From: ottercrk@sover.net (David Hearne)
Date: 26 Dec 2000 07:40:23 -0800
Subject: xfc: Acrobat (1 of 11)
Source: atxc

TITLE: ACROBAT (1 of 11)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

CLASSIFICATION: X

RATING: R

SUMMARY: With John Doggett as her new partner, Scully has to track
down a serial killer who is stalking people from her past.

SPOILERS: Lots of spoilers. Lots and lots of spoilers. Only read if
you are a long-time viewer of the show.

THANK YOU to Marie Endres and Mary Greten whose contributions were
necessary to improve the story.

Send feedback to ottercrk@sover.net

Website is located at http://members.dencity.com/hearne

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART ONE
IN WHICH AN FBI AGENT DIES, ANOTHER IS
RETURNED TO THE PAST, AND EVERYBODY
HAS THEIR OWN PRIVATE SOUNDTRACK

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Agent Tom Colton spent the last day of his life in a bad mood. He had
been in a bad mood for most of the past seven years which had been
spent investigating white collar crimes for the FBI. This was
important work. Somebody had to keep the public safe from embezzlers,
con artists, and people operating in impromptu basement offices.

It wasn't what got you noticed, though. Unless you went up against a
huge entity like the BCCI, reporters never called you up for details
on the latest real estate fraud. What brought the media in was blood.
They wanted to hear about serial killers and satanic cults and
kidnapped children. Not only did that attract the attention of the
public, it made you more noticeable to the Bureau's higher-ups. Colton
knew this. He waited every hour of his life for that juicy case that
would be his springboard to promotion.

Instead, he was poring over bank accounts, looking for "missing"
receipts, and trying not to fall asleep as he listened to
stock-brokers who didn't know their phones were tapped. It hadn't
always been this way. His career was once considered highly mobile. He
coulda been a contender.

Then a friend tripped him up. Or someone he had considered a friend.

He knew that he had himself to blame for his situation. A fellow agent
had been placed in danger because of his actions. He had never wanted
Scully hurt...

...but how the hell could he have seen it coming? If it hadn't been
for that nutball Mulder muddying up the waters, he would have
evaluated the situation clearly....

...but Mulder had been right. And it was Mulder who had saved Scully's
life.

No, no, no, Colton thought. You're not to blame. Okay? You weren't
responsible.

This inner debate had been a regular feature in Colton's soul for the
past seven years. He had been bouncing between doubt and
self-justification ever since he had been assigned (damned, really) to
the white-collar section of the FBI. Whenever he came close to
accepting responsibility for Scully's near-death, he started to blame
Mulder again. Colton would never apologize to *that* guy.

With Scully, it was harder to be stubborn. When she had been sick
with cancer, Colton had been tempted to visit her and maybe even
achieve a reconcilation. The meeting never occured, though. In that
case, Colton's latent guilt kept a reconciliation from happening as
much as his wounded pride.

Then Scully got well...or as well as she could get. A few years
later, another tragedy occurred. This made Colton wonder if he should
try again to make peace with her.

He never did. On the last day of his life, Colton was concerned only
with himself. His final action performed for the FBI was completing a
surveillance shift. It had been the standard kind of work he had been
doing for so many years -- boring, dull and tedious. The time was
eleven-eighteen P.M. when he was relieved. He berated the other agent
for being eighteen minutes late and then marched to his car. He would
be dead in thirty-nine minutes.

As he drove back to his apartment, he continued to fume at the tardy
agent as well as the section chief who had given him this tiresome
case. He also felt angry at the astoundingly uninteresting real estate
dealer who was at the center of this investigation. If only this
dullard would chop his wife up into spaghetti, Colton thought, then I
could find it easier to stay awake.

He turned on the car radio, just to have something else occupying his
thoughts. The radio responded by playing a song off that stupid
"Achtung Baby" album -- the one where that Irish band turned into
full-blown Eurotrash.

"If you close your eyes, you can see the enemy..."

Colton twisted the radio into silence, deciding to stew in his anger
instead. He found himself thinking of Scully.

What's her problem now? he thought. Oh, yeah. Mulder's gone. What, did
he get taken up by the little green...excuse moi, little gray men?
Well, Scully, life is tough.

Colton reached his apartment at eleven-fifty-three P.M. In four
minutes, he would find out just how tough life could be.

He went to his refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of beer. He took a
long drink from the bottle, then sighed.  He walked into his living
room at eleven-fifty-six P.M in order to watch a little television
before sleep. As he entered the room, he stepped on a tiny object. He
pulled back his foot and bent down to the floor. After managing to
find the object in the dark, he felt it in his hand.

It was a screw.

A memory shot into Colton's brain. He remembered a soft face with a
deliberately blank expression -- the expression of a man ready to make
his move.

His hand was shaking when he crossed over to the wall and flipped the
light switch. The tremors in his hand worsened when he saw other
screws on the floor. He also found the grate which normally covered an
air vent. There was now a square black hole in his wall.

A finger tapped him on the shoulder.

He spun around, ready to smack the other person with his beer bottle.
His wrist was caught in a hand tight enough to break bones.

The man holding his wrist was smiling. Colton could never recall
Eugene Tooms smiling.

Nor could he recall ever feeling the kind of pain he experienced when
the other man plunged his hand into Colton's belly. As if it was a
torpedo cutting through water, the hand pierced his skin and went
through layers of muscle. Colton had the sensation of a hundred lit
matches inside his body. He couldn't scream, though. He could only
gurgle.

The other man's hand clasped onto a desired object and tore it free.
Colton's last thought in life was a wish he had been nicer to a lot
more people.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Agent John Doggett wasn't sure what he felt about his new division. On
one hand, he wanted to do his job well, wherever he was located. If he
was in the Snatching Candy From Babies Division, then there wouldn't
be a candy-snatcher in the world who would be safe from him. It didn't
matter what kind of criminal he was trying to find or what case needed
to be solved.

On the other hand, he was in the X-Files -- the butt of many a
federal agent's joke; the division described as "a waste of money" and
"the weirdo haven"; the cave where Agent Fox Mulder spent years
ranting at the world and throwing chicken bones at visitors.

Doggett had made jokes about the X-Files himself, but never about
Mulder. He had known enough about Mulder to realize the missing agent
had been one of the best in the Bureau. If Mulder had been
side-tracked into personal weirdness, then you had to keep in mind
that the finest minds usually had great flaws in them.

He hadn't thought about Mulder a lot in the past, though. After his
new assignment, he began to think about Mulder all the time.

Mulder and the partner he left behind.

Agent Dana Scully...every look she gave him seem to say, "I never
asked for you here and I'd prefer not to have you here." Her passions
and agony threatened to tear her apart in eight different directions.
What's more, Doggett *knew* that she was still keeping secrets from
him.

She was his partner, nevertheless. That's why when he met her in a
hallway of FBI Headquarters and saw the tense expression on her face,
he felt protective. He had just arrived at Headquarters and had
expected to meet her in the basement (which was his new office).
Instead she was walking away from the elevator.

"What's up?" he asked.

Once again, he got her defensive look. "Kersh wants to speak with me,"
she answered in a deliberately cool voice.

There blows an ill wind, Doggett thought. "What does he want?" he
asked

"He probably wants to speak to me about Agent Colton."

Doggett had already heard about Colton's murder. When one of their own
dies, the Bureau spreads the word quick. "What do you have to do with
that?" he wondered.

"I knew Colton. We were in the same class at the Academy together."

"That still doesn't explain why Kersh wants to speak with you."

Scully made a slight twitch with her facial muscles. It meant that
she agreed, but she didn't care to discuss it right now.

"I should come with you..."

"Kersh wanted to speak with me alone."

"I don't think you should do that."

"I'll be fine, Agent Doggett." With that, Scully went on her way.
Doggett watched her turn a corner of the hall.

Hm, Doggett thought. My own little radar is picking up a few U.F.O.'s
itself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Scully did not speak to Deputy Director Alvin Kersh alone. When she
came to his office, a dark-haired woman wearing a FBI card was waiting
with the Director.

"Agent Scully," Kersh said, sitting behind his desk. "this is Agent
Susan Ventura." His deep, even voice suggested that some person was
being introduced to her executioner. Ventura and Scully shook hands
with the same kind of formality.

"Take a seat," Kersh told Scully. She sat in front of his desk.
Ventura remained standing with her brown eyes carefully studying the
seated woman.

"Agent Ventura is in charge of the Colton investigation," Kersh
explained. "It goes without saying that every agent should co-operate
with her to the fullest extent."

"Yes, sir," Scully responded, her voice still cool. "It should go
without saying."

Kersh ignored the veiled rebuke and nodded to Ventura.

"How would you describe your relationship to Agent Tom Colton?"
Ventura asked.

"We haven't had a relationship. I haven't been near him for seven
years."

"How about before then? Would you have characterized your relationship
as friendly?"

"Yes, I would."

"Did that change?"

"I'm afraid it did. We had a falling out over a case."

"The one who apparently fell was Agent Colton," Ventura observed as
she picked up a folder off Kersh's desk. After opening it, she read
from the contents. "'It is the decision of this review panel that
Agent Colton be transferred from violent crimes. His lapses of
judgment cannot be tolerated if they endanger fellow agents.'" Ventura
looked back towards Scully. "You were the agent who was endangered,
were you not?"

"Correct."

"What was your assessment of Agent Colton's character?"

A frown appeared on Scully's superficially polite face. "Why do you
ask?"

"Humor us," Kersh said.

Scully took a breath, then said, "Tom Colton was a talented,
promising agent. However...his own personal ambition and obsession
with the Bureau's internal politics became defects which overshadowed
his talents." She looked at Kersh, then added, "Unfortunately there is
quite a bit of that in the FBI."

Kersh's expression and tone of voice didn't change as he responded,
"Well, there's more than one kind of obsession which is destructive to
the FBI, Agent Scully."

"Getting back to the business at hand..." Ventura said in a firm
voice.

"And what is the business at hand?" Scully interrupted as she turned
to Ventura. "Is the Bureau investigating everyone in the Bureau who
had a bad history with Colton or just me?"

Ventura's eyes stayed on Scully for one more moment, then she tossed
the folder back onto Kersh's desk and crossed her arms over her chest.
"There are unusual circumstances surrounding Colton's death," she
explained. "He was found in his apartment after agents were sent to
investigate his absence from work. The agents had to break down a
locked door. In fact, every kind of entrance into the apartment was
locked and sealed. Any possibilties of a suicide were ruled out by the
cause of Colton's death -- a deep wound in his abdomen. There's also
the matter..."

"His liver is missing." The words just popped out of Scully's mouth. 
She tried not to flinch as the two other people in the room stared at
her.

"Yes," Kersh confirmed. "His liver is missing."

"As you seem to have already noticed," Ventura said. "the murder is
very similar to a case you and Agent Mulder investigated years back.
The name of the killer there escapes me for the moment..."

"Tooms," Scully almost whispered. "Eugene Tooms."

"Right. Since Mister Tooms is dead, we may have a copycat on the
loose. Or another mutant, if we are to believe Agent Mulder's
conclusions."

"Unlikely," Scully replied, her voice now sharp and hard.

"So you don't believe this was the work of a mutant."

"I don't think that either one of you would believe."

The Deputy Director nodded at Ventura. It was a signal whose meaning
was known only by Kersh and Ventura.  Scully had the bad feeling that
the trump card was about to be played.

"Well, I don't believe this to be a copycat killer," Ventura said as
she opened up another folder and removed a sheet of paper from it.
"Because Tooms didn't leave messages at a crime scene. This is a copy
of such a message found near Colton's body."

She extended her hand to Scully. "I believe it's for you."

Scully took the sheet with a confused, anxious expression on her face.
After she read it, she stared at the sheet as if it was a bleeding
wound across her hand.

"It's from the Bible, as you probably know," Ventura said, her voice
unperturbed in the face of Scully's discomfort. "I think it's safe to
say that 'Dana' is meant to be you. Can you explain what..."

"Let's just cut the crap, okay?" Scully snapped. "Am I being accused
of something?"

"You are not being accused of anything," Kersh answered, his voice
still calm. "The Bureau just has a natural curiosity about why one of
their agents has been killed and why another agent is being given
messages by the killer."

Scully closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against her brow.

"Well, Agent Scully. Can you satisfy our..."

The door opened. "This is a private meeting!" Kersh barked at the man
entering the room.

"It's a meeting with my partner," Doggett replied, looking every inch
the ex-marine as he strode towards Kersh's desk. "I would like to know
what it's about."

Scully lowered her hand and looked at Doggett. A tiny smile appeared
on the face of Alvin Kersh. He said --

"Would you care to provide the explanation, Agent Scully?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Serial killers. Bah.

These were the thoughts going through the head of Colton's murderer.
He was considering the depiction of serial killers in popular culture.
He was specifically thinking of the movie "Seven." He had never cared
for the film's gray look, its deliberate gloom, and its trendy
literary referencing. The director of "Seven" had first started his
career in music videos. Colton's murderer could have figured that out
from the titles sequence. Nine Inch Nails on the soundtrack? he
thought. How perfectly obvious.

Then he smiled and thought, I should talk. Here I am, driving through
the night and what's playing on my stereo?

"It's come down to this...your kiss...your fist..."

I suppose most people have their own private soundtrack nowadays --
their own special songs always playing on their Walkmans. They bring
special tunes for special occasions whether it be a romantic dinner, a
Christmas party, or a funeral. Since I'm a killer, I imagine that I
would have bring along some dark "industrial" music.

