Matrix

by Humbuggie

Based on an idea by Roxcatje

(c) 2001

Situation: This story has been written for

‘Virtual Season Nine’.

Rated R for some explicit language

Type: Profiling X-File, M/S MRS

Story: New York City’s Finest cannot stop a

serial killer from running havoc throughout

the city, leaving his mark on the city. Fox

Mulder is contacted by an old friend and

asked for help, thus turning the killer’s

attention on him, and forcing him into a

deadly cat & mouse-game across town. But the

agent has no idea the price he has to pay is

very high.

Disclaimer: Do I need to remind you that our

beloved FBI duo is not mine? They belong to

CC. But since he’s not using him to the best

of his abilities, the XF fanfic writers are.

First we’ll take Manhattan,

Then we’ll take Berlin

— Leonard Cohen

Matrix

Teaser

Day One, December 8, 2001

New York City

For the occasion he drove a white ’89 Chevy.

Stolen. He left his comfortable home outside

of town to drive up to her house in

Manhattan. Crossing the George Washington

Bridge he found himself staring at the

skyline.

He had no respect for the one he was going to

kill first. She was just to draw attention.

She would bring the crowd to the city and

make sure they feared him. He had chosen her

carefully as his first victim, knowing she

would live up to his expectations. She lived

in Manhattan, the heart of the rich city. He

met her during fundraisers. He had watched

her the day before at the Franklin Mason

Benefit. And he knew he would kill her.

She always used the remote to enter her

garage. She did this night too. Immediately,

the garage door opened. She drove inside and

turned off the engine.

The garage door was already closing when he

slipped into the darkness of the large space,

hiding himself for one moment behind the

Beamer. He dropped the bag soundlessly on the

floor, and waited until she opened the car

door, sliding his own body from behind the

Beamer until he stood right before her. She

didn’t hear or see him coming. If she had,

she wouldn’t have had time to scream. He

grabbed her by the arm and wrist, pulling her

further out of the car. She nearly fell, but

he held her firmly.

“Start walking,” he hissed in her ear,

planting her firmly on her feet. Pushing her

forward towards the door he watched her every

move, knowing there was an alarm set and that

she would need to type in the code to get

inside. She changed it every week and he knew

it would not be same as when he had once

spent the night there.

“Open the door,” he ordered, “one wrong move

and you’re dead, Susannah. You know I’ll snap

your neck just like that.”

Her hands were shaking while she opened the

door, tapping in the code as quickly as she

could. He memorized it. Then she used her key

to open the back door. He shoved her inside

and closed the door quickly behind him. She

grimaced and turned around quickly.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked as

she caught her breath.

He didn’t respond.

“What do you want?” she asked. “Sex? Is that

what this is about?”

He slowly nodded his head. “I’m afraid you’ve

got it all wrong, lovely Susannah,” he

whispered in her ear. “I didn’t come here for

the sex this time. I came here to get other

pleasures.”

She paled and swallowed away the lump in her

throat. Her soft voice changed its tone. For

the first time in her life she knew she

didn’t have the power over someone that she

thought she would have forever. She became

afraid.

“It’s not too late, is it?” she asked

nervously.

He sighed. “I’m afraid it is.”

He grabbed her wrist to keep her in the room.

“No, please,” she whispered, her voice

changing its tone. He looked into her eyes,

staring into the fear. He concentrated on her

thoughts and captured them with the powers

that made him so special. Then he went into

her mind and caught the name of the person

that she thought of at that exact moment. She

screamed because his intrusion cut through

her brain like a knife. Her head seemed to

burst and her agony was so strong that she

forgot for one second that she was going to

die. And he smiled.

“Thank you,” he said, “you just gave me my

next victim.”

He suddenly let her go, and she fell. She

crawled and struggled to get up, but his

hands were already around her throat,

squeezing the life out of her until she

passed out. He stopped. He didn’t want to

strangle her and have it over with yet.

Carefully, he placed her on the couch.

When he was finished, he kissed her softly on

the lips again. He said goodbye to her

sleeping form, and then left the way he had

come, using the code to seal off the house.

His leathered hand pushed the automatic

garage door button. He walked out and waited

for the garage door to close before he left

into the night.

Inside the house the telephone was ringing

loudly.

Susannah vaguely became aware of a sound

outside of her dreams. She forced her eyes

open, reaching immediately for her sore

throat, moaning when she moved her damaged

wrist by accident. Oh god, she remembered it

all in an instant. Her head felt dizzy, she

had to claw into the fabric of the couch she

was lying on.

The last thing Susannah heard was a deafening

noise in her ears, and the last thing she saw

was the immense fire that blew up in her

face. A sharp sound penetrated her ears and a

pain, worse than anything she had experienced

before came to take her away. Then her body

blew up with the rest of her house, leaving

nothing but shattered pieces of flesh and

bone and fabric all over the place. Leaving

her with nothing but blinding loneliness

where there was nothing left for her but

death.

Act 1

Day Two, December 9, 2001

Federal Bureau of Investigation

Washington, DC

Special Agent Dana Scully knew they were in

desperate need of vacations, but it would

still be another sixteen days before Christmas

arrived, and even then it wasn’t so sure they

would actually be enjoying some time off. It

was about time though, she thought. It seemed

forever since they had some time to

themselves. Last week she was still trying to

stop Mulder from going insane, and now –

despite the fact it was rather quiet at the

office – it felt as if they couldn’t simply

wind down and relish the fact they were both

still well.

Funny, how time passed so quickly in these

offices. Even more comical was how quickly

they both recuperated after going through

such ordeals. It seemed so easy at times that

it frightened her. Sooner or later they

wouldn’t be that fortunate and they would not

forget. But last night at Mulder’s, it had

seemed as if all was back to normal and they

were both getting over last week’s disaster.

It was behind them and once again they were

moving on.

The phone rang shaking from her from her

thoughts. “Scully,” she answered, listening

to Kim who invited her and Mulder to come see

Skinner instantly. “Mulder’s not here,” she

explained, “but I’ll leave a note.”

She hung up, scribbled a note that she left

on his desk, and hurried to Skinner’s office.

She arrived just as Mulder stepped out of the

elevator and walked over to her. He seemed

distraught and tired, probably just like she

was. They really did need to catch up on

their sleep.

“Hey,” she said, putting her hand on his

wrist for a second while glancing nervously

down the hall. Her little gestures could give

their relationship away but she couldn’t help

touching him. That single gesture always told

him how much she cared, and when he smiled

back, she knew she had just made his day.

“Hey,” he said back. “Skinner wants to see

us?”

“Yeah, you were pretty quick. Did you beat

the world-record reading little notes to get

up here?”

He smiled. “I didn’t go to the office. I just

bumped into Kim downstairs in the lobby making

a Starbucks run, and she told me. Do you know

why he wants to see us?”

“Since I know it’s not tickets to Hawaii, I

guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

He grinned. “If you’re feeling bored, Agent

Scully, I can always give you a case of a

headless monkey born out of the belly of a

dog with paranormal powers.”

She stuck out her tongue before opening the

door to the small reception area, “No thanks.

I’ll take Skinner’s case at any time.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Agent

Scully,” Skinner said from the doorway as he

watched his agents enter. “Come in. We don’t

have much time.”

“We, sir?” Mulder asked, curious as to who

else would be waiting for them inside the

man’s office.

Skinner invited them in. Mulder looked up

surprised as Assistant Director Frank Smythe

got out of his seat before the desk and

offered his hand. Reluctantly Scully shook

the man’s hand. She realized instantly they

were up for a Violent Crimes Section case. A

rofiling case. About a month ago she had

first met Frank Smythe during a briefing.

Smythe had been introduced as Tom Alexander’s

replacement after Alexander’s unexpected

death.

