaurant from where she was standing. "You won't have too much luck asking in there now," Lydell said. "Silliman's changed ownership about six years ago, when Norma Burnheardt retired." "Does she still live nearby?" Mulder asked. "I think she moved to Indiana to be with her kids. But we can try to get her on the telephone." The wind blew then, swinging the wooden sign above their heads. "The sooner, the better," Mulder said grimly, and they began the walk back to the office. It took them a half an hour to track down Norma Burnheardt in Indiana, but she was friendly and eager to help. They put her on the Sheriff's speaker phone. "I'm especially interested in any young men you might have had working with you in late 1985 or early 1986," Mulder said. "Perhaps someone who left the area soon after that." "Oh, sure," she said immediately. "That would be Carl Quentin. But you can't be looking for Carl. He used to give lollipops to the kids and spent hours with the ladies, helping them pick out shoes. He was a quiet boy, a nice boy." Scully felt her heart begin to pound. She picked up the nearest pen and wrote on a piece of paper, "Carl Quentin is on our list -- paroled recently in DC." Mulder glanced at the paper and nodded. "Do you know where Carl went when he moved, Mrs. Burnheardt?" "He had a cousin in Maryland, I believe." Just then, Mulder's cell phone rang, and he excused himself to the other side of the room. Scully kept one eye on his back as she thanked Norma for her time and hung up the call. A minute later, Mulder returned. "Vee lied to you," he said. "What do you mean?" "I mean that this guy sure seems to think she can ID him. That was Grenier on the phone. The D.C. cops responded to a nine-one-one call at the apartment of Jimmy Cho yesterday night and found him unconscious with the place a mess. This morning he told them a guy in a Richard Nixon mask did it, and awfully concerned about Vee." "Where is she now?" "No one knows. Her mother put her on a train yesterday afternoon, but Vee never got off on the other end." "Jesus," Scully breathed. "Did you tell him what we found out here?" "Yeah, but we're a little too late." His hands fisted, and he looked away. "They found another body this morning." XxXxX XxXxX Chapter Ten XxXxX Richard Arkin met Mulder and Scully at the airport, where the Ohio storm had preceded them in the form of steady rain. In the car, he paused before starting the engine, turning to scrutinize Mulder. "How did you know?" he asked. "How did you know where to find him?" "We haven't found him yet," was Mulder's reply. Arkin nodded once in agreement. "He hasn't checked in for parole in two months. Grenier's got him turned upside down, but so far there's been no sign of the sonofabitch. Him or the girl, either." Scully felt a rush of relief. She'd been picturing Vee broken and bruised, with bare feet and unseeing eyes. "That means she's probably still alive." They drove into town with rain snakes slithering down the windows as Arkin filled them in on the latest developments. "The most recent vic's name is Ellen Cavanaugh. Age twenty- seven, last seen at a late dinner meeting around nine p.m. last night. Her colleagues say she was going to go back to the office for her briefcase and then catch a cab home. At one a.m., her fiancé reported her missing. The search team found her body down by the river about six hours later. Russell's got men canvassing over there for witnesses now, but so far nothing has panned out." "What about Carl Quentin?" Mulder asked. Arkin apparently was not the type to need notes, either. "Carl Allen Quentin," he quoted, "age thirty-six. Born in Canton, Ohio. Mother's deceased, father is unknown. He was released from Maryland State Prison in September after serving eleven years on a sentence of twenty-five to life." "What were the charges?" Scully asked, leaning forward towards the front seats. "Quentin was arrested July 13, 1988 in Beltsville, Maryland for attacking a woman in a local park. A local officer walking his regular beat caught the animal red-handed in the bushes. Three weeks later, Quentin was charged and convicted of assault, attempted robbery and attempted murder in the first degree." "Robbery?" Mulder said, twisting around in his seat. "That doesn't quite fit." "I had the same thought," Arkin agreed. "So I did a little checking. Talked to both the vic and the Beltsville PD officers who caught the case." "And?" "And Quentin had a knife when he attacked her. He snapped her purse off her shoulder and tossed it into the bushes, but no one can swear that he was ever after her money. It was just another charge to stick him with and run up his sentence." "So they think the true motive was..." "Rape. The asshole strangled her until she passed out. By the time the foot patrol happened by, Quentin had her shoes and tights off. He was..." Arkin paused and cleared his throat. "He was sucking on her toes." XxXxX The dour clouds brought night out early, leaving only a weak, flickering street lamp to illuminate the outside of Carl's ramshackle home. Mulder peered out the car window as Scully pulled to a stop in front of the building. He could feel a tingling in his fingers and toes that had nothing to do with his tangled, screaming neurons; it was the sense that he was close, that the evil he was chasing was now near enough to touch. He was about to walk the steps of a murderer. Mulder glanced at Scully, and found her staring that the shadowed, run-down old building, too. What had once been the pride of some upstanding family was now a crumbling front porch, a peeling shingled wall, a boarded up front window. "Just like the movies," he said. "Yeah." Scully ducked farther down, her eyes on the rickety, slanting roof. "Why do I feel we're at that part when the entire audience is yelling, 'Don't go in there!'" His heart was drumming, his hand already on the door, but Mulder stopped at something in her tone. He'd heard echoes of it before, on cases where the investigating officers suddenly realized that when they caught the monster, they would have to see it. To know it. Dale Guthrie, he remembered, had said it best. The old Alabama cop had come along on a bust twelve years ago, when they grabbed a man who had been murdering little boys, boiling their limbs and then polishing their bones for his collection. In the crackling excitement, amid the swishing of the kevlar, only Dale was quiet and standing still. "I want this SOB's balls roasted on a stick," he'd said when Mulder had asked if he was okay. "I wish I could make him live out thirteen deaths of his own. But I'm not sure I want to know the thing that takes apart little children like that." He had shaken his head. "I'm not sure a person could ever unknow that kind of evil." You can't, Mulder thought then and now. Instead you know it over and over again, horrifying each and every time. He grazed the back of Scully's hand with his finger. "You okay?" he asked. She straightened immediately. "Yes," she said, but to him it sounded like she was testing her answer. He waited, watching the pale outline of her cheek, until she met his eyes. "He's not even here, Mulder, and the surveillance team is just across the street. Let's just get this over with." They made their way toward the dilapidated house, Scully walking ahead and Mulder listening to the even sound of her heels on the wet pavement. The front door remained unlocked from earlier in the day, when Grenier had served the initial search and seizure warrant. Scully pushed it open and stepped inside. "Leave the lights off," he murmured behind her. "If he's coming back here, we don't want him to know we're onto him." Scully withdrew her flashlight and glanced the beam around the living room, illuminating the opened desk drawers, the displaced sofa cushions and the scattered papers. "He's going to know the instant he walks through the door," she observed. "This place has been tossed upside down." "We're not staying," Mulder said, turning on his flashlight and pushing past her. "I just want to see." "See what?" she asked as she followed. The floors creaked under their weight. Mulder navigated a careful path through the overturned chairs and the scattered books, the powerful beam of his flashlight catching the tattered green drapes and the faded paisley wallpaper. In the dining room, there was a velvet painting of a basset hound hanging on the wall. He paused as some newspaper crinkled under his feet. "This is where interior decorators go to commit suicide, Scully." Her gentle snort floated back to him in the darkness. "Did you see the ceramic frog in the corner?" They walked through the kitchen, where Mulder stopped to check the open drawers. "No silverware," he noted. "If there were knives here, Grenier must have bagged them earlier." Scully peeked into the pantry, then opened several of the overhead cabinets. "Not much in the way of groceries. Just a few cans of soup and a box of Cheerios." "Let me see that." He shone his beam over the empty, dusty shelves. "The bedroom must be upstairs," he said a moment later. He led the way up the narrow staircase, using the worn wooden banister as a guide. "What are you looking for?" Scully asked over his shoulder. "I don't think he brings them here, Scully." "What?" They reached the bedroom, and both trained their flashlight beams inside, criss-crossing over the rumpled bed and dishevled piles of clothes. "Where are the shoes?" Mulder asked softly. "There was no mention of them in Grenier's report." "You think he's learned not to keep them? Eleven years in prison could have taught him not to hold on to the evidence." "He wouldn't be able to help himself." Mulder shook his head, stepping into the room. "No food, no shoes...look how few clothes there are here. The drawers are completely empty, but there's only one pair of pants on the floor." He went over to the closet, which emitted a whine as he opened it. Inside, bare metal hangers waved with the slight breeze. "Check it out," he said, motioning to her. She joined him at the door, and he pointed out the empty shoe rack. "Not even one pair." "He doesn't live here," Scully murmured. "I don't think so, no. I think it may have been a convenient address to give the parole officer his first couple of weeks outside, but this street is crammed with houses. There's no way he could bring the women here." "So much for the surveillance out front," she said. Mulder cast his beam toward the cracked ceiling. "It couldn't hurt. He's been here before and might have some reason to show up again, but I think we'd do better to figure out where he's headed next." "Well," said Scully. "We know that part. We just don't know where she is." Vee, he remembered. Their reluctant witness. "She must be getting ready to come in from the cold by now," he said. "I assume Grenier has some people watching her house." "And Jimmy's place," Scully answered as they left the bedroom. "But it's a bigger waste of time than the van we've got outside of this place." Mulder stopped on the stairs to turn and look at her. "Why do you say that?" "Because there is no way she'd lead this guy back to someone she loved." "Well, then...has she got any enemies?" Scully answered with a trace of smile. "Now that you mention it, Detective Pearson might want to watch his back." They took one last look around the apartment, Mulder standing in the middle of the living room as Scully lingered in the front doorway. "Mulder? Are you coming?" "Yeah." His feet felt glued to the floor even as his mind raced ahead, sorting what he knew so far. There was something else that hadn't turned up at the house -- the mask. It nagged at him, grinding the gears in his head, but he couldn't quite grasp *why* this bit of information seemed so crucial. "Mulder?" She shone her flashlight at his knees. The invisible tethers snapped loose, jolting him back to the present. "Yeah," he said again. "I'm coming." One foot in front of the other, he followed his partner's light back into the open air. XxXxX The soft white of her hallway walls blurred before Scully as she yawned on her way to her front door. Her ankles hurt from standing, and the weight of her briefcase seemed to multiply with every step. At her door, she yawned again, automatically raising the leaden briefcase so she could cover her mouth with her elbow, despite the fact that no one would be awake one fifty-six a.m. to see her. I'm too old, she thought, contemplating the white-paneled door with slow blinks, to always be waking up in one state and going to bed in another. But then she remembered where she had awakened, with Mulder's hands whispering over her thighs and the gentle scrape of his stubbly cheek against her shoulder. They'd had only ten minutes, her eyes on the clock as his long fingers stroked between her legs. Thinking oh-I-can't-can't-come-this-fast- but-please-oh-don't-stop-oh. Her skin flashed hot at the memory, tingling away her fatigue. Flushed, she glanced around at the empty hallway, thankful there had been no one there to catch her standing, eyes closed and mouth open, clutching her keys in front of her own door. The door. There was something different about it, she realized now that she was more alert. She frowned and bent to study the lock. Faint scratches in the metal made her set aside her briefcase and draw out her gun. All traces of fatigue gone, her heart picked up speed as she slowly inserted the key into the lock. The click of the tumblers pierced the silence, and Scully winced, sliding the door open without further sound. Her living room was dark, but she could make out something black and rumpled on her couch. She inched towards it, her finger already poised on the trigger. Peering over the edge of the sofa, she saw it was... ...a coat. She lowered the gun and cocked her head, listening. There were muffled sounds coming from her bedroom. She walked to the short hall and found blue light slanting through the cracked door. The adrenaline rush that had gripped her in the living room began to fade. With a small sigh, she switched her gun to her left hand and pushed the door all the way open with her palm. Vee startled on the bed, nearly upsetting the can of Coke she had in her hand. "Hi," she said. "I didn't really think you'd be in the book. Nice place." Scully folded her arms, gun and all, and said nothing. Vee looked sheepish. "I didn't know where else to go," she said after a moment. She stretched a pizza box across the bed. "Pizza?" Scully narrowed her eyes, then leaned out for an experimental sniff. "What kind?" XxXxX He hadn't eaten in two days. At night, he saw her face in fitful dreams. The voice inside him said, "She will be your ruin," and he would clench his hands to strangle the voice until all was silent again. He went to the park. Mud clogged his boots as he stood in the dripping bushes, watching her tree. He had not come this far to fail now. XxXxX XxXxX Chapter Eleven XxXxX They sat on her bed in mirroring positions, propped on pillows with their legs tucked beneath them. Scully took a bite of the spicy garlic and tomato wedge Vee handed her and had to admit that, for a person with a pierced eyebrow, Vee did have pretty good taste in pizza. "You lied to me," she said to the girl a few moments later, and Vee turned her eyes to her lap. "You did see his face." Scully remembered what Mulder had said about the Nixon mask not making sense with the rest of Quentin's profile and considered the possibility that Vee had invented that part, too. "Was there ever a mask?" she asked. Vee's chin came up. "I told you there was. And I didn't lie. I didn't see his face that night." Scully shifted, setting aside her pizza. "Wait a minute -- you saw him more than once?" "Well, that's the thing." Vee hesitated. "Is Jimmy okay?" "He's in stable condition in the hospital. The doctors say he should be able to go home soon." Vee released a long breath. "Thank God." "But it's not going to be okay for him to go home until we can be sure he won't be attacked again," Scully continued. "Not to mention the fact that you're in serious danger right now." "Yeah, I guess so." She turned away from Scully and began shredding her paper napkin into long strips. "The night that the girl was killed, that happened exactly like I told you before. I saw him bring her into the bushes, and he *was* wearing a mask." She glanced at Scully, defiant and demanding her belief. Scully wasn't prepared to give it just yet. "Go on." "The next night I was busted in the park, and apparently it was one hell of a show because a million people showed up to watch." "A million," Scully repeated, deadpan. "Well, maybe twenty." She paused. "That's when I must have seen him, I guess." "What do you mean you 'guess' you must have seen him?" Vee shrugged. "There was a guy standing near the gate with a bunch of other people. He wasn't wearing the mask, but he seemed kind of familiar to me. Like the way he was standing -- kind of hunched around the shoulders. And his coat was the same." "Jesus," Scully breathed. "Why the hell didn't you tell us this before?" Vee seemed taken aback. "I didn't know for sure it was him. He could have been just another creepy guy in the park." "But he wasn't." "I guess not." She hung her ahead again. "I'm sorry for all the trouble. I guess maybe I didn't want it to be him, you know?" "Yeah," Scully said, leaning back against the pillows. "I know." XxXxX They all sat around the table -- Mulder, Scully, Grenier and Russell each with a mug of coffee. Vee held a make-shift photo line-up comprised of Carl Quentin's 1988 mug shot and five other similarly scruffy convicts. No one was moving. After a few silent minutes, Grenier leaned over to Scully. "I thought you said she could ID this guy," he said in his best stage whisper. Scully ignored him and inched her chair closer towards Vee. "Take your time," she said. Vee looked up at her. "He's in here, right? The guy who killed all those women?" "You tell us," Mulder answered. "Well," she said slowly, eyeing the photos in front of her again. "This one *could* be him, I guess. I only got a quick look, though, and it was dark." "How sure are you?" Grenier pressed. "I don't know." Vee sounded irritated, and she glared at him. "Number three looks the most like the guy I saw, okay? That's the best I can tell you." Scully glanced from the picture Vee had indicated to Mulder. He gave her a small nod. Grenier apparently picked up on it too, because he snatched the photo line-up off of the table. "Thank you, Miss Kroener. If you'll just wait here for a few minutes." He strode out of the room, and Russell followed. Scully looked at Mulder, her eyes phrasing what she could not say aloud: you know him...what the hell is going on? Mulder's eyes answered with a look she knew well: how the hell should I know? "We'll be right back," Scully murmured as she and Mulder rose in unison. Outside, they found Grenier pacing the hall. Russell did not look pleased. "It's too risky," she was saying. "And there's no way in hell the mother would agree to it." Grenier came to an abrupt halt. "Quentin has not checked in for his parole in two months," he snapped. "He has no known whereabouts or associates. Don't even try to tell me he's been living in that house we tossed yesterday, because we both know that's not the case. The only picture we have of him is twelve years old. Tell me, Amelia, just how do *you* think we should go about catching him?" "You cannot expose a sixteen year-old girl to this kind of danger," Russell replied. "She's already exposed!" Grenier roared. "I'm trying to get her *out* of danger!" "What's going on?" Mulder asked, and Grenier shifted his scowl. "Nothing you need to worry about, Mulder. You're no longer on this case." Scully blinked, and Russell gasped. "Adam, what are you doing?" "Exactly what I should have done when we had this girl the first time. We know he'll come out for her." All three agents looked at him in silence. "What?" he said after a moment. "You want to wait until he kills another one? You *know* this is the best way to go. I'm the only one with the balls to admit it." "It's not legal," Scully said quietly. "And even if it were- -" "It's legal enough if we get the mother's okay. Jesus Christ, I'm not talking about putting her on the streets by herself! There will be three dozen highly-trained FBI agents looking out for her. It's probably safer than anything else we could do for her right now." "What about...what about a decoy," Russell suggested. "Someone who looks like the girl instead of Vee herself." Grenier paused. "Could work," he admitted a moment later. "Especially if we put the real thing out there for a few minutes and then make a switch." "Where are you planning to do this?" Mulder asked. Grenier's eyes flicked over him, as if he was debating even answering the question, but eventually he said, "The park." Mulder shook his head. "Too exposed." "You are off this case, Mulder," said Grenier through gritted teeth. "Good-bye, sayonara, go back to playing in the basement. There is no way I'm taking a brain-damaged agent along on this bust." Scully felt the words like a slap, but Mulder didn't even flinch. "It's not safe," he said softly. Surprised at his even temper, Scully felt the heat well up in her as she prepared to do battle in his defense. She frowned at Grenier. "There is no way you can justify--" "It's not safe," Mulder interrupted, stilling her. "But it might work." She turned to him. "Mulder, she's underage and a civilian." "Use the decoy," he said. "Do it someplace that is more contained than the park." "Mulder..." "He's right, Scully," Mulder murmured. "We can't wait around for Quentin to kill again. This is the best move we've got." "I'm going to talk to the mother now," Grenier said, turning to walk down the hall. He stopped, turned back and pointed a finger at Mulder. "You," he said. "Stay out of it from now on. I mean it." As he walked off, Russell sighed and rubbed a hand over her eyes. "There's no way in hell her mother will agree to this. I mean, seriously. 'Can we please use your sixteen year-old child to trap a serial murderer, Mrs. Kroener?' I don't think so." Scully saw a dark flash in Mulder's eyes, and he reached out to grip Russell's wrist. "If she does agree, don't go to the park. Do it somewhere else." Russell looked down to where his fingers were biting into her skin. "I'll see what I can do," she said, pulling free. "But you know how he is." "Yeah," Mulder said as she walked off after Grenier. "That's the problem." Scully waited, watching him, and as he turned away, he gave the wall a swift kick. "God dammit." "I'm sorry," she said. "It's really your collar, Mulder. We wouldn't be here if it weren't for you." She took a step closer towards him, running her fingers lightly down to his elbow. "We could go over his head," she murmured. "You deserve to be there." "No," he said, shaking his head and not looking at her. "If he goes through with this, the last thing that girl needs is two agents engaged in a pissing match." He turned to her. "You're going along?" "I -- he didn't say." "Go. Someone needs to look out for Vee." He gave her arm a brief squeeze. Scully held his gaze, searching for whatever it was he wasn't telling her. "There's still something missing, isn't there?" He hesitated. "Maybe not. Maybe I just can't believe that we're this close to ending it." "But we are." She smiled a little and took his hand. "Thanks to you." His fingers tightened around hers, his mouth set in a grim line. "Tell me tonight," he said hoarsely. "When it's over." XxXxX Prison, thought Carl, and shuddered as he always did when the word came to mind. Prison was a horrid, smelly place where everyone had to dress the same and the shoes were worn-out old sneakers. He had survived only by remembering the shoes from his past. The pointed toes, the velvety suede pumps, the sharp stiletto heels. With buttons and bows and sequins, he had counted the girls in his mind. And he had learned some things. Alvin Wayne Goodacre, for example, had taught him better technique. No more fumbling around on the neck for the best place to squeeze. Carl now knew about the carotid arteries, and how to make a woman pass out in under a minute with just some steady pressure. If it looked to the cops like it still took him some time to choke the life out the girls...well, that was because Carl liked to do it that way. After. He took his glinting knife and cut himself a fresh length of rope. This one he planned to choke for a long time. He thought of her wheezing, gasping as her terrified eyes realized that it still wasn't over. That he could bring her to the very edge and then yank her back again as often as he pleased. A song came on the radio as he worked. Carl turned it up and sang along. XxXxX People who didn't believe Einstein's theory of time relativity had never been on a stakeout before, Scully thought. Her inner world had gained speed throughout the day, to the point where her brain was on a constant hum. Outside, the minutes ticked by with plodding, elephantine slowness. The brambly bushes that defined her hiding spot grabbed at her hair, scratched her cheek and shook water over her every time the wind blew. No joggers allowed that night. No teenagers out for trouble. The park was as silent as a grave. Scully shifted, peering through the leaves as best she could. A few tray drops fell onto her eyelashes, and she blinked them away. "Not the park," Mulder had said, but here they were anyway. Scully had been punished for voicing his concerns by banishment to the far side of the park, stuck babysitting a tiny side entrance while Grenier's team circled the decoy Vee where Quentin had appeared the last time. Earlier, Daniel Rubin from VC had passed around a mock mug shot, during their ten minute sandwich break. "I hear this is the guy we're looking for," he'd quipped, handing her a piece of paper with Nixon's face pasted into the usual background of height markings and ID numbers. Scully shivered, listening for any sounds of scuffling, twigs snapping or footfalls on the walkway. They were only fifteen minutes from 1 a.m., Nixon's usual witching hour. XxXxX Mulder returned to play in the basement, as ordered. There was no way he could go home until he heard one way or another what happened in the park. When the phone rang, he snatched it up before it could complete one full trill. Relief surged in his veins. It was over. "Mulder," he said, but it wasn't Scully on the other end. "Agent Mulder, it's Rob Kitchens from the tech lab. They told me you were still here." "Yeah," Mulder agreed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. "I'm on stakeout. What's your excuse?" "Um," the younger man sounded confused. "I've been working late on the reconstruction that Agent Scully sent us. I, uh, I don't think you're going to believe what we found." "Try me," Mulder said, his mind still in the park. "It's, well...can you come see for yourself? I have it up on my computer now." Mulder checked his watch. Five minutes to one. How long would Grenier wait out there, he wondered? "Sure, I'll come right now." "Great." Mulder checked his cell phone, making sure it was on, and headed out the door. A few minutes later, he found Kitchens sitting in the lab, staring a computer monitor with his arms folded across his chest. "Okay, I'm here," he said. "What have you got?" "We scanned and isolated the discolored patches from the brain slices that Agent Scully gave us. Then we recombined them into a 3-D image like this." He swiveled the monitor so that Mulder could see. Mulder squinted at the image. "It looks almost like a face," he said, surprised. "Like one that's been stretched in a fun house." "Exactly what we thought," Kitchens agreed. "But you have to remember we're dealing with brain images, and human brains don't track everything on a one to one relationship with the outside world. So..." He hit a couple of keys on the computer. "I corrected for the distortion as much as possible. This is what I got." The image loaded slowly, adding lines like an old dot-matrix printer. "Oh my God," Mulder said, moving closer to the monitor. It was a more like an imprint than a photograph, as though someone had pressed his face into the sand and they were looking at the after effects. But the lines were clean and clear. Mulder traced them with one finger, trying to pick out Carl Quentin's image, but he was working with a memory of an eleven year-old photograph. "Don't ask me to explain how it got there," Kitchens said. "Like it was burned on her brain or something. I've never..." "Can I access my files from here?" Mulder asked suddenly. "Sure." Mulder brushed him aside and waited with little patience as the network chugged along. He exported Quentin's old mug shot from his database and downloaded it onto Kitchens' desktop. "Can you tell me if this is the same face as the reconstructed image?" Kitchens' looked doubtful. "I can overlay them and tell you if the lines match." "That's fine, do it." He watched as Kitchens imported Quentins' mug shot into a photo manipulation program. Kitchens resized the shot to match the reconstructed face. A few minutes later, he was edging the two images closer together. Mulder leaned in for a better look. "Well?" "Let me enlarge it." The faces doubled in size, and Mulder felt his stomach drop to his feet. "Nope," Kitchens' said. "Not too far off, but you see the eyes are father apart on your guy. The forehead is bigger, too." "It's not him," Mulder whispered. Then he remembered the park. "It's not him!" And he began to run. XxXxX XxXxX Chapter Twelve XxXxX "I know he's on a fucking stake out," Mulder said into the phone as he swept through the halls. "But he's looking for the *wrong man*." "I'm sorry," said male dispatcher on the other end. "I have specific orders -- no calls through to Agent Grenier at this time." "Get me Russell then." "Agent Russell is unavailable. I'm sorry, sir, but..." Mulder hung up with an angry snap. As he rounded the corner to the requisition office, he hit the memory key for Scully's number. Her phone rang unanswered. "Dammit," he muttered, both at the phone and at the locked door of the office. The flat, gray night lighting was on, but he couldn't detect anyone inside. He pounded on the door anyway. "I need a car!" In between the painful beats of his pounding heart, he heard remnants of his dream. The dead, wet leaves at his feet, the snapping of the branches, the scream that he was struggling to keep inside. Scully. Danger, danger -- the word shattered his head, leaving pinpoints of white light dancing before his eyes. He had to get to her, had to let her know. A car, where's a car? XxXxX Scully squinted at her watch in the bushes, trying to tilt it so she could catch some light from the street lamp. Past one-thirty. She rubbed her cold hands together a few times, peering out at the dark, empty walkway. There was not a soul in sight. She clicked on her walkie-talkie. "Position one, this is position eight," she said, careful to keep her voice low. "There's been no movement on this end. How much longer are we going to stay out here?" After a moment, Grenier's voice crackled back at her. "Hold your place. He's coming." A pause. "I can feel it." His words sent a shudder through Scully, as if she could feel it, too. She took a step towards the opening of the bushes, and the wind blew, moving shadow people all around her. XxXxX His left side felt panicked, hot and sweating, vibrating with energy; his right side was sweating, too, but cold and numb. Weak. Mulder tried to coordinate them both as he dashed through the darkened halls toward the parking facility. Too fast on the stairs. He slipped, catching himself on the railing before he could fall. "The mask was wrong," he muttered, resuming his frantic descent. "I knew it was. Someone else knew. Knew some but not enough. Dammit, dammit." A woman, cleaning the stairs with a broom that looked like a furry white animal, pressed herself against the wall with surprise as he passed her. He lurched to a stop. "Do you have a car?" he asked. She blinked, holding the broom handle to her chest. "A car, a car," he repeated impatiently. "Si, yes. I have a car." "I need to borrow it," he said, and she blinked again. "Please, it's urgent. It's an emergency." He pulled out his badge, barely repressing the trembling his right hand as he showed it to her. "Is old," she said, frowning. "My car." "I don't care. Please, can I borrow it?" She pursed her lips, then dug a set of keys out from the large pocket on her dress. "It's red Toyota on the second floor, space two twenty-two." "Thank you," Mulder breathed, snatching the keys from her. "My shift is finished in three hour!" she called after him. He waved the keys over his head in answer, barely registering the statement as he pushed the door open to the parking garage. Jogging through the rows of cars, he called up Scully's number again on his phone. "Answer, c'mon, answer." Her voice-mail came on, and Mulder suppressed a curse as he levered himself into the car. His knees pressed almost to his chest in the tight space designed for a much shorter driver. Pushing the seat back as far as it would go, he started the engine. His tires squealed all the way out of the garage. XxXxX Russell shifted behind her curtain of branches, frowning as the sleeve of her windbreaker caught her on a prickly limb. Jenna Cullam, the agent selected to play Vee, paced about twenty feet away. Russell could see the other woman's breath misting in the air, her rapid white puffs a mirror to Russell's own growing anxiety. "Position one," she said. "This is position three. Can you read me?" "What is it?" Grenier sounded tense. "Any sign of activity from your end?" "Not yet, but let's give it until two." The moon disappeared behind the clouds, darkening her hiding spot, and Russell squinted through the bramble toward the gate. Her pulse skipped a beat. There was a shadow, long and human-like, edging its way into the park. "This is position three," she said over the main channel. "We've got company." * Across the park, Scully grabbed her walkie-talkie. "Position one, please advise." "Hold your positions," Grenier ordered. "We go on my say so. Position three, can you confirm the suspect's identity?" Scully waited out the following beats of silence, frozen in place with her heart pounding out the seconds. At last, Russell's voice crackled over the line. "It's a male," she said. "The right height and weight, but I can't see his face. Wait...he's moving in on Cullam! He's going for his weapon!" Scully emerged from her place in the bushes, prepared to run. "Now!" hollered Grenier, and Scully felt a hand clasp over her mouth. Her walkie-talkie slipped to the ground. * Mulder recognized Cullam immediately, but the confusion on her face said she had not placed him. "Agent Mulder," he said, reaching for his badge. "Where's Gren--" Like lightning, she had a gun pointed at his chest. "Stay where you are!" Mulder froze in place as the bushes seemed to come alive around him. Agents rose up like something from "MacBeth," with weapons drawn and leaves sticking in their hair. "Wait," he called. "Wait." "Get down!" yelled a voice he recognized. Grenier. "It's Mulder," he insisted, but the other man didn't seem to hear. "Get the fuck on the ground before I blow your fucking head off!" * She struggled, wriggling and trying to find his ribs with her elbow, but his grip was iron strong. His hands closed around her neck, and within seconds, her breath evaporated...her head growing fuzzy and the park faded from view. He unclasped her mouth. "Help," she called weakly. But it was too late. * Mulder lay face down in the cold dirt. "It's me, *Mulder*," he said again, and this time Grenier seemed to pause. "Get some light over here," he commanded, and Mulder squinted as three high-beam flashlights shone on his face. "God damn it," Grenier muttered. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Mulder got up slowly, breathing hard and shielding his eyes from the harsh light. "Carl Quentin did not kill Elizabeth Kinney." Grenier seemed to snap. "God damn you..." He lunged at Mulder, but Russell slipped between them. "Adam, stop." "I told you to stay the hell out of this! I *ordered* you to stay away!" Mulder's temper rose, too. "Are you deaf, Grenier? I said you're staking out the place for Quentin! He's not going to show here!" "What the fuck do you mean, 'the wrong place'?" mocked Grenier. "This is your boy we're after, Mulder. You're the one who said it was him." "It is," Mulder agreed. "But not this time." Russell looked at him with wide eyes. "What the hell are you saying?" "I'm saying that the man who killed those women eleven years ago, the man who murdered Grace Johnson and Ellen Cavanaugh - - that's Carl Quentin. He is *not* the same man who killed Beth Kinney in this park. Therefore, Quentin is sure as hell not going to come looking for Vee." "A copycat," breathed Russell. "Shit." "That's not possible." Grenier shook his head. "There were too many things that were the same, too many details..." "But there were other things that *weren't* the same. Like the Nixon mask. It never made any sense, and now I know why. And why would Quentin include a newspaper clipping on just that one kill? The answer is he didn't. It was someone else hoping that we'd connect Beth's murder with all the others." * Carl taped her mouth, wrists and ankles after putting her in the trunk. Her gun he deposited safely in his coat pocket. Paused in the process of shutting the lid, he reached out to stroke her tiny feet. Boots tonight. Low and sensible for tracking murderers in the woods. Fortunately, he still had that pair of heels he'd stolen from her closet. They waiting at home for his consummation. He grinned and slammed the trunk shut. * "Assuming this is true," Grenier said, his breathing puffing out in front of him. He still glowered at Mulder. "Why in the fuck did you come down here now to tell us? Someone wants this girl dead, and just maybe we could have had a chance to catch him in the act." "You never had a chance," Mulder replied. "This guy probably knew what you were planning before you ever got here." "The fuck he did." "Just *think* about it for a second, would you? How could he have known about so many details of the crime scene? He has to have an in, Adam. He has to be connected with the killings from eleven years ago." "You're saying he's a cop," Russell said. "Perhaps," Mulder agreed. "At the very least, he has to have been in a position to know the details of the murders. Up close and personal." "Fuck," Grenier said, reducing his vocabulary every time he opened his mouth. "I still don't believe it." "Excuse me." Richard Arkin stepped forward. "I just don't understand one thing." He glanced nervously at Mulder. "If Quentin isn't going to show here because he's not the guy in the mask, and the mask guy isn't going to show because he's got inside information...I agree with Agent Grenier. I don't understand your hurry to get down here." Mulder frowned. "Because..." Grenier folded his arms over his chest. "Do enlighten us." "Because..." Mulder searched his brain for the exact reason. There had been danger, he was sure of it. "Because a man like Quentin is probably interested in his own investigation," he said at last. "He's likely familiarized himself with the leads on this case, may even be close by, just not where you're looking." "And where should we look, exactly, seeing as how you..." Scully. Mulder craned his neck around, looking for her in the crowd of agents. "Where is Agent Scully?" Russell turned as well. "I'm not sure. She was stationed with Arkin on the other side of the park, near the side entrance." "I haven't seen her since we got the call," Arkin said. "But I took the short way over here, through those trees." "Scully," Mulder murmured, beginning to push through the wall of people surrounding him. Scully, who was now a lead agent on this case. Scully, whose car was suddenly having trouble. Scully, who had a rampaging cab driver outside of her apartment. A cab driver who may have then kidnapped and killed whatsherface a few hours later. Scully, who wore stylish, four-inch heels. "Oh, shit," he murmured, breaking into a run. "Scully!" The slippery leaves squished under his feet. Panting, he half- slid down a hill, branches clawing at his face. "Scully!" He reached the side entrance of the park only steps ahead of Russell, Grenier, and Arkin. "Where is she?" Mulder demanded of Arkin. "I...I don't know. She was supposed to be right by the door, behind those bushes." The sharp boughs scraped at Mulder's hands as he pawed through the bushes Arkin indicated. "Scully!" She wasn't there, but a cursory examination with his flashlight found red hairs caught on one of the branches and Scully-size footprints in the soft earth. His stomach gave a sharp twist. "Mulder!" Russell's voice called him out of the brush. He turned his flashlight to where she stood staring at the ground. "You'd better come see this." Mulder closed his eyes reflexively, not wanting to see. "What is it?" he asked, managing to make his feet move the short distance to Russell's side. Scully's walkie-talkie lay in the dirt at her feet. XxXxX She couldn't breathe. Squirming in the dark, she hit her head on something made of hard metal. Her arms ached from where they were pinned behind her back, her knees at her chest. The man, she remembered, big and strong. Choking her from behind. It had to be Carl. She felt light with fear, her fingers rapidly going numb. Each breath was a struggle not to hyperventilate. Think, think, she ordered herself. How to get out of this alive? She tried to keep her head clear, but her mind kept turning over the crime scene photos, echoing the police reports that told her time was already running out. Carl's victims all had one other thing in common besides their missing little toes: none had remained alive longer than twelve hours after her abduction. XxXxX XxXxX Chapter Thirteen XxXxX Mulder ran through the gate and into the middle of the slick, shiny street. He stopped, turned frantically in one direction then the next, but there was no one to be seen. The wind blew hard, sending a shower of fat, cold drops down upon him. In the distance, he could hear the rush of a car passing through a deep puddle. Taillights winked at him from several blocks away, rounding the corner and disappearing into the black night. Gone. He bent over, gulping in sharp breaths of air that burned his lungs. Footsteps behind him, heavy boots on the wet pavement, and Grenier's angry voice. "Gone as in fucking not here. Yes, that's what I'm saying." Mulder stood up slowly and turned to see Grenier glaring at him as he growled into the walkie- talkie. "A car, a person...hell, even a goddamn shadow! Did you see fucking *anything*?" Mulder's gaze flickered to Russell, who lingered just outside the gate. She ducked back inside, but not before he caught the censure in her eyes. No one had seen anything, he knew as she did, because they had all been on the other side of the park, mistaking him for a suspect. Not more than five minutes. Just long enough for his world to crack open and leave him bleeding raw fear into the empty street. "Anything?" he asked as Grenier lowered his walkie-talkie. The other man shot him a long, disgusted look. "Venaldi saw a large black sedan drive past on the east side of the park about fifteen minutes ago. That's it." Mulder's panic ratcheted up another notch. "That's not enough. What about the men on point in the cars? What about --" "There's nothing!" Grenier roared, taking a step closer. "Every pair of eyes was over on the west side with you, you asshole. God damn it." "We've got to figure out where he's taking her," Mulder said. "It's the only chance." "We," Grenier cut in, "are not going to do a damn thing. I'm having you arrested for interfering with a federal investigation. And when this is over, I am damn sure going to have your badge for this." He signaled to two nearby agents. "Nickerson, Zuffy, take him in." They looked uncertain. Grenier whirled on them. "I said now, Agents!" Mulder's heart pounded painfully inside his chest, his anger rising. "We're wasting time," he said. "We need to go back over the..." Nickerson grabbed his arm, but Mulder shook him off. "NO! Fuck you, Grenier. This is it, when seconds matter, and I know you hate it, I know you hate me but I am the one who can do this. I'm the one who can get inside this guy's head. After, after we find her, if you want to have it out, if you want to fucking duel at twenty paces, then I will be there. But right now, you have an agent MISSING, Adam, and we don't have TIME to fuck around with the slow, careful way!" Grenier looked like he might take a swing at him. "And whose fault is that?" "Jesus," Mulder said, pushing past the confused, younger agents. "You want to hear me say it?" he called over his shoulder as he stalked back in the direction of his car. "If I tell you what you want to hear, then can we start looking? I did it! Okay, I did it! I caused the distraction. Happy now?" He could hear Grenier on his tail. "You were always a fuck- up. I was the only one who could see the truth." Mulder halted abruptly, and with one quick motion, grabbed Grenier by his coat. "She has hours! Don't you understand that? In a few hours it's not going to matter whose fault it was!" The fight seemed to leave Grenier immediately, and up close Mulder could see the fear in his eyes. His lips were colorless, his breathing shallow. "Okay, then. What the fuck are we going to do? Where would he take her?" Mulder released his fists and tried to tamp down his rising tremble. "I don't know yet," he admitted. "But we sure as hell aren't going to find out standing here." XxXxX Scully braced as best she could against the cramped, slippery walls of the trunk, but her feet were tightly bound and she could no longer feel her arms behind her back. She concentrated on taking slow breaths and trying to figure out where she was being taken. Probably well outside of the city, she guessed, estimating they had been driving for most of an hour. Most of it at high speeds, so they had been on one highway or another. But when the car began a steep upward climb, her thoughts spun dizzily, threatening to spiral out of control. Up the mountain again. Trapped in the trunk. Up, up, and away. Gone. Flashes of her previous struggle sprang alive in her memory -- tied, gagged and fighting Duane Barry every stumbling step into the wind. She squeezed her eyes shut against the breathless, paralyzing terror. Stop it, stop it. Think about now. Think about how to get out. The car slowed, taking several winding turns, but still climbing a steep grade. One particularly large bump caused Scully to hit her temple on the car jack. The pain gave her focus. There was no way to overpower him from the trunk of a car -- no element of surprise, no leverage and no mobility, given her bound hands and feet. She tried twisting her wrists to loosen the tape, but only managed to dig the edges further into her skin. Panting through her nose from the effort, she laid her cheek on the gritty floor of the trunk. *Think* she ordered herself, stretching as much as she could within the confined space. More pain. Something hard pressed against her hip, trapped between her body and the unforgiving floor. She wriggled but the object moved with her. Her cell phone. Thank God. Bracing her feet on the side of the trunk, she gained enough leverage to roll over. The deep muscles in her shoulders screamed though every painful inch. Phone, phone. Her heart pounded the word over and over. She flexed her numb fingers, but they were helpless, tied behind her back. The phone remained sagging in her pocket near her waist. Scrunching up her legs, she tried to fold herself inward enough that she might nudge the phone with her chin. A contortionist she was not. The tendons on her neck burned and stretched; her joints creaked loudly in the blackness. She sucked the tape over her mouth in and out as she struggled, ripping the top layer of skin from her lips. Her chin grazed the pocket of her windbreaker, but the phone just slipped around inside. Momentary tears of frustration stung in her eyes, and she rested, breathing hard and tangled in the dark. XxXxX "You've caused enough trouble," Grenier growled as he grabbed Mulder's car keys. "The last thing I need right now is to be scraping your brains off the pavement after you've crashed this thing." "Come with us," Russell added. "It's better anyway." "Whatever," Mulder said as he climbed in the back of their car. "Let's just get moving." "Where would he go?" Russell asked in the car. "Indoors, right? Even though the bodies are..." Mulder flinched, and Russell halted, clearing her throat. She continued in a softer tone. "Even though they're found outside, he must take them inside for a period of time. He needs privacy for what he does." Mulder gave a short nod, his leg bouncing nervously in the back seat. "He's got a place somewhere, yeah. Someplace cheap, with few neighbors." "We've still got men at the other address," Grenier said. "Just in case he shows up there. And we're watching Scully's place now, too." "Scully's place?" Mulder said. "Why?" "He likes their shoes, right? Maybe he wants them to model. It's a shot in the dark, but it's better than nothing." "Yeah, okay," Mulder agreed. A thought hit him. "Her phone! Does she have her phone with her?" "I don't know," Grenier said, but Mulder was already digging out his phone. "I gave orders that all phones were supposed to be off, in any case. It's SOP." "No answer," Mulder said a moment later. He leaned forward into the front seat. "Have someone keep trying. And if it rings through, let me at him." XxXxX Her arms had gone from numb to shooting pain, and the phone still lay in her pocket. She had managed to widen the mouth of the pocket with her chin, but she couldn't get the phone free. Dirt in her eyes caused them to fill with tears, which then ran down her face and glued sticky strands of hair to her cheeks. Carl had slowed the car further; time was running out. Frantic, she tried rolling back and forth to slide the phone out of her pocket, but the angle was wrong. She felt her one chance slipping away. The air was thinning; she felt dizzy and weak, and the fear of carbon monoxide poisoning caused a shiver up her spine. Even her teeth seemed to ache from the exertion. She lay on her back, trapping her arms beneath her, but the pain barely registered anymore. Any minute, he was going to stop the car and pull her out. He would have a knife, and... Scully swallowed hard against her gag reflex. Thinkthinkthink. One last try. With grim determination, she braced her feet against the side of the trunk and her knees against the top. Her squashed arms radiated with hurt, but she ignored their complaint and began rocking back and forth, inching her knees over her head. The process was agonizing, slow enough that she felt her muscles nearly tearing from her bones. She stopped every few seconds to catch her breath. Halfway though a full back-flip, she felt the phone drop out of her pocket and onto her chest. She froze, cramped and crooked, so it wouldn't slide off into a dark corner somewhere. *How the hell do I turn it on?* Her fingers no longer responded to her command. She couldn't tell if they were even moving. Worth a try, she thought, turning in pain-filled millimeters to her right side. The car stopped. Scully went limp, her heart pumping so fast there was no space between the beats. The rush of blood roared in her ears. Outside, she heard crunching footsteps. The sound of the trunk popping was like a gunshot; she jumped as the lid cracked open. "Well, well, well," he said, pinning her with a beam of bright white light. "What do we have here?" Her eye muscles jerked in spasms. She squinted up at his looming silhouette, unable to see his face. He passed the flashlight beam over her in a lingering caress, ending with a long look at her feet. "We're going to have so much fun," he murmured. Scully saw a flash of his hand, and then he had by the hair, tangling a fistful in his fingers until tears pricked her eyes. "Oh, yes, we are." She squirmed and he yanked her back in place. "Stop that." He released his grip, then pulled a knife in front of her, bringing it down to her face and illuminating the toothed edge with his flashlight. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way," he said. "But it's going to be my way no matter what. Understand?" Scully gave a small nod. "Very good." He slid the knife blade lightly along her cheek. "Let's get started then." As he bent to release her feet, Scully stared up at the darkness. Trees, she thought. It smelled like the woods. "What the fuck is this?" He held up her cell phone. "You are a nervy one, aren't you, baby? But I don't think you'll be needing this any time soon." He pocketed the phone, and Scully closed her eyes. The tape on her feet ripped open under his blade, and her legs shook with weak relief. Carl hummed as he worked. "Okay now," he said, hoisting her out of the trunk by her waist. She trembled and nearly fell to the ground. "Move." The knife blade reappeared at her neck, and Scully took several stumbling steps forward. Behind her, Carl shone the flashlight into the dirt path ahead. Scully's stomach clenched when she saw the tracks at her feet -- pointed toes and tiny, round heels. Where the others had gone before. A death march, she thought, and Carl shoved her along. One step closer. XxXxX The BSU meeting room was a grisly shrine to Carl Quentin. Pictures of the victims hung on the wall, with the latest three given a prominent position in the center. Mulder pulled Beth Kinney's photo down. "He didn't do this one." "So you've mentioned," Grenier snapped. He made a sweeping gesture to the rest of the horrific pictures. "But what about all the rest? Take a look, Mulder. Take another good look at what this animal can do." "Shut up, Adam," Russell said. "It's not helping." Mulder sank into a chair, his head in his hands. He didn't need to look. The images came fast and furious whether he wanted them or not. Bare white necks covered in bruises, limbs askew and vacant, unseeing eyes. He raised his head and stared at the long line of faces. Under each girl, there was a picture of the shoes she had been wearing at the time of her abduction. The shoes weren't recovered, of course; they'd had copies sent from the manufacturers. "They never found the shoes," Mulder murmured. "What?" Russell asked. Mulder stood and walked to the photographs. "The shoes. They never found them." He turned to Arkin. "What address did Quentin give when he was arrested in '88?" "Uh..." Arkin pawed through the papers on the conference table until he found the correct folder. "Baltimore. He was living with his cousin." "The hell he was. There's no way Quentin could have been bringing the women home and not have the cousin know about it." "Maybe he did know about it," Grenier said, his eyes glinting. "Have we got someone on the cousin?" "He moved to Atlanta in 1991," Russell said. "We checked earlier, and the house belongs to a newlywed couple now." Mulder shook his head. "Did they search the house in '88?" "Yeah," Arkin said, consulting the reports. "The cops suspected Quentin might be responsible for a half dozen muggings in the Beltsville area at the time. They tossed the cousin's place right after Quentin was arrested. No other incriminating evidence was found." "That's it," Mulder said. "He's taking them all to the same spot, the same place he used eleven years ago." He looked at Arkin. "Get the cousin on the phone. I want to know if the family owned any other property, had any usual vacation spots, any place Quentin might go." "You got it." Mulder glanced at the clock and felt the second hand's movement vibrate inside him as it ticked away the time. Two hours had already passed. XxXxX The first thing she saw was blood on the sheets. Rumpled, white sheets streaked with red-brown smears. There were pieces of rope tied to the bars of the headboard. "I have everything prepared for you already," he said from behind her. "I've been waiting a long time." Scully tried to stop shaking. The cabin was cold, dirty, and there wasn't much light. Her legs were wobbly, and her hands were still tied tightly behind her back. Quentin had yet to lower his knife. He kept it at her neck as he walked around in front of her. She drew back just an inch at the sight of him, so different than the mug shot she had seen earlier. Blond, spiky hair replaced his previous dark brown. There was a scar on his left cheek, and he had lost a lot of weight. "Surprise!" he said, grinning, and she saw he was missing a front tooth now, too. "It's me, the man you've been looking for!" He reached out with his free and touched her hair. "I bet you never dreamed I was this close. I've never had an FBI agent before." Agent, thought Scully wildly, that's it! If she could just engage him as an agent instead of a victim, she might buy herself some time. She forced herself to stay still under his stroking. "If I take the tape off, will you scream?" She shook her head slowly, holding his gaze. He tilted his head as if appraising her. "Okay, I'll do it. But remember there's more where this came from." He took the edge of the tape and yanked. Scully gasped as more of her skin ripped away. Quentin laughed. "Stings, don't it?" "Thank you," she said, hoping to catch him off guard with non-confrontational approach. Quentin appeared unfazed. "Get in the bed," he ordered. The knife gleamed in his hand. Scully swallowed with difficulty and took a tentative step toward the bed. Something else, she thought desperately, something else he might want from you. "Carl, please..." He caught her hair. "What? What did you call me?" She gritted her teeth through the pain. "Carl Quentin. It's your name, isn't it?" "And how the fuck did you know that?" Scully felt a surge of relief. She had him going now. "Mulder found you. In Ohio." "Fuck," he said, and the knife point nicked her throat. "That sonofabitch." "We know about Dee-Ann and..." Her addled brain struggled to come up with the name. "...and Susan Perry." "Bitches, both of them." He pushed her closer to the bed. "Keep moving." Scully's gaze caught the line of shoes he had displayed on shelf by the bed, all familiar pairs from the photos she'd seen in the dead women's folders. Except the end pair. Black, open-toed sandals. A pair she had bought at Gucci on impulse last year. "You've...you've been in my house." He shoved her down onto the filthy sheets. "Several times," he told her with a grin. "And you never even knew it, did you? You think you're so hot, but you don't know so many things." "Mulder knows who you are," she pressed, trying not to watch as he readied the rope. "He'll find you here in no time." "Fuck Mulder," Quentin said, his smile gone. "He's a nothing, an idiot, do you understand me? All those years and he never figured it out. He thinks he's got me now...why? Because of a name? He knows *nothing*!" "He found your first murders. He can find--" She broke off, wheezing as his hand closed around her throat. "Shut up! Mulder's a goddamn cocksucker who couldn't find his ass with both hands. I've got news for you, honeybitch - - Mulder's never gonna find me. He believes every lie in press about me. Looks in all the wrong places. Trust me, we're not going to have any interruptions." He released his grip, and Scully coughed, sucking in painful breaths. "What lies?" she croaked. "Ah, ah, ah." His grin was back, and he wagged a finger at her. "A good little agent would have figured it out on her own. Maybe that's Mulder's problem, huh? He's been hanging out in the ghetto too much." What lies? Scully thought, frantic as he slit the tape behind her back. Her hands throbbed as the blood returned. It was a brief respite, because he immediately shackled one arm to the headboard. "There we go. Nice and tight." Scully fought her panic and looked around the room for something, anything, to get him talking again. Below the shoes he had taped dozens of newspaper reports on the killings, but it was too dark for her to read anything more than the headlines. POLICE SUSPECT SERIAL KILLER AFTER THIRD VICTIM FOUND DC SLAYER CLAIMS SEVENTH VICTIM; POLICE CLAIM NEW LEADS MAYOR CALMS PANICKED CITY Then, the new ones: INTERN, 22, FOUND MURDERED ARCHITECT MURDERED; POLICE SEEK CAB DRIVER Wait, she thought, wait. Where was Elizabeth? Leaning over to tie down her other arm, he blocked her view of the newspaper articles. She counted the shoes instead. Nine. Nine pairs, not counting hers. Ten bodies. No mask. "It wasn't you," she whispered, and Carl froze. XxXxX XxXxX Chapter Fourteen XxXxX "Is this Steven Lynch?" Mulder paced as far as the conference room phone cord would allow. "Yes," said the man on the other end, his voice sleepy and annoyed. "And it's four in the morning. Who is this?" "Mr. Lynch, my name is Fox Mulder. I'm an agent at the FBI, and --" "I told the man last week that I hadn't seen him." Mulder halted his pacing. "Excuse me?" "Carl," said Lynch with impatience. "When the man called yesterday to ask about him, I said I hadn't seen or spoken to Carl in over ten years. I thought he was still in prison." "Do you have any idea where he might be now?" Mulder asked. "No, like I said, I moved away and haven't talked with him since." A pause. "The sick freak, attacking that woman like he did." "Mr. Lynch, it is extremely important that we find Carl right away. Can you think of anywhere he might have gone? Friends, other relatives, favorite places...anything." There was a short silence on the other end. "What did he do this time?" "Mr. Lynch, please..." "It's something bad, right? He's killed a girl this time, I bet." "He has my partner," Mulder snapped, running a hand through his hair. He took a deep breath. "He took her and we need to find them fast. So please, think. Where would he go?" "I...I wish I knew. He went someplace when he stayed with me -- sometimes he didn't come home for days. When I asked him about it, he said he had a girlfriend." "Any idea who that might have been?" "No. I never saw him with any woman, to be honest." Mulder's heart clenched and fell, sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. His one lead was dimming fast. "Did your family have any other property in the area? Somewhere else he might go?" "We weren't like the Rockefellers, Agent Mulder. That house I sold in Baltimore was the only one my family has ever owned up there." Mulder said nothing. He hurled the phone receiver at the wall, where it bounced off and fell to the floor, dragging the rest of the phone with it. The air crackled but nobody moved; Grenier, Russell and Arkin stood stock-still, watching as he took several ragged breaths. "What, um, what should we do now?" Russell asked at length. Mulder walked to the door, not answering. At the threshold, he paused without turning around. "I don't know," he said, and left. XxXxX Vice-like, his fingers grabbed her chin. "What did you just say?" His eyes flashed fever-bright, his breath warm and fetid as he leaned over her. Scully quivered but held his gaze. "The murder in the park," she said. "It wasn't you." "Heh." He released his grip and stroked the side of her face. "Not bad, FBI woman. I'm impressed. Russell and Grenier, I didn't expect them to get it, but Mulder..." He trailed off. "He's not what they said he was. He's not the best, or he would have known it wasn't me." "He knows your name," Scully said again, her breathing shallow. The ropes bit into her wrists. "It's only a matter of time before he finds you here." Carl laughed, a harsh, humorless sound that grated all the way to her bones. "Baby, Mulder had twelve fucking years to find this place. I don't think he's gonna come sniffing around here now." He leaned down, pressing his full weight on her, and put his lips right next to her ear. "We're all alone." Scully turned her head. "Get off of me." "Get off of me," Carl mimicked. He pulled back and grinned. "I'll get off, all right, baby. Yeah." Scully swallowed, watching him rub the bulge in his pants. Fear tingled all the way to her toes. "I'm the only one who knows," she said, struggling to sound strong. "Shut up." He licked his lips and reached for the button on her jeans. Her heart lurched. Instinctively, she drew up her legs, twisting away from him. He slammed her back into position with one swift motion. "Do that again and I'll break your knees." One hot tear leaked down her temple and into her hair. She squeezed her eyes closed as he yanked down her pants. "I'm the only one who knows it wasn't you," she repeated. "I can tell them and set the record straight." "That so." He snorted as pulled off her boots and socks. They hit the floor with a thud, and he discarded her pants as well. "I bet you'd have lots to tell them now, wouldn't you, baby? Bet they'd love to hear all about it." As he went to retrieve her spiked heels from his trophy shelf, Scully tugged hard on her restraints. The knots rubbed her skin raw, and bars of the headboard rattled. Carl didn't even bother to turn around. "It's not worth the struggle, I promise you. The others tried to get loose, too, but they only managed to work themselves into a sweat." Her heart in her throat, Scully kept yanking. The left bar was loose, wobbling back and forth with each frantic pull. Carl frowned as he approached the bed. "Don't make me tie your feet, too. I hate it when I have to do that." Scully trembled, weak from fear and exhaustion. She jerked at his touch on her leg. "Listen, you're right. Mulder has no idea. He doesn't know where you are, he doesn't know about the girl in the park, he doesn't know anything about what you're really like." "He knows what I'm like," Carl said calmly, as he slipped her left shoe on her foot. He smiled at her. "And soon you'll know, too." "But don't you want him to know he was wrong?" she persisted. "He should have known it wasn't your work. Look how quickly I figured it out. Mulder is a coward, a fraud." "Damn straight," Carl said. His lips tightened into a grim line. He moved to put on her other shoe, but Scully kept talking, trying to make him listen. "We could...we could tell him," she said. "We could show him how wrong he was." Carl rubbed her foot, seeming distracted by the velvety contours. "And how are we going to do that?" Her heart thudded. This was it. The last shot. "We could call him." Carl's head snapped up, and he looked at her with narrowed eyes. "You think I'm an idiot? You think I don't know about traces?" "The cell phone," she said quickly, the words tumbling out through her terror-numbed lips. "They can't trace it except to a general area. Here in the woods there'd be no time for them to figure it out." He ran icy fingers up her calf, tracing the curve of her knee, and Scully willed herself not to shudder. "You got him on speed dial, huh? Yeah, I'll just bet you do." She moved her foot to his lap, but her caress came out as more of a spasm. He didn't seem to care. "Just think about it," she said hoarsely. "You've got me here, trapped. Don't you want Mulder to know about it? Don't you want him to know that you've won?" He cupped her foot, stilling her movements. "Maybe I'll let him listen to you scream. Would you liked that?" Scully flinched at his words, turning her head away. The row of shoes loomed on the shelf to her right. She stared at their pretty bows and sequins and wondered if she was going to die. Carl shifted on the bed, his heavy hand lifting from her foot, and Scully dared to glance at him again. He'd pulled out her phone. "He was number one on your home phone," Carl said. "I called him but I didn't leave a message." He patted her calf. "What message should we give him now, do you think?" Scully said nothing. *Turn it on* she willed him. *Just turn it on.