I'm not in a dark mood, though. I feel good.

The killer looked at the photo hanging from the rearview mirror on a
string. The image on the photo was of an attractive red-haired woman.

Why shouldn't I feel good? he thought. I'm in love.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Not for the first time, Dana Scully returned to her apartment weary.
She was used to feeling tired at the end of a workday or after a long
plane trip. Her past adventures with Mulder would usually overcome her
with exhaustion.

However, this kind of exhaustion was different. She wondered if she
would be able to stand up again after laying down. There were two
other times in her life when she felt this tired. One was when she was
suffering from cancer. The other time occurred around the time her
father died.

What she felt now was a cross between the spiritual and the physical.
Not only had the most important man in her life disappeared, but she
was bearing a child. On top of that, she had been dragged into a
murder case with herself as one of the main clues. Ventura's
interrogation hadn't gone too long, but the message had been clear.
"Your past is under review," Kersh and Ventura had said without
saying. "Your life will be picked apart for information. You will be
under watch." Then she was told that she would not be involved in any
casework until they could clear up the questions centered
on her. That's why she was in her apartment now -- tired.

Poor Tom, she thought and meant it. She still remembered when they had
been among "the best and the brightest" of their class. Tom could be
condescending in those days, but there had been mutual respect
between him and Scully. It had been disheartening to watch him behave
like an ass in the end. Then, again, Mulder had a habit of bringing
out the worst in the worst people.

Scully dropped herself onto her couch. Everything came back to Mulder,
one way or another. He had been her life, her touchstone, her
pain-in-the-butt. Despite the circumstances, the resurfacing of the
Tooms case had given her a strange sensation of nostalgia. Even after
her experiences in Oregon and Idado, Mulder's world had still been new
to her eyes then. It could be a terrifying realm, but it had its awe.

Unfortunately, it also had its despair. As she tried to explain the
Tooms case to John Doggett's disbelieving face, she found it hard not
to start crying. Thinking about Tooms made her think about Mulder back
then. Her memories made him appear so young in those days. When she
had first met him, he had seemed more cocky than moody. He had been
driven by his own eagerness to discover the unknown as much as by any
inner demons. Over the years, those demons tightened their hold on him
until the breath was almost squeezed from his body. However, he seemed
to have won out eventually. He found a meaning in his suffering.

Maybe she had, too.

The past was all she had left of him now and even those memories
weren't a comfort. They had been corrupted by Tom Colton's remains and
a message.

"To Dana --

"Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before the
fall."

In dark times, such mysteries had been a comforting distraction for
her. She had lost loved ones, she had come close to death, she had
been robbed (once) of the chance to be a mother, but she had her work.
If she couldn't bring order in one place, then she could bring it in
someplace else. This mystery did not promise such an opportunity. It
was just another lead weight hanging around her neck along with
Doggett.

She knew this was an unfair attitude towards Doggett. Even if he had
tried some NYPD-style psychological crap on her in their first
encounter,  he was still a man just trying to do his job. Furthermore,
he had defended her from Ventura and Kersh, despite his reluctance to
buy the "mutant" theory.

On the other hand, she didn't have the strength to adjust another
person to reality. "I've seen these things!" she wanted to scream at
Doggett. "Do you think I'm crazy, too?"

Then, again, who was she to spite anybody's denial? How hard had
Mulder tried to make her accept the truth? Looking back at it, she
wondered how many times she had held him back. However, memory also
showed the moment when he had told her that she had "saved" him, that
she had made him a "whole person," that...

She didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to think about
anything. For one minute, at least, she wanted to be separated from
the whole world.

That couldn't be done in the silence. She snatched a remote control
off a coffee table and pointed it at the CD player. She didn't care
what CD had been left inside. She just wanted something to fill up
this damnable void.

The violins of an orchestra rose and fell. Then a female voice sang,
the sound floating over the violins like a feather.

"In the night before we're apart
"There's a ghost of you within my haunted heart..."

Wonderful, she thought. The perfect song.

She was tempted to turn off the player, but decided to just listen.

"Ghost of you, my lost romance
"Eyes that glance, lips that dance..."

Even before the song was over, Scully knew that she couldn't rest
now.

There was still work to be done. She checked her computer to see if
the Lone Gunmen had left her a message. Byers, Langly and Frohike had
been keeping her updated  on any bits of information which could
possibly be linked to Mulder's disappearance. Unfortunately, the
information usually led to another dead end. That didn't keep her from
grabbing onto anything thrown her way.

This must have been what it was like to be Mulder, Scully thought as
she accessed her e-mail account. Always searching, always shifting
through the dirt for a speck of gold.

She did find a e-mail from the Lone Gunmen. However, her eyes were
drawn to another message. It was the one with the subject heading
"LISTEN TO THE WORD OF GOD. "

She placed her hand on the mouse, but didn't move it. A few seconds
passed by before she clicked on the message.

"...in vain shalt thou use many medicines; for thou shalt not be
cured."

For over a minute, Scully studied the message. Then she realized that
Colton's murderer was going to strike again and who was the intended
victim. She also realized that it would be almost impossible to warn
the intended target.

Furthermore, she wasn't sure if she wanted to warn him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART TWO
IN WHICH AN UNDERGROUND MAN IS BROUGHT
DOWN, AND SCULLY GETS ANOTHER CLUE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The man who called himself Bill Christian had used several names in
the past. He was used to changing identities and shifting locations.
He had visited over thirty towns in and out of the United States. In
every one of them, he acted as if he had been living there all his
life.

Secretly, he was not bound to any one spot. At a moment's notice, he
could pack a few suitcases and leave with no clues as to his next
destination. No one could hold him down -- at least, no one outside of
the circles in which he worked. There was one allegiance he could
never deny. He wasn't bothered by this touch of gravity in his usually
weightless life. He had believed in the cause that his masters
followed. He had been raised, trained and compelled to believe in it.

The masters were gone, though. They had been dead for some time.
However, the network of secrecy they had built still existed. Bill
Christian used this network to create his current identity as an
obstetrician working in North Carolina. As he gave dietary advice to
expectant mothers, he was considering a new allegiance with the
Russian mob. He had extended some feelers to them, and they had
expressed interest in his expertise.

He felt no need to rush his decision. Doctor Christian saw himself as
a trapeze artist who was always flying above the ground. He was
confident that he would always remain in the air, spinning and
twirling from one swing to another, never having to look down at the
crowds.

Then, one night, he was leaving his clinic when hands grabbed him and
knocked him unconscious. He awoke in a chair, straps holding him
against the wooden seat. When he saw the grin on his captor's face and
the tool in his hand, Doctor Christian knew that he had missed the
handle of the trapeze swing. The dusty circus ground rushed to meet
him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Scully *did* tell Agent Ventura about the e-mail. She also explained
its meaning.

On the next day, the FBI soon received a call from the police of
Raleigh, North Carolina. They wanted to know if they had an agent
named Dana Scully. After finding out why, Ventura decided to take a
trip to the basement. She could have summoned Scully upstairs, but she
decided to meet the other agent on her home territory -- just to show
that she couldn't be intimidated.

As she stepped out of the elevator and walked through the dusty
hallways, she concluded that the basement could swallow people whole.
It had certainly swallowed Mulder and Scully. The latest meal
intercepted her before she reached the office.

"I need a word with you," Doggett insisted.

"You have needs. I have a job."

Ventura started to walk past him. Doggett then said, "Wait." He did it
with so much authority that she stopped in her tracks. She was
reminded of the time when people thought "Director John Doggett" had a
nice ring to it.

"Before you start treating Agent Scully like a suspect..."

"I'm treating her like an unknown factor..."

"Just listen, okay?"

Ventura sighed. "All right."

"She was right about Scanlon, right?"

"Yes, she was. This 'Doctor Christian' was the missing Doctor
Scanlon."

"And you wouldn't have found him if somebody hadn't killed him and
dumped his body where the police could find him. Correct?"

"I would say that...Doctor Scanlon managed to cover his tracks very
nicely."

"So Scully is batting a thousand right now. What does that tell you?"

"That she should be heading this investigation?"

Doggett spread out his hands. "You said it. I didn't."

"Uh-huh. The problem is that *I'm* heading this investigation. And I
want to know why the killer is giving all the good stuff to
Scully..."

"So would she. So would I. But you're not going to help things by
going in that office and acting like she's hiding something."

"You're saying that Agent Scully doesn't hide things?"

Doggett paused, then said, " She wants to find this guy. Right now,
she has the best insight into his thinking. I don't know what kind of
sick game is being played here, but Scully is our point guard. We need
to treat her like one."

Ventura squeezed her lips into a thin line as she thought. Then she
warned, "Kersh will chew out my ass if he found out that I was getting
chummy with her."

"You're not getting chummy. You're investigating a crime."

"Hm. You know, the word is that you have it in for Kersh."

"Maybe. But does that disprove anything I just said?"

"No. I guess not."

Doggett stepped aside. "Then, let's go talk to her."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I ride in your slip-stream,"the radio wailed. The killer tapped a
finger on the steering wheel in time with the song's rhythm. He was
driving north. Soon he would abandon his car (the third one he had
stolen over the past month) and take a plane trip to New York City.

He was still feeling good. In fact, this was the best he had felt in
years. It couldn't all be attributed to his sadistic pleasure in the
act of murder or the mind games he was playing with Agent Scully. Nor
it could be all due to the boundless, refreshing strength of his body
which made him feel as if he had electricity in his veins.

He supposed that his joy came from his new focus. For so many years,
he had been working in a job whose lack of meaning had become as
obvious as a headache. There had been one pleasure in it -- a
masturbatory pleasure which eventually changed into mere habit.
Everything in his life was mere habit from his eating to his means of
entertainment to the videotapes he catalogued.

It was different now. He could see everything lining itself up for
him. All he had to do was bend over and pick it off the ground.

The song ended. He considered putting on "Shoot Out the Lights."

Nah, he thought. Too obvious.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The metal was screaming as it spun over her eyes. She tried to move,
but could only produce the slightest quivers in her head. She could
only see the grey point and the white lights behind it. In a few
seconds, she couldn't even see the lights. The air heated around her
forehead.

"Agent Scully?"

Scully's memory snapped off like a light. However, she was still
shaken by how it had overtaken her and became more real than the
office around her. Ventura and Doggett were staring at her troubled
face.

"You okay?" Doggett asked.

She almost said, "I'm fine." This time, however, she decided not to
hide behind those two words.

"Sometimes I have these flashbacks to the time when I was abducted. I
remember being experimented on." She looked at the photo in her
hands. "Apparently, someone performed the same kind of experiments on
Doctor Scanlon without any safety protocols."

Ventura said, "Uh, it's hard to imagine how drilling a hole in a
man's forehead could be safe."

"Yes, it is," Scully responded quietly. She didn't look up from the
photo of Scanlon. His mouth was fixed into a wide circle and his eyes
were bulging. Clumps of gray brain matter and white bone lined the
hole in his forehead as if they were sawdust.

Scully was seated at the desk in the office (Mulder's desk, the desk
he always sat at, the desk by which she had talked with him so many
times...) with Doggett and Ventura standing in front of it. Ventura
cleared her throat to get Scully's attention.

"Was there a message left on the body?" Scully asked.

"Yes." Ventura reached into her folder and pulled out another photo.
"It was branded onto Scanlon's chest."

"You're kidding," Doggett said with a wince.

"Nope," Ventura told him as she handed the photo to Scully. "Very
neatly, too."

She was right. In small yet clear letters, a message was burnt into
Scanlon's flesh.

"This time, it was addressed to 'FBI Special Agent Dana Scully,'"
Ventura noted. "I guess the killer wanted to make sure you got the
message."

Scully nodded, her eyes returning to a close study of the photo in her
hand. Doggett was tempted to look over her shoulder, but decided
against it.

"It's another Biblical quotation, I take it," he guessed.

"M-hm," Scully replied.

"I guess I understand how the last two fit," Ventura said. "Colton
was someone who let his pride get away with him. And Scanlon was a
doctor."

"A doctor who was conducting experiments on humans," Scully informed
her, still not looking up.

"And...that includes you?"

"Doctor Scanlon served as my doctor when I was first diagnosed with
cancer. I found out that he was merely collecting information about me
and possibly killing women with a similar condition."

Ventura came close to shivering. Scully's voice sounded so distant.
She looked at Doggett and could see that he was thinking the same
thing. This woman's story may not be completely true, but she sure as
hell as went through something.

Their eyes quickly shifted back to Scully when she said, "I've figured
it out."

"You know who the next intended victim is?"

"I do. One word in this message says it all."

Scully then searched the desk's surface. "It's not here," she
observed.

"What's not?"

"Mulder's rolodex. Your men never returned it after they ransacked
this office."

"Well, what number do you need?"

"Scotland Yard's."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART THREE
IN WHICH CONSPIRATORS PLAN, ANOTHER OLD
GHOST VISITS SCULLY, AND THE VILLAIN MAKES
A SURPRISE APPEARANCE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Agent Scully and the FBI weren't the only ones interested in the
murders of Agent Colton and Doctor Scanlon. In an apartment located in
D.C., a woman studied photos of dead men. One of them laid on the
floor with a gaping wound in his abdomen. The other had a smaller,
more precise one in his forehead. She examined them and the attached
report until her phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Marita, it's me. Where are you?"

"I'm at my apartment."

"You're needed here at the facility. We've got work to do."