Smythe seemed like a decent enough man, but

right now Scully couldn’t really be grateful

for the assignment, especially since they

were both so tired and had just been through

a difficult run of cases.

Smythe smiled politely and sat down again as

the others took a seat. “Agents, I think I

might have an interesting case for you. I

have run through the file with AD Skinner and

he has confirmed to me that he’s willing to

‘lend’ you two for a couple of days to sort

this thing out for us.”

“What kind of case?” Scully asked, already

dreading the answer. “Serial killer?”

“Not exactly.” Frank shoved the file in

Mulder’s direction, catching the agent’s eyes

as Mulder opened it surprised. He wasn’t

prepared for the first photo and blinked a

couple of times before closing the file

again. Smythe saw him wince and nodded, “I

had the exact same reaction when I first saw

it. It’s horrible, I know.”

Scully reached for the file and opened it.

She too felt a knot in her stomach as she

stared at the photo of what appeared to be a

deformed corpse, missing bits and pieces as

it had been blown to smithereens. The body

was black and hardly in one piece. There was

nothing left of it to declare it human. Yet

it could be identified instantly as a corpse.

“Lovely,” Scully muttered. “A bombing?”

“Yes. Right in the center of New York, can

you believe that? The city is turned upside

down. Everyone is in uproar because of this.

People are talking political bombing again.

They want blood. Fortunately we calmed

them down a bit by stating we would put our

best men on it. Didn’t you hear about this on

the news last night and this morning?”

“I didn’t listen to any news,” Mulder said

almost at the same time as Scully. The two

glanced at each other.

“I’m sorry,” Mulder continued, “why exactly

are you coming to us with this? If this is a

terrorist action, shouldn’t their Task Force

be doing this?”

“This isn’t a terrorist action,” Skinner

said. “This was murder.”

“With a bomb?” Mulder asked surprised.

“Yeah,” Smythe said. “With a bomb. There are

no terrorists involved, Mulder. The target

was a civilian, a woman who had many admirers

and enemies. Someone chose her for this

repulsive death but not because she was of

political importance. The mayor knows that by

now, as does the Senate. But this is already

a high profile case and you will be watched

from the moment you step into it. You should

be aware of that.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you’ve come to

us with this case,” Scully remarked.

Smythe smiled. “I know, Agent Scully. This is

officially not an FBI matter … yet.

There’s someone else that is interested in

solving it, but he specifically asked for you

even though he’s in charge. He sought FBI

assistance and came to me to request you. He

says he’s an old friend of yours. In fact,

I’ve had the pleasure of working with him in the

past, too.”

“Who?” Mulder asked curiously as he leaned

forward a bit. His interest was caught,

Scully saw, and she feared that he would take

a case that wasn’t even theirs to begin with

just because the right person was involved.

“Jack Campbell.”

This time Mulder’s attention was caught and

won over by Smythe. Slowly the agent rose out

of his chair and said, “No way.”

“Someone you know?” Scully asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Mulder said with a grin and a nod.

“Jack was a profiler, we started out together.

Then he up and left, went to work for New York’s

Finest. I lost track of him, I don’t know

what he’s been up to recently.”

“You can ask him yourself,” Smythe said. “He’s

on his way down from New York to see you this

morning. In fact, I think he might already

have arrived and is probably waiting in your

office right now.”

“He is?” Mulder asked even more surprised.

“He flew out from New York this morning?”

“Yes. I told him to go to your

office and meet you there.”

“I still don’t understand why he wants me

on this case,” Mulder said, shaking his head.

“That is a question you should also ask him,”

Smythe said. “I gather that you are taking

this case?”

Mulder didn’t respond, but his eyes sparked

with the knowledge that he would see a lost

friend again soon.

*******

Day Two, December 9, 2001

Federal Bureau of Investigation

Washington, DC

A tall, slim man with blonde hair sat at

Mulder’s desk, looking at the office that

seemed strange to him. He had heard rumors

that Mulder had been involved with paranormal

activity, but he had never thought it was

true. Yet when he called a few friends at the

Bureau the night before they had confirmed it.

Jack Campbell was a man of impulse. Ten years

ago he had changed his FBI outfit for an

NYPD outfit, choosing New York because he was

born and raised there, and the police

department because he felt he was doing no

good at the FBI. Before he had been recruited

for the Bureau, he was destined to become a

cop anyway. His father had been one, and his

grandfather before him. When he was

recruited, they had been upset.

Jack had been very good at his job.

The NYPD had been difficult. But in the end

his track record showed he was worth the

effort, and he received a promotion again

within the year, this time running six other

detectives in his own little Homicide

Investigation Unit.

Finally the door opened but instead of

Mulder, the petite, female agent entered

first. She was talking to Mulder and then

stopped, surprised that their guest was

sitting at Mulder’s desk. Campbell knew her

name was Dana Scully and that she had been

Mulder’s partner for years, but he stopped at

her attractiveness and candor. He liked her

instantly and when her eyes caught his, he

knew she liked him too.

Mulder came in behind her and Campbell

smiled, almost in relief, as he recognized

his old friend instantly.

“You see, Scully?” Mulder quipped, “I knew

there was a reason to keep my New York Knicks

T-shirt.”

Campbell grinned widely and fished inside his

pocket, delivering three tickets that he

waved in the air. “I knew I could still bribe

you the same old way,” he smiled. Mulder

stepped forward and embraced his old friend.

Jack accepted the embrace and patted Mulder on the back.

“Next time you shouldn’t wait ten years to

pay off your debts, Campbell,” Mulder

grinned, tucking the tickets in his pocket.

“Yeah, well, it took me a while to pull some

strings for these seats,” Campbell answered

as they let go of each other. Mulder turned

slightly and said, “Jack Campbell, meet Dana

Scully. Scully, this is Campbell, the terror

of New York.”

“Nice to meet you,” Scully said, shaking his

offered hand. “I can’t say I’ve heard much

about you though. In fact, your visit comes

as quite a surprise.”

“To all of us, Agent Scully,” Jack said as he

leaned comfortably at the edge of the desk.

“Believe me, I didn’t know I was going to be

here yesterday either, but I do need your

help and I had to find a way to stop you from

refusing.”

“You could have asked me over the phone,”

Mulder said. “Of course I would have come.

Now that you’re here though, tell me what’s

going on.”

“Actually, I sent you a short email yesterday

to tell you I was on the way. You should

check your mailbox more often,” Campbell

grinned.

“Sorry. I’m usually out chasing aliens. Now,

speak.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to discuss the

case with AD Smythe and your boss at the same

time. It’s a long, difficult story to

explain, and we don’t have much time to go

through the details. Our flight leaves at

two. I know I might have gone too far in

assuming you are going, but I couldn’t wait

for the bookings. This case is too important

and needs your help.”

“That sounds serious enough,” Mulder said.

“Actually they’re already expecting us.

Skinner said they would be waiting for us.”

Campbell opened the door for Scully and let

her walk out first. He followed next to

Mulder who found his friend had changed.

There was a haunted look in Jack’s eyes. He

hid something.

As they took the elevator, Campbell asked how

his friend was doing.

“As good as can be expected,” Mulder said,

who couldn’t help but stare at Scully

standing right in front of him. Campbell

caught the glance, feeling a sting in his

belly. He too glanced at someone this way

years ago. And now that person was dead and

he was on his own again, wondering how he

could change his life for the better.

Campbell blinked and shook his head slightly.

He shouldn’t be daydreaming like this. That

was then and this was now, and now he needed

to solve a case as soon as possible.

Walter Skinner immediately took a liking to

Mulder’s friend as they were

introduced. Earlier that morning, Smythe had

used scanned prints of the murder scene, but

now Campbell opened his debriefing with the

original photos. There were six all together,

taken from different angles showing the

damage done to the house and victim.