* Like magic, he did. "Let's see, baby. He might be too busy to come play with us now. Maybe he's still jerking off in the park. What do you think?" Her pulse picked up, hammering in her throat as she saw him hit the first memory key. He was actually going to dial. Oh, please, she thought, twisting again at her restraints. The ropes held fast. "It's ringing," Carl told her with a gleeful grin, and Scully began to pray. XxXxX Mulder was in the hallway leaning against the wall when his cell phone gave a muffled chirp, deep within his pocket. He had it out in nanoseconds. "Mulder," he said, freezing in place even before he could hear an answer. There was a loud crackle on the other end, but no one spoke. His heart turned over. "Scully?" Grenier and Russell ran out into the hall with Arkin hot on their heels. Mulder turned away from their questioning looks. "Scully, is that you?" "Guess again, Mulder." "Quentin," Mulder said, whirling around and snapping at the other agents. Grenier nodded and they scattered in three different directions, already on top of the trace. "What's going on, Quentin? What are you doing with Agent Scully?" The man gave a soft laugh that sent a prickling ripple of fear down Mulder's back. "Oh, come on, Mulder. You know what I'm doing. You've seen the pictures." Mulder gripped the phone so hard that it threatened to snap in two. "She's a federal agent, Carl. You hurt her and it's an automatic death penalty." "That's assuming you catch me. Which, I have to say, doesn't seem too likely, now does it?" He laughed again. "You weren't even looking in the right place!" "But I was," Mulder said. "You were at the park." "But not where you were looking!" His sing-song sounded like a four year-old's. "No, you were with Agent Scully." Mulder's stomach tightened; he closed his eyes. "Tell me...is she all right?" "I don't want to talk about that right now. I have something else to talk about." Russell reappeared. "We've got the tower traced," she mouthed. "But keep him talking." Mulder tried to think, tried to put himself in Carl's place, but when he did he saw Scully, bruised and broken on the ground. "No," he said. "I won't listen. Not until I talk to Scully." Silence followed, and Russell looked alarmed. "What the hell are you doing?" she hissed. Mulder brushed her off. "I'm going to hang up, Carl." He waited another second. "I'm hanging up now..." "Wait!" Mulder waited, shaking as the seconds passed. He heard rustling and Carl's murmur. Then, "Mulder, it's me." "Scully!" Thank God. Her voice was roughened, scared, but she was still alive. Tears stung his eyes. "Scully, where are you?" She did not answer. He heard more scuffling, then Carl's voice on the line again. Hard, angry. "Now," he said, "you'll listen to me." "Yes," Mulder said, walking a circle in the hallway. "Yes, okay. What is it? Anything you want, it's okay. We'll get it for you. Just don't hurt her." Quentin answered with a hacking cough. "Like your partner, do you, Agent Mulder? She's a pretty one. Smart, too. Smarter than you, Mr. Hot Shit FBI." "She's the best we have," Mulder agreed. Russell gave him a questioning look, but he couldn't answer it. Quentin was one step ahead of him in this conversation. "She guessed my secret right off," Carl continued. "She's the one who thought we should tell you, too." "What?" Mulder was losing patience, his nerves stretched razor-sharp. "What do you want me to know?" Carl's breathing grew deeper. "I want you to know I have your partner tied up. I've got her in bed, Mulder. And she's wearing those pretty shoes just for me." Mulder swallowed, nearly gagging. "You leave her alone, you bastard! You leave her alone or--" "Or you'll what?" "This call is being traced," Mulder said desperately. "You don't have time." "I have plenty of time for what I need to do. So go ahead and trace the phone, Agent Mulder. I'm sure you'll find it eventually." He paused. "Here, I'll even give you a hint -- it'll be right next to Agent Scully's body." And the line went dead. XxXxX He snapped off the phone and gave her a gapped-tooth grin. "You were right," he said. "That was fun." Scully felt her insides begin to shred apart in fear as tossed the phone aside. "But you didn't tell him. He'll never know--" "He doesn't fucking deserve to know!" Carl's smile became an angry snarl. "He's a fuckup, and we're not going to mention his name again, understand?" Scully said nothing, and Carl grabbed her throat, squeezing until she gagged. "I said, do you understand?" "Yes," she gasped. "Good." He released her and patted her cheek. "Then we'll get along just fine." He moved from the bed, back toward his shelf, and Scully tracked him with her eyes as she yanked with all her might on the ropes holding her to the headboard. The left side nearly slipped free. *C'mon, c'mon* she begged silently as the ropes chafed more skin from her wrists. Carl turned around from his shelf. He had a pair of hedge clippers in his hand. Scully couldn't suppress a choked sound of terror, and he blew her a kiss. "For later," he said, holding them up so she could get a better look. Not enough time, she thought wildly. There's not enough time to find me. XxXxX "Figures we couldn't catch a break," Grenier muttered as he returned with the read-outs on the phone trace. "Widest search area possible. A half dozen towns in the foothills and a bunch of the mountains, too." He glanced at Mulder. "I've already got teams headed out there. We can leave right away." Mulder was already moving. "Get me the cousin again," he called back down the hall. "I want to talk to the cousin." XxXxX He sat on the bed, the springs squeaking under his weight, and pulled her left foot into his lap. "Oh yeah," he murmured, bringing it to his crotch. Scully closed her eyes. Notyetnotyet. He leaned down to put the garden shears on the floor; her heart pounded faster and faster, almost pushing through her chest. "Okay," he said, rising up again. "Now for --" She kicked him hard in the face, catching his right eye with the point of her heel. He howled in pain and doubled over at the waist. Scully pulled harder at her restraints, kicking him again even as she tugged. The bar holding her left arm broke loose. "Bitch!" he screamed, clutching his eye and swinging at her with his free hand. She rolled away. "You fucking bitch!" With her left hand, she ripped the right bar out from the headboard. He lunged at her just as she slipped off the bed. Shaking, she ran for the door. "Oh, no you don't!" Carl caught her by the hair, hard enough to bring tears to her eyes, but she didn't stop struggling. She brought her heel down on top of his foot. With a gasp of pain, he released her. "God dammit!" She stumbled, crying out in pain as her left foot turned over at the ankle when she caught it on a loose floorboard. Her shoe fell off. He grabbed her again by the left arm, but she scooped the shears from the floor with her right and bashed them against the injured side of his head. He contracted in pain. Yanking free from his grasp, she scrambled again towards the door, her lopsided gait now slowing her down. She kicked the other shoe off as Carl moaned behind her. "Open, open," she pleaded with the door, not daring to look over her shoulder. It rattled in its frame, the lock stuck, and she could hear Carl getting up from the floor. "Please..." Finally, the lock slid clear, and she ran out into the cold, black night. Which way, which way? She went into the woods, away from the path, picking her way though the sharp branches and slippery leaves. Her own breathing was harsh in her ears; she didn't stop to listen for him following her. The clouds obscured the moon, making it impossible to see where she was going. She ran blindly through the trees, her wounded ankle throbbing with each step. The bars from the headboard still dangled from her wrists by the rope, but she couldn't stop long enough to undo the knots. Sticks and rocks scraped against the tender bottoms of her feet, and whip-slender branches lashed across her bare legs. Her tears flowed freely now, but she kept going. At last, shaking with cold and adrenaline, she stopped in a small clearing. Drizzle had started to leak from the sky, plinking small drops on her goose-pimpled skin. Around her, there was only the whispering sound of the rain on the leaves and the occasional gust of wind. No cars, no road. She had no idea if she was five hundred or five thousand feet from Carl's cabin. In the dark woods, she might have been running in circles. The crack of a branch snapping made her jump. She turned around in a tight circle, trying to see in every direction at once, but the ink-blot night cloaked the woods in secrecy. He could be anywhere, she thought with a shudder. Keep going. So she ignored the night chill and the cuts on her feet and pushed into the dense thicket of trees once more. She had not walked for more than fifteen minutes when she saw a light flash in the distance. She froze, hugging herself against the rain and cold. The beam of light crisscrossed through the darkness, and she heard the crunch of footsteps. Oh, God, she thought. It's him. She scrambled back the way she had come. Down a steep hill, through the thicket, she reached the bottom and paused for breath against a rocky ledge. The footsteps were closer than before, and this time she heard voices. Voices! "Scully? Scully, are you out here?" "Yes," she said, barely recognizing the rasp masquerading as her voice. The footsteps began to move away. XxXxX XxXxX Chapter Fifteen XxXxX There wasn't a path in front of him, only tangled bramble waiting to scratch his eyes out. Mulder hacked his way through the woods with one arm, dodging the worst of the barbed branches as the flashlight in his left hand provided a slim beam of light to follow. Behind him, Russell thrashed her own trail. "I don't see either of them," she said. Mulder paused, shining his light around in several directions. The beam illuminated the slanting rain. "Scully!" he called. "Scully, where are you?" "Maybe he took her with him," Russell said. "We could be losing time..." "There were tracks into the woods," Mulder snapped. He walked deeper into the darkness, twigs crackling under his feet. "Scully," he yelled again. "Scully!" He heard a faint scuffling sound. "Mulder?" "Scully!" He bounded through the woods in the direction of her voice. "Scully, where are you?" "Mulder!" He flashed the light around wildly, trying to find her among the trees. "Scully, talk to me. Scully?" "I'm here," she said, sounding desperate. He ran faster, making zigzags through tall trees, slipping on the muddy leaves at his feet. "Scully!" "Over here!" Russell called, and Mulder abruptly changed course. He pushed through a tall thicket and saw her at the bottom of a steep incline, trembling with cold and squinting under the glare of Russell's flashlight. His heart stopped at the sight of the ropes still tied around her wrists. "Jesus," he muttered from ten feet away. He half ran, half slid down the hill towards her. "Scully, are you okay?" "I'm cold," she said as he reached her. He took off his wool overcoat and put it on her, gathering her close. "Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?" She pressed against him, still shaking. Her teeth chattered. "My feet are cut. I may have...may have sprained an ankle." "Scully." He hugged her tight. "I'm so sorry." Several more flashlights joined Russell's as another rescue team arrived. Mulder turned away, instinctively blocking Scully from the glare and curious eyes. She had not stopped trembling. "Paramedics are on their way down," Russell called, and Mulder nodded. "Come on," he murmured to Scully, "let's sit down. Rest your feet." He tried to coax her down onto the forest floor with him, but her fingers dug into his shirt, protesting. "He's in the woods, Mulder. He followed me." "Grenier's got every man looking for him right now," he told her, brushing back the hair that was stuck to her cheek. "It's okay, Scully. It's going to be okay." He gently tugged her down with him, and this time she relented, her slow, rigid movements telling of her lingering pain and fear. She slumped against his shoulder, shivering as he used his own cold-numbed fingers to fumble with the wet knots at her wrists. His struggle only chafed her further, and she winced, burrowing into his chest. He kissed her temple. "Sorry, sorry." "Quentin didn't kill Beth Kinney," she told him. "He didn't have her shoes." "I know," he replied as he tried to maneuver the coat so that it would cover her feet. She shuddered, her breathing still light and fast on his neck. "How?" He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. "Your autopsy findings. I'll explain later." "Hey, down this way!" Russell yelled, and a few moments later the paramedics appeared at the top of the hill. "It's the cavalry," Mulder murmured. "We're going to get you out of here, okay?" She nodded but did not loosen her hold on him. He stroked the back of her head and rocked them both in a gentle rhythm. She had stopped shaking, but he wasn't sure whether that was a good sign or a very bad one. Two rain-slicked EMTs arrived carrying a stretcher, and the man knelt down next to Scully. "Agent Scully, I'm Bob Eckland, and this is Eliza Bennett. We're going to take care of you now, all right? Tell me, are you hurt anywhere?" Scully sat up from Mulder's embrace, and the loss of her weight caused a painful lance in his chest. There was nothing more he could do. "My ankle may be sprained," she said, her voice hoarse. Eckland cut the ropes from her wrists, and she flexed her fingers. "Other than that, I'm okay, I think." "All right, we're going to take you to the hospital and check you out, get you out of this rain." He smiled at her. "Try to relax. We'll have you out of here ASAP." Mulder climbed back up the hill with the stretcher, his fingers resting on the cold metal edge. Scully pulled her arm out from beneath the blanket and clasped his hand. "Almost there," he said. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and tried not to notice the angry red circles around her wrist. As they neared the edge of the woods, Mulder saw more flashlights circling around in the darkness, men searching for Quentin. Russell's walkie-talkie squawked periodically as Grenier updated their orders. Quentin seemed to have vanished. His cabin loomed in front of them as they emerged from the clearing. Lit up like a Christmas tree, it shone under the bright searchlights and swirling red patterns created by the crush of cop cars that surrounded it. Scully's hand tightened around his, and Mulder felt the squeeze all the way to his heart. He had seen the inside with its bloody sheets, thick rope, and garden shears. "You traced the cell phone?" Scully asked as they paused while the EMTS opened the back of the ambulance. "Yeah," he said, running one finger down her cheek. "Thanks to you. Quentin's cousin helped us narrow the search area; seems they used to go hiking around this area years ago." "Okay, we're ready to go," said Eckland. "We'll just --" He was cut off by a flash of blinding white light. "What the hell?" Russell said from behind them, shielding her eyes. Mulder blinked rapidly. As his vision cleared, he spotted Tanzini standing twenty feet away. "That sonofabitch." "Mulder..." Russell said, but he was already moving. Tanzini grinned when he saw him coming. "Tough choice, isn't it, Mulder? Go with the lady or stay and catch the man who got away the last time. What's it going to be?" Mulder grabbed for the camera, but Tanzini ducked out of reach. "You're under arrest, Tanzini. For interfering with a federal investigation." "I'm not interfering. I'm just standing here." He snapped another picture, the flash exploding in Mulder's face. "You goddamn sonofa..." Mulder lunged at him, intent on strangling the man with his own camera, but a hand bit into his shoulder and held him back. "Arrest this idiot," Grenier growled, and two other agents stepped forward to take Tanzini into custody. "And the camera stays with us." He glared at the photographer. "You may have pulled this shit on Patterson's turf, but you stay the hell away from my investigations, you go it?" "You don't own this property, Grenier." Tanzini struggled but the two agents held him fast. "You'll be hearing from my attorney, and the paper's attorney, you can count on that!" "Get him out of here," Grenier said with disgust. He turned to Mulder. "How's she doing? Is she okay?" Mulder glanced to where the ambulance waited. "Yeah, I think so." He looked back at Grenier. "Get Quentin, okay? I'll be at the hospital." XxXxX Scully lay under the hospital blanket and watched the raindrops slide down the window outside. Her feet had been cleaned and bandaged, her wrists were wrapped, and her ankle was not even sprained. The finger-mark shaped bruises on her neck would heal quickly, she knew. In a few days, no one would be able to tell what had happened to her. No one would know that she had lain on a bed where nine women had died. No one would know that she still had fear dripping down her insides, sticking to all the soft places and making it hard to breathe. "Can I get you anything? A soda, something to eat?" Mulder sat with her, prodding her to speak at regular intervals and then lapsing into awkward silence as he chewed on his thumbnail. "No, thank you." It was the third time he had offered, and she almost accepted just so he would leave her alone. She felt raw and vulnerable, split open and on display, as if he were waiting for the moment she would break. He was stuck in the drab little room because of her pain, and for some reason, she resented it. She rolled away from him on the bed. He hadn't been terrified in the trunk or tied to the bed or choked or cut or found half-naked in the woods. Her cheeks burned at the memory. "I want to go home," she whispered. She felt his touch on her back. "I know." He paused, apparently choosing his words carefully. "But we need to get a forensic team in there first, just in case..." "In case for some reason we can't convict him of nine murders," she said angrily. "I know. It's always nice to have breaking and entering as a back up plan." Mulder said nothing for a long moment. Then, "You can always stay with me tonight." His words, light and unsure, caused tears to clog her throat. He was trying so hard, so why wasn't it enough? "Thanks," she said with a sniff. "That would be nice." "'kay." He gave her another careful pat. "We can...we can order Chinese. Or pizza." She squeezed back the hot tears. "All right," she murmured. She tried not to think of her tub and her soft sheets. She tried not to think of yet one more invasion of her home, when the fingerprint team would dust every inch with black powder. Instead, she thought suddenly of another person who couldn't go home. "Vee," she said, sitting up. "What about her?" "Where is she? She's still in danger, Mulder. Whoever killed Beth Kinney is out there somewhere and presumably still wants Vee murdered." Mulder frowned. "I'm not sure what happened to her," he said. "Last I saw her was with you, when she picked Carl out of the lineup." "You've got to find out," she said. He looked hesitant, reluctant to leave her. "Please. We have to know that she's protected." He took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay. I'll go see what I can find out." "Thank you," she said, settling back against the pillows. "I'm just afraid that someone may have thought the threat was over and sent her home." Mulder left, and a few minutes later there was a knock at the door. Russell poked her head inside the room. "Is it okay if I come in?" Scully sat up again, drawing her knees to her chest. "Did Mulder send you down here to baby sit me?" Russell entered and held out a cup of coffee. "No, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I also thought maybe you could use one of these." "Thanks," Scully said, accepting the paper cup. "Any word from Grenier about the search?" "Nothing so far," Russell replied as she sat in Mulder's chair. "They're still looking the last I heard. Should be easier now that it's daylight." "He has my gun." "Yes, we heard. His car was still in front of the cabin, though, so we're hoping that he couldn't have gotten very far." Scully sipped the hot coffee, then shifted uncomfortably when she saw Russell staring at her wrists. Russell, she remembered, was one of the people to witness the aftermath in the woods, when Scully had been terrified and trembling in her underwear. She set aside her coffee and slipped her hands beneath the blanket. "You really don't have to stay. I'm all right. I think they're releasing me shortly, anyhow." "I'm glad," Russell said. "And I'll get going soon so you can rest." She bit her lip, then leaned forward in her chair. "I just...I just wanted to tell you something." Scully's pulse picked up, and she tensed as she imagined a dozen terrible things. Whatever this woman wanted to say, she was sure she didn't want to hear it. No forced attempts at reassurance, no tidbits about Mulder from the past. Somehow she knew that smallest word could collapse her tenuous control into shards of glass. "I, uh, I never said this to anyone before," Russell continued, her eyes on the floor, and Scully dared to take a breath. This was not the opening she had expected. "What is it?" "I knew one of these guys once. When I was little. My mom owned a little grocery store in this town outside of Portland, and I used to like to play there while she worked. There was this guy who came in all the time. He'd talk to her and make her laugh, and he always bought one of the nickel lollipops for me. I remember he wore cowboy boots and smelled like sandalwood. Mr. Sugarman. He liked to say he was as sweet as his name. Sometimes..." She swallowed hard. "Sometimes I would sit on his lap in the back of the store and read books with him. I pretended he was my father." Scully listened in silence, sensing where the story was going but needing to hear the awful conclusion all the same. "Anyway," Russell continued. "One day, my mom opens the morning paper and runs to throw up. I looked and saw Mr. Sugarman on the front, but she wouldn't tell me what had happened. Two days later I was playing behind the counter when I heard a couple of women talking. Turns out that Sugarman had been arrested for the murder of five little girls. He strangled them and buried them right in his backyard." "That's horrible," Scully whispered. "Yeah." Russell raised her eyes and looked at Scully. "I was alone with him so many times, when Mom went to check something in stock. He could have...it would have been so easy for him to..." She shook her head. "I don't know why he didn't." Can't even say the words aloud, Scully thought. I understand. "I'm glad he didn't," she said to Russell. "I'm glad you're okay." "Thanks," Russell answered. "I can say the same for you." Scully ducked her head, considering. "Yeah," she said at last, "I guess you can." Mulder returned then, surprised to see Russell had taken over his chair. "Did they get him?" he asked quickly. "Not yet," Russell replied as she stood to leave. "But we will. If there's one thing that Adam knows how to do, it's conduct a search." She touched his arm, then glanced at Scully. "I'll let you know the moment I hear something, okay?" "What about Vee?" Scully asked. "Is she okay?" Russell squeezed her eyes shut and ran a hand through her hair. "Damn, I totally forgot about her." "She fine," Mulder said. "They've still got her and her mother down at the Hoover building. I told them not to send them home under any circumstances." Scully let out a long breath. "Good." "Jesus, with everything that happened, I'd forgotten about the other guy." Russell gave Mulder a questioning look. "You're still positive we've got a copycat?" "It's true," Scully answered. "Quentin said so himself. Plus, he didn't have Beth's shoes. Someone else murdered her, and that's the person Vee saw in the park." Russell sighed. "Any suggestions on where to start looking?" Mulder sank into the chair and scrubbed his face with his hands. "I would pull photos on anyone involved in the 1988 investigation. Have Vee look through them for a familiar face." "I can imagine the shit storm if it turns out to be one of our own," Russell said. She gave a half-hearted attempt at a smile. "I guess we're all off the hook, huh? She's met us and I don't remember hearing any accusations of murder." The words caused a chill to run through Scully as she mentally rewound the past few days. "Not Arkin," she murmured as last. "Vee has never met Arkin." XxXxX XxXxX Chapter Sixteen XxXxX Scully finished drying her hair with Mulder's ancient dryer. His robe came almost to her feet, and his socks sagged around her ankles. She stared at herself in the mirror, pushed her hair behind her ears, but it wasn't long enough to hide the finger marks on her neck. "Scully?" He tapped on the door. "The food's here." "Just a minute." She pulled up the collar on the robe and retied the sash around her waist. Gingerly, she walked toward the living room. Even with the thick socks, each step put painful pressure on her wounded feet. "Hey," he said when she appeared. "Did you find everything you needed?" I don't even have any underwear, she thought, but aloud she said, "Yes, thanks." She wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the draft. They stood in silence for a minute, then he touched her shoulder. "Come sit down and eat. Is hot and sour soup okay?" "It's fine," she said as she lowered herself onto the couch. Her sore muscles stretched and cramped at odd intervals, making her movements stiff and jerky. He tucked a blanket around her waist. "I'm fine, Mulder. Just sit down and eat." The wind whistled outside, rattling his loose window panes as they ate without speaking. Scully swallowed several bites of soup, feeling the burn all the way to her stomach, but the taste barely registered. After a few more bites, she couldn't get the soup past the back of her throat. She set the bowl down on the table and curled her feet up under the blanket. "No good?" Mulder's voice was so careful, gentle. She almost wished he would scream at her, make some noise to match the tumult she felt inside. "I'm not very hungry." "Me either," he answered, and placed his bowl next to hers. "You want to lie down? Get some rest?" She shook her head. In the hospital, she had tried to sleep, but her eyes had sprung open every time she'd closed them. Fight or flight, she knew, the body's natural response to danger. Her mind understood she was safe, but her body was still prepared to flee. She couldn't make it quiet. Mulder shifted, his eyes turned away from her. "Scully, I think you should know what happened at the park, what I did..." "No." She pushed across the sofa towards him, landing awkwardly on his leg. Her fingers bunched in the soft cotton of his shirt. "No," she repeated against his neck. His heartbeat thudded in her ear, and he moved slowly to embrace her. "Scully," he murmured, his voice thick. "I thought...on the phone, when he said..." "Sssh, sssh." She sat up in his lap and swallowed his words with desperate kisses, ignoring her own tears. "Stop." Make it stop. She clutched him fiercely, her breath hitching in her chest. He kissed her back just as hard. Bruising, hot kisses with stubble scrapes and velvet tongues, fighting even as they loved. She pinned him back against the couch. Hands everywhere. Parted thighs. Pushing everything inside herself into him as he rose up hard between her legs. She gasped, eyes flying open at the memory of his cock under her foot. Fear in her throat. She grabbed at Mulder's hands and he brought them under her robe, stroking her fevered skin. Make it stop. Please don't stop. Panting, she led him onward, opening his pants and drawing him out. He threw his head back with a gasp. "Scully..." She slid her tongue in his mouth, no time to think. Push him in. Push everything out. She rocked in his lap as he held her hips and gave her what she needed. "Please," she whispered, the word scratching at her throat. "Ah, yes. Scully." His face screwed up in pleasure-pain. Faster, faster, rubbing inside and making her burn. Tears leaked from her eyes, blurring her vision. She heard her own voice choking and pleading. Wait. Stop. His face above hers, the shears in his hands. Mulder's face, hot against her neck. She pricked her nails against his scalp. "Yeah," he breathed, and her muscles went rigid. No. The word wouldn't come out. She gulped for air, shaking, but he didn't notice the change in her. Help. She grabbed him tight, and he groaned. A few more thrusts and he stopped, pulling her close. She jerked away. "Scully...?" His lids lifted, showing fatigue and confusion in his eyes. Struggling, she scrambled off him and ran to the bathroom. Stop, stop. But the fear kept coming, crashing over her in waves so fast that she couldn't catch her breath. She slammed the door even as she heard his footsteps coming after her, but inside, her terror continued unabated. The knife at her throat, his hands on her neck. She flattened herself against the cool door and tried to get control. Itsokayitokayitsokay. "Scully, please." Mulder was on the other side. She shut her eyes and continued her gasping breaths. "Scully, let me in." He jiggled the knob. "I'm sorry," she choked out. "I didn't mean to do that." "It's okay. Scully, it's all right. I'm the one who's sorry. Please let me in." She hid her face in her hands, her cheeks hot and wet to her touch. "I can't," she said between breaths. "I can't make it stop." The door knob rattled with more force. "It's all right," he said. "You don't have to stop it. Not tonight." "I'm sorry." She moved way from the door and released the lock with shaking fingers. He stumbled through in a rush, his face ashen and his pants still undone. "I'm sorry," she said as she hugged him. His arms closed around her gently. "You don't have anything to be sorry for," he murmured, rocking her. "It's okay." "It's not." He kissed her head. "You're right, it's not." "I want to go home." "I know." She shivered in his embrace, and he rubbed the length of her back with long, soothing strokes. Gradually, the choke-hold of fear receded, leaving her quivering and spent. Her heartbeat followed his into a slow, even rhythm, and she sighed against his shoulder. He was warm and solid in her arms. "Better?" he whispered at her temple, and she hugged him in answer. He smoothed her hair down, his hand resting at the base of her neck. She closed her eyes as the tension inside finally eased. The cabin faded away, and she was left standing safe with Mulder, their bare toes touching on the cold tile floor. She took a long, shuddering breath. "Yes," she said. "Better." XxXxX He awoke disoriented in a tangle of sheets and blankets. It was nighttime, black as pitch. Scully's side of the bed was empty, and he could see no light coming from the bathroom. Concerned, he got up and went to look for her. He peeked around the corner into the dark living room and saw her curled under a blanket on the couch. The slim light from the street lamp outside told him she was awake, but he hesitated whether to disturb her privacy. He stood frozen, listening to the storm beat against the windows as wondered if maybe they had shared enough emotional turbulence for one day. "It's okay," she said softly, turning on the sofa. "You can come in." Still cautious, he approached with slow steps and sat a good distance away from her, mindful of her space. He knew better than to hold her too tightly. "What's up?" he asked. "Couldn't sleep?" She shook her head. "I was listening to the rain." She paused, and the sounds of sheeting drops and rushing cars filled the silence. "This kind of rain always reminds me of you." "Really?" She smiled a little and nodded. "Because of that first case," she explained. "In Oregon." "That was some rain," he agreed, somewhat surprised by her admission. He smiled, thinking that from then on, the pouring rain would make him think of her, too, and this moment on the couch. These small ways that she changed him, the way he became a different person every time he talked with her, was one of the things he loved most about her. He took her hand. "I was born in rain like this, you know." "Is that so." She shifted to settle against his side, and he wrapped one arm around her. "Yep, it was a hurricane. My mother almost didn't make it to the hospital on time." He felt her smile, warming him though his tee-shirt right to his very center. "Tell me more," she said. So he did. XxXxX In the morning, they went to her apartment, where she frowned at the disarray but ignored it in favor of clean clothes. She dressed in jeans and a soft-knit sweater because work clothes were impossible due to the cuts on her feet. Sneakers only for at least several more days. She inched her closet door open to get them, trying not to look at the rows of heels that lined one wall. Now that she knew, the empty space where the black sandals had been seemed to expand and scream for attention. She shut the door with a sharp slam. "Everything okay?" Mulder asked, poking his head into the room. "Yes, fine." His cell phone rang. "Mulder." She watched his face as he listened. "Well, are they still out there? How far is the road? Uh-huh. Yeah. Yeah, okay. I'm coming in now." "What is it?" she asked when he'd finished. He looked away, the phone clenched tightly in his fist. "They haven't found Quentin. Grenier now thinks he might have reached the highway on the other side of the woods before we even got there." Scully sank onto the bed. "But then where would he go?" "Hitchhike? Carjack someone driving past? I don't know. How the hell this animal keeps besting the entire FBI is beyond me." "Well, this time we know what he looks like," Scully said. "And we know his name. It's only a matter of time before he gets caught." "It's already been twelve years too many." Scully looked at the door of her closet and did not reply. XxXxX "You sure you want to do this?" Mulder asked outside the evidence room. Scully nodded. "It's fine. I'm the one who was there, after all. Maybe I can help." "I don't doubt it," he said with a small smile. He opened the door, and inside they found all the items that had been collected from Carl's cabin catalogued and spread out on a long table. The newspaper clippings had been placed in protective plastic bags, but the shoes remained lined up as neatly as they had been on Carl's shelf. At the end of the table lay the garden shears, still tinged with blood. Mulder glanced at Scully, but her expression was unreadable. She walked slowly once around the table. "My shoes aren't here," she said at last. "What?" He looked now, too, and found she was right. The black velvet sandals she had described were not with the rest of the shoes. "They're not here," she said again, more upset this time. "Do you think this means he still has them?" Mulder felt the question like a punch to his gut; there was no way he could lie to her. "Yes," he said tersely. "I think he probably has them." Scully stared at him without moving for a long minute. "Do you think he'll come back?" He hesitated, choosing his words with care. "I don't think so. He knows we know who he is this time; it would be suicide to come back here now." "But he might." "He's come back before," Mulder said. "So it's possible. But I doubt he'd even make it across city lines." Scully looked at the long row of shoes. "I wish I could say that was enough for me." "I know," he said, crossing to her and giving her a quick squeeze around the shoulders. "I don't like it, either." He released her and moved to the table. "So what do you say we see if we can figure out where he might have gone, okay?" Scully nodded, joining him by the evidence. "Any sense of where to start?" "Not a clue." They worked from opposite ends, poring over Carl's notebooks and newspaper clippings. Scully found nothing that stood out to her, but after an hour, Mulder looked up with excitement. "Is there a magnifying glass around here?" "Uh, yes. Behind you." He grabbed the glass and removed one newspaper article from its bag. Scully walked over to see what he had found. He had the magnifying glass trained over one of Tanzini's old photos. "What is it?" she asked. "I think I know who Irene was," he answered. "Who?" "Irene, the name in Elizabeth Kinney's textbook." He set down the magnifying glass and turned to look up at her. "And if I'm right, I also know who murdered Elizabeth Kinney." XxXxX Irene Sherring lived in modest brick house outside of Richmond. There was a tricycle in the yard, and Ford Explorer parked in her drive way. Scully glanced up and down the mostly-deserted street. "If it's true," she said to Mulder, "this woman could be in real danger." "I agree. That's why we have to make sure." They knocked on the door, and a few minutes later a round- bodied woman with a toddler on her hip answered. "Yes?" she asked as she hitched the child up a little farther. In the background, Bugs Bunny was having it out with Yosemite Sam at about twelve thousand decibels. "I'm Fox Mulder," Mulder said over the din. "And this is Dana Scully. I spoke to you on the phone this morning." "Of course," she said. "About Dan. Please come in." They dodged a minefield of toys as they followed her into the room. A boy of about six lay in front of the TV, eating Cheerios straight from the box. "Steven, turn that down please." She continued in to the kitchen, where she set the little girl down amid a pile of plastic donuts. "Have a seat," she said. "Can I get you some coffee?" "No, thanks," Mulder answered. "Okay, then." She sat and took a deep breath. "What's this about Dan?" "Your late husband worked with Gary Tanzini at the Post, is that correct?" Mulder asked. "He worked with Gary sometimes, yes. But he didn't like it. Gary was always bossing him around like he was some pee-wee assistant. Dan went to Harvard! He was no idiot." "Mrs. Sherring, did your husband maintain a dark room at home? Scully asked. The woman picked up a cloth and wiped what looked like a grape-juice stain from the table. "Of course he did. Sometimes he'd be in there for days on end." "And at the time of his death," Scully continued, "was he working with Tanzini on the series of murders that took place in the city in 1988?" "Oh, God. Yes, now that you mention it, he was. I'd almost forgotten about that. Dan hated that job. He had nightmares almost every night." She snorted. "'Course, I saw where Tanzini got the grand prize for that series a few years back. The public just couldn't get enough of it." "This is the important part," Mulder said. "Think carefully. After Dan's accident, did Tanzini ever contact you about collecting some negatives, or maybe some equipment?" Mrs. Sherring considered. "I believe he did, yes. He came a few days after the funeral to get some cameras that Dan had borrowed from work. Why?" Mulder looked at Scully, who pulled out a copy of the photo he had picked out earlier. "Mrs. Sherring," she said, "I think you might want to look at this." XxXxX Tanzini was in his office when Mulder, Scully and two of the DCPD's finest arrived at his door. If he was nervous, he did not show it. "Mulder," he said, "I was just telling my lawyer all about that stunt you and Grenier pulled the night before last." He peered over his glasses at Scully. "You're looking much better today." She ignored his comment. "We have some questions for you, Mr. Tanzini." "Yeah?" He glanced from her to the two uniformed officers. "What's with the troops, Mulder? Shouldn't you be out looking for your murderer?" "I have," Mulder said. "And I've found him." For the first time, Tanzini looked concerned. "I don't understand." "Sure you do," Mulder said. "You killed Beth Kinney and dumped her body in Montrose Park." "What the hell are you talking about?" Tanzini stood, too, his face turning pink with anger. "That's a damn lie!" "You want me to prove it?" Mulder asked. "I can." "I want you to take your goons and get the hell out of my office." "Beth interviewed you for the paper last year," Mulder continued as if he hadn't spoken. "She did a nice article on your Pulitzer." "So what? That means I killed her?" "No, but that's probably when she found out you had worked with Dan O'Dell back in 1988." "I worked with Dan. Big deal." "The big deal is you stole some of his work," Mulder shot back. "Those photos that won you your big prize? He took at least one, probably more." "The hell you say." "I don't have to say," Mulder said, pulling out the copy of the old photo. He waved it at Tanzini. "A picture is worth a thousand words." "What the fuck are you trying to pull here, Mulder? I can call the mayor, you know, and he'll..." "You're in the picture." "Excuse me?" "The picture you supposedly took. Right there in back of the crowd, with your own camera. That's what Beth saw, and that's why you killed her." Tanzini glared at him in stony silence for a long minute. "The little bitch should have just kept her mouth shut. I took hundreds of photos every bit as good as Dan's, and I taught him everything he knew." "Take him away," Mulder said. He watched as the two men handcuffed Tanzini and read him his rights. "Somehow I don't think the Post is going to be covering your legal fees on this one," he said. "Go to hell." Mulder indicated the door with a sweep of his hand. "After you." XxXxX "Yeah," said Vee from her place at Scully's side. "That's definitely him. No question this time." "Okay, get them out of there," the sergeant said through a microphone, and a uniformed cop led Tanzini and the other men in the lineup out through a side door. "So that's it?" Vee asked. "He won't get out on bail or anything?" "He shouldn't be allowed bail," Scully replied. "But even if he is, you won't have to worry. He knows we have more than enough evidence to convict him, and his secret is already out. There's no reason for him to target you now." "I guess," the girl said, but she didn't sound convinced. "You'll tell me if he gets out?" "I promise." "Okay." She shoved her hands in her pockets. "My mom's waiting, so I guess I should go. But I wanted to give you this." She pulled out a key chain with a small stuffed lion attached. "It used to be my good luck charm, because I won it playing skee-ball in the fourth grade." "Quite a prize," Scully observed. "But you can't give away your good luck charm." Vee shrugged. "It hasn't been that lucky for me lately. I figured it might work better for someone else." Scully smiled. "Okay, thanks. I'll try it out." Vee nodded and went to the door. "I thought you might need it more anyway," she said, turning around. "'Cause they caught the man who was after me. Hope it works." The door closed behind her, and Scully stared at the scruffy miniature lion in her palm. "Yes," she said. "Me, too." XxXxX XxXxX Epilogue XxXxX Two weeks later, Mulder sat in his office making friends with his files again. He wanted something juicy for his first case back on full duty. There was a report on a man who had survived a plunge off of a thirty-two story building in Chicago that seemed interesting. He set the file aside when he heard his partner's familiar gait in the hallway. "Hey," she said as she walked in the door. "Welcome back." She eyed the stack of files on his desk. "You must have been in here early." He grinned. "And you, I should note, were not." She smiled back and held up a bag. "Shopping," she explained. "There was a sale that started this morning." He leaned down to peer around the corner of his desk. On her feet were a pair of sleek, black heels, a little narrower than he was used to seeing. "Those look new." "They are. I put the old ones in the box." She walked over and sat on the edge of the desk. "I got tired of looking at the blank space on my shoe rack, and it was time for a new pair, anyhow." She paused. "And at least I know he hasn't touched these." "I talked to Grenier this morning. They're following a lead in Idaho, of all places." "I hope it pans out." She turned the file in front of him around so she could read it. "What have you got for us?" He tugged it back. "How do you feel about deep dish pizza, Scully?" XxXxX Carl sat on the park bench even though it was really too cold to eat lunch outside. He thought about heading south, where people didn't have to wear boots for five months out of the year. After a few minutes, a young woman joined him. Her hair was wrapped in a pretty pink scarf, and she seemed to be waiting for someone. Carl felt the old tingle start when he glanced at her feet -- smart black pumps with a white stripe across the toe. "Can I help you?" she asked when she caught him looking. He smiled to reassure her. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just have to say I love your shoes." XxXxX The End If you made it this far, I'd love to hear from you. All comments and questions are welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com This one is for Alicia, who has stuck with me through 1.5 years and 5 novels. Not to mention sesame-seeded villains, marathon phone conversations and a hair-raising trip up the Space Needle. Alicia, thank you! You make the world-wide web as friendly as a backyard barbecue. Sexy, strappy, open-toed sandals of thanks to: Alanna, for asking questions that made me rethink my choices. Alicia, for being fast, funny and a good friend. Jerry, for much help with plot. Luperkal, for fielding all of my GW questions. Joanne, who spent 3000 miles this summer listening to me iron out the plot. Diana, for on-the-spot Mulder characterization consults. Mara, Triton and Jen, for feedback beyond the call of duty. Nancy, for the amusing and entertaining theories. It's been fun, folks. Thanks for letting me play. syn ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Head Over Heels ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ by syntax6 XxXxX Prologue XxXxX He carried his labor of love in a sack on his shoulder, hunched as he climbed over the crumbling rock of the desert. Animals heard his boots approach and slithered away to invisibility just as he reached them. Overhead, the milky moon lit the path in front while the night swallowed his steps behind, covering the months of preparation that had led to his solitary journey. He thought of Mulder, hoped he would be the one to get the call. Those are my fingernails scratching down the inside of your ribs, he thought with a grin, and don't you forget it. The bones at his back clattered together like drumsticks when he jumped down onto the dusty earth. Another half mile would be sufficient, he reckoned. This was the only part of the plan that bothered him, having to leave her out in the middle of nowhere for someone else to find. It could be hours, could be weeks -- he had no way of knowing or controlling the outcome. By the time they found her, he would be far away composing the second verse of his love letter. At length he stopped by some brush he thought well-suited for his purposes. Slipping the sack from his shoulder, he opened the mouth wide in front of him. "Trick or treat!" he said with a chuckle. He shook his bag of goodies until they rattled, the smaller bones knocking around like beads against the longer, hollow ones. Then he simply turned the sack on end, creating a brief waterfall of human remains that fell in a pile at his feet. The small skull rocked back and forth in the dirt for a few seconds but stopped when he touched it with his toe. From inside his jacket he produced another bag, this one made of clear plastic, which contained the final touches for his missive. What good was a letter, after all, if one did not address it and sign it appropriately? He snapped on his gloves and withdrew the strands of red hair he'd pulled from her head a few days before. The devil is in the details, he reminded himself as he wound the hairs around the prickly branch. He scattered the remaining items with equal care, then stopped to survey his work. A perfect execution, he decided at last. His imagination come to life. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the signature -- two tiny toe bones. They felt almost like teeth in his hand. "I'll just keep these, shall I?" he said to the broken woman on the ground. He popped one into his mouth and walked away, sucking his prize like a hard candy all the way home. XxXxX Sam Nesbith stepped from his Explorer cruiser into the wall of summer heat. He slipped open the button on his shirt collar and scanned the desert scene, trying to pick his deputy from among the half-dozen men in black. Luke caught him looking and waved. "Over here, Sheriff." Nesbith climbed over a rocky slope and acknowledged Luke with a nod. "Simmons. What have you got for me?" "Hikers found her this morning, sir. Kitchner and I got the call, and we've been here since oh nine hundred. Del Hoya and Marsh have been helping us secure the perimeter, but I gotta tell you, it seems like she's been here a while." "She's over that way?" Nesbith indicated the brush thirty feet across the sand. "Yes, sir. What's left of her, at least." Nesbith frowned and started over towards the body. "I suppose it's too much to hope for any ID." "Well, that's the thing..." "Jesus Christ," Nesbith interrupted as he caught sight of the scattered bones. "No telling how long she's been out here." He turned to Simmons. "Nothing else gets touched until the coroner gets here, you understand? And I don't want anyone else within a mile of this place. I don't care if God himself gave the okay." "Right. We're on it." Simmons hesitated, then nodded at a rock a few feet away. "You might want to see this, though." "What is it?" "It's a shield, sir. FBI from the looks of it." "Shit," Nesbith muttered. He followed Simmons over to the rock, where they knelt by the black leather case. "You think this is from our vic, is that it? Can't be. That body has to have been out here for months, if not years, to have been stripped as clean as she was. This leather is barely faded at all." Simmons's face fell a bit. "The picture shows a woman with red hair, and we found some red hair caught on the bush over there so I just assumed..." Nesbith turned and glanced over to where the skeleton lay. "I've got a bad feeling about his one, Luke," he murmured. "Something's way off." He shook his head and turned his attention back to the shield. Pulling out a pen, he nudged the flap of the case open. Dana Scully, it read. FBI. XxXxX Mulder remembered why he had vowed never again to set foot in Au Bon Pain as the two girls behind the counter ignored him in favor of their conversation about some absent Au Bon Pain worker, and whether or not said worker wore falsies her bra. When a third round of throat clearing failed to gain their attention, he leaned over the counter himself and said, "You know, I heard she's actually a man, and that's why she has to steal extra money from the tip jar to pay for her upcoming operation." The girls stared at him, dumb-struck for a moment, until the dark-haired one with the pony tail found her tongue. "Uh, I don't think so," she said with scorn. "My brother used to go out with her, and he said..." "You're absolutely right," Mulder agreed, dead-pan. "I must have her confused with some other Au Bon Pain employee. So I'll just have the grilled chicken sandwich then, okay?" The pony tail girl shut her mouth with a snap and rang up his order. By the time he had picked up his napkins, she was back gossiping with her friend again. Could there really be a man hidden in their midst? Mulder hid a smile and walked around the back, where he found Amelia Russell sitting at a table full of food. "Small breakfast," she said in explanation, and pulled back her salad, soup and sandwich to make room. "I braved the Pod People lunch line for you, Russell. This better be good." "Let me guess," she said, sipping her drink. "Janine and her breasts again." Mulder looked up from his sandwich. "Are you on some sort of stakeout duty here? Or have they started drugging the croissants." Russell smiled. "I prefer the bagels. Oh, and for the record?" She leaned across the small table towards him. "Janine totally stuffs." Mulder covered his mouth in mock horror. "She doesn't!" Russell shook her head and leaned back in her chair, wiping her fingers on her napkin. "Seriously, Mulder, thanks for coming. I'm sorry I was so cryptic on the phone." Ah, yes, Mulder remembered. The message so secretive that he'd almost expected it to self-destruct when he'd rescued it from voice mail. The message that had specifically stated not to bring Scully. "So what's up?" he asked, trying to keep his tone casual. Russell hesitated for a beat, then pulled out a large envelope. "Grenier would kill me if he knew I was talking to you, but I really think we could use your opinion." "A lead?" Mulder felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Ten months evaporated in an instant, and he was running though the woods again, screaming Scully's name into the pouring rain. "Could be. That's what I wanted to talk to you about." She paused. "And why I thought you should come alone." "It's..." He traced the sharp edges of the table with both hands, his appetite gone. "It's okay. Scully's with her family in California now, anyway. What have you got?" "Six months ago a college girl from the University of Wisconsin at Madison disappeared on her way home from a party." Russell drew out a stack of photos. "Mary Horner, age twenty-one. She was missing up until last week, when a last-ditch search party organized by her parents found her in the woods. The crime lab says she'd been dead since the night she disappeared. Our division flagged it when we learned she had been discovered fully clothed, but with her shoes missing." "Toes?" Mulder asked quickly, even as he flipped through the pictures to see for himself. Russell sighed. "The little ones are still there, but the largest toe on her right foot had been removed, as had two fingers on her left hand. Clean cuts, just like we've seen before." "The ME have any guess about the weapon used to remove them?" "Smooth blade, no serration. Definitely not shears, though." Mulder flinched a little at the memory of the bloody tool he'd seen in Carl Quentin's cabin ten months ago. Scully. He fought the urge to pull out his phone and call her, just to hear her voice. "What does Grenier think?" he asked at last. "He thinks it might be Quentin. We've pulled the missing persons reports from the Madison area for the last few months. Two other young women who meet Quentin's victim profile have disappeared recently, though no other bodies have been found as of yet. Grenier's out there investigating now." "Uh-huh." Mulder fingered the pointed corner of the photos, looked down at the white body in the woods. "But you didn't go with him." Russell ducked her head. "No, I...I couldn't go this time. It's complicated. But I don't think Grenier's wrong to check into it. Mainly, I just wanted to know your opinion." "My opinion." He felt tired, every one of his forty years weighing on him as he forced himself to look at the grisly photos. My opinion, he thought, is that I wish this shit would just leave me the hell alone. Every time I walk away, it comes back and bites me on the ass. "Not him," he said aloud, setting the pictures down flat. "But the profiles match, and the shoes are missing..." "Look, you wanted my opinion, and you've got it." Russell said nothing for a moment. "Right," she said softly, collecting the photographs. "I'm sorry. I should never have asked, not after--" "He wouldn't change the toes." Russell seemed to consider this possibility. "I've seen changes in MO before due to increasing disorganization. Ted Bundy, for instance. Look at what he did in Florida with the sorority house -- changing weapon, changing his pattern of attack. Also, Quentin had a close call with us last year. He knows we're on to him now. It could be he's altered his behavior to decrease his chances of capture." Mulder shook his head. "Altered his appearance, maybe. But this is a man who spent eleven years in prison and resumed his killings in an *identical* fashion when he was released. It's all about the feet for him. He wouldn't bother cutting off some fingers. It probably would never even occur to him." "Okay, fine." Russell rubbed her eyes with one hand. "We'll just have to keep looking, then." "Hey." He waited until she looked up. "I could be wrong," he said, attempting a smile. "I'm rusty at this, you know." "No," she sighed. "You're as shiny as you ever were. But Grenier won't believe it until he comes to the same conclusion himself. For what it's worth, I really am sorry to dredge this whole thing up again." "It never really settled." "Yeah." She put away the envelope. "How is Scully doing? Okay?" Scully. He thought of the endless nights he had spent with her after it had happened, eyes cracking from fatigue as they watched inane TV movies or played Gin Rummy -- anything to keep from talking about the elephant in the room, anything to keep from having to go to bed and dream her way back into the woods. Scully, always fine even when she was not. It had been months now, he realized at last. Months had passed since her last bout of insomnia. These days when they were alone she couldn't wait to get into bed. "She's good," he said, smiling a little. He decided he would call her when he got back to the office, already dreaming up a flimsy pretext she would see right through anyway. He also decided not to mention his conversation with Russell. "Tell her I said hello," Russell said as if she could read his mind. "I will." He stood up with his half-eaten sandwich. "And, uh, let me know if anything turns up." "I will." He turned to go, when she stopped him. "Mulder..." "Yeah?" "Could you...could we maybe have dinner some time? There's something else I'd like to talk to you about." Mulder froze. He could tell by the tone of her voice that the something was personal. "I...sure. Whenever. Just, uh, just give me a call." "It's not bad, I promise," she said. "It's just kind of a long story, and I don't want to get into it here." "Sure," Mulder repeated, sounding lame to his own ears. "Anytime. Just let me know." His phone rang then, rescuing him from his awkwardness. "Mulder." "Agent Mulder, I need to see you in my office now." Skinner's voice had an overtone Mulder didn't recognize. "I'm on my way," Mulder answered. He waved at Russell on his way out, and she waved back. "Right now, Mulder," Skinner said, and this time Mulder caught the emotion crackling over the phone line. Fear. XxXxX "What's going on?" Mulder asked as he entered the AD's office. Skinner was standing behind his desk, looking grim. "I've got Special Agent Lillian Chang on the phone from California," he said, gesturing toward the speaker phone. "Agent Mulder, hello," came the voice on the other line. "Hi," Mulder said. He tried to meet Skinner's eyes, but the other man looked away. "What can I do for you, Agent Chang?" "Assistant Director Skinner informs me that your partner Dana Scully has been vacationing here in California this week, is that correct?" At the mention of Scully's name, Mulder felt his mid-section seize up. "She's with family in San Diego. Why? What's wrong?" Skinner turned away. "Agent Mulder, can you tell me when was the last time you spoke with your partner?" Chang continued. "Three days ago," Mulder answered tightly. "Now someone please tell me what the hell this is all about." There was a short silence on the other end of the phone. "This morning the Sheriff in Orange County found a female skeleton in the desert. Nearby they found an FBI shield belonging to Dana Scully, so we're just trying to--" "No," Mulder said, shaking his head and pulling out his phone. "No, you're wrong!" "Agent Mulder, please, we just want to--" "In a minute," Skinner snapped. He watched as Mulder put the phone to his ear. "C'mon, c'mon," Mulder muttered as the ringing began. Halfway through the third ring, he could breathe again. "Scully," she said, and the relief made him weak to his toes. "Hey," he said through a grin. "How are you?" "Sleepy," she answered. "Too much sun." Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder saw Skinner sink into a chair. He met the AD's gaze and nodded. "But you're okay?" he said to Scully. "All the flesh still on your bones and everything?" "What? Mulder, I think maybe you're the one who's been out in the sun too long." "It's a mistake," he called across the room to Agent Fuckup on the speaker phone. "She's fine." "Mulder." Scully didn't sound amused any more. "What the hell is going on?" "Rumors of your death were greatly exaggerated." "My death? What the hell are you talking about, Mulder? Who says I'm dead?" Agent Chang spoke before he could answer. "I'm very glad to know it was a mistake," she said. "But we still have a dead body here. Please tell Agent Scully that we're going to need to speak with her immediately." "It seems there was a body found today with your name on it," Mulder said into his phone. He turned around, effectively closing off Chang and Skinner from the conversation. "But it's okay. It was a mistake." "One in my favor, apparently. Jesus." "I don't know the whole story, Scully, but it sounds like they found your FBI ID at the scene." "Not possible," she said flatly. "I have it with me." "You're sure." "Yes, I'm sure." He heard rustling on the other end. "I'm looking at right now." "Then someone went to a lot of trouble to make people think it was you in the desert." "Yes," she agreed. "But it wasn't me. So who was it?" "I don't know," he said, glancing over his shoulder to where Skinner was talking to Chang. "But I think they're going to want your help in figuring that out." XxXxX XxXxXxXxX Chapter Two XxXxXxXxX It had taken a fair amount of research for him to find the woman, but Carl was nothing if not thorough. In sixth grade, he'd taken one assignment -- to write a three page essay on some aspect of Ancient Rome -- and turned it into a twenty- five page epic on gladiators and their weapons of death. Retiraii. Cestus. Pugio. Killing and ceremony combined; he'd devoured the details and regurgitated the bloodshed for his horrified school teacher. He had seen her looking at him weeks later when the local playground mutt turned up disemboweled behind the jungle gym, but no one had ever found the lovely curved dagger he'd used to split the dog in two. Research. It paid off. He knew better than to hang around the woman's bones waiting for the law to arrive. Tempting as it was to catch a glimpse of her after all their months apart, he realized he couldn't shadow Scully the way he had in D.C.. His full beard and dyed hair were enough to pass most folks unnoticed, but Scully had spent too much time tied up in his bed not to recognize his face. He would just have to wait for her to come to him. His patience had limits, however, which was why he was driving four hundred and fifty miles to Utah to mail a package. Scully would ID the body eventually, but he was willing to give her a hint to expedite their reunion. It was both a goodwill gesture and a reminder that he was still waiting. For ten months her shoes had sat on a shelf in his bedroom, mocking him with the knowledge that his task was yet unfinished, that he had left her thrashing around like a wounded animal in the woods. He imagined her face when she realized who put those bones in the desert. Did you really think it was over? he wondered. Did you really think you had escaped? He decided to pay a boy to express mail the package but left his fingerprints on the envelope as a little "fuck you" to Mulder. Mr. Hotshit FBI thought he was so special, figuring out Carl's name after all these years. I'll give you the name, Carl thought, because besides that you've got nothing. The snot-nose kid he found at the basketball court got curious when he saw the address label. "Is this really going to the FBI?" he asked, squinting in the summer sun. Carl adjusted his wide-brimmed hat. "That's why it's important you get to post office immediately, you understand?" "Fox Mulder, FBI," the kid read aloud. "What's inside?" Carl considered. "It's an invitation," he said at last. "To a party?" "Yeah," Carl agreed with a smirk. "To a party." XxXxX "This crumb cake is delicious, Tara," Maggie Scully said as she helped herself to another piece. "Do you think I could get the recipe before we leave tomorrow?" "Of course," Tara replied, sounding pleased. "No thank you," Scully said to her mother as Maggie tried to place a second slice on her plate. "I really have to be..." "I think I even have the recipe stored on my computer," Tara continued. "I can print you out a copy right quick. Dana, would you like one, too?" At her mother's hopeful look, Scully repressed a sigh. "Sure," she said, forcing a smile. "That'd be great." There was nothing like a visit with her relatives to remind her that her numerous skills counted for nothing on the home front. Twenty years of schooling, several advanced degrees and solve rate that would leave most agents writhing in envy did not give her much to contribute around the breakfast nook. Every time she set foot in Tara's kitchen, Scully was acutely aware that she was more at home in a hazmat suit than an apron. "Hey," Matthew announced brightly from under the table. Scully lifted the edge of the cloth to peek at him. "Hey, yourself." "Are we going to the zoo now?" he asked as he crawled up her legs and into her lap. Scully squeezed him and smoothed back his bed-head cowlick. He was still wearing his pajamas with the frogs on them. "Don't you think you might want to put on some clothes first?" "No, I wanna go like this!" he said, laughing and wriggling with glee. Just this one part, Scully thought, resting her chin on the top of his warm head. This part I wish I could have. Matthew didn't care that she couldn't discuss cookies or cross-stitching; she'd helped him dig for dinosaur bones in the back yard, and now he looked at her like she had hung the moon. "Finish your cereal, Matthew, and then we'll get you dressed," Tara said as she got up to put the milk away. "No." Matthew folded his arms. "It's mushy." Scully eyed the bowl of soggy Cheerios and silently concurred with his decision. "About the zoo," she began again, but Matthew cut her off, squirming around in her lap. "Aunt Dana, Aunt Dana! We can look for dinosaurs there!" "Um, actually, I'm afraid I can't go to the zoo today." "What?" Maggie stopped clearing the table. "I have to drive to Orange County," Scully explained. "The Sheriff there has a few questions for me." She did not add the part about someone faking her death, but Maggie was sharp enough to sense trouble. "You're on vacation. Why would they need to talk to you now?" "It's a forensic matter," Scully said, hedging. "I shouldn't be gone long." Maggie looked unconvinced. "You're still flying home with me tomorrow, right?" "With luck I'll be done by lunch time." "But what about the zoo?" Matthew said, sounding forlorn. "You'll go with your mom and grandma," Scully replied. "And then you can give me the full dinosaur report at dinner, okay?" "Okay," Matthew agreed. He placed a strawberry on the end of her coffee spoon and then launched the fruit through the air with delighted giggle. "My goodness!" said her mother. "Matthew Scully!" said his mother. "Nice arc," said Scully, and went to change her clothes. XxXxX Rush hour traffic on I-5 was gone by the time Scully got on the road so she made good time to the Sheriff's office in Santa Ana, where the Sheriff welcomed her himself. He had a bushy moustache and a firm handshake. "Agent Scully," he said, his gravelly voice suggesting a multi pack a day smoking habit. "Sam Nesbith. It's nice to see you in one piece. Sorry to interrupt your vacation this way." "It's no trouble. To be honest, I think I'm more anxious than you are to see this matter resolved." "Damndest thing I ever saw, that's for sure. Why don't you come on in my office? Agent Cheng is there, and we can tell you what we know so far." He led her toward the back, stopping at a coffee machine along the way. "I'm buying," he said, holding up a quarter. "No, thanks," Scully replied. She felt jittery enough. Agent Cheng sat on a leather sofa inside the large office, a passel of folders spread out next to her. She stood as they entered, and extended a cordial greeting to Scully. Slender and pale, with jet-black hair cut short in an angular style, she reminded Scully more of a Hollywood prototype for an assassin than a federal agent. "I think I gave your colleagues a scare yesterday," she said. "I apologize for that." For an instant, Scully considered what it would have been like to be on the receiving end of the phone call Mulder had gotten, how she might have felt if someone phoned to say they'd found his skeleton in the desert. Her throat constricted as the room seemed to tilt on end. "Please, have a seat," Nesbith said, indicating a stuffed leather arm chair. Its solid bulk grounded her once again in the present. "Where exactly was the body found?" Scully asked. "Desert country," Nesbith replied and handed her map. "Right there by the circle. Does the location have any significance to you?" "None. To my knowledge, I've never been near there." Scully set the map aside. "And you say you found my ID at the scene?" "It was a fake," Cheng said. "Not a bad one, but obvious enough to any regular agent. It was not meant to withstand hard scrutiny. Fortunately, the paper used to construct the ID is watermarked. We're attempting to trace the shipment now." "You have any theories on who could have done this?" Nesbith asked Scully. "Anything from your old files that might help us figure out what the heck is going on here?" "I've encountered many killers capable of this kind of violence," Scully answered. "But no, I've never seen this particular MO before. What about the victim? Have you learned anything further about her?" "Not too much on the DB so far," Nesbith said. "Our forensics team is with her now, trying to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. Preliminary findings say she's a female in her thirties, about five foot six inches tall. Marks on the bones suggest the body was dismembered post-mortem." "May I see her?" Scully asked. Nesbith looked taken aback. "Uh, of course. I don't see why not." "Agent Scully's background is in pathology," Cheng explained, and Scully shifted to meet her eyes. "Your reputation precedes you." My reputation, Scully thought, and felt the bottom drop out from her stomach. That's it. These bones weren't meant for others to think I'm dead. They were meant for me. XxXxX At the forensic science building down the street, Scully found a team of people in white coats assembling a human jigsaw puzzle. The oldest member, a man in his fifties wearing bright green sneakers, came over to greet her. "Ah, the real Dana Scully finally stands up," he said as she displayed her badge. "I'm Nelson Whittiker, Chief Forensic Pathologist in this joint. That's Paula Babcock, Joe Zydell and Mike Hanson over there with the body. We've pretty much got her reassembled at this point." "You mind if I take a look?" Scully asked. His snowy eyebrows lifted. "You know your way around a morgue, then?" "My home away from home." "Terrific!" He seemed genuinely pleased to have another scientist join his playgroup. "We've got a lot of questions on this one. Maybe you can help." "I can try," Scully answered as she accepted the latex gloves he offered. "What have you got so far?" "Well, here she is." Scully followed him to the table where the skeleton lay with her bones shining under the harsh light. We're just putting the last bones into place now," Whittiker said, "and she seems pretty complete. Based on skull sutures, we've got her age down as early thirties, but we could be off on that. Pubis and sacram indicate she's probably given birth. If she's got family looking for her somewhere, that could help us out with the ID." "Nesbith said you think she'd been dismembered post-mortem." "Yeah. See these marks on the humerus? We found them on the femur, the side of pelvis and on several of the upper vertebrae. Of course, we can't be entirely sure the wounds were post-mortem. Right now, we can't say anything definitive about the cause of death." Scully picked up the left arm bone and turned it on its side. It was marred in several places on the end with marks that suggested the weapon might have been an axe blade. "I've seen these smooth, rounded edges before," Scully said. "The body was boiled to remove the flesh. It's going to make the time of death hard to determine." "Boiled?" said Joe Zydell. "Jesus." "Looks like she broke her arm many years ago," Scully said, continuing her study of the humerus. "A bad break, too, but it seems to have healed well-enough." "She lived well," Whittiker agreed. "Good teeth, healthy bones. This was no transient." Scully put down the arm bone. "Are you thinking of doing a facial reconstruction?" "Actually, I was talking to Nesbith this morning and--" The sound of Scully's cell phone cut Whittiker short. "Excuse me," she said, pulling it from her jacket and walking a few steps toward the door. "Scully." "Dana Scully, of the undead?" Scully closed her eyes and sighed. "The dead jokes are getting kind of old, Mulder." "Sorry. Hey, can you meet me at the airport this afternoon? I get in at five." "What? Mulder, no. It's not necessary for you to fly out here. The local Orange County officers and the local FBI branch have things well in hand. It's not our case." "Uh-huh. Like you're not down playing doctor in the morgue." Scully was silent. "I thought so," Mulder continued. "Besides, Skinner disagrees. Either the killer wanted us to think you'd been murdered, or the victim was impersonating you at the time of her death. Both scenarios suggest that we need someone to look into it from our end, and Skinner decided it would be good to send a pair of agents to investigate." "And since you just happened to be present when he made this decision, he just handed you the assignment." "Actually, I waved my arm in the air and said, "Pick me! Pick me!'" Scully almost smiled at the visual. "Naturally." "Well, when I pointed out how we would save on airfare because you were already out there, Skinner just couldn't say no. Never argue with the bottom line, Scully." She decided to heed his advice. "Five, you said?" "Northwest airlines. Flight 803." He sounded distracted all of a sudden. "I'm just...I'm just taking care of a couple of things here in the office, then I'll catch a cab to the...huh." "Huh?" "Did you send me a package, Scully?" "No." "Huh," he said again. "The return address says it's from you, but it was post-marked in Utah." "I've been nowhere near Utah, Mulder." Her heart picked up speed. "What kind of package is it?" "Not large, sort of letter-sized. It's not ticking." "Mulder, don't open..." She heard the sound of heavy paper slitting open. "...it." "It's a medical ID bracelet for someone named Carolyn Kraus. Says she's diabetic." Scully felt her joints go slack; she struggled to hold her grip on the phone. "Did you say...did you say Carolyn Kraus? Carolyn with a Y?" "Yeah. Does it mean something to you?" "Oh, God." She glanced over her shoulder to where Whittiker was working on the skeleton. "No, it can't be." "What? Scully, talk to me. What's going on? Who's Carolyn Kraus?" "My childhood best friend was named Carolyn Kraus," she said, her tongue thick in her mouth. "She was diabetic. She had red hair. And...oh God...she broke her left arm horse-back riding in the fourth grade. Mulder, our victim had a broken left arm." "You think it was her in the desert?" "I don't know! Maybe. Jesus, what the fuck is going on here, Mulder?" "I'll delay my flight," he said. "Get the package printed and wait for the results." "Dr. Scully," Whittiker said, touching her shoulder. Scully jumped. "Sorry to interrupt. My colleagues and I are going to take a break for a bit. We'll be next door for coffee if you'd like to join us." "The skeleton is complete?" she asked. "Yup. She's all there except for the little toes. But they may have gotten lost in the shuffle. See you in a few." Scully's stomach lurched, and she swallowed hard several times to control the nausea. "Mulder, her toes are gone," she said into the phone. "The little toes are missing." "Fuck the package," he said. "I'm on my way." XxXxX XxXxXxXxX Chapter Three XxXxXxXxX Mulder found Russell camouflaged behind stacks of paper at her desk in the bullpen. In the middle of a phone call, she barely acknowledged his approach. "Just a second," she murmured, distracted. "Come with me. Now." She looked up at last. "Mulder, I can't talk..." "He's not in Wisconsin." Russell froze, holding his gaze for several seconds as the busy office room continued to hum around them. "I'll have to call you back," she said into the phone. She replaced the receiver without looking. "What's going on, Mulder?" He glanced about the room and saw that several of Grenier's other agents were beginning to take note of his presence. "Not here." "Fine, we can use your office." "No time," he said when she stood up from her desk. He was already moving towards the door. "Bring your things and I'll explain on the way." "Mulder..." "California," he called over his shoulder. "The plane leaves in two hours." Three hours later, they were five miles in the sky and Russell was on the phone again. "I see," she said. "Do me a favor, Kenny? Don't let anyone else see those results just yet. No, not even Grenier. Thanks." She put the Air Fone back into its slot. "It's a match," Mulder said without a trace of question. "It's a match." Russell sighed. "The fingerprints on the package belong to Carl Quentin." Mulder leaned back in his seat. "Son of a bitch." "We can't keep Grenier out of the loop any longer. He's got to know about this." Mulder did not answer; he was busy thinking of how to tell Scully that her nightmare had come to life. The double locks on her doors, the stepped up security in her apartment building, the hours they had spent making sure the DCPD were alert to any signs that Carl might be in the city again -- all that effort was for nothing, because the animal had been stalking her from across the country. "Mulder." Russell's voice pulled him from his thoughts; her hand on his arm stilled his twitching. "Nothing's going to happen. She's with the local FBI and the Orange County Sheriff's Department, perfectly safe." "And the last time she was in a park that was crawling with FBI agents trained in surveillance and capture. Shit lot of good that did." He pulled away from her and leaned forward, rubbing his face with both hands. Russell was quiet for a few minutes. "It's a real lead," she said finally. "Now that he's out from under his rock we have a good shot at bringing him in, and we can end this thing once and for all." "Oh, screw that." Heads turned at his loud, angry words, and Mulder lowered his voice to a fierce whisper. "You think you can pretty this up for me, Amelia? You think closure means a goddamn thing to the thirteen dead women? Scully has scars on her wrists that are never going away, and I've already given years of my life to this asshole. So right now I plan on picking her up and getting the hell out of L.A.. You can search for closure on your own damn time." He stood up and strode to the back of the plane, nearly knocking over a flight attendant in his path. "Sir, are you all right?" she asked, but Mulder ignored her. In the bathroom, he was surprised to find his hands were shaking. The sounds of his ragged breathing filled the cramped space, and he closed his eyes against the harsh fluorescent light. After a minute, he splashed some cold water on his face. He stared at his reflection as the drops trickled down the curve of his jaw and fell into the metal sink. Russell was right, he knew. Someone had to stop Quentin or the killing would never end, and certainly the murdered women and their families deserved some answers. He felt their questions weighing on him, stealing all the air from the tiny room. He just wasn't sure he had any answers left to give. There was a tap on the door, and Mulder slid the lock open and stepped out, not meeting the questioning eyes of the woman waiting to get inside. He walked the dim, narrow aisle back to Russell. She did not look at him as he sank into his seat. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm pregnant," she answered. "What?" He sat up straight and turned to her. "You're pregnant?" "A little over two months now." She glanced at him. "You're not the only one who wants out, Mulder." "Does Grenier know?" She gave a twisted smile. "Ah, yes. Adam. No, but he's going to have to know soon. It's... it's his baby." She paused. "Jesus, I think that's the first time I've ever said it out loud." "I, uh, I didn't realize you two were, um..." "We're not," she said. "Oh." "Oh, shit is more like it." She rubbed her eyes with one hand. "He went jetting off to Madison before I had a chance to talk to him." Mulder fidgeted with the obsolete ashtray in his armrest. "So what are you going to do?" "Have it?" She didn't sound too sure. "I guess. I can't imagine my boyfriend is going to be thrilled when I give him the news. And Adam...I don't even want to contemplate his reaction. It seems likely I'd be raising this kid on my own." "You could do it." Mulder hoped he sounded encouraging. Amelia laughed. "You do remember that my refrigerator holds mostly week-old Chinese food, right? And that my cat ran away to live with my neighbors?" "So, uh, do you think you might...give it up?" She sat back in her seat and closed her eyes for a moment. "I've thought about it. I mean, God knows I never planned on having kids. But these days I go into a department store for a spring jacket and suddenly find myself in the baby section, mooning over the little booties and miniature tee-shirts. Pretty crazy, huh?" "No," Mulder answered, remembering the brightly-colored plastic blocks he had bought on impulse several months earlier, when he was supposed to be picking up batteries. He'd finally put them in a bag in the back of the closet, because it had hurt to look at them, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to throw them away for good. "It's not so crazy." "My rotation with the BSU is just about finished, anyway," Russell continued. "I'm sure I could get out a few weeks early if I asked." "But?" She hesitated. "I can't leave Grenier alone on this. Not this case." Mulder thought of the mutilated women, of Scully yelping and shaking in her sleep, and was not sure he could be as generous. XxXxX Scully stood in front of the light boxes with her arms folded across her middle. She had been staring at the x-ray films for nearly thirty minutes, but the images grew no less terrible. "Looks like a match." Scully startled at the sound of Nelson Whittiker's voice. "Yes," she agreed. Whittiker joined her in front of the bright light. "So who is she?" he asked. A little girl with red pigtails and freckles, Scully thought. She could build kites and draw horses and read upside down. She had a crush on Tommy Mattison and an older brother named Bill, just like me. "Her name was Carolyn Kraus." "Uh-huh." He peered at the dental charts. "Mind if I ask how you made the ID?" "Her husband reported her missing ten days ago from Sacramento. I called and had her records sent by courier." "But how did you know to ask?" --in the trunk it was dark with no air she was going to die tied up to the bed his hands on her neck the shears brushing her feet-- Scully swallowed. "When I said I hadn't seen this MO before," she said, "I was wrong." XxXxX They rented a car at the airport. As Russell finished with the arrangements, Mulder watched the women walk by in their curvy, colorful shoes. Two-inch red platforms and open-toed sandals. Navy pumps with white polka-dots. They clicked across the hard tile floor together, creating a syncopated shoe symphony. No wonder the son-of-a-bitch came here, Mulder thought. "Ready?" asked Russell. He caught a flash of pink and a rounded heel as their owner disappeared around a corner and out of sight. How many new shoes did Carl have lining his trophy shelf this time? "Ready as I'll ever be." He did not watch the shoes on his way out. In Santa Ana, they found Scully sipping coffee with Sheriff Nesbith and Agent Cheng in Nesbith's office. "Hey," she said, turning in her chair as they entered. "How was your flight?" "Thankfully dull," Russell answered. She extended her hand to Nesbith. "Amelia Russell and this is Fox Mulder," she continued, but Mulder tuned out the rest of her introductory remarks. He walked over to Scully, using the folders in his hand as an excuse to crouch down next to her. "You okay?" he asked in a low voice as he placed the binders in her lap. She nodded and gave his hand a brief, hard squeeze. Her fingers were warm from the coffee mug. "I'm okay." "Good," he said, standing up again. Nesbith indicated a pair empty chairs at the back of the office. "Please have a seat. Agent Scully has just been filling us in on your boy Quentin." Mulder glanced down at her to see just how much she had told them, but her eyes were fixed on the folders in her lap. "We brought the most recent information with us," he said to Nesbith. "But we had no idea he was this far west." "We're going to need a list of all female homicides in the area for the last ten months," Russell said. Nesbith frowned. "You think there are others?" Mulder sneaked a look at Scully again and saw her legs covered in crime scene photos. The cabin, with its torn sheets and wall of shoes, was on top. Underneath, he knew, were pictures of Scully's wrists from the night Quentin had worn her raw and bloody. The slippery photos began a landslide from her knees, and Mulder leapt to save her from the grisly images. Scully beat him to it. Scooping up the mess of macabre pictures, she stood and placed them on Nesbith's desk. "There are others," she said. "Or will be soon. Once he starts killing, he doesn't stop." XxXxX That night, Mulder closed the door to his motel room behind him as he entered, cell phone still in hand. Scully stood just where he'd left her, staring out the window at the asphalt parking lot. He noticed she had slipped off her shoes. "Russell just called Grenier," he said. "He's catching the red eye out of Wisconsin tonight." "Great." She did not turn around. He stood across the room, watching the rigid lines of her back and wondering what the hell to say. "Scully." "Hmm?" "I'm sorry about all of this." Her shoulders hitched. "We knew it was a possibility." No, he thought. It had been possible that Quentin might sneak back into DC. That he had spent ten months perfecting a trap three thousand miles away was almost unthinkable. "I booked tickets for us to go home tomorrow," he said. "Nine AM." "What?" She faced him at last. "You're the one who wanted this case in the first place!" "That was before I knew what we were dealing with here. Scully, you can't work this case. It's too risky." "I am not leaving." "Scully..." "No." She cut him off. "He wanted me? Well, he's got me now. I'm going over every inch of that skeleton until I find something to nail him with. This is the last time he gets away with it." "I understand that you want to help. Believe me, I know how personal this is, but..." "You don't understand! You weren't there, Mulder, and you do not understand." "I was there," he said, his voice rising. "I saw everything in that cabin, and I can't believe you want to want to risk that happening again." "I want to prevent that from happening again." "Look," he said. "I understand this much: Quentin tracked down someone you admitted you haven't spoken to in *twenty years*. That's a message, Scully. This guy isn't fucking around. He's willing to dig as deep as he needs to get to you!" "And I have the chance to help stop him!" "You have the chance to wind up dead!" They stared at each other until his cell phone rang, cutting through the crackling silence. Eyes still locked with Scully's, he clicked it on. "Mulder." "Mulder, it's Skinner. I just got a call from Grenier saying this case you're on is related to Carl Quentin. If I'd known that, I would have never approved the job for you and Scully in the first place. You have no business near that case, Mulder, and I expect you both back here immediately." Scully watched him as he waited out several long seconds with his heartbeat roaring in his ears. His throat muscles convulsed in quick succession as he made a snap decision. "We can't do that, sir," he said. He turned off the phone, leaving it hanging dead weight in his hand. "That was Skinner," he told Scully. "He called to wish us good luck on the case." She wilted as her mouth crumpled. "Mulder, I just...I just can't walk away when I know I might be able to stop him from doing this again." "I know," he said, stretching out one arm towards her. She crossed and wrapped her arms around him. "There's no guarantee that if I boarded a plane to DC that he wouldn't be there to meet me on the other end." "Don't even talk like that." "Well, it's true." Mulder didn't answer right away. He slipped his hand under her hair and massaged the tender skin at the back of her neck. "Actually, my guess is Grenier is going to want you to stay." She pulled back a bit and looked up at him. "Why do you say that?" "It's the best bet we have for keeping Quentin in the area." "I'll be in the forensics building," she said, laying her cheek against him once more. "There are lots of people around." "I wish I could say I was sure that it would be enough." "It will." She tightened her arms around him. A minute later, he felt her yawn against his chest. "Tired?" he murmured, nuzzling the top of her head. She yawned again. "This day has been a hundred hours long. I still have to drive back to San Diego and pick up my things." She suddenly stiffened in his embrace, her fingers biting into his ribs. "Mulder, my family. They're in danger." He didn't bother to protest; she would know it was a lie. "Let's talk to Nesbith and Cheng about getting them some security, okay?" he said, pulling away and picking up his phone. "And I'll make the drive down with you." She paused from putting on her shoes. "I may be tired, but it's the middle of the night for you. You should get some sleep. I can take someone else along this time." "Admit it, Scully -- you're just afraid to take me how home to meet the family." She smiled. "Mulder, you've already met my family." "Yes, and I think the fact that they're likely to be asleep this time will improve the quality of our interaction." "They're not so bad," she argued as he sat next to her on the bed. "That's not what you said on Tuesday. 'If Bill had his way, Scrabble would be a contact sport,'" he quoted back to her. "'I'm thirty-six, Mulder. Why is my mother still trying to dictate my wardrobe?'" She elbowed him in the ribs. "You just have to know how to deal with each of them. Never talk politics with Bill, Tara will go on for ages about Matthew, and Mom is a sucker for a gardening question." "I've been meaning to consult with someone about my begonias." She laughed, and he was delighted to see some of the tension drain out of her. "Mulder, the one plant in your apartment is plastic." "Hmmm. This could explain its lack of growth." "Possibly, yes. Or maybe the inch of dust on the leaves is just weighing it down." "So what about you?" he said, touching her hand with one finger. "What's the secret to getting along with Dana Scully?" She poked him back. "I think you know." "It's been a whole week," he said. "I might need a reminder." "How quickly they forget." She leaned into him, her lips finding his, and he was amazed to find he had forgotten their perfect fit, the way his toes tingled and his ears warmed as they kissed. "That does seem vaguely familiar," he said when she pulled away. "Maybe with another hint...?" "Think on it until bed," she advised, patting his leg and standing up. "Maybe it will come to you." He grinned and followed her, watching the slight sway of her hips as she walked towards the door. "Maybe it will come, Scully? Couldn't it be 'probably'? Or how about 'definitely' it will come?" "That depends on whether you're definitely doing half of the driving," she said, holding up the car keys. XxXxX He decided it was okay to take the window seat at Denny's, which gave him a clear view of the motel's front door. Sipping his coffee, he watched bedraggled travelers traipse in and out, but there was no sign of Them. Pretty soon the waitress was going to get suspicious. Grenier would know by now, too. Carl grinned at the thought of the other man charging across the country, trying to stop fate. Knowing the FBI as he did, Carl expected them to focus all their attention on Scully. There would be no way to get to her now. But he'd learned from the past. Much as he'd hated the thought of his understudy mucking things up in DC, the incident in Montrose park had shown him the value of a diversion. Carl smiled against the rim of his mug. Ah, there they were. Right chipper they seemed, too. Mulder was tossing keys into the air and saying something that made Scully smile. Carl noted the smart line of her three-inch heels. Ballsy little chickadee, he thought with another grin. Thinks she has my number, does she? He watched them get into the car and drive away, then turned his eyes to the motel. "Well, we'll just see about that, won't we?" he said, and signaled for the check. XxXxX XxXxXxXxX Chapter Four XxXxXxXxX She was sleeping when the car whooshed across the San Diego border, so he reached over in the dark and found her hand. "Hey," he said softly, giving her a squeeze. Her fingers tightened around his as she blinked herself awake. "Hey," she said through a yawn. She squinted out at the night scenery. "We're almost there." "Yeah, I need directions from here. It was either wake you up or take a detour to Mexico." He caught her smile in the passing street lights. "It's the exit after next, then a right off the ramp." She leaned her head back against the seat and smothered another yawn. "Sorry for passing out on you like that. I guess I didn't get much sleep last night." Mulder gave a humming noise in answer and smoothed his hands over the steering wheel, unsure whether her remark was meant as an invitation to discuss the horror of the last few days or whether he was supposed to pretend she'd just had an ordinary restless night in a strange bed. "Bad dreams?" he asked, sticking his big toe in to gauge her temperature. "Not that I remember." No, she often didn't. Instead he would wear her memories as inkblot bruises on his ribs and half-moon nail craters in his arms. A hundred nights he had unrolled her from her tinfoil tight ball of terror, soothing out her crinkles until she was smooth against him once more. Then one day, just like that, it had stopped. She'd brought home a set of vanilla-colored sheets that were soft like a tee-shirt washed the perfect number of times. Together they had stood on opposite sides of the bed and snapped the top sheet up in the air above their heads. He had smiled at her under the parachute as it fell back to earth, and that night there had been no more dreams. "Mulder?" Her voice brought him from his memory, and he found them stopped at an intersection. "The light is green." He looked out at the unfamiliar road. "Which way do we go from here?" XxXxX It was a small matter to get inside the motel room. Unlike DC, where everyone wanted to be bundled up inside the same hulking building, Southern Californians all wanted their own door to the outside world. Fewer steps to Disneyland! Fewer steps to the ocean! Carl smirked as he peered from behind their drab blue curtain. In this case, the ocean was a concrete one -- six zillion lanes of Interstate 5. The room seemed to be Mulder's alone as far as Carl could tell. He counted only one suitcase, and there were no female toiletries in the bathroom. But rustling through the garbage, he did find a tissue with a lipstick print kiss. The bed was still made, but the end of the spread was mussed, as though someone had sat on it. Carl sat and bounced up and down a few times in their absence. Square and dull, the room bored him quickly. No shoes lay about; Mulder seemed to require just the one pair. Carl decided he had better leave before they returned. Why forfeit the game early? He rose from the bed. "Mulder?" Knock, knock at the door. Carl froze. "Mulder, are you in there? It's Amelia." XxXxX Mulder pulled the car into the driveway and cut the engine. "Looks like they left a light on for you," he said, nodding at the shining yellow window at the front of the house. "Mom always did like to wait up," Scully said as she opened her car door, letting the salty night wind blow inside. "I told her I would be very late." Mulder got out and gave her a sideways glance as they walked up the path. "So if we start making out on the front steps, will she flash the porch light at us?" "Mom was more of a 'peek through the curtains' kind of woman. Dad would just fling the front door right open." On cue, Mulder saw the lace in the window pull aside. "And I never even got a peck," he groused. Scully gave his hand a hard squeeze just before the front door opened to reveal Mrs. Scully, still fully dressed. "Dana, I was worried!" She frowned at Mulder. "Fox, it's nice to see you again." Said like you might welcome a foot fungus, Mulder thought, but he managed a smile. "Mrs. Scully, how are you?" "Tired," she answered as she opened the screen door. "It's past midnight." Inside, the house held a strange night quiet, the feel of people present but out of sight. Mulder leaned against a stuffed sofa and did his best to blend in with the furniture. "I told you not to wait up," Scully said. "I told you not to worry." Mrs. Scully reached out and brushed some hair from her daughter's face. "Of course I worry. You run out from vacation for some unknown reason, don't come back for all hours...we're supposed to leave in the morning." "Mom, about that..." "You're not coming back with me." Scully looked down at the fluffy beige rug. "The case turned out to be an old one, one that Mulder and I have worked on in the past." Mulder watched as his partner avoided her mother's gaze and wondered if maybe this was the real reason she didn't include him in more family functions; mothers could turn you back into a twelve year-old with just a few choice words. Mrs. Scully pursed her lips in a sad smile. "There's always another case, isn't there? Always another reason to run out the door. You have more of your father in you than you know, Dana. Both of you out to save the world." "This is different," Scully said, and Mulder held his breath at how much she might confess. Her family knew about Quentin; the DC papers had talked of little else for weeks after his escape last year, and the one woman who'd escaped Carl Quentin had earned a few two-inch high headlines herself. But her mother, perhaps long out of practice, perhaps unable to reach the dark corners that Scully knew, failed to catch the twinge in her daughter's voice. "Well, I know how you are about work. At least we've had these past few days all together. That was nice, wasn't it?" Mulder saw Scully echo her mother's melancholy smile. "It was nice." "Have you eaten?" Mrs. Scully asked, already headed towards the kitchen. "Fox, can I get you something to drink? Some coffee, maybe?" "Mom, it's late. Go to bed. We're not staying, anyway. We just came to get my things." "What?" Her mother stopped and turned around. "You can't be serious. It would be two a.m. before you got back to Santa Ana." Mulder's bones ached at her words. The long day of travel and anxiety had left him feeling spent and rubbery. "We'll be fine," Scully told her mother. "I'm mostly packed as it is." Mrs. Scully caught her daughter's arm as Scully moved for the stairs. "Dana...you said yourself it's late. Stay here tonight and leave in the morning. Your bed is already made up, and Fox can stay on the sofa." "Mom..." "She's right," Mulder said, and Scully turned to look at him. He noted the slump of her shoulders and the pale blue fatigue in her eyes. "It's not like we're going to get anything more done tonight." "Then it's settled," Mrs. Scully announced. "I'll get some sheets and a blanket." Scully looked heavenward, and Mulder chuckled. She sighed, shrugging out of her suit jacket and walking over to him with slow steps. He liked the way her hands looked on his knees. "You don't have to stay on the couch," she murmured, leaning into him. He rested his forehead against hers and patted the arm of the sofa. "It's okay. The couch and I have been making friends while you argued with your mom." "But if we went upstairs and had--" She stopped for a yawn. "--mad passionate sex--" Another yawn. "--it might finally jolt Mom from her denial." "Scully." He cupped her cheek, his thumb grazing each velvet curve. "If you think we're having mad passionate anything tonight, I'd say you're the one in denial." "Mmmn. There goes my fantasy about having my way with you in a racing car bed." He pulled back, his hands slipping to her hips. "Um, what?" She smiled a bit. "I have Matthew's room. His bed comes with wheels and a horn." "I can just imagine *that* going off at an inopportune time," he said, and watched as Scully smothered a giggle. Standing as they were, with him seated on the sofa arm, they were just the same height. His warrior woman who fit in a child's bed. "I should go help Mom," she said, her hands making a reluctant slide down his shoulders. "She's probably trying to find sheets that don't have Barney or Big Bird on them." "Do you have anything in a Star Wars motif?" Mulder asked. He framed the living room with his thumbs and forefingers, as if sizing up the a film shot. "'Cause I'm thinking I could make a killer pillow fort." XxXxX He fell into sleep like a man dropping off a cliff, only to pop awake again when the grandfather clock in the living room played its two a.m. chimes. Blinking in the dark, he shifted under his plain blue sheets and listened to the hum and pitch of a foreign house. The air conditioning rustled the drapes, the refrigerator added its low vibrato, and something was walking around on the roof. An animal? An intruder? Mulder sat up, tilting his head to hear better. The faint scratching continued, and he got up to investigate further. Climbing the carpeted stairs, he followed the noise up past the second floor and into a tiny doorway. Light shone into the hall, and Mulder peeked around the corner to see another set of stairs. Now that he could hear the footsteps better, he knew he didn't need his SIG or a can of 'Raid' to venture into the attic. He saw the bottoms of her feet first, her bare heels up off the ground as she stood on tiptoe. Apparently, she was reaching for a box on the highest shelf of a storage unit. "Need a hand?" he asked from behind, and she yelped. "Jesus, you scared me!" "Sorry." He joined her in front of the wall of shelves. "What are you up to?" "I just wanted to see something," she said, eyeing the box again. "I didn't wake you, did I?" "No, that honor belongs to Big Ben in the living room. Here." He stretched up and lifted the box down for her. It read "Old Photos" on the top in black marker. "Thanks," she said, and sat it on a large trunk. As she began sorting through the contents, Mulder wandered around the rest of the attic. There was a jade green lamp in the shape of an elephant in one corner that he was willing to bet wasn't broken so much as hidden out of sight. Next he found a wooden rocking horse with button eyes and white yarn for a mane. He smiled and touched the smooth head to set it in motion. One open box held a collection of tea cups with tiny rose buds around the rim. Tracing one delicate porcelain edge, Mulder made up his mind to examine the collection of heirlooms his mother had left behind once he returned to DC. He threaded his way back through the boxes to Scully, who sat cross-legged on the floor with a photo album spread across her lap. She tucked her hair behind her ear as he lowered himself next to her. "Whatcha got?" "This was Carolyn." Mulder leaned in closer in the dim light and saw an black and white photo taken at Halloween. Scully was pointing at the little girl dressed as black cat on the left, but Mulder fixated on the other redhead decked out in a sailor's blues. "Is that you?" he asked, delighted. "Yeah." Scully stroked the picture through the protective plastic cover. "This was taken before the sugar high kicked in." "I love your little hat." She made a face and tugged the book away from him. "Not terribly original of me, as it turned out. Half the kids on our base were either sailors or pilots." "Even the girls?" "Well, no." She smiled. "Carolyn and I used to collect the candy and trade afterward. It was a great system because I could give away all my Tootsie rolls and she didn't have to eat the M&Ms." "What kid doesn't like M&Ms?" "She only liked the yellow ones." "They taste the same!" Scully swatted him playfully on the arm. "We were seven, Mulder. Logic doesn't exactly enter into your dietary plan when you're seven. I remember when Bill was little he wouldn't eat any red foods." "Speaking of..." Mulder leaned over her shoulder again. "Any naked bathtub photos of Bill in there? I think we would get along much better if I could picture him all wrinkled with a tiny --" "Mulder!" "Okay, okay." He sat back against the heavy trunk, ignoring the angular brass trim that tried to wedge between his vertebrae. Scully settled into his side, and they resumed looking through the pictures. "I like this one," he said when they found another of one of Carolyn hanging upside down on a jungle gym. Her pigtails almost reached the ground. "I remember that day," Scully said. "Charlie slipped on some gravel and skinned his knees, so Mom took us all for ice cream to distract him." "Ice cream makes a good band-aid," Mulder agreed. She rested her head on his shoulder, quiet for a long minute. "She had two kids Mulder. Two little boys. Who's going to buy them ice cream when they skin their knees?" Mulder had no answer. The girl in the picture seemed to leap off the page, she was so alive. It didn't seem possible that she'd been reduced to bones in the desert. "I'm sorry about your friend, Scully." "This has to be the last time," she said. "He can't do this anymore." Mulder lowered his head, wishing he could assure her that there would be no more missing mothers, daughters and sisters. But the truth was Carl Quentin could be next door or a thousand miles away. There was little they could do but wait for his next move. "We'll get him," he said aloud. Scully tilted her head to look up at him, then touched his chin with a sad smile. "Nice try," she said. "You can change your mind about working this case," he answered. "Any time." She sighed. "You want me to say I'm scared? I'm scared. He's a big man, he's clever, and he clearly thinks we have unfinished business. What's more, I didn't escape last time because of any special training I had. There's no reason for me to think I could defeat him a second time, if it came to that." "It won't," he said automatically. "The posts in the headboard were loose," she continued, stretching an arm across his middle. Her chin dug into his shoulder. "All the women he had tied up before me had pulled so hard that one of the bedposts was nearly free. That was the only reason I escaped. I lived because they fought so hard." He hugged her closer. "Don't sell yourself short, Scully. You fought just as hard." "But it wouldn't have done any good," she answered softly. "Not without the others who were there before me." She had never told him this part of the story before, and he was sure he didn't want to hear it now. Her life could not be due to mere happenstance, to a simple twist of fate, to anything that suggested the possibility of a different outcome. The broken bed, the tattered sheets, the claw marks on the wooden walls -- it had never occurred to him that the shattered cabin in the woods had represented thirteen battles to live; he'd focused solely on the one that had been successful. Scully laced her fingers through his, rubbing her cheek against his tee-shirt. "I know it might be safest for me to go back to DC. I know that. But those women deserve justice." "It's not on you alone, you know. Just because he chooses to make this about you doesn't mean you have to play along." "I know." She tightened her arm around him. "But I'm not alone. And I can't walk away. At least not yet." They sat in silence on the hard floor for another few minutes, until he felt her yawn against his chest. On cue, he yawned too, so wide it felt like he might split his face in half. "It's late," she said. "Yes. And my butt is numb." With a chuckle, she shifted to get off the floor, offering him a hand as she stood. She slipped the photo album back in the box, and he performed his tall male duty and replaced it on the shelf. As they walked back down the stairs, he remembered why it was she was wandering the attic in the wee hours of the morning. "I take it the racing car wasn't getting it done for you tonight," he said as lightly as he could. She saw through him in an instant. "It's not that," she said. "It's not the dreams. With everything that's been going on, I've just been so wired. I'm exhausted but I can't seem to close my eyes." They had reached the door to her room, but he took her hand and tugged her towards the stairs. "I bet I can talk the couch into a threesome." The hallway nightlight illuminated her arched eyebrow. "A threesome?" "Yeah, the stripes make it look all straight and narrow, but trust me, Scully -- your brother's got a kinky sofa." "I'm going to attribute this strange conversation to jet lag," she said, but allowed him to lead her to the living room. On the couch, she snuggled into his side as he covered them with a blanket. "Just for a little while," she cautioned. He felt the sweep of her lashes that signaled her eyes closing. "Just for a little while," he murmured into her hair. The big clock ticked and the refrigerator rattled, but with the soft sound Scully's breathing, Mulder's night was in harmony once more. XxXxX XxXxXxXxX Chapter Five XxXxXxXxX Mulder awoke to the feel of a small, soft hand patting his cheek. He squinted through sleep-sticky eyes and a boy of about three came into focus. The kid's short copper hair stood on end like a campfire. "Who're you?" the boy demanded. "I'm Mulder," Mulder answered, his voice raspy from sleep. He felt bent like a pipe cleaner but resisted the urge to stretch and wake Scully. "Who're you?" "Matthew Allen Scully." Bill's boy, of course. He should have recognized the frown. "Matthew Allen Scully, huh? That sounds like a pretty important name." "It is." The kid contracted, inchworm-like, as he dug around in his right pocket. "I have marbles. Wanna see?" Mulder lifted his head from the couch pillow enough to see two blue orbs, clear and pale like the Scully family eyes, nestled in Matthew's palm. "They're very nice," he said, sinking down again. He watched as Matthew took his marbles on a rolling tour of the living room furniture. It was the same solemn gaze and cotton candy cheeks he'd seen on another young Scully three years earlier, when she had sat coloring with her unnatural mother on the floor. His hand stole under the silk edge of Scully's pajamas and traced gentle patterns on her back. She burrowed closer to him but did not awaken. Matthew fell to his knees to race the marbles down the coffee table. "Mulder is a funny name," he announced without pausing from his task. "It's my last name," Mulder answered. "Then what's your first one?" Was this the age when they took what you said and repeated it a million times over, Mulder wondered. Maybe it would just be safer to lie. "Fox," he said, relenting. Matthew stopped and gave him a perfect miniature of the skeptical Scully eyebrow. "Is not! Is it?" "I wouldn't make up such a thing." "Fox," Matthew said, testing the word and answering Mulder's question at the same time. He grinned. "Fox in socks. Fox in a box!" Scully shifted against him, and he thought he detected a muffled snicker. "I see you've met Matthew," she murmured. "Fox in socks in a box!" Matthew was standing on the seat of an armchair, bouncing along with his new rhyme. "You can make him stop that, right?" Mulder asked. "Wrong." She stretched and yawned. "But food sometimes works as a distraction technique." "Fox, box, fox, box...uh-oh." Matthew stopped jumping. "What the hell is going on here?" Mulder tilted his head all the way back and saw Bill Scully in dress whites, standing over them. Scully jerked away from his side to sit up. "Bill, hi." He ignored her. "Matthew, your mother wants you upstairs." "Yes, sir." Matthew jumped down from the chair and ran out of the room while Mulder and Scully got up from the couch. Scully finger-combed her hair as Mulder refolded the blanket. He was glad he'd opted to sleep with his pants on. "May I see you both in the kitchen, please?" Bill asked. Mulder and Scully exchanged a look behind his back, but followed him into the other room. He stood on the threshold as they walked past, then closed the door behind them. Scully crossed her arms over her chest. "Bill, I can appreciate that Mulder's presence is a surprise, but I am not a child and I don't need you to --" Bill held up a hand to cut her off. "I've been up since five-thirty this morning and the base patrol has passed the house at least twice. Then I come down here and find him sleeping on my couch. What's going on, Dana?" Scully shut her mouth, clearly surprised by this unexpected tactic. She rubbed her eyes with one hand. "I need some coffee." Mulder stood with Bill, watching as she stood on tiptoe to reach a mug from the cabinets. She filled it in near slow motion and then stood leaning against the counter, staring into the cup and stirring. Mulder cleared his throat. "You, uh, you want me to tell him?" She shook her head. Bill looked sharply from one to the other. "Tell me what?" Scully took a deep breath. "It's Carl Quentin," she murmured, setting her coffee aside untouched. "He's here." "Jesus." Bill's gaze swept to the windows. "Here? He's here in San Diego?" "We don't know where he is exactly," Scully said. "That's why we asked for extra patrol around the house." "Because he might come after you again." Bill shoved a chair, scraping it across the linoleum. "God damn." Scully looked away, and Mulder concentrated on the floor tiles. "Wait, is there more? What else are you not telling me?" Scully hesitated. "Nothing...nothing. Everyone just needs to be vigilant right now." "Mulder." Bill's tone hovered between "let's take this out back" and "you owe me, so spill it." Mulder met his eyes. "This is my family we're talking about here. I need to know." Mulder glanced at Scully, who gave him a warning look. But Bill was right. He deserved to know. "It seems likely that Quentin murdered an old friend of Scully's," he said. "What? Who?" "Carolyn Kraus," Scully answered, pulling out a chair and plopping into it. "The girl who used to live down the street from us? I didn't know you still talked to her." "I hadn't spoken to her in twenty years." Bill frowned. "But you don't think it's a coincidence." "No." Scully drew up one knee and rested her chin upon it. "He picked her because she was my friend." Simple words, but Mulder felt each one punch into his heart. His sister, her sister, abduction and cancer and the little Scullys that would never be. They lived in a ven diagram of tragedy that always seemed to overlap with them at the center. "So he wants your attention and you're just giving it to him," Bill said. "What the hell is that about, Dana? You want him to take another run at you?" Scully got up from the chair and retrieved her coffee cup. She emptied it into the sink. "I wouldn't expect you to understand." "Bullshit I don't understand!" He glared at Mulder. "I used to think it was just him, but I know better now. He's not the only one who doesn't know when to walk away, addicted to danger --" "Leave Mulder out of this." "-- and not just him who disregards personal safety and obligations --" Scully whirled on him. "Obligations! What do you know about my obligations?" "If you won't think about yourself, think about Mom. Think about what you're putting her through!" "This is not about Mom! This is about --" Maggie Scully picked that moment to enter the kitchen. "What on earth is going on in here?" Silence. Mulder pressed back into a counter and eyed the door. "Bill? Dana? Is something wrong?" Bill's mouth twisted into an angry grimace. "It's Quentin. He's back." "Oh, my God." Maggie turned round eyes to her daughter. "The case in Orange County. He's here?" "Yes," Scully whispered. "He's here." "Tell me you are not a part of this investigation." Scully's chin came up a bit. "I have to be a part of it. There's no other way we can --" Maggie Scully turned and left the room. Bill shook his head. "Mom..." Scully sighed, walking out the door after her. "This is your old case, isn't it," Bill said to Mulder after she had gone. "It isn't enough to chase aliens, now you've got her mixed up with serial killers, too. Jesus." Mulder spread his hands in front of him, palms up. They were bisected with angry red lines from where he had been clutching the counter. "I asked her to leave it alone. She wouldn't." "Ask again," Bill ground out. "I can't. It's her choice." "So you'll just let her go out there and risk getting killed. She's not thinking straight, can't you see that? She's not in any position to make a decision like this!" Mulder rubbed the side of his face with one hand. "We know his name this time. We know what he looks like. We know roughly that he's in the area. All of this is helpful, but it's not enough." "It damn well is enough! He never should have gotten away the last time." "Forensic science," Mulder continued as though Bill had not spoken, "microscopic examination of Carolyn Kraus's remains for clues about how and where she died, is our best hope of catching Quentin before he kills again. Your sister is currently the best forensic scientist in the FBI, possibly even the country." Bill looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "As someone who...as someone who cares for her..." Mulder swallowed. "I want her on the first plane back to DC. But as someone who has lived with this case for almost a third of my life and watched a dozen women die, I can't imagine anyone else for the job." Bill leaned both hands on the table, his head hung low. "There are other scientists." "Yes," Mulder conceded. He remembered Scully bleeding and shivering in his arms. "But she wants to be the one." XxXxXx He found her upstairs standing over the racing car, her clothes in neat piles on the bed. Knocking lightly on the door, he stepped inside. "You okay?" She turned to face him. "I don't have any work clothes with me." "I don't think it matters." He kept his tone tender, but she didn't seem to notice. "Yeah, I'll be in scrubs most of the time anyway." "Need any help packing?" "No, I've got it." He watched her swift, efficient movements as she laid the stacks of clothes inside her suitcase. She paused with a pile of tee-shirts in hand. "In med school, we had to do this task -- kind of a homework assignment about perception and the human body -- where we walked around the campus blindfolded. I remember the trees. Even from several feet away, I could feel them. They blocked the wind just enough to make the hair stand up on the back of your neck." She slipped her clothes into the suitcase and zipped it up. "That's what it's like." "What what's like?" "Quentin." She met his eyes. "I can't see him, but he's out there. Blocking the wind." Mulder's phone rang then, and he answered it while she went to inspect the bathroom for more belongings. "Mulder," he said. "Mulder, this is Grenier." He sank down on the racing car bed. "Not another one?" "Not that I know about. I just called to say I'm in town. Where are you, anyway?" "I'm with Scully in San Diego. We're about to head back up." There was a slight pause on the other end, and Mulder braced himself for an argument. Grenier wasn't likely to want to share the case this time, either. "Word has it from above that I should send your ass back to DC. Scully, too." Mulder knew better. Grenier might scoff at Mulder's skills, but there was no way he would let go of Scully. "Then you might as well book Quentin a return ticket, too." "I have no plans to use her as bait, if that's what you're getting at," Grenier snapped. "I'm not sure it's up to you. Quentin's made that decision for us." "That asshole makes no decisions for me." Grenier's tone softened. "But listen, the brass has a point on this one. She may be too close to work this case." "She's worked tougher ones before." "She's his victim, Mulder." Mulder rubbed his eyes. "Then she has more right to be here than either one of us." "You'll face heat back home." "Let me worry about that, okay? "Fine." He paused. "On one condition -- I reserve the right to pull her off at any time, and I'll expect you to back me if I do. I am not going to have a repeat of last year." Mulder hesitated. "Fair enough." "Okay, I'm just reaching Orange County now. What do you say we meet at the Sheriff's office, say in two hours? We can compare notes then." Mulder couldn't resist one small jab. "I don't have any notes." "Fuck you," Grenier answered, but there was no rancor in his words. "I'm still trying to get a hold of Russell. She's not answering her phone. Have you heard from her?" Oh. Right. Mulder remembered there was at least one very good reason why Russell might be avoiding Grenier's phone calls. "I haven't seen her since last night," he said, "but I'll give her a ring and tell her about the meeting. She's staying at the same hotel as Scully and me." "I'll see you in two hours then." Mulder clicked off with Grenier and was dialing Russell when Scully reentered the room. "Trouble?" she asked. He shook his head. "Grenier is cool for now. We're supposed to meet him at Nesbith's office in a couple of hours." He waited, phone to his ear, as the ringing started on the other end. XxXxX She had ordered herself not to cry, but when her phone rang yet again she felt hot tears leak from the corners of her eyes. I'm here, she thought, scraping her cheek on the rough carpet of the trunk. Please help me. The ringing stopped. She closed her eyes. They had been driving for hours, and she had been awake for every one of them. Exhausted and unsuspecting, she'd opened the door of that motel room only to have the lights go out as he connected a lamp with the back of her head. Just long enough for him to tie her hands and stuff her in the trunk of a car. She twisted her wrists against the knots. The gag in her mouth made it hard to breathe. One chance, she would have one chance when he opened the trunk. Her heart pounded against her ribs. Such a black small space with no air and no way to move. She panted into the grimy floor, dizzy and nauseous. Dana, was it this bad for you too? Did you think you were going to die? She lived. She lived. Amelia repeated the words in her head like a litany. She braced her shoulder against floor, squeezing her eyes shut in pain as she inched to the left. Her hair caught on a hook. -- the forensics team, white-gloved with pincers, removing the strands as evidence after her death -- Nononono. She moaned low in her throat. Could the baby hear? Gonna get us out, gonna get us out. Her left leg was numb and uncooperative, like a dead thing, but she dragged it with her into position. One chance. She whacked her wounded head on the metal rim and swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. Choking was not an option. Her nostrils burned as she sucked in fetid air. Up, they were going. Into the hills? She remembered the cabin with the smell of blood and death. Shoes on the wall. Determined, she pressed her feet together, her knees drawn against her chest. Up up up. They stopped. Amelia twitched, time slowing as the crunching footsteps came around the car. She flinched at the pop of the trunk. Bright sunshine exploded around his dark head. "Good morning," he drawled. "I heard you've been looking for me." ONE CHANCE. She thrust her feet forward into his face. XxXxXxX XxXxXxXxX Chapter Six XxXxXxXxX Mulder talked on the phone to Grenier as Scully pulled the car into the motel parking lot. "Okay, we'll do that." "What's up?" she asked when he had clicked off. "Grenier still can't raise Russell. He wants us to check her room while we're here." Scully fell into step beside him, narrowly avoiding a gaggle of tourist children barreling down the walkway in the other direction. The smell of sunscreen wafted in their wake. "It doesn't seem like her to cut contact this way," Scully said. "She could be back at the labs or the local branch, working in some broom closet for privacy," Mulder answered as he rapped on the door to room one fifty-seven. "She's done that sort of thing before." Scully didn't answer; she strolled to the side and removed her sunglasses to peer through a crack in the drapes. "Looks like the lights are on." Mulder knocked again, louder this time. They waited a minute or so longer, but there was no answer. "Why don't you go change?" he said, pulling out his phone. "I'll try giving her a call." His dark glasses remained on, so she couldn't read his eyes. "You think she'll answer for you and not for Grenier, is that it?" Scully's tone was light, and Mulder smiled. "I just have that certain ring." She smiled back and turned to head for Mulder's room. At just ten a.m., the sun's rays were already laser-hot and relentless. Scully pulled her blouse away from her ribs as she walked down the cement stairs and towards the back of the motel. She fished around in her pants pocket for the plastic key. It clicked into the lock, but Scully didn't push the door open. There was a long scratch marring the blue paint on the outside. Scully leaned in closer, squinting at the line. Had this been there last night and she just didn't remember? She traced the jagged length with one finger. The place was crawling with kids, she reasoned. Any one of them could have made the scratch. Still... She bent backwards to check out the window, but the drapes were pulled completely shut. Scully straightened and glanced down at the blinking green light on the doorknob. Enough was enough. Her fingers closed around the smooth handle, and she was about to enter when something tickled the back of her hand. She jerked away, expecting a spider. Hair. Long and dark, with tight curls. There were three strands caught in the door. Scully drew her gun. "Scully!" She turned and saw Mulder jogging towards her. She took two steps back from the door. He had his gun drawn by the time he reached her, his sunglasses tossed aside. She answered the question in his eyes with a nod towards the door knob. Mulder bent low, and the breeze blew the hairs straight out from the door. He fingered the long scratch the same way she had done. His face blank, he moved to the left of the door, and she followed suit on the right. The stucco wall ground through her blouse to the tender skin on her back. She felt it scrape her cheek as she locked eyes with Mulder. At his nod, she reached down and pushed the door open. Yawning darkness and cold recirculated air. Scully pressed against the side of the door and blinked rapidly, trying to adjust her eyes from glaring sunshine to motel dim. Mulder swung past her into the room, his gun with a three-foot lead. Hers felt slippery and heavy in her hands. He took a few careful steps, freeing the doorway, and she followed him inside. Shards of porcelain littered the carpet. "Get the light," he said, not lowering his gun. Scully flicked the wall switch with her left hand, and they discovered the full disarray. The bedspread was missing, the sheets half on the floor. One of the chairs was overturned. Pieces of lamp lay scattered in a rough, wide circle -- silent ripples of recent violence. "He's been through our reports," Mulder said, glancing at the table. He checked the bathroom and then reemerged into the room. "All clear." "Russell," Scully whispered as her gaze swept over the terrible signs of struggle. Mulder dropped his chin in assent, his gun hanging loosely in his right hand. "Yes, I think so." "My God, he must have been watching this place the whole time." She shook her head. "Why, Mulder? Why take Amelia?" Mulder started a slow examination of the room, kneeling in front of the broken lamp. "It's my room," he said. "And you were in it last night." In it. tied up on the bed with the clippers coming at her and his face red and sweaty she could smell him and the ropes burned and she was going to die one chance she had one chance and the rope wasn't loose and Scully ran back into the warm sunlight, dizzy as she stared at the swirling parking lot. He appeared and touched her arm. "Scully?" "We need to tell Grenier. We need to start looking." She fumbled for her phone. "I'll do it." She turned toward the room and back again, torn. Without gloves there was nothing she could do. But she couldn't do nothing. "I'll get the manager," she said to Mulder, already moving for the front office. "We're going to need to go room to room here." "Scully!" Overloud, panicked. Mulder was losing his cool too. His fingers bit into her arm. "No." "Mulder..." She couldn't shake him off. "He's watching!" His grip softened, but the intensity in his eyes remained. Scully turned her head and looked over the parking lot, then beyond at the street with the rushing cars, at the people on the sidewalk, at the restaurants and shops and benches and faces. "Then at least he wouldn't be with her," she said. She pulled her arm free and walked off, her heels clacking an angry rhythm on the pavement. XxXxXxX Carl gently removed the bloody tissues from his swollen nose. He checked his face in the mirror, catching the frightened eyes of the woman in its reflection. "You'll pay for that one," he told her. She squirmed against her restraints on the bed, but the towel he had taped in her mouth prevented her from saying anything. He smiled. "Oh, yes. The things I am going to do to you." He tossed the tissues and walked over the planks to where she lay. "It took me a long time to find this place," he told her. "I fixed it up all during the spring. You want the grand tour?" His boots clonked as he moved about the room. "This is the window that I sealed off," he said, banging his fist against the boards for emphasis. "Over there, that's my shelf. See anything familiar?" He laughed as she turned to look at the sandals he had lined on display. "That bitch in the desert had sneakers on, but I kept 'em anyway. Those blue ones..." He snorted. "Let's just say you don't know about her yet. But the black...yeah. I've been keeping that pair almost a year now, after you fucking stole most of my last collection. Don't think I've forgotten about that. When we're done, I'll add your dull loafers too." Carl lifted his new pair of clippers from the shelf, snapping the blades open and closed in quick succession. "This little piggy went to market!" The woman quivered. "That's right," he said, bringing the clippers down near her face. He stroked her cheek with one steel edge. "These are the best part. And you know just what's coming, don't you darlin'?" She made a choked sound and yanked at the nylon ropes that held her to the headboard. Carl chuckled. "Ah, ah, ah! I learned that lesson." He set the clippers aside and leaned over her to grab the bars next to her wrists. "Wrought iron this time," he said, and shook the bed as hard as he could. "A fine place to die." She turned her cheek to the side, avoiding his eyes, and he pulled away. "Amelia Russell," he said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "We go back a long ways. Size seven medium. Do you think they're looking for you yet, Amelia?" Still she did not meet his gaze, so he stroked her naked foot. "You never told me you had these hiding inside your plain black shoes." Her toes curled in his palm. "I always hate to tie the feet," he said, musing. "But you gave me no choice." This time, she did look at him, with narrowed eyes and a hatred so pure it made his bones tingle. She would kill him if she had the chance. He tightened his hold on her foot. "You know what I am," he said calmly. "But I also know what you are. She taught me well. This time there will be no mistakes." XxXxXxX Grenier led the bizarre automotive charge that descended on the motel in a matter of minutes. Car after car roared down the street only to stop short at the entrance and creep into the crowded motel parking lot. Patrol cars and Bureau sedans vied for precious space, creating an M.C. Escher crime scene in which the nose of one law enforcement vehicle blended with the tail of the next. Mulder broke away from Scully, who was talking to a couple of potential witnesses, and tracked Grenier's slalom through the parking lot. He recognized Richard Arkin and Agent Cheng as the agents flanking Grenier, but the other man seemed barely aware of their presence. Grenier strode up the stairs and stopped right in front of Mulder. "Are you sure?" he demanded by way of greeting. Mulder nodded. "You can see for yourself downstairs. The room was...it was pretty torn apart." Grenier pivoted without a word, his stride so intent that the throngs of people parted to let him past. Arkin joined Mulder at the railing overlooking the chaos below. "Mulder," he said. "Arkin," Mulder answered in acknowledgement. They watched Grenier's progress together. "How's he doing?" "He didn't say one word on the way over." He glanced sideways at Mulder. "How's Scully doing?" Mulder turned around to see his partner talking to a woman wearing a caftan. He wondered if Scully even realized she was rubbing the scars on her right wrist as she spoke. "She's interviewing witnesses over there. Give her a hand, will you?" Mulder pushed his way through the onlookers and traced Grenier's path down to the ravaged motel room. He found Grenier standing over the shattered lamp, watching as the forensics team tackled every inch. Grenier turned as Mulder entered. "There's blood," he said. "How the fuck did this happen?" "We have a chance," Mulder answered. "He doesn't really want Amelia, he wants Scully, so it's--" "The hell he doesn't want her! He took her, didn't he?" "But maybe not for the usual reasons. If she's not part of his ritual, if she doesn't have the shoes, he might not --" Mulder stopped as Grenier stalked across the room and picked up several old crime scene photos from reports on the table. Grenier half crumpled them as he waved the grisly images in front of Mulder. "This...this is what he does! He takes them and he ties them up and he rapes them and he...he...goddammit, Mulder." He sank into the nearest chair, the photos slipping from his hand. "We'll find her," Mulder said steadily. "Yeah?" Grenier's head snapped up. "You know where she is, wonder boy? Saw this coming, did you? Please enlighten me." "Look at the scene," Mulder replied. "He took her from here, from my room. He wasn't stalking her. She must have surprised him while he was in here. She's an impulse grab, not like the others." Grenier leaned down and retrieved one of the photos, smoothing his hand over the wrinkled image. Jessica Gellar's body lay bent and broken in a pile of leaves. "God I hope not," Grenier said hoarsely. "I hope he's not..." Arkin appeared at the door. "We've got a hit. The neighbor to the left heard the attack." Mulder and Grenier followed him out and under the yellow police tape to where Scully stood with young Hispanic male. "What have you got?" Mulder asked her. "This is Raymond Leandro. He's in room eighty-two, and he says he heard a crash last night in the room next door a little after midnight." "Yeah," Leandro agreed. "I'm here interviewing for a job, and some of the company guys, they took me out last night. I got back almost at twelve, and I heard the noise just after that. Like I told her, it was a loud crash -- like something breaking. Then there was kind of a thud." "And you didn't investigate?" Grenier snapped. "I looked out my window and didn't see anything," Leandro protested. "There was no screaming, and I didn't hear any more crashes. I figured maybe the mirror fell off the wall or something." "Did you see anything strange in the parking lot when you came in?" Mulder asked. "Anyone else around?" "Not that I remember." He paused. "Sorry." "Yeah, thanks," Mulder said, and the man walked away. "Well, that's something," Arkin said. "Now know the time he was here, maybe we can find someone who might have seen him. Seen his car, even." "It's nothing," Grenier replied. "We don't have time to interview half the city. He's had her over twelve hours now." Mulder felt his gut contract, and Scully looked at the ground. By twelve hours, the women were usually dead. Mulder pushed through the small group and walked back to the motel room. "Mulder!" Grenier called. "Where are you going?" Mulder kept walking until he reached the doorway of his motel room. Scully and the others caught up with him seconds later. "What's going on?" she asked. Mulder looked over her head to the buildings across the street. "We don't need to interview half the city," he said, pointing to the Denny's restaurant that sat directly in his line of site. "Open all night with a perfect view of our motel door." XxXxX The sound of the ice clinking in his glass caused several more beads of sweat to drip from her brow. Heat radiated from the walls. Her heart beat fast but she felt faint, her arms numb and legs aching. The coarse sheets scratched at her skin. "I could go see," he was saying as he paced. "From far away they wouldn't know. Just a quick look and I'd be gone." Amelia squeezed her eyes shut. If he was leaving, it meant either he would kill her soon or she had somehow earned a brief reprieve. Leave, you asshole. I dare you. By now they would know she was missing. The whole state would be on high alert. She just had to stay alive until they could find her. She scraped her tongue against the towel in her mouth, fighting off a dry heave. Her squirming got Carl's attention. "Is it everything you expected?" he asked, standing over her. Icy drops from his whisky glass dripped on to her collarbone, and she twisted weakly against her restraints. Carl frowned. "You better not piss in my bed." Amelia froze, her heart in her throat. This was a possible angle. She arched her pelvis up from the bed as best she could and made frantic noises through her towel. "Fuck." He put the whiskey over by the sink and pulled out a large hunting knife. The bed sank under his weight. Amelia quivered as he ran the blade gently down the middle of her face. He smelled of alcohol and sweat. "Not one move. Not one itty bitty move. Got it?" She nodded. With a few quick slices, he released her arms. She whimpered at the pain of renewed blood flow. Tears pricked her eyes and slid down over her hot cheeks. "I will cut you in ribbons if I have to." She sank into the pillow, trying to steady her breathing as he went to work on her feet. Her arms shook from the lactic acid build up; there was no way she would be able to over power him now. He rubbed his hand across the bottom of her foot, and she felt the rough calluses on his fingers. "See what you made me do. The rope leaves marks." Shooting pain lanced from her heel to her hip, but she dared not move an inch. Her knee cracked as he bent her leg. "Such pretty, pretty feet," he said, his breath tickling her toes. Amelia held back a moan as he sucked her big toe into his mouth. Pleasepleaselethimleaveplease. The garden shears lay only a few feet away. I'm going to get you out of here, she told the baby silently. Carl's tongue slid between her toes. Amelia clutched the sheets with both fists and tried not to vomit. Dana got