"I know. But we might also have a new problem. I have received some
disturbing information through our FBI channels."

"What's that?"

"Have you ever met Doctor Kevin Scanlon? Or a man working under that
name?"

"No. Should I have?" The impatience in the other person's voice was
growing.

"Scanlon did medical work for The Syndicate. He's been murdered."

"And why should I care?"

"Because someone did it to deliberately get Agent Scully's
attention."

Alex Krycek paused before he spoke in reply. "How so?"

Marita Covarrubias explained the circumstances around the murders of
Colton and Scanlon. "Both men are people for whom Scully wouldn't have
pleasant attitudes," she observed.

"I see."

"And her attitude wouldn't be very pleasant towards you, Alex."

"Or you, Marita. Are you saying that we might get targeted?"

"It's hard to say with the data we have now. I do think I should take
a little time on this."

There was silence on the other end for a few moments. Then Krycek
said, "Okay. But just a little. You know how much needs to be done
already."

"I know."

With that, the conversation ended. Covarrubias spent the next hour
doing her own research with files containing secrets hidden for
decades. At the end of the hour, she accessed one particular file. It
was marked "XENITH."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Hello, Dana."

"Oh, my god, it's you."

"It's been a long time since we last met."

"Yes. I haven't seen you since...why are you here?"

"To warn you again that death is near. And that you must not accept
its embrace."

"What do you mean? I don't want to die."

"I'm afraid you do, Dana. Part of you does anyway. There's a struggle
inside of you that only you can resolve. You have to make the
choice."

"What choice? I don't see any choice here."

"Not yet."

"I still don't understand. What's going to..."

The plane was ready to land, so Doggett pressed Scully on the arm. To
his surprise, she came out of sleep crying a name loud enough to make
other passengers turn their heads. Doggett saw the fright in her eyes
and said, "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

Scully looked at the FBI agent sitting next to her. A cool, formal
expression dropped over her face like a helmet's visor. "Are we about
to land?" she asked.

"Yes."

Scully turned to the window. She could see the skyscrapers of New York
City standing proud on their island.

"Who's Nurse Owens?"

Scully quickly turned back to Doggett. "What?"

"You called out that name when you woke up."

The visor remained firmly in place. "She looked over me once when I
was in the hospital," she explained and that's all Doggett would get
out of her.

When the plane landed, she, Doggett and Agent Ventura disembarked. As
they walked with the long flow of human traffic in the airport,
Ventura said, "When we meet up with the team, keep in mind that I had
to really push Kersh to bring you here. Any command decisions have to
be seen as coming from me."

"They *do*come from you, Agent Ventura," Scully replied. "This is your
case. I'm here to assist you, not to order you around."

Ventura examined Scully's honest expression, then nodded. When they
met up with the four other agents assigned to the case, it was Ventura
who explained their objectives. Then they all headed for the St.
Moritz Hotel.

They were expected.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It amused him greatly to be in a hotel full of law enforcement
officials. Here he was, a murderer surrounded by police officers and
federal agents from over twenty countries. It was funny to him that
they would pass by the man reading a newspaper in the lobby and fail
to see a serial killer.

It was also funny to him that they were the ones in danger, not him.

As he casually browsed through "The New York Times," he heard the
brisk clacking of dress shoes, both male and female. He could
recognize the sound as the walk of federal agents on a case. That's
not what made him look up, though.

He could sense her presence. Maybe it was her smell or the sound of
her walk. Maybe he just had confidence in her arrival. There was no
way she could have prevented the first two murders, but he had given
her enough leeway to prevent the third.

Or, rather, he deluded her into thinking she could.

He lowered the newspaper to watch her. When she passed his chair, she
was five feet away. He had never been this close to her before. Up
until now, he had known her face only in videos and photos. He was
familar with nearly every detail of her life, but he had never met
her.

The feeling he had was akin to a devoted fan meeting his favorite
celebrity. It was exciting, but it was also surreal. When a real
physical presence is added to a person you've known only as an image
or a sound, it takes a moment to orient yourself. Dana Scully was an
actual human being after all and the knowledge left him feeling...

A little scared, perhaps? A little unsure of his actions?

If he felt uncertainty, the feeling evaporated quickly. He smiled as
Scully and the other agents headed for the elevator. She hadn't seen
him. Soon she would.

Soon she would see nothing but his face.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She looked as attractive as she did years ago. Her eyes were no less
alert. When she saw Agent Scully, her familiar amused smile appeared
on her mouth.

"Hello, Agent Scully," Phoebe Green said.

"Inspector Green," Scully replied.

"Well, this is an interesting surprise. It's almost as good as being
told that one's life is in danger. Of course, I'm still having trouble
believing that."

"We have good reasons to believe it is true," Ventura assured her.

"So you told me over the phone." Green sat on the edge of her hotel
bed. She had been staying in her hotel room under guard ever since
Agent Ventura delivered her warning. Before then, she had been
attending an international seminar of law enforcement officials held
in the conference room. She had been 'chatting up' a very nice-looking
policeman from Mexico when she was informed of the emergency call.

"Would you mind telling me what the reasons are?" Green asked.

Ventura told her about the deaths of Colton and Scanlon. As the
explanation continued, Green kept glancing at Scully. The recepient of
the glances did her best to keep her face blank.

Ventura also told Green about the message branded on Scanlon. "'Who
shall stand when he appeareth? For he is like a refiner's fire...'"

"I see." Green turned to Scully. "So this reference to fire made you
think of the L'ively case?"

"Yes, Agent Scully made that suggestion," Ventura said, wanting to
step between Scully and the Scotland Yard inspector. "She also
suggested that you would be the next intended victim."

"Hm. Well...Agent Scully is a very intelligent investigator. If she
believes I'm in danger, then I accept her warning with the utmost 
seriousness. The question is -- what to do now?"

"One option is for you to return to England. The criminal is most
likely still here in America."

"But he can still follow me. And judging from what you've told me, he
has a fully developed obsession. Since I have the FBI to look after me
here, I would probably be safer in New York City."

"That's my assessment as well."

"Not to mention, I would also make good bait."

Ventura made no reply.

"There's no need to be ashamed of thinking it, Agent Ventura. I've
played similar roles before. If it's necessary to catch this man, I
will do it. However, I have one question..."

Green stood up and looked straight at Scully.

"Where is Mulder?"

For the first time, Scully couldn't look Green in the eye.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Now just how to do it? the killer thought. You have seven FBI agents
between you and Phoebe Green. They'll be waiting for you in the lobby,
 by the stairs, by the elevator, in Green's room.

Let's not forget that Miss Green herself is packing heat and there
are thirty-odd law enforcement officials wandering about the hotel
with their own  weapons. If I know Agent Scully...and I know her so
well...then she's already made sure no incidernary devices have been
planted anywhere in the hotel. Undoubtedly she also knows that
Colton's murderer entered through the air ducts and has confirmed this
with evidence gathered from the scene. She's made sure that no one can
gain entrance that way into the hotel.

So how do I get close enough to Phoebe Green?

That's easy.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The agents waited.

Scully did her waiting with Phoebe Green. Agent Ventura was downstairs
in the lobby.

Neither Scully or Green said anything for the first hour. Green spent
the time laying on a bed and trying to read a book. Scully
concentrated on reviewing the evidence collected from the first two
crime scenes. She studied the photos, the messages, everything. Is
there something I'm missing? she wondered. Is there something the
killer wants me to see?

The phone rang. Scully was the one who answered it. When she heard the
deep voice of Assistant Director Walter Skinner, she found herself
grateful just for its sound.

"What's going on up there?" he asked.

"We're just in the waiting mode right now."

"You think your man will show up?"

"I think..." Scully glanced at Green. "...he was waiting for me to
arrive."

Skinner didn't need to be in that hotel room for Scully to see the
stern look on his face. "I don't like you being there. Not...under
these circumstances."

Scully directed another glance to Green. The Englishwoman was focused
on her book.

"I'm being careful, sir," Scully assured Skinner.

"Careful enough?"

"I understand your concern. However, in this case, I don't have much
of a choice. I became involved when the killer used my name. I have to
see this through."

"And that leads to...?"

"Wherever it has to lead, sir."

Before he could ask what the hell did that mean, Scully said, "I'll
keep you informed, sir."

Then she hung up the phone. That's when she saw Green looking at her.

"Is there a problem?" Scully asked with more harshness than intended.

"I'm just wondering why this mystery man is killing your enemies."

Scully's frown became a stunned expression. "You're not my enemy."

"Well, I'm not a friend, either. You didn't care for my relationship
with Fox."

"Mulder didn't really care for it, either. In the end."

Green placed the book on the mattress and folded her hands over her
stomach. "It pains me to hear what happened to him," she said with no
deceit. "It really does."

Scully made no response to that.

"But, I still have to pay for the mistakes I made, don't I?"

"This is not about your mistakes."

"What is it about then?" Green sat up and pulled her knees against
her chest. "Yes, I treated Mulder badly. Should I die because of it?"

"No one cares about that relationship, Inspector Green."

"Except the man who wants to burn me alive, if he follows his m.o. And
he's doing it for you, Agent Scully."

"He's doing nothing for me!" Scully yelled. The anger in her voice
made Green flinch.

"I don't know who this man is!" Scully continued to yell. "I don't
know why he's doing this! But I am not responsible for him, understand
me? I'm..."

Scully shut off her loud voice. She collapsed into a chair and placed
her head in her hands. A queasiness was building in her gut.

The hotel room was silent for a long time. Then Green said quietly,
"What *do* we know about our killer?"

Scully let out a long sigh, then sat up straight in her chair.
"Well...he seems to be some kind of contortionist. The air vents in
Colton's apartment were just enough for a man to squeeze into them,
but it would have been impossible for a normal man to work his way
around the corners."

"But you don't think this is another mutant like...what was his name
again?"

"Tooms. Not exactly like Tooms anyway. This man just copied Tooms to
get my attention. Still, it's possible his body has unusual physical
properties."

"All right. What does the Scanlon murder tell you?"

Scully thought briefly, then said, "That he has connections to the men
who abducted me. Or he has some ability to track down people who don't
want to be found."

"Well, he is good at finding information. He knows an awful lot about
you."

"Yes. He does."

"Still, this is not adding up to much."

"I agree."

"Maybe we should be concentrating about what he will attempt to do
now. He wants to kill me -- immolate me like Cecil L'ively did this to
his victims. Could he possibly have the same pyrokinetic powers?"

"No. He's a copycat, not the real thing. Besides, he wouldn't do
things from a distance like L'ively. He would...look you in the eye
when the time comes."

Green cleared her throat. "I imagine he would, judging from his past
behavior."

Scully turned away from Green to the door. "He would want you to see
his smile..." she said in a muted voice.

The intense look on Scully's face turned Green's attention to the
door. "What is it?" she asked.

Scully kept staring at the door.

"Agent Scu..."

The FBI agent stood up from her chair and strode over to Green. Her
movement was so abrupt that Green backed up to the headboard. She
didn't know what Scully was going to do.

Scully stopped right in front of Green and said, "We've got to get you
out of here now."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ventura was standing by the front desk when her cellular phone rang.
Keeping her eyes on the lobby and the other agent with her, she
answered the phone.

"Ventura."

"This is Scully. I'm taking Green out of the hotel."

"What?"

"She's in danger here. You won't be able to stop the killer."

"But...okay, what the hell are you saying?"

"He wouldn't have given us the clues if there was a way of stopping
him."

"And just how is he going to get in here?" Ventura demanded to know.

"Excuse me?" another voice said. The voice came from a man who had
walked up to Gary Horne, an agent who had been posted near the door.
The man was a complete stranger.

A stranger with a smile on his face.

And a gasoline can in his hand.

Ventura stared at this strange as she heard the words of Agent Scully.
"He's going to come straight up the middle."

"I'm here to set Phoebe Green on fire," the smiling man explained. "Do
you know where she is?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART FOUR
IN WHICH SCULLY MEETS HER WORST ENEMY

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

This was what happened --

Doggett and Agent Preston were posted in the stairwell. They had been
talking about baseball when they heard people running down the stairs
fast. They were reaching for their guns when Doggett looked up and saw
a flash of red hair.

"Agent Scully?" he called out.

"We need to get Green out of the building," Scully responded as her
heels clattered on the steps. She was accompanied by Green and the
agent who had been guarding the outside of the hotel room. Both agents
had their guns out.

"You and Agent Preston take Green to the garage and drive her to the
nearest safety point," Scully ordered.

"We can't do that," Preston complained. "Not without the permission of
Agent Ventura..."

"I believe the killer has taken Ventura down," Scully replied in an
even voice.

Preston looked at Scully in disbelief. However, the hardness in
Scully's voice made Doggett a believer. He didn't need to know that
Scully had already been heading for the stairs with Green when she
made the call to Ventura on her cellular phone; didn't need to hear
what Scully had heard over the phone; didn't need confirmation for
what his gut was telling him.

"Let's go, Inspector," Doggett said to Green. She started down the
rest of the stairs with him. After a moment's hesitation, Preston
followed after them.

Scully turned to Agent Yates. "Our suspect is probably heading
upstairs right now," she informed him, then ran back up the stairs.
Yates followed after her, still as bewildered as when Agent Scully had
exploded out of the hotel room and ordered him to accompany her and
Green. Then, she had commanded Agent Kovac standing by the elevator to
watch for anyone coming up.

Kovac had looked as confused as Yates, but they had done as had been
told; Scully had not seemed in the mood for arguments. As they had
headed for the

stairs, Scully had used her cellular phone to call Ventura.