“Her name was Susannah Delany, age thirty-

four. “This is her when she was still alive

and kicking. And this…” yet another photo

going into Mulder’s hands, “this is her when

she died. Not a pretty sight, I can tell you

that. I saw the real thing and haven’t felt

much like eating since.”

“You are handling this as a murder case?”

Mulder asked. “You told the AD that they were

first talking terrorists?”

“Yes. Fortunately I was able to calm down the

Mayor’s Office and the Governor’s. The

explosion could be heard miles away. The

house was blown to kingdom come, taking two

other houses with it. There were no other

victims. The bombing was most definitely

focused on Susannah. The bomber used an

inventive wiring system to trick her. She was

trapped inside her own home. When she picked

up the phone, she triggered the bomb and left

nothing of her. If she would have touched the

door, she would have died too.”

Mulder glanced at the photo of the beautiful

woman who smiled into the camera. She looked

like the All-American girl. Yet someone had

killed her in the cruelest way possible. For

someone to do that, he or she must have felt

a huge resentment toward her.

“She was a well known figure in New York

society,” Campbell said. “I met her a couple

of times as well. She was popular amongst a

certain crowd but she was also nicknamed ‘The

Slut’ in some circles. She led a very complex

life.”

“So what are your thoughts then?” Mulder

asked. “Surely you must be following a

certain direction?”

“Right now we’re still exploring, Mulder,”

Campbell confessed. “But we need a profiler

on this case and I thought of you instantly.”

“Why me?” Mulder asked. “We’ve got a few

profilers working in New York.”

“I know, but I wanted you for the job because

I know your style and how you think. I

believe that together we might have this

solved within a few days. If I have to work

with a profiler I’m not familiar with, it

might take a while and we might be grasping

at straws. With everyone breathing down my

neck, I cannot afford that. So basically, I

need you, Mulder.” Campbell smiled. “And of

course you knew those tickets didn’t come

cheap.”

Mulder didn’t smile back, still wondering

what Campbell was concealing from him. It was

strange that he would come back for him after

ten years, believing he was still doing the

same job at the same office as if those past

ten years hadn’t existed. And how could he

still remember every detail of his work while

so much had happened in between? No, there

was a catch. But Mulder would find out soon

enough what it was. He could tell that

Campbell was eager to talk to him in person

without others watching them.

“Okay,” Mulder said, “I’ll do it.”

Scully opened her mouth to protest, but

realized she couldn’t stop this. She only had

to take a look at the photos to realize what

disaster had been caused.

“We’ve got ourselves a madman, Agent Scully,”

Campbell said softly. “And my gut feeling

tells me he has just begun. A man who does

this will not stop with one kill. We need to

go through details today before tomorrow he

kills another one. He knew this woman, yet he

killed her. Shouldn’t we stop him from going

through his list of ‘friends’ before -”

“Wait a minute,” Scully said, “he knew her?

How can you be so sure?”

“There was an alarm set. She couldn’t have

put it on because she was trapped inside the

house. He knew the alarm and set it before he

walked out again. He could only have done

that if he knew her. She never gave out that

code to anyone.”

Mulder glanced at his watch. It was nearly

noon. In two hours their flight would leave.

He thought of the overnight bag that he had

used when he spent the night at Scully’s. It

was set to go. He got up and looked at

Scully. “You are free to stay here, Scully,”

he said formally. “But I’m going to accept

this case. Though it is a profiling case, I

could use your help for the autopsy and

details.”

Scully got up, knowing she would not let

Mulder go on his own. “Let’s go then,” she

said.

Campbell smiled and said his goodbyes to

Skinner and Smythe. Then Skinner got up as

well and followed the agents outside. Mulder

looked surprised at him as he said, “I’m

going too.”

“Sir?” Mulder asked surprised.

Campbell grinned at Mulder’s surprise. “Your

boss gave his permission on the condition

that I would book him a ticket too. He’s in

charge of the two of you.”

Two hours later two agents, an Assistant

Director, and a New York cop got on a flight

out to the Big Apple where a killer awaited

them.

ACT 2

Day Two, December 9, 2001

New York City

He knew by watching the news they were

investigating.

For tonight however he had already chosen his

next victim. No, Susannah had chosen him.

Her mind had given him the way to the man

that might have been the only one she ever

truly loved. Why else would he have been the

last person on her mind before passing out?

He knew the man by name and in person.

Stephen Wells was his name. He was forty-

seven years old and a bachelor. He was a kind

man, in fact, the opposite of what Susannah

had been. He didn’t deserve this death, yet

it could not be avoided. Susannah had picked

him out.

Wells lived in luxury but only to an extent.

He worked in an office on the other side of

town where he always worked late. There he

would die. Every morning he arrived around

ten o’clock after his daily jog. At night he

often stayed until nine, unless he was

entertaining or invited to a party. He didn’t

have many other hobbies other than that. He

supported charities and had been at the

Franklin Mason Benefit.

That morning the killer had walked into the

office building in as if he were an employee

of the CPA Corporation on the third floor,

but instead had taken the elevator up to the

tenth floor where Wells worked. There he had

taken a quick look around and muttered an

apology to the receptionist when he got

caught being on the wrong floor.

He had hurried back down and knew that

tonight he would come back around eight, when

everyone was at home except for Wells. Anyone

else that would be there was out of luck.

The killer looked up at the TV-screen when

Jack Campbell was mentioned as being in

charge of the case. The reporter also

mentioned an FBI profiler was now on the

case. An interview with Campbell followed. It

had been taped the night before, right

outside Susannah’s shattered house. The

killer raised his glass and got out of his

seat, tapping it against the television

screen. “Here’s to you and your profiler,

Jack. May the best man win.”

Then he picked up his ready-made bag and left

for the office. Tonight would indeed be a

victorious night.

Day Two, December 9, 2001

New York City

Mulder deliberately chose the seat next to

Campbell, glancing apologetically at Scully.

She nodded, knowing he had to talk to his

friend. After the plane took off for the

short flight, the agent spoke.

“Now tell me, Jack, why did you really

contact me?”

Jack looked aside, not even surprised with

the question. “You really cannot accept that

I picked you out because of your expertise,

can you?”

“I read your email, Jack. You practically

stated in it that you experience paranormal

experiences. I’ve got this feeling they have

a lot to do with why you contacted me.”

Jack sighed and rubbed his head, trying to

escape the headache that seemed to come and

go during the day. He knew he wasn’t meant to

lie to Mulder, but how could he explain his

reasoning when he didn’t even understand it

himself?

“I knew you weren’t a profiler anymore,” Jack

whispered.

Mulder glanced towards him curiously. “You

knew?” he asked. “Then why -?”

“I thought that you, with your expertise in

the paranormal, would understand me better

than anyone else. I didn’t ask you for your

profiler skills, but because of your

paranormal expertise.”

Mulder leaned forward and whispered, “Are you

saying this is an X-File?”

“If you want to call it that way. Yes and no,

I don’t know, Mulder. There’s something about

this case that I can’t explain. I know we

have the bombing. The evidence is there.

The murder happened in a natural way. She

died because of that bomb. Yet there’s

something I can’t put my finger on. I don’t

know what it is. It’s been bugging me since I

got the call yesterday about her death.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Campbell laughed. “Come on. You know they

would take me off at once. You of all people

should know what it’s like to fight against

those with preconceived notions.”

“What makes you think this is paranormal?”

Mulder asked. “You said it yourself: All the

evidence is there. There’s nothing abnormal

about the case, and -”

“Look.” Campbell glanced behind him, hoping

that Skinner and Scully couldn’t hear. He

didn’t know them well enough to confide in

them just yet. He wanted to keep his little

secret between Mulder and himself. “There’s

something you should know, Mulder. Something

that might change the way you look at our

friendship.”

“You’re a woman,” Mulder remarked quasi-

shocked.

Campbell laughed. “No, it’s not that bad.”