out, she reminded herself. You can do it. She groaned again and arched from the bed, trying to remind him why he had cut her loose in the first place. He let her toe go with a "pop," then kissed her instep. "For later," he told her with a grin. He stood up, knife still in hand, and nodded at the small toilet room. "Be quick about it." Amelia swung her wobbly legs over the edge of the bed, not at all sure she could stand. Her knees buckled, but she managed to remain upright by clutching an iron foot post from the bed. She entered the tiny toilet room and tried not to notice the bloody rings encircling her wrists. No windows and no weapons. The room was useless. They're coming, she thought. Stay alive. She yanked off the tape holding her gag in place. Turning the water on low, she leaned her head down and drank in large gulps. It cooled her inside of her raw throat and woke her up a bit. She used the toilet, washed her face and hands and braced herself for the man outside. He was holding the knife and whistling. "About time." There was no way she could reach the shears from where she stood; he was in the way. She had no choice but to get back on the bed as he brandished several fresh lengths of rope. Dana had apparently taught him well, all right. He was smart enough not to put his body directly over her when her legs were free. Within seconds, he had her arms shackled over her head once more. He frowned as he stared at her feet. "If you're a good girl, I don't have to tie those up." She nodded, but he still looked torn. He tested the ropes holding her arms with a hard shake. She flinched in pain. "I guess that's good enough." He stepped back and slipped his knife back in its sheath. "I'll be back in a few hours," he said, and then grinned. "Don't go nowhere." I'm not dead, she thought with a flash of relief. I've got time. "In a few hours," he said as if reading her mind. He ran his hand down her calf and caressed her toes. "We can have some fun." She raised her head up, straining her neck muscles to watch him go, and noticed he took the garden shears with him. He closed the heavy door with a slam; she heard a deadbolt slide into place on the outside. Wearily, she collapsed back onto the dingy pillow. She could flex her fingers, but he had immobilized her arms. Yanking would only worsen the wounds on her wrists. Her feet were useless as long as she remained tethered to the bed. He will kill you, a voice inside her said. You know he will. She slid her foot along the iron bed frame in frantic, nervous movements. Maybe they would catch him now that he was outside. Maybe someone in the mountains would find her here. She tried banging her feet on the metal frame, hoping to make some noise, but it wasn't loud enough. Lancing pain. She jerked away, raising her left foot up so she could see the source of the hurt. Blood trickled down the right side of her foot. She lowered her leg again with caution, toeing the underside of the frame for the edge that had cut her open. Of course he would buy a cheap ass bed. Ah, there it was. She winced at the sharp contact, then held her foot up again to inspect the injury. In addition to the rope rings on her ankles, she now had a nasty blood smear down the whole right side of her foot. Not so pretty anymore, she thought. And a plan began to form in her mind. XxXxXxX Chapter Seven XxXxXxX It was all hands on deck at the Los Angeles branch of the FBI, and they were all pulling for one case. Agents who had gone off shift only hours before returned; even one who had retired the previous week showed up to ask what he could do to help. They gave him a chair and a phone. Scully slipped through the busy hallways to find Mulder standing alone in a small seminar room. His tie lay on the table; his back was to the door. She knocked even as she entered, and he turned from the window. "The Denny's waitress wasn't much help," she said, handing him the computer-generated update of Carl Quentin's picture. "But it's clear he didn't want her to be. He wore a large hat and tinted glasses. She can only guess that his hair is now dark brown, and it sounds like he's put on a little weight this year. She didn't see what kind of car he was driving." "Great." Mulder returned to staring out the window. "Anything from the room?" "Prints confirm Quentin was there. The blood on the lamp is Russell's." "Grenier was right, you know. I never saw this coming." "No one did." She touched his arm, but he jerked it away. "She wanted off of this case, but I dragged her out here with me." He shook his head. "It's been almost fifteen hours now, Scully." Her stomach clenched. "You said you think we might still have a chance. That he might want to keep her alive for some reason." "I'm not a mind reader," he snapped. "He might keep her alive. But he might have strangled her right in the hotel room for I all know." "What good would that ---" "I don't fucking know! Okay? Jesus." He turned and shoved a rolling chair clear across the room. "I don't know why everyone keeps asking me this stuff. It's not like I've been so successful at predicting his moves so far! Twelve years on this case and he's still free. What does that tell you, Scully?" "You found me," she said softly. He froze, his mouth set in a grim line. "Yeah." He paused. "And what happens if I can't do it again?" "Mulder..." She struggled to swallow around the lump in her throat. His shoulders sagged and he waved a hand to brush her off. "You're right, I do think we have a chance that she is still alive. We're just going to have to go with that for now." "Grenier is leading the teams following every possible sighting of Quentin and Russell. We're circulating this updated picture to every precinct in California, Nevada, Utah and Arizona. I think Agent Cheng has arranged to show it on the news here, too. Carl Quentin's days of invisibility are about to come to an end." "That's good." Mulder's voice was hollow. "The forest rangers should be on alert, too." "You think he's back in the woods?" Scully asked. "He's a signature killer with an established ritual. The cabin in Virginia worked for him for eleven years. My guess is that he's recreated it someplace out here." She nodded. "The samples from the motel are here, and I've had Carolyn Kraus's remains brought from Orange County, too. I'm about to go see if I can find anything that might give us an idea about where his home base is. Give me a call in a couple of hours, or if any of the leads pan out." "Scully." She turned. "What?" "One thing I know for sure -- he's going to take a run at you if he can. Russell was convenient, but you're the real target here." She could feel her pulse pounding in her neck, but managed an outward calm. "Maybe we should let him come." "What?" Mulder was horrified. "You're not serious." "We don't have a lot of time here, Mulder. If putting me out in plain sight would flush him from hiding, maybe that's what we need to do." "No way. Bad, bad idea." He shook his head emphatically. "It could save her life!" "It could cost you yours! You could both wind up dead. Remember what happened the last time we set a trap like this?" She flinched as though he slapped her but stood her ground. "He would come out, you think. For me." "That's it," Mulder muttered. "I've heard enough." He brushed past her and stalked down the hallway. "Mulder!" She called to him from the door. "There's another way," he hollered back. "I'm not going to let you do that, Scully." She jogged after him, catching up just as he burst into the bullpen, which had been converted to Carl Quentin headquarters during their search. Grenier stood arguing with Arkin near a large map of California. Both men looked up as Mulder entered the room. "What's going on?" Grenier demanded. "Put Scully in protective custody." Behind him, Scully's jaw fell open. "What?" "It makes sense," Mulder said, ignoring her. "You want to antagonize Quentin and draw him out, take away his fixation point. So far we've just been giving him exactly what he wants." Grenier seemed to consider, then frowned and shook his head. "No, I need her down in the labs. She'll be safe enough there." "It's not enough! She needs to disappear completely. Once he sees she's not playing his game, he'll get angry. He'll make more mistakes." "He has Russell!" Grenier's face darkened. "I don't think we want to be antagonizing him any further right now." Scully had another flash of the cabin, with the ropes and the shoes and the garden shears. She rubbed her wrists. "He has a point, Mulder." "No, he doesn't," Mulder snapped at her. He spread his arms. "You all want my insight? Well, here I am giving it to you. Pull his focus away from Russell and on to Scully. The best way to do that is to make him wonder what's happened to her. As long as she's here cleaning up his mess and following his tracks, he's going to remain one step ahead of us because that's exactly what he expects her to do." Grenier looked from Mulder to Scully and back again. "No. I will not sacrifice one of my best agents for a hunch. Not with Russell missing." "Fuck that! You're the one who wants to use her to get to Quentin. You're the one who said you wouldn't use her as bait!" "I'm not using her as--" "The hell you aren't! Sure, you'd love to have her in the labs, but the real reason you're so hot to keep her is you know he'll come looking for her." "And your grand plan is to gamble Russell's life!" "It's already on the table. I'm just calling them as I see them." "Well, I am not on the table," Scully cut in, angry. "And I am not a card to be played. By either of you." Mulder shook his head. "You are, Scully. I'm sorry, but you are." "Okay, it's up to you," Grenier said to her, folding his arms over his chest. "Your call." Scully felt Mulder's eyes on her, and she turned to meet his furious gaze. "I think you're right," she said, turning back to talk to Grenier. "I think there are personal feelings in the way here. I came to do a job, and I'd like the chance to do it. I don't need protective custody." Mulder muttered a curse and walked away. Scully didn't bother to try to stop him. XxXxX Like the rest of the FBI staff, the lab personnel had also halted dinners and days off to work overtime. Scully found a half dozen people already poring over the microscopic evidence found in Mulder's motel room. As she located a white coat, Scully heard whispering behind her back and knew the story of her own clash with Quentin had preceded her. "Dana Scully," she said, introducing herself anyway. She shook one young man's hand and caught him eyeing the scars that encircled her wrist. She tugged down the sleeve on her coat when she pulled away. "What have you got so far?" "We've got Quentin's prints on the lamp." The woman, middle- age with thin brown hair and a slight lisp, walked over to where the pieces of the lamp lay under a bright light. "We also recovered blood and hair samples belonging to Amelia Russell." "We know he did it," Scully said, trying to keep the impatience from her voice. "Now we have to figure out where he is." She paced the long tables, studying the collection of evidence. "Did the skeleton arrive from Orange County?" "It's over there," said the lisping woman. Scully found the smaller table and discovered that her other request had been met, too -- they had included samples of the dirt from the desert where Carolyn was found. She grabbed a microscope and began sifting. XxXxX Feeling bold, Carl dared to drive past the motel. He was careful not to slow down too much, but with all the gawkers on hand he didn't have trouble blending in with the crowd. Yellow tape flickered in the ocean breeze while cops crawled like black ants all over the parking lot. Just like old times, Carl thought with satisfaction. After his first California kill -- a prostitute with neon blue sandals -- had gone unnoticed, he had been worried he was losing his touch. Still, it seemed like the big players had moved on from the motel. He saw no trace of Grenier, Mulder or Scully. "Dammit!" he said, smashing his hand on the steering wheel. It was that bitch Russell's fault. If he hadn't had to grab her the night before, he wouldn't have lost track of the other agents. Maybe they had returned to Santa Ana? As he was driving around considering his next move, the song on the radio faded out and a serious-sounding DJ began speaking to him. About him. He nearly stopped the car in the middle of the road. "Police are asking for your assistance in apprehending a man believed to be behind the kidnapping of a federal agent. Carl Quentin is six feet, four inches tall and weighs approximately two hundred and eighty pounds. He has dark hair and may be wearing a large white hat and tinted glasses. If you see someone matching this description --" Carl clicked the radio off with one swift jab. "Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck." He slipped the hat from his head. Better cut his losses and come back later, after he had taken care of Russell. He turned the car around and headed back towards LA. XxXxXxX Scully's find was a mere speck to the naked eye, but under the microscope its importance magnified along with its size. Round on one end with a tiny, dagger-like point sticking out from the other end, the seed seemed ready to burst. She found two others like it in the dirt that had surrounded Carolyn's remains, and about a dozen more plant species as well. With a little luck, at least one of the plants would prove to be foreign to desert soils and localized somewhere else. She sat back from the oculars and rolled her neck to ease the ache. The clock on the wall said it was approaching midnight. With another yawn and stretch, Scully got down from her stool and joined the brown haired woman at the next table. "Dr. Corvasce," she said, and the woman looked up from the carpet fibers in front of her. "Did your team find any sign of vegetation in the motel room?" "Why, yes, we did," answered Corvasce, her lisp slightly more pronounced as she tired. "We found a small piece of what looks to be a fern leaf and several plant seeds we couldn't identify." "May I take a look?" "Certainly." Scully put the unknown seeds under a microscope and saw they were identical to the ones she had found in the desert dirt. "I'd like to have all the specimens identified," she said. "Can we do that here?" Corvasce nodded. "Probably, but we can always get help from UC Berkeley if we need it." Scully smiled. "A great school." "Class of eighty-eight," Corvasce said with an answering smile. Scully yawned again, long and large, and Corvasce regarded her with a sympathetic look. "You should go home and try to get a few hours of sleep. We can call you right away if we get a hit on the fauna." Scully hesitated; out of the corner of her eye she could see the human jigsaw puzzle that used to be her good friend. Time was one thing she didn't have if she was going to save Amelia Russell from a similar fate. "I don't know," she hedged. "I'd like to examine the dirt again in case I missed anything the first time." "I'll be happy to do it. You look like you've been up for days. Go. Get some rest." Dimly, Scully tried to recall the morning. It seemed like a lifetime ago. The couch, she remembered at last, and Mulder. She wondered where he had gone after their angry words in the bullpen, if she should track him down or if she should let him go. She wasn't sure had the strength to stand in her respective corner, let alone tussle in the ring with him. The mental argument alone was enough to make her teeth ache with fatigue. Already her brain had to replay Dr. Corvasce's sentences twice inside before she could comprehend them. Outside she felt raw and exposed, like someone had worked her over with a Brillo pad. "I don't even have a room to go to," she murmured, rubbing her eyes. "Oh! I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you. There's an officer outside -- Agent Grenier's orders, I think he said -- and he mentioned he would take you to a hotel when you were ready to leave." "What?" Scully walked across the room to the main door, pushing it open with one palm and peering into the hall. A uniformed officer stood from his chair. "Ma'am," he said. "Hal Jackson at your service. Are you ready to leave now?" At least five inches taller than Mulder, Jackson's bulk belied his baby face -- red hair and chubby cheeks with freckles -- sort of like her brother Charlie at age three if someone had blown him up like a parade balloon. "Uh, yeah." Scully cast one look back at the labs, but she was so tired her vision was beginning to blur. "I should go now." Officer Jackson had to nudge her awake at the hotel. Catching her reflection in the mirrors in the lobby, she was dismayed to see that she had a nice car door indentation on her right cheek. She learned her room was one eleven, and that Mulder had a room just down the hall and around the corner. They passed it on the way to her room, but she didn't see any sign of him. "I'm really fine from here," she told Jackson when they reached her door. "You have a good night, Ma'am," he said. "I'll be just outside if you need anything." Scully opened her mouth to protest, but the set of his jaw told her it would be fruitless. "At least let me get you a chair," she said with a sigh. "That would be very kind of you, Ma'am. Thank you." She opened the room and found that someone -- Mulder? -- had been thoughtful enough to put her suitcase inside. She handed the desk chair out to Jackson and the shut the door with a soft click. Leaning against its solid length, she closed her eyes and let the even hum of the air conditioner wash over her. So many nights in motels with grinding, groaning air units, it was a wonder she could sleep without one. She pushed away from the door and unlocked her suitcase, taking out her pajamas and toiletries. After she had changed and splashed some water on her face, it occurred to her to check for messages. The light on her phone shone a steady red. No Mulder. She dug out her cellular and checked her voice mail, but there she found only Grenier informing her of her personal night watchman. She set the phone on the bedside table, just in case, and crawled under the covers. She was surprised to find the room was spinning. Still her eyes would not stay closed. She slid her palm across the wide expanse of bed; the king- size ocean of coils and cotton seemed silly with just her small presence. Her toes ended miles before the edge of the bed. After blinking away several more long minutes, she threw off the covers and fished around in the darkness for her robe. Outside, Jackson seemed startled to find her squinting at him. "Is everything okay?" he asked. "Fine. I'm just going down the hall." "I'll go with you." "No," she said, stopping and holding up a hand. "That's not necessary." "It is," he insisted gently. "It's my job." Resigned, Scully set off at a brisk pace with Officer Jackson trailing along behind her. She hesitated at Mulder's door, then knocked twice. He opened immediately. He still wore the same clothes she had seen him in earlier, though his sleeves now flapped unbuttoned along his forearms. A day's worth of dark stubble covered his face, and his eyes narrowed as though he didn't have the energy to open them all the way. He glanced behind her at Jackson, then wordlessly widened the door to let her inside. Unlike her room, which smelled of hotel air freshener and bleached linens, Mulder's room permeated with old newsprint, stale pizza and the slight tang of sweat. She halted at the entryway as he collapsed into a low armchair. Mulder had constructed a psychological war room. Crime scene photos were tacked in haphazard rows on the wall, reports and articles littered the dresser and desktops. Crumpled paper balls sat by his wastebasket, and she could see sheets of writing next to his computer. "Mulder..." When he turned to look at her, half his face glowed blue from the laptop screen. "Did you get anything from the lab results?" "Some plant samples," she said, still distracted by the controlled chaos in the room. She took several slow steps toward the table where his computer lay. "What about you, Mulder? Any leads?" His eyes were nearly black in the low light. "You know my position. It hasn't changed." "Neither has mine. I will not be shut out of this case, Mulder." He tilted his head, inspecting her. "Sounds to me like you're the one letting personal feelings get in the way." She brushed her bare foot on the carpet, frustrated. "Of course I have personal feelings! You've got a great collage here of what Quentin thinks, of his motivations and his whims, but let me tell you what Amelia is feeling. She thinks she is going to die, Mulder. She's remembering all the bodies from before and trying to not panic even though she knows exactly what he wants to do to her. He's big, and she can't move and maybe there's no way out but she has to keep thinking, has to keep trying...can't let up for a second because then he has her and it's over." Her breaths came in uneven jags, her hands shaking. She stilled them on the back of a chair. "Of course I have personal feelings," she repeated finally. He got up without a word and wrapped himself around her. She stiffened but then returned the embrace, running her hands down his shoulder blades to the strong muscles of his lower back. His face was hot and rough against her neck. "I would lie to you," he said. "I would lie to you and lock you up if that's what it took to keep you safe." She squeezed her eyes shut and burrowed closer. Tears burned behind her eyelids. "I am safe," she murmured as she stroked him. He pulled away and looked down at her, his hands moving to grip her arms. "But I'm not lying, Scully. I believe that putting you in protective custody, cutting Quentin off cold turkey, is the best chance we have of forcing him out into the open." She searched his face even as she imagined giving up. "I'll think about it," she said at last. He held her gaze for a minute and then nodded. "Okay," he said, pulling her against him once more. The slow sweeps of his hands down her back eased some of her tension, and she lay her cheek on his chest. "I think that's the most I've ever heard you talk about it," he said quietly. "You must have read my statements." "It's not the same." She considered how shaky she still felt after her outburst. "No, I guess it's not." His fingers found the painful knot at the back of her neck and rubbed it away. "We'll find her," he said, and Scully forced herself to nod in agreement. "Yeah." She leaned back and brushed the tear streaks from her face. He followed her movements with his thumb. "I should go," she said. "Yes," he agreed as his hands slipped inside her robe. The sash loosened. So tired she was floating away. She let fingers play along the sculpted ivory of his rib cage. "Scully." His breath on her cheek, her neck. The hot pinch of arousal opened her up inside. "The man...outside," she breathed, her fatigue popping Jackson's name like a bubble. Mulder captured her earlobe in his mouth and nursed it gently, then ran his tongue along the curve of her ear. "Shhh," he said against her sensitized skin, and the whisper tingled all the way down her back. He pulled her closer, his thigh sliding between her legs. "Scully," he repeated. Low, urgent. Needy like she was. She squeezed his leg with her own. "Muldermulder, please..." He picked up the pace of his caresses, rubbing circles on her nipples through the silk. She pressed the flat of her teeth against his neck and tasted the salty hollows there. "Like this," he said, stumbling backward to the chair. His hands tugged her pajama bottoms half way down her legs, and she brushed them off at her feet. "Here, here," he said as he reached for her, his hands skimming her bare thighs and making her shiver. His erection bulged between his legs. She climbed over him half-clothed, spread open and precarious as they kissed. Her hair fell forward and surrounded them in a soft curtain. She whimpered and then whispered for him to be quiet. Half-trembling, half-laughing, he shut them both up with his mouth. Her hips jerked in his lap. "Scully, god," he murmured, and suddenly she was the one in control. It was her tongue searching his mouth, her finding the seam of his zipper, her pushing his hand between her legs. He teased aside the cotton and gave her his hand. Not quite wet, she gasped as he pushed his finger inside. Tears of almost pain pricked her eyes but she thrust for more, moaning as she rocked in his lap. Not enough. It was not enough. She groped for the button on his pants. He steadied her with one hand so they didn't tip the chair, arching into her fingers as she slipped him free from his boxers. "Off," he grunted, tugging on her underwear. "Hmm, yeah." But she merely yanked the barrier aside. She pressed her forehead to his as their hands together helped him find his way into her body. Slowly, she relaxed her thighs and sank down. His breaths were light and fast on her face. "Scully," he murmured, kissing her again more languidly, his tongue sliding side to side in a gentle rhythm. But she couldn't slow down, couldn't stop the roar in her ears. She pulled her mouth free as her hips began a quick fuck that threatened to topple their chair. Mulder gasped and threw his head back, his eyes slitted and his mouth hanging open. She bit her lip to stifle the sounds rising up inside her. So tired, fuck me. More, more, more. She feared she might collapse in exhaustion before the orgasm hit. "Mulder," she said. A plea for help. He threw his hips into the action, found her swollen clit with two fingers. She grit her teeth and shook herself apart, gasping and thrusting down on him as the waves buffeted through her. She fell forward and sobbed into his shoulder. "Okay?" he panted, combing her hair roughly with his hand. She tried to stop crying long enough to finish him. "Okay," she said, but could only hold on weakly as he arched into her a half dozen more times. He crushed her close and groaned near her ear. She shifted, curling in his lap so her leg muscles could stop burning. He kissed the top of her head as she continued to sniffle into his shirt. "I'm so tired," she murmured, her voice thin to her own ears. "Bed," he agreed, sitting up. She squeezed his hand and allowed him to lead her to the bed. He took off his pants, but besides that they crawled under the covers still half- dressed. She had already closed her eyes before he pulled the blankets over them. Maybe she said goodnight, but maybe it was only in her head. A few hours later, she awoke with a small jerk, blinking and disoriented. Mulder sprawled on his back next to her. The only illumination in the room came from his laptop, and she used the eerie light to find her way to the bathroom. Wrapping her robe tighter, she paused to turn down the air conditioner on her way back to bed. May as well shut that thing down, too, she reasoned as she crossed to the laptop. But her hand froze in midair. Pregnant. The word stood out from his notes, a stream of consciousness list of everything he knew about Amelia Russell's abduction. "Oh, my God," Scully murmured. "No." She clasped her hand over her mouth, holding her middle with her other arm. Her heard pounded against her ribs. Tied up and frightened and pregnant and goddamn there was something she could do about it. "That's it," she whispered fiercely. "This is the end, you sonofabitch." Shaking but certain, she walked to Mulder's dresser and found his back up weapon, determined to come at Quentin with everything she had. Determined to leave no other innocent people on the path between the monster and herself. Bet you're not expecting this, she thought as she checked to see if the gun was loaded. She located her underwear and pajama bottoms on the floor and dressed silently. Smoothing her hair, she cast one last look at Mulder. I'm sorry, she told him silently, I can't wait for the safe way. She opened the door with care, clicking it back into place with a minimum amount of noise. Officer Jackson didn't even blink. "Heading back to your room now, Ma'am?" he asked. Shit, she'd forgotten about him. "Yes," she said. "Back to the room." Once there, she changed in a hurry, securing Mulder's smaller weapon under her pants leg and checking the ammunition in her own. Next she put on her robe again and stuck her head out the door. "Excuse me," she said. "Would you mind terribly getting me some ice?" "Ice?" Jackson looked dubious that anyone could want ice at four-thirty in the morning. "Please," she said, handing him the bucket. He looked down at it and shrugged. "Okay. You just stay inside there, all right? I'll be back in less than a minute." "Thank you." She smiled. He took the bucket and disappeared around the corner; Scully took the opportunity to disappear herself. XxXxXxX XxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Eight XxXxXxXxXxX The sharp knock on the door cracked his eyes open like eggs, liquid sleep vision making him stumble on his path to the door. Behind it he found a man so large he nearly blocked out the light from the hall; he held a bucket of ice in his hands, and his face wore a worried crease. Mulder squinted up at him. "What is it?" "Is Agent Scully with you, Sir?" the man asked. Scully's guard. He remembered now. The man on the other side of the door when Scully had pressed her hot mouth to his and whispered that they had to be quiet. Mulder ran his hand through his hair and tried not to be obvious about checking the bed behind him. The blankets were rumpled in the dark, but his sense memory could still feel the warmth of her body against his skin. "Uh, sure. She's still here." The officer visibly relaxed. "Oh. Okay, then. I'm sorry to bother you, Sir." He held out the bucket. "I have the ice that Agent Scully requested, if she still wants it." "Ice?" Mulder did turn around now, frowning at the dim mountain range of blanket bumps. "She asked me for it a few minutes ago. When she didn't answer her door, I thought she was probably back here. Again, I'm sorry to--" He stopped as Mulder walked away, the door still hanging open. Mulder flicked the wall switch, and light flooded his room. Gone. His heartbeat seemed to slow and expand, stealing his breath and gluing his feet to the rug. He scrunched his toes deep into the carpet. "Dammit." "Sir?" The young officer hovered near the entryway. Mulder jerked, suddenly mobilized. "When was the last time you saw her?" he asked as he began searching the room. "It must be about ten minutes now." Mulder emptied his suit pockets on to the bed -- crumpled receipts, loose change, sunglasses -- "My car keys are missing." "Grenier's going to have my hide. I shouldn't have left her alone." Mulder pawed through the papers on the table for his cell phone, barely listening as he fished it out and headed for his dresser. "No, you shouldn't have. Fuck." He pressed "1" and held the phone under his jaw while he searched his dresser with both hands. Answer, dammit. Answer. He yanked the drawer out and found his wad of ties, socks and boxers shoved aside. She had taken his backup weapon, too. Why the hell hadn't he seen this coming? "Agent Mulder? I should contact Chief Waitkin and Agent Grenier...where do you think she could have gone?" Mulder turned around in place slowly, taking in the chaos of his room. A photo of Keri Ann Talbot's body came loose from the wall and fluttered to the ground, face up. He stared into her empty eyes as the phone rang in his ear unanswered. XxXxXxX Scully drove through the night unimpeded. In the dark hour before dawn, the largest city in the U.S. resembled a futuristic ghost town, its long streets breezy and abandoned. Skyscrapers kept silent, looming watch. She clenched the wheel and nudged the needle up to fifty miles per hour. By now, Jackson would have missed her and the hunt would be on. Mulder would be furious. Mulder. She had to leave him behind. He wouldn't have let her leave and there was no way he could have come. Carl would emerge from hiding for her alone. And if he was watching her, he wouldn't be with Amelia. If he was watching. She kept one eye on the rearview mirror, dreading any sign of either a patrol car or the burning headlights of Carl Quentin. Her wrists and knees felt loose and weak. The press of her gun at her side kept her moving forward, but she had no direction. Think, she commanded herself, trying to lasso her careening thoughts. Think like him. Where would he go? But she wasn't Mulder, who could abracadabra his way into the criminal mind. She had lain in Quentin's bed, had looked into his wild eyes and felt the madness in his touch, but she could not fathom the evil in his heart. Get out? she wondered. Walk the street until she could hear his footsteps coming up behind her? He had grabbed her in a park the last time. Perhaps she should try that again. She made a wide right turn onto another deserted street, heading out of town. Mulder had guessed Quentin was in the mountains, but that was too much territory for her to cover alone. She made another turn. I'm Carl, she thought, I would look... ...back where I left off. Of course. Her heart picked up speed. They knew he had been watching the motel in Santa Ana, and it made sense that he would search at the scene of Amelia's abduction; he would be expecting her to be there. But I'm not. What next? She took the corner too quickly, fishtailing onto a wide boulevard. Taillights winked in the distance in front of her. He's angry, she thought, warming to the pattern. He gets nothing from the motel from far away and he doesn't dare to get any closer. The morgue would have to be next. The thought pricked her, trickled fear down her insides. If she went there, would she find him waiting? Or was he already watching, biding his time until she drove off the main road into darkness? There was only one way to find out. XxxXxXxX At FBI headquarters, Grenier had two phones going at once; one at his ear and the other in his hand. "License Q145VMX," he said. "No, we don't fucking know where she's gone. That's the point of this notice." He glanced up at Mulder. "It's silver, right?" Mulder nodded. "Hertz sticker on the back." The rest of the men and women in the room had stopped their tasks to watch Grenier's terse phone calls. Despite the hum of the computers, the photos and maps tacked to the walls, and the ove- bright fluorescent lights, the room felt stagnant and defeated. Russell had been missing for over twenty-four hours. Chewing his thumbnail, Mulder stood in front of the largest map: the one that showed all of Orange and Los Angeles Counties in detail. Miles of freeways crisscrossed and curley-qued across the paper. She could be anywhere. "You were right," Grenier said quietly from behind him. "I should have locked her up when I had the chance." "He'll come after her," Mulder answered. "We've got to get there before he does." "Your partner has fucked us both over, you know that, don't you? How the hell am I suppose to look for her and Russell at the same time, let alone the fucking animal we're supposed to be chasing?" "Give me some men. Let me go after Scully." Grenier snorted. "I've got none to spare! I've put out the APB to all of California, but that's all we can do right now." "You can't be serious. You know she's his real target." "Hell of a lot of good that does me now! She's run off like some goddamn teenager!" "She'll try to draw him out," Mulder continued steadily. "We can start with places we know he's been. That's what Scully would do." "One team. Two men. That's the most I can give you." "It's not enough!" "Fuck, Mulder, what do you want me to do? Russell's the one in real trouble here! As far as we know, Scully is just fine. I can't pull men off our ongoing search to chase after her!" "Get the LAPD. Requisition more men from neighboring counties. You can call Nesbith --" "I have! Every resource is tapped out. The Director is about two seconds from pulling me off this case!" "Fine, I'll go myself." Mulder grabbed his jacket and stalked toward the door. "Mulder!" "Call Orange County!" Mulder yelled back. "Tell them I'm on my way. Tell them I want my two men standing in front of the motel. We can start from there." XxXxXxX At five years old, Carl had learned he could be invisible. His father had passed out on the couch as usual with his whiskey bottle so Carl had dared to playe upstairs in Mommy's closet. So entranced he had been by her tall, tall heels with the pink stripe and smooth toe that he had not heard his father's footsteps on the stairs. "What the goddamn hell do you think you're doing? Goddamn queer!" One hard slap to the head had knocked Carl out of the shoes and onto the thin carpet. "No, please. I was just trying..." "You don't sass me, boy." Carl's father was taking off his belt. "Goddamn queer in my house." Carl scrambled away, crawled out the door with his father lurching after him. "Don't you run from me! I'm your father!" Carl wedged behind a door, barely breathing as his father walked past with the belt dragging on the floor behind him. The last time he had felt the fiery whip on his skin, Carl had not been able to sit properly for a week afterwards. He could smell the alcohol as his father patrolled the hall. "I know you're hiding here somewhere, boy." He would see soon, Carl knew. The door stuck out from the wall just a little too far. Now or never. Holding his breath, Carl fell into step behind his father, ghosting down the hallway in his shadow until they reached the stairs. His feet seemed to float above the floor. At the stairs, his father paused, looked around, but Carl disappeared onto the landing. Invisible. His new hiding place, thirty-odd years later, was not the best. He had only a partial view, but it was as close as he dared to get. In the daylight he would have to retreat into the mountains again. He didn't plan to leave without her. So he waited. Still in the shadows. Ever silent. Invisible. XxXxXxX She nearly threw up twice. It took several minutes of lying stock still and careful breathing to hold down the heaves. The gag chafed in her mouth, and pain radiated through her whole body. The rope bit into her wrists at the slightest movement; she had long since lost the feeling in her hands. Sweat and tears plastered hair against her face, and she had no method of wiping it away. But her feet were the worst. In the dim light of the one bulb, she could see the blood dripping down the sides of each of them. She had managed several long cuts on the left one, but the right suffered much worse. Her little toe drooped, half-amputated. She had sliced right through the tendon. A risk, a chance, a sliver or hope. Possibly her doom. Either he would cast her aside, unable to complete his ritual, or he would kill her immediately in a fit of rage. He had never killed outside of his pattern, she knew, but clearly he was capable of it. I tried, she thought, exhausted. I did what I could. If he killed her now, at least they would know she had fought. Grenier would see she had not given up on the baby. He would know she battled with everything she could to come out alive. Dizzy and throbbing, she drew up her legs onto the sheets, trailing blood as she did so. She closed her eyes and waited. XxXxX How to hide in plain sight, that was her problem. Scully was careful not to go anywhere near the motel, knowing that there would be extra security still at the scene. On her first pass by the Orange County morgue, she checked for surveillance vehicles but did not see any obvious unmarked vans or cars watching the entrance. Still, she decided to park a few blocks away and walk back towards the building. It was dark, the street lamps still on, but the first hint of blue light on the horizon signaled that dawn was not far away. Scully kept a brisk pace as she walked, her heels the only sound in the early morning quiet. She left her jacket unbuttoned to maintain easy access to her gun. As she reached the main road occasional cars rushed past, their headlights blinding her as she pressed into some nearby bushes. Her fingertips tingled, and cold drops of sweat dripped between her shoulder blades. I escaped last time because of luck, she had told Mulder. But it wasn't an escape, not really, because her she was again in the dark waiting for him to come and try to kill her. She took a deep breath and continued towards the morgue. The front door would be visible to any passing patrol car, so she opted for the back entrance -- a plain brown door right at street level. Scully stood next to it and pressed her back to the wall. He would not be coming up behind her this time, his rough hand clamping over her mouth. A humid wind rustled the trees; Scully scanned the small parking lot for any sign of life. One lone dark car sat in the corner, but she did not see anyone inside. She narrowed her eyes. That spot is not visible from the road, she thought, watching as the breeze chased shadow puppets over the windshield. Was that movement inside as well? Hesitating just a second, Scully withdrew her weapon and walked along the side of the building toward the car. She ventured out into the lot, approaching it from the rear. California plates and tinted windows. She noted the large trunk and worn tires. Heart pounding, she took several slow steps up toward the driver's side window. No one inside. "Jesus," she murmured, turning and sagging against the door. Just then another car engine roared to life across the street, its headlights blazing. Scully jumped back and shielded her eyes, but the car simply turned onto the main boulevard and drove away. She leaned back against the car again, her gun hanging low in her hand. The sound of her harsh breathing echoed in her ears. She almost called it off right then; how many parked cars could she reasonably check by herself? Morning was coming. The sky brightened overhead, a slow spreading of day that would likely chase him back into hiding. Except she could still feel him out there like the trees, blocking the wind and waiting to make his move. You wanted me, she thought, scanning the empty street once more. Come get me. A car pulled into the lot. Its lights were off. Scully tightened her hold on the SIG, keeping it hidden behind her leg, and poised to attack. But a small woman with a long, thick braid and olive skin got out of the driver's side. She eyed Scully with a suspicious look as she fished into her bag. "Can I help you?" she asked, pulling out a ring of keys. It was then Scully noted her uniform with the nametag. Cleaning staff, she realized. A sudden thought occurred to her. "FBI," she said, showing the woman her badge. "From Washington. Can you let me into the building?" "Yes, I can do. This way." Scully glanced over her shoulder as they walked toward the back door. "Thanks," she said, distracted. No one else was around. How many chances had she given him? It didn't seem like he would have waited this long to make his move. Her stomach clenched at the thought of him back in the cabin with Amelia. I'll find you yet, you sonofabitch. Inside the building she took out her cell phone, then hesitated. If she turned it on, it would likely ring with Mulder on the other end. She was willing to bet he would have already set up a trace. "You need upstairs?" the cleaning woman asked as she started up the steps. "No, thank you. I'll just be down here." The woman nodded and disappeared out of sight. Scully decided not to turn on her phone and continued down the hall to the main offices, trying doors as she went. The last one opened, and she was able to get into the central lab through a back door. Everything was still and silent as a grave. She picked her way across the room in the dark, finding a light near the side counter. The list she was seeking was by the phone. "C'mon, c'mon...," she murmured, flipping through it. "Yes." She dialed the number for the FBI lab in Los Angeles. "Forensic Science Lab, Gertram speaking." She did not recognize the voice. "Uh, yes. This is Dana Scully. I was wondering if the seeds from the Kraus and Russell cases has been identified yet?" "Let me check. Hold please?" "Fine." Scully stood, twirling the long phone cord around her finger as she waited. She could hear the big wall clock ticking overhead. "I've been waiting for you." Scully gasped as a blade pressed against her neck. A second later she could smell him -- steeped in alcohol and sour sweat. Her throat closed off. "Hang up the phone," he breathed. "Agent Scully, we have identified those samples. The first one is --" She placed the receiver on the hook as Quentin removed her gun from its holster. "Very good. Now let's walk slowly towards the door. I have a little place in the mountains I just know you're going to love." XxXxXxX XxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Nine XxXxXxXxXxX Mulder wove his car in and out of the sparse morning traffic, chewing his thumbnail until he tasted blood. Even as he raced toward Orange County, he wondered if it was the right place to start. Think like Carl Quentin, he could do that. But think like Carl Quentin thinking like Scully thinking like Carl Quentin... Six degrees of homicidal mania, he thought as he swerved around a minivan. Scully, what the fuck did you think you were doing? I should have told her. I should have told her Amelia is dead. He's never kept them alive longer than a few hours. But the fear churning inside him, the doubt that scraped his ribs like steel wool, came from Scully's own words. ***You've got a great collage here of what Quentin thinks, of his motivations and his whims, but let me tell you what Amelia is feeling. She thinks she is going to die, Mulder. She's remembering all the bodies from before and trying to not panic even though she knows exactly what he wants to do to her.*** Scully was right. He had pictures of Quentin and reams of paper detailing the despicable minutiae of every attack, every murder Quentin had committed. He had some training and a keen insight into criminal patterns of behavior. He had even looked these kinds monsters in the face, felt the evil sloughing off of them as he had captured and cuffed and sent them away forever. But Scully was the one who had lived it. Maybe this time it was she who had the backstage pass, she who had gone directly into the abyss donotpassgodonotcollectonehundreddollars while he dicked around at an old crime scene, following the rules. ***But he'll come out for me.*** He will kill you. ***Let him try.*** No, I won't let him. ***It's too late.*** "No!" Mulder blurted the word out loud, screeching the car to a halt to avoid hitting the Camero stopped in front of him. The light at the end of the exit ramp was red. "Move!" Mulder shouted, honking his horn and trying to maneuver his sedan around on the right. "Move!" The Camero got out of the way. Mulder continued his high-speed slalom through the city streets until he reached the motel parking lot. Yellow police tape still flickered in the breeze, and Mulder could see the uniformed guards drinking coffee and talking outside of his old room. He shed his car like an old-tee shirt, leaving it parked on a slant, and jogged down to where the officers stood. "Agent Scully," he said, breathless. "Have you seen her?" "Sir?" The younger one, a black man with broad shoulders and a scar above his left eyebrow, seemed confused. Mulder spoke slowly, trying not to lose patience. "Have either of you seen Agent Dana Scully this morning?" "I'm afraid I don't know who that is, Sir," said the man. He glanced at his partner. "You know anything about this, Gil?" "Name rings a bell," replied the other man, his pox-marked face solemn. "She was identified as the first DB, remember? Turned out it was a mistake." "That's right, that's right. Have you seen her?" "Nope, I'm sorry. We've been here since four a.m., and no one has come by." "Fuck," Mulder muttered under his breath. He paced the blacktop for a few seconds. "Dana Scully," he said at last, and handed them his card. "She's five foot three, with red hair. If you see her around here, detain her and notify me immediately." He began walking back towards his car. "Sir? " One of the officers called out. "On what grounds should we retain her?" Insanity, Mulder thought, but he held his tongue. He turned, continuing to walk backwards as he spoke. "Protective custody! That first DB wasn't a mistake, it was a dry run." He reached his car, where the front door still hung open. He kicked it shut. "God damn. Now what?" Grenier had promised him two agents to help with his search, but he didn't see any spare men waiting at the ready. His cell phone rang from inside his pocket. Scully, he thought, shaking with adrenaline. He nearly dropped the plastic phone as he fumbled it free from his pants. "Hello?" Crackling static came from the other end. The whipping blades of an approaching chopper made it difficult to hear, so Mulder turned away. "Hello, Scully? Is that you?" "...Grenier...block...there." The helicopter noise grew louder, a thousand machine guns blaring overhead. The wind whipped his hair on end. "Adam?" "Agent...in the chopper. We're...block....her down." Mulder shielded his eyes and looked up to see an LAPD helicopter hovering forty feet above his head. Inside was Grenier, and he was pointing to someplace on the other side of the motel. Mulder nodded and waved to signal that he would meet them there. The helicopter set down in a near-empty Von's Supermarket parking lot three blocks from the motel, and Mulder joined them in his car. He got out to see Grenier and Richard Arkin ducking from the force of the chopper blades. Arkin hung back as Grenier strode across the lot. "What's going on?" Mulder yelled over the noise. "You wanted two agents. You've got them." Mulder paused. "I thought you said..." "You were right," Grenier interrupted. "Before, about Quentin. I figure you might be right this time, too." Mulder looked away, across the windy parking lot. "I wish I could tell you I'm sure. Mainly, I'm just playing the odds. Quentin wants Scully. We know that. If we find her before he does, we might have a shot at nailing his ass once and for all." "She's your partner. Where do you think she would go?" Mulder scuffed his shoe on the ground. Ordinarily, he would have said that Scully was by-the-book; she'd search for Quentin where the profile said he'd be most likely to be. But by-the-book Scully would not have run out in the middle of the night with two weapons, hell bent on baiting a killer. His stomach clenched. "She could be headed for Utah, for all I know. We know Quentin has been there." "Agent Grenier! Mulder!" Richard Arkin was waving at them from over by the helicopter. They turned, and he jogged out to meet them. "A Santa Ana patrol unit just found Scully's car three blocks from the forensics building." "Any sign of her?" Mulder asked, already heading for the driver's seat. "Not yet," Arkin answered. "And the hood was cool. She's been gone a while." XxXxXxX Scully lay face down in the dark, her cheek scraping against the rough grit on the floor. Her right shoulder was asleep, but she could wiggle her wrists behind her back. The knots were looser than the last time. He'd been in too rushed, trying to stuff her in the trunk before it was fully daylight. She screwed her eyes shut and tried to remember to breathe. He still has your shoes, a voice inside her head whispered. He kept them all this time, waiting for you to come back. He's not likely to make many mistakes. Scully gulped for air. I have a gun. I have a gun. Quentin ripped off her pants last time. She quivered, shifting on the grimy carpet. This time he would see the gun. He would tie her up and take her clothes and then the shears would come out -- "Oh, God." She started shaking in earnest. "No, no, you can't do this." Get the gun. Get the gun! It burned, hot steel against her leg. She arched her back like a seal, lifting her legs toward her hands. Her fingertips just brushed the cuff of her pants. "C'mon, c'mon." She felt every tendon in her body stretch; the effort made her dizzy. "Almost there..." Suddenly, he slammed on the brakes. Scully cried out as she hit the back of the trunk at sixty miles per hour. Pain lanced through her shoulder, and her hair caught on something sharp. She tensed, waiting. Was he going to come open the lid? The engine was still running, so Scully chanced another scramble for her weapon. Gritting her teeth, she arched again to try to reach under her pant leg. The car moved forward again. "Dammit," she said as she was thrown off balance. Panting from exertion, she rested on the coarse carpet. The car was moving slower now, stop and go. Rush hour, she thought. The asshole is caught in rush hour traffic. Thousands of people outside, and not one of them could hear or help her. She blinked back hot tears. You chose this. You asked for it. He's taking me to Amelia, and I still have the gun. Maybe I can get Amelia to distract him... what if she's dead? ...long enough for me to bend down and reach the gun. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the nausea brought on by the lurching of the car. The plan might work. She tried to envision it in detail, how it would feel to hold the gun on him. Just get the gun. Everything else will follow. XxXxXxX On the way to the morgue, Grenier unbent the waxy rim on an old paper cup. "I'd been kind of avoiding her, you know," he said as they were stopped at a light. Mulder did not answer. Grenier picked at the cup some more. "I thought she might want to talk about getting back together, so I was avoiding her. You ever been married, Mulder?" "Yes, once." He felt Grenier's eyes on him. "Really? What happened?" Mulder gave a small shrug. "It just didn't work out." Grenier nodded, silent for a long minute. "Amelia used to break all the bindings on my books. God, I hated that. Every damn time, the first thing she did with a new book was to crack it in half. No matter how many times I asked her not to do it, I'd keep finding them on the shelf with their spines broken. Now I think she didn't even know she was doing it. Like a habit." He shook his head and gave a small, rueful smile. "She swears in her sleep, too. Cusses like a goddamn sailor." "I know." The words were out of Mulder's mouth before he realized what he was saying. Beside him, Grenier tensed. "Sorry," Mulder said. "I didn't mean..." "Forget it. It's done." He crumpled the cup with one hand. "I don't want to get back together with her." Mulder thought of what Amelia had told him about the baby, and believed she had probably sensed as much. "We'll find her," he said mildly. He didn't add that he did not expect to find her alive. "It's funny, though," Grenier said, "what marriage does to you. We were together ten years. I have a piece of paper at home that says those ten years are over, but there's a million things still hanging...so many little threads I can see now when I look at her." Mulder felt his chest tighten. He remembered the first morning after he had made love to Scully, in that chilly room at the Inn. The way he had woken and found her looking at him with clear blue eyes. She had reached out, touched his cheek, and given him a rare calm smile. It was a moment that would live inside him forever. "I, uh, I know what you mean." "We have to find her, Mulder." Grenier looked away, out the window. "Or my life will never be good again." XxXxX Up, up again. Mulder had been right. Quentin must have recreated his cabin in the woods. She kept her breathing steady. Remember the gun. Remember the plan. He would be coming for her soon, with his big hands and bigger knife. The plan, the plan. Except. Except he had a plan, too. He'd been waiting for her. And he'd been working on his a lot longer than one day. XxXxX "Si, yes. I saw her this morning when I come in." Lupe Garces nodded as she looked at Scully's picture. Mulder's heart rate doubled. "What time was that? Did you see where she went?" "It was five-thirty. I saw her in the parking lot, with this big, black car. She said she was from the FBI and axed me to let her in, and I said sure. I went upstairs to do my work, and she went down there." Lupe pointed towards the morgue. "That's the las' I saw her." "This is very important," Mulder said. "Did you see anyone else unusual in or around the building at that time?" "No, jus' the usual people." Grenier dug out a mug shot of Carl Quentin. "This man. You haven't seen him at any time?" "No. I'm sorry." She looked upset. "He is very bad?" "He is very dangerous," Grenier agreed. "If you see him, call the police immediately." "Yes, I will." She studied the picture of Carl Quentin again, then crossed herself and handed it back. "What about the car?" Mulder asked. He went to the door and pushed it open. "Is the car still here?" Lupe joined him in the doorway and shook her head. "No, it's gone." "Did you recognize the car?" "No, I thought it belonged to the lady." "You think it was Quentin?" Grenier asked. "Could be," Mulder said, letting the door fall closed. He signaled to Grenier. "Check the local gas stations and convenience stores. See if anyone remembers Quentin or a big, black car hanging around the neighborhood." "Sure thing." "I hate to say it, Mulder, but I have a bad feeling about this." Grenier looked around the hallway. "Why would Scully leave her car?" "She would know we'd be looking for it," Mulder answered as he walked down toward the main labs. "Maybe she found another one." He wished he could be as sure as he sounded. It was just past eight a.m., too early for the full staff to have arrived for work. The morgue was dim and quiet. "You think she came in here to research something?" Grenier asked. "We had all the desert crime scene samples sent to LA." "I don't know. Maybe she wanted to use a computer or a...phone." He stopped when he spotted a small, black cell phone lying on the counter nearest the lab telephone. He crossed and picked it up, flipping it open as he turned it on. "This is Scully's phone." "Why would she leave it?" "She wouldn't," Mulder replied tightly. He pulled out his own phone. "Yeah, this is Agent Mulder," he said a moment later. "I need you to pull the LUDs for a cell phone number." He rattled off Scully's number, then on a hunch added the number for the lab phone as well. "And do that one, too, while you're at it. Yeah, ASAP. I want to know the last numbers dialed from each of those phones." "We should set up road blocks," Grenier said when Mulder had hung up. "We don't know he has her." "Mulder." "We don't know!" He stalked out of the lab into the hall. Grenier followed. "Maybe she left the phone so we couldn't trace her." "Do you really want to take a chance on maybe?" Grenier stopped in his tracks as his cell phone rang. "Grenier," he said. "Uh-huh. Yeah. Oh, Christ. Okay, we'll be right there." "What? What is it?" "Arkin found a clerk at the gas station two blocks away who remembers Carl Quentin. Apparently, Quentin stopped in for a liter of Coke and a large bag of Cheetos. Get this -- he was driving a big black car." XxXxX It seemed to Scully that they had gone off-road. She jostled and bumped around in the trunk, bruising as she tried to brace herself as best she could. Too much movement would dislodge her weapon from the band holding it to her leg. At last, they stopped. The only sound Scully could hear was her own heartbeat, pounding inside her head. Her breath caught in her throat. The trunk lid popped, and she flinched at the sharp noise. Squinting, she looked up and saw the bright sky. "Up and out of there. Now." She could hear him but couldn't see him. She guessed someone had taught him to stand back from the trunk. Someone had gone down fighting. Scully swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to wiggle feet first from the car. Halfway out, she felt a gun barrel at her back. "No funny moves." His sour smell, his gruff, angry voice, the feel of him pressed so close -- please, not again. please. please. Fear threatened to scatter her composure like dried leaves in the wind. "Well, aren't you going to say hello?" he said when she was fully out of the trunk. She turned around slowly. His hair was darker than she remembered, but the crooked-tooth smile was the same one that haunted her dreams. She was pleased to note he had a moss purple and green bruise on one cheek, and hoped it was courtesy of Amelia. He touched the edge of her shirt. "That's my girl." Scully spat at him. "Fuck you." "Fuck you," he answered, and smacked her upside the head with the butt of the gun. A thousand pain needles shot through her eyes. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and twisted. "Here's the deal, Dana Scully: I only keep the little ones, but I'm happy to cut the rest off one at a time just for fun. You just think about that, and maybe you'll decide to be a bit more cooperative." He jerked her hair. "Hmm?" Scully glared at him and said nothing. Carl smiled. "Yeah, you just think about that as we walk." He gave her a hard shove. "This way." Scully stumbled, her legs still wobbly from the trunk, but managed to right herself before tumbling to the ground. Don't let him see the gun, she thought. Just keep going. He marched them at a brisk pace through the mountains, and Scully kept scanning the rocky terrain for any sign of life. Lizards ruffled the tall grasses around them, but she saw no trace of any human for miles around. "Where is this place?" she asked in what she hoped was a casual tone. Carl cackled. "Wouldn't you like to know? Far away from everyone, baby. Far, far away." With a sinking heart, Scully realized it was probably true. There were shaded paths, but Carl kept them walking in the blazing sun, right out in the open with his gun for anyone to see. This meant he knew there was no one around to catch him forcing her down the steep path to her death. She caught her sleeve on a prickly branch, and Carl yanked it free. It tore open, leaving an angry, bleeding scratch. "Tsk, tsk," he said, holding her arm in an iron grip. He leaned down as if to kiss it, then gave her wound a long lick instead. "Stop it!" Scully jerked, but he held her still. "Delicious. Now keep walking." They walked for at least another half hour, twisting and turning several times along the way. Scully was not at all sure that she could find her way back to the car. Deal with that later, she thought. Just get the gun. "There she is," Quentin said, halting her with a biting grab on her shoulder. "Home sweet home." It was almost exactly the same. The same run-down wooden shack with the windows boarded up. She felt her stomach turn over, her heels dig into the ground. Carl pushed her forward. "Go on now." With her arms still tied behind her, Scully managed an awkward slide down the hill towards the cabin. Carl's crunching footsteps followed behind, and she heard him jingling some keys. "Let's not forget to bring these in," he said as they reached the door. She stood, fighting the urge to flee as he slipped behind the wall and reappeared with a large pair of garden shears. He grinned. "I've been waiting a long time for you." His words fell over her like shards of glass in the thin air. She felt heavy, motionless, even as her heartbeat pounded inside like a trapped animal. Her tongue swelled dry and thick in her mouth. "What about Amelia?" she asked hoarsely. Carl frowned as he fiddled with the padlock. "Useless bitch. I can do her first, if you want." He turned and gave her a smile. "You like to watch, Agent?" Scully barely heard him. She's alive! She'saliveshe'salive. Just get the gun. Carl pulled the heavy wooden door open, and a rush of humid, stale air wafted from the cabin. "I've found your friend, sweetheart," he called out, shoving Scully forward into the darkness. The metallic odor of blood nearly made her gag. "Amelia? Amelia, are you okay?" "Shut up." Carl grabbed her by the neck. "Shut up and don't move." A moment later he flicked on the overhead light bulb, and Scully gasped. Carl froze. Amelia lay unmoving with her hands tied to the headboard; the sheets were streaked in blood. Her hair was matted to her face, and her eyes were closed. Scully couldn't even tell if she was still breathing. "Amelia!" "What have you done?" Carl muttered. Then louder, "What have you done!?" Amelia's eyelids fluttered, and Scully felt a surge of weak relief. It was not too late. Carl pushed Scully aside and advanced toward the bed, the shears still dangling from his left hand. "You goddamn little bitch! You whore." He gripped her throat with his free hand until Amelia whimpered. "Stop it!" Scully's cry was instinctive. "What the fuck do you think you're trying to pull? You think this is clever?" Get the gun, Scully thought, this is your chance. Get it now. She crouched down and fumbled with the cuff of her pants, but the angle was awkward. And there was no way she could fire with her hands tied behind her back. She pulled desperately at the rope. "I'll kill you. Don't think I won't." Carl was still choking Amelia. The counter! Scully walked backwards towards it, using the hard edge to scrape at her loosening bonds. From her new perspective, she could see the source of the blood, the terrible thing that had angered Carl: Amelia had amputated her own little toe. Please, please. The sharp counter edge took the skin of her arms as she rubbed up and down. Please... Amelia had gone limp again, no longer fighting. "No!" Scully said, but Carl continued his attack. There, at last. Her slim wrist wriggled through the rope. Trembling, she reached down and retrieved the gun that was strapped to leg. "Freeze!" she said. Her weakened muscles wouldn't allow her to hold the gun steady. Carl didn't seem to hear. "God damn bitch whore, think you're so--" Still shaking, Scully fired into the wall above his head. "I said FREEZE." Carl stopped and slowly turned around. "Fuck." "Drop the shears. NOW." "God damn," Carl said, seeming angry at himself. He let the shears drop to the floor with a loud clunk. "Here's the deal," Scully told him coldly. "I can shoot you once in the head and be quick about it, or I can but one bullet at a time through your ankles, your knees and your wrists. You just think about that, and decide how cooperative you want to be." XxXxX XxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Ten XxXxXxXxXxX At the gas station, Mulder jerked his car to a halt by a small group of curious onlookers. Three squad cruisers already were already parked, zigzag fashion, in the cramped lot nearby. "This is a waste of manpower," Mulder told Grenier as they exited the car. "Quentin is long gone from here." Grenier scowled. "Well, when we figure out where he is, we can direct everyone there." "Hey!" Arkin waved them over to the mini market. He stood next to a large man dressed in a faded Grateful Dead tee- shirt that didn't quite cover his belly. "This is Mike Weaver. He's the one who sold Quentin the goods last night." "You're sure this is the guy?" Mulder said, holding out one of Quentin's mug shots for clarification. Weaver nodded. "Yeah, that's him. Only his hair is longer and darker now, kinda shaggy. He came in around three- thirty. He filled his tank, bought some food, and paid in cash." Arkin consulted his notes. "He says Quentin was driving an old Buick, colored black or dark navy." "It was dark," Weaver interjected. "I couldn't see for sure." "Did he say anything to you, anything that might tell us where he's staying or where he might be headed?" "Sorry, no. He didn't say a word. Just handed me the cash and that's it." "And you didn't get a look at the license plate?" Grenier asked. "Even a partial would help." "I didn't go outside at all," Weaver began. "But--" "Damn," Grenier muttered. "At least we have enough to make road blocks viable. I'll get on that now." "But we do have security cameras," Weaver finished. Everyone stopped and looked at him. "They were put in two years ago, after the place got held up three times in one month. You might be able to get that license plate from the tapes." XxXxXxX Only the slight sway of the lone bulb overhead disturbed the dead air. "You're making a mistake." Even pinned under the barrel of her gun, Carl kept his yellow-rimmed eyes boring into hers. "Shut up!" Her arms still trembled, caught between the adrenaline rush and the leaden feel of the lactic acid. She fought to keep them upright. "One more word, and I'll shoot you right here." The side of Carl's mouth twitched but he held up his palms. Sweat dripped down his neck. Scully tried to keep her slippery hands steady on the gun. Perspiration glued strands of hair to her face, but she didn't dare let go long enough to clear her vision. "Amelia?" she called sharply, her gaze darting from Carl to the woman lying prone behind him. "Amelia, are you okay?" Amelia didn't move, and Scully's heart clenched. "Amelia!" Carl laughed. "Shut the fuck up!" Her gun wavered in the air between them. "Untie her." His smile faded. "No." Scully cocked the gun and took a stumbling step forward. "Do it now." He clenched his big hands once, but then turned around slowly towards the bed. Scully risked another step closer. Carl gave the knots at Amelia's wrists a rough tug; Amelia did not respond. "I'll have to cut these loose. The bitch pulled them tighter than a nun's pussy." Scully swallowed. "Get the tape off her mouth." Carl yanked and the noisy rip tore through the cabin, but still Amelia showed no signs of life. Scully glanced around the room for any way to call for help. There was some sort of radio scanner set up the counter by the sink. "Amelia?" she tried again. "Amelia, talk to me." "This bitch is gone." Scully's finger quivered on the trigger. He was little more than an arm's length away now. Do it. Do it. The gun barrel wove from side to side as she tried to keep it centered on his chest. "Let her go," she said aloud. "I have to cut her," Carl repeated. "I need my knife." No way in hell she was giving him his knife. She could see it sitting on the shelf with her shoes. Edging the garden shears closer to him with her foot, she said, "Use these. And go slowly." Carl scooped the shears as if in slow motion. Scully's heartbeat tripled each second, the gun heavy in her hands. He leaned over Amelia once more. "Slowly," Scully repeated. "You would have killed me already if you really wanted to," Carl said as he worked. Do it. Do it. No one would care. I could hit Amelia. Her vision blurred, and she squeezed her eyes shut once. "Shut up." "I think you wanted our little get together as much as I did. I think you needed it." Scully jerked the gun to the left and fired once through the wall. Call flinched, fumbling the shears. "The next one is through the back of your head," Scully told him. Carl turned, saw her eyes, and seemed to believe her. He went back to the task of setting Amelia free. A minute later, the ropes went slack. Scully moved to her left so she could see Amelia's face and arms; Amelia did not appear to realize she was free. Her bloody arms remained over her head, and her eyes were still closed. "Shit," Scully muttered, tears of anguish and exhaustion threatening behind her lids. "Amelia, I'm going to get help, okay? I'm going to--" She cried out as pain lanced through her arm, knocking the gun to the floor. Carl swung at her again with the shears and tore into her shoulder. She fell, gasping and reaching out for the gun. "Oh, no, you don't," he snarled. He tackling her and crushed her with a knee to the kidneys. Her head swam as blackness encroached and receded. Bile burned the back of her throat. Choking, she squirmed as best she could, her fingers just brushing the steel edge of the gun. Carl grabbed her forearm and twisted it behind her back. He squeezed hard enough to press all the way to the bone. "That was a very stupid thing you did," he said. She felt the metal kiss of the shears against her cheek. "Now get up," he commanded, moving off of her and pulling her to her feet. Her lower back throbbed in time with her pounding heart. "You God damned bitch. You're going to pay big time for that little stunt." He wrenched her arm tighter for emphasis. Through the hot tears stinging her eyes, Scully could see Amelia still had not moved on the bed. Carl followed her gaze and gave a low chuckle. "Yeah. Now that your little friend is gone, it will be just us. Just like I planned." Oh, God. Her utter failure washed through her in a wave. Amelia was dead. She was trapped. No one had the slightest idea where she was. In an hour, it would all be over. "You're...you're wrong," she said, summoning the last of her strength. The words scraped out through her parched throat. "Mulder knows. He knows you're in the mountains again." The Mulder card. It had worked last time; she prayed he would fall for it again. "Oh, shit on Mulder," Carl spat. "I don't even want to talk about him." "He knows," Scully repeated, trying to keep the desperation from her voice. "He's probably got teams searching the mountains now." Carl bent and picked up her gun from the floor. "Even if that were true," he said as he cinched it into the waistband of his pants, "there are thousands of acres in the Angeles forest, and I assure you that we are very well hidden." He used the shears to make a scissoring motion. "We have plenty of time." "You made that mistake once," Scully told him evenly. "He found you then." Carl snorted. "And a hell of a lot of good it did him, huh? Let me explain something to you, Agent Dana Scully. Mulder didn't catch me last time, and he won't catch me this time, either. You know why? Because I'm better than him. I'm smarter than him. Mulder just chases his tail every time, but I learn. I get better and stronger." He walked over to the radio that sat on the counter. "See this baby? It's my crystal ball. I've got one here and one in my car, and they tells me all I need to know about Mulder." He flipped it on, and it crackled to life. A mix of voices and static filled the room. "So you've tapped into the police scanners," Scully said. "That doesn't mean you know everything." "It told me you ran off last night. It told me that they didn't know were you were." He grinned. "So don't bother to tell me that they're going to come pounding on my door at any moment, because I know better." [All units be advised--] "Mulder will find you when I want him to find you," Carl continued. [-- FBI has issued an APB on Quentin's vehicle --] Scully froze. Carl turned towards the radio. [Quentin is driving a black 1988 Buick Skylark, license Two, Paul, Mary, Ocean, One, Six, Three. Vehicle is registered to Mr. Otis Unger, but is not believed to be stolen. Repeat, that is license Two, Paul--] Carl smashed his fist onto the counter, causing the radio to jump. "Fuck!" "Your car is by the road, isn't it?" Scully said. "Shut up!" "And in these circumstances, they'll broadcast the description over TV and radio, too. Any hiker could--" "I said shut up!" He hurled the shears at her head, but missed by several inches. [If you see the vehicle, do not approach. Radio for backup immediately. Suspect is armed and extremely dangerous.] "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Oh, please, Scully thought, let someone see the car. Please. Carl took her gun out from his pants. "You," he said, pointing it at her. "Get in there." He started crowding her towards the tiny bathroom. "In." Scully walked backwards into the dark, foul-smelling room. Could he actually be leaving? "Stay the fuck in there," he said. "I'll be back." The door slammed, and she could hear him dragging a chair across the wooden floor. A moment later, he wedged the chair under the doorknob on the other side, effectively locking her in the narrow chamber. But then he left. There were no windows, so Scully started pushing on the door immediately, rattling the knob and ramming the door with her one good shoulder. The chair did not budge on the other side. She tried kicking, pounding, throwing all her weight at it, but the door barely moved in its frame. "Dammit," she said, shaking the knob once more. "C'mon, open." She heard a crash outside, a loud whacking sound just on the other side of the door. The chair! Scully turned the knob and pushed once more, and the door opened. "Oh, my God," Scully breathed when she saw who was leaning on the overturned chair. "Amelia." "Help," she croaked. "Can't stand." Scully moved to her side, wrapping one arm around the other woman. Amelia was heavy, and Scully's legs threatened to buckle beneath the weight. "We've got to get out of here," Scully said. Amelia nodded. "Water," she said through swollen, chafed lips. "Please." "Yes, of course." Scully helped her into the bathroom where they both took turns gulping handfuls of the cool water. She set Amelia down on the toilet. "Stay here. I'm going to see if we can radio for help. Then we're getting the hell out." Amelia's eyes closed. "I...can't walk." In the shadows, Scully could barely make out the other woman's bloody feet. "We'll deal with that when we have to," she said. "Just rest for a second." She left Amelia and ran to the radio, but even a cursory glance told her there was no way to use it to call for help. It was strictly a receiver. "Okay, okay," she muttered, trying to gather her thoughts. "Just get out." She tried the front door, but Carl had locked it from the outside. Dammit. "Any luck?" Amelia said from the bathroom. "I'm going to have to take the boards off a window." She was already examining them for the most likely candidate. "He left his knife and the shears, which might help." "Mmmm...'sin axe." "What?" "Axe. Unner the bed. I saw." Scully checked and found Amelia was right. "No need for the windows, then. I should be able to get right through the door." She swung it over her head and attacked the door right at the knob. It came off with one clean blow. Her shoulder throbbed. "How long do we have?" Amelia's thin voice floated out to her between chops. "I'd say..." She swung again. "Half an hour. Forty minutes at the most. We're going to have to hurry." Amelia didn't answer, and Scully feared she might have passed out again. No time, no time, she thought, redoubling her efforts on the door. She would haul Amelia out on her back if she needed. Her shoulder and back muscles screamed; she was still bleeding from where Carl had caught her with the shears. Sweat gathered at the base of her neck and ran down her spine, but Scully kept chopping. She could see light coming through the door where the knob used to be. "Almost there!" she called out to Amelia. The axe was beginning to clank against the metal lock on the outside. The effort of lifting the axe again and again made her dizzy, and her blows grew less accurate. Wood chips splintered to the floor at her feet. "Al...most," she panted to herself. Three more sharp whacks and the lock broke loose. "Amelia! It's open!" Scully let in the cool mountain breeze and dashed back to pick up Amelia. "I don't know if this will work," Amelia whispered. "I can't walk. I'll just slow you down." "I'm not leaving you here." Scully held her up and began walking toward the door. Amelia limped alongside her for a few painful steps, then faltered. "Come on," Scully urged. "You can do it." Tears leaked from Amelia's eyes. "I'll never make it. Not like this. Maybe...maybe if I tried to put my shoes on..." Scully hesitated, torn between the desire to help and the desire to get the fuck away from Carl's cabin. "Okay," she said. "Let's try that." She set Amelia down on the bed and retrieved her sneakers from the shelf. As she widened the laces to fit over Amelia's swollen feet, she kept one ear cocked for the sound of Carl's approaching steps. Amelia hissed in pain as Scully slipped the first shoe on. Up close, Scully saw for the first time how ragged the cuts were. The area around Amelia's missing toe was infected. No wonder she hurt. "All done," she said when she had managed to put both shoes on Amelia's feet. "Thanks," Amelia returned, her eyes still closed in pain. "Now let's go." Scully helped her up and they made their way out of the cabin. "Wait," Scully said at the door. She left Amelia leaning against the door and too Carl's knife from the shelf. "Just in case." They set off in the opposite direction from Carl's car. XxXxXxX Mulder and Grenier stood in the hallway outside the Orange County forensics lab as the scientists inside turned their tools on their own building. It didn't take long before a young man in a white coat told them what Mulder already feared: Quentin's prints were all over the lab. "Jesus Christ," said Grenier, then he kicked the door. "How the hell did he get to her so quickly?" "He probably followed her," Mulder answered. "And don't forget that she wanted to be found." A flash of anger spiked through his fear. When had she decided on her suicide mission? After she'd been in his bed, or had she come to fuck him one last time before heading off to die? Because it wouldn't matter how mind-blowing the sex had been; having to identify her body in the woods somewhere would erase everything that had come before. His phone rang. "Yeah," he said, walking away from the crowd of people milling in the hall. "Agent Mulder, it's Eugene Whitley. I left a message on your voice mail earlier, but I wanted to make sure you got the numbers." "Numbers?" "You wanted the last numbers dialed from Scully's cell phone and the main forensics lab in Orange County." "Oh, right. And?" "Well, her last call was to you, at seven fifty-six yesterday night. The last call from the lab was to the FBI forensic science department in LA at five twenty-two this morning. You want that extension?" "Please." Mulder took the number, and when he was done with Whitley, he dialed anew. "Pathology Lab, Ann Corvasce speaking." "Dr. Corvasce, this is Fox Mulder. I'm trying to find Agent Scully, and I have reason to believe she called this number very early this morning. Did you happen to speak to her?" "No, but one of my colleagues, Brad Gertram, did. She wanted to know if we'd completed the analysis of the vegetation samples found in the desert and in the motel room where Agent Russell was abducted. The funny thing is, she hung up before he could give her the results." "And what are the results?" "Good news, actually. Very good news. One of the samples turned out to be nut moss, which is common to many places in the American southwest, but the second sample found at both crime scenes is Eriogonum microthecum -- also known as Johnson's Buckwheat. This plant is exclusive to California and extremely rare. Plus, it grows only at elevations above 8000 feet. Find this plant, and you might have your killer. The folks at Berkeley faxed over a map that shows the locations where Johnson's Buckwheat is known to grow." Mulder squeezed his eyes shut. At last, a break. "I'd like to see that map," he said. XxXxXxX "That's it," Scully breathed as she half-walked, half dragged Amelia through the bramble. She needed all her strength to hold the other woman up, so there was no way for her to brush aside the long, prickly branches that scratched their faces and caught in their hair. "You...you think this is a...trail?" Amelia asked. "Maybe an older one. Looks like it's been overgrown for years." "Great," Amelia said through gritted teeth. "No one...to find us. We're screwed." "Just keep going." Scully glanced over her shoulder. The gigantic bushes and clusters of thin trees obscured their path, but she knew they were leaving plenty of bent branches and imprints in the dirt. Carl would need only rudimentary tracking skills to find them. "He knows," Amelia said, as if reading her thoughts. "He knows by now we're gone." "Maybe not." Scully tried to convince herself with the lie. "He had to find somewhere new to hide the car. That could take time. We just have to keep moving." They stumbled along the bumpy path, Amelia wincing with every step, until the vegetation thinned. Tall grasses gave way to a large, rocky clearing. "We can't go out there," Amelia said, leaning heavily on Scully's shoulder. "We'd be open targets." Scully struggled to remain upright as she surveyed the wide open terrain in front of them. "We have no choice. We can't go back." Amelia's knees buckled, and she dragged both of them to the ground. "Maybe you should go on ahead," she said, wiping the sweat from her brow. "Stick me in the bushes somewhere and go for help." Scully shook her head. "Too risky. We have no idea how far away help is." "Dana, I can hardly walk at all. You'll be much faster on your own." "We're less than a mile from the cabin!" Scully pushed herself to her feet. "You can't stay here." A sudden thrash from the bushes made Scully jump. She reached for the knife she had tied to her pants. "What the hell was that?" Amelia whispered, her lethargy gone. Scully motioned for her to be quiet. She crept back down the trail a few yards, careful not to let the backlash of branches give her away. A pair of birds chattered down at her from a tree, but she saw no other sign of life. Suppressing a shiver, she hurried back to Amelia. "We're getting out of here. Now." "Is it him? Did you see him?" "No, but it's only a matter of time." She grabbed Amelia's hands and tugged. Wrapping her good arm around the other woman's shoulders, she started out of the thicket and towards the right. "Wait." Amelia resisted, her muscles tightening. "We can't wait!" "That way is up. If we're going to find help, we should head down the mountain, don't you think?" Scully took a deep breath. "Yeah, okay. Good point." She reversed course and went towards the left. Loose rocks skittered out from under them, making the steep walk even more slippery. Scully rushed as fast as she dared. The sun blazed in a cloudless sky, and there was little wind to bring relief. Within half an hour, they were drenched in sweat. Scully pushed forward amid vivid waking dreams of giant water bottles. "Wait for a second," Amelia said, stopping to gulp for air. "Just a second." As they rested, Scully chanced a look behind them to see if Quentin was in sight. She squinted at the bright horizon but saw no evidence that they were being followed. Perhaps like last time, he had simply given up and disappeared again. Amelia's fingers bit into her shoulder. "How...how did he find you?" she asked. "Mulder wanted you in protective custody." "I guess you could say I found him." "Dana..." "Let's keep going. Come on." But Amelia didn't move. "You let him do this? You let him take you?" Scully closed her eyes, fighting dizzying exhaustion. "No one lets him do anything. He takes living, breathing people and he uses them and then he throws them on the street like garbage. So this time I decided to use him first." Amelia stared at her for a long minute, then nodded. "Thank you." Scully pressed her lips together and eyed the rocky road behind them. "Don't thank me yet. He may still be coming after us." "I almost hope he does," Amelia answered as they staggered onward. "I'd like to take that knife and slit him from navel to nose." "Well, then," Scully said. "You understand why I came." "But you didn't kill him. You had the chance." " I...I couldn't risk it. He was standing in front of you. I couldn't risk hurting you." She paused. "Or the baby." "Oh." "I saw Mulder's notes," Scully explained. "He mentioned that you're pregnant." Amelia gave a faint smile. "So he does take notes now? Maybe Wonderboy is getting old just like the rest of us. Do you think...does Grenier know?" "About the notes?" "About the baby. About, um, about our baby." "I don't know." "It's just that I'm still hoping I get to tell him." Amelia sounded close to tears again. "That he doesn't find out some other way." Like during the autopsy, Scully thought, and tightened her hold on Amelia. "You'll get to tell him," she said in a fierce whisper. "I promise." Amelia sniffled and nodded. "I know. That's what I keep telling myself. But thanks." They stopped talking for a few minutes to navigate a particularly steep drop. One wrong step would send them careening down into a dark canyon. "Look," Amelia said, pointing about a hundred yards farther down the mountain. "It's a bridge." "An old footbridge," Scully agreed. "That must mean there are other humans around here someplace!" "I don't know..." They walked toward the bridge, and Scully saw that her fears were confirmed. The bridge was only twenty feet or so across, but there were two foot boards missing, and the rope was partially frayed on one end. "No one has used this bridge in years. It might not even be stable." She shook the closest rope as a test. Amelia leaned against one of the posts, and Scully was glad for the respite. Her back ached, and her shirt was soaked through with sweat. "So you think we shouldn't cross?" Amelia asked. Scully shielded her eyes from the sun and looked around the canyon. "Well, it might be easier to get down on the other side. And this rope seems like it might hold if we're--" "Dana!" Scully turned and followed Amelia's line of sight. A lone man stood on a rocky ridge about three hundred yards away. Quentin. "Shit," Scully muttered. "Let's go, quick." They started for the bridge when a deafening explosion echoed through the canyon, followed by a sharp splitting of the nearby rock. "He's shooting at us!" Amelia hollered. "It's my gun! Come on, faster!" The rickety bridge swayed like a boat as they crossed, the ropes stretched taut by their weight. Scully kept her eyes forward and did not look down. Another shot whizzed past them and cracked against the rock. As they reached the other side, Scully could see Quentin slipping and sliding as he descended the mountain. Amelia tried to push forward, in the direction of another cluster of trees. "Dana, let's move!" Scully walked her to a large boulder and set her down out of the line of fire. "Wait here." "Dana, what the hell are you doing?" Scully ignored her and ran back to the bridge. Carl was now only two hundred yards from where she stood. Brandishing the knife, she started cutting through the thick ropes that held the bridge together. Another bullet zinged past her head. Grunting, she kept her head down and doubled her speed. The first rope split in two. She attacked the second one with equal vigor, and it, too, came apart in a matter of seconds. At least you keep a sharp knife, you sonofabitch, Scully thought as she started in on the third rope. The line of boards across the canyon was starting to sag. "You goddamn bitches!" She could hear him shouting now. Her muscles burned with effort as she sliced back and forth through the weather-beaten rope. At last it broke under her blade, and the boards clattered down against the side of the canyon. Carl seethed. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" Scully hurried back to Amelia and yanked her to her feet. "I've bought us some time. Let's go." Carl's furious screams carried through the mountains as they disappeared into the trees. "That was some quick thinking," Amelia panted. "But what if there's another way across?" "I didn't see one. And maybe we can find help before then." They raced through more thorny bushes, climbing over fallen trees and slipping down the loose, rocky path. "Wait, stop," Amelia said weakly. She sank to the ground. Breathless, Scully braced her hands on her knees. "Just for a minute." Amelia shook her head. "No, I can't. I'm sorry. I can't go any further right now." She lay her head back in the tall grass. "I feel like I'm going to black out at any second." Scully reached for Amelia's wrist and felt her pulse. Weak but fast. "Okay," she said. "I don't hear him screaming anymore. We can rest for a while." "No, you go." Amelia's eyes were closed, her speech slurred. "I am not leaving you. We'll stay here for a bit and then move on." She sat down next to Amelia and rested her sore back against a tree. Gnats swarmed around her face, and she brushed them aside. "You think they're looking for us here?" "They're looking," Scully answered grimly. "But probably not here." "Mmm. S'good idea you had with the bridge. I think we may have lost him." Scully couldn't believe it would be that easy, but she didn't hear any indication that Quentin had managed to cross the canyon. They sat in silence for at least an hour. Amelia dozed as insects hummed around them. Scully felt her heart slow and some of the tension in her spine ease. But her leg muscles tightened during her rest, and she thought it might be a good idea to stretch them before continuing down the mountain. Just as she was about to stand, she heard a distant noise -- a rhythmic whacking sound that seemed to echo and repeat. She froze, listening more intently. Amelia raised her head. "What's that?" Scully's stomach turned over and her throat seized in a series of quick convulsions. "It's Quentin," she said. "He's chopping down a tree." XxXxXxX XxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Eleven XxXxXxXxXxX The mountains came to life in Mulder's lap, all paper bumps and awkward creases as he wrestled the large map within the confines of the front seat. He smoothed it out with damp palms. Beside him, Grenier gripped the steering wheel. "Where exactly do you want me to go?" he asked. "Up. Just up for now." Mulder turned the map ninety degrees. "You've got the choppers in the air already?" "Four of them. But the Angeles Forest and San Bernadino Mountains cover a lot of territory." "I know. I know. I can see that." Blown up enough to capture every major trail, the wild sections of southern California stretched from Mulder's chest to the very edge of the dashboard. Grenier's cell phone rang from underneath the paper, and he burrowed beneath to grab it. "Grenier. Yeah, we're headed north on 150 still. We're going to..." He looked over at Mulder. "Where are we going?" "We're headed for 33," Mulder said. "We're gonna take 150 to 33, into the mountains," Grenier said. "We've got Arkin coordinating over in the San Gabriel peaks. Yeah. Yeah. How the fuck should I know? I'm just driving up, like Mulder said! Mulder..." Mulder's head snapped up. "What?" "Nesbith wants to know if he should bring his men up here, and if so, where they should go." "Yes, bring his men. Bring as many as possible." "Bring all you've got," Grenier said grimly. "I don't know. Divide up and start looking, I guess. Yeah, okay. Radio us when you get here." He hung up and put the phone back on the seat between them. "You better be sure about this." "I'm sure." "We're putting all of our resources in this one area. If he's in Utah, or some other goddamned mountain range--" "I'm sure!" Mulder shoved aside the map. "Quentin is a ritualistic killer in the strictest sense of the word. The mountains worked well for him for over eleven years in Virginia. There's no way he wouldn't recreate that here." Grenier's jaw tightened. "He's branched out before. Killing Carolyn Kraus and setting up the body to look like Scully. Grabbing Amelia. He didn't take those women for their shoes." Mulder wiped the sweat off the back of his neck. "No, he didn't. But near as we can tell from her skeleton, Carolyn Kraus died the same way as the others. And he kept the toes." "Dammit, Mulder!" "What? What the hell do you want me to say? That I might be wrong? Is that what you need, Adam? After all these fucking years, do you still need me to say that?" "God forbid you should ever be wrong!" "I've been wrong! I've been wrong a hundred times over, and we've got the victims to prove it. In case you hadn't noticed, I've been chasing Quentin just as long as you have, and I'm not any closer to catching him. Happy now? Will that do it? I was wrong!" He broke off, breathing hard, and sat back in his seat. "But I'm not wrong about this. He's here in the mountains." Grenier fell silent. For a long time, the only sound was the roar of the car engine. "If you're right," he said at last, "if you're right that he would never break his ritual, then Amelia is dead." Mulder closed his eyes. "Yes." "And so is Scully." XxXxXxX Scully dug her nails into the pale flesh of Amelia's arm. Her free hand still clutched the large knife. "Stay with me now. You've got to stay awake." Propped in the shade against a large rock, Amelia licked her raw, swollen lips. "I can't move," she whispered. "You should go." Scully ignored her, instead casting around for some place to hide. In the distance, Carl's chopping sounds had slowed. "He's getting tired," Scully said. "But still going." Scully stood up, her knees cracking. She shielded her eyes and scanned the craggy landscape. "He'll be expecting us to continue down the mountain. If we can make it up and behind those boulders, we might be able to lose him." Amelia pressed her palms in the dirt, the tendons on her neck standing out as she tried to drag herself around the rock to see the area Scully was indicating. The narrow path up was almost completely vertical. "I'd never make that." "You have to at least try." "Dana. I can't move my feet at all." Scully let out a frustrated breath, feeling her options slipping away. The sound of splintering wood continued to echo across the canyon. "I'll carry you." Amelia's ashen face showed a trace of a smile. "I weigh one hundred and fifty pounds, and your shoulder is injured. We'd fall and break both our necks." "Amelia..." "Here's how I see it." The other woman struggled to remain upright. "Prop me in plain sight somewhere. Let him come. You've got the knife, and you can hide nearby. When he gets close, you can stab him and hopefully he'll drop the gun." Scully visualized the plan, her fingers tightening on the knife. She imagined thrusting it into his kidneys. "He could shoot you from twenty feet away," she said to Amelia. "We already know he's not a bad shot." Amelia's lids slid closed. "Then you'll just have to leave me. Hope for the best." More chopping. Deep thwacks that sounded like he was making good progress. Scully brushed the sticky hair from her face and frowned. "I'll go scout out a place." XxXxXxX Grenier radioed the small caravan of squad cars that had followed them into the mountains. "He's likely to have stashed his Buick along this road somewhere, so keep your eyes out for it." Mulder had the map out again, squinting as the glare from the windshield reflected harsh white light into his eyes. "Who was your contact with the forest rangers?" "Steve Gunther. I talked to him last night. Why?" "I'd like to try to narrow down this haystack." Mulder fished out his cell phone. "Yeah, get me the number for Steve Gunther with the Forest Ranger Association. Thanks." A minute later, he had Gunther on the line. "Mr. Gunther, this is Fox Mulder of the FBI. I was wondering if you could answer some questions for me about the way you patrol the ranges around here?" "Whatever I can do to help." "You have stations set up at various point along the trails, correct?" "The major trails each have one, yes." "What I'm most interested in..." He clamped on hand down on the side of the car as Grenier took a tight turn at high speed. "...is whether you have any older stations that are no longer used." "Hmmm. I've been with the service for going on twenty years now, and we haven't closed a single station in that time. Let me check with Gil. He's been here even longer than me." Mulder heard the muffled question. "Gil, you know of any older ranger stations around here that have been closed down or whatnot?" As Mulder waited, a the car radio crackled to life. "Unit 110, this is unit 212. We may have something back here." Grenier pulled to the side of the road and screeched the car to a halt in the dirt. "What's up?" "Bryan's spotted tired tracks back here, sir. They go off road. It could be nothing, but..." "We're on it." Grenier slammed the car into reverse. "Agent Mulder?" Gunther's voice came back on the line. "Gil and I did some checking, and we have one station that was closed in 1972. We had thirteen hikers die in two years, so that trail was shut down from the public, and we no longer needed the cabin." "What happened to it?" Mulder asked as Grenier stopped where the other car had pulled off the road. Grenier scrambled out, leaving the car door hanging open. "It's boarded up as far as I know." "Mulder!" Grenier waved to him from behind some tall, brittle grass. "This is it!" Mulder turned away, concentrating on the phone. "I need you to give me exact directions to that cabin." XxXxXxX Scully half-carried, half-dragged Amelia to sit in the shade of a looming boulder. "S'good," Amelia murmured, rubbing her eyes like a tired child. "He'll see me for sure." "And I should be able to see him coming," Scully said, resting for a moment. Her arms ached, and she felt her pulse flutter in her neck like a hummingbird. She kept her fingers curled around the handle of the knife. Amelia placed a heavy hand on her stomach. "At least we'll have tried." "Yeah," Scully answered, her eyes watering. "We tried." Carl had paused in his chopping while they moved, and Scully wondered if he had heard them. He was back at it now, the blade hitting the tree with renewed force. "I guess all we can do is wait," Amelia said. "Should be any minute now." "He needs a big tree to hold him across twenty feet," Scully answered. "It will have to fall just right or he won't make it." "Wait, what's that?" Amelia sat up a bit, her eyes going wide. "You hear that?" It was a helicopter buzzing overhead. Scully squinted up at it. "It's from the LAPD," she said. "They must be looking for us!" The chopping stopped. "Oh, thank God!" Amelia fell back. "Thank you, thank you." Scully ran into the nearest clearing and waved both arms, but the chopper didn't seem to notice. "Hey!" she yelled. "We're down here. Help!" It flew past and disappeared behind another mountain. Scully let her arms fall. She waited a few more minutes, but the helicopter did not return. Carl resumed hacking. Back at the boulder, Scully found Amelia with her face twisted, trying not to cry. "What happened?" Amelia whispered. "Why didn't they stop?" "They have to fly pretty high up to avoid the mountain peaks," Scully returned. "And the sun creates quite a glare. I don't think they saw us." "But they'll be back." "Maybe." "A fire! We should start a fire." Scully looked around at the dried brush and loose stones. "Could work." She set about gathering the materials. XxXxXxX "This way is faster. I checked the map." Mulder paused to roll up his sleeves. Loose pebbles slipped down the path behind him, causing Grenier to stumble and curse. "I bet you anything that Quentin's taken over that cabin." "The chopper tried to do a fly-by, but it was inaccessible." Grenier's short-wave radio squawked. "Yeah, what?" he barked, wiping sweat from his forehead. Mulder climbed further up, bracing his hand on the sun-warmed rock. He reached a small ledge and turned to wait for Grenier. "They've found the car!" Grenier called. "It's about four miles from here, back near the road." "Then we're close. We've got to keep going." Grenier said something into the radio that Mulder didn't catch. Overhead, one of the choppers stirred the air, bending the tree branches. Mulder unstuck his shirt from his ribs and began hiking up the mountain again. A moment later, he heard Grenier huffing behind him. "There's three teams with the car. They're going to spread out and do a grid search from there." Mulder said nothing, saving his strength for the brutal climb. The smooth soles of his shoes slipped on the rock. "Careful," Grenier said. "I don't want to have to haul your ass out of here." Mulder leaned against a bulky rock to catch his breath. The sun stung his eyes. "Shoulda brought sunglasses," he muttered. "And water." There were dark rings of sweat on Grenier's pale blue shirt. "C'mon," Mulder said, pushing ahead, but Grenier froze. "What's that?" Mulder stopped and listened. "What?" Grenier waited, his head tilted. A distant sound floated to them on a breeze. "That." "I don't know," Mulder said, climbing up one rock higher for a better view. The sound was faint and repetitive. "Sounds like...like someone chopping wood." XxXxXxX Scully sat with Amelia, her back propped against the rock as she hunched over and tried to ignite the fluffy tangle of dried grass with a stick and a stone. Her furious rubbing brought no success. The smell of burnt wood tinged the air, but not one tendril of smoke arose from the pile in front of her. She cursed as the stone slipped and she wound up with several deep splinters in the side of her hand. "Let me take a turn," Amelia said, reaching for the stick. Scully took in her wan face and limp arms and shook her head. "No, I've got it." Grimacing, she doubled her efforts to create a spark. She could hear the distant blades of the helicopter still audible over Carl's axe. Amelia waved away a dragonfly. "It sounds like the tree must be ready to fall," she said. "You should get going." "Just...a minute." Her knees in the dirt, she tried a different angle on the rock. The stone burned in her hands. Almost. Almost. But Carl had reached his final chop. The tree fell with a tremendous crash, cracking branches and rustling leaves as it landed on the ground. "Go, go," Amelia urged. She grabbed the rock and the stick. "I'll keep trying." Scully seized the knife again and stood. Amelia squeezed her ankle. "Be careful." With a nod, Scully crept along the path a little ways and then tucked herself into the thick bushes. She crouched down to wait. XxXxXxX "It came from just over there! It's got to be him!" Mulder used whichever limb was available first as he scrambled down the mountain, arms and legs akimbo. Grenier followed close behind him. "Sounded like a tree fell. What the fuck's he up to?" "Don't know." Mulder grabbed for a thin tree trunk to halt his fall. At least, he thought, if Carl was chopping trees, he wasn't chopping toes. "There!" Grenier froze, and Mulder stopped where he was on the narrow ledge. "It's Quentin!" "Where? I can't see." Mulder inched along, the rock digging into his back. The trees blocked his view. "Down there. He's got an axe, and it does look like he chopped the tree." "Do you have a clear shot?" "Fuck. No. He's about two hundred yards away, and there's trees -- shit, duck!" Mulder slid down to his knees. "What?" Above him, Grenier was panting. "He looked this way." "He make you?" "Wait...no, I don't think so." "What about Scully and Russell?" There was a pause as Grenier scanned the horizon. "I don't see them. Shit, he's on the move." "Then let's get out of here." Mulder stood and resumed his climb downwards, faster now that Carl was in reach. The path grew steeper and more wooded. Mulder's left foot skidded around a particularly sharp turn. "I can't see him anymore," Grenier breathed. "Faster," Mulder answered. Branches clawed at his arms. "Let me radio our position. Get back up." "Yeah, yeah." Mulder did not slow down. He was running almost blindly now, with the leaves slapping against his face. He heard the gun cocking before he saw it. Then he felt the barrel press against his temple. "Drop your weapon." Quentin's face emerged from the branches. "Mulder!" Grenier called, and a gunshot exploded in Mulder's ear. Grenier slumped into the bushes behind him. Carl had the gun pressed against Mulder's head again before Mulder could even process what had happened. "Left hand, real slow," Carl said. "Remove your gun." Mulder did as he asked. "Where's Scully?" Carl gave a bark of laughter that flung spittle on his chin. He licked it off. "You always seem to show up at the good parts, don't you, Mulder? All right, then. Let's go get the little bitch." He shoved Mulder forward. "She's alive," Mulder blurted. Relief made him weak, and he stumbled on the path. Carl jabbed him between the shoulder blades with the gun barrel. "Shut the fuck up and keep going." But the word hummed in Mulder's brain: alive, alive, alive. They kept a brisk pace through the trees and down the mountainside, but Carl was never far behind. Mulder knew that one false move would mean a bullet in the head. He kept one ear cocked for Grenier, hoping the other man hadn't been badly injured, but Carl's harsh breathing and heavy footsteps were the only sounds he heard. When they reached a clearing, Mulder understood the purpose of the downed tree: it was a makeshift bridge. "Scully," he murmured, realizing she must be on the other side. Carl pushed him closer to the edge of the canyon. "I bet she'll be real cooperative now," he said. Mulder felt the smooth steel circle press against his temple once more. "Agent Scully!" Carl yelled. "I've got someone here who wants to talk to you." He pushed hard with the gun, and Mulder's head bent sideways. "Talk." Mulder swallowed with difficulty. The search teams had to be close. Maybe they had even heard the gunshot. "Scully! Don't listen to him. Just get as far away as you can!" "That's enough," Carl snarled. "I've got the tree down, you know! Either you come to me or I come to you. But if you make me come over there, I'll be sure to decorate the ground with Mulder's brains first." They waited, Mulder's heart thudding against his throat, and Scully appeared across the canyon. "No!" Mulder shouted. Carl hit him with the gun. "I said shut up." He hitched up his pants with his free hand. "That's right, princess. You come over here." Desperate, Mulder tried again. "No, Scully! He's scared to cross or he would have done it already. Stay the--" The next blow knocked him into the dirt, coughing and sputtering. He tasted blood on his lip. Carl's boot came down hard on his lower back, pinning him to the ground. "I'm waiting!" he yelled across to Scully. "I'll blow him to pieces. Don't think I won't." Mulder saw Scully take a few steps closer to the tree trunk. No, no, no. His chin scraped in the dust as he searched around for something, anything, to get free. There. Four feet away. It was the axe. XxXxXxX The axe. She could tell the minute he'd seen it. He shifted on the ground, bringing his hand out from under his body. No way you can reach that, Mulder. She took another tentative step toward the tree that spread across the yawning canyon. Mulder stretched out his arm, but the axe remained just out of reach. So close. She squeezed her eyes shut, her hand clenching reflexively around the knife. "Let's see a little hustle there," Carl said with a sneer. "Let him up," Scully said. "Then I'll cross." Carl's eyes narrowed. "Baby, you're not the one calling the shots here. Now move." He's afraid, Mulder had said. He's afraid to cross. Scully swallowed the lump in her throat. "No." "God dammit! Get over here or I'll blow his brains out!" "You'll do that anyway." She was glad her voice wasn't shaking. The knife trembled in her hand. Carl glared at her for a long moment. She could see his chest rising with the force of his breath. Then he shrugged. "Suit yourself." He swung the gun back around to point at Mulder's head. "Wait!" Her voice did quaver this time. "I'm...I'm coming." She put one foot up on the tree to illustrate. "Tick, tick," Carl warned. "Time's a-wasting." Don't look down, don't look down. She put her second foot up on the tree, balancing as best she could on the cylindrical surface. At least it was heavy enough so that it didn't roll. Tree branches poked at her from all angles. She grabbed the nearest one to steady herself. "Any day now!" Carl yelled. She focused forward, on Mulder, as she put one shaking foot in front of the other. Carl gave her a grin filled with anticipation. "That's right. Keep coming." When she got halfway out, he ordered her to stop. "Now lose the knife." Scully kept her free hand on a branch and released her grip with the other, and the knife began a free fall down onto the rocks. She stood stock still. Mulder, she could see, was still reaching for the axe. His wrist twisted at all angles, but he was about six inches shy of the handle. A distraction, Scully thought. Quick, anything. "Move," Carl commanded, waving the gun at her. "Be quick about it." "I..." Her throat went completely dry. "I'll fall. I need..." Anything! Think! "I need traction." Carefully, she lowered herself into a crouch on the tree trunk. "What the fuck are you doing?" "Wait," she whispered. All those years of playing balance beam in the backyard came back to her as she placed her hands on the rough bark. She edged out one leg, then the other, until she was siting full on the log. "Shit, do you *want* me to shoot him?" Scully ignored him and used her right foot to push off her left shoe. It fell down into the canyon. "It's easier without shoes," she said, not daring to look at Carl. But she noticed the threats had stopped. Barely breathing, she repeated the process with her left foot. By bringing her leg into her lap, she managed to remove the thin sock as well. Soon she was wiggling ten naked toes in the open air. Please let this work. Please. "Much better," she said hoarsely. She glanced at Carl, who was watching her with rapt attention, his eyes wide in his dirty, unshaven face. The arm holding the gun had sagged. Scully swung around to straddle the tree, then drew one foot up in front of her. "Now if I can just..." She waggled all of her toes at him. "Please," Carl said. "Hurry." "I'm trying. Mmmm...this feels so nice on my bare feet. Rough, almost tickling." Carl opened and closed his mouth twice in quick succession. He leaned forward towards the tree. "C'mon, c'mon." It was enough. His foothold on Mulder loosened, and Mulder grabbed the axe. With a sharp twist, he swung it around and caught Carl across the back of the shin. Carl screamed and fell forward. "Mulder," she said, unable to do anything but watch helpless from the tree. Mulder used the axe to brace himself and rose to his feet. Still howling, Carl got off one shot as he rolled in the dirt. It sailed past Mulder and into the brush. "You sonofabitch!" Mulder raised the axe over his head again, casting a long, thin shadow over Carl's face. "No!" Carl rolled away just as Mulder started the downward blow. Mulder stepped forward to try again, and Carl rolled over the edge. Scully closed her eyes, bathed in total blackness as she heard the long scream disappear down below. When she opened them again, she saw Mulder leaning on the axe, staring down into the canyon. She inched forward about two feet and dared to follow his gaze. Carl lay on a ledge, his arm bent at such an sharp angle that Scully knew it was broken. His left leg twitched. "He's alive," she murmured, scooting further along the tree trunk. "Yes." Mulder looked up and extended his hand. She reached out, and he gripped her with a strength that was almost painful. "And so are you." XxXxXxX XxXxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Twelve XxXxXxXxXxXxX "Scully." He greeted her as a blind person would do, tracing her eyes, her face, her lips. "Are you okay?" The weight of his hands seemed to push her into the ground, and she pulled away. "I'm fine." Her bare feet burned from the hot rock. She walked to the edge of the ravine, glanced down at Carl's battered body, then yelled across to Amelia. "Amelia, help is coming! Hang in there!" Mulder's body blocked the breeze as he moved to stand behind her. "She's alive?" Scully didn't turn. "She's alive." "Quentin shot Grenier back there in the trees. I don't know how bad." Scully clawed the hair out of her eyes and looked skyward. In the distance, she could hear the buzz of the helicopters. "We need to get help quickly. Can you radio them?" "Grenier had the radio. I'll go try to find it and see how he's doing." Scully nodded and felt him move away. Just then, the acrid scent of burning wood wafted across to her. "Wait!" A thin trail of smoke curled out of the large rocks on the other side of the canyon. "She did it! She lit the fire!" Within a minute, the gray puffs had doubled in size and frequency. The signal fire did its work, and the rhythmic slicing of the helicopter blades grew louder. Trees bent under the force of the approaching wind. Mulder ducked, covering his eyes with his arm. Only Scully stood still in the noise and the dust, her arms loose and her eyes closed, her face tilted upward into the wind. The thunder beat inside her; the air took her breath away. She was free. XxXxXxX Mulder led the paramedics up the mountain to where Grenier lay barely breathing in the brush. The bullet had pierced his left lung but missed his heart. "On three," the young man in the white shirt said to his female companion, and then counted out the numbers. Their muscles bulged as they hoisted the stretcher from the ground. Mulder brushed Grenier's cool hand as they walked past him. Hang in there, Adam, he thought. He followed them back down to the clearing, where a chopper waited to rush Grenier to the nearest hospital. Scully and Amelia were already inside. There was no room for Mulder. "You're sure you're all right, Sir?" The female medic shouted at him over the rush of the helicopter blades. Mulder could see Scully watching him through the window. "I'm fine!" he yelled back. "I'll catch the next one!" Scully pressed her palm to the glass, and he raised his hand briefly in answer. The chopper lifted, hovering a few feet from the ground. He heard the engine pick up, felt the grit assaulting him, but did not close his eyes. He watched it fly away, Scully's face growing smaller and smaller in the sky. XxXxXxX By the time they hoisted Carl Quentin out of the canyon, the mountainside was swarming with law enforcement personnel -- every one eager to say he had been a part of the bust, every one pushing for just one peek at the creature whose killings spanned twelve years and three thousand miles. Mulder stood apart from them, his toes lined up at the very edge of the rocky gap; one slight sway and he would go tumbling down. He didn't need another look. All those years he'd hoped for the slightest clue -- a face, a hair, a footprint in the dirt -- and now he feared he knew too much. He still felt Carl's breath in his ear, the press of his boot at his back. His enemy now had a face, a feel, a scent that clung, an image that burned. "Bring 'er up slow now! That's it!" The rescue team had almost finished their excavation. Mulder saw the stretcher make inching progress up the side of the mountain. "Be a shame if they just dropped him again," a nearby cop said. "Too good for him," his buddy answered. "They oughta line him up somewhere and let the families take turns at him." "Agent Mulder!" Sam Nesbith's voice made him turn, and he felt the heavy clap of a hand on his shoulder. "You did it. The sonofabitch has grabbed his last woman. He'll fry for sure." Prison, Mulder thought. Years of the same drab shoes. No women in sight. That would be the best punishment. "They're going to take him to County now," Nesbith continued, "and you've got a seat on that chopper if you want it." "Is that where they took Scully, Grenier and Russell?" "Yeah, I think so. What do you say? The docs would really like a look at you." "I'm fine," Mulder answered distractedly. He stared through the crowd at the stretcher being loaded into the helicopter. "Is he conscious?" Nesbith shifted his weight and scratched his head. "Yes. He's hurting pretty bad, though. I heard them say he might lose his foot from where you caught him with the axe." Some unintended irony, Mulder thought. Aloud, he said, "All right, let's go." Threading his way through the black uniforms, he reached the helicopter and climbed inside. Quentin's eyes locked with his immediately, bulging from his sweaty, fevered face in a silent challenge, but the oxygen mask over his face prevented any words. Mulder knew others spoke of evil as a palpable thing, a force that could knock you down or slither under your skin when you least expected it, but he'd always felt evil like a vacuum, defined by everything it sucked away. Carl Quentin had managed to subtract fourteen women from the world, and Mulder could feel him still pulling for more. It was a terrible kind of imbalance, an equation that would never be right. Mulder held Quentin's fierce gaze for a minute, letting the other man track him to his seat. His knees cracked as he sat, a reminder of how long a journey it had been. Quentin arched his neck backwards in an effort to prolong their wordless confrontation. Acknowledge me. Answer to me. This is not over. Mulder looked away, focusing out the window. It was over. XxXxX XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Thirteen XxXxXxXxXxXxxxX He shut the hospital room door behind him with a soft click, sealing himself inside the pale, cool walls. Scully lay propped against some pillows, her arm bandage visible underneath the short sleeves of the thin gown. The sight of her safe and sound did not make his stomach unclench the way he'd thought it would. "Hey," he said, taking a step closer. "How are you doing?" She pushed her hair behind her ear, and he noticed an angry red scratch on her cheek. "Fine. I can leave in an hour. How are Grenier and Russell?" "Russell's severely dehydrated but in stable condition. They're operating on Grenier now to try to remove the bullet." "Prognosis?" "The doctors seem optimistic." She frowned, and he knew she was thinking his interrogation must have been lax; Scully grilled medical staff the way most of his colleagues worked over suspects, and she didn't let up until she got a straight answer. "I, uh, I can check again in a minute." She smoothed the sheet at her hip. "What about Quentin?" "He'll make it for sure. Just some broken bones, though they might have to amputate his foot. But he'll live. The families of his victims will have their day in court." She looked away, and he winced, remembering that Carl's victims were not just abstract concepts to her. The bruises were rising on her neck. "I need a change of clothes and some shoes," she said. "Do you think you can get them from the hotel?" "If I can beat my way through the press outside." "If it's a problem..." she began, but he cut her off. "No, I'll do it." He made no move to leave, instead watching her as she sipped a cup of water. "What?" she asked, meeting his eyes. "Nothing." He paused. "Your gun is still missing, but they recovered my weapon at the scene. He used it to shoot Grenier." She plucked at a loose thread on the sheet. "I'm sorry." "Are you?" She drew her head back. "You left me no choice. I had to do it this way." "You had a choice. You could have told me what you were doing. Instead you took off in the middle of the night like some--" "You wouldn't have let me go." "Damn straight I wouldn't have let you go! Look what happened!" She set the cup on the nightstand. How could she be so calm? He felt coiled up inside, like a snake waiting to strike. "I'm fine and Russell will be okay. Quentin is in custody." "You acted impulsively. You took unnecessary risks. You --" "Unnecessary? She was going to die, Mulder." "And so were you!" The door behind Mulder pushed open and Bill appeared in the room. He glanced from Scully to Mulder, his frown deepening, apparently preparing for another hospital room showdown. Don't look at me this time, Mulder thought. She chose this herself. "They're saying on the news that you caught the bastard," Bill said tightly. "Is it true?" Scully cleared her throat. "Yes. He's been arrested." "Arrested? I heard he was in the hospital." Somewhere in this very building, Mulder remembered. But Scully didn't even blink. "The doctors are working on him, yes, but he's under armed guard." "Here? He's here, with you?" "I'm perfectly safe." She reached for her water glass, and Mulder felt the heat rise in him again. Perfectly safe, she said, just like she'd planned it this way, just like she hadn't been offering herself to a madman only hours before. "I'm going to get some air," he announced, his voice overloud in the small room. Bill looked gave him a sharp, sideways look, but Scully's face remained impassive. The door wouldn't slam; it absorbed his anger with a noiseless slide, leaving Scully unshaken in his wake. XxX She watched him go, thinking she should be worried or angry or sorry. She waited to feel something, anything, but no emotion rushed to fill the void. She was curiously empty, bleached to her very edges. Bill jerked a nod after Mulder. "He seemed upset." "It's been an upsetting day." Not a lie, but it sounded like one to her ears. Bill's gaze flicked over her. "You're okay, though? Everything all right?" "I'm fine." Bill gave a short nod that said he hadn't expected otherwise. Whatever faults he might possess, at least Bill spoke the same stoic Scully language that she did. "You should call Ma. It's all over TV and the radio. She's probably worried sick." "I'll call her." He nodded again and walked to the window, where he split open the blind with two fingers. "It's a goddamn circus out there." "What are they saying?" He dropped his hand and turned to her. "Same as last time, only more hype because he's caught. They said he was holding at least one federal agent hostage in the mountains. Your name came up." Scully averted her eyes, dodging the question in his piercing gaze. "It's over now. That's all that matters. Eventually they'll tire and move on to some other news." "You can stay with me." Bill blurted the words to the wall over her head. When she didn't immediately reply, he fumbled around for clarification. "For a few days, I mean. While you're getting better. It'd be cheaper than a hotel and more private." Her fingers curled around the sheet. How tempting it was, the thought of disappearing into her family, where no one talked about murder or madness, where no one would want an account of her reckless behavior. Her true self had long been invisible there, among people who couldn't imagine Dana Scully happy in a morgue, chasing her own death as much as the monsters she brought to justice. She took a deep breath. "Bill, that's kind of you, but..." "Mulder, too." He looked at the ceiling. "If you want." "I can't," she said, and he met her eyes again. "I have to go back to DC. We have to give reports, there will be a trial..." "And another case." She didn't try to deny it. There was always a fresh horror waiting around the corner. "I've been doing some homework, Dana. The FBI has a policy of rotating their agents out of departments that experience unusual amounts of stress. You've put in almost eight years. Where does it end?" "This case was unrelated to the X-Files." "That's not what I asked." "I know what you asked." "Then give me an answer. There's got to be a line somewhere, a place where you say, 'That's it! Enough!' Tell me." "It doesn't end. This isn't like war, Bill. There's never a winner, a loser and a dated piece of paper to say it's over and everyone can go home. We caught this guy, but there's a dozen more just like him still on the streets. That's the way it is, the way it's always been, and the way it will be until the end of time." "So this goes on forever." He gestured at her hospital bed. "I'm sorry for that, Dana, I really am. I'm sorry your world has closed off to the point where all you see is an endless parade of monsters." She dropped her chin. "I never said that." He shook his head. "I didn't come here to fight. I know I'll never convince you to stop. Lord knows I've beaten my head against that wall long enough. Now I'm just trying to understand." "What?" She looked at him, challenging. "I used to think it was about Mulder, that he had some hold on you that you couldn't shake." "That's ridiculous." "Is it? I don't know. I used to think if I could just get him to let go, it'd be over. You'd be safe again. But I've seen the guy a few times now. I've taken a good, hard look. And you know what I think? I think now he's the one following you." XxXxX He'd expected to find her asleep, but Amelia greeted him with a small smile and a slow blink. "Hi," she said. She stretched out the arm not attached to an IV line. Mulder accepted her hand carefully, making sure not to disturb the bandages that swathed her wrist. Her feet, also wrapped in white, stuck out from under the blankets. He sat on the bed near her hip. "You should be resting." "When I close my eyes, I forget where I am. How is Adam doing?" "He's still in surgery, but the doctors say it's going well." The worry lines around her eyes didn't fade, so he squeezed her hand. "Hey, it'll be all right. You know he can never stand for anyone else to get the last word." Amelia sniffed and squeezed back. "You're right about that." She gave a watery chuckle. "Can you just imagine him with a teenager?" Mulder smiled. "You might need to explain to him that parents don't hand down punishments like 'twenty to life.'" "All these weeks, I've been so afraid to tell him. Now I can't wait." "So everything's okay? I mean, with..." "Yes." She touched her stomach through the sheet. "Everything seems normal." "Good. I'm glad to hear that. I'm glad you're all right." "It's thanks to you," she told him. "And Scully. How is she?" "Fine," he said automatically. "They're releasing her soon." "She's amazing," Amelia said, and Mulder tensed. Normally, he would agree. Normally, he found awe in the tiniest Scully details, from the faint ticking of her watch as she curled in his arms to the flash of skin that appeared at her navel whenever she had to stand on tiptoe. "She left without a word," he said. The words caused a hot flush inside him, half anger, half guilt at opening her up as a target for someone else. Amelia's answer was quiet. "I figured she lured him out behind your back. There was no way you and Adam would have let her out of your sight." "Even suicides leave a note." He kept his eyes trained on the gray speckled floor. "Funny you should use that word." His head snapped up. "I didn't meant it that way." "No, of course not." She rested her free hand on his leg. "You are so careful not to turn your profiling skills on those you love; it's one of the things I've always admired about you." His breath caught, making his heart skip a beat. "What are you talking about?" "Quentin asked for her by name. He killed her best friend. It's just possible she felt responsible for his actions." "That's irrational." "Exactly." She gave him a pointed look, which was followed by a large yawn. He noted with some shame that her hand felt weak in his grasp. "You should get some sleep," he said, reaching to smooth back her hair. She shuddered under his touch. "Is there someone I can call for you?" "No," she whispered, her eyes closing. "There's no one." "There's me." He tucked the blankets more securely around her. Amelia's breathing evened out but he held tight to her hand. He thought of Scully as he'd left her, stiff and quiet in her bed, maybe hurting more than just her arm. Fourteen women in the grave. Two still fighting to get away. XxXxX That night they went to sleep in a new hotel where the press wasn't howling at the gates like a pack of wolves. The room had heavy drapes, soft expensive sheets and a bed with chocolates on the pillow. He saved his for Scully, but noticed she didn't eat either of them before heading for the shower. Carl's little mountain hideout had taken them up into the sun, and his skin still burned with residual heat. Peeling off everything but his boxers, he cranked the air conditioning up to high. He lay on the bed with his arms spread, letting the cool air swirl over him and listening to the rush of water on the other side of the door. He forced himself to stay awake in case she needed him, but of course she never did. "It's freezing in here," she said when she emerged in a cloud of steam, looking smaller with her wet hair and thin robe. She went to the thermostat, and within seconds the air was still again. "Shower's free," she announced unnecessarily. "In a minute." Ever since the bones in the desert, they'd been running on her schedule. He wanted another moment to decompress. Her reflection winced as she tried to comb through her hair. Even from across the room, he could see the welts on her arm from where she had scraped the skin off. He folded his fingers beneath his head and shifted his gaze to the stucco ceiling. The movement caused his lower back to throb. A possible bruised kidney, the doctors had said. As if reading his mind, she rattled a plastic bottle in his direction. "Tylenol." He shook his head. "You need help with your bandage?" "No, I've got it." A few minutes later, he felt the mattress sag under her weight and the clean, sea breeze scent of her shower gel assaulted his nose. The bedspread pulled taut under him as she climbed beneath the covers. "Is it okay if I turn out this light?" she asked, reaching for the lamp on her side of the bed. "Fine." She flicked the switch and then the only illumination came from the bathroom. Shifting away from him, she lay on her good shoulder, the white satin of her pajamas gleaming in the shaft of light. Mulder turned his head to study the shadowed curve of her hip. Every time he thought he'd mapped her from her arched eyebrow to her painted toenails, he would catch sight of her from a new angle and see a stranger. He hesitated a moment, then rested his hand on her waist. "None of this was your fault." She stiffened, and he gripped her a little harder, trying to pull her towards him. "Scully." "Of course it's not my fault. I didn't kill anyone." "No." He stroked her hip through the blanket. "But you walked away when a lot of others didn't. That can be as much a burden as a relief. Back when I worked in the BSU, I know in cases like this sometimes..." "Don't." She turned in a rush, and he drew his hand back before she trapped it underneath her. The light caught her across the eyes. "Don't try to tell me about cases like this. I've lived it, Mulder. More than once. You may have had special knowledge on this subject years before, but I've caught up, okay? I've had my trial by fire a thousand times over." "And yet you chose to walk through it again." "Yes." She regarded him with a steady gaze. "If you want to be angry with me for that, go ahead. I can't stop you, and I can't blame you. But it wasn't personal." He sat up, bracing himself on one arm and blocking her light. "The hell it wasn't personal." "You're right." She pushed off the covers and got out of bed. "It was personal. To me. He didn't come after you, Mulder. He didn't tie you up to a bed and take your clothes off. He didn't threaten to kill you or chase you half-naked through the woods. It wasn't your friend he murdered." "He wasn't the one who ran off from my bed in the middle of the night on a goddamn suicide mission, either. And yeah, I take that personally." She paced the room. "I know. It's always personal to you. Your case, your trauma, all those years of not knowing. The headlines, the failure--" "Scully--" The force of his anger dissolved under hers. "All those poor women, looking to you for justice and you couldn't deliver. But you're the only one who's that invested, right? You're the only one who's allowed to rush blindly into situations, damn the consequences! Who cares what the risks are? Agent Mulder always gets his man!" Very much personal, he realized with a start. This anger was directed at him. She continued, "How can you question my actions, talking about risk? You make the same choices, take the same risks and I don't--" "What, Scully? What have I risked?" "Me!" She froze. Her hand clapped over her mouth. "Oh, God." Slowly, he rose from the bed. "Scully?" "No," she murmured, shaking her head. "No, I didn't mean that." "I think you did mean it." Was that his voice, so light and calm? He walked to her with silent footsteps. "No, Mulder. I'm just tired. Let's forget about it, please..." She tried to move, but he held her arm. "Tell me." "I didn't mean it." She tugged but he held fast. "You did. Tell me, when did I risk you?" The fight drained out of her all at once, her arm limp in his grasp. "The park." Her voice was barely audible. He couldn't see her face. "But you didn't know, Mulder, you couldn't have known." He dropped her arm. "Scully, I..." His mouth was working, but no sound was coming out. He felt her palm on the center of his chest. "Shhh. I'm sorry. It's just been a really long couple of days. Please, let's forget it and go back to bed." Shhh. What she'd said the last time, he remembered, when he'd tried to tell her what had happened. How he had accidentally managed to provide Carl Quentin with the perfect opportunity to attack her. "You read the reports," he said. Scully said nothing. Of course she'd read the reports. Scully who thrived on reports, who cherished the cold recitation of facts. Logical Scully, who loved to play connect-the-dots and who rooted herself in the safety of scientific axioms. If X, then Y. If Mulder hadn't been at the park, Carl could not have grabbed her. None of this would have happened. "Mulder, don't." She tugged on his hand. "I don't blame you. How could I blame you? You saved my life." Twice, his mind added. But maybe it wasn't enough. His head buzzed. "You're right. It's late." He started to pull away from her, but she held onto his hand with surprising strength. "It was the right decision," she said. "In your position, I would have done the same thing. But Mulder..." She was waiting for him to turn and look at her, he knew. When he didn't, she sighed. "Last night, in my position, you would have made the same choice. You would have been out there waving the red flag at Quentin the minute he kidnapped Amelia." "You don't know that." "I do. I've watched you sacrifice yourself over and over." "And so this was what, payback?" "It was about stopping him." He relented, half-turning to look at her. "Which you did." "Which you did," she corrected. Are you angry about that, too? he wondered. First I dragged you into this and then I stole your revenge? But she didn't seem angry. In the dim light, with her shoulders sagged and her head down, she seemed defeated more than anything else. "You want the truth?" he murmured, and she met his eyes. "I thought Amelia was already dead. I figured we were looking for a body, and so there was no need to risk your life to bait him. But you were right to force a change in his MO. You saved her life." "She saved herself. I don't know what we would have done if she hadn't thrown him off balance with her missing toes. How she could have sliced them off like that...I don't think I've ever seen such a will to live." He remembered the first cabin, with the scratch marks on its door and the missing headboard posts on the bed. Turning her hand in his, he ran his thumb over the scars on her wrist. "I have." Maybe that was why he couldn't believe she would willingly go through it again. Scully accepted his small caress for a minute longer, then pulled away. She drew a shuddering breath. "We have to be up again in less than eight hours." He nodded and followed her back to the bed. The king size mattress would have allowed her an ocean of space, but she settled close