"This is Scully. I'm taking Green out of the hotel...She's in danger
here. You won't be able to stop the killer...He wouldn't have given us
the clues if there was a way of stopping him...He's going to come
straight up the middle..."

Scully had halted, making Green and Yates stop as well. "Agent
Ventura?...Agent Ventura?"

She had listened for one more second, then she had disconnected the
phone. "Ventura is down," she had reported, then prodded the
frightened Englishwoman and confused agent back into motion.

Now, Green was being taken out of the hotel. Scully and Yates went
back to the fifth floor of the St. Moritz Hotel. From the far end of
the hallway, they saw Kovac lying on the rug.

"Jesus..." Yates whispered.

With careful yet hurried steps, Scully and Yates strode up to Kovac.
She bent down and felt his pulse. A purple bruise was spread over his
face. Blood leaked from his newly crooked nose.

"He'll be fine," Scully assured Yates, then she turned her eyes
towards Green's hotel room.

The door was open. Scully and Yates gave each other a quick look, then
they walked to the door with the quietest steps possible. They pressed
their backs against the wall right next to the door. Scully turned to
Yates and mouthed the words, "One...two..."

Scully went in first with Yates right behind her. He aimed his gun
over her shoulder as she sweeped the room.

No one else was around -- not in the closet, not in the bathroom, not
under the bed. There was, however, a can of gasoline on the ground.

"He's been here," Scully insisted.

"Think he's still in the hotel?" Yates asked.

Before Scully could answer, she felt a breeze against her back.

She spun around with her gun pointed at an open window. At that
moment, a hand reached around the frame and grabbed her.

As her feet left the ground, Scully found herself thinking of her
father. She was remembering when he would snatch her off the ground
either in play or in anger at her mischief or in order to protect her.
It had been a long time since she had felt so small and light.

She was re-experiencing the sensation. Her knees collided with the
window still as she was yanked forward. The pain located there was
forgotten quickly. She became more concerned with her feet, mostly
because they weren't touching the ground. She was also concerned for
her shirt. It was being stretched near the breaking point. It was the
item of clothing connecting her to the man holding her five floors
above pavement.

The man in question was casually standing on a six-inch ledge. He
didn't seem to be bothered by the wind or the fact that he had nothing
on which to hold. It was only his balance that kept him up there, but
this seemed to be enough. In fact, he was smiling.

The face was nothing distinctive. It was neither handsome or ugly --
just pale of skin and dark around the eyes. His build was average as
well, but the wrist that Scully grabbed onto felt like an iron rod. He
was dressed in a blue sweater to match his blue jeans. All in all, he
wasn't a remarkable man, except for what he was doing.

Agent Yates leaned out the window, automatically pointing his gun at
Scully's attacker. When he saw what was happening, his mouth opened
wide.

The man in blue turned to Yates and said, "I'm glad you didn't say
'drop her.' However, shooting me right now...not a good idea, buddy."

Yates looked at Scully, his expression sick with confusion.

And Scully gasped --

"Don't listen to him."

Yates was stunned. The man in blue appeared to be fairly surprised
himself.

"Don't...let him get away," Scully ordered. Her feet had stopped
kicking at the air. She was breathing hard, but her expression was
firm.

"You can't be serious!" Yates cried out.

"I'm not so sure, buddy," the man in blue said, his light brown eyes
connecting a line to Scully's sharp blue ones.

Scully returned the gaze.

Her gun was still in her hand. She pointed it at the man's chest.

With the smile still on his face, the man in blue said, "Is that what
you really want, Agent Scully?" He paused, then asked, "Is that what
Mulder would have wanted?"

The gun started to tremble. The man in blue stretched out his other
hand..

He continued to hold out his hand until Scully closed her eyes and
turned over her gun.

"Thank you," he said as he stuck it in his waistband. Then he held out
his hand to Yates.

What else could the agent do? After Yates handed over his gun, the man
in blue turned around as easily as a top. He shoved Scully partway
through the window and she crawled the rest of the way in. She spilled
onto the floor.

Yates bent down to help her. The man in blue swung his body through
the window and landed on his feet. He grabbed Yates by the collar.

"Excuse me, but this is a private conversation," he explained.

Scully heard a thunking sound. She looked up in time to see Yates
collide with a wall and slide to the floor.

Then she saw the man in blue bending over her.

He ran his fingers through her hair. His touch made her want to
flinch, but now she lacked even the will to do that. She didn't feel
tired -- just immobilized.

"Don't worry," the man told her. "Nobody has gotten killed. Nobody
will get killed today. Of course, if I wanted to, I could pursue
Phoebe Green to the ends of the earth. Eventually, she would become
roasting meat. You won today, though. I will respect that and let
Phoebe go.

"However...

"...this is far from over.

"I have another clue...another bit of wisdom from the Holy Book. Would
you like to hear it?"

Scully couldn't speak. She could only gag on her repressed tears.

"Do you want to hear it?"

She stared at that smiling face, then nodded.

"Good. Today's verse comes from the Book of Numbers. Listen..."

He placed a hand over her eyes and declared, "'And he said, Hear now
my words: If there be a prophet among you, I the Lord will make myself
known unto him in a vision, and will speak unto him in a dream.'"

The hand was lifted from her eyes. She saw a flash of blue and then
nothing. Neither did she hear the sound of running feet. The man in
blue was just gone, leaving her alone with unconscious agents.

She stayed there on the floor until Doggett returned.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART FIVE
IN WHICH SCULLY'S MOTIVES ARE QUESTIONED,
AN OLD ALLY IS ENCOUNTERED, AND A WRITER
SPEAKS FROM HIS IRREPRESIBLE GRAVE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"It is my decision that you will not be a participant in this
investigation any longer. Your behavior indicates that this case is
clouding your judgment as well as unsettling her mental health..."

"With all due respect, sir, I'm the one who anticipated the
criminal's actions. How does that indicate a clouded judgment?"

"It's not that which concerns me," Kersh informed Scully. "It's the
behavior observed by Agent Yates."

Scully sat completely still in her chair. She made the others in the
room think of a glass figurine.

"I'm sure Agent Ventura will appreciate any information you can
provide her. However, I want you to stay on the sidelines. Wouldn't
you agree  with that, Agent Ventura?"

The woman with the large bandage over her cheek said, "If you say so,
sir."

"I do say so. We need agents on this case who will not get tripped up
by their personal problems, especially since this criminal seems
particularly...dangerous."

"He is, indeed, sir," Scully said in a flat voice. "I think he's more
dangerous than anybody can imagine."

Kersh sat silently behind his desk for a moment. Then he said, "Which
is why we would appreciate any information you can provide. Are you
sure this man gave you no clues as to his next crime?"

With a straight face, Scully answered, "He didn't."

"That's unusual, wouldn't you say?"

"I think Agent Ventura will testify that this man is highly unusual."

Kersh glanced at Ventura. "Apparently." He took a breath, then said, 
"Thank you, Agent Scully. That will be all. I advise that you go home
and get some rest."

"Actually, sir, I was planning to go to my mother's. I believe I
need...a little vacation."

"For once, we agree, Agent Scully. You will, of course, tell us if
this man contacts you again."

"Yes, sir."

Those were her last words before she left Kersh's office.

"I'm having people keep an eye on her," Kersh informed Ventura. "I'll
be damned if this killer has suddenly decided to break his pattern."

"I'm not sure, sir," Ventura replied. "I believe the part about the
killer deciding to end his assault on Inspector Green."

"So do I. But that will just mean he'll be more determined to get the
next person on his list, whoever that is. However, let's talk about
another thing which I have trouble believing."

"I assume you're talking about myself and the three agents who
were...neutralized."

"You read my mind, Agent Ventura. Apparently, supernatural occurrences
are happening anywhere. Can you explain how four armed federal agents
were subdued by one man?"

"There is a very easy explanation, sir."

"And that is?"

With a deadpan voice, Ventura answered, "We're dealing with the
strongest, fastest man in the world."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Doggett was waiting for Scully outside Kersh's office. "What did he
say?" he asked.

"I'm to take some time off," Scully said, not stopping to look at
Doggett. He had to chase after her down the
hallway.

"I talked with Yates," he told her.

"Did you?"

"He described something that disturbed me."

"I'm assume you're talking about the man who suspended me from a
five-story ledge."

"That and the fact you were willing to take a fall."

"At the moment, I didn't want the criminal to get away..."

"For Christ's sake!" Doggett hissed, stepping in front of her. "Don't
give me that!"

Scully halted right before Doggett. She gave him a look which readied
him for a kick in the groin.

"There's no shame in speaking the obvious," he said.

"I must be very dense because I don't know what you're talking
about."

"You're not dense. You're just..." Doggett noticed another agent
passing by and glancing at this little drama. He lowered his voice.
"You're just confused. This guy...whoever he is...he's come at a time
of your life where everything is upside-down. He's messing with your
mind and doing a very good job of it."

"That's why I'm going to my mother. If I get any new information about
this case, I'll will inform Agent Ventura or Kersh."

"Or me?"

"Of course. Now if you'll excuse me..."

She walked around Doggett. He watched her go to the elevator, not
believing her for a second.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The people Kersh assigned to follow Scully were good. However, Scully
was just a little better. After all, she had experience with this sort
of thing.

As expected, she didn't go to her mother's house. The FBI database had
given her the current address of a former employee. This man was
living in a small town in Virginia and working as a therapist. She
wondered what insight this man could provide.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"The patient wants control over her life, but is afraid of the
possibilities...it's easier for her to submit to the inevitable,
whatever that might be..."

Frank Black heard a knocking. He looked up from his notes and saw a
familiar person standing in his office's doorway.

"Agent Scully," he said, surprised.

"I hope I haven't come at a bad time," she replied.

Frank looked at her tense posture and noted her deliberately polite
voice. "No, not at all," he assured her as he closed up his notebook.
"I have a half-hour until I see my next patient. Please sit down."

Scully thanked him, entered the office and closed the door. She sat in
a chair before Frank's desk.  She was tempted to take a more
comfortable-looking chair near the corner, but that was reserved for
patients.

Frank leaned back and folded his hands in his lap. "You just didn't
happen to be in the neighborhood," he guessed.

"Hardly. I'm involved in a case..."

"Agent Scully...before you go any further, I should tell you that I'm
not involved in criminal investigations anymore. No profiling, no
consulting, nothing."

"I understand that. But it's not that kind of advice I've come for."

"What then?"

"Over the past week, two men have been killed. These men had
tangential connections to myself. Furthermore, the killer left clues
specifically addressed to me, each pointing to the next victim. He
attempted to kill a third victim, but we have managed to stop him. The
killer is still free, though. He left another clue. As before, it was
a Biblical quotation."

"What was it?"

Scully told him. After thinking for a few moments, Frank said, "Do
you suspect that I'm the next intended victim?"

"We would not be meeting like this if I did. Was I wrong?"

"It depends. What were the previous quotations?"

Scully reached into her pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. She
read three Biblical quotes from it. "Each of these had bearing on some
vice or sin committed by the three people," she explained. "This
latest one speaks about a prophet -- someone with information to give.
It doesn't have the condemnation of the previous quotes. That's why I
concluded you were not in danger. So, was I wrong or not?"

Frank's eyes seemed to be totally absorbed with her presence. Scully
shifted uneasily in her chair. After her first encounter with Frank
Black, she had picked up some of the stories about him. The man with
the x-ray eyes, he was called. The man who was visited by dreams of
his prey's thoughts. The man who had two mental breakdowns  and had
tangled with a group of doomsday prophets.

This man was staring at her and he seemed to know everything about
her.

"You were right," he agreed. "This breaks the pattern of the previous
quotes. I'm not being targeted. Instead, I'm suppose to point you in a
new direction. Apparently I have some information to give you. I just
don't know what it is yet."

"That's my conclusion as well."

"What about Mulder? What does he think?"

The forced calmness over Scully's face tore apart. Frank felt as if he
had just punched her in the gut without realizing it. "I...I'm sorry,"
he said. "I assumed that..."

Scully looked at her knees. Before she could say anything, Frank stood
up, walked around the desk, knelt at her side and touched her hand.
"What happened?" he asked quietly.

"He's...gone. I don't know how else to describe it."

"That's all you need to tell me." Frank paused, then said, "You're
here on your own, aren't you?"

Scully nodded. "I've been told to stay away from the investigation. I
came here alone because..."

"The FBI wouldn't ask the right questions."

She nodded again.

"Scully, look at me."

She lifted her gaze. She was struck by how kind the eyes in Frank's
craggy face could be.

"When my wife died...the world ended. That's what it felt like. It
took me a long time to find ways to rebuild my life. It was hard and
difficult, just like it's going to be for you. I can tell you one
thing now -- you can't do this on your own. For me, I had my daughter.
In a way, she's protected me as much as I've protected her. She helped
me out of my darkness." He glanced around at the office. "I guess
that's why I'm doing the same work Catherine once did. I help to show
people that they don't have to stay alone in the shadows. Neither do
you, Agent Scully."

"I'm...I'm not alone, but...you have to be the one to reach out to
others. I don't know if I have the strength to do even that."

"Yes, you do. I can sense..."

A strange expression appeared on Frank's face. His hand slipped away.

"What is it?" Scully asked.

"Did you know the writer Jose Chung?"

"Excuse me?"

"Did you?"

"Well...I actually did get a chance to meet him. Why do you ask?"