Mulder grinned. “So you can’t surprise me

anymore. Now tell me.”

Campbell sighed deeply and looked forward. “I

was recruited for the Bureau, not because of

my skills or expertise or brightness, like

you. I was recruited because I had visions as

a child, teenager and young adult and they

knew about it.”

Mulder leaned forward even more. “You’re

psychic?” he asked surprised.

“I used to be.”

“Come on, Jack. Once a psychic, always a

psychic. Spill the beans.”

“All right,” Campbell admitted. “I am still

psychic, if that’s what you want to call it

but it’s not strong anymore. It just happens,

usually at night. I envision events. People

say I’m good at what I do. But if they knew I

use ninety percent of my instincts to catch

my killers, I wouldn’t be so believable

anymore. They would call me a fraud.”

“And you had a vision about Susannah Delany?”

“Yes, I had. After the bomb, I went to that

house and I had a vision of her being trapped

in there with a man – her killer. He did

something to her that I cannot describe. He

seemed to pick her brain and then he went

away. The vision was very blurry and strange,

and I don’t know how to describe it any

better than that. I believe that he too is

psychic and that we connected

somehow. I picked something up from his

actions.”

“And because you can’t use that vision, you

turned to me, hoping that I could,” Mulder

remarked.

Jack smiled. “I know, it sucks, but that’s

how it is.”

“I see,” Mulder said slowly, trying to figure

out what to do next. His first urge was to

convince Jack to have his ability further

explored, but he knew his friend would not go

for it.

“All I ask of you, Mulder, is that you treat

this case as a profiler. But keep an open

mind. And don’t tell anyone about this, I beg

of you.”

“I won’t,” Mulder vowed. “But you need to

realize and accept that your ability is not a

curse but a gift. And anything that you see,

you must tell me if it affects this case. If

not, we’re through.”

Jack promised and watched as Mulder opened

the file and started making notes to profile

their killer. The two words that sprung to

mind were “cold-blooded” and “vindictive.”

Those words alone made Jack shiver. He sensed

trouble.

Day Two, December 9, 2001

New York City

The Federal Building in downtown New York had

25 floors, so Skinner didn’t have difficulty

arranging for a few adjoining offices at the

VCS. AD Norris, who ran the New York

division, was a good friend of his and had

been warned of their coming. Of course,

everyone knew the stakes.

“This way,” Jack said, walking to the

elevators. He pushed the button to the

eleventh floor and led the agents to two

small, conjoined offices on the right. A man

in his fifties waited for them and got up as

they stepped inside. “Good to see you,

Walter,” he said, shaking Skinner’s hand.

“Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, may I

introduce you to Assistant Director Donald

Norris? Mulder, Don took over for Linda

Harper,” Skinner said, knowing the memory of

the missing AD would haunt his agents for a

good long while. Mulder and Scully stepped

forward to greet the new AD. Jack already

knew Norris.

“It’s a pleasure, Agent Mulder,” Assistant

Director Norris said. “I’ve heard quite a lot

about you.”

“You have?” Mulder asked with a hint of

surprise. “I wouldn’t believe everything they

told you, sir.”

Norris smiled, and invited them to sit down,

explaining to them they could use these

temporary offices to get settled in during

the next few days. His own office was on the

tenth floor but he would always be at their

service if they needed any help.

Everyone took a seat at the conference table.

Norris was a busy man with twelve agents

working for him. His specialty was serial

murder. As a rookie-cop he had been involved

in the Son of Sam-case years ago before

joining the Bureau.

“I understand you’ve done other cases prior

to this,” Norris started as he directed

Mulder, ” AD Skinner told me that you’re a

good profiler with an excellent record.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You do realize this is not a paranormal

case?”

“Yes, sir, but even a killer can use

paranormal activity. In 1993, we solved the

case of Eugene Victor Tooms, a man who

extracted human livers in order to hibernate.

This was a serial killer who had been active

for over a hundred years. There was also a

man named Virgil Incanto who lived on the fat

of obese women in order to survive

physically.”

“I think I get the picture, Agent Mulder,”

Norris interrupted. “As long as you

understand that this case involves a regular

man, I’m okay with it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Norris got up and put his hand on the file

that lay on the middle of the table. “I have

a meeting in about ten minutes,” he said, “so

I’m going to leave you to your own devices.

Walter, you know where to find me should you

need one of my men. Just let me know how we

can help you. Of course you can also contact

AD Smythe for questions or information.”

“I appreciate that, Edward,” Skinner said,

shaking hands with his colleague. “We’ll keep

you informed.”

“Thanks.”

Norris left, closing the door behind him on

the way out. Campbell turned towards the

others. “I suggest that we start working.

Where do you want to begin, Mulder?”

“I’d like to autopsy the body tonight if

possible,” Scully answered in her partner’s

place. “I suppose it has been held for me?”

“It has,” Jack confirmed. “Even though the

coroner’s office wasn’t too pleased with

that. I had to pull a lot of strings to

persuade them to wait.”

“I’d like to see the crime scene first,”

Mulder said. “Get a feel.”

“We can do that,” Jack said. “But we also

need to make a courtesy call to the mayor’s

office. We need to settle some issues there

before the mayor steps in and takes over. He

has the power to make our lives miserable if

we don’t act discreetly.”

Jack glanced at his watch. It was after five.

If they were going to act, they didn’t have

much time left before dark. “I’ll call the

mayor from the car and set up the autopsy for

you, Agent Scully. I suggest that we profit

from the little time we have left before it

gets too dark.”

“I’ll stay here,” Skinner said. “And get in

touch with the other authorities. Remember,

I’m only here on an administrative basis.

This is your case, but I’m backing you up

should the heat get turned on.”

“We understand, sir,” Mulder said.

Day Two, December 9, 2001

New York City

The house was one big pile of debris to put

it mildly. Absolutely nothing was left of the

Victorian home, except a couple of walls; in

between lay the remains of the first and

second floor. The fire department had shored

up the walls and was still cleaning up the

mess when the agents got there.

“Most of the evidence has been taken to a

police compound,” Jack complained. “We’re

trying to go through details there because

it’s too dangerous to hang around here.

Pieces of debris keep falling down.”

Mulder took a look at the neighboring houses

and noticed they too had suffered greatly

from the bomb, but they were not beyond

repair. “We asked the owners to find

temporary shelter,” Jack explained. “The

Mayor’s Office is helping them out until they

receive their insurance benefits.”

Jack carefully made his way through the

debris and stepped inside what was left of

the living room. The cracked piano that had

been in one of the photos still stood there

as a memento to a woman’s life that had been

completely ruined with a crushing bomb.

“Where did they find Susannah’s body?” Scully

asked, following in Jack’s footsteps.

“Over there.” Jack pointed towards the

remains of a wall covered by a whole lot of

wood and stones. From his pocket he got out a

map of the floor plan, provided to them by

the architect who had renovated the house

five years ago before.

“The area in which she was found was the

living room. It had an L-shaped form, you

see? You can still see the remains of the

couches, the TV, stereo, all that stuff. All

the electrical equipment exploded in the

fire. The short end of the L was her dining

room. It was a large room with two steps

leading to the front door. There was also a

stairwell in the back, going to the first and

second floor. She didn’t use the second

floor. The kitchen had another stairwell,

probably used by her housekeeper.”

“She had a live-in housekeeper?” Mulder

asked.

“No, there was a woman that came over twice a

week and spent a whole day at the house.

Susannah didn’t want to be disturbed by her

and they had very particular arrangements for

her work.”

“The kitchen had been a spacious, modern

room,” Jack continued as they walked over,

showing them photos of how it used to be. It

had two doors leading outside; one going to

the back, which was being used as a service

entry door. And there was a second one

leading up to the garage. Both doors had an

alarm.”

“Was the garage secured?” Mulder asked.