to the middle with him, her back to his front. He drew the covers up to the very edge of her shoulder, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to her neck. She reached back to touch the side of his face, stroking the sandpapery stubble. XxXxX XxXxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Fourteen XxXxXxXxXxXxX "Scully!" In her dream, the name was a cry of frustrated anguish. Mulder was locked on the outside of the cabin as she struggled for life within. Her hands were pinned; his knee blocked her kicks. Carl rose above her, his shears glinting in the light. She curled her toes in fear. "Scully, wake up!" She opened her eyes, gulping air like a drowning victim. Mulder's face blurred then sharpened into focus. He had her hands trapped over her head. "Okay?" he asked, searching her face. She nodded and he released her. Mulder's bedroom, she realized, drawing up the sheet. Safe. Pale morning light streamed in from his open window, and she shivered as the cool breeze dried the sweat on her skin. "Sorry," she murmured against his arm. "I know." He raised his arm to make room for her. She curled into him and replaced Carl's voice with the reassuring rhythm of Mulder's heartbeat. "You all right?" He traced the vertebrae down her back with gentle fingers. "Yes." The fierce grip of the dream was already receding, but she burrowed a little closer to him anyway. He stroked her hair. "Sometimes I wonder if I should just let you have it out with him." His voice was a low rumble under her ear. "Wake you up when it was all over." She slid her palm across his smooth stomach to find the bony playground of his ribs. He still bore faint bruises from one of their recent nighttime tussles. "That could be hazardous to your health." "Might be worth it." "No." She kissed his breastbone. "I need you fit and healthy. You have to stand up in court today, remember?" "The only thing that has to stand up today is my testimony. Besides, you're the star witness. You and Amelia." Scully rolled away from him onto her back. Carl Quentin's actual trial had passed with no input from her. The federal prosecutor had had his hands full with fourteen counts of homicide; no need to add kidnapping to the list. It had taken eight women and four men just three hours to return a verdict of guilty on all charges. Her only job at the sentencing was to let the jury see a victim's face and convince them that Carl should pay with his life. Mulder leaned up on one arm and gave her leg a slow caress through the sheet. "Nervous?" She dropped her chin to her chest. "No." He waited. "I hardly belong at this hearing, Mulder. All I've got to show them is a few minor scars and a month of bad dreams. It just seems wrong to sit in front of those women's families and pretend my losses are commensurate with theirs." "You have every right to be there. He hurt you, and you have a right to stand up and be counted." Her smile was wistful. "My number just seems awfully small." Mulder bent his head in thought for a moment, then looked her in the eyes. "You once said I had no idea what it felt like to be tied in that bed while Quentin sharpened his shears, and you're absolutely right. I have no fucking idea, and neither does that jury. But you do, Scully." She looked away, and he turned her chin back to face him. "If you won't stand up in that court for yourself, stand up for the others. Give them back the voice that he took from them." Hot tears stung her eyes. "Yes. I guess I can do that." "I know you can." He gathered her against him and she snuffled into the warm creases of his neck. "Or we could just stay here," she offered after a minute. He squeezed her. "Said the siren from the rock." "Okay, okay." She brushed the hair out of her eyes. "You're on first, so I guess that means you get dibs on the bathroom." "I'll make it worth your while." "Mulder, we don't have time for..." "If you can find the waffle iron, I'll make waffles while you're getting ready." She eyed him. "I see the loophole in that offer already." "Check the back closet," he said as he got out of bed. "I think that's where I last saw it." He left his robe so she put it on, dragging the hem on the floor as she went down the hall to the closet. She opened the door and a partially-deflated basketball landed with a "thunk" at her feet. "Great," she said, regarding the boxes and piles of clothes. She peered into the closest one and found a dusty lava lamp. Green, of course. Pushing further into the depths, she brushed aside a coat and discovered a unicycle. She gave it the eyebrow and continued her search. "Any luck?" he called from the bedroom. "Not yet!" "Check the shelf!" The corner of a box poked her in the back as she stood on tiptoe to scan the shelf. Records, a fedora, a giant beer mug...baby blocks? She pulled them down. On the front, a toothless baby grinned at her as his fat fingers waved a yellow block in the air. Scully felt her heart constrict. "Oh, Mulder," she whispered, running her fingers over the infant's face. There would be no courtroom for this. No one would ever sit and answer to her for the real injustices in her life. But she could go and tell the jury about the man who plagued her dreams, who had tied her up and cut her and forced her to run terrified through the dark woods. She could explain how she nearly died. How she nearly lost the chance to spend the rest of her days with a man whose faith was so strong that he kept baby blocks hidden in his closet. Just in case. "Scully?" She swiped the tears from her cheeks and pushed the box back up on the shelf. "Right here." He joined her in the closet, all fresh scent and pressed white shirt. "Good thing it wasn't a snake," he said, reaching over her head for the waffle iron. "You've got thirty minutes," she answered as she brushed past him. "We don't have to be downtown for at least an hour and a half." "I have some place I need to stop first," she said over her shoulder. "I'll have to meet you there." XxXxX He walked the shiny hallway outside the courtroom several times while waiting for her. When the doors at the far end finally opened, it was Amelia and Grenier who appeared. Grenier held the heavy wooden door as Amelia navigated her crutches over the threshold. Grenier's stay in the hospital had cost him twenty pounds, but Amelia made up the difference with her rounded belly. "How are you feeling?" Mulder asked as she lowered herself onto a bench. "Getting around better every day. I only use these things 'cause he makes me." Grenier shot her an affectionate scowl. "As if I've ever been able to make you do anything." "Where's Scully?" Amelia asked, looking around. Mulder glanced at his watch for the hundredth time. "I don't know. She said she had a stop to make, but she should be here by now." "Maybe she got trapped in traffic," Amelia replied. "Worst comes to worst, I can always go first." "I'm on before either one of you," Mulder said. "Any minute now." "Well, I can't wait to get in there," Grenier said. "If this is the only way we get to kill the sonofabitch, I'll take it." He looked to Mulder. "I was thinking last night -- if he was our greatest failure all those years, then we must be his, right? He tried to take down all four of us, and here we are about to stick the nails in his coffin." Mulder said nothing. He wished he could have Grenier's clarity, but it was hard for him to see the four of them as real victors. Carl was caught, yes, and would likely die for his crimes. But men like Carl had long fingers that could reach out from beyond the grave, tap you on the shoulder and remind you that you weren't the same person you were before they came along. A scar here, a missing toe there. Or, like him, the memory man who had a fresh batch of images that would never go away. Amelia was the only one with the crutches, but they were all limping along. "Agent Mulder?" A court official stuck her head out the door. "They're ready for you." Mulder turned and frowned down the hall. "Yeah, okay." He'd taken two steps towards the courtroom when Scully opened the front door. Momentary sunlight streamed in behind her. "Hey," he said, his shoulders relaxing with relief. "Hey," she answered as she joined them outside the courtroom. Amelia snagged her hand, and Scully squeezed back. "Good to see you," she said. "Agent Mulder?" He ignored the woman. "Everything okay?" he asked Scully. "Fine." He raked his gaze over her from head to toe. When he met her eyes again, it was to ask her a silent question. She gave him a tiny nod, and they shared a slow smile. "Agent Mulder, we need you inside now." "Good luck," Scully said, and he brushed her fingers. "You, too." XxXxX The murmuring stopped when she entered the courtroom. All the spectators turned for a better look, and she knew she must be a great curiosity as the object of a serial killer's obsession. She could feel them evaluating -- this was it? this small woman in the dark suit and serious expression? -- but the one man who understood had not yet turned to stare. No doubt his lawyers had counseled him not to seem a slavering monster when she appeared. Probably they had told him not even to glance her way. But she could fix that. The silence helped, her heels audible against the marble floor as she walked past the rows of onlookers. The strappy leather sandals weren't her usual choice for a court appearance, but for this particular bit of testimony, they were perfect. She watched Carl, his head down and hands clasped tightly in front of him on the defense table. The rubber and spokes of his wheelchair obscured the view of his missing right foot. As Scully closed the small gate behind her, she could see his eyes shift to the right, desperate for a glimpse. Just a few more steps and he would know. She moved into view and his head shot up, their eyes locking. Her stolen shoes had been in the FBI evidence storeroom, not needed for Quentin's prosecution. She'd shined the scuff marks away and scrubbed them free of his fingerprints. His lips parted in horror, then pressed together into a white line. He clenched his hands in impotent rage. That's right, you sonofabtich, she thought, I got them back. She turned away to take her place on the witness stand. "Agent Scully," the prosecutor said when she had been sworn in, "Thank you for coming today. The jury has heard testimony about the vicious attacks the defendant committed against the many young women who lost their lives at his hands. You survived not one but two of his terrible assaults. Can you please give the court some sense of what it was like to suffer these brutal attacks?" Scully felt the strength of fourteen voices behind her. "Yes," she said clearly, "I can." XxXxX Zee End. Ending credits: Mulder -- as himself Scully -- as herself Carl ---- Billy Bob Thorton Agent Cheng --- the scary woman at my bus stop Invaluable Story Editor, initial phase -- Jerry Chief "bwhahahahahahaha" Story Editor -- bugs Chief "EEEEK!" Story Editor -- Alicia K. Keygrip -- Skinner, since he didn't have much else to do here The Loudest Screamers: Mara and jen Head Stalker -- Jean, Jean, the prance machine Most Persistent Real Life Stalkers -- Joanne and Nancy Chief Real Life Whine Recipient -- Sarah Head Cheerleaders -- the Haven fic crowd Bestboy -- that's got to be Mulder again, don't you think? Best Shoes -- Scully, no question Feedback -- syntax6@yahoo.com Thank you to everyone who has helped and sent encouragement along the way. Take care. Cheers, syntax6 This story is rated NC-17; minors please read elsewhere. Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully do not belong to me. They are used here lovingly and with no remuneration. "Every Evil" exists in the shoefic universe, following "All the Way Home" and "Head Over Heels." It is not necessary to read those stories to understand this one. FOR EVERY EVIL For every evil under the sun There is a remedy or there is none. If there be one, seek till you find it; If there be none, never mind it. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ EVERY EVIL ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Faster, faster -- he was a locomotive pounding down the track, steam rising off his steely muscles. Mulder puffed out hot breath and gripped the bed rails with both hands. Beneath him, she wailed, a warning whistle that they were coming. Faster, faster. Dingy motel walls blurred and quaked around him. The bedside table rattled, bumping the glowing travel alarm along its surface. Twelve-oh-six a.m.. "More... please..." Her nails scored his back; her legs locked around his hips. Mulder gritted his teeth and tried to give it to her. He would fill them up so far neither would ever feel empty again. "Fox..." "Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah." Faster, faster. So close. The phone rang, sound tearing through the tiny room. "Shit," Mulder said. Huffing, heaving on top of her, he groped for the receiver. It clattered off the hook, slipping through his sweaty palm. Mulder cursed again. "Mulder," he said when he had righted it. Adam Grenier's gruff voice came through on the other end. "Pittsfield's been spotted at a gas station on Route One, about fifteen miles from here. No sign of the girl." "Where exactly?" Mulder asked as he rolled out of bed. Already he was half-dressed again. "Mobil station outside of South Beach. I'm en route." "I'll be there in ten." Mulder tugged his pants closed. Grenier grunted. "Bring my wife with you," he said, and hung up the phone. "Fuck," Mulder said, as he slammed the receiver back down. On the other side of the bed, Amelia Russell was nearly dressed again. She was tugging long hair out from her turtleneck sweater. "Pittsfield?" she asked. "They've spotted him at a gas station near here." "With Lily?" "No word yet." Mulder holstered his gun. "Adam is on his way there right now." Amelia didn't even blink. "We should take separate cars," she said, heading for the door. "Wait," Mulder called. She turned. Mulder could not even look at her as he said the words. "He knows," he said. Amelia knew instantly what he meant. She gave a half-shrug. "He's always known." The door closed behind her with a slam, swallowing Mulder's latest epithet. His heart still thundered in his chest, adrenaline racing; now a locomotive hurtling into darkness. Lights out and he left. ~*~*~*~*~* Updates came over the walkie-talkie as he drove: Pittsfield had left the station driving a blue Chevy Caprice. No sign of the little girl in the pink jacket. Mulder could see Amelia's taillights swerving around the curves ahead. Route one along the Oregon coast was a swift quarter mile drop to the rocky shoals below. Only the moon shone the way. "He's pulling over!" Grenier's voice crackled through the line. "He's headed into the park." South Beach Park was still several miles ahead. Mulder pushed harder on the accelerator. His car fishtailed but managed to hang onto the road. Night enveloped like a cape, rendering Mulder's high beams into weak patches of light. "Footbail!" hollered Grenier. "He's left the vehicle, and he's got the girl with him. Repeat: HE'S GOT THE GIRL!" Mulder's pulse skittered. "She's alive," he said to the empty car. He pictured Pittsfield dragging the tiny blonde girl into the woods like something out of a Grimms Brothers' fairy tale. Around one last sharp curve and Mulder came upon the scene: six abandoned law enforcement vehicles, doors open, lights spinning. Amelia was already headed into the dense woods. Mulder screeched his car to halt behind hers, grabbed his flashlight and walkie-talkie, and joined the chase. The tall trees swallowed him immediately. He heard nothing but the crunch of leaves beneath his feet and the sound of his own breathing. He could run a thousand directions and never catch the kidnapper. Mulder took cautious steps deeper into the woods, swishing his flashlight to and fro for any signs that someone had passed recently. "Why here?" he murmured to himself. "Why bring her here?" The walkie-talkie gave a burst of static. Grenier's voice came quieter this time: "Anything?" "Nothing," Mulder replied. "It's too god damn dark," Grenier said. Mulder continued on, stalking a phantom. Every so often he caught sight of another flashlight beam in the distance, but there was no sign of Pittsfield. He had walked into the trees and disappeared. Mulder cast his beam up into the pines on the off chance that Pittsfield had a makeshift tree house hidden someplace. He found no sign of one. "Where the hell did you take her?" Mulder muttered to the darkness. Wind whipped in reply, shaking the trees around him. The roar of the ocean grew clearer. Mulder was running out of woods. He picked up speed, jogging now; his beam bounced with the effort and sent dizzying light across the waving branches. Dark; it was pitch dark. Mulder halted, breathing hard. He flashed his beam around in a circle. So fucking hard to see anything. The ocean crashed only yards away. A few steps more and Mulder would drop straight into the sea. He lowered the beam in defeat, but something crossed its path that made him jolt upright again. A flash of pink. Mulder aimed the beam in the direction he'd seen it, but saw nothing. He advanced. Further and further, gaining speed again. He heard a high yelp and frantic rustling. A man's shadow darted between two trees. "I see him!" Mulder yelled. "I see him!" Through the thicket he saw more flashes of pink. "He's got the girl!" In blind pursuit, Mulder stumbled over uneven ground. Branches clawed his face but he kept running. Faster, faster. "Halt, FBI!" he hollered into the bracing wind. Pittsfield did not slow down. Mulder's ankle gave a half-twist, nearly felling him, but he caught himself on a low branch and kept going. His walkie- talkie slipped free. "Stop!" Mulder tried again. He could hear them thrashing up again, just out of sight. He scrambled to keep pace. *I've got you now, you sonofabitch. There's no where to go but down.* "Gary Pittsfield!" Mulder screamed. "You are under arrest. Stop now!" Panting, lungs on fire, Mulder emerged from the trees to the cliff's edge. Grasses whipped at his knees. He looked wildly for Pittsfield or the girl but could see neither. A few moments later, other agents began appearing from the forest. Amelia caught up with Mulder first. "What happened?" she asked breathlessly. "I chased him this way and he vanished again." "Sure it was him?" "I'm sure," Mulder said, angry with himself. He limped a few feet back towards the tree line. "Maybe he doubled back somehow." "He had Lily?" "Yes, damn it. I saw her coat." Amelia helped him search until Grenier showed up two minutes later. A chopper materialized overhead. The searchlight made Mulder squint painfully as he explained again what had happened. "Spread out!" barked Grenier. "He's got to be here somewhere." But Mulder walked away from the trees, towards the ocean. He inched up on the steep cliff as the wind blew the smell of salt in his face. It was too dark to see much below, but Mulder heard the crash of waves against the rocks. The chopper hovered; saw him looking. The moon-faced beam shifted to the jagged shoreline about a quarter mile down. Mulder pressed a bit closer and felt himself swaying. He peered over the edge. There on the rocks was a little pink jacket. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Sixteen Years Later ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* "Shit," Mulder said by way of holiday greeting. He was standing on top of his desk attempting to affix a garish red- and-green tissue paper bell to the ceiling when Scully returned too soon from the bathroom. "You're back awfully fast." She stopped in the doorway and folded her arms across her chest. "Is this what you usually do for amusement when I'm in the ladies' room, Mulder?" The pin stuck him in the thumb and he cursed again. "Yes, and I didn't want you to share the fun." She moved into the room. "Dare I even ask the purpose of this little adventure? Pencils not getting it done for you today?" "Holiday--fuck!--party," he growled as the bell threatened to fall. Scully's eyebrows rose. "Well, that does sound more appealing than the cheese and wine affair going on upstairs," she replied, deadpan. "Ah ha!" Mulder declared in triumph as the paper bell finally stayed put. He turned and grinned down at Scully. "Now it's a party." She cast a dubious eye around the rest of the office. "But wherever shall we put the orchestra?" Mulder jumped down from the desk and dusted off his hands. He flipped on the radio and canned Christmas carols began to play. "Satisfied?" he asked. "I see cups," she answered instead, noting the red plastic numbers he had set out. "Ever the investigator," Mulder said. He opened his bottom desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of single malt scotch. "I've got this and I've got peppermint tea on the hot plate over there." "Options," Scully said. "I'm impressed." "This is a high-class establishment, Scully." He waggled the bottle at her. "So what'll it be?" "Tempting, but I am going to have to vote tea," she said, heading for the plate. "Scully--" "Tests tomorrow morning," she reminded him. Mulder stared into his cup. He had not forgotten about her medical tests; in fact, the little party was in part to take both their minds off them. Apparently, that was going to work as well for Scully as it did for him. Once a year, whether they liked it or not, both Mulder and Scully held their breath while the doctors made sure her cancer had not come back. They spent those weeks in suspended animation, waiting until life could move on once more. "More booze for me, then," Mulder said with forced cheer. He poured himself a healthy finger while she busied herself with the tea. "I saved the piece de resistance for last," he told her when she returned. She waited with an expectant eyebrow, blowing on her tea, while he fished a red plastic plate from his desk drawer and drew off the napkin with a flourish. "Hand-dipped chocolates from Isabelle's." Scully's face broke into a slow smile. "Now," she said, "it's a party." He raised his liquor and they clinked glasses. She joined him against the desk, shoulders pressed close together, and they drank in silence for a minute. "So, Scully, do you like my new holiday tie?" Mulder asked eventually, and Scully shifted to squint at it over the rim of her cup. "Mulder, it's navy with red circles. How exactly does that say 'season of joy and light' to you?" "It's Rudolph's nose," he said, feigning hurt. "You know, then one foggy Christmas Eve...?" "In that atrocity, you had best hope for fog." "You better be nice to me," he told her. "Santa's watching." Scully sighed. "The only old man watching this place smokes Morleys and brings presents nobody wants." "Yeah," Mulder agreed with a nod. "I bet his letter to Santa has been the same since he was six years old: Dear Santa, Please bring me world domination. Love and kisses, Cuthbert." Scully choked on her drink. "Cuthbert?" Mulder shrugged. "What do you think the 'C' stands for?" Scully sipped and considered for a minute. "I like 'Cornelius," she said at last. Mulder touched his cup to hers again. "Here's to Cornelius getting it up the ass this holiday season for a change," he said. "I'll drink to that." "Booked your plane tickets yet?" he asked. "No." She cleared her throat and set aside her drink. "I, uh, I told Mom I was staying here this year." Mulder's ears warmed, and not from the booze. She had been sharing his bed for four years, but this would mark the first time she altered her holiday plans. Mulder had never complained. He knew Scully spent the holiday season wrestling the emotional pull of both live and dead family members; usually he did his best to be inconspicuous and took what little holiday cheer he could get. This year, Scully had been more on edge than usual. He chalked it up to the tests she had coming up and did not press. "What did you mom say when you told her?" he asked, following up his question with a quick, hard swallow. "Let's just say I haven't heard the words 'your choice" used in quite that tone since they passed Roe V. Wade." "Ouch." "She'll get over it," Scully answered mildly. Mulder's computer beeped, followed by Darth Vader's heavy breathing. "I sense a disturbance in the force," Darth said. "You've got mail," Scully observed. "It can wait," Mulder said, hoping he sounded nonchalant. Scully was not fooled. "Go," she said, snorting and nudging him with her foot. "I can feel you twitching." Mulder walked around the desk and leaned over the keyboard to check the new arrival. The subject line said, "THE GIFT OF LIFE," and the sender was listed as Jesus Christ. "God's back and he's got email," Mulder told Scully. "I suppose it's fitting that he's sending me spam." Scully rolled her eyes. Mulder's arrow hovered over the "delete" key, but at the last second, he decided to find out what the Lord Almighty wanted. One did not ignore a personal message from God at this time of year. There was no message inside, only a URL: www.thesecondcoming.com "I bet it's porn," Mulder said. Scully brought her drink around the desk to see. "Maybe God saw your Christmas list," she teased. "Ha ha," Mulder replied, but he clicked the link to see. It took a moment to load, and when it did, all he saw was a city street. "What the...?" Scully moved closer. "That was a car going past," she said. "You're looking at some sort of webcam." "Yeah, but where?" Cars flickered past on the screen every few seconds, but the sidewalks were empty. It was gray and rainy, much like DC that day. "I don't recognize it," Scully said. "But the shot is pretty nondescript." "That's a Starbucks back there on the other side," Mulder said. "Surely you must have visited every one on the eastern seaboard by now, Scully." She elbowed him. "Why would someone send you this?" "Beats me." Mulder straightened up and looked at her. "Maybe they got me by mistake. Maybe it's some weird new Starbucks advertising campaign. Maybe..." "Mulder, look. It's a man." He turned his attention back to the screen and saw an average-sized man in a denim jacket and black baseball cap had stopped in front of the camera. Scraggly hair reached his shoulders, and his coat hung open to reveal an Oregon State University sweatshirt. Despite the rainy day, the man wore sunglasses. "What's he doing?" Mulder asked. Scully shrugged. The man obviously knew the camera was there; he looked directly at it. He smiled. For a long minute, he simply stood and stared. "You think the boys did this as a joke?" Scully asked. Just as she asked the question, the man motioned to someone off-camera. A little girl of about seven walked into the shot. The man said something in her ear. She turned, looked right at the camera, and blew a kiss. The man smiled and led her away. "Holy shit," Mulder said, his skin starting to crawl. He felt the floor shift beneath him. "Mulder? "I never believed he was dead." "You recognize him?" Mulder's desk phone rang. He picked it up with his gaze still focused on the monitor. "Mulder, you're not going to believe what I am looking at." Adam Grenier's voice mirrored Mulder's shock. "I can guess," Mulder replied. "Because I am looking at the same thing." "The girl, it was her. It was Lily!" "I know. I saw." He had not forgotten her face once in sixteen years. "Shit, Mulder. She'd be a college student by now, not a little kid. What the fuck is going on here?" "I don't know. But if Pittsfield is back after sixteen years, you can bet there is a reason. And apparently it's personal." "You bet your ass it's personal!" Grenier returned. Cars swished by on the monitor but Pittsfield did not return. He had vanished as easily as the first time. "What do you want to do?" Mulder asked Grenier. "He asked for us," Grenier said grimly, "and that's exactly what he's going to get." The webcam turned off; the screen went blank. Mulder hung up the phone and sat in his chair. Scully perched on the edge of the desk and looked concerned. "Mulder, what's going on? Who was that man on the camera?" Mulder thought back to the little girl snatched years ago from her front lawn. He remembered the pink jacket swirling in the rough water. "Mulder?" Scully prompted. Mulder sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I'll tell you one thing," he said. "He sure isn't Santa Claus. I've got to go meet Grenier." "I'll go with you," she said quickly, rising as he did. "No, Scully. That's not necessary." "Mulder--" "It wasn't your case." She glared at him. "I'm your partner." He hesitated; she had him there. "This one was bad, Scully. And you have those tests..." "The tests can wait," she said firmly, grabbing her coat. "That little girl -- whoever she is -- can't." Mulder hesitated again, tapping his heel. He swung the door open. "Let's go then," he said, and followed her out. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ End Chapter One. Thanks: to Amanda for proofing. Any remaining errors are mine alone. Feedback: always welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com Chapter Two At Quantico, Mulder threw the car into "park" with an angry jerk; rush hour traffic had been bumper-to-bumper the whole way down, and the rain changing over to heavy, wet snow had not helped matters. Their gray day had toughened into a cold, dark night. Scully pulled her coat closed, steeling herself before she opened the door. Outside, the wind hit her in the face as the ground lurched beneath her. Her vision went black. With a gasp, Scully caught herself on the car door. She blinked rapidly and hung on for dear life. When she could see again, Mulder was standing over her. "You okay, Scully?" Snowflakes dotted his hair. She nodded. "I just stood up too fast." Mulder's brow furrowed as he studied her. "You sure?" "Yeah," she said, slamming the car door for emphasis. "I'm fine." He must have decided to believe her, because he picked up the pace towards the building. Scully hurried through the snow to catch up with him. "Grenier's on the third floor now," he said inside as he hit the button for the elevator. "NCAVC." The doors slid open and Scully followed him in. They leaned against opposite walls. "He still hunts these men," she said, "even after what happened with Carl Quentin." Mulder eyed her. "I don't see you hanging up your badge," he said. "It's different for me." "How?" "I don't work for NCAVC," she said. She paused. "I also don't have a child." Mulder shrugged as the elevator bell dinged. "It's all Adam's ever known. After you've nailed guys like Quentin, you can't exactly go back to pushing paper." He glanced down at her as they walked the hall. "Besides, when the kidnapper issues you a private invitation, you don't exactly have a choice about whether to get involved." Scully waited for him to push open the door to the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime. "So if Pittsfield hadn't contacted you," she said, "If someone had just phone in a tip that he was alive, you wouldn't want to work the case?" Mulder held the door for her. "We'll never know, will we?" "I don't see Grenier," Scully said as she surveyed the desks. Mulder fished out his cell phone. "Adam?" he said a moment later. "Yeah, we're here. Downstairs? Okay, got it." Scully raised her eyebrows. "He recorded part of Pittsfield's webcam performance and the lab's working on it downstairs," Mulder explained as he headed for the door again. Downstairs, Grenier loomed over a mild-mannered looking young black man as they stared at a computer screen. "What about that one?" Grenier was saying. "Sorry, we can blow it up all you want," the man replied. "He positioned the camera so you can't see the plates." Grenier looked up as Scully and Mulder entered the room. "Nothing," he told them tersely. "We can't get a god damn thing." Mulder moved to stand next to Grenier, and Scully felt like she was five years old again, standing behind older siblings at a parade and unable to see a thing. "You got the girl," Mulder observed. "That's something." Scully peered between the shoulders and saw the child blowing kisses for the camera again. "That's when I started recording," Grenier explained. "I didn't know who it was until I saw Lily." Mulder chewed his nail and stared at the screen. "No leaves on the trees," he said. "It's not the South." Scully spotted a battered looking folder on the nearest table. She swiped and opened to the top page, which featured a class picture of Lily Ann Tucker, age 6. Lily wore a red jumper and smiled big for the camera. Scully found herself smiling sadly back. Mulder and Grenier were right: the girl in the picture bore an eerie similarity to the child on the computer camera. "Adam!" A woman's voice, loud and sharp, caused Scully nearly to drop the folder. She turned and saw Amelia Russell coming into the room with her daughter in her arms. "What is it?" Adam asked, rushing towards them. "Is Natalie okay?" "She's fine. I just didn't have anyone to leave her with." "Dad-dee!" exclaimed the toddler with delight as she reached for her father. Grenier hoisted her into his arms and she rewarded him with a pat on the cheek. "What are you doing here?" Grenier asked. "Pittsfield," Amelia said. "He's back. He sent me a link to a webcam, and--" She stopped as she saw the computer screen behind her ex-husband. "You got it too." "We all did," Mulder said. Amelia joined them by the computer. "Hi," she said, rubbing Mulder's shoulder. "Long time, no see. How are you doing?" "Until a few hours ago, I was fine." Amelia nodded and turned to Scully. "Dana," she said, squeezing her hard. Scully squeezed back just as hard. They weren't friends. They did not go shopping together or chat on the phone. Dark where Scully was fair, tall where she was short and exuberant while she was quiet, Amelia Russell didn't have much in common with Scully other than the fact they both had seen Mulder naked. But Carl Quentin had made them sisters under the skin. "How are you?" Amelia asked in the middle of the hug. "Fine," said Scully, drawing back. Amelia frowned at her. "You look tired." "So do you." Amelia smiled. "That one," she said, jerking her thumb at Natalie, "keeps me hopping from one end of the day to the other." Scully glanced to where Mulder was making faces at the little girl. Natalie alternately smiled at him and hid her face in Grenier's neck. Grenier kissed his daughter's dark curls. "You remember Mulder," he said encouragingly. Natalie wiggled and batted her charcoal lashes at Mulder. "Mul-der," she purred in agreement, and reached for his tie. "You see, Scully?" he said as Natalie examined him. "*Someone* likes my holiday tie." "Yes, you've reached your target audience," Scully replied. "Good work." Mulder made another face, this one for Scully, and Natalie giggled. Amelia drifted closer to the computer screen, where the tech was working on clarifying a still image. "That's Lily," Amelia said. "She hasn't aged a day. How is that possible?" "Maybe the camera wasn't live," Grenier suggested. "Maybe it's a tape from sixteen years ago that he has repackaged to make it seem live." "I don't think so," said the tech slowly. "These images are definitely digital; this kind of technology wasn't available on the streets sixteen years ago." Scully stepped forward with the old folder in her hands. "There's a way you can tell if it's her," she said. "Print out the image from the webcam and have a forensic anthropologist compare it with Lily's old picture. That should at least give us a better idea of what's going on here." "Good idea," Mulder agreed. He squinted at the screen. "Can you get any closer in on the Starbucks across the street?" "We tried," Grenier said. "You can't get an address." Natalie wriggled in an effort to get down but Grenier held tight. "The window," Mulder said, pointing. "Can we zoom in on that?" "The flier," said Scully immediately, and Mulder nodded. "If we can at least get a phone number from it, we'll know the area code." The tech zoomed in on the white flyer hanging in the Starbucks' window. LOST DOG, it read. "White miniature poodle, age 4. Missing since December 14, answers to the name 'Pippin.' "Please call Megan at 410-555-3919." "Four-one-oh," Mulder said. "That's Baltimore. He's here. How many Starbucks can there be in Baltimore?" Scully ignored the fact that he was looking at her when he asked the question. "There's one on every god-damned corner," Grenier answered. He kissed Natalie on the cheek and handed her back to Amelia. "We can get the addresses on the way." Scully's adrenaline kicked in, abating some of her fatigue. "I'll start calling now." Natalie fussed and Amelia jiggled her. "Let me know what you find, okay?" Amelia said with the tone of someone still not quite used to being left out of the action. Grenier ruffled his daughter's hair with one hand as he grabbed his coat with the other. "Will do, and next time if you need someone to leave her with, try Penelope. She'd be happy to watch her." "When Penelope's old enough to baby sit, I'll ask her," Amelia answered lightly. "Not funny," Grenier said. He shrugged into his heavy winter coat. "I'll call." "You'd better." Amelia kissed Natalie's forehead. "Say bye- bye to daddy." Natalie whimpered and her eyes filled with tears. "Daddy," she said, stretching out her arms. "I'll call," Grenier called back again as he followed Mulder and Scully to the door. At the elevator, Scully had the phone to her ear, on hold with some barista. Mulder looked Grenier up and down. "Penelope?" he asked. "I've been seeing her for months now. She's a perfectly lovely young woman," Grenier answered stiffly. "Young being the operative word?" Scully focused her attention on the floor. "She's an adult!" Grenier said as the elevator bell rang. "Amelia just doesn't like leaving Natalie with anyone who isn't a blood relative." "Uh-huh," Scully said into the phone. Mulder held the elevator. "Do you have a flier in your window for a lost dog? Okay, and where are you located?" She hung up and met Mulder's expectant gaze. "First try," she said. "Starbucks on Elliot Avenue has a lost poodle flier hanging in the window." Mulder hit the button as she stepped in, and the ground began sinking beneath her feet. Grenier and Mulder talked excitedly about the best course of action, their voices bouncing hard in the tiny space. Scully leaned against the wall and peeked once more at the photo inside the worn folder. Lily Ann Tucker had been growing a pair of new front teeth. Snatched right from her yard during the day, the file said. Scully shivered. Amelia was right: you couldn't let go for one minute. The elevator bottomed out and Scully snapped the file closed again, but not before she had seen Lily Ann Tucker's mother's statement typed at the bottom. "I blinked," it said, "and she was gone." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The snow thickened, blowing straight against their windshield so it seemed to Scully as if they were traveling into hyperspace. "Looks like it'll be a white Christmas," Mulder commented. Christmas was five days away; the snow would be brown by then. "Turn left up here," Scully said as she squinted at her map in the dim light of passing streetlamps. "Lily never saw snow, did you know that? Her mom told me they were going to take her to Montana that year to visit cousins. She never made it." "Mulder, that little girl on the camera can't be Lily. It's not possible." He shook his head. "After all these years, you can still say that with such certainty." "What would you have me do? Lie? Pittsfield looked quite a bit older compared to the photos in this folder. Are you suggesting he has a child-sized time machine?" The car fish-tailed as Mulder took the corner too fast. "It looks *exactly* like her, Scully." "The resemblance is striking, I agree. But you and I both know these men often choose victims who are physically similar." He took his eyes from the road long enough to frown at her. She sighed. "Okay, I'll admit in this case the physical attributes are extraordinarily similar. It still makes more logical sense than Lily not aging a day in sixteen years." She wrestled the map as it tried to slip from her lap. "Turn left at the light." "Pittsfield kidnapped her because he thought she was the reincarnation of Christ," Mulder said. "What?" "That's what he said. He said Christ was returning as a little girl this time, and that God designated him as the girl's caretaker. He claimed he alone would recognize her as the child of God." "Mulder, please don't tell me you think he's right." Silence. "Mulder..." "No, okay? I don't think that Lily Tucker is the reincarnation of Jesus Christ. But maybe she is special in some way that Pittsfield picked up on." Scully wiped the steam from her window. "Turn here," she said. "This is Elliot." Mulder slowed down to a cruise as they drove along the avenue. The headlights of Grenier's SUV shone bright in their review mirror. "There," Mulder said. "That's the Starbucks." "I recognize that tree," Scully replied. "This is the place." Mulder took a handicap spot, and they both leapt from the car. Grenier waved from down the sidewalk, hailing them through the snow. Mulder pointed toward the building opposite the Starbucks. It was a drug store. "I don't see a camera," Scully said, a little breathless. They craned their necks to study the overhang above the drug store. "It was here. If it's not here now, it's because Pittsfield moved it." "What've you got?" Grenier asked as he joined them. "It's gone." Mulder tried the door to the real estate office above the drugstore, but it was locked. "He must have taken it down hours ago." Grenier headed for the drugstore. "Someone must have seen something," he said, yanking the door wide. Mulder twisted in place to look up and down the street. Scully followed his gaze, shielding her eyes from the snow, but saw no one. "Why here? It doesn't make sense." Mulder muttered as he paced around the area. "He must have set up here for a reason." "Pretty busy street overall," Scully observed. "The large number of stores means there's a good chance he would have been spotted." Mulder did not seem to hear her. He was starting across the street towards Starbucks. Scully's stomach, normally one to welcome a nonfat vanilla latte, flipped at the thought of coffee. "Mulder?" she called. He did not turn around. After another moment's hesitation, Scully followed him. "This is the lost dog poster," Mulder said, tapping the window. "So?" Mulder leaned down and squinted at it. "There's two of them, see? There's a second flier behind this one." Scully brushed flakes from her hair as she followed him inside. Mulder made a beeline for the flier. "It's not the same thing," he said, examining it. "Not two copies. These are two different images." He carefully removed the piece of paper taped behind the lost dog flier. Scully moved to see. "Oh my God," she breathed. LOST, it said. And underneath was a picture of Natalie. "Call Amelia," Mulder ordered as they started to run. "Now." Scully had her phone out, dialing in the snow. She felt the pavement pound against her feet. The poster in Mulder's hand grew wet and started to smear. Grenier's hulking figure emerged from the drugstore. As the phone rang through in Scully's ear, Mulder began screaming. "Adam... Adam! It's Natalie. He's come for Natalie!" ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ End chapter two. Feedback always welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter Three ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ With the snow quietly drifting down, a fire roaring in the fireplace, and a golden retriever snoring at their feet, Scully and Amelia should have been enjoying a perfect winter evening. But Amelia had her rocking chair pointed toward the front door, not the fire, and she shivered under her quilt despite the warmth. Every five minutes she got up and went to check on Natalie. "You know what I keep thinking about?" she asked Scully. Scully sipped her coffee and shook her head. "What?" "Lily's parents. I was the one who interviewed them sixteen years ago after she was taken. They lived on a small ranch in California, north of San Francisco. Lily's dad had switched jobs after she was born so they could move out of the city. Two weeks before Christmas, her mom was baking a fruitcake one morning while Lily played outside in view of the kitchen. Her mom leaned down to take the cake out of the oven, and when she stood up, Lily was gone." Amelia paused and contemplated her coffee mug. "I remember thinking, who the hell bakes fruitcake any more?" "My mother," Scully told her. "But my brother is the only one who eats it. Well, him and Mulder." Amelia smiled. "Mulder will eat anything put in front of him. I once saw him eat a yogurt that was three weeks past its expiration date." "Yes, well, I think the X-Files have proven that Mulder has an especially hardy constitution." "With all that alien slime and such," Amelia agreed. She checked her watch and walked to the window. "I wish they would call," she said as she peered around the curtains. "I think if they had found something by now, they would have called." "The snow is probably slowing things down." Amelia let the curtain fall. "It's stupid. You think, 'If I don't bake fruitcakes, this will never happen to me.' Or you think, 'I tracked these animals for years. I'll see them coming a mile away.' But really it's all a bunch a lies you tell yourself just so you can sleep at night." Scully set aside her mug and hefted her tired bones from the chair. The clock on the mantel read nearly eleven. "He's not going to hurt Natalie," she said as she joined Amelia by the window. "We won't let that happen." Amelia nodded but she did not look too sure. "I feel like I should be out there, doing something." "You are doing something. You're taking care of your daughter." "I know, and believe me, I don't want to leave her. But I know this guy. I've been inside his head. Adam and Mulder and I, we worked this case so hard, and now they're out there and I'm in here." "Did you ever figure out why Pittsfield picked Lily?" Amelia's lips thinned. "He'd been stalking her," she whispered hoarsely, "for months." There was a heavy silence as Scully contemplated this. It made sense. Pittsfield knew everyone's email addresses; he had a picture of Natalie. This was a man who did his homework. "But how did he find her in the first place? Do you know?" "He--" Amelia stopped short at the sound of clomping feet outside. "They're back," she said with relief. She started towards the door, and Scully drew back the curtain. "Amelia, wait!" The other woman turned. "What is it?" "That's not Mulder's car outside. Or Adam's." Their visitor banged on the front door. Amelia approached cautiously and peered through the peephole as Scully drew her gun. "It's a woman, I think," Amelia reported. "I don't recognize her but she's all bundled up." "Who would be calling at this hour?" The woman outside banged again. "Hello?" she said, muffled through the door. "Amelia, it's Penelope. Are you there?" "Shit," Amelia said as she rubbed her eyes with one hand. "This is just what I needed right now." "Penelope?" "Adam's girlfriend. And here I am, all out of milk and cookies." Amelia heaved a sigh and opened the door. "Hi, Penelope. Come in out of that snow." A leggy young woman stepped into the front hall, stamping snow from her feet and unwinding a fuchsia scarf from her head. "Sure is coming down out there." "Yes, most people are staying home safe and dry," Amelia replied pointedly. "I called Adam and he said that you guys were having some sort of emergency." Penelope noticed Scully and eyed her with curiosity. Scully had not holstered her weapon. "I wanted to see if there was something I could do to help." "Everything's fine." Amelia hadn't let the girl farther than the hall. "I'm sorry you came all this way for nothing." Penelope's face fell. "I tried calling first, but the line was dead. I figured--" "It's what?" Amelia rushed to the phone and picked it up. "It is dead," she told Scully. "Probably the storm," Penelope supplied helpfully. Amelia was already running out of the room to Natalie. "Stay here and don't move," Scully told Penelope. She followed Amelia to the back of the house, where Natalie was whimpering half- asleep in her mother's arms. "She's okay." "Where does your phone line come in?" "I have no idea. The basement, maybe? The door going down there is in the kitchen." "You go stay with Penelope. I'll check it out." Scully moved slowly through the house, listening for anything that sounded amiss. The howling wind beat at the windows like an enraged lover, but the only footsteps Scully heard were her own. Amelia's house was old, creaky. The uneven floorboards creaked. Scully's pulse beat high in her throat as she reached the darkened kitchen. She flicked on the lights but saw no one. The basement door was ajar slightly. Scully toed it open and the cold draft grew stronger. With a shuddering breath, Scully started her descent into the cellar. ~*~*~*~*~*~ Grenier leaned forward to see out the snowy windshield as Mulder neared the house. "Oh, hell." "What?" Mulder squinted for any sign of trouble. "That's Penny's car outside of Amelia's house." "But isn't it a school night?" Grenier scowled as Mulder stopped the car. "Don't you fucking start with me, too." "Sorry. Looks like she must have just gotten here. The car's still clean." "Great. Maybe we're in time to stop the bloodshed," Grenier yelled over the wind. They trooped up the front steps as Grenier fumbled for his keys. "You have a key?" Mulder asked, somewhat surprised. "Because of Natalie." Grenier opened the door. "Hello?" "Adam!" Amelia, holding Natalie, was on them in an instant. "Thank god you're here." "What is it?" Grenier asked, gathering them both protectively against him. "What happened?" "The phone is dead. Scully's checking the basement now." Mulder pushed past them to go find her. He took the steps two at a time. "Scully?" "Over here," she called. She had her flashlight out and was examining the fuse box. "What did you find?" "Everything looks normal as far as I can tell, but I'm no expert." Mulder stared at the box and the wires around it, nodding. He was no expert, either. "They were saying the storm has knocked out lines all over the city." "Maybe. But you should see this." She led him across the basement to the back door. On the cement floor at their feet lay a small puddle of what looked like melted water. "A leak?" "That or someone was in here recently." Mulder looked back. "No footprints." "What do you think? Call in the techs?" Mulder hesitated a moment, turning around once more to study the basement. "Let's check the outside for footprints. I don't want to be crying wolf on a night like tonight." They walked up the rickety wood steps to the kitchen, where Adam, Amelia, Natalie and Penelope had gathered. "Anything?" Adam asked when he saw them. Mulder shook his head. "Nothing obvious." "I'll check outside just to be sure," Scully said. "But right now it looks like the storm probably knocked out the lines." "I can't stand this," Amelia muttered, and Adam rubbed her back. Natalie wiggled to signal she wanted to be put down. "No, honey," Amelia told her. "Stay with mommy." Natalie struggled some more. "Mul-der," she said, pointing. "Fine," Amelia sighed, giving in and setting the toddler on the ground. "What am I? Chopped liver?" Grenier asked as his daughter crossed the room with her footed pajamas scraping the floor. Natalie stopped inches from Mulder and beamed up at him. Mulder shifted. "Hi," he said, feeling huge and awkward in front of such a small person. "Mulder," she affirmed, pointing at him again. "That's right. I'm Mulder." She reached for his holster, which was visible through his gaping overcoat. "For me now?" she asked hopefully. "No," Mulder replied sharply, drawing back. "Not a toy." Natalie's eyes welled up and her chin quivered. "Oh, geez," Mulder muttered to himself. He groped frantically in his pockets and came up with half a pack of LifeSavers and a wrinkled handkerchief. The latter at least was clean. "Here," he said, holding it out to the little girl. "This you can have." She studied it suspiciously for a second before snatching it from his hand. She turned it over and over until it unfolded, at which point she waved it in her little fist. "Mine," she told him with a grin, and Mulder knew that was the last he'd seen of the handkerchief. "That's not used, is it?" Grenier said with a frown. "Say thank you," Amelia prompted Natalie. "Thank yew," Natalie sing-songed, and leaned against Mulder's leg. She wrapped one arm around his knee, still holding her treasured hankie, and stuck the thumb from the other hand in her mouth. Mulder's insides felt like a chocolate candy left out in the sun too long. He tentatively stroked the top of Natalie's head as Scully reentered the room. "All clear," she said, breathless and pink from the cold. She eyed Natalie. "I see you've got a new friend," she told Mulder. Amelia let out a long breath. "Not even two years old and already picking out men that Daddy doesn't approve of," she said. "I look forward to puberty with great relish." "Hey, I approve of Mulder!" Grenier protested. He caught himself. "Not, not for dating, of course. She's a little young for that." Amelia coughed pointedly, and Mulder traded an amused look with Scully. No one dared look at Penelope. "Okay, you," Amelia said as she reached for Natalie. "It's back to bed now." Natalie went willingly, still holding her handkerchief, which she waved in sleepy surrender as Amelia carried her out of the room. "I think I'm the only one here without a gun," Penelope remarked as she looked around. "I guess I wasn't going to be of much help after all." Grenier rubbed his eyes. "You tried, Penny. I appreciate it." "Did you get anything from the street where the webcam was mounted?" Scully asked. Mulder nodded. "It's Pittsfield, all right. His prints were everywhere. So far no there's no match to Lily, though." "She didn't touch anything on camera," Grenier pointed out. Penelope looked uncomfortable. "I think maybe I should go." "No one is going anywhere," Amelia said as she returned. "It's late, and the snow is still coming down. I haven't seen a plow go by yet." "No, I couldn't," Penelope said. "I don't live that far. It's no problem, really." "I insist," Amelia replied through somewhat gritted teeth. "Morning is only a few hours away at this point, anyway." "Amelia, I can drive her home," Grenier said. "It's all right." Amelia looked pained. "I'd rather you stayed," she said softly. "Just for tonight." "Of course." He squeezed her and kissed her forehead. Mulder would have protested that he could drive home too, but Scully looked ready to drop. Amelia rounded up nightclothes for the women and blankets all around. Penelope took her bed, Amelia camped out on the floor in Natalie's room, Mulder and Scully shared the guest bed, and Grenier stationed himself like a bulldog on the living room couch. The battered pine headboard had seen some wear. "I can't believe she still has this thing," Mulder remarked as he undressed. "It was falling apart fifteen years ago." "Spare me the sordid details," Scully replied, slipping under the quilt. "Sorry," he said as he joined her under the covers. "I didn't mean it like that." "Forget about it. I was kidding." She snuggled into him, nose cold from the chilly room. "You know, Amelia was saying earlier that she thinks Penelope must be some cosmic payback for you." "Huh?" "I think maybe she has some idea of what Adam was feeling back then." "But they're divorced now." Scully squeezed him. "A piece of paper doesn't mean you stop caring. Plus, they have a child together. I imagine that changes things." Mulder hummed a reply and stroked her idly as he considered the day's strange events. Pittsfield had not wasted any energy on a charade. He'd come right out and announced both his presence and his intentions. Scully sighed into his chest. "What?" she asked finally. "Hmm?" "I can hear you thinking. What is it?" "The fact that Pittsfield was so bold bothers me. He didn't give any sort of warning when he took Lily. Why the dog and pony show this time?" "You think it's a distraction? That he's after something else besides Natalie?" "Could be." He gathered her closer and stared into the darkness beyond. "I just wonder: if he takes a new little girl, what's going to happen to the one he has now?" ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Breakfast convened just after the gray dawn, with five adults and one child crowded into Amelia's kitchen. Scully ended up bumping elbows with Natalie's high-chair tray as Amelia made pancakes. "Hello," Scully said, nodding formally. Natalie just stared at her for a long minute, and then moved her baby fork and spoon to the other side of her tray, as if Scully might have designs on them. Scully sighed and Mulder grinned at her from across the table. "This man you're after," Penelope said, "you say he's done this sort of thing before?" Scully looked sharply at Mulder, who had also caught the slip. None of them had said anything to Penny about the case, which meant that Grenier had talked. Grenier cleared his throat. "We can't discuss the details, honey. You know that." "I was just thinking that if I knew what he looked like, I could help you keep an eye out for him," Penny explained, and Grenier patted her hand. "Don't you worry about anything, okay? We're on top of it." Penny frowned, perhaps at Grenier's patronizing tone, perhaps because she was being left out of the action. She withdrew her hand and started to speak again when Amelia rescued the situation with a plate of pancakes. "Adam, can you cut one for Natalie?" she asked. Adam reached awkwardly but couldn't make contact. "I can do it," Scully said, determined. Natalie picked up her fork in her fist and squinted at Scully. Scully moved in slowly. "I'm going to cut you some pancakes, okay?" Natalie watched as Scully sliced her breakfast. Scully breathed a sigh of relief when she escaped without a baby fork in the eye. "What do you say?" prompted Amelia from across the room. Natalie stared at Scully again, then arched her back in joy and smiled. She stretched out a small hand and patted Scully's arm. For Scully, this was thank-you enough. "I think our best bet is to go back to Elliot Street," Mulder was saying. "Some one must have seen something." "The other stores might have security cameras that caught him on tape," Grenier agreed. "At what point do we contact Lily's parents?" Amelia asked, and the clatter of the forks stopped. "What?" she asked as they refused to look at her. "Someone has to tell them, don't you think?" "Tell them what?" Grenier asked mildly. "We don't know anything yet." "We know he's back." "Yes, and that's it. We don't have anything else we can tell them at this point." "Adam, you saw the tape." "We don't know it's her." He tightened his grip on his silverware. Amelia was silent for a moment. "If it were Natalie, I'd want to know." "It's not Natalie. It's not going to be Natalie." At her name, the girl stopped eating to watch her parents. "Eat your pancakes, sweetie," Amelia said, forcing a smile. She lowered her voice. "All I am saying is, those people went through hell, and we promised -- no, *I* promised -- that I would keep them informed of anything new. I don't care if that news comes six months or sixteen years later. They deserve to know." "As far as the Tuckers are concerned, this case closed sixteen years ago. Before I go to them and stir everything up again, I want to make damn sure I have reason to." "Adam--" "Uh-oh." Natalie's small voice echoed over the din. All eyes turned to her, but she was pointing at Scully. "Boo-boo," Natalie explained. "Jesus, Scully," Mulder said, lurching over the table and nearly upending everything. "What?" Scully asked a second before she felt the trickle. Her fingers flew to her nose, and they came away with blood. "Excuse me, please," she said, standing up and heading for the bathroom. She heard Mulder's heavy footsteps behind her. "Scully?" "It's fine, Mulder," she called back. She reached the gleaming white sink and bent slightly over it so the blood did not go down the back of her throat. She pinched her nose with one hand and grabbed a bunch of tissues with the other. "You okay?" Mulder asked from behind her. She met his eyes in the mirror. "Yes, it's not that bad. Really. This happens sometimes in the dry winter air." Mulder hesitated and then crowded into the small room with her. He shut the door behind him. Scully let him loom there as she rinsed the sink free of blood. "Better?" he asked after a minute. "It's stopped, see?" She threw the tissues in the garbage. She would have left but Mulder was blocking the door. "Maybe," he said, "maybe you shouldn't skip the tests today." "Why?" She gave him her best challenging glare. "Because of one nose bleed?" "Because there's no reason for you to skip them. Take the day, Scully. The case will still be here when you get back." "I already cancelled." He frowned. "So uncancel." "Mulder, if you want the tests so badly, you should have them yourself." "I'm not-- I wasn't sick." Her shoulders sagged. "Mulder," she said, rubbing her eyes like a tired child, "You know how this works. The tests are there purely to monitor my health; it's not like we could do anything with the results one way or another." "But if they're clean..." He broke off when she looked him in the eye. "And if they're not?" Mulder swallowed visibly. "Is that--is that a possibility?" "It's always a possibility." They stared at each other for a minute until Mulder grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her against him. She closed her eyes and hugged him back. "Hello?" Amelia knocked lightly on the door. "Everything okay?" Scully sniffed and pulled away. "Yes," she said. "I'm fine." ~*~*~*~*~*~ Grenier walked Penelope to her car as Mulder and Scully retrieved their coats. Natalie, caving to the tension in the air, clung to her mother. "Call me the minute you know anything," Amelia said to Mulder as she rubbed Natalie's back. Scully's phone rang from inside her coat pocket. She fished around for it and ignored the sharp poke of the "reminder" card for her now-canceled appointment. "Hello?" she said when the phone was free. Amelia and Mulder stopped talking to watch her face. "You did? And what did you find? I see. You're absolutely sure? Okay, thanks for rushing this one. I appreciate it." She clicked off with a sigh. "What?" Mulder asked. "They compared the little girl from the webcam to old pictures of Lily. It's not her." "You're positive?" Amelia said, holding Natalie closer. "The computer doesn't lie. The facial measurements of the two girls don't match." "Okay," Mulder said. "Then who the hell is she?" ~*~*~*~*~*~ End chapter three. Continued in chapter four. Sorry for the longer wait this time! Between the holidays and a recurrence of bad eyestrain, I haven't had much time at my computer lately. Thanks for bearing with me! Happy holidays. :-) Feedback always welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter Four ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Light filtered through the dark curtains he had nailed over the windows. From his bed, Pittsfield coughed and braced himself for the resulting pain. When the fit passed and he could breathe again, he squinted at the Advent calendar he had tacked to the wall. It read five days until Christmas. He coughed again and the girl came running. "Get me my drops," he said hoarsely. "Hurry now." She flew out of the room and returned clutching the small bottle. Still hacking, he downed the medicine while the girl knelt in prayer. The drops did their quick work and he relaxed, breathing hard, against the pillows. "Thank you, child," he said, and she got to her feet. Concern welled in her wide blue eyes. "Tell me again," she said. "Tell me again when the angel comes." He coughed lightly. "You know." She turned and looked at the Advent calendar. At the top, at the very last door, a glittery white angel surveyed the Christmas scene below. Twenty flaps had already been opened. "Five more days," she counted. "Four now." He nudged her. "Go ahead and open it." She bit her lip and looked at the floor. "I wish I could be the one. I wish I could be the one to make you well." "Pride is a sin, girl. You know your place." She shivered, chastened. "Yes, sir." "Now go do as I asked." She shuffled over to the calendar, where she opened the flap for December 21. Behind the door lay a tiny chocolate wrapped in red foil. She took it out and brought it to him in her palm. "It's for you," he reminded her, but she shook her head. "I want to save it for the angel." Tired, he smiled at her, and stretched out a heavy hand to her head. She bowed under his weight. "That's my good girl." She came to the bed and laid her cheek against his stomach. He stroked her hair, all the time thinking about the other. Did she feel him close? Did she know he was coming? He smiled. In four days she would fulfill her destiny at last. ~*~*~*~*~*~ Grenier was always easier to deal with when he was the one driving, so Mulder took shotgun without any quarrel. He chewed his thumbnail and watched the passing gray scenery as Grenier waxed on about their strategy for interviewing possible witnesses. Mulder did not think of his interrogation questions in advance; it was easier to catch someone off guard if you were shooting from the hip. Besides, he spent most of his time studying the person's face rather than listening to what they were saying. "...Scully's okay?" Her name brought him out of his fog, and Mulder shifted in his seat. "What?" "This morning, at breakfast. I just wanted to know if Scully's okay." "Yeah," Mulder sighed. He picked up the end of his tie and studied it. "Me too." Grenier looked at him. "You're worried she's sick?" How to even explain, Mulder thought. He and Scully did not get sick like other people. They didn't get colds or the flu or migraine headaches. No, they got incurable tumors and alien viruses. "I'm sure she's fine," Mulder said, trying out the words. Scully was better at the lie than he was. Hell, maybe she even believed it. "You guys have been together a long time now." It was Mulder's turn to look at Grenier. "So?" "Well, don't you think it might be time to fish or cut bait?" "I don't think Scully would want me commenting on any analogy that featured her as a fish." "You know what I mean." Mulder shook his head. "It doesn't matter to me, and I don't think she needs the piece of paper either." Grenier snorted. "They all want the piece of paper, Mulder." "Oh, yeah? You've got a kid with Amelia, and I don't see you with any official documentation." "Hey, we were married once. That's got to count for something, right?" He paused and then shrugged. "I asked. She turned me down." "Really?" "So I guess maybe you're right," Grenier said as he prepared to parallel park. "Maybe they don't all need the paper." Mulder avoided the slush by the side of the road as he stepped out of the car. "And Penelope?" he couldn't resist asking. The corner of Grenier's mouth twitched. "She's too young to be settling down." "Ah. I see. And Amelia was how old when you married her?" "Let's start with the CVS across from where Pittsfield put the camera," Grenier replied, effectively shutting down that subject. They crossed the brown slush-filled street and ducked in out of the wind. CVS was doing a brisk business for so early on a Friday morning. Canned strains of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" piped in overhead as shoppers in heavy winter coats elbowed each other for a place in line. The place smelled like cheap chocolate candy and wet wool. Six checkers busily ran up purchases as Grenier and Mulder surveyed the scene. "Which one you want to start with?" Grenier asked. Mulder pointed at the girl working the register closest to the glass front door. "Whoever was working that spot yesterday afternoon," he said. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Scully sat with her mug of tea in front of the computer that housed the FBI's database of missing children. The enormity of her task coupled with the lack of sleep had started a dull ache right behind her eyes. Though she never would have admitted it to Mulder, she was just as happy to have peace and quiet and the opportunity to sit down. She began by entering the cleaned-up still photo they had captured of the little girl from the webcam. Start with Oregon, she reasoned, since that was where Pittsfield had disappeared the first time. Scully entered the search criteria and then had the computer match the girl's face against the hundreds of photos of missing little girls over the past several years. As the computer began combing the database, Scully's cell phone rang. She glanced at the ID and saw it read, "Margaret Scully." "Hi, Mom," she said. "Dana, honey, it's Mom," answered her mother, and Scully rubbed her eyes with one hand. "Yes, Mom. How are you?" "I'm on my way to the airport now. Are you sure you won't reconsider coming out for Christmas? Even just for a few days?" "I'm sure." There was a pause on the other end, and Scully could hear her mother wrestling with a suitcase. "You know, of course, that Mulder would be welcome too. If he could tear himself away from work long enough." Tolerated, maybe. Welcome was stretching it a bit. "I know," Scully sighed. "But we're staying here this year. I'll see you at New Year's, okay? We'll... we'll drink champagne and watch the ball drop." "I still don't understand what made you change your mind. You've had the ticket for months, and it's wasted money now." Four weeks ago, Scully had been going to California as usual. Then she had woken up two mornings in a row with a nosebleed and decided to change her plans. "It's my money to waste," Scully returned. The computer beeped and Scully swiveled in her seat to look at the screen. "Look, Mom, I've got to go. I will call you back later, okay? Have a safe trip." She clicked off before her mother could prolong the conversation. No match found, the computer read. "Guess we'll try a more local search," Scully said to the empty room. The unnamed little girl stared back at her from the screen. "Someone wants you back," Scully told her. "We just have to figure out who it is." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The sullen, dishwater blonde popped the top on a diet Coke and leaned against a giant box of Kleenex cartons. The tag on her CVS vest read, "Laine." "Is this going to take long?" she asked. "I only get one break besides lunch." "That depends on you," Grenier said. "We understand from your supervisor that you were working the register closest to the door yesterday afternoon." "So?" Mulder showed her a couple of photos of Pittsfield and some black and white images they had captured from the webcam feed. "Did you see this man or this little girl yesterday? Inside or outside the store -- it doesn't matter -- we just want to know if you saw them." Laine gave the pictures a cursory glance. "We must have had a million people in here yesterday." "But were these two of them?" Mulder asked again. "Take one more look." "The hell if I know. It's the Christmas rush. We're mobbed as soon as we open, and it doesn't stop until closing. I barely get time to scratch my ass." "So you're saying you never saw these two people," Grenier pressed. Laine scowled. "I am saying it wouldn't matter if a yellow bus full of clowns pulled up outside and they all got out to turn cartwheels. My job is to make sure the signatures match the credit cards, not the faces." She handed them back the photos. "Can I go now? "Yeah, you can go," Mulder said. The storeroom door slammed with her exit, and Grenier turned. "That was pleasant. Do you suppose they're all so genial?" "Only one way to find out," Mulder replied with a sigh. He opened the door and motioned to the front. "Next!" ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ It was after two by the time Scully looked up from her computer screen again, and this time the reason for her distraction was Mulder. He carried a large paper sack and the air of a man who had not met with success. "No luck?" she asked as he dragged over a chair. "Grenier and I must have talked to fifty different people up and down the Elliot Street. Most swear they didn't see Pittsfield or the girl. Some say "maybe" they saw him, but they can't remember any details." "I wish I could say I've had better luck." Mulder pulled out a sandwich from his bag. "Nothing?" "I've tried every search I can think of, Mulder. If this girl is in the system anywhere, I can't find her." "I got you tuna salad," he said, handing her a sandwich wrapped in paper. "Thank god. I'm starved." He looked up, brightening. "Yeah?" She took a big bite as he hauled out the bottled water. He opened them while she rooted around in her waxed paper. "Pickle?" she said around a mouthful of tuna. He made a face. "Here, take both of them." She smiled as he flung them her way. "And here Amelia was just telling me how you would eat anything. I guess you must not have mentioned your little pickle phobia to her." "It's not a phobia. I believe am the sensible one here. I mean, look at those things. They are green and slimy and they smell bad." She hid a smile. "That has never stopped you before. He nudged her and she nudged back, but after that she focused all her attention on eating. Mulder chewed thoughtfully and looked at the computer screen. "If he's after Natalie, maybe he took this one really young too. The picture wouldn't necessarily match then." "I thought of that. The computer takes measurements of the features and calculates the distance between them. It's not an exact science, but you can take the ratios and use them as individual markers. As you age, the absolute distance of your features changes, but the ratios remain roughly the same." He sat back in his seat and shook his head. "Gary Pittsfield may be searching for Jesus Christ, but he himself seems to have the ability to play God. He makes one girl vanish and another appear from nowhere." "She belongs to someone, Mulder. I think maybe when we figure out what happened to Lily, we might have a better idea of how he got the second girl." "If she's the second," Mulder said quietly. "You think there are more?" "Only Peter Pan stayed a child forever, Scully, and Pittsfield likes them young." His phone rang and he fished it out while Scully wiped her mouth. "Mulder," he said. He lurched forward in his seat. "Slow down. Slow down. Who's missing? Okay, we're on our way. Lock all the doors and call the police." "What?" Scully asked, already grabbing her coat. "Amelia let her dog out in the backyard and now it's missing." "Who would want the dog?" "I don't know." Mulder's mouth set in a grim line. "Maybe it's a dress rehearsal." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Amelia was waiting for them by the front door. "I finally reached Adam," she said as she let them inside. "He's on his way." "Tell us exactly what happened," Mulder said, stamping snow from his shoes as they crowded in the narrow front hall. Natalie clung to her mother's leg. "I let Gypsy out into the back yard while I finished cleaning up from lunch, the same as I always do. It's fenced in and she likes to run around out there for a while, and then I let her back in when she barks at the door." As she talked, she led them back into the kitchen and pointed out the window over the sink. "I saw her sniffing around the pine trees while I was loading the dishwasher, but then when I stood up again, she was gone." "You mean you couldn't see her?" Scully asked. "I can't explain it. I looked out the window and I knew she was gone. I went outside and yelled for her to come, but she wasn't there." Amelia opened the back door to show them. "I found the gate unlocked and paw prints down the driveway." "Footprints too?" Mulder asked, stepping out onto the back porch and surveying the scene. "No. Not in the yard." Amelia hugged herself. "Just the dog prints." Mulder went down the back steps to investigate, and Scully turned to Amelia. "How long from the time you let her out until the time you noticed her missing?" "Ten minutes? About that." She shivered. "It's just like what happened to Lily. I looked away for just a second..." "Hello?" Grenier called from the front of the house. "Amelia?" "Back here, Adam!" He swept in, black coat flapping with a fresh burst of outside air. "Still nothing?" he demanded as he hoisted Natalie into his arms. "Mulder's out looking around now," Amelia explained. "Adam, this makes no sense. Why would he take Gypsy?" "We don't know he did take her," Grenier replied as Natalie played with his tie. "Some madman threatens to take our daughter, and then our dog disappears? I don't think this is just coincidence, Adam." "She's gotten out before," Grenier replied. "And remember how she ended up here in the first place." Scully raised her eyebrows in question, and Amelia took a deep breath. "She was a stray," Amelia said. "She wandered in off the street, begging, and that's why we named her 'Gypsy.' Adam, she hasn't gotten out since we put the new latch on the gate." "No," Grenier admitted. "But there's always a first time. Besides, you have to admit it's strange. Why would Pittsfield want to take Gypsy? He's never done this sort of thing before." "Everything's different this time," Mulder said, stepping into the kitchen again. "He's doing everything he can to let us know he's coming. The question is why." "Mulder, what did you find outside?" Scully asked. Natalie smiled at Mulder and tried to direct his attention out the window. "Car," she said. "Plenty of paw prints, but not much else. The latch had been opened -- apparently from inside because you'd need a hook or something to reach over the fence from the driveway. It looks like Gypsy ran down the driveway towards the street, but I lose her prints in the slush." "Car," Natalie said again, wriggling to get down. "Mulder, car." "Not now, Natalie," her father said. He spoke over her head to Amelia. "We'll go look for Gypsy, okay? Maybe the latch was loose and she saw her escape and took it." "The latch wasn't loose." "We'll find her," Grenier said. "Car, car, car!" Natalie wiggled to the floor and ran to Mulder. "Car, Mulder," she said, reaching up for his hand. He patted her head. "I can't right now," he said. "I have to go look for your dog, and then we can play later." "Doggie?" Natalie went and pressed her small nose against the glass door to the backyard. "Dooooogie," she called, but Gypsy didn't come. "I can't stay here," Amelia said. "Not like this." "You can stay with me," Grenier answered. "As long as you like." Scully wandered over to where Natalie was banging her small palm against the cold glass. "Hi," she said. Natalie sighed and cast a baleful look at Mulder, who was discussing dog-catching strategies with Grenier. "Mulder car," she explained to Scully sadly. "That's her new game," Amelia said, joining them. "She likes to watch the cars go by outside." "Car," Natalie agreed as she pointed towards the front of the house where the street was. "Really," Scully said, following her gaze. "Were you looking at cars this morning?" "God, yes. It's trash day. Natalie never misses a pickup." "Okay, and what else did you see?" Amelia's eyes widened. "You think he drove by?" "Could be. Worth a shot, in any case." "Okay..." Amelia started walking back through the house with Natalie and Scully on her heels. "We were sitting on the couch, watching the traffic. The garbage man came at 11. There was an oil delivery next door shortly after that. God, I don't know. The cars were all the same, you know?" "Car!" Natalie clambered up to watch the window. "What's going on?" Mulder materialized in the room with Grenier just behind him. "Amelia and Natalie were watching the front of the house this morning," Scully replied. "It's possible they could have seen something." Natalie chortled with delight to have all four adults crowded behind her looking out the window. "One car," she said. "Two car." "A lot of SUVs," Amelia said, putting her hand to her eyes as she tried to think. "Dark colored, mostly. A dirty white van. I remember thinking it needed cleaning. Oh, and a VW bus." "Bus!" Natalie agreed, making engine noises. "It was yellow," said Amelia, "and Natalie's right. The muffler was off. It made a ton of noise." "Even if he did drive by," Grenier said, "how can we know who was driving? You can't see faces from here." "Bus, bus, bus..." Natalie patted the window. "Wait a second," Mulder said. "A yellow, VW bus? When did it go past?" "Right before lunch. Why?" "That's him," Mulder said. Off Grenier's puzzled look, Mulder explained. "That girl from CVS, the one who could see the street -- she said she wouldn't have noticed if a bunch of clowns came out of a yellow bus and turned cartwheels, remember?" "She saw him. God damn." They ran out the door with Natalie still waving from the window. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ End chapter four. Continued in chapter five. Thanks muchly to Amanda for proofing! Any remaining mistakes are mine alone. Feedback is always welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com Happy new year, everyone! _ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter Five ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The light outside turned blue and dimmed. He released a deep, rumbling cough as he hoisted himself from the bed and walked to the window. Pushing aside the curtain, he peered out at the shadowed street. The girl stopped playing with her dolls on the floor. "Is it time?" she asked. "Soon," he told her, turning to smile. "He'll be here soon. You remember what to do?" "Yes. I'm not a baby." "No, of course not." He chuckled, coughing, and stretched out an arm to her. "Come here with me." She pressed her nose against the glass, breath fogging the window. "Tell me again how I'll know him." "He will come in the night, like a thief. He will wear a long black coat and not come to the door as a proper person would do. He'll come in through a window with a torch and a gun." "To--to kill us?" "Yes, child. I'm afraid that's what Satan does. But we won't let him win, now will we?" He popped a candy in his mouth and stroked her soft blond hair as they watched out the window, and waited. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Mulder's coat flared behind him as he strode into the CVS with Grenier in close pursuit. Laine was at the same register she had been minding when they had questioned her the first time. "You lied to us," Mulder said, cutting in front of an old man who was counting out his bill in nickels. The man went right on counting. "You saw Pittsfield." Grenier elbowed his way in and leaned over the counter. Laine rolled her eyes at them and continued ringing up the six sticks of deodorant in front of her. Mulder snatched her arm and held it tight. "Let's go back and try this conversation again, shall we?" "Ow, let go. You're hurting me!" "A jail sentence for obstruction is going to hurt a whole lot more." He began dragging her from around the counter. "Hey, what's going on here?" the manager demanded to know. Grenier flashed his ID and Mulder continued hauling Laine to the back storeroom. He released her as soon as the door banged shut behind them. The girl stumbled and rubbed her forearm. "Okay," Mulder said. "From the top: when did you see the VW bus?" "He's not a kidnapper." "That's not what we asked you," Grenier said. Lanie scowled. "He was in around noon, okay? He bought a magazine and a candy bar for the girl." "He was in the store?" Mulder exchanged a look with Grenier. "And you didn't think to mention this?" "Listen, you've got the wrong guy. There's no way he kidnapped that little girl. She was happy to be with him - - giggling and holding his hand." Grenier whipped out his notebook. "Start at the beginning and don't leave anything out. Exactly what time did he come in?" "I don't know *exactly*. He came in before I went on lunch break." "You saw the van," Mulder said. "Yeah. You don't get too many of them like that around here. It was in pretty good shape too." "I don't suppose you saw the license plate." "I suppose I did. It was one of those vanity type ones that said 'ANGEL.' I could see he had a little angel doll hanging down from the mirror, too. He was a nice man. Polite. He smiled and let me keep the change. I'm telling you, you've got the wrong guy." "Don't you love it when punk kids try to tell us our jobs?" Grenier asked Mulder. He advanced on Laine, causing her to back up until she was pressed against the wall. "This man took a six year old girl named Lily from her own backyard and drove her hundreds of miles away from her family. Then he dragged her screaming and terrified through the woods only to throw her off a cliff into the ocean." Laine turned pale. "You still think he's sweet?" Grenier demanded. "You still think a few extra pennies justifies lying to the FBI?" "I-- I didn't know." "Now you do," Mulder said quietly. He stepped forward. "You need to tell us everything you know." "Well, that's the thing... The little girl he was with? He called her Lily." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Scully swallowed her Tylenol while still in the gas station convenience store. The flickering neon light over the counter did little to quell her nausea. "Is this it for you, Ma'am?" asked the clerk as he rung up the sunflower seeds. Scully replaced the cap on her bottle of water and squinted out at the parking lot, where Mulder sat in their omnipresent Taurus. It was hour two of the stakeout and who knew when they might get to eat dinner? Scully added a giant Hershey's bar to her purchases and then paid the tab. Out in the car, she tossed the sunflower seeds at Mulder. "Pre-shelled," he remarked sadly as he studied the bag. "Yes, but they stock eighty-seven kinds of beer." "If Pittsfield doesn't show soon, I may go buy a case." Scully picked up the binoculars and studied the small house across the street. "We aren't even sure he's in there," she reminded Mulder. "The van was registered to a Henry Hutton." "It's him," Mulder said, popping a seed. "The place is pitch black and all the blinds are drawn. I'll bet you anything that garage has a yellow VW van on it." "But until we see it -- or Pittsfield -- we can't get a warrant." Their walkietalkie crackled, and Grenier came on the line. "Anything?" "Nothing here," Mulder said. "Anything by you?" "I had a dog come piss all over my tires, but that's about the only excitement I've seen today. I still say the little shit's in there." "I agree." "Let's go up and ring the bell," Grenier suggested. "He's all but waved the flag at us anyway." "Not yet." Mulder chewed thoughtfully. "Let me get back to you in a minute, okay?" "Mulder?" Scully asked. "What are you thinking?" "I'm thinking none of this feels right. The poster, the van, the webcam -- hell, he's even sitting here in a house in the middle of suburbia. It's not like Pittsfield is making even the slightest effort to hide. I can't help thinking that if we're sitting here, it's because that's where he wants us to be." He crunched another seed, and Scully rubbed her eyes with one hand. "Okay, then what do you propose?" "We need to get in that house." Mulder began dusting off his hands. "What? Where are you going?" "I might be able to see into that garage." "If you can't see it from the sidewalk, it's still not enough for a warrant." "I'll swear out an affidavit to my eagle eyes," Mulder replied as he opened the door. Scully took up the binoculars again and watched him jog across the wide, busy street. There were no signs of life in the small house on the hill. Mulder skulked up the driveway, keeping close to the scraggly bushes at the side. The radio crackled again. "What the hell is he doing?" Grenier demanded. "Looking for the van," Scully replied. She peeked again. Mulder had reached the garage and was peering through the dark window. Scully found herself checking the house and back again, just to be sure. "C'mon," she muttered when he lingered. Mulder froze. Even from a hundred yards away, Scully saw the change come over him. She froze too in response, her heart caught in her throat. His head tilted; he saw something in the yard. Scully shifted the binoculars a fraction so she could look too. What happened afterward seemed so unreal that time spread out like taffy. The world around her closed off; she saw Mulder turn, saw the gun. She never heard the shot. Mulder took a million years to fall. Seconds later, Scully jerked alert again at the sound of her own scream. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ She had been waiting for him just as she was supposed to do, with the curtain pulled back an inch so she could see him creeping up in his black coat. He was huge and scary. She clutched the heavy gun and opened the back door. He saw her coming and she could tell he recognized her -- just the way that Father said he would. He started to speak but she pointed the gun at him. "Wait," he said. She didn't wait. She fired four times until he fell down. The gun slipped from her hands and she ran through the woods. Wind frosted her ears until it hurt. The cold air burned her lungs. She ran and ran until she found the road, where Father was waiting with the car. "I did it," she told him, still panting. "It's done." "Good girl. Now buckle your seatbelt. We still have work to do." She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes, tired from conquering Satan. ~*~*~*~*~*~ Scully reached Mulder before Grenier did, crashing to her knees beside him as Mulder gripped his leg in pain. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth. It was dark enough that she couldn't see to disagree with him. "Where are you hurt?" "Mulder?" Grenier said, catching up. "What the hell happened? Are you okay?" "I'm fine. Get the girl." Grenier took off running through the woods. Scully gingerly inspected Mulder's leg where he was holding it. Her hands came away cold and wet with blood. "Mulder, we need to get you to a hospital." "I'm lucky she's such a lousy shot." His teeth started chattering. Scully called for the ambulance, one hand on the phone and the other one on Mulder's chest. As long as he was still breathing, so could she. "Hang in there, Mulder," she told him. "They're on the way." Sweat broke out across his brow. "It was the girl from the webcam. I didn't see the gun at first." "Here, let me do that." She pried his hands loose from his thigh and inspected the wound with her flashlight. Blood oozed through his pants but not at an alarming rate. "She didn't hit an artery," she told Mulder, relieved. "You're going to be okay." "My hero," Mulder said weakly. Scully ignored him and applied pressure to his wound. "Ow!" "Sorry." She winced as he did but did not let up the pressure. In the distance, sirens began to wail. Grenier came thrashing back out of the woods, breathing hard. "No sign of her," he said. "She must have made it to the road." "Where Pittsfield was waiting," Mulder concluded. "Shh, lie still," Scully said. An ambulance pulled into the driveway with its red lights flashing. Grenier loomed over Mulder. "Shot by a six year-old," he said, shaking his head. "At least when I took a bullet it was from a real criminal. This is sad, Mulder. Truly sad." Mulder coughed. "At least I am not *dating* a six year- old," he retorted. "Enough. The both of you." The paramedics trudged up the icy driveway to displace Scully. She moved all of three feet, hovering in the slush as the EMTs went to work on Mulder. The arriving cruisers created a dizzying light show on the snow-covered lawn. Grenier shifted to stand beside Scully and cast a grim look down at the blood on her clothes. "Well, here's one piece of good news," he said. "I'm thinking we shouldn't have any trouble getting that warrant now." ~*~*~*~*~* Mulder had his eyes shut when she slipped into his hospital room. Scully closed the door softly but he awoke anyway. "Hey," she said, moving to stand next to the bed. "How are you feeling?" He was pale and pantless but otherwise looked okay. "It's nothing but a flesh wound, Ma'am," he said. "I'll be up and hunting cattle rustlers again by morning time." Scully took his hand. "She could have killed you, Mulder." "Yeah," he said, sobering. "But she didn't. And I can't help thinking Pittsfield must not want me dead all that badly if he trusted a six year-old to do the job." "Grenier says the house was definitely Pittsfield's -- the prints inside match the ones we have on file. Still no ID on the girl." Mulder squeezed her hand and began easing out of the bed. "You want to hand me my pants, Scully?" "Mulder, no. Where do you think you're going?" "Back to that house. So far Pittsfield has us chasing our tails, doing exactly what he wants us to do. I want to know what the real plan is." "Grenier's over there, Mulder. He's on top of things." "Grenier is very, very good at connecting the dots. He is not so good at seeing the dots to begin with." Mulder groaned as his feet hit the floor. "I need the crutches." "You need to get back in bed." "The doctors said I could go home." "Home to bed." Mulder lurched for his pants and caught them. "I will go home to bed. I just want to make a pit stop first." "No. Mulder, I can't let you do this. If you think I'm going to help you go out on crutches the freezing cold, back to a crime scene that may still be potentially dangerous, then you are crazier than I ever believed." "I need help putting my pants on," Mulder said as though she had never spoken. "Mulder! 'First do no harm' -- remember that little credo? I am not going to help you go out and injure yourself further." Mulder sighed, fingers clenching around his pants. He looked at her. "Okay, Scully. I will make you a deal. I will stay here and rest like a good boy if you stay and have those tests done." "Wh-what?" "You heard me." He held her gaze. "If you stay, then so will I." "It's the middle of the night. The people who do those sorts of tests aren't here right now." "You're telling me they can't do a CAT scan? There's no one in the lab doing blood tests?" Scully was silent. "Yeah, that's what I thought," Mulder said, resigned. He lifted his good leg and started putting on his pants. Progress was slow, and lines of pain etched his features. "Here, let me do that," she said at last. She helped him maneuver both legs into the loose pants. "I don't know what you expect to find at the house," she said, not looking at him. Mulder put a hand on her head. "It's what I'm not expected to find that counts." ~*~*~*~*~*~ Scully held the door for him as he limped into the house. "One quick look," she warned. Mulder leaned on his crutches and surveyed the living room. A battered couch; two chairs and a floor lamp. There was a stack of newspapers sitting by the fireplace. The windows had dark curtains nailed over them, and the bookcases were empty. "Hey, you're back," Grenier said as he poked his head into the room. "Momentarily," Scully said, more to Mulder than to Grenier. "What've you got?" Mulder wanted to know. "Look at this." Grenier led them down the hall to a small pink bedroom. "We think this is the one the girl was using. Her fingerprints are everywhere and there are clothes in the closet that seem to be the right size. Check this out." He pulled a purple notebook off of the small desk. "It says Lily Ann Tucker." "We know it's not her," Mulder said. "Yeah, but I am guessing the girl doesn't know that. But check out the next room." They moved next door to a second pink bedroom. This one had an angel poster on the wall above the bed. "For the new acquisition," Mulder murmured as he looked around. "There's a layer of dust on the desk here. He must have been planning this for quite some time." Scully spotted something shiny glinting in the shag carpet. She stooped to pick it up. "What is it?" Grenier asked. "A foil candy wrapper," Scully said. She began unrolling the tiny ball. The foil was red and gold, with the number 21 stenciled on it. "Looks like it's from an Advent calendar." "A what?" Mulder asked. "A calendar to mark the days before Christmas," Scully explained. "You open a slot for each day, and some of them have chocolates behind them." "He's counting down to Christmas then," Mulder said. "Three more days." "You think that's when he means to take Natalie?" Grenier asked. "It means something to him." Mulder looked around the room. "I'm still not convinced he wants Natalie, though." "Why?" Scully asked. Mulder gestured around with one of his crutches. "Just look. There's no crib." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ It was after one in the morning by the time they got back to Mulder's place. Mulder used his last scrap of energy to drag himself to the bed, where he let Scully tuck him under the covers. She looked as bad as he felt, with the circles under her eyes and his blood still dotting her clothes. "Vicodin is one of the great discoveries of our time," he told her. She smiled and smoothed his hair. "Right up there with remote-control TV." Scully adjusted the covers first one way and then the other. He watched her for a minute before grabbing her hand. "Scully." "Hmm?" "You're fussing." "I'm not." She picked lint from his pillow with her free hand. Mulder smiled and kissed the center of her palm. "Come to bed," he told her. She halted, not looking at him. "You scared the life out of me today." "You and me both. Shot by a six year-old girl. Out of all the indignities I've suffered, Scully, that has to be the worst." "Well, I am glad you can laugh about it." He tugged her down against his chest. "I'm fine," he murmured in her ear. She hugged him tight. "This was not how I envisioned Christmas together," she said. "Oh? What did you have planned?" He stroked her hair. "Definitely less bloodshed." "Ah, so that's why you skipped the family get-together," he teased, and she poked him. They rested together in silence for a moment. At last, Scully eased away. "I should let you get some sleep," she said, cupping his cheek. "You must be exhausted." She started to leave but he stopped her. "Scully?" He waited until she looked at him. "Get the tests done, okay?" She hesitated a beat, studying his face, and then nodded. "I will." "Tomorrow?" "Mulder--" She stopped when he squeezed her hand hard. "Okay," she said with a sigh. "Tomorrow." She turned down the lights on her way out and Mulder drifted to the sounds of Scully getting ready for bed. Vicodin did its beautiful work. The next thing Mulder knew, the phone was ringing. He jerked awake, trying to clear his fuzzy head, and saw that Scully was not in bed. The clock read two-oh-nine. "Scully?" he called. The phone was out of his reach. Scully did not answer, so Mulder scooted over to the very edge of the bed and groped for the phone. "Hello?" he said roughly. "Mulder, Natalie's gone!" Amelia was hysterical on the other end. "I went to check on her, and she's gone!" "Grenier?" "He's on the way. So are the cops. I didn't hear anything! She was fine just a few hours ago. Oh, God. What am I going to do?" "I'm on my way," Mulder said. He replaced the phone. "Scully?" Light came from the hall but there was no sign of Scully. Mulder tried to make his heavy limbs cooperate. He grabbed the crutches and headed for the bathroom. "Scully, Natalie's missing. We have to--" He stopped short at the sight of Scully lying face down on the tile cold floor. Blood ran from her nose. "Scully!" ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ End chapter five. Continued in chapter six. Thanks to Amanda for proofing! Sorry for the lengthy delay this time. With the new job, I don't get as much free time to write, and the bad eyestrain has prevented me from using what little time I do have. I do apologize for making you wait so long. Hopefully the time between chapters five and six won't be as bad. All feedback welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com ~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter Six ~*~*~*~*~*~ The phone woke him in the dead of night. They slept in sleeping bags on the ground, the girl just a few feet away. He fumbled for the cell, coughing as he answered. "What?" A voice whispered in the darkness. "I have what you want." "Who is this?" He shot straight up in bed. "You know. You've always known." "Angel," he said, gripping the phone. "I've got her, and if you want her you'll do exactly what I say. Do you hear me? Exactly." He forced himself to listen to the words. Already he was adjusting, making new plans. This was a new wrinkle but it was nothing he couldn't handle. He wasn't about to be outplayed two days before his resurrection. With the arrangements made, he snapped off his phone and shoved away the bag. "Get up! Get up!" He cried to the girl as he hurried to get into his pants. She sat up rubbing her eyes. "It's Christmas?" she asked sleepily. "Christmas come early this year, girl. Get your clothes on." She wiggled out of her sleeping bag, shivering as her bare feet met the cold ground. "Where are we going?" "Where else, child?" He tossed her a rag doll shaped like an angel. "It's time to bring her home." ~*~*~*~*~ Mulder lurched back towards the bathroom as fast as he could with his crutches and his cell. Cold sweat on his palms made the journey difficult. He paused against the wall as the emergency operator picked up. "Nine-one-one," said the operator. "What is your emergency?" "My partner, I found her on the bathroom floor. She's not moving." "Is she breathing?" "I don't know. I don't know." Scully hadn't moved. The blood dried on her face indicated she'd been lying there for quite some time. Mulder's crutches clattered to the hard tile floor as he fell on his hands beside Scully. Pain burned like liquid fire through his leg. He braced his weight on one arm and held a shaky finger under her nose. Her breath tickled over his skin. "She's breathing." "I've got the ambulance on the way, sir. Has she been sick?" God, the eternal question. "She's been having headaches, yeah. And a few days ago she was pretty dizzy." He could hear the shift in the woman's voice. "How long has she been having these headaches?" "I don't know," Mulder said tersely. He shook Scully's shoulder. "Scully," he said. "Wake up. Come on. Wake up." She roused slowly, blinking in the harsh bathroom light. She gave him a confused look. "Mulder?" she said as she tried to sit up. "You're s'posed to be in bed." "She's awake," Mulder said into the phone. He put it aside and tried to maneuver closer to Scully as best he could without pressing down on his leg. "Mulder, what's going on?" "Shhh, lie still. The ambulance is on its way." "Ambulance?" She struggled against his ministrations, trying to see his leg. "Did something happen? Are you okay?" "Scully, I found you passed out here on the floor." "What?" She looked around sharply, as if just noticing their surroundings for the first time. "Are you cold?" He dragged down a large bath towel and put it over her legs. "Mulder, stop. I'm fine." His fingers clenched around the towel. "You are not fine. This is your *blood* here on my floor, Scully. You are anything but fine." Scully looked down at the half-dried splotches and her hand flew to her nose. Mulder nodded at her, exhausted. Outside, the wail of the ambulance drew closer. "Mulder," she said, sounding defeated. He patted her leg through the towel. "I know." Taking a deep breath, he shifted to try to stand. "I should go let them in." "Mulder, no. I'll go." He grabbed the sink and closed his eyes, steadying himself against the pain. "You stay right there and don't move. I don't want you passing out again and cracking your head open." He retrieved the crutches, nearly losing his balance in the process, and started slowly toward the front door. Dimly, he was aware his cell phone was ringing on the bathroom floor but he did not stop to think about it. His leg wound throbbed with every slight movement. Mulder kept his breathing even so he would not vomit on the EMTs' feet. He heard their heavy footsteps in the hall and flung open the door. "You called?" asked the first guy, a large kid with a baby face who looked like he should have been home playing Nintendo. "This way," Mulder said, moving so they could enter. They stopped short. Mulder turned to see what they were staring at and saw Scully standing in the living room. Dried blood streaked down her white pajamas. Her face was still a mess. In her hand was his cell phone. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, deadly quiet. But he saw the phone was trembling. When he didn't answer, her voice rose a notch. "Natalie's missing. Why didn't you tell me?" "I've been a bit occupied here," Mulder snapped. Adrenaline surged over him like a wave. Truth told, he hadn't given Natalie a second thought since finding Scully motionless on the bathroom floor. "Was that Grenier?" "No, Amelia. She's out of her mind." "Ma'am?" said the first EMT. "You mind if we take a look at you?" They guided Scully to Mulder's couch and sat her down. "Do you know how long you were unconscious for?" the EMT asked her. "I don't know. What time is it?" Mulder saw the clock read two twenty-six but did not answer her question. He leaned on one crutch and rubbed his head with his free hand. "He took her right from her crib, with Amelia in the house. He must have been planning that all along." "I thought you said he didn't want Natalie," Scully said as the EMT shone a light in her eyes. "I know what I said." His phone rang again, and Mulder pitched forward in an effort to grab it, but Scully beat him to the punch. "Scully," she said. The EMTs sat back on their haunches, looking frustrated. Mulder hobbled around them to get a better look at Scully's face. "Who is this?" she was asking. She looked more like a shooting victim than he did, pale and still coated in blood, but her voice was steady. Her eyes went wide as she stretched out her arm to hand him the phone. "Pittsfield," she mouthed. Mulder snatched the phone and brought it to his ear, listening for a second before he said anything. He heard only breathing on the other end. "Mulder," he said. "Agent Mulder, how nice to be in touch again for the holidays, don't you think?" Mulder had no way of knowing if it was really Pittsfield on the other end; the man's face was burned in his brain forever, but he had never heard him speak. "As ever," Mulder agreed. "I'm planning a big turkey dinner this year, Pittsfield. What are you planning? The man chuckled. "I think by now you know what I'm planning." "No, I don't feel quite in the loop. Enlighten me." "I am, I am. Why do you think I called?" "I have no idea." Still coy, Pittsfield replied, "You do. I know you do. You and Amelia. I heard what was going on back then. I did my homework. You expect me to believe she hasn't called you?" "Called me about what?" Mulder wanted to hear him say it. "Natalie, of course. Such a pretty child. Such a shame what's happened to her." Mulder's heart sank. "What's happened?" "Nothing yet, but if you want to see that little girl again, you'll do exactly as I tell you." Mulder listened as Pittsfield detailed plans to meet at a high school football field outside of the city. "So I do this, and what -- you give me Natalie? What's in it for you?" "You'll see soon enough. Be there in an hour, or the girl is gone. Come alone." Pittsfield hung up, so Mulder did as well. Scully was watching him intently as the EMTs took her blood pressure. "Well? What did he want?" "He wants me to meet him alone in some football field, but he won't say why. He claims if I don't come, we won't see Natalie again." "Mulder, no. You can't even walk, let alone drive. Besides, it's probably just a trap. This man had you shot earlier tonight, or have you forgotten that already?" The EMTs turned their heads to stare at Mulder. "Listen," the younger one said to Scully, "I don't know what's going on here, but we need to get you to the hospital and get your head checked out." Scully ignored them, slipping free and walking over to Mulder. "You are in no shape for this," she told him in a lowered voice. "I know you want to help Natalie. But Pittsfield's not going to just hand her over without a fight. At best, he's probably leading you *away* from Natalie, and at worst you'll get yourself killed." "What do you propose to do?" Mulder replied in a harsh whisper. She drew herself up. "I'll go. I'll--I'll take Grenier with me." "Uh-huh," Mulder said, shaking his head emphatically. "No way." "I'm fine." "Scully." He grabbed her arm gently and forced her to turn so she could see herself in the mirror. "You need to see a doctor." She searched her face in the mirror, and then shoulder sagged under his grip. "So what do we do?" she whispered. He gathered her to him, crutches and all. "He wants me, he gets me. I'll take Grenier. Amelia too. We'll get him." Scully turned her face against his T-shirt and hugged him tight. "I don't like this, Mulder." "Me either, but I don't see another way." "Agent Scully?" the EMT said. "We should really get going now." Mulder felt her arms close around him tighter, and he kissed the top of her head. "You go take of yourself. I'll be there as soon as I can." "Call me," she said. "The minute you know something, you call me. Okay?" The EMTs insisted on putting Scully on a stretcher. Mulder wobbled out behind them, already on the phone to Grenier. He paused to squeeze Scully's hand before they loaded her into the ambulance. "Be careful," she said, her eyes full of worry. "Hey, as long as he doesn't bring the six year-old this time, I should be okay." He smiled. "Talk to you soon." Distracted by Scully and his phone call, Mulder lingered in front of his building with his head down against the cold wind. Grenier would be arriving any minute to pick him up. In the shadows down the street, Pittsfield also waited, watching; his time was running out. ~*~*~*~*~*~ Ice cracked beneath the tires of Grenier's car as he rolled to a stop not far from the Kennedy High School football field. Mulder scanned the area with his binoculars but could not see much. "It's too damn dark," he said. "No doubt that's why he picked it," Grenier replied. "Can you see Amelia?" "No." "Amelia, are you there?" Grenier asked the walkie-talkie. "I'm here. I saw your lights cut out." "Any sign of him?" "Not from this entrance." Mulder checked the clock on the dash. It glowed almost three-thirty a.m., the time of the appointed meeting with Pittsfield. "I'd better get out there." "Mulder, wait." Mulder stopped with his hand on the door. "What?" "I just-- Doesn't this feel off to you? Nothing he's doing this time is even remotely like it was seventeen years ago. You're going to be the Christmas goose out there, Mulder. He could shoot you from any one of these buildings and be long gone before we even knew what was happening." They stared at each other in the dim light. Mulder knew Grenier had to be thinking the same thing he was: Pittsfield would not grab Natalie just to hand her back a few hours later for nothing in return. Mulder shrugged. "The way I figure it, he had a whack at me earlier today. If he had wanted me dead, I think he would have pulled the trigger himself. "And what if that's the point of this little rendezvous? He shoots you, takes off with Natalie, and we never see her again." "If you've got a better plan, I'm listening." "Fuck." Grenier covered his face with both hands. "Go," he said, face still covered. "We'll watch your back as best we can." Mulder opened the door into the frigid night. "And Mulder?" "Yeah?" "Thanks." Mulder looked down and patted the door absently. "Yeah." More patting. "Okay, let's do this." His crutches punched holes through the ice, his breathing fogging in air in nervous huffs as he made his way onto the field. Laboriously, he trudged on until he reached the spot where the fifty-yard mark would be. The empty stadium was covered in a thin blanket of snow, lit only by the moon overhead. Mulder shivered and scanned the edges of the fenced-in field for any sign of movement. Both Grenier and Amelia were out there, but he couldn't see them. He wondered if the same were true for Pittsfield. Minutes ticked by and Mulder moved around to keep from getting frostbite on his toes. "We may have been set up," he murmured to his friends in the bushes. Just then, a dark figure emerged from behind the bleachers at the far side of the field. Mulder squinted but he couldn't get a good look. The person was wearing a dark hat and a long dark coat. "Someone's here," he muttered. He waited, holding his breath as the figure started walking purposefully toward the center of the field. "This is it," Mulder told Grenier and Amelia. "No sign of the baby yet." He forced himself to look nonchalant as the figure strode closer. Something was familiar about the gait. Mulder turned the cadence over in his head, attempting to match it with the terrible chase through the woods years before. Instead a different match clicked into place. "Penelope," he breathed, just as she got close enough that he could see her face. A face he could not believe he had managed to forget. With the hat and the scarf on, all the extras faded away and Mulder saw only her eyes. The girl froze. Her eyes went round with fright, then narrowed in fury. She turned to run, but Mulder was no match for her. He shouted for Amelia and Grenier. "It's Penelope! She's headed for the bleachers!" Mulder started in clumsy pursuit as Grenier appeared, streaking down center field at top speed. "Where? Where?" he demanded. Out of breath, Mulder could only point. Grenier took off with Amelia close on his heels. By the time Mulder caught up with them under the bleachers, Grenier had the girl by the throat up against a pole. "What have you done?" he screamed at her. "Where is my daughter?" The metal pole shook as Grenier slammed her repeatedly against it. Penelope coughed, shaking. Amelia bore down on her too. "Where is my daughter? Where is Natalie?" "Stop!" Mulder limped over to them. "Stop it!" "ANSWER ME!" Grenier raged. "God damn you, Penelope--" "That's not Penelope!" Mulder shouted. Grenier just shook the girl harder. "Where is my daughter?" "Adam!" Mulder forced his way into the mix. "Listen to me. That's Lily. It's Lily!" Grenier swallowed several gulps of air. His fingers bit into the girl's chin as he forced her too look into his eyes. Tears streaked her cheeks and her hat had nearly fallen off in the struggle. "My God," Grenier whispered. He dropped his hand. She coughed again, sagging weakly against the poll. Her eyes glittered as she looked at the stunned agents one by one. "You never found me," she said, her voice hoarse. "So I found you." "Where is Natalie?" Amelia asked. "Please just tell me where she is." Penelope closed her eyes. "Go to hell." Grenier's hand was around her throat again in an instant. "You've been dead for seventeen years, girl. No one's going to miss you now." "Adam," Mulder said. "Stay out of this, Mulder!" "Adam, look! That's her car over there. See?" Mulder was already starting toward it, but Amelia passed him easily. She took off at a dead run. "Natalie?" she called. "Natalie!" She hit a patch of ice and fell hard to the ground. Mulder caught up. "You okay?" "Go, go." She was already scrambling to her feet. Mulder reached the passenger door just as Amelia reached the driver's side. In the back, in a car seat, sat Natalie. She wasn't moving. "Oh my God. Oh my God." Amelia tried both doors. "It's locked!" Mulder tried the back and then the front. The second one opened. He dropped the crutches and levered himself inside. Stretching, he squeezed the toddler's foot. She squirmed and opened her eyes. "She's okay!" Mulder called. Natalie blinked a few times and her face broke into a slow smile. She pointed at him. "Mul-der." "That's right," he agreed, chest tight with overwhelming relief. He moved closer to make sure she really wasn't hurt. "Let's get you out of here, okay?" She reached out her hand for his nose, and he let her pat it twice before shifting back to let Amelia inside. She popped all the locks and climbed in the backseat for her daughter. "My sweetheart," she said. "Thank God." Grenier appeared with Lily-cum-Penelope in tow. "She's okay?" "She's a little cold, but she seems fine," Amelia said, fussing with her daughter's coat. "You'd better thank your lucky stars for that," Grenier told Penelope. He kept hold of her arm as he tried to get a better look at Natalie. "She's really all right?" Amelia turned away, walking off with the baby. "It's okay, sweetie. Mommy's got you now. It's going to be all right." Mulder leaned against the car and tried to ignore the terrible pain shooting through his leg. Grenier's gaze was on his ex-wife and child. "Where's Pittsfield?" Mulder asked Penelope. "How the hell should I know?" "He sent you here? He put you up to this?" Penelope shot him a contemptuous look. "You really don't know anything, do you? I couldn't believe it when he told me how stupid you were, but I guess the old man was right about one thing." Grenier yanked her so hard she gasped in pain. "I'd watch your mouth, girl. Agent Mulder's the only friend you've got around here right now." "You," she said to Grenier, breathing hard. "You walked right past me in the woods that night. You never even saw me." "So you were going to give my baby away to a monster? Is that it? This is some sort of fucked up revenge?" Penelope stared at him a long time. "Tell yourself that," she said, "if it helps you sleep at night. Tell yourself whatever the hell you want." "How about the truth?" Mulder asked, leaning forward on his crutches. The girl shrugged. "You already know the truth. You know it better than anyone: little girls go missing all the time." ~*~*~*~*~ Squad cars showed up to help sweep the area in case Pittsfield was watching from the bushes. Grenier loaded Penelope into the back of a cruiser while Mulder dug out his cell phone to call the hospital. "I'd like to speak to Dana Scully please." "I'm afraid that's not possible right now," said the receptionist. "She with the doctors at the moment." Mulder rubbed his eyes wearily. "Can you get a message to her? Tell her Natalie is safe." He paused. "Tell her I'm safe too. Fox Mulder. Can you do that?" "I'll see what I can do, Mr. Mulder." Mulder limped over to where Grenier was talking to a police captain. "No sign of Pittsfield?" "None yet," Grenier replied. He turned so he and Mulder could speak privately. "He sent Penelope in his place, the little piece of shit. Ten to one he was holed up somewhere safe waiting for her to make the drop." "Doesn't make sense," Mulder argued. "If Penelope was bringing Natalie to him, why involve us at all?" "God." Grenier's face clenched up. "I don't know anything anymore." Mulder looked around for Amelia. "Amelia take Natalie home?" "To the pediatrician, just to be sure. God, Mulder. I don't know if she's ever going to speak to me again after this." "She will." Grenier's mouth moved but no sound came out. He shook his head. "You know, I've always loved Amelia from the first minute I saw her. She will be a part of me for as long as I have air in my lungs, and I don't know what I'd do without her, but it's nothing... nothing..." He choked up and turned his head. "Nothing like I feel for that baby girl. To think that I put in this kind of danger... It just makes me sick to death inside." "You didn't know," Mulder murmured. "No," said Grenier, his voice hard. "But I should have." Mulder had no argument for that, so he said nothing and waited for Grenier to regain his composure. He was pretty sure Adam was not going to like what came out his mouth next. "Time to take her downtown," Grenier said at last, straightening up. "I think you should take her to a doctor." Grenier scoffed. "Are you nuts? Pittsfield is still out there. This girl knows where he is. We need to sweat her hard and do it now." "Humor me," Mulder said quietly. Grenier did not look convinced. "Listen," Mulder said, "I think given what went down here tonight, you at least want it documented that she's not severely injured." "I did what any father would have done. The little bitch is lucky I didn't wring her neck." "I am not saying otherwise. But let's get it on paper, okay?" ~*~*~*~*~ The irony, Mulder thought as he sat in the waiting room with Grenier. He was in a hospital, and Scully was in a hospital; they just weren't in the same hospital. "How is Scully doing?" Grenier asked, as if reading his thoughts. "They said she was sleeping when I called the last time." Grenier checked his watch. "We shouldn't be here much longer. You should get some sleep after this." "So should you." Grenier huffed and stared into his coffee cup. "I may never sleep again." The door to the exam room opened and the doctor emerged with a manila folder in hand. Mulder forced himself to his feet once more; if he was right, this was a piece of news that merited a standing ovation. "Well?" he asked the doctor. She nodded. "You were right." "Right about what?" Grenier wanted to know. Mulder pushed in the door and found Penelope in a dressing gown, handcuffed to the examining table while a female guard looked on. The guard left as Grenier entered the tiny room. Penelope shivered. Mulder tossed a free lab coat at her, but she threw it back. "I don't have anything he hasn't seen before," she sneered. Grenier's jaw tightened but he said nothing. "You know how we found you tonight, Lily?" Mulder asked. She looked past him at the wall. "Come on, you must know. There's only one person who could have told." "I don't know what you're talking about." "He sold you out, didn't he? He took you once but this time he just gave you away." "Shut up," Penelope said. "Just shut up!" "Mulder," Grenier said. "What the hell is going on here?" "She was expecting Pittsfield tonight, but he sent us instead." Grenier was impatient. "Yeah, right, I know -- she went there to hand over the baby to him." "She went there for a trade." Mulder looked at the girl, who refused to make eye contact with him. "Natalie for the little girl on the webcam. Isn't that right?" He took a step closer, but Penelope still wouldn't look at him. "You went there to get your daughter back." Grenier swallowed a curse. Penelope's eyes shone with tears. "I have never stopped looking for her," she said. "I never will." ~*~*~*~*~*~ Scully never slept well in hospitals. The hallways were noisy, and doctors and nurses had a habit of appearing in her room like Bogeymen come out of the closet. She lay in the dark, half drifting, able to relax a bit now that she knew Natalie and Mulder were both safe. In the back of her brain, she worried over the one part of Mulder's message that had been notably absent: no mention of Pittsfield's capture. She had half-dreams of falling slowly, as if though cotton candy. Once she thought Mulder was in the room with her talking about baseball. Suddenly, her skin tingled and she went wide awake. In the inky shadows, she saw a face peering down at her. Pittsfield. There was no time to scream. She felt the stab of the needle in her arm and then the world just faded away. ~*~*~*~*~*~ End chapter six. Continued in chapter seven. Out of the frying pan and into the fryer. ;) Thanks to Amanda for proofing. Any mistakes remaining are mine alone. Evil feedback always welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter Seven ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Dawn streaked the sky with weak blue watercolors as Grenier and Mulder left the hospital. They paused on the wet sidewalk, Mulder leaning heavily on his crutches. Grenier rolled his shoulders back a few times and squinted at the clouds. "Christmas Eve day," he remarked. "Some fucking merry holiday this is turning out to be." "Do you suppose her parents know?" Mulder asked, and Grenier looked at him. "Lily's parents. Do you think they know she's alive?" "I'm the wrong person to ask. I know fuck all right now, Mulder." Mulder nodded. "I bet she never told them. All her hopes for family are wrapped up in her daughter now. Besides, how do you go home again after seventeen years?" "Mulder, can we talk about this later? I'm not pulling a lot of heartstrings for that girl right now, if you know what I'm saying." "Yeah, okay. Sure." Mulder bit his lip. "Except tomorrow is Christmas." "And?" "And that's D-day. Whatever Pittsfield's got in mind, it revolves around Christmas. That's why he had the Advent calendar at his house." "Fine." Grenier drew himself up and gave Mulder his full attention. "Let's hear it then. You say he didn't want Natalie, and once again it seems that maybe you were right. Otherwise, he would have just made the trade and not burned Penelope to us, right?" "Maybe. Maybe he just wanted Penelope out of the picture. He wasn't willing to make the trade." Grenier's jaw tensed. "Well, Natalie and Amelia are in protective custody now. I'd like to see him take a run at them. I'd really like to see him try." Fatigue made Mulder sway on his feet. He needed to get some rest. He needed to see Scully. But the Advent calendar from Hell was counting down fast, so he tried to force himself to focus. "Okay," he said, rubbing his head with one hand, "we know he's got this Christ's resurrection thing going. Maybe... maybe he's looking for a new one. Maybe he wants us to think it's Natalie but it's really someone else." "Who?" Grenier demanded somewhat angrily. "If we can't figure that out, what the hell are we supposed to do about it?" "I don't know." "Well, I don't know either. Fuck." Grenier turned away, pacing a bit in front of the hospital doors. Mulder's cell phone rang from inside his coat pocket, and Grenier snorted. "Maybe that'll be Pittsfield calling to explain it to us," he said. Mulder struggled to keep his crutches from falling over as he dug out the phone. The caller ID glowed "unknown." "Mulder," he said. "I have something you want," came the voice on the other end, and Mulder stiffened. He waved frantically at Grenier. "I've got Natalie and I've got Lily, Pittsfield. Seems like the score is two to nothing." "You have nothing I didn't give you." "Okay, then. Seeing as how you're feeling so generous, maybe you want to hand over Lily's daughter too." Pittsfield gave a laugh that degenerated into a vicious cough. "Finally put it together, did you? Sorry, but she's not on the bargaining table." "Then we have nothing to talk about." "Okay," Pittsfield said agreeably. "Maybe you would like to talk to Agent Scully instead." Wind whipped suddenly through his coat. "What did you say?" "You heard me." "I don't believe you." "Believe what you want. Or check the hospital security tapes yourself. Agent Scully and I left just a short while ago." "You've got Scully? Let me talk to her. Let me talk to her now." "Oh, my mistake. She's still sleeping. I'm afraid she can't come to the phone." "Listen, you sonofabitch..." "Such language, on Christmas Eve yet." "Let me talk to Scully." "Maybe later." Pittsfield's tone turned hard. "Right now you listen to me. I want a different trade now. You do everything I tell you, exactly as I tell you, and Agent Scully will make it home for Christmas alive." "What is it you want, Pittsfield?" "What I have always wanted. Lily. You have her, and I have Scully. The solution here is obvious." "Lily is not in my custody." "Then you'd better find a way to fix that. Either I get Lily back by midnight tonight, or Agent Scully won't be celebrating a very merry Christmas." He hung up and left Mulder staring blankly at his cell phone. Grenier hovered at Mulder's shoulder. "Don't tell me he's got Scully." "I don't know," Mulder whispered. "It could be a bluff." His phone rang again, making him startle. This time the caller ID read "Georgetown University Hospital." Mulder clicked on the phone with trepidation. "Mulder." "Agent Mulder," came a distressed male voice, "Agent Scully has disappeared from her room and we cannot locate her. Do you or any of your people know where she's gone?" ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Scully awoke sore, her limbs still heavy and not quite responsive. She smelled dust and nylon, the reason for which became clear when she opened her eyes: her had her face planted in a sleeping bag. When she tried to move her hands she found they had been bound behind her back. Her legs, too, were held together at the ankle with what felt like duct tape. Scully wriggled to get a better sense of her surroundings. Windows boarded up. One door, probably locked. She saw a table with a single battered chair next to it. "You're awake." Scully jerked at the sound of the voice -- so young, so matter-of-fact. She rolled over on her hands and saw a young girl sitting cross-legged on a sleeping bag ten feet away. It was the same girl who had shot Mulder -- god, had it only been the day before? "Hello," Scully said in a throaty rasp. Her voice did not quite work yet. "Do you want some water?" her captor asked, setting aside her book. "He said you can have some water if you want." "Water would be great." The girl got up in one easy motion and walked to the table. She poured water from a pink pitcher into a paper cup and brought it to Scully. "You've got to lift your head up some," she told her. Scully attempted to comply, and the girl held the cup to her mouth. "Slow," the girl reminded her as Scully choked the first time. "That's better." The cool water felt marvelous over her swollen throat. "Thanks," Scully said. "You're pretty good at this." The girl raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. "I do it for Father all the time when he's not feeling well." "Your father is sick?" "Oh yes. Very. But just until tomorrow, when the Angel comes to make him better." Her brow wrinkled. "Father says you were in the hospital. Maybe the Angel can make you better too." "Where is your father?" Scully tried to sound as casual as she could. "He went out," the girl stated flatly. "He'll be back soon." She got up to bring the cup back to the table. "Did he go out to find the Angel?" "Maybe." Scully was forced to roll on her side again to keep circulation in her hands. "Who is the Angel, do you know?" "She used to live here a long time ago, but then she ran away when I was a little baby. I--I don't remember her." "What about your mother?" "I don't have a mother. I never had one. Father says I came straight from God." "You must be pretty special then." The girl looked at her feet. "Not as special as the Angel," she whispered. "I wasn't able to make Father better. That's why we need her back." "What is the Angel's name? Do you know it?" The girl bit her lip. "I'm not s'posed to say." "You can tell me," Scully said in a lowered voice. "It will be our secret." The girl looked around the room as if to make sure no one else was listening. "Her name's Lily," she said. "Like me." Of course, Scully thought, feeling suddenly stupid. No wonder they look so much alike. She licked her lips, treading carefully. "Maybe--maybe the Angel is your mother. Maybe that's why you have the same name." Lily's eyes went round and dark. "Don't say that! Don't ever say that!" "Why not?" "Father doesn't like you to say that." "Why, Lily? Did you ask him?" She nodded slowly. "And what did he say?" "He called me a sinner and put me in hell for forty days." "Hell?" Lily nodded again. She crossed the room and moved aside a third sleeping bag. Underneath, Scully could see a trapdoor cut out of the old floorboards. "It's down there," Lily explained in a hushed voice. Just then, they heard the scrape of a key in the front lock. Lily scrambled to cover up the trapdoor. "Don't tell," she warned Scully. "Don't ever tell or he'll put you down there too." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ "At least he hasn't hurt her," Grenier said as he nudged the accelerator down another notch. "We don't know that." Mulder gripped the door with one hand. "The fact that he wouldn't let me talk to her is a bad sign." "He would have drugged her to get her out of the hospital, probably. She may still be under." "We've got to stall the hospital. If they call the cops in, everyone from Skinner on up is going to know what's going on. We won't stand a chance in hell of keeping this quiet." "What do you mean, 'keep it quiet'? Mulder, look at us. We haven't slept in days. You can barely walk. We need help on this." "You know the FBI policy on trades," Mulder ground out. "That's exactly why you didn't bring them in when Natalie was missing!" "That was different." "The hell it was." "Mulder, I understand your position here. Believe me, I know. But the best chance of getting her back is--" "Drive." "Mulder--" "Just drive!" Mulder leaned back and closed his eyes. "I'll figure something out when we get there." The hospital loomed ahead. "Think fast," Grenier said grimly. "We're here." ~*~*~*~*~*~ The heavy door swung open and Pittsfield stood on the threshold with the keys still in his hand. Lying as she was on the floor, to Scully he looked enormous. The floor jumped as he walked into the room. "Girl been looking after you okay?" he asked her, keys jangling. "I gave her water like you asked, Father." "Good, good," he replied, his eyes still on Scully. "Don't want you dyin' on us before it's time." "Time for what?" Scully asked. "Resurrection day, my dear. This time tomorrow, I'll be saved." "I understand you've been sick." Pittsfield cast a wild eye on his daughter. "You've been talking out of turn again, ain't you, girl?" "No, Father." "What have you been telling her?" He grabbed the girl by the chin and forced her to look up at him. "You've been telling her all our business?" "No, I swear!" "Leave her alone," Scully said. "She hasn't told me anything." Pittsfield glared at her. "You stay out of this. You keep quiet and do as I say and just maybe you'll be home with your family for Christmas." He dropped his hand from Lily and faced her. "I don't want to hurt you," he said as he put his hand into the deep pocket of his coat. When he removed it again, he held a revolver. "But sometimes in a Holy War, God demands that blood be shed." Scully swallowed. "I just meant -- I'm a doctor. Maybe there's something I can do to help you." "Nothing you or any other doctor can do for me." As if to prove it, he broke into a wracking cough. He stared down at her with watery eyes. "My life is in God's hands now. And, little lady -- your life is in mine." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ "You're sure that's an FBI agent?" Roy Billings, head of hospital security, sounded doubtful as he watched the security tape showing Pittsfield loading Scully into his car. Mulder barely heard. He was studying the grainy images for hints of where Pittsfield might have been heading. "Uh, yeah," he said, distracted. "That's Agent, um, Brown." Mulder risked a glance back at the corner, where Grenier was running the plates. "If he's FBI, why didn't he check in at the nurses' station before removing her?" "Um. It's complicated. We had a shift in the case. Agent Scully may be in some danger. I'm sure you understand that I can't elaborate without compromising our investigation." "No, I don't understand. We can't have patients just go missing without some form of authorization." Grenier returned to the counter. Mulder gave him a meaningful look. "Agent Brown's car check out okay?" "Huh?" Grenier caught on a split second late. "Oh. Yes. Scully is with Agent Brown now." "Look, someone has to sign our forms," Billings said. "I don't care if it's you or Brown or whoever, but someone has to absolve the hospital of any liability here." "I'll do it," Mulder snapped. "Just make it fast." As soon as Billings was out of sight, Grenier leaned in to say, "The car's hot. It was stolen downtown three nights ago." "Fuck." Mulder hit rewind on the tape. Pittsfield appeared from a side door with Scully slumped in a wheelchair. He rolled her to a waiting dark sedan and loaded her into the passenger seat. The whole process took less than a minute. "She does look out of it," Grenier murmured. "I don't see any sign of the girl." "I can't tell which way they went. The tape loses them just before the exit." "Agent Mulder?" A tall thin man in a white coat appeared holding a folder. He pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I'm Mark McCuen. I treated Dana Scully when she was admitted last night." Mulder blanched. Until that moment he hadn't considered the fact that Scully had been abducted from the *hospital*. Where she'd been because she was sick. "Hi, uh, Dr. McCuen. Thanks for coming down." "You're listed as Dana's primary emergency contact person here at the hospital. I take it you'll be signing the release?" "That's right." He took the forms and stared at them blankly for a minute. "Is she okay?" he asked, looking up at last. "I mean, she's going to be okay, right?" "I would have preferred that she stay until we could stabilize her electrolytes, but yes, I think she should be fine." "Did you figure out what was wrong?" "Nothing serious as far as illness goes." He smiled. "Dana is pregnant." "What?" Mulder's stomach went into free-fall. "She was dehydrated and anemic, which may have caused both the nose bleeds and the fainting spells. It's not terribly uncommon in early pregnancy, but she's going to have to watch her food and water intake better." "Mulder? Mulder!" Grenier lurched forward and grabbed Mulder's arm before Mulder's legs buckled underneath him. Mulder held Grenier in a fierce grip. "She's pregnant," he said, still dazed. "Adam..." "We're going to find her," Grenier said right against his ear. "You hear me? We're going to find her." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Scully's arms ached from being pinned behind her back. Even lying down, she felt light-headed. She tried to remember the last thing she had eaten and came up with a bagel for breakfast the day before. Pittsfield sat at the table eating a pastrami sandwich, and Lily had gone back to her book. "Black Beauty," the cover said. "I read that when I was about your age," Scully told the girl. Lily smiled but Pittsfield stopped chewing to reprimand them. "Don't you talk to her. She's not your business. I want silence, you understand me? The both of you just keep quiet so I can think." He worked himself into such a tirade that he started coughing again, tremors that shook his whole body and made his face turn purple. When he lowered the handkerchief from his mouth, Scully saw blood on it. She added up what little she knew about his ailment and tried to deduce what he might have. Clearly he thought it was terminal. She cast about for pills and saw nothing but some extra-strength Tylenol and a smaller, unmarked bottle. Nothing prescription. She wagered he had not wanted to attract attention by seeing a doctor. He was quite thin. Add on a bloody cough... Lung cancer, maybe? Although she did not see any sign that he was a smoker. "I need to think," he was muttering to himself. "We don't have much time." He pulled out his phone and dialed a number he clearly knew by heart. "Agent Mulder," he said a moment later, and Scully's heart froze. "I assume you've had time to think about my offer." He paused. "Well, you're just going to have to find a way around that, now won't you? Here is what you need to do: there is a warehouse at the end of Ebony Avenue. You'll know it because it's the only building around. Bring the girl there at 11pm tonight." He turned and looked at Scully, as if considering something. "One word. That's it." He walked over and held the phone down to her mouth. "Say you're fine." "Mulder? I'm okay." Pittsfield yanked the phone away. She hadn't heard Mulder say a thing. "There's your proof," Pittsfield growled into the phone. "She's fine for now. If you want to keep her that way, you'll do as I say." He hung up and slipped the phone back into his pocket. Pulling out his handkerchief, he wiped his mouth. "You better hope he wants you back," he told Scully. "You said to bring the girl," Scully said. "Who is he bringing?" Lily hugged the book to her chest. "The Angel." "He found her?" Scully narrowed her eyes at Pittsfield. "He found Lily Anne Tucker?" "I found her for him," Pittsfield corrected. "I showed him what he had lost, what he had found, and what he will now lose again." He smiled. "It's a true Christmas miracle." ~*~*~*~*~*~ "You talked to her," Grenier said as he drove them back across town. "That's something, right? It means she's okay." "For now." "Murder isn't Pittsfield's style." Grenier was trying to sound encouraging. "He sure as hell had no qualms about shooting me." Grenier gave him a sideways look. "We'll get her back." "Yeah." Mulder stared out the window. "You think Penelope is what Pittsfield says she is?" "You're shitting me." Grenier looked at him again, and Mulder turned his head to meet Grenier's gaze. Grenier sighed. "You're serious. Okay, then. No, for the record, I do not believe that woman has any supernatural or religious power. Hell, I cut my finger slicing carrots once and the best she could do is get me a Band-Aid." Mulder fingered one of his crutches and considered the task ahead of them. "Who's watching her now? Do we know?" "Yeah. Paul Pratt's running the investigation from our end. He's a regular, by-the-book Boy Scout." "Shit. Then you can be sure our names are on the Do Not Call list. We won't be allowed near her." "What's the plan, then?" "I don't know," Mulder admitted. "Usually I have Scully get past these people using her medical credentials." "Somehow I doubt Pratt is going to believe we went to medical school in our spare time. Actually, wait a minute." He shifted in his seat. "Wait a minute. I have an idea. We might be able to use the medical angle after all." "She's seen a doctor already, Grenier." Mulder felt a hundred years old. "Yeah, but you haven't. Not since yesterday." "What are you talking about?" The car jerked as Grenier brought it to a swift halt outside the Hoover Building. "I'm saying, you don't look well, Mulder. You don't look well at all." ~*~ They found the room where Pratt was holding Penelope at the far end of a long corridor. Grenier nudged Mulder's arm and nodded in the direction of the emergency exit, which was only a few feet away. Mulder nodded back as Grenier rapped on the interrogation room door. No answer. Grenier knocked again. Pratt appeared a few moments later, looking not at all pleased. His tie hung loose around his neck and he had a chewed-up coffee stirrer in his hand. "You guys," he said when he saw Grenier and Mulder. "You're not supposed to be here." "We don't want to talk to the suspect," Grenier said. "We're here to help." "Sure you are." "No really." Mulder nodded at Grenier, and Grenier handed over a folder. "This is all of our information from the case back in 1987. We thought it would be useful to you." Pratt's expression softened and he accepted the papers. "Hey, thanks. This is great. I appreciate it, guys." He looked up at them. "You know this isn't my call, right? I mean, I never asked for this case." Grenier clapped him on the arm. "We know how it went down, Pratt. The investigation's in capable hands." He eyed the closed door behind Pratt. "Is she talking?" Pratt shook his head. "She's clammed up pretty tight. Maybe something in these files might shake her loose." "Ask her about her parents," Mulder said. "Oh, good one." Pratt took a pen from behind his ear and scribbled "parents" on the front of the folder. Grenier used the time to signal Mulder. On cue, Mulder groaned. Pratt looked instantly concerned. "You okay, man?" "He got shot yesterday," Grenier said. "Of course he's not okay." Mulder groaned again and made a show of slumping against the wall. Grenier went to his side. "Mulder? Mulder, are you going to be all right?" "Dizzy..." Mulder breathed, his eyes going closed. "Call 9-1-1!" Grenier ordered Pratt. Pratt hesitated. "NOW!" Grenier yelled. Pratt started down the hall at a run. His back was barely turned when Grenier started helping Mulder back off the floor. "Go, go," Mulder urged as he struggled with the crutches. "I'll just slow you down." Grenier went into the interrogation room and emerged dragging Penelope by the arm. "You can't do this," she protested. "Somebody help!" Grenier clapped hand over her mouth and started dragging her towards the emergency exit. "Stairs," he said, breathing hard. He looked at Mulder. "Think you can handle it?" "I think I don't have a choice. Go, move." He followed them through the door. After a split-second's contemplation, he abandoned one crutch at the top of the stairs and started limping down as fast as he could using his one good leg. The pain was crackling, intense; he thought it must be what electrocution felt like. The world swam before him, and Mulder tried to keep oxygen moving through his lungs. Through the roar in his ears, he could hear Grenier calling, "Hurry! Hurry!" Winter hit with an icy blast as the Hoover spit them out onto the sidewalk. Grenier cuffed Penelope and shoved her into the back seat, peering over his shoulder as he did so. Mulder collapsed in the passenger's seat and tried not to throw up. Penelope kicked the back of the seat in fury. "You bastards! You can't do this. You'll never get away with this." "Shut the fuck up," Grenier said as he started the engine. "What? What do you want from me?" "I'd leave you out for the wolves as soon as look at you," Grenier returned. "But it seems Pittsfield has other plans. The old man wants you back for some reason." Penelope went suddenly still. "You wouldn't." Mulder managed enough energy to turn around and look at her. "What is it you said? That you would do anything to get your daughter back? Welcome to 'anything.'" ~*~*~*~*~*~ End chapter seven. Continued in chapter eight. Thanks to Amanda for proofing! Thank you all for bearing with me and my stupid eye problem. I will try to hurry chapter eight along as fast as I can. Go ahead. Let's talk evil: syn_tax6@yahoo.com ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter Eight ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ They drove aimlessly through the stop-and-go morning rush hour traffic. The jerky motion of the car -- combined with terror, fatigue and the lancing pain in his leg -- made Mulder's vision blur and his stomach roil. He leaned against the car door and kept one hand shading his eyes to block out the ever-brightening sky. Every so often, Penelope would scream an obscenity and kick the back of his seat. "Knock it the fuck off," Grenier snapped. "Or we'll bind and gag you." She glowered at him in the rearview mirror. "You wouldn't." "I'd enjoy it," he shot back. "Go ahead. Try me just one more time and we'll find out." Penelope sank lower in the seat but said nothing. After a minute, Grenier looked at Mulder. "So where exactly am I headed?" "I don't know," Mulder muttered. "Pittsfield's calling the shots right now. Until he gives us some idea of where he wants to set up the meet, there's nothing we can do." "So we wait," Grenier said. He glanced at the dash. "We're going to need gas soon. And food. And, judging by the look of you, about two bottles of Tylenol." Mulder waved him off. "I'm fine. Just find a drive through or something. I don't want to have to get out of the car with her." "I'll go in and get us something." Mulder gestured weakly to his crutches and the bloody bandage wrapped around his leg. "I think we need your four limbs in the car." Even with a gun on his side, Mulder wasn't willing to chance being left alone with Penelope. The girl was uninjured and rested. "Okay, I'll stay with her." Mulder gave him a pointed look. "Not a good idea." "Be like old times," Penelope said darkly. Grenier scowled and gripped the wheel. "I'll find a McDonald's." "Fine." Mulder leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Traffic eased as Grenier steered them off the main drag, and they drove in blessed silence for a few minutes. "He wouldn't go back to that house," Grenier said after a while. "Not after he knows we were there. So where would he take her?" "I don't know. A church, maybe? Don't forget -- tomorrow is his big day." Grenier looked back at Penelope. "You got any ideas you want to share?" he asked her. "You know him better than any of us." "Help you find him so you can send me back?" she scoffed. "I don't think so." "You have to find him to get your daughter back," Mulder said. He shifted painfully to look at her. "What's her name?" Penelope paled. "He called her 'Lily,'" she whispered. "I wanted to name her Miriam. Miri for short." "Your mom's name," Mulder recalled instantly. "He locked me up if he heard me call her anything but 'Lily.'" "So then help us," Mulder said. "Help us get Miri back." Her face closed off once more. "I don't know where he is. Don't you get it? I was using you to get to him." She looked out the window. "Should have known better." Grenier turned into the McDonald's lot. "What do you want?" he asked Mulder. Mulder couldn't imagine eating. "Coffee, I guess. Penelope?" "Go to hell," she replied. "Get her a Coke," Mulder said wearily. "And a McMuffin or something." "Mulder-" "Look, when this gets out -- and it will -- you want her claiming we starved her?" "Fine," Grenier said, gripping the wheel. "A coke." "Make it diet," said Penelope. "I'll make it my fist if you don't sit there with your mouth shut," Grenier snapped. "I don't give a god damn fucking rat's ass about my job right now." He yelled their order into the speaker and drove around to pay. A middle-aged woman shivered at the window, waiting for their money. Grenier rolled down the car window with the money in hand. "Help me!" Mulder's seat rocked as Penelope lurched forward, screaming at the top of her lungs. "Someone help me! I've been kidnapped! Call the police!" The McDonald's employee looked horrified. Grenier flashed his ID. "Federal agents," he explained. "We're transporting a prisoner." The woman handed over their food without a word. "Help!" Penelope screamed again. "Get us the hell out of here!" Mulder yelled over the noise. Grenier gunned the engine, and soon they were back in traffic again. Penelope kicked the seat again, sloshing hot coffee over Mulder's hand. Grenier watched Mulder curse and clean up the mess. "Still want to feed her?" "Yeah, to a lion." Mulder dabbed at his pants with a napkin. "Just drive, okay? Get us somewhere out of sight." ~*~*~*~*~*~* Lying down, even with the chill in the room, it was hard not to sleep. Exhaustion had seeped into her very bones. Scully dragged her eyes back open and watched Pittsfield muttering and scribbling something on a tablet. Periodically, he would have to stop for a wracking cough. "I wish you would let me take a look at you," Scully said as he wiped the blood from his lips. "Nothing you can do." "I'm a doctor." He turned in his chair to look at her. "You might be a doctor, but you're not a healer. I fished you out of the hospital." "Hospitals can heal." "Fixed you up, did they?" When she did not answer, he nodded. "That's what I thought." "What makes you think Lily can do better?" "Her name is Angel," he corrected. In the corner, little Lily hugged her knees to her chest and looked at Scully. Scully met her eyes and Lily shook her head: drop it, she told her silently. Scully remembered the prison under the floorboards. "What makes you think Angel can heal you?" Scully tried again. "She's sent from God. I've always known." He turned around again and picked up his pen. Scully risked a glance at Lily, who looked terrified. "Your Angel left you," Scully said in a raised voice. "She's turned her back on you. Why should she help you now?" Pittsfield turned around again, lips thin with fury. "That's the Devil's talk," he said. "You stop your serpent's tongue right now or you're going straight to Hell." She saw the fear in his eyes. "It's not devil's talk. It's the truth, and you know it. She wants nothing to do with you." "You will NOT speak of her anymore!" He stood, shaking with rage. "Father, no!" Lily scrambled to her feet and ran between Pittsfield and Scully. "She doesn't understand. She doesn't know the Angel." "Out of my way, girl." He shoved her aside and advanced on Scully. "A little taste of Hell, that's what you need. Some time alone to search your soul." He grabbed Scully's arm and yanked her up. The room spun crazily around her. She was weak and dizzy. "Please," she said. "I'm sick, like you." Lily's sobs filled the room. Scully twisted, but Pittsfield held her fast. His fetid breath hit her face, nearly causing her to retch on the spot. He smelled like death. "You're sick in ways doctors can't fix," he said. "You need to turn to God." "I have," Scully gasped as he twisted her arm. His eyes narrowed. He studied her face, gaze boring into hers. "You've talked to Him?" "He's talked to me." Surprise flashed across Pittsfield's face. "Liar," he said, but he sounded less certain. "It's true." His gaze dropped to her neck, lingering at the gold cross. "If you've talked to him, then you'll know. When you see the Angel, you'll know that I am right about her." "Show me," Scully said, still breathing hard. God, please. Anything to get out of this little room. "Soon." He let her go and shuffled back across the floor, seeming lost in his own world again. "Soon we will all see." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Mulder sipped his coffee. Everything he had been telling Amelia and Grenier yesterday -- that Pittsfield wasn't a murderer, that he had no need to hurt anyone -- he was now saying to himself. Scully, pregnant. Had she known? She would have told him if she'd known. Mulder rubbed his aching head. He almost wished he didn't know now. It made it hard to think about anything else. "Uh, Mulder?" "What?" "We've got company." Mulder looked at the side mirror and saw a black and white cop car gaining on them. "Shit," he said, turning around. The patrol unit had their lights on it. "They're after us, all right. Go!" Grenier hit the accelerator. "The McDonald's woman." "Maybe." Mulder looked back again. "But Paul Pratt knows the score now. We're AWOL with a federal prisoner. You can be sure he called out the militia too." Grenier passed a car on the right going sixty miles per hour. "We keep running and he's going to call for backup. We'll have a dozen black and whites on our tail and a chopper in the air. Pittsfield will be able to watch us all over the noontime news." "You got a better idea?" They had reached a wide, open road. Pine trees lined the street and traffic was sparse. The cop continued to dog them a few yards behind. "I still say the McDonald's woman called it in. We pull over, show him our ID, and he goes away happy." "And if he calls Pratt?" "Cross that bridge when we get there." Grenier pulled over along the shoulder and the cop pulled in behind him. "You," Grenier said to Penelope in the mirror. "If you ever want to breathe free air again, you'll keep your mouth shut." The uniformed cop got out with his gun drawn. "Hands where I can see them!" he yelled. Mulder and Grenier both put their palms on the inside of the windshield as the officer approached their car. The cop looked at Penelope in the back seat. "Help," she hollered. "Help me! They've kidnapped me! Please help!" "We're fucked," Mulder whispered. The cop went to the back door, gun still aimed at Grenier and Mulder. "Open this door!" Grenier didn't move. "Open it now!" Grenier moved one hand and hit the locks. "We're federal agents," he said. "We're transporting a prisoner!" "They're lying," Penelope sniffled as the cop helped her out of the back seat. "We have ID!" Grenier tried again. "Ma'am, are you okay?" the cop asked. "They kidnapped me," she said. "I was so scared." "Let's see this ID," the cop told Grenier in a hard voice. He took one step and Penelope tripped him. As he fell into the slush and mud, he lost the gun. Penelope grabbed it with her still-handcuffed hands. "Don't move," she ordered the cop. The gun shook as she pointed it at Grenier and Mulder. "Throw your guns out the window," she said. "Do it now." "Now we're fucked," Grenier muttered to Mulder. "God damn pansy-assed rookie." They threw their weapons out into the snow. Penelope moved and kicked each one well clear of the car. The cop twitched on the ground, and she pointed the gun at him. "Don't even think about it. I'll shoot your balls off. Get up." He got to his feet. "Get in the car. Go on, move!" The cop climbed in the back seat behind Mulder. Penelope got in as well. "Drive," she told Grenier. "Or I'll blow his brains out in the backseat of your precious car." Grenier pulled the car back out onto the road. "We told you so," he told the cop. "Shut the fuck up," Penelope replied. "Penelope, listen..." Mulder began, but she cut him off with a sharp kick to the back of his seat. He was flung forward against his seatbelt. "You shut up too! The both of you make me sick." "We're trying to help you," Mulder said. "You're trying to help yourselves. Who was there to trade for me seventeen years ago, huh? No one was making any deals then. Well, I'm in charge now. I'm not some stupid kid dependent on useless assholes to make things happen." Mulder's cell phone rang. "That's probably him," he said. "What do you want me to do?" "Answer it." "Mulder," Mulder said into the phone. His answer was a terrible coughing on the other end. "You have the girl?" a voice wheezed at last. "Yes, we have her. I want to talk to Scully." "Not this time. Bring the girl to Jerusalem. You'll find us at the Temple of David." "I don't know where that is." "My Angel knows. Bring her tonight by midnight, or Agent Scully goes to Hell." "Pittsfield, wait--" The other man hung up in Mulder's ear. "What did he say?" Penelope demanded. "He said to bring you to Jerusalem, to the Temple of David. He said you would know where that is." Penelope looked blank for a few seconds, and then recognition seemed to dawn. "Keep driving," she said. "We're going to need gas," Grenier told her. "Not for where you're going." Twenty minutes later, she had them standing out in a field, that, while not in the middle of nowhere, was a good ten miles from any town. "I want the keys to the cuffs," she told Grenier. He threw them into the snow at her feet, and she bent down and grabbed them with the pinky of one hand. "Now the cell phones," she ordered. "And the walkie-talkie." When she had stripped them all of their communication devices, she loaded her booty in the car and got in the driver's seat. "I don't know if he's right about Hell," she yelled out at them. "But if there is such a place, I will see you all there." The car's wheels spun in the snow and she drove out of sight. Mulder wobbled. "She has my crutches," he said. "God damn it!" Grenier said, kicking the snow. The cop looked at the main road off in the distance. "I know a short cut to town," he said. "But it's still over six miles to the nearest house." "Go," Mulder said. "You'll be faster without me." "I can't leave you here," Grenier said. "You can't afford not to. Someone has to tell Pratt what's going on." "Tell him what? When last seen, Penelope said she was driving to the West Bank?" "Tell him whatever you have to get her back. If Pittsfield finds her first, there's no telling what could happen to Scully." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Mulder hobbled to the tree line and located a long, solid stick he could use as a temporary crutch. "Now we're well and truly fucked," he said to trees. He found a large, wet rock to lean on while he waited for Grenier to get back with help. Grenier would have had enough sense not to go to the cops, of course -- except thanks to Penelope they had their own personal police escort. No way they were going to stop the local boy from telling his story. He tried to think like Penelope. She wanted her daughter back, so she would take the meeting with Pittsfield. She also had a gun. So did Pittsfield. Two people with nothing left to lose and a pair of firearms between them. Mulder did not like the odds. He took small comfort in the fact that nobody actively wanted to harm Scully, but the creeping sense of dread inside him threatened to overwhelm even this small highlight. Once Pittsfield had Penelope back under his control, he would have no further use for Scully. Mulder noticed Pittsfield had a poor track record when it came to letting people go. Grenier must have stepped double-time, because he returned in a cruiser within an hour and a half. "They've already got an APB out for Penelope," he said as helped Mulder into the backseat of the car. Mulder accepted both a blanket and a hot cup of coffee. Grenier climbed in beside him. "She can't be arrested," Mulder told Grenier in a low, urgent voice. "If she fails to show, Pittsfield will take it out on Scully." Grenier looked at their driver, a young cop who was listening openly. "I don't think there's much we can do about it at this point," he muttered. "I have to try." Mulder leaned forward to the front seat. He noted the wedding band on the young cop's finger. "What's your name?" Wary, the kid met Mulder's eyes in the mirror. "Looney, Sir. Alan Looney." Mulder smiled. "Hell of a name, Looney. Your wife take it up when you married her?" "Uh, yes, Sir." Looney tightened his hands on the wheel. "She said, um. She said we could be Looney together." "That's sweet. Real nice." Mulder scooted closer. "What if someone wanted to kill her?" The car swerved briefly off the road. "Excuse me?" "If a madman were holding your wife hostage and wanted to kill her. What would you do?" "I--I can't say." "Sure you can." There was a long silence. "I guess I'd hunt him down and kill him with my bare hands," Looney said at last. "Sir." "Right." Mulder leaned back in the seat as a wave of pain overtook him. "Looney, I'm going to need to you do us a little favor." "Mulder--" Grenier's voice rose in warning. "Looney, your little colleague made a huge mistake today. His fuckup cost us our prisoner, and now a woman may end up dead. You have a choice. You can compound that mistake and wind up with blood on your hands too, or you can help us fix it and maybe rescue three people in the deal. What's it going to be?" "Sir?" "It's like this," Mulder began. Five minutes later, Looney drove them past the sleepy little police station without even slowing down. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Christmas Eve fell dark as an executioner's hood, the cold air sharp as a blade. Shortly after dark, Pittsfield hustled Scully and Lily out to his old rusted sedan. He gave her an old coat to wear over her hospital gown and a pair of enormous galoshes. Scully stumbled on the slippery path, but he held her tight by the arm. He had a vise-like grip for someone so ill. "You're not going to pass out on me again, are you now?" Scully shook her head. "Where are we going?" "To meet your Agent Mulder, if he has any sense. Let's hope for both our sakes he comes through." They reached the car and he yanked open the door. "Hurry, then. We're late as it is." He shoved Lily in the backseat and went around to the driver's side. The high moon shone like a pearl, illuminating the steely glint of the gun in Pittsfield's waistband. Scully glanced at the frightened little girl huddled behind her. Any move she made would have to take Lily into account too. Pittsfield was crazy but he wasn't stupid; he was careful to keep the gun out of Scully's reach as he climbed behind the wheel. Jerusalem, he had said to Mulder on the phone when naming their meeting place. The Temple of David. Surely even Pittsfield wasn't insane enough to believe he could drive across the ocean. Could he mean to rendezvous with Mulder at an airport? ~*~*~*~*~ The convenient thing about commandeering a squad car was that it let them listen to the scanner. "At least we know she hasn't been picked up yet," Grenier said. Even Mulder's teeth hurt. It took all his concentration just to form words. "I still think he'd go to a church." "Which one? And on Christmas Eve? There's going to be people everywhere!" "You have a better idea?" "Maybe a temple. He said the Temple of David." "In *Jerusalem*," Mulder pointed out testily. "You want us to catch a plane? If we left now we still wouldn't make the midnight deadline." Quite until then, Looney pointed at north. "Or," he said, "we could just go this way." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Pittsfield pointed the car north and took off as fast as he could without attracting the attention of authorities. Their sedan rattled at high speed. Pittsfield kept the heater on full blast; every cell in Scully's body seemed to evaporate. In the mirror, she could see Lily wide-eyed and silent in the back seat. They crossed the border into Pennsylvania around ten. Pittsfield drove without hesitation, making quick turns and eventually settling on a lonely back country road. The Chevy rolled and bounced along a black, tree-lined corridor. "It shall be a sign unto you," Pittsfield said -- the first words he had spoken in hours. Scully jerked from her thoughts in time to note the faded sign on the side of the road. "Jerusalem," it said. "Next right." ~*~*~*~ Nearly two thousand years after Christ's death, the little town of Jerusalem, Pennsylvania was aglow in celebration of his birth. Lights twinkled on houses and trees; candles shone in the windows. Lily pressed her nose to the car window as Pittsfield navigated the residential streets. They passed an enormous blow-up figure that reminded Scully of the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man from "Ghostbusters." Gradually the lights grew more infrequent, the houses dark and quiet. At the end of one street Scully spotted their destination: a Jewish synagogue called the Temple of David. Pittsfield pulled in and drove around to the back. "Is she here?" Lily asked, her voice quavering. "Not yet, child. Come now. We'll go inside and wait." Wind whistled in her ears as she got out of the car, but Scully knew immediately they had beaten Mulder to the punch. Years on the job told her how to sense a sting. She didn't have to look to the bushes to know she was on her own. Lily snuggled against her, shivering, while Pittsfield jimmied open the back door to the synagogue. At night, with the lights and heat off, it was like walking into a crypt. Pittsfield guided them into the main temple. His hacking cough echoed off the high ceiling and bare walls. Moonlight shone through the narrow windows, illuminating odd corners and casting long shadows. "It won't be long now," Pittsfield told them as he sank down onto a bench. Lily sat next to him. "What if she doesn't come?" Pittsfield pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his mouth. "She'll come." "But what if she doesn't?" Pittsfield stroked her hair a moment before answering. "Then we'll all go to Hell together, now won't we?" ~*~*~ Scully was ticking through her scant options -- grab the girl and run; try to overpower Pittsfield in her weakened state -- when they heard the back door to the temple open and close. Lily tensed. Pittsfield held a finger to his lips and pulled out his gun. Silent as they were, Scully heard the faint footsteps growing closer. Not Mulder; she knew the sound of his walk cold. But whoever it was had come alone. Pittsfield rose, his expression expectant. A shadowed figure slipped into the far side of the room. Scully took in the slight build and the long blond hair. Oh, my God. Penelope. "You're just in time, my dear," Pittsfield said. "What did you do with Mulder?" Penelope raised her arm and Scully saw the shining barrel of a gun. "I want my daughter." Pittsfield chuckled. "Put down that silly gun. We both know you won't use it." "I want my daughter back now, you son of a bitch!" "We all make sacrifices. Have you learned nothing? You do as I say and Heaven will be your reward." Penelope's trembling voice floated across the room. "Miri? Lily? Sweetie, come to Momma." Lily's face was stark white and terrified. "Father, please," she whispered. Pittsfield clucked at her and drew her to his side. "Everything will be just fine." "Don't hurt her!" Penelope cried. "Don't be such a simpering idiot," Pittsfield snapped. "I have always done what's best for this child. You're the one waving the gun around. Can't you see you're frightening her?" Penelope moved into a beam of light. Scully saw tears streaking her cheeks. "I'm sorry. Baby, I'm sorry. I want to help you. Please come here. We'll go away. We'll go somewhere where he can't ever hurt us again." Lily clung to Pittsfield and buried her face in his leg. "Make her stop," she said. "Do you see that?" Pittsfield called. "She wants you to stop. She doesn't want to go with you. Unlike you, she knows she can't fight the Lord's destiny." "Baby, please." Voice hoarse, Penelope tried again. The gun shook in her hand. "Please just come with me. I would do anything for you. I love you. Please, please come over here." Lily scrunched up tighter, as if blocking the words out. Pittsfield grew impatient. "She doesn't love you. She doesn't even remember you. Stop this ridiculous nonsense and put down the gun. I don't want to hurt you." "Oh, that's the biggest load of shit I've ever heard!" "Put down the gun and come here." He raised his own weapon and pointed it at her head. "That's rich." She staggered back, laughing and sobbing at the same time. "You won't kill me. You need me, remember?" Pittsfield seemed to hesitate. "Well, you can't have me." She turned the gun around and pointed it at her chest. Scully stepped forward. "Penelope, don't!" "I'll see you in Hell," she said, and fired one shot into her chest. The gunshot echoed with Lily's high-pitched scream. Penelope slumped to the floor. Scully raced across the room to the injured woman. "God, no!" Pittsfield followed close behind. "What have you done?" Blood leaked out of a small round hole in Penelope's chest. Scully immediately applied pressure to the wound. The girl coughed, head lolling to the side. "Stay with me," Scully said. "You're going to be okay." Pittsfield hovered while Lily sobbed. "Do something!" he implored Scully. "She needs a hospital," she yelled back. "If you want to save her, you'll call nine one one." But he just stood there as the life force spilled out of her. The blood was warm and slippery between Scully's fingers. "Come on, Penelope," Scully said. "Stay with me here." Her eyes had closed. "My name is Lily," she whispered. And then was still. ~*~*~*~*~*~ End chapter eight. Continued in chapter nine. Oodles of thanks to Amanda for proofing! Definitely the home stretch. Thanks to those reading along! Talk evil to me, baby: syn_tax6@yahoo.com ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter Nine ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ "Call nine one one," Scully said again. "She needs a hospital." Pittsfield stared at them, gun hanging down in his limp hand. "You're doing fine," he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He coughed deeply. "I am not doing fine. She's going to die if we don't get her to a hospital." Scully raised one bloody hand to Penelope's throat, where she felt for a pulse. A slow, faint rhythm beat under her fingers. "Father, please." Lily grabbed Pittsfield's arm. "Don't let her die." Pittsfield shook the child off. "Shut your mouth, girl." The sound of her whimpering and his raspy breaths filled the temple as Scully worked furiously to keep Penelope alive. "I can't stop the bleeding," she said, more to herself than Pittsfield since he did not appear to be listening to a word she said. The floorboards creaked as he walked closer. She could feel him looming over them. "We need help," she said again. Scully turned her head to look up at him, to beseech him one last time before Penelope died under her hands. She found his face close, shadowed and intense in the moonlight. "You," he whispered. "Help her," Scully pleaded. His eyes fixed on her. "You," he said, and stretched out a trembling hand. Scully's heart stopped. "God did touch you, didn't he? He touched you right good." Scully swallowed. "We need an ambulance." "You're the one I need." His hand closed around her upper arm. "You come with me." "I can't leave her!" "You come with me." He yanked her away from Penelope. "You're going to tend to me now." "A hospital can treat you both," Scully said, breathless. "It's Christmas. It's time. Today is the day of my rebirth." He was dragging her toward the exit, her heels skidding on the hard floor. "We can't just leave her here." "Father, the Angel!" Lily ran behind sobbing. "You have to save the Angel!" Pittsfield halted abruptly, his eyes wild. "This is your angel now," he said, shoving Scully. "I am a *doctor*," Scully insisted. "Not an angel." "Your baby," Pittsfield said. "Your baby came from God." Scully stiffened in horror. "I--I don't know what you're talking about. I have no baby." He touched her belly with the nose of his revolver. "You can't hide the truth from me. God has shown me the way. He sent me to you, and you will fulfill my destiny." "You're wrong." He started dragging her again, and Scully resisted. "There's no baby," she said desperately. "I can't help you." "You will." Scully could not breathe. He was crazy, totally insane, and she felt infected with the madness, as if it had traveled down his arm into her blood. Hot and cold at the same time. Terror at being dragged back to the car. Whatever his plan had been initially, it had clearly gone all to hell. *Don't let him move you to a new crime scene.* It was rule one in the survivalist's handbook. This would be crime scene number three, and the body count was rising. She wouldn't put it past him to kill them all. "Okay, I'll help you! If you call an ambulance for Lily, I will go anywhere you want." He stopped struggling with her for a moment. "I don't see that you have a choice." The gun brushed her ribs. "We don't have much time now, come on." Just as they started forward again, the sound of an engine outside stopped him cold. The car stopped and Scully heard several doors slam. No voices. "This way," Pittsfield hissed at her as he dragged her back through the temple. Lily grabbed Scully's gown and held on tight. Scully turned her neck, trying to see who was at the front door. "Not a word," Pittsfield warned. "I'll shoot the child right here." Lily choked. Scully squeezed her. "It's okay," she lied. Pittsfield found the back stairs and forced them all down to the basement. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ "Found your squad car," Mulder said as they surveyed the synagogue parking lots. "She's here." "DC plates," Grenier remarked of the other car. "Could be Pittsfield." Mulder, slower and clumsier than Looney and Grenier, limped up the synagogue stairs behind them. Looney checked the door. "It's been jimmied open," he said. Looney drew his gun and the trio entered the building. "I can't see anything," Looney whispered. "I'll find a light," Grenier muttered. Mulder drifted forward towards the temple. He stood in the doorway, watching the moon shine down, and listened for the presence of anyone else in the room. He heard a gurgle on the floor. "God, Scully." He hurried forward as fast as his injured leg would carry him. As he rounded the aisle, he saw Penelope on the ground. Her shirt was soaked in blood. "Call nine one one!" Mulder hollered back. "Penelope's hurt!" His leg screamed in pain as he struggled to kneel next to the injured girl. Her eyes were closed and her skin was clammy. "It's Mulder," he told her. "We're going to get you help." She didn't reply. "Can she talk?" Grenier asked from behind him as Looney called it in. "I don't think so." "Where's Pittsfield?" "Not far unless he's stolen another car." Mulder shifted to his feet again. "Stay with her." "Mulder--" Mulder grabbed Grenier's arm and squeezed. "She's dying," he whispered. Grenier looked pained, then resigned. "Okay," he said. "I'll stay." Mulder took his flashlight and began a slow, painful journey to the front of the temple. At the back door, he paused to shine the beam on the door and around the walls. A bloody smear marked the doorjamb, right at the midpoint. Mulder touched it and his finger came away wet. He continued into the back foyer and found a second smudge of blood on the wall by the staircase. He listened again but heard no sounds coming from downstairs. Mulder's uneven footsteps were heavy on the stairs. If Pittsfield was down there, he would hear him coming a mile away. Mulder kept one hand braced against the wall for balance as he descended into the blackness. ~*~*~*~*~ White light streamed in through the high basement window. Lily huddled in the corner behind a stack of boxes, small face buried in her knees. Pittsfield had one arm around Scully's neck and the other around her midsection. The gun lay just out of her reach on the table. "Dear Father in Heaven, I come to you on this day seeking life," Pittsfield said, his voice hoarse in her ear. "As you began life, I would be reborn today into your kingdom." Outside, Scully heard the wail of an ambulance and approaching squad cars. She eyed the locked door to their hiding place and wondered if she could maneuver her way to the gun. "Raise me up again, Lord, as you raised Lazarus and your son. Grant me that I can continue your work here on Earth." Scully stretched out her fingers but Pittsfield just gripped her harder, his forearm tight across her windpipe. She coughed, and he raised his voice louder. "I am your true follower, Lord. I have served and will continue to serve until my last day. I have found this baby that you sent to me. I am ready to begin my new life." The doorknob rattled. Scully held her breath. "Go away!" hollered Pittsfield. "Open the door, Pittsfield. It's over." Mulder, Scully realized, almost weak with relief. The doorknob shook again. "Scully, are you in there?" "I'm okay," Scully managed to yell before Pittsfield choked her off. "Our Father, who art in heaven," Pittsfield muttered with increasing speed. It felt to Scully that he might be hyperventilating. "Hallowed be thy name." The door was flimsy, and Mulder had it open in seconds. He stood on the threshold, breathing hard. "Let her go, Pittsfield. It's over." Pittsfield backed them up against a wall. "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven." Mulder took a step into the room and Pittsfield stopped praying. "Let Scully go," Mulder said calmly. Pittsfield clutched Scully tighter. "Child," he called. "You know what to do." "No," Lily sobbed into her knees. "It's Satan, Child," Pittsfield said roughly. "We can't let him win. He must be stopped! You know what you must do. Go!" Still crying, Lily got to her feet and went to the gun. She picked it up with shaking hands. "Hey, wait," Mulder said, holding up his hands. "I just want to help you. I want to help you and your dad." "You can't fight the Lord's will," Pittsfield said. Mulder backed up one step, but Grenier was right behind him. Behind Grenier was a uniformed cop with a gun. They blocked the doorway. "You can't stop me," Pittsfield yelled. "I am the Lord's son. I have lived and died and I will live again!" "Give us the gun," Grenier said to Lily. "We're police officers and we want to help you." "No," the girl said, her voice quavering. She backed away from them. "I am invincible! I am reborn! I am---" A sudden shot exploded in the room. When the sound cleared, Pittsfield lay bleeding on the floor. Lily dropped the gun and started screaming. "I am the resurrection and the life," Pittsfield wheezed, coughing. Blood oozed from his mouth. Grenier snatched Lily and dragged her from the room. The cop radioed for help. Scully stood, covered in blood spatter from two people now, and stared down at Pittsfield as he went still. Lily had shot him high in the ribs. Mulder came forward, limping badly. "Scully," he said as he took her by the arms. "Are you all right?" She stared at him. "I'm pregnant," she whispered. "I know." His eyes were black in the eerie light. "So it's true?" She felt herself tearing up. Mulder hugged her tight. He smelled like sweat and wet wool. Scully bunched fistfuls of his coat and buried her face in his chest. "What are we going to do?" "We're going to get the hell out of here." Scully pulled away and looked down at Pittsfield. He did not appear to be breathing. "I can't believe she shot him," Scully murmured. Mulder put his arm around her. "I'm not sure she was aiming for him." The arriving EMTs poured around them, and Scully helped Mulder back out into the hall. Together, they mounted the steep steps and found the temple blazing with light. A half dozen officers milled about. Grenier stood off to the side, pale as the sheet covering Penelope's body. "She didn't make it," he told Mulder and Scully. "She never even opened her eyes." Her blood still stained Scully's hands. "Pittsfield got his wish," Scully said. The two men looked at her. "What do you mean?" Mulder asked. Scully took a deep, shuddering breath and contemplated the young woman's body. "She's finally an angel." ~*~*~*~*~*~ Pittsfield died en route to the hospital. Exhausted to her very bones, Scully managed the strength to note a final irony: she had claimed medicine could save him and Penelope while Pittsfield said only God would have that power. In the end, she and God had both dropped the ball. The hospital wanted to keep her and Mulder overnight, but it was Christmas and Scully wanted a real bed. They crashed at Mulder's apartment, drawing the blinds and crawling beneath the sheets somewhere around dawn. "Some Christmas," Mulder said as she carefully snuggled into his side. His fingers tickled her scalp. "More excitement than I really needed," Scully agreed. She stretched an arm around his chest and hugged him close. Despite the horror of the past twenty-four hours, she felt grateful for her blessings. Mulder was safe. Natalie was safe. And there was a new life growing inside her. She still couldn't quite believe it was real. "So, um, a baby," Mulder said as if reading her mind. "Yeah." "We'll have to buy a crib and stuff." For some reason, this made her smile. "I think we have time for that," she said, squeezing him. "Two cribs, even. One for your place and one for here. I think my mom might have stored one away from when Sam and I were little." Scully yawned. "Mulder," she said, nuzzling his shoulder. "We don't have to figure everything out right this minute." "Yeah, okay." He fell silent, but she could feel him awake, still thinking. "Mulder?" She rubbed a palm over his chest. "You all right?" "Yeah." He kissed the top of her head. After another minute, he stirred again. "It's just, I want to be prepared, you know?" "Prepared for what?" "Everything. You've seen what can happen, Scully. Look at Natalie." "Natalie is safe at home now." "Yes," he said, and she knew he was thinking of the other little children they had seen fall victim to violence or neglect over the years. "They're so small," he said wonderingly. "It's hard to believe they ever survive." "And yet they do." He toyed with her fingers, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb. "You don't find any of this remotely terrifying?" She huffed a breath. "God, yes. Completely." She laced her fingers through his and squeezed his hand. "The world can be a scary place. No one knows that better than you or I. But today of all days, I think that hope has to outweigh fear." "Hope," he said, trying the word. "I guess it is Christmas." "Yes." She kissed the underside of his chin. "Merry Christmas, Mulder." She fell asleep then and did not wake until it was dark again. Mulder had left the bed, and she smelled spaghetti sauce cooking in the kitchen. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation. Scully rolled over and switched on the bedside lamp. The sight of a brightly wrapped Christmas package on the nightstand stopped her in her tracks. She pulled it onto her lap for examination and leaned back against the pillows. There was no identifying tag on the present. Just then, Mulder entered the room on his new set of crutches. "Hey, you're up. I was just making dinner." "Dinner? What time is it?" "Almost six." "That's not too bad," she said. "On December twenty-sixth," he replied. He sat on the bed by her hip. "We slept through Christmas, Scully." "But I see Santa was here." He smiled. "Open it." "Yours is at my place," she said ruefully, and he shook his head. "We'll do Christmas later. Consider this a freebie." Scully peeled back the red and green paper. Underneath was a set of plastic baby blocks. The set of baby blocks Mulder had been harboring in his closet for years without telling her. A lump sprang up in her throat. "I've, um, had them a while," he said, looking at the floor. "Since when we started trying three years ago." Scully still didn't trust herself to talk. She stroked the edge of the box for a minute. "They're perfect," she managed at last. "I was thinking about what you said about hope. And I figure whatever other obstacles you and I might have, that after all these years we've got hope pretty well covered. Don't you think?" Scully scooted forward and gave him a fierce hug. "I love you," she said into his neck. "Yeah?" he said, sounding pleased. "See, I always hoped so." She answered with a watery laugh and hugged him tighter. "Never doubt it." He rubbed her back and rocked her gently. "Merry Christmas," he murmured. "One day late." "Merry Christmas," she said, because it was. She wiped her eyes and drew back. "So now I'm hoping for dinner." "Must be a Christmas miracle," he replied, deadpan. "Santa brought spaghetti." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The next day Scully drove them to the Department of Child Services, where they found Amelia waiting. "Thanks for letting me sit in on this," she said. "You know them best of all of us," Mulder replied. "You should be here." "Where's Adam?" she asked, and Mulder looked at the floor. "I think he's sitting this one out," Scully told Amelia. But just then, Adam came through the door. "Am I too late?" he asked as he adjusted his tie. "You came," Mulder said, surprised. "Yeah." Grenier looked uncomfortable. "These people gained and lost Lily a second time all in one conversation. I figured they might want to talk to someone who knew their daughter. And, well... I knew her." Amelia touched his arm. "They'll appreciate that." Mulder recognized the Tuckers immediately, even as his brain registered the fact that they were no longer young parents. The intervening seventeen years had been hard ones, by the looks of them. Tom had put on fifty pounds that he might have picked up from his wife's discard; Miriam was a shadow of her former self. Their expressions, however, were exactly as he remembered them: complete shock at how quickly life had turned upside down. And here they were about to do it to them again. "Mr. and Mrs. Tucker," Amelia said, stepping forward to greet them. "You may not remember me." "Of course we remember you," Tom said stiffly, seeming affronted. As if to forget one minute of the day their daughter disappeared was to forget her entirely. "I remember all of you, except her." He eyed Scully with some suspicion. "Dana Scully," she supplied. "I am so sorry about what happened to Lily." Miriam Tucker tightened her hold on her husband's arm. "At least now we know," she said quietly. "There's a conference area where we can go talk," Amelia suggested. "Can we get you some coffee?" "No, thank you," Tom answered. "We'll just hear you out and be on our way. They said we can take Lily with us back to California tomorrow." When they were all seated, Amelia took a deep breath. "As you know by now, Gary Pittsfield resurfaced about ten days ago, which is how we were able to capture him and to determine what had happened to Lily. What we have not mentioned yet is that there was a second girl in Pittsfield's custody. The reason we haven't mentioned her is that we first wanted to determine her identity through DNA before talking to you." "I don't understand," Tom said. "What's this second girl got to do with Lily?" Amelia withdrew a copy of the still photo taken from the webcam that had started the case in motion. "This is the little girl," she said, sliding it across the table. Miriam covered her mouth. Tom frowned. "This is Lily." "That's what we thought at first too. But it's not. This is a picture of Lily's daughter, your granddaughter." "Lily had a baby?" Miriam's eyes were wide. "Don't tell me that sonofabitch was the father." There was a pause, and Mulder sat forward. "I'm afraid DNA tests confirm it, sir." Miriam grabbed her husband's arm. "But he's dead. And Lily's dead. Who's taking care of this girl?" "She's in the custody of Child Services right now," Mulder explained. "She's here? Can we see her?" Miriam was excited. Tom seemed to be fighting tears. Of joy or anger, Mulder could not tell. "Of course," Amelia said. "She's waiting to meet you now. I'd caution you about saying anything about your relationship to her at this stage, though. As you might imagine, she's been through a lot." "I want to see her," Miriam said, standing up. The small group went to the room where Lily's daughter sat coloring a picture with a DCS officer. "Oh, it's Lily," Miriam said again as they all stared through the glass. "She's called Lily," Amelia agreed, and started to open the door. "Wait," Mulder said. Miriam and Tom turned to look at him. "Her given name is Miriam. Miri is what Lily named her." Miriam bit her lip and Tom put an arm around his wife. "Can we go in now?" he asked. "Certainly." Amelia and Grenier went inside with the Tuckers while Mulder and Scully watched through the one-way glass. Lily looked up with curiosity at the newcomers but did not smile. "It won't be like getting their little girl back," Scully murmured. "That child is going to have a lot of anger and confusion. And that's even assuming they want her." "They'll want her." Scully sighed and Mulder put an arm around her. "I think she was aiming for him, Mulder. I think that little girl shot her father so he wouldn't kill her first. How in the world do you take a child like that and give her anything resembling a normal life?" Mulder pulled her to his side. "Hope," he said. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ End chapter nine. Continued in chapter ten. Just one more to go, folks. Thanks for reading along! Chocolate-covered Mulders of thanks to Amanda for proofing. Let's be evil together: syn_tax6@yahoo.com ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Chapter Ten ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ After fifteen years of hard time as a soft-core pornography connoisseur, Mulder sometimes heard breathy female moans in his sleep. So when he dragged one eye open that morning, it was really more to make sure he had not left the TV playing. Instead he found Scully lying next to him in bed, touching herself. She was being discreet about it. She had one hand slipped inside her partially opened pajama top while the other hand disappeared beneath the covers. Her eyes were closed; her cheeks flushed. Mulder bit his lip to keep himself from squeaking. He had seen her do it before, of course, but always in the middle of a raunchy bout of lovemaking and typically at his suggestion. Scully put on a hell of a show, but it wasn't the same as catching her alone in the act. She was practically covered from head to toe and essentially inaudible, but still he was instantly, painfully hard. The voyeur inside him surged to the surface, making his skin tingle and his breathing deepen. He tried not to drool onto the pillow. Scully licked her lips and a furrow formed between her brows. He felt the mattress shift as she widened her legs. In the early morning light, he could just make out the stiff points of her nipples through the satin pajamas. Scully pinched them in turn and her bottom wriggled beneath the sheets. Her breath came faster, her head turning towards him on the pillow, but her eyes remained shut. Mulder drank openly at the sight, his own hand stealing under the covers. He realized he ought to be taking notes or something for future reference, but his brain seemed to have turned to fuzz. Her pace picked up as she rubbed herself more vigorously. Mulder thought he might explode from the effort of keeping silent. He put his hand over his dick and squeezed. Any more movement would have rustled the covers and outed him. Scully whimpered. "Oh," she said, getting close. Mulder couldn't help it: he gurgled. Scully froze and her eyes shot open immediately. Mulder screwed his shut and winced. "You're awake," she accused at last, sounding a little breathless. "Yeah." He paused, feeling guilty. "Sorry." He cleared his throat. "Please don't stop on my account." Scully blinked at him for a second and then started laughing. "What?" he demanded as she curled up in giggles. "Such earnest chivalry, Mulder." "You would have preferred begging?" He scooted closer to her. "Please, Scully, *please* don't stop on my account!" She laughed harder, and he hugged her, kissing the top of her head and urging her compact little body against his still-throbbing one. Scully rubbed her cheek against his T-shirt and hugged him back. "I didn't mean to wake you." "Next time, mean to wake me, okay?" he teased, and felt her smile. "I know it's been a while," he added a moment later. "Sorry about that." She pressed a kiss to his ribcage. "It's okay. How's your leg?" "A little better." He let his hand wander between them and slip under her pajama top. He stroked the warm, soft skin of her belly, and Scully's hips jerked against him in answer. "Mmm...much better." "Mulder," she warned. "Hmm?" he replied, his lips at her hairline. He caressed the underside of one breast with his fingertips. "You're not healed enough for this." "My hands are perfectly fine." He proved this by stroking the very point of her nipple with one finger. Scully sucked in a breath and squirmed a little. "Other parts of me are perfectly fine," he continued in a suggestive whisper. Scully's hand slipped lower on his belly, fingers grazing the waistband of his boxers. "You're a bad influence, Mulder. As a doctor, I shouldn't be encouraging this sort of behavior." "Encouraging it? Who's the one who started this party?" "Exactly the reason I left your name off the guest list," she reminded him. "Too late," he said, slipping his hand down the front of her pants. "Consider it crashed." Scully grabbed a fistful of his clothes and buried her face in his shoulder. Her knee was drawn up over his hip to give him better access. He found her swollen and hot, and she jerked at first contact. "Jesus, Mulder," she muttered into his T-shirt. "Good?" "Mmm-hmm," she said, sounding tense and distracted. His hand was kind of tangled up in her underwear, but he managed to find a rhythm she seemed to like. After his earlier interruption, it did not seem fair to make her stop long enough to take off her clothes. Scully started making little snuffling noises on his shoulder. Strands of her hair caught in his mouth, but he didn't have a free hand to remove them. Scully gripped him as though he were the lap bar on a Tilt-a-Whirl ride. He slipped a couple of fingers inside her, and she answered by setting her teeth against his collarbone. Mulder grinned. Got you now, he thought. Her hips rubbed against him in a slinky inchworm dance. "Oh," she said, her breath catching as she went rigid under his touch. Warm contractions embraced his fingers and Mulder pressed his lips to her head. Her hand clenched and unclenched on his belly. Mulder hugged her as best he could with the arm trapped under her body. Scully slumped against him and hugged him around the waist. "Better?" he asked. "I like this party," she said, voice muffled against his shoulder. "We should have it more often." Mulder chuckled and squeezed her. "My SPAM has been warning me for years about horny pregnant women. It turns out the rumors are true." A moment later her hand wandered back across his stomach and under his shorts. Mulder hissed out a breath, closing his eyes as she touched him. Scully gave him a few gentle caresses. "Does that hurt?" "Does it *hurt*? Scully, I got shot in the leg, not in the--hey, ow!" He broke off as she gave him a less-gentle squeeze. "Sorry," she said sweetly, and returned to her earlier rhythm. Mulder sighed and relaxed again. Scully had strong, nimble hands, and after all their years together, she knew just what he liked. Slack-jawed, he moaned as she quickened the pace a bit. "Lift up," she said, pausing to divest him carefully of his boxers. His cock sprang out in joyous freedom. Scully snuggled back up against his side and resumed stroking his penis from root to tip. She laid her cheek on his chest, watching her work intently, and somehow that turned him on more. He pushed his hips up with the rhythm of her hand. He tried to make it last, but it had been too long and he was too far gone. Scully rubbed vigorously and he groaned as orgasm hit. She gave him a few extra loving strokes as he lay there like a quivering Jello mold. After a bit, he grabbed a couple of tissues and cleaned up. Scully was still plastered against his side. "What time are Amelia and Adam coming?" he asked. She traced a lazy pattern on his chest. "About noon." "I guess that means we have to get out of bed." Scully sighed. "Remind me why I agreed to do this?" Mulder kissed her one last time before gingerly rolling out of bed. "Because," he said, "it was your idea." ~*~*~*~ Scully chopped vegetables for the hors d'oeuvres platter while Mulder worked on the cheese plate. Rather, he was supposed to be working on the cheese plate, but when she glanced at him he was mooning at the ultrasound picture he had taped to the fridge. Or at least it looked like he was mooning. Scully knew better. "Do you need me to point out the baby again?" she asked, matter of fact. Mulder shifted on his crutches and squinted at the picture. "It's like those 3-D drawings, Scully. I think I have it and then it goes away again." "This from a man who can find Sasquatch in a grainy photo from twenty paces." Mulder studied the photo again and then stared pointedly at her stomach. "I figure, push comes to shove, I can locate the baby just fine. I'll be happy when he or she gets 3- dimensional, though." "You mean when I get fat." He examined her belly pretty much every morning for signs of life. She had a couple of skirts she could no longer wear, but for the most part, her pregnancy didn't yet show. Mulder patted his own middle. "I'm the one getting fat. All this bed rest is killing me." At that moment, his doorbell rang and Mulder limped out of the kitchen in a hurry. "I've got it." Anything to get out of food preparation, Scully thought to herself with a mental sigh. She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and headed in the direction of voices. "Hi, there," Amelia was saying from the doorway with Natalie in her arms. "Belated happy new year, and an even more belated merry Christmas." "You too," Mulder replied, widening the door and getting out of the way. "Come on in." Amelia entered with Adam trailing behind. He held an armful of presents. "Where do you want these?" "On the coffee table with the others is fine," Mulder said. He had even purchased a small tree for the occasion. Amelia set Natalie down so she could remove her coat. "You remember Mulder and Scully," she said. Natalie's loose curls stuck up on end as her hat came off. Scully waved but Natalie was unimpressed. She turned her attention to Mulder's bandaged leg. "Boo boo?" she asked, sounding worried. "Um, a small one," Mulder answered. Amelia stood and wandered over to Scully. "I hear congratulations are in order." Scully felt herself blush a little. She hadn't even told her mother yet. Mom was not due back from California until the next day, and Scully preferred to break the news in person. At one point, having a pregnant and unmarried daughter would have broken her mother's heart, but Scully figured her horror-show life made this latest twist seem like a fairytale. Mom would be overjoyed. She returned Amelia's hug. "Thanks. You give me confidence that it's, um, possible to make the adjustment." Amelia had one eye on her daughter, who was examining Mulder's knee. "It used to drive me crazy when people said, 'Oh, kids change your life.' It kind of still does. I mean, it's a no-brainer. Of course they change your life. So does getting hit by lightning." Scully blanched, and Amelia laughed. "No, it's great, really. I adore her. I think, though, the biggest surprise has been what a neat person she is in her own right. She's got her own sense of style, her own laugh, her own pint-sized buttons to push. She sings "I Get Around" along with Beach Boys from her little car seat when we're out running errands. How could I have predicted that?" She paused and Scully smiled. Amelia continued, "I just think the world is a better place with her in it, and I'm feel blessed to have contributed in some small way. You know?" No, Scully thought, feeling teary again. "I hope to," she said, and Amelia hugged her around the shoulders again. "Boo boo," Natalie was affirming at Mulder's leg. "Careful, kiddo," Adam said. "You don't want to hurt Mulder." Natalie patted his bandage very gently and then leaned in to kiss it. "Awww," Amelia said, "That's very sweet of you, hon--" She broke off as Natalie grabbed Mulder's leg like a tree trunk, hugging him with all her might. Mulder braced himself against the wall and gritted his teeth. "Natalie, no," Adam said, pulling her back. "That's too tight." Natalie was unfazed. She smiled up at Mulder and spread her hands. "All better!" "Thank you," Mulder replied weakly. He met Scully's eyes, looking wounded. She smiled. "Love hurts." Scully and Amelia worked in the kitchen while Grenier and Mulder showed off Mulder's fish tank to Natalie. Up close, Scully could see the scars on Amelia's wrists that matched the marks on her own. "So you and Adam had Christmas together?" she asked, about as subtle as a log roller. Amelia didn't look up from tossing the spinach salad. "Yes, for Natalie's sake more than anything. After what she's been through, I wouldn't want to keep her from her father on Christmas." "He clearly adores her." "Yes." She ripped up some leaves. "I know." Scully was silent a minute. Amelia and Adam's relationship wasn't really any of her business. "You know what?" Amelia asked finally. "She did take the dog." "Excuse me?" "Penelope... Lily. Whatever you want to call her. She took our dog, Gypsy. They found her when they searched her house. Adam thinks she took her so Natalie would be less afraid." She braced both hands on the counter and looked down. "I've tried, but I can't hate her. I guess that means I can't hate him either." "Give it time," Scully said lamely. "Things will get better after a while." "Hey," Mulder said, sticking his head into the room. "There's been a vote that we open presents now." Beneath him, Natalie clasped her hands together and beamed. Amelia laughed. "I wonder who that could be?" "Presents it is then," Scully agreed, and Natalie ran back into the living room. The adults each took a seat while Natalie hovered over the wrapped gifts. "I think maybe she should go first," Mulder suggested. "I worry she might take my arm off if I made any sudden moves toward the presents." "Not you," Amelia replied. "The rest of us aren't safe." "Here you are, Natalie," Scully said, handing her gaily- wrapped box. Natalie shredded it in seconds, paper flying, and removed the lid on the box to reveal a stuffed monkey holding a "Curious George" book. "Ohhh," she crooned. "We like Curious George," Amelia said. "Don't we?" "Uh-huh." "What do you say to Mulder and Scully?" Natalie hugged the George monkey to her chest. "Mine." "How about thank you?" "Thank you," Natalie repeated, staring her monkey in the eyes. "You know who that is," coached Amelia as she leaned over to stroke her daughter's hair. "What's that monkey's name?" Natalie turned to her. "Mulder," she said in all seriousness. "Oh, God," Amelia groaned, and everyone laughed. "She's right," Grenier said. "I can see the resemblance." "Okay, then, how about you give Mulder his present?" Amelia suggested. Natalie put down the monkey and picked up a small red bag with a bow stuck to it. "Careful," Amelia warned. Natalie walked in tiny steps as if she were carrying an egg. She presented the package to Mulder, who accepted with a smile. "Thank you." She stood and watched while he removed the gift. "A fish!" he said. "Another Molly." "Scully mentioned you had lost one recently." "I did. This will make a great replacement, thank you." He stretched forward and set the fish on the table. "How about you give this one to your mom?" he asked Natalie. Natalie dutifully served as messenger. Amelia got a woven shawl and coupon good for a free night of babysitting. "Oh, I am going to hoard this," she said. "I figure we could use the practice," Mulder replied. Next Grenier opened his, a book on the Civil War. "I've been wanting to read this for a while," he said, flipping through the pages. "Thanks." "I remember you were always interested in the time period," Mulder said. Grenier looked surprised. "You did?" "Sure." Grenier shook his head and looked at the book. "I always figured you never heard a thing I said back then." "How could I know you were wrong if I didn't listen?" Mulder said. Grenier scowled until he realized Mulder was kidding. "Well, that must have been why I thought you weren't listening," he said. "Because otherwise you would have understood I wasn't wrong." "Boys? Can we keep them zipped for one afternoon?" Amelia handed Natalie another package. "This one is for Scully." Natalie looked at it a moment and then brought it to Mulder. "For you," she said. "No, I think it's for Scully," he said, handing it back. Natalie gave an exaggerated sigh and trooped back to where Scully sat. She handed her the box without a word. Scully carefully untied the ribbon and made sure not to rip the paper. Inside the box lay a small photo album. Scully initially thought it was in preparation for the baby, but she found it had already been filled with photos. All of them were of Mulder in his younger years. "Oh, my," she breathed. "Adam and I put our collection together," Amelia explained. "We thought you might like to have them." "They're wonderful." She laughed and held up the album. "I like this one." It showed Mulder asleep on a lounge sofa at Quantico with a pizza box in his lap. "It's nice to know some things about you haven't changed." The timer sounded in the kitchen, and Scully started to get up, but Mulder stopped her. "I'll go." "You sure?" "I'm fine." He hobbled past her, and she turned her attention back to the photo album. "This is a really thoughtful gift," she said. "Thank you both very much." "We have one more thing for you," Grenier said. He got up and went to where his coat hung on Mulder's rack. Returning with a folder, he handed it to Scully. "It's the final autopsy report on Gary Pittsfield." "Oh?" Scully accepted the folder and opened it. "Turns out he was faking the whole illness routine. Doc didn't find a thing wrong with him, save the bullet hole." Scully's heart skipped a beat. "That's impossible. I saw it. He was feverish and coughing up blood." "Maybe you saw what he wanted you to see." Scully scanned the report, looking for anything that would hint at Pittsfield's ill health. The ME's data looked solid: Pittsfield had died a perfectly healthy 50 year-old man. "Scully?" Mulder called. "Dinner's done. Can you give me a hand in here?" Scully put the folder aside and tried to still her trembling. "Coming," she called. Grenier toasted her as she went. "Merry Christmas." ~*~*~*~*~*~ End. Th-th-that's all, folks! Thanks for reading along. Many thanks to Amanda for proofing! I appreciate all your help very much. :-) Evil to the last drop: find me at syn_tax6@yahoo.com