"So you're Diana Lesky."

Realization lit up Scully's eyes. She said, "And you're...Frederick
Blork."

The room was silent for a few seconds.

Then Scully and Frank began to laugh. They were both surprised by the
high volume of their laughter and how long it went on. They were also
relieved by it.

"I guess we both got the Chung experience," Frank observed as he
chuckled.

"Yeah, but now millions of people know me as just a 'federal
employee.'"

"At least he didn't say your face was 'hideous.'"

"Oh, that's right. 'Doomsday Defense.' His last book. You must have
met him right before his death."

Frank's smile disappeared. "I was there when it happened."

Scully's own face became grim again. "You were?"

Frank nodded.

"That poor man..."

"I know."

"He was a remarkable person."

"Observant, too. Which brings us back to why you're here."

"Excuse me?"

Frank walked over to one of the shelves in his office. "I received
something in the mail about a week back. I wasn't sure what to make of
it. I couldn't trace back it to any sender."

He pulled a envelope from between two books, then walked back to
Scully. "It's something Chung wrote. From the looks of it, it appears
to be a passage he didn't include in 'From Outer Space.'" He looked
down at the envelope and rubbed his thumbs over the white surface. "I
guess I should have notified the estate, but...I decided to hold onto
it. I had a feeling...well..."

He held the envelope out to Scully. She took it and tried not to open
it too quickly. She pulled out a single sheet of paper. The
typewritten words on the paper had been edited with a furiously used
pencil.

'Among the many mysteries I've encountered in my research for this
book is the one concerning the relationship between Agents Lesky and
Muldrake. How can a knee-jerk scientific rationalist and a decidedly
cuckoo U.F.O. fetishist work so closely together -- so closely that
the air literally heats up between them? I can't base the reasons
solely on physical lust (though there is much to which to feel
lustful.) Nor do I give credence to the notion that opposites attract
(though I am willing to give more credence to the philosophy if I were
given a six-figure deal for writing sitcoms.) There might be something
that eludes this writer's powers of observation. Could there be a
hidden commonality? A special bond? A shared experience
which links their souls together in spiritual union? Just what the
hell has Muldrake done to deserve Diana Lesky?

'Whoops. The voice of jealousy has shouted out the voice of reason.
My concern with aliens and conflicting perspectives has shifted to
more basic topics. I have turned from the question of "What Is
Reality?" to "Why Do Good Women Fall in Love With Bad Men?" -- from
Descartes to Ricki Lake. The latter question may be harder to answer
than the former. Perhaps the easiest answer is that the Bad Man is not
bad as he seems...and the Good Woman not as pure as imagined.'

Scully looked back up at Frank.

"I imagine the killer must have stolen this from Chung's archives,"
Frank said. "He sent it to me so I could give it to you. The question
is -- what are you supposed to learn from this?"

Scully folded the sheet of paper in two, stretched out her arm, placed
the sheet on the desk, placed both hands in her lap and said, "What
have you learned?"

Now it was Frank's turn to feel uncomfortable. However, he took a
breath and said, "You and Mulder had a very close relationship. That
was obvious from the moment I saw you. However, as Chung noted, how
you two became so  close is uncertain. It could be a shared
secret...or a shared guilt."

"Survivor's guilt," Scully suggested. "We managed to go on while so
many people suffered or died."

"And now it's just you."

Silence passed through the room again.

"I still don't understand...why I was supposed to come here," Scully
said.

"I don't, either. This thing Chung wrote -- it's just meant to get at
you. But as to what the killer will do next..."

The phone on Frank's desk rang. "Excuse me," he said, then answered
the phone.

He listened briefly, then said, "No, she isn't here. Why are..."

Terror leapt onto the lined face of the therapist and then it dumped
ice into Scully's gut.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Without knocking, Doggett opened the door to Walter Skinner's office.
Skinner looked up from his desk. His displeasure became mere wariness
upon seeing his visitor.

"We have to talk," Doggett insisted.

Skinner hesistated before nodding. Doggett closed the door and walked
over to Skinner who stood up from his chair.

"Scully has flown the coop," Doggett informed the A.D.

"I'm aware of that. And, no, I don't know where she's gone."

"Obviously wherever the killer's next clue leads. Have you heard
Agent Yates' report?"

Doggett looked at the desk and tapped his knuckles on the wooden top.
"I have."

"We've both been working for the Bureau long enough to know a crack-up
when we see it."

Skinner lifted his stern eyes to Doggett's face. "Is that what you're
calling Agent Scully?"

"Not yet. I think she's getting there, though. And before you start
defending her, this has nothing to do with how good an agent she is.
There's simply so much any human being can take before they snap. From
what I know of Agent Scully, she has taken plenty."

You have no idea, Skinner thought. "Say I agree with that," he told
Doggett. "What do you plan to do about it?"

"I think *we* should find Scully before Kersh's men do. I think we
should find her before things get completely screwed-up."

The phone rang. Skinner let it rang twice as he studied Doggett. Then
he picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

Doggett watched Skinner's grim face become even grimmer. "Where?"
Skinner asked, then wrote an address on a pad. "Doggett and I are
coming."

He hung up. "It's gotten screwed-up already, hasn't it?" Doggett
guessed.

"Big time."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART SIX
IN WHICH SCULLY RECEIVES TWO MESSAGES

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Are you scared?"

A choked sob.

"Are you scared, Jordan?"

"Y-yes."

"Don't be. I'm not going to hurt you. In fact, I need you to help
me."

"I want, I want my daddy..."

"I understand. And the sooner you can help me, the sooner you'll be
able to see him. Is that clear?"

No response.

"Is that clear, Jordan?"

"Yes."

"All right. What I need you to do is this -- I want you to deliver a
message to someone. I'm going to say it to you. And I'm going to
repeat  it until you can remember it precisely. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good girl."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Doggett and Skinner arrived at the police department headquarters of
Lincoln, Virginia just in time to meet Agent Ventura on the building's
front steps.

"Don't get in my way," she warned. "Either one of you."

"We're not here to get in your way," Skinner responded. "We're here to
help find a missing girl."

"That's more than you can say for Agent Scully."

"We're not here to blame anyone, either."

"Excuse me," Doggett said. "but could we play 'pistols for two' some
other time?"

The three agents entered the building. They were directed to a small
gray room where two people were waiting. One of them was Frank Black,
the other was Scully. Frank was slowly pacing back and forth alongside
a wall. Scully was seated at a table, her fingers linked together as
she stared at a corner of the room.

"Mister Black, I'm Agent Ventura. I'm very sorry for what has
happened."

Frank stopped pacing and looked at her with a face stiff with
compressed pain.

Doggett spoke up. "I understand your daughter was..."

Ventura glared Doggett into silence, then said, "Your daughter was
staying at a friend's house, wasn't she?"

"The Hudsons," Frank replied. His voice was quiet, but quiet the way
distant thunder is. "She stays there sometimes after she gets out of
school. I tend to be...at my job when school lets out. A few hours
ago, I was speaking with Agent Scully when I got a call from Mrs.
Hudson. She told me that Jordan had disappeared from their house."

Ventura threw a poisonous look at Agent Scully before turning back to
Frank and saying, "Mr. Black...while it may be too early to determine
this, we think it's likely your daughter was taken by a man wanted in
connection with two murders."

"Agent Scully told me about this man. There's no doubt in my mind that
he has kidnapped Jordan."

"If this is so...then the full resources of the Bureau will be devoted
to finding..."

"He'll return her," Scully said.

Ventura's eyes snapped back into her direction. "What?"

Scully continued to watch the corner. "He'll return her. She'll be
frightened, but physically unharmed."

"Agent Scully, I advise you to keep..."

"She's right," Frank said. Everybody except Scully looked at Frank in
surprise.

"He's broken his pattern," Frank went on in his rumbling voice.
"Jordan's connection to Scully is tenuous as best.  He'll do no
physical harm to her."

"Then why has he taken her?" Skinner asked.

"When Jordan comes back, she'll have a message for Agent Scully.
Another Biblical quotation, likely."

"But why your daughter?"

"That in itself is a message. The next person this man goes after will
not be someone with whom Scully has been antagonistic. It will be a
friend...a loved one...family."

Eyes turn back to Scully. She never stopped looking at the corner.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I can see it now" the killer thought as he drove to his next
destination. Jordan will come running into the police station and
right into the first pair of friendly-looking arms. They'll take her
to the hospital to make sure she's all right. They will find nothing
wrong. However, she'll insist on talking with Agent Dana Scully.
She'll be screaming and crying. 'If I don't give her the message,
he'll take me again!'

You'll come, Dana. I can imagine the look on your face so perfectly.
All that guilt and agony writhing in you, knowing that this child
suffered at the hands of your secret admirer. You'll be kneeling in
front of her hospital bed and saying as gently as you can,
"Jordan...tell me what the man told you."

She'll speak four little words. A message simple enough for a little
girl to remember.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Scully stood in a hospital hallway and took Ventura's abuse.

"We knew that you were up to something. We knew that you were hiding
information. But we never suspected that it would lead to this.  Just
what do you have to say for yourself?"

Scully kept her silence.

"Have you lost your mind? Have you?"

Again, no reply.

"Agent Scully, I was always uncomfortable around you, but I initially
assumed you would do what was best for the investigation. Now, because
of your recklessness, a little girl is going to have nightmares for a
long time coming. How does that make..."

"It wasn't her fault," Frank Black said. He had just stepped out of
his daughter's hospital room and had overheard Ventura's angry
comments.

"No one could have seen this coming," he continued as he walked
towards Ventura and Scully. "Not you, Agent Scully or myself. The
killer made sure of that."

Ventura's angry face softened into mere discomfort. She could think
of nothing to contradict Frank. It wasn't just that this was the
father of the kidnapped girl. This was Frank Black, the best criminal
profiler ever to come out of Quantico.

And he had that low voice.

"Did she make a mistake in coming here alone? Yes. But it wouldn't
have mattered if she had brought the U.S. Army. This man would have
taken Jordan in any case."

Ventura clenched her fingers behind her back. "No one is unstoppable,
Mr. Black."

"I hope so."

A twitch appeared in Ventura's bandaged cheek. "Well...whatever you
believe, Agent Scully has permanently banned herself from this case."

"You shouldn't let that happen."

"It's not in my hands. My Deputy Director is going to censure her, no
matter what you say."

"He hasn't heard me say anything yet. Is there a way I can talk to
him?"

Scully loaned Frank her cell phone and gave him the right number. He
put some space between him and the two agents to conduct his
conversation.

Ventura looked at Scully as if she didn't know what to make of her.
She said, "I guess...now that I have you here...I should ask what
'Thou shalt not steal' means to you."

Scully took a breath, then said, "As Mr. Black said, the killer has
shifted his priorities. From now on, he'll be going after those close
to me."

"So what does this clue mean? Are you close to any thieves?"

"In a way...I am." Then Scully gave Ventura a number to call and
recommended that the people who own the number should be given
protection.

Shaking her head slightly, Ventura pulled out her own cellular phone
and did as Scully suggested. When the other phone answered, she began
to have one of the more bizarre conversations she ever had.

Her conversation stopped briefly when Frank raised his voice. "No,
you listen to me!" he shouted into Scully's phone. "If you keep on
playing politics, more people are going to get hurt! Scully has to
stay on this case!"

Both women got a chill. Scully's reaction was the colder of the two.
Among the stories she had heard about Frank Black, one of them
centered on a man who had kidnapped his wife. It was Frank who had
tracked the kidnapper down and -- as the official story went -- killed
him in self-defense. Yet there were rumors and whispers of butchery
with a knife; of a man who had already experienced one breakdown
letting loose his rage; of revenge pure and simple.

Scully knew how that could feel.

Ventura stopped staring at Frank and said, "What?...No, this is not a
set-up. Your life and the lives of your friends may be in
danger...Look, what do I have to do? Come down there and show you
my..."

Ventura gave up and held the phone out to Scully. "*You* talk to
him."

Scully took the phone. "Hello, it's me...Yes, it's real...I recommend
that all three of you co-operate with the authorities on this..."

Both conversations were finished after a minute more. "Kersh turned
out to be a reasonable man after all," Frank observed as he gave
Scully her phone back. "May I speak with you alone for a moment, Agent
Scully?"

"Excuse me," Ventura said, leaving to conduct her own business and
wondering about the kind of company Agent Scully kept.

"You probably shouldn't thank me," Frank told Scully. "I'm not sure if
I did the right thing."

"You don't think I should be involved in this case?"

"You are involved, whether you investigate it or not. But with every
action the killer takes, you come nearer and nearer to..."

"What?"

"I don't know." He paused, then said, "I wish I could help you."

Scully shook her head. "You shouldn't even try. You've bled enough for
your causes."

Frank looked at the daughter's hospital room, then turned back to
Scully.

"I stepped away from a darkness which could have overwhelmed me. I did
it for Jordan as much as for myself."

"Of course. You wanted to protect her from harm."

"It wasn't just a question of physical safety. I don't know what
you've heard of me, but...my gift wasn't just a finely honed instinct.
The things I could see...they were almost..."

"Visions?"

Frank smiled a little. "I guess that's the only thing you can call
them. And my daughter had the same gift I had."

Images of a child appeared in Scully's mind. It wasn't Jordan Black,
but of an unnamed baby looking up at her. The baby had a strange
expression. It was almost...reproachful.

"That's why I backed away from the FBI and the Millennium group,"
Frank explained. "The more I hunted killers, the darker life became
for me. And that darkness could have claimed Jordan as well."