“Automatic door?”

“Yeah. She had the automatic door installed

after the renovations. The garage could hold

two cars, which were both accounted for. She

drove a Jaguar and a compact BMW. According

to the housekeeper she changed the alarm code

once a week and she was the only one that

knew it. When the housekeeper came over, she

had to ring the front door and was allowed in

by Susannah. If Susannah wasn’t at home, the

housekeeper couldn’t get in.”

Jack waited as he watched Mulder think. “We

believe that the killer made his entry

through the garage door. He probably slipped

in and waited until she got out of her car to

grab her. He forced the alarm off her, no

doubt.”

“Was there a silent alarm?” Scully asked.

“No.”

“You mentioned earlier that the bomb had been

set off by the telephone. Did the bomb squad

examine the device yet?”

“They have,” Jack said, glancing at one

of the firemen that looked very curiously at

him. “But I suggest that we discuss this on

our way to the mayor’s office. Have you seen

enough for now?”

“I have,” Mulder confirmed, thinking about

the details he would put in his report. He

had seen enough for now. Pure hatred lived in

this debris. And there was an urge to end up

in the news by killing this way. He had

succeeded.

Right now anything was still possible.

“Destroy and mutilate,” Mulder mumbled, as he

left.

“Our killer definitely gets off on what he’s

doing,” Mulder said as they returned to the

car. “He took his time to set this up. He

took risks, but he didn’t care.”

“Go on,” Jack said, listening to Mulder’s

nearly monotone voice. He could see the man

was talking without thinking, as if he wanted

to say it before it was gone out of his mind.

“He wants us to admire his handiwork, that’s

for sure. He had two reasons to use this

bomb. He wanted to destroy everything that

was dear to her; not alone her physical being

but also the place she had put her stamp on,

as if he wanted nothing left of her to be

remembered.”

“Do you think he’ll kill again?”

Mulder looked at the others. “We’ll know soon

enough.”

Mulder’s words shocked the other agents,

realizing he was right. Right now there was

no way of telling if the killer had already

chosen his next victim. There was no trace

leading to another potential victim.

“Let’s get out of here,” Scully said. “Can

you two drop me off at the coroner’s office?”

“Sure,” Jack said as they made their way back

to the car. Across the street still stood a

crowd gathered to see who was rummaging

through the debris. Mulder saw a few cameras

and reporters. He spotted them a mile away

and knew they would want to get answers soon.

“Can you get those reporters to hand over

printouts of the photos taken last night?” he

asked. “Might come in handy.”

“Already been done,” Jack said, “standard

procedure.”

Scully and Jack made their way out but Mulder

stopped before the outer wall, turning and

staring at the debris. Suddenly he was back

at the bombing in Dallas. Back then the

bombing had taken place to cover up several

strange deaths. What if this bombing had

taken place for the same reason? If not to

destroy one’s life, why would anyone plan

such a horrid death?

He shivered.

Day Two, December 9, 2001

New York City

In the car Jack got a call from the forensics

office.

Preliminary reports showed that the bomber

was an amateur. The device was set up simply;

it worked when a trigger was set off by a

certain move. He didn’t use new,

sophisticated technology to get the job done.

He used the old tricks, like hobbyists did.

“He must have had help to do this,” the

expert said as he explained over the phone

what he found. “That, or he used ‘Bombings

for Dummies’ on how to set a bomb.”

“What about the Internet?” Mulder suggested

when Jack hung up. “There are chat rooms and

forums for just about anything. There

probably are on terrorists and bombs as

well.”

“How to create the perfect, destructive

bomb,” Campbell said. “It’s sick, but it can

be done. It shouldn’t be too difficult to

find that out. I’ll have someone do a search

on the Internet. Who knows, we might get

lucky.”

Day Two, December 9, 2001

New York City

The office building was dark, just like he

had expected it to be. The reception area was

empty but the outer doors were still open. He

would need a badge to go up now, and he

didn’t have one. He pushed the button of the

tenth floor and waited until a male voice

asked, “Yes?”

“Stephen,” he said, “it’s me. Can you let me

in?”

There was a silence on the other side and

then the man who worked on the tenth floor

said, “Sure.” The killer smiled, knowing

Wells didn’t know whom he was letting in.

The office at the end of the corridor was

brightly lit. That was Stephen’s office. He

had seen that this morning while making his

stroll through the building. Stephen was

there alone. The man looked up when he walked

in and said, “Excuse me, do I know you?”

“Of course you do, Mr. Wells,” he said.

“We’ve attended several benefits together,

haven’t we?”

“Of course we have,” Stephen said hesitant,

offering his hand. “How are you? What can I

do for you? I’m sorry, I thought I let one of

my colleagues in.”

“I know,” he smiled. “I took the risk of

coming here, hoping you would be by yourself.

You are alone, aren’t you?”

Wells looked nervous. “I’m sorry but you

still haven’t told me what you’re doing

here.”

“We need to talk, Stephen.”

“About what?”

“About things that you’ve done. About people

that you’ve been with.” He took a seat at the

edge of Stephen’s desk and took a paperweight

off the desk. It felt heavy in his hand. He

toyed with it as his eyes focused on Stephen

who became agitated.

“What are you talking about?” Stephen asked.

“What things have I done?”

“Why are you at work, Stephen, when you

should be mourning Susannah’s death?”

“Susannah?” Stephen Wells laughed bitterly.

“Is that what this is all about? You’re here

because of Susannah? You’re a reporter,

aren’t you? You came here because you found

out about us and now you’re trying to get a

story out of it. Get out!”

“I’m not a reporter,” he answered calmly.

“Are you trying to blackmail me then?” Wells

muttered as his face turned red in anger.

“Get the hell out before I call security. How

dare you come in here right after her death

and do this to me? We had a good thing going.

You can’t use that against me. Get the hell

out before I kick you out myself!”

He smiled. “I’m not leaving, Stephen. I’ve

come here to kill you.”

Wells’ eyes changed expression when he saw

his ‘guest’ wore leather gloves. The man’s

eyes were as cold as ice. And his facial

expression was blank. Suddenly, Wells felt an

excruciating pain inside his head, and he

screamed as he moved away from his chair,

putting his hands up his head as he shrieked.

It felt like someone was cutting into his

head with a knife, taking out all the

thoughts and dreams. His eyes locked with the

killer’s and it felt like he would never be

the same again.

Then the pain stopped suddenly and the killer

smiled. “Thank you for handing me my next

victim.”

Wells stumbled backwards, nearly tripping

over his chair as he came to the realization

he had signed his own death warrant. And then

the paperweight came up and smashed him over

the head, cutting deep into his skull. Wells

slumped backwards, pulling a stack of paper

onto the floor with him. There he remained,

out cold.

The killer removed the man’s cellular phone

and tucked it into his own pocket. He would

leave that outside the room where Wells

couldn’t use it.

The killer moved quickly now, shutting the

office door and switching off the lights so

that only the dim nightlights remained on.

Using the same MO he had used on Susannah, he

triggered the phone and fax. Then he wired

the rest of the room. Closing the door, he

placed the bomb right outside the room and

set the trigger. Every single action the man

inside did would kill him. And if someone tried

to save him, he would still die.

A few minutes later, he was downstairs and he

left the building in utter darkness.

Inside the room, Stephen Wells woke up

slowly, reaching for his bruised head. He

sighed deeply as he tried to grasp at what

had happened to him. The world danced before

his eyes. He touched his temple, feeling the

deep cut made by his own paperweight. Then he

remembered. He knew who that man was! That

struck him the most. He had seen him before

and knew of his political ambitions. And he

was also a killer.

He had to tell someone! And then there was a

vague sound, like a phone ringing. The sound

seemed too loud in his bruised head. His

fingers reached for the phone, picking it up.