"But it's different now, right?"

"I haven't any of my 'visions' in a long time. Neither has
Jordan...until now."

He pointed his arm to the hospital room. "She wants to speak with you
again," he said.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A frightened child did not sit in the hospital bed. Instead, there was
a person with a calm face, albeit the calmness of a judge about to
pass a death sentence. Scully did feel like a prisoner as she walked
slowly to Jordan's bed. Frank stood at the door and watched them.

Scully said, "Did you...did you want to say something to me, Jordan?"

In a firm voice, Jordan replied, "You have to make a choice."

"What do you mean? What choice?"

"You have to decide. Don't let him make the decision for you."

"I don't understand. Who are you..."

The sternness on Jordan's face melted into weariness. Her eyelids
lowered and her cheek rolled against her pillow.

Scully looked back at Frank. He walked up to the bed and looked at
his sleeping daughter. "I think she's told you all she knows," he
said.

No, no, Scully thought. There has to be more. Wake her, Frank. You
wake her up or I'll...

She cut these thoughts off. "I should be going," she told Frank.
"Thank you for your help."

He nodded. She headed for the door. Right before she exited the room,
she looked back and saw Frank Black brushing his daughter's hair
gently with his fingers.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was Doggett who drove Scully back to D.C. She slept during the
whole trip in the passenger seat. Not a word was spoken between them
about the case.

Doggett could think of nothing else, though. He reviewed what they
had learned and concluded that it added up to nothing. They had a face
to go with the killer, but no one could link it to a person anywhere.
Scully had already told them that such a discovery would be unlikely.
"If this man had connections with the conspiracy that had abducted me,
then he will be very hard to locate."

A conspiracy for chrissake, Doggett thought. That's just what this
case needs. It's bad enough that we're dealing with a man capable of
overpowering a whole team of federal agents. It's bad enough that he
can slip in and out of the tightest places. It's bad enough he's
driving Scully insane.

He glanced at the woman next to him. She had fallen asleep the moment
he had turned on the car's engine. He wondered what dreams she was
having  and if they could tell him anything about what was going on in
her head.

He was feeling tired himself, not to mention helpless. They had the
latest targets under protection, but he couldn't help doubting if the
FBI could protect these men. We need to get a break on this right now,
he thought. If not, we're just gonna drown in our own shit.

The investigation would get a break.  Unfortunately, it wouldn't make
things any better.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART SEVEN
IN WHICH SCULLY GETS INFORMATION FROM AN
UNUSUAL SOURCE, AND SECRETS ARE REVEALED

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Being under the protection of the FBI was an unusual experience for
John Byers, Richard Langly, and Melvin Frohike. It was also a
discomforting one, particularly when Agent Ventura asked, "So is there
any particular reason why Agent Scully and our killer would regard you
as being 'thieves?'"

The Lone Gunmen looked at each other, then turned back to Ventura.
"Not for anything that you could prove in court," Langly answered.

Ventura had to smile at that. She really didn't care what larceny the
Lone Gunmen had committed with their laptops.

She wanted someone else.

She wanted him bad.

This time, her team would be ready for the killer. They had four
circles of security around the offices of the Lone Gunmen. Sentries
were looking down from windows with binoculars and rifles. A dozen
agents in kevlar vests were ready to pop out of dark, hidden
locations. Ventura herself was in the offices of the Lone Gunmen with
two other agents. Add the already-existing security of the Lone Gunmen
and those three men had a level of safety the President himself would
have envied.

Just try something, Ventura thought, silently broadcasting a dare to
the killer. Just come and make trouble.

He did.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As Ventura tightened protection around the Lone Gunmen, Doggett took
Scully back to her apartment building.

"We're here," he said after stirring her awake. "Anything I can help
you with?" He knew the question sounded lame, but he just had to ask
it.

To his suprise, Scully gave him a little smile. "I'll be fine, Agent
Doggett. Thank you."

"Well...I think you need some more sleep."

Scully nodded, then stepped out of the car and headed for the
apartment building.

"Good night," Doggett called out to her.

She didn't say anything in reply. Doggett watched her enter the
building. He didn't drive off. He just sat in his parked car, deep in
thought. He was wondering if he should leave.

About ten minutes later, Scully came rushing out of the building and
told him to drive her to the airport. She had to go to California.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Scully entered her apartment, a person was waiting for her.
Scully first saw this person sitting in a chair and covered in
shadows. Panic devoured her weariness like fire consuming wood. She
had her gun out of her holster when she heard a voice say --

"There's no need for that."

It wasn't the killer, but Scully didn't holster her gun.

"I'll be the judge of that," she told her uninvited guest.

The person stood up from the chair. Scully reached with her free hand
and flicked a switch. A lamp poured light over blonde hair.

"If you kill me," Marita Covarrubias said. "then you'll never know
who killed Agent Colton and Doctor Scanlon."

Scully hadn't raised her gun yet, but it began to shake in her hand.
"The killer *is* one of you," she hissed.

"He used to be. However, it's a little more complicated than that."

Now the gun was raised. "Tell me everything," Scully ordered.

Covarrubias kept her mouth shut. After a few moments, Scully lowered
her gun and holstered it.

"The man you're looking for is Sam Hartigan," Covarrubias explained.
"He used to work for the Syndicate's information-gathering division."

"What kind of information?"

"In this case, information about you."

Scully's teeth clamped together.

"It was his job to compile and organize the data gathered on your
activities, your life, your psychological profile. He was essentially
a glorified office clerk. Even the Syndicate had its paperwork to
handle."

Scully managed to get her mouth open and said, "I imagine he knows
everything about me."

"Just about. Of course, one of the drawbacks of such a job is that it
creates a sense of...intimacy with the person being observed. It's
like being a criminal profiler. You have to keep a distance, or you
become too involved in the other person's psyche."

"Or you imagine an intimate relationship with the other person."

Covarrubias nodded. "He has become obsessed with you. These murders
are his way of getting your attention and dragging you into his
world."

Scully didn't want to draw her gun again. She wanted to throw this
woman to the floor and stomp on her face until it was a red smear. She
wanted to scream, "Will it ever stop? Will you people stop hurting
me?!"

Instead, she took a breath and said, "That...that doesn't explain
everything. Hartigan has incredible strength and speed..."

"That brings me to Project Xenith. The goal of this government-sponsor
ed project was to create a human with advanced physical attributes,
one suitable for wartime."

"And this is what you people did to Hartigan?"

"First of all, we didn't force him into it. He volunteered. Second of
all, it wasn't really 'my people.' Our government has secrets within
secrets. Within every group, there is another cadre of people
following their own agenda. Sometimes, our goals intertwine. At the
height of its power, the Syndicate was the most powerful force in
these secret areas, capable of merging other projects into its own
work. However, Project Xenith was never fully under its control. Now
with the leaders of the Syndicate dead, all these groups have defected
to other sponsors, so the information I have on Project Xenith is
minimal."

"What information do you have?"

"All I can say is that the project changed hands around 1994. To
whose hands, I don't know. Around 1997, Sam Hartigan volunteered to be
a subject. As far as I can tell, Project Xenith continued on after the
Syndicate leaders were killed."

"Well...there's one more thing we can assume. Whoever took over the
project had a success."

"Apparently. Sam Hartigan is now the perfect assassin. In addition to
his new physical attributes, he has information on a hundred perfect
murders to study. He never killed anyone before Colton, but he has
learned from the best. He also knows a hundred places in this country
for hiding and escaping. To sum up...I know of no way to stop him."

"And why would *you* want to do that?"

"This man seems to be killing people who have wronged you in one way
or another."

Scully considered those words.

Then she laughed.

Covarrubias stared in disbelief at the FBI agent. The expression on
Scully's face reminded her of the more insane people she had met in
her work.

Eventually, Scully stopped laughing. Then she shook her head and
said, "Well, you and Krycek don't have to worry anymore. Hartigan has
shifted his priorities. He's no longer going after my 'enemies.'"

"Ah. Well, then...there's no need for me to stay any longer."

Covarrubias headed for the door. Just as she was about to pass Scully,
the FBI agent said, "Mulder trusted you once."

Covarrubias stopped with just a few inches between her and Scully.
She looked straight at the other woman and said, "I picked the wrong
side. I won't make the same mistake again."

"Interesting," Scully replied. "I'm making a mistake right now. I'm
letting you leave this room alive."

Neither woman moved for a few seconds. Then, Covarrubias continued her
way to the door.

"Tell Krycek I won't make the same mistake with him," Scully told
her.

Covarrubias didn't reply. She just opened the door and left.

This left Scully alone in their apartment. Her body remained
motionless, but thoughts were spinning inside her head.

'Sam Hartigan.'

'This is the man.'

'But what is he doing on the loose?'

'Sam Hartigan.'

'Project Xenith.'

'Did he escape?'

'Or was he let go?'

'Why?'

'Sam Hartigan.'

'He smiles at me.'

'He whispers in my ear.'

'Why would they allow him to do these things?'

'Who is "they?"'

'Project Xenith.'

'Changed hands in 1994.'

'He taunts me and plays games and quotes the Bible.'

'Could the controllers of Project Xenith also have a connection to
me?'

'Who would perform such experiments?'

'Who would unleash a monster like this on the world?'

'He's strong and quick and flexible enough to squeeze through tight
vents.'

'He has been watching me for years.'

'Now he wants me to play games with him.'

'Sam Hartigan.'

'Who would allow him to play his games?'

'Project Xenith.'

'In 1994.'

'Could they be someone I've known?'

'Everyone else in this case has been someone I've known.'

'Maybe Hartigan is telling me that.'

'Maybe he knew that I would learn his origins.'

'Maybe he's given me a clue...'

"The clues are the clue." Scully surprised herself, not knowing why
she spoke those words out loud.

A few seconds later, she realized why.

"Oh, my God..."

She ran out of the apartment building in the hope that Doggett was
still parked outside.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Sam Hartigan?" Agent Ventura said.

"That's his name," Scully told her over the phone, then relayed what
she had learned about the killer.

"A...ha," Ventura commented after Scully was done. "So, this Hartigan
is some kind of superman?"

"You've see him in action. Could a normal man do those things?"

Ventura remembered the blue blur which had left her unconscious in a
hotel lobby. "No. I guess...Christ, I can actually believe this."

"The important thing is we know our enemy's name. Now we need to know
who's behind it all."

"You mean, the people behind this...what is it again?"

"Project Xenith. I have a theory there, but I need to confirm it. I
have to go to California."

"All right. But where does that leave me and my team?"

"Hopefully the same as before. On your guard."

After the phone conversation was over, Ventura looked at the three
strange men huddled in a corner. They looked as nervous as she felt.
This can't be happening, she thought. We can't all be in terror of one
person.

"Outpost three, report." This was spoken by one of the other agents in
the room. He was doing a standard check of all the agents in the area,
making sure they were alert.

He waited for an answer over his walkie-talkie.

When he got none, he repeated, "Outpost three, report."

He received only static. Ventura watched the agent. So did the Lone
Gunmen.

"Outpost three, respond. Now." The agent's voice was more urgent. The
static which answered his voice was like the sound of ocean surf.

"Outpost three, you better..."

Then the walkie-talkie squawked with a high-pitched voice singing over
a thin yet forceful rhythm section.

"I can't seem to face up to the facts...Been so nervous, can't
relax..."

Every person knew what was going on. They knew what had happened to
the agent at outpost three and why every communication channel was now
clogged with the sound of --

"Can't sleep, bed's on fire...Don't touch me, I'm a real live
wire..."

He had come. He was here. He wasn't leaving without what he wanted.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Doggett was getting more worried by the second. The woman sitting next
to him in the airport looked close to exhaustion, but she was about to
put herself on a flight across the country. What does she hope to
accomplish? he thought. Does she even know where she is heading?

And just how far can I follow her?

An annoucement was made. The plane to California could now be
boarded.

By the time the plane was in the air, Sam Hartigan had finished his
business. As long as she was up in the air, no one could contact
Scully. Other FBI agents were unable to interpret the next clue.

It didn't matter. Hartigan wasn't waiting for anyone to figure it
out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Doggett slept on the plane ride. Scully didn't.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When a person feels tired, she becomes less self-conscious. She cares
less about what her body is doing or what her mouth is saying. In this
state, the person sees things differently than in an invigorated
state.  She can confuse this viewpoint with clarity. In fact, she is
merely befuddled.

Then, again...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I don't care if I don't have the proper clearance!" Scully yelled.
"You let me in or I'll arrest you for impeding an investigation!"

The guards stationed in the front hall looked at each other with
uncertainty. Doggett was confused by their attitude. Why would anybody
need a government security pass to visit mental patients?

He also felt more than a bit uneasy. He had visited a couple of
mental institutes in the past, but this one had a different quality.
The gray metal walls were a little too cold. He could hear moans from
the cells a little too clearly.

"Ma'am, you have to understand," one of the guards insisted in a weak
voice. "If we let you in, we could lose..."

"You could lose your jobs anyway, fellas," Doggett warned, shaking off
his uneasiness. "Like Agent Scully said, you're impeding an
investigation. But there's really no need to do that, is there?"

The guards looked at each other again. Then they unlocked the metal
gate.

"This way," one of them said, but Scully stopped him and held out a
hand.

"Give me the key," Scully ordered. "I know the way. Doggett, you wait
here."

"No way," Doggett shot back.

Scully turned to him. Her expression was still hard, but it was also
sad. She spoke more gently to him, as if she was expressing an
uncomfortable yet undeniable fact.

"I have to do this alone," she said, then took the guard's key and
walked away. Doggett watched her go further into the gray corridor,
hating himself for his inaction, but...

I'm out of depth, he thought. And Scully keeps sinking out of my
reach.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She went down the circular stairs, her heels tapping on the metal.
She ignored the screams floating past grills and dark windows. She
kept going down until she reached the right level.

The hinges grumbled as she unlocked and opened a door. Behind the door
was a hallway. Three doors were arranged at the end. She walked over
to the doors.

"I know what you've been doing," Scully said. "Show yourself."

Two faces appeared in the windows of the doors left and right to her.
The shadows of intersecting wires scarred their calm expressions. Both
faces belonged to women who were suspended between the softness of
youth and the hardening of adulthood. The look in their eyes suggested
an intelligence unknown to both children and adults.

"Hello, Agent Scully," Eve 9 said.

"We've been expecting you," Eve 10 added.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART EIGHT
IN WHICH OLD ENEMIES CONFESS, AND EVERYTHING
GOES TO HELL.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"What happened to Eve 6?" Scully asked, pointing at the third door.

"She's dead," Eve 9 informed her.

"She died as a result of self-inflicted head injuries," Eve 10 noted.

"She banged herself against the walls."

"It was very loud."

"What about Eve 8?" Scully asked, trying not to be chilled by the
cool voices of the young women.  "I assume she was your connection to
Project Xenith."

"Yes," Eve 10 answered. "She had managed to infiltrate the
government's black budget programs."

"She convinced the sponsors of Project Xenith to involve us in their
work," Eve 9 explained. "We helped to advance their program by
decades."

"You created a monster, that's what you did," Scully said, her voice
rising. "You had Sam Hartigan released."

"He was a monster before we met him," Eve 9 replied. "We just gave him
the means to fulfill his dreams."

"And those dreams involve me?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"He wants you to submit to him," Eve 10 informed Scully. "He will keep
on killing until you do that."

Scully fought the weakness in her legs. "You must have known what you
were creating. You knew what he would do."

Eve 10 looked at Eve 9 as if they were having a silent debate on that
question. Then Eve 10 nodded and said, "Yes. We did."

"But...why unleash someone like that?"

"That's a silly question," Eve 9 responded. "You put us here. You had
us locked away in these dark rooms. You and Agent Mulder."

"Now, with Agent Mulder gone, it's just you and Sam Hartigan," Eve 10
commented.

Then smiles appeared on both faces of the young women. "Are you having
fun?" Eve 10 asked.

She could have shot them right then. She could have killed these young
women who weren't young women. They were monsters bred in a lab. They
probably didn't even have souls and if they did, those souls deserved
to burn in hell.

However, if Scully rid the world of their darkness, who would rid the
world of hers?

"You know what I'm going to do now?" she asked.

"No," Eve 9 said.

"Tell us," Eve 10 said.

"I'm going to leave you here. I'm going to make sure you have no
contact with the outside world anymore. You are going to stay in these
cells forever with only each other for conversation." She paused, then
said, "Eve 6 killed herself, huh?"

Those were the last words she ever said to the twins.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Doggett managed not to look too relieved when Scully returned. "Well?
What happened?"

"They confessed," Scully said in a flat voice. "Not that it means much
right now."

"How did you know that it was them?"

"The Biblical quotations."

"Oh. Right. Eve."

Scully nodded, then tossed the keys to the guard and said, "Let's
go."

On the drive back to the airport, Kersh finally managed to reach
Scully on her cellular phone.

Doggett just knew that bad news was coming. He was right, of course.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

This time, Sam Hartigan brought a gun. He didn't always use it,
though. Of the six agents who died that night, three were killed with
a single blow that snapped their necks. One of the dead was Agent
Ventura.

He also sent four people to the hospital, including John Byers. That
left a trembling Langly to tell Agent Scully the story. She heard it
from him when she returned to D.C. They met in the clean white hallway
of a hospital.

"...Ventura's dead, he killed her, he killed six people, oh, god, he
just came out of nowhere. He just popped up and started...he..."

"Calm down, Langly," Scully said, her voice muted. She hadn't slept on
the plane ride back to D.C., either.

"He took Frohike. He just picked him up like a football and ran
off..."

"Did he leave a message?"

"H-huh?"

"Did he leave a message?"

"I...Scully, are you..."

"Langly, tell me."

There was a lengthy pause, then Langly said, "Yeah. He left a message.
He wrote it on the front door. In blood."

"What did it say? This is very important."

Langly took another long pause, then said, "D, E, U...thirty-one...two
."

"I see."

"Scully, have you heard anything I just said? This guy has Frohike.
Byers is a mess..."

"He's got Skinner, too."

"What?"

"Deuteronomy...yes, that makes sense. That's where Moses was told he
could not enter the promised land. A leader could no longer walk
alongside his people."

Langly saw the hazy look in Scully's eyes, heard her monotone voice
and said, "You're not well."

Scully made a little smile. "No, I'm not. But this will all be over
soon."

"For chrissake, how?"

She patted him on the arm and left him without saying a word. She
searched for Doggett. She found him in the hospital morgue. He was
staring at six body-bags.

"Fuck," Doggett whispered.

"Yeah," Scully said. "Fuck."

Doggett almost slapped her. He wanted to tear her away from whatever
distant spot in which her mind now floated.

At the same time, he was thinking -- maybe her mind is just where it
should be.

"He's broken his pattern again," Scully commented. "Instead of
killing people, he's kidnapping them." She paused, then said, "Of
course, he will eventually kill Frohike and Skinner."

"What do we do now?" he asked. "Just what the hell do we do?"

"We go see Kersh."

Doggett looked at her pale face and hazy eyes. Then he sighed and
said, "Yeah. Let's go see Kersh."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Six...no, seven of our agents are now dead. We have an assistant
director who has been kidnapped along with a person who was under our
protection. And all of it is happening right on our doorstep. To top
it all off, I've been told that this is all being done...by...one...pe
rson. Am I supposed to believe that, Deputy Kersh?"

"I wouldn't, sir," Kersh answered, his hand twitching at his side.
"It's difficult to determine anything at this point."

"Nobody has ever hurt the Bureau like this, Kersh. Nobody. Certainly
not under my command. The President himself wants to know what's going
on. Can you think of one thing I can tell him?"

"In all honesty, sir, I can't."

The silence over the phone line remained intact for many seconds.

Then the Director said, "I suppose this is the moment where I'm
supposed to threaten you with the loss of your job or some shit. But
I'm not going to do that, you know why?"

"No, sir."

"Because you and I feel the same way, Kersh. This has become a
personal matter. You don't resolve it, you're going to live with the
shame."

"Yes, sir. That's right."

"Then that's all I need to say."

The Director hung up on his end. Kersh did likewise, then slumped in
his chair. He was not wearing his coat and tie. His white dress shirt
was wrinkled. He stared at his office desk as if it was a unsolvable
math problem.

He remained sitting in his chair until someone knocked on his office
door. "Come in," he mumbled.

When Doggett entered the room with Scully, he forgot his animosity
towards Kersh. The Deputy Director looked the way Doggett felt. For
the moment, they were united by their confusion and fear. They were
also nervous around the same person.

Kersh sat up in his chair upon seeing Scully. It was difficult to see
who was the superior in this room. If you were to judge the scene
solely on faces, then Scully's cool expression would lead you to
believe that everyone around her was superfluous.

Kersh cleared his throat. "Agent Scully...this situation is as grim as
can be imagined."

"It is," she replied as if she was commenting on the weather.

"Do you...do you have any recommendations on how we should proceed?"

Scully examined the tips of her shoes. She kept quiet for so long that
the two men wondered if she had fallen asleep.

Finally, Kersh said, "Agent Scully?"

She lifted her head.

"Back off," she replied.

"I'm...sorry?"

"Stay away from this man."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Doggett said in a voice too
weak for shouting.

"All of you keep away from him. And keep away from me, too."

Kersh's head trembled. "I don't understand what you're saying."

"Just...keep away. Let me take care of it."

Kersh and Doggett just stared at the red-haired woman. Taking their
silence as agreement, Scully said simply, "Thank you."

With that, she left the room.

The Deputy Director slumped back in his chair. "I don't understand
it," he said. "I just don't understand any of it."

"Neither do I," Doggett told him. "But I think we should do as she
says."

"Are you..." Kersh started to say, then his voice faded away.

"Scully is the only one who has shown any real understanding of Sam
Hartigan," Doggett reminded Kersh. "Maybe whatever she's going to
do...maybe it's the only thing that can be done."

"And if that one thing is to get killed?"

Doggett looked at the door. He didn't move.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART NINE
IN WHICH SAM HARTIGAN DESCRIBES HIS PLANS,
AND OTHER GHOSTS VISIT SCULLY

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The room had been stripped down to minimal decor. A single light bulb
made the grey cement walls and iron door visible. Two chairs were
arranged on the floor. Strapped to those chairs were Walter Skinner
and Melvin Frohike. They both had cuts and bruises on their faces.

"Not much of a place, is it?"

Skinner looked up at the grinning man before him. "There are several
places like this scattered all over the D.C area," Sam Hartigan
explained. "Little hideaways where you can go and have a private talk
with someone. My former employers built them for that purpose."

The assistant director said nothing, but anger burned in his puffy
eyes.

"So, anything on your mind? Any opinions you would like to offer?"

"Why..." Frohike croaked.

"Hm? What's that?"

Starng at his knees, Frohike said in a weak voice, "Why are...you
doing this?"

"Well, some would say that I'm doing this because I'm a sick bastard.
That would be true, but it's also simplistic. My real motivation
is...love."

Frohike lifted his head and looked at Hartigan in disbelief.

"Love for Agent Dana Katherine Scully, in fact." Hartigan crossed his
arms over his chest and leaned against a wall. "So many years I spent
watching her...so many years becoming familiar with every inch of her
lovely body and every facet of her troubled mind...everytime I close
my eyes, I see her face. Thinking about her is as normal as breathing
for me."

He sighed. "I know what you're thinking. This is no way to express
love. That's because you're assuming love is something gentle. But I
know better. The men I used to work for...they loved the world. They
loved the human race. They loved it so much that they manipulated it
and abused it because it wouldn't do as it should. That's the true
meaning of love -- possession, control, domination. That's what Dana
has to accept."

"What do you mean?" Skinner asked in a low voice.

"I could have Dana anytime I want. No one could stop me. I could
snatch her away and you would never, ever see her again. But that's
not good enough. She has to accept her master. She has to admit
defeat. When she does that...well, then it'll be all over. You two
will be released and I'll bother no else again. Dana and I will
disappear into our own little corner of the world, never to be seen by
anyone."

Hartigan closed his eyes. "And what a good life it will be..."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I know what you're planning."

"Do you?"

"Of course I do. And I don't like it."

"It's been implied that this is the only action left to me."

"Are you sure?"

"Well, you tell me what to do."

The pretty red-haired woman rolled her eyes. "You rarely listened to
me when I was alive. Why would you listen to me now that I'm dead?"

Scully turned away from her. She was sitting by the phone in her
apartment. Night pressed its dark hand against her window.

"Do you hate me for that?" Scully asked the woman.

"For what? For getting killed?"

Scully nodded.

"Oh, Dana...that wasn't your fault. And if I had to choose between my
life and yours..."

"I know, I know."

"So don't think about that."

"But I am thinking about it. I have to wonder why you were the one who
died and not me."

"Fate. Happenstance. Bad luck for me. There's no need to go deeper
than that."

Scully turned to her visitor. "Or maybe I was chosen to live."

"By whom? By God?"

"I just...I just want to know if there's a meaning behind it all. Have
I been given some special purpose? Am I supposed to survive in order
to..."

Scully cut herself and covered her eyes. "I can't believe I'm saying
these things. I sound so vain."

"You're not vain, Scully. Just the opposite. You suspect that you're
being kept alive in order to fulfill God's plan -- a plan of which you
want no part."

"What I want is for it to all stop."

"It will stop. Soon."

"I'm aware of that."

"You're also aware that talking to a dead sister may be a sign of
insanity."

"I'm aware of that, too."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sam Hartigan could feel the end was coming. He had proved himself
unstoppable. Scully had to admit that by now.

He remembered the look in her eyes as he had held her from the
building ledge. For one moment, she was willing to die rather than
surrender to him. Then the moment passed and she became a helpless
woman.

On the other hand, Scully had an iron core of stubbornness in her. He
knew that as well as anybody. She could still be capable of resistance
even at this point.

Maybe, Sam thought, she needs one more push.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Hello, Agent Scully."

Scully turned away from the phone and saw a large man with thick lips
and sharp cheekbones. His eyes seemed incapable of affection, but they
were not without curiosity.

Scully examined the man and said, "Are you really here or are you just
a figment of my imagination?"

"You'll never know."

"Hm." Scully turned back to the phone. "So, why are you here anyway?"

"I wonder how all this is going to end. I wonder what you're going to
do about Sam Hartigan."

"Well, I can't 'do' anything about him. He can't be stopped. Just like
your group."

"We're not totally unstoppable. You did kill one of our number."

"Big deal. You can probably clone another one or whatever the hell you
do. You're practically gods."

"And is this Sam Hartigan a god, too?"

Scully paused, then said, "No. He's just a man."

"And I'm just an alien. What does that mean?"