A sharp-pitched sound pierced his skull. He

saw the wires. And then nothing anymore.

When the fire ended, the entire top floors of

the office building had gone to hell.

Underneath the debris on the ninth floor,

which had suffered too during the blast, laid

the unconscious body of the security guard.

Day Two, December 9, 2001

New York City

The mayor’s office buzzed with activity as

Mulder and Campbell arrived. It was seven-

thirty in the evening, yet all the personnel

still seemed present. Some of them were

dressed in evening gowns and tuxedos.

“There’s an AIDS benefit tonight,” Campbell

said. “I was supposed to go too, but with all

that’s been going on, that’s not going to

happen. Not that I’m unhappy with that; I

hate those events.”

“Don’t let your father hear you say that,”

Mulder remarked, remembering the former

Chief of Police whom he had met twice.

“Detective Campbell,” the mayor’s secretary

said, as Jack knocked on the glass door that lead

to a small but beautifully decorated

reception area. “The mayor is expecting you.”

“Thank you,” Jack said as they walked in.

Inside another, classically decorated office,

a man in his late forties awaited both men.

Mulder had seen the mayor on news bulletins

and in newspapers. Rumors had it that he was

going to try for the Senate during the next

elections and that the eligible mayor’s seat

was up for grabs.

It was no secret the mayor was a very cocky

man who didn’t like it when things didn’t go

his way. He wanted to exert his authority

over the NYPD and FBI during high-profiled

cases, but when he found out he hadn’t, he

got nasty.

“Close the door, Ellen,” the mayor said. “And

tell David that I’m going to be running late.

He should warn Congressman Mitchell.”

“Yes, sir,” the secretary said as she shut

the door. The mayor didn’t offer them coffee.

He made it very clear he didn’t want to spend

much time discussing the case with the two

men who were supposed to solve it soon.

“Look, Campbell,” the mayor said, ignoring

the fact for now he saw this man on a

personal basis as well and at times even

liked him. “I’m not going to beat around the

bush here. I want results and I want them

yesterday. I appreciate you bringing in the

FBI, but you’re slowing things down. What are

you doing to get this guy?”

“We have gathered all the evidence and are

exploring Miss Delany’s past, sir. You must

understand that it will take time.”

“We don’t have time. Everyone’s breathing

down my neck. They all want to know how this

could happen in my city. They believe some

crazy bomber is terrorizing the city. I have

a press conference in the morning to tell

them this is not the case. Please tell me

this is a one-time thing, Jack.”

Jack opened his mouth to speak but stopped

when Mulder interfered. “There is no telling,

Mr. Mayor,” he said quickly. “We might have a

serial killer on our hands. But he’s not a

terrorist. I can guarantee that much.”

“How can you guarantee that?” the mayor asked

angrily acknowledging the answer he didn’t

want to hear. “There’s not much you know

about him yet, is there?”

“That is correct, sir,” Mulder said. “That’s

why I’m here. I can guarantee you that I will

do everything in my power to identify him.”

“Good,” the mayor said. “Because if you do

not, I’ll make sure you never work at the

Bureau again.”

“Is that a threat, Mr. Mayor?” Mulder asked

coldly.

“No. Call it warning. I know the Director

quite well.”

“As do I, sir. And I can tell you that he

will not appreciate the remark you just made.

Right now, you need us more than we do you. I

suggest that you keep that in mind.” Mulder

rose from his chair and turned his back

toward the mayor who sat numbly in his seat,

not able to utter another word. Quickly, Jack

left as well, shutting the door behind him.

“What the hell was that?” Campbell asked,

suddenly bursting into laughter at Mulder’s

angry features. “You don’t really know the

Director personally, do you?”

“Of course not,” Mulder said, calming down.

“But I don’t think the mayor’s going to

contact him either. He needs us and he knows

it. He needs the FBI to keep his city calm

right now. If he screws that up, he loses all

credibility himself.”

“You like to taunt people, don’t you Mulder?”

Jack asked. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

Mulder’s smile faded. “There’s a lot you

don’t know about my past, Jack,” he said

seriously. “You have no idea what it’s been

like to work at the Bureau, knowing that

everyone there wants to get you fired.

They’ve been ridiculing me and laughing at my

work because they don’t understand it. And I

get so tired when that happens outside the

Bureau as well. That man in there doesn’t

have reason to threaten me, but he thinks he

can because he runs this city. So it’s my job

to set the record straight.”

Jack patted Mulder on the back. “I know what

you mean,” he said. “Believe me, I do. Let’s

get out of here and go see Scully. She should

be working on that autopsy right now.”

“I hope she’s finished,” Mulder grinned. “She

loves to slice and dice, but I don’t like to

watch.”

“Don’t tell me you’re squeamish!”

“Of course I am. Every regular person should

be.”

The two men walked outside to Campbell’s car

and got in. Suddenly Jack froze, rubbing his

eyelids forcefully as he sunk deeper into his

seat. Mulder looked askance at him, but chose

not to disturb him as the detective sat

quietly in his seat.

Finally Jack relaxed and looked up.

“You had a vision, didn’t you?” Mulder asked.

Jack nodded and looked aside. “I can’t be

sure,” he said as drops of sweat poured down

his face. “But I think there’s been another

one.”

At the same time Jack’s cell phone went off.

And Mulder knew it was going to be a long,

long night.

Day Two, December 9, 2001

New York City

Mulder called Scully on the way to the office

building that had been under attack and asked

her to arrange for a rental car and meet them

there. She agreed and said she would arrive

in about an hour or so, after finishing the

autopsy. She still had some work to do.

The two men sat quietly in the car, not

wanting to discuss the second murder. But

Jack wanted to talk about the vision. “It was

that man again,” he said. “I can’t help but

think that we somehow are on the same level.

I see what he’s doing but I can’t see where

or when. It’s like I’m picking up some of his

thoughts; the ones that he perhaps wants me

to see.”

“Do you have any idea if he looks familiar to

you?”

“I can’t see his face. I don’t know who he

is. It’s all too blurry. This vision doesn’t

work at all, Mulder. It’s just a nuisance.

It’s a joke.”

“It’s not,” Mulder said, trying to calm his

friend down. “Look, you said that the FBI

recruited you because of your visions. Did

they know about it?”

“I don’t know. What I meant is that they

thought I had insights no one else had. They

were right of course. But I wasn’t tested on

those visions nor did anyone discuss them. I

just felt as if I was cheating when I used

them. I thought that by joining the NYPD I

could make better use of them, but there,

too, I discovered that they always came too

late.”

“I understand now,” Mulder said. “But that

still doesn’t change the fact that you can do

some good with that psychic ability of yours.

You have the power to help people, Jack.

And believe me, I know what you are going

through. You have to learn from what you can

do.”

“You call it a gift, a power,” Jack said

somber. “But I call it a curse.”

“You won’t know what it’s like until you let

me help you.”

“Let me think about it,” Jack said. “Okay?”

“Fair enough,” Mulder said, feeling victory

was almost his. Then the agent looked ahead

and muttered, “Jesus.”

“What the hell,” Jack muttered, parking the

car right in front of an office building with

ruined top floor. Dozens of people were

running about. Several fire department

vehicles were already there. There were

police cars and ambulances. It looked like

World War III.

Mulder and Campbell rushed out. All hell had

broken loose and it seemed nothing would ever

be the same again.

Act 3

Day Two, December 9, 2001

New York City

Quietly Mulder walked alone through the

ravaged tenth floor. In the back office, the

remains had been found of Stephen Wells, the

apparent victim of the second bombing in two

days. Just like Susannah Delany before him,

Wells had been the target of a vicious

murderer. And just like with Susannah, his

belongings had been destroyed.

The man’s death was just as horrible as

Susannah’s had been, allowing Mulder to

believe that the killer had deliberately

picked this man to die. But what was the

connection between Delaney and Wells? Why

would he choose two people that apparently

had nothing in common?