Before Scully could respond to that, the phone rang. When she turned
to it, she already knew that the large man had vanished. She also knew
who was calling her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Hello?"

"Ah, Agent Scully. You're home."

It became quiet as a corpse on Scully's end of the phone line.
Hartigan couldn't even hear breathing.

"Agent Scully?"

"What do you want, Mister Hartigan?"

"Oh, you learned my name."

"Yes. Now, what do you want?"

"Just wanted to give you the latest clue. I was going to leave it on
your machine, but since I got you here..."

"Tell me the clue."

The tone in Scully's voice...something about it...something so removed
and flat...

Hartigan shook off his unease. "All right. Here it is. Straight from
Isaiah. 'Can a woman forget her suckling child, that she should not
have compassion...'"

"You're going after my mother next."

"Well...yes, I am. What do you think of that?"

The silence took over Scully's voice again. And again Hartigan spoke
to make sure she was still listening.

"Hello?"

"Let's get this over with, Mister Hartigan."

Hartigan let out a sigh and smiled. "I knew you would be reasonable."

"I'll meet you in the alley outside of my apartment building. I'll be
the only one there."

"I'm sure you will be. Not that it would matter."

"I know. Do me a favor, though."

"Certainly."

"Carry a note which details the location of Skinner and Frohike. I'm
assuming they're still alive."

"They are. And they'll continue to be so, now that you're being
cooperative."

"Good. Make sure I have some means of finding them."

"Excuse me, but what are you talking about?"

"I'll need that note after I kill you."

There was a click and then the hum of the phone line. Hartigan kept
the receiver pressed against his ear, his eyes wide. For the first
time in his campaign, he was truly uncertain of himself. For several
moments, he obsessed over the calm, unflappable manner Scully spoke
her final words.

I'll need that kind of help after I kill you, she had said.

She'll be alone, he thought. I know that. How can she kill me just
by...

Then he laughed. It was all perfectly ridiculous. However, he was
enough of a gentleman to do as his love requested. He got himself a
pen and paper.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART TEN
IN WHICH THE BASTARD GETS GRINDED DOWN

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She first encountered the smell when she opened a lunch box and saw
maggots nestling in white hair. Ever after she slammed the box shut,
the scent lingered in her nostrils. For the rest of her life, it would
seem to stay there, only varying in degrees of intensity.

As she held a dead snake in her hands, the smell would be intertwined
with the scent of leaves and the flavor of tears.

As she stood by caskets holding family members and friends, she could
still detect the smell through curtains of formaldehyde.

She realized that she would never escape it. She decided to embrace
it. Confronting it would become her job. Over the last seven years,
she had encountered human flesh that had been shot, hung, stabbed,
burnt, broken, frozen, exploded, chopped up, robbed of livers and
fingers, drained of blood and skin pigment, devoured by bugs, infected
with parasites, blistered with disease, shocked by lightning, stuffed
with mud, and partially eaten.

She had witnessed nearly every means in which a person could inflict
damage on themselves or others. She had met predators ranging from
human to spectral to alien. The smell of death had variety as if it
was an assortment of spices in a rack.  Sometimes it choked her with
its pungency. Other times, it was so subtle as to be almost
non-existent.

She had smelled it on her own hands. The scent had been rubbed off
from the bodies of family members and friends. Then it was her turn to
smell that way. She had known the penetration of a bullet, the rapid
aging of her flesh, and the poison of cancer. Death was within and
around her. It was almost the closest, most dependable companion of
her life.

As she stood in the alley, she had to depend on it more than ever.
She needed its scent to give her strength. Everybody else had been
separated from her, including a friend who was among the stars.

"I'm with you, Starbuck."

"I wish I could believe that, Dad."

"I've always been with you, just as you've always been with me."

Scully laughed. "You sound like Melissa."

Her father smiled. "I'm not talking about spirits or soul-bonding or
whatever Melissa would call it." He brushed a finger against her
forehead. "I'm talking about memory."

"He's right," Albert Hosteen said. "Memory is a powerful thing. In
fact, we are our memories. They speak to us and tell us where we're
going."

Scully looked around the alley. "Is he here?"

"No," her father said. "Mr. Hartigan has not arrived yet."

"Not him..."

"Everyone you want to be here is here," Hosteen assured her. "Look."

The old Native American pointed in front of Scully. She looked and saw
a little girl. This little girl pressed a hand against Scully's
abdomen. For a moment, Scully felt frightened.

Then the little girl looked up at Scully and smiled.

Scully smiled back.

"You make the choice, Starbuck," her father said.

"Yes. I will."

Then she was alone. Only one light -- a single cone-shaped bulb --
was located in the alley. It created a white globe which contained the
garbage cans and a chunk of the dirty cement under Scully's feet. She
stood beneath this light, looking left and right. Both ends of the
alley were blocked off with darkness. It was hard to determine which
shapes in that darkness were real and which she was imagining.

She also looked up the wall of the building. A man like Sam Hartigan
could come in any direction. She had to keep alert in order to...

What?

She had her gun, but she knew what happened to others who pointed a
gun at Hartigan. He would have been beyond Scully's physical
capacities even at her peak.

And she was far from her peak now. She felt light and heavy at the
same time. Her hands didn't want to rise while her mind had been
hollowed out of plans and ideas. She had been forced into this
position. She didn't know where to go from here except into the arms
of Sam Hartigan. Would she even attempt to resist him when he came?

She didn't want to think about it. Instead, she thought about a man.
She wondered where he was now and what was being done to him.
Undoubtedly, he was as trapped as she was, only his bonds were
physical instead of mental. He would be fastened to a black chair,
surrounded by lights and tall men. They would be hurting him, digging
into his body with tools, ignoring his screams. She wanted to reach
out to him. She wanted to comfort him one last time before she was
taken away. She wanted to say good-bye.

She did not speak.

But he did.

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"He's here."

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He's here, he's here, he's herehe'sherehe'shere...

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Scully made her choice.

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She didn't remember the first two shots, but she did remember the
third one. It seemed to wake her from a sleep. That's when she felt
metal in her hand.

Her body was in a perfect shooter's position, yet there was nothing in
front of her. She was afraid that she had fired her gun out of sheer
panic.

Then she heard a moan and looked down.

He was lying on his back. He could only lift his arms at the elbows.
His fingers clawed as if they were trying to grab onto a robe. He
breathed in weak gasps, not surprising in light of the three gushing
holes in his chest.

Scully became afraid, again. She shot somebody down, been in a
blackout, she had killed an innocent man...

Because that couldn't be Sam Hartigan on the ground.

Yet it was.

Scully walked up to the man and studied his face. Yes, this was the
man who had held her from a fifth-story ledge.

"Huh," she said.

She holstered her gun and knelt on the ground. Her expression was
surprised, but also curious. She had another dead body to examine.

Well, not quite dead, yet. Hartigan's shocked eyes could still see
the world. He looked at the woman next to him and tried to speak. No
words could pull themselves out of his weak throat. Besides, what
could he have said to the face which held no sympathy  for him?

The face was the last thing he saw. The words it spoke were the last
he heard --

"And they shall look upon the earth; and behold trouble and darkness,
dimness of anguish..."

Another trapeze swing was missed. Another acrobat fell to the ground.

"...and they shall be driven to darkness."

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PART ELEVEN
IN WHICH SCULLY RESTS

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It was over. It didn't feel like it should be over, but it was. That's
what Agent Doggett was telling Kersh on the morning after Scully
killed Hartigan.

"Both Skinner and Melvin Frohike are doing well. And John Byers should
be out of the hospital soon. As for the dead Sam Hartigan, a
preliminary examination has revealed some abnormalities about his bone
and muscle structure. I'm sure the labs are going to turn up some more
interesting things."

"Hm," Kersh said, his hands folded together and resting on his desk.
"What about Agent Scully?"

"She's resting, but she'll be back to work tomorrow."

"Good. I want an explanation from her. I want to know how she was able
to single-handedly defend herself against a man who overwhelmed two
teams of federal agents."

Kersh managed to make that statement sound like an accusation.
Doggett concluded that the Deputy Director had his ass re-tightened.

"I'm not sure she could explain it, sir," Doggett said. "Speaking
personally...I'm just glad she's alive and Hartigan is dead."

Kersh was motionless for a second, then he nodded. "Thank you, Agent
Doggett. That will be all."

As Doggett headed for the door, Kersh's phone rang.

"Hello?...Would you repeat that?"

The shocked tone in Kersh's voice made Doggett halt the moment he
stepped into the doorway. He turned and looked at the Deputy
Director.

"How the hell could this have happened?...Well, the next time we
speak, you better have an answer!"

Kersh slammed the receiver onto the hook.

"Sir?" Doggett said.

Looking like a man who has just been proven wrong about something,
Kersh said, "Hartigan's body...has disappeared from our labs."

Doggett found himself smiling. "Well, ain't that something?" he
smirked.

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Scully luxuriated in the coolness of her sheets and the comfort of a
pillow. She wasn't asleep yet, but simply closing her eyes was more
blissful than some of the dreams she had been having.

The ringing phone irritated her at first, but she decided that -- for
once -- no message on the other end would disturb her.

"Scully, it's me -- Doggett."

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry to bother you..."

"It's all right. What is it?"

"Sam Hartigan's body has disappeared."

"Ah. I see."

"Any ideas about who took it?"

"Someone who is interested in protecting the secrets of Project
Xenith. And maybe continuing the work. There are a lot of probable
candidates with those motives. But...I wouldn't worry about it. Not
now."

"All right. You should also know that Kersh is a tad puzzled at how
you stopped Hartigan."

"I understand."

"I'm kind of puzzled, too."

Scully rolled onto her back, her head sinking into a pillow and the
phone pressing against her ear. This was her answer --

"I will say to Kersh that...I anticipated Hartigan's attack. And that
he was over-confident. And that I was lucky."

"Uh-huh. Anything you want to say to me?"

"I made a choice. I had to decide whether I wanted to go on or stop."

"Uh...that's it?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Well, I'm glad you decided to go on. Any reason why?"

Scully touched her abdomen. "I've got something to look forward to."

"Well...whatever gets you through the night, Scully."

"Exactly."

"In any case...I better let you rest. We have work to do
tomorrow...and a few funerals to attend."

"I know." Suddenly, Scully felt a pain in her neck. "All those
people...all that death created in my name..."

"It wasn't about you. It was all about Hartigan. He was a bastard who
made his own choices."

The pain dissipated. "Yes. You're right, Doggett."

"Tell me when I've been wrong," Doggett said in a dry voice.

"Well..."

"Sleep well, Agent Scully."

"You, too, Agent Doggett."

Scully hung up the phone. She examined the white texture of the
ceiling for awhile longer, then closed her eyes. The darkness behind
her eyelids seem to settle on her mind in the manner of falling snow.
Bit by bit, she lowered herself to a place where she could imagine a
new year with a new friend at her side and an old friend returned.

As she descended, she heard music. It seemed to be coming from her
alarm clock radio. She didn't check to see if the alarm had gone off
early. She didn't care.

The music was coming from a band Fox Mulder had hated. "What do you
get when you combine a guitarist who knows one trick, a singer who
knows two, and a weak rhythm section? U2."

Scully disagreed. She liked this band and she liked this song.

"So you can dream...
"So dream out-loud...
"And you can find your own way out..."

She had reached the bottom of her consciousness. He was waiting for
her there.

"So don't let the bastards grind you down..."

Her sleeping face had a smile on it.

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AUTHOR'S NOTES:

You saw this coming. It's the "Acrobat" soundtrack.

1. "I Ride in Your Slip-Stream" by Richard Thompson

2. "Psycho Killer" by Talking Heads

3. "Sin" by Nine Inch Nails

4. "Acrobat" by U2

5. "Haunted Heart" by Jo Stafford

Well, that's my final story for the year 2000. What could you see next
year from me?

How about "Fairies Wear Boots?" For those of you who don't remember,
that's my fantasy story with wizards and elves and MSR and all the
other good crap. I've written a sizable chunk of that. Will I write
the rest? I'm not sure.

"The Empire Never Ended?" That's a story set after "Apocrypha." Mulder
and Scully get a message from a secret group of subversives. The
information they receive takes them to the criminal underworld of
Arkansas, the jungles of Nicaragua, and straight to the White House.
I've already written a lot of individual scenes for this story and
I've finally figured out the basic storyline. This could be one of the
first stories posted.

"The Times Square War." Scully goes with Doggett to his old stomping
ground -- New York City. They find themselves caught between two
factions of magicians involved in a battle for the city's very soul. I
want the story to be along the lines of "Goin' Down South" in terms of
mood and atmosphere.

"Untilted." I've got this one character in my mind that I can't shake
-- a hitwoman originally conceived for another story called "A Mile
Short of Salvation." Now I've got the idea of getting her involved in
the Smoking Man's group and seeing the whole alien conspiracy as it
might be viewed from the meaner streets of Los Angeles.

"Hot Potato." A cross-over story. Mulder, Scully, the Smoking and the
Bounty Hunter converge on New Jersey. They meet the Soprano family.

"Another Dash of Pepper." Now this could be the first story I will
post. It's a sequel to my story "Pepper" with Scully returning to the
little chili-loving Alabama town. This time, she brings John Doggett.

That's all I can think of right now. I'll also be writing up post-eps
for Season 8 and as many episodes of the first six seasons as I can.

Happy new year to you all. That is, unless the apocalypse is scheduled
for January 1, 2001. In that case, I will see all my fellow pagans in
the fiery pits of Hell!

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