“There was a second victim,” Jack reported as

he walked towards Mulder. “They found the

security guard a floor lower. He’s hurt but

not in any danger. He was making his rounds

when it happened.”

“Have they found out how the bomber got into

the building yet?” Mulder asked. “He must

have had a badge or something.”

“The security system is still to be examined,

but at first sight it seems that Wells let

him in. He must have known him.”

“There was no one at the reception area?”

“There never is at night. The receptionist

leaves around seven and there’s only the

security guard. Everyone who works here late

at night has his or her own badge. So when

there’s a guest at night, he or she needs to

be allowed in.”

“Is the badge system checked?”

“Yeah,” Jack confirmed. “They’ll go through

the badge lists tonight to see if anyone

gained access that way. But at first sight it

seems that that’s not the case.”

Mulder nodded. “He would give himself away

instantly. He wouldn’t do that.”

“So Wells must have known him.”

“Most likely,” Mulder said thoughtfully as he

stood in the center of what had been Wells’

office. The bomb squad confirmed the phone

had been wired, alongside the fax machine and

door. Wells’ cell phone had been found on one

of the other desks. It was obvious the killer

had wanted his victim to pick up the phone.

“What are we going to do, Mulder?” Jack

whispered. “We’ve got a deadline now. If he

kills again tomorrow, we need to be there to

stop it.”

“Go do some good old fashioned police work

and work your way through the details and

suspect list,” Mulder said. “Scully will pick

me up here. I’ll make the profile tonight.

I have enough information to

work with.”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely,” Mulder said. “Can you do me a

favor and book us into a hotel? Just give me

a call and let me know what you come up

with.”

“Okay,” Jack said, saying goodbye to his

friend. Mulder looked at the firemen who were

still cleaning the floor and turned his back

towards them, concentrating on the scene.

More and more he became convinced the killer

had a reason for destroying his victims like

this. It wasn’t just the viciousness. There

was something else.

“Hello?” A man tapped on what remained of the

doorpost and walked in. “I’m sorry, I’m

looking for Detective Campbell.”

“He just left,” Mulder said. “Sorry, you are

-?”

The man walking into the room was dressed in

a tuxedo and seemed completely out of place

in the destroyed room. He was in his late

thirties and good-looking. His bright dark

blue eyes took in the environment and he

seemed nervous to be in the room. It seemed

to be the last place he wanted to be.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “My name is Alec

Thompson. I’m a friend of Jack’s and work for

the mayor. I was on my way to a benefit when

I found out what happened. The mayor’s

assistant called me and told me.” Thompson

smiled wryly. “I guess he thought I would

find out more than the mayor did.”

“I’m Special Agent Mulder,” Mulder said,

shaking the man’s hand. “I’d be more than

happy to tell you how our investigation is

going, but the mayor already knows everything

he needs to know.”

“I gathered as much,” Thompson said. “Can you

tell me if Jack is around?”

“He went downtown.”

“Oh. I’ll call him then.” Awkwardly Thompson

remained in the room, staring at the debris.

“How could anyone do this to another human

being?”

“Good question,” Mulder said. “One that I

cannot answer for you.”

“I’m sure you can’t. Well, it was good to

meet you. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” Mulder watched as the man left,

wondering about this strange visit. He made a

mental note to check out the man. One just

never knew. Mulder walked to the staircase

and went down. In the reception area he

bumped into Scully who was just about to go

up.

“You just saved me a long walk up,” she said.

“How was it up there?”

“Horrible,” he said. “Let’s get out of here,

Scully.”

“Where to?”

“The FBI Field Office. We need to talk to

Skinner and put together what we’ve got.

There are a lot of things to discuss.”

“I agree,” Scully said.

Mulder glanced at her curiously, knowing she

had something to tell.

Day Two, December 9, 2001

New York City

It was nearly midnight. The day had been

quite long but the night would become even

longer. The second murder had clearly shown

they were working against a time limit they

had to keep in mind. The profile that rested

in the agent’s head still needed to get on

paper. And there were a lot of details to

discuss.

But Scully was first and got to explain the

details shown during the autopsy. Her voice

sounded professional and her words were to

the point, yet Mulder could see how repulsed

she must have been while performing the

autopsy.

“I’m afraid there was more going on than just

the bombing,” Scully started.

“Oh?” Skinner said surprised. Her partner

didn’t seem so shocked.

“Susannah Delaney showed massive brain tissue

damage; damage that could not be caused by

the bombing. Believe me, it took me a while

to figure this out. Her face and head were

damaged beyond recognition, as you can

imagine. Her face was practically blown away.

But when I took a sample of the brain, I saw

that all the small blood vessels had

exploded; she had been subjected to something

that would cause this before she died.”

“Something like what?” Skinner asked. “A

machine?”

“No,” Mulder said. “Not a machine. A person.”

“Excuse me?” Skinner said. “Can you explain

yourself, Agent Mulder?”

“I know this might sound difficult to accept,

sir,” Mulder said, “but I have reason to

believe our suspect is psychic, or at least

has psychic abilities that allow him to do

this. He uses these abilities for some reason

that I’m not aware of yet, literally causing

the explosion of the brain cells before the

actual death.”

“That would leave his victims dead before the

explosion,” Skinner said. “Wouldn’t it,

Agent Scully?”

Scully hesitated and glanced at Mulder. She

had no idea why he came up with this, and she

had no reason to believe his theory. Yes, the

victims suffered from brain damage that might

have eventually caused their untimely deaths,

but to state that the killer did this with

psychic abilities? That was stretching it a

bit too far.

“Scully?” Skinner repeated. “Could this be

possible?”

“If you ask me whether they could have

survived this sort of ordeal, then I’d answer

yes. But if you ask me if this is caused by

using psychic abilities, I’d have to say no.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” Mulder

said, not angry with her at all. She wouldn’t

go for his theory, so he had to defend it

without revealing Jack’s secret. He had

given his word. He groaned lightly and

shifted in his seat. “I haven’t anymore proof

to validate this theory yet, sir,” he

continued. ” You are going to have to trust

me on this one.”

“What do you want me to say, Mulder?” Skinner

said as he got up and put his hands in his

pockets, turning his back towards the agents.

“Do you want me to go to the Deputy Director

with this story? Do you want the press to

find out about it?”

“No, sir. Officially, I’d go with the crazy

bomber story. Unofficially, I would find out

if this man is truly psychic and if this case

falls within our X-Files-department. But

I’m pretty sure that – if and when we catch

him – we will know that he indeed is not a

regular serial killer.”

Scully glanced at her partner, not knowing

whether or not she should be angry with him.

He was holding something back from them, and

she wanted to find out what it was. It had

something to do with Jack. She knew that. But

when was she going to find out?

Mulder saw her discomfort and gave her a warning

look. She knew better than to argue with him.

She didn’t feel like doing so. It was too

late in the evening and they were not one

step further than they had been in the

afternoon.

“I suggest that we break for tonight and

proceed in the morning,” Skinner said. “It’s

late and we’re all very tired. Agent Mulder,

I suggest that you give your theory a rest

for now too.”

“Yes, sir,” he said.

On the drive back to the Field Office

Jack had called and said they were

all booked into a Holiday Inn. He gave Mulder

the address and told him he would pick them

up in the morning. He was also on his way

home, even though his mind wasn’t set to

sleep. Too many events still lingered in the

back of his head.

Skinner took his own rental car and followed

Mulder and Scully back to the hotel, where

they’d booked three separate rooms. Before

Skinner’s eyes the partners said goodnight,

but Mulder knew he would see her again that night.

After taking a shower, Mulder changed into

sweats and a T-shirt and turned on his

laptop. The events were still fresh in his

mind and he knew he could not sleep before he

had put his profile on paper. The TV was

playing in the background.

A soft knock startled him and as he opened

the door, Scully stood there, also dressed

casually in jeans and a T-shirt. “Hey,” he

said, letting her in. She smiled and kissed

him as soon as he closed the door. It wasn’t

a hungry kiss. They weren’t in the mood.

Tired she glanced at the laptop and said,

“Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I can’t,” he said. “I still have some work

to do.”

“Can I help?”

“No, you’ve done enough for tonight.” His

voice sounded serious. She knew he didn’t

like it when she worked late, like he did at

times. She also knew he was working on his

profile, something she couldn’t help with.

Hesitant, they stood opposite each other. She

cupped his head in her hands and kissed him

again, softly and smoothly this time.

“Would you mind staying?” he suddenly asked.

“I still need to finish this, but I would

love it if you could keep me company.”

“Sure,” she said, retreating to the bed. She

laid herself down, throwing off her shoes.

She found a comfortable position and

watched him as he sat by the table and typed

his profile. Next, she flipped channels and

read the magazine a previous guest had left.

Around two she finally fell asleep.

Mulder sighed deeply and wondered how in the

world they would ever combine this

relationship with their professional careers.

Then he smiled and realized they had been

doing exactly that over the past 9 years.

They might not have been sharing their beds

for that long, but their affair had been

going on for quite some time. They both would

be liars if they denied that.

The agent took a deep breath and returned to

his work, only to finish up around four.

Startled he glanced at his watch, took off

his shoes and socks, and slid underneath the

blanket with her. Scully groaned, the turned

and embraced him in her sleep.

He fell asleep with her face next to his, her

nose almost touching his. She was the last

thing he saw. She would also be the first

thing he would spot in the morning.

Four miles away the killer stayed awake and

watched the news. He was content with the way

things were going. The kick of killing was

only starting to grow.

Day Three, December 10, 2001

New York City

Take time to catch your breath and choose

your moment

Don’t slide

Early in the morning Mulder woke up at his

usual hour, only to be surprised by Scully’s

glance. Her face was still very close to him

and it seemed that they hadn’t moved a bit

during the night. They were still entangled

in each other’s arms.

“I have to go,” she said as if they had just

shared a valuable night and were forced to

say goodbye. “Jack will be here soon to pick

us up.”

“I know,” he responded with regret, but there

was no objection. It was too soon to let the

world know. Right now there was just their

attention for each other. It was too precious

to throw away with a single wrong movement.

She slid off the bed and knelt down and

kissed him goodbye. “See you in a few,” she

said and left the room with her keys in her

hand. He looked at the door, wishing she

would come back, but knowing that she

wouldn’t. There were silent agreements

between them, and they both lived up to them.

Mulder washed up and brushed his teeth.

Around eight he turned on the local TV

channel, only to be inundated with the amount

of press interest. There was a ten-minute

story on last night’s events. The mayor was

interviewed at last night’s benefit, and his

right hand, a man named David Lane, explained

to the gathered press that they had faith in

the FBI and police working together.

Suddenly Mulder stared at the screen,

recognizing his image as the center of a

profile story.

His Bureau history and track record were

mentioned, as were previous cases he had

investigated as a profiler. There was also a

slight mention of the X-Files. Humored,

Mulder finished dressing, wondering how long

it would take before the press got their

hands on him and forced him to give

statements he didn’t really want to.

Before long, Skinner stood before his door.

He had already warned Scully as well that

Campbell was waiting in the lobby. They would

take a quick breakfast and be on their way.

Campbell looked worried when they came

downstairs.

While they were eating breakfast, Campbell

explained. “Your hotel was leaked out to the

press. They’re eager to talk to one of you,”

he said. “I’m not really up for it. I don’t

want to alarm this guy. But I guess it can’t

be avoided.” Jack handed Mulder a document

that the computer spit out the night before.

“I’ve done a bit of tabloid research,” he

explained. “Susannah Delaney was kept track

of, and it seems that Stephen Wells has been

spotted with her several times during the

past few months.”

“They had an affair?” Scully asked.

“Looks like it. But ironically enough, this

was one of the relationships that could be

discussed out in the open. If you were to

read all the other articles on her, you would

see that there are some high profile people

on that list, from the Senate and the mayor’s

office.”

“We’re still assuming someone she dated

killed her?” Skinner asked, glaring at Mulder

whose facial expression didn’t change. “Is

that what we are going to tell the press?”

“It’s a good story,” Mulder said. “But it’s

not the entire story.”

Mulder only smiled and turned his face to

Skinner. “Don’t worry, sir,” he said. “I’m

not going to screw things up. I’ll make sure

the FBI is not discredited or damaged by my

story.” Mulder straightened his back and

walked outside, immediately surrounded by

several reporters that all fired their

questions towards him.

“Agent Mulder,” a woman said, pushing a

microphone under his nose. “You’re on a live

television. Can you tell us how the progress

on your investigation goes?”

“I can’t tell you many details about our

investigation,” Mulder said politely. “I have

created a profile on our suspect that will be

distributed to all law enforcement agencies.

We have reason to believe there was a strong

connection between the deaths of

Susannah Delaney and Stephen Wells, and that

they were not chosen randomly.”

A short silence followed. Then everyone tried

to shout his or her question.

“Is this the work of a terrorist?”

“Is the killer going through New York’s High

Society?”

“Did Miss Delaney have an affair with Mister

Wells?”

“Did Mister Wells kill Miss Delaney before

committing suicide?”

Mulder didn’t answer any of the questions,

simply excused himself and walked past them.

Then a man grabbed his wrist and he turned

around. The reporter who had touched him

asked, “Do you think the killer is

challenging the FBI with his actions? After

all, there have been bombings before against

law enforcement agencies.”

Mulder stopped and thought over his answer

carefully before turning towards the camera

as if he wanted to look straight into the

killer’s eyes. From where she stood Scully

could clearly see her partner’s eyes as he

coldly said, “I know how he’s doing it. Now

it’s just a matter of stopping him.”

Then Mulder simply walked further until he

reached the rental car. Fishing out the keys

Scully had given him the night before, he got

in and waited until Scully slid in next to

him. Jack Campbell used his own car, as did

Skinner.

“Why did you challenge him?” Scully asked.

Mulder raised his shoulders and shook his

head. “People like that should know they

cannot get away with murder.”

“He already has, Mulder.”

Yes, Mulder thought, he already has. But if

he got the message, he knows by now that I

know how he’s doing it.

Sitting before his television set, the killer

felt anger bottle up inside of him. The agent

knew. He could tell by the way that he looked

into the camera. It had been a message for

him. A message to let him know he was on to

him.

The killer nodded slowly. If this was a

challenge, he was up to it. From now on he

had but one opponent: The Profiler.

Day Three, December 10, 2001

New York City

“Are you okay, Mulder?”

“Hmm?” He looked aside only to find his

partner gazing anxiously at him. She had

that look in her eyes again that proved she

was concerned for him. He didn’t want her to

worry. There was no need for it. But he had

been sitting quietly in the car, and she

wondered where his usual smart remarks were.

“I was just thinking about these two

victims,” he said, “I wonder if they knew why

they were killed.”

“We will only know that when we find

their killer. He’s the only one that knows

that right now. But I’m guessing that they

knew. People usually die for a reason,

Mulder. Isn’t that what your profile states

as well?”

“Of course it does,” he answered. “But human

nature keeps on surprising the hell out of

me. At times I just wonder why someone does

what he does. And I just want to know why

we’re here. Why is this person doing the kill

the way he is. And why am I here setting up a

profile and why are you performing yet another

autopsy while we should be having fun.”

She smiled. “Isn’t this your idea of fun? I

thought you were such a workaholic?”

He grinned and looked aside, letting his mind

drift away from the traffic for a second.

“Since I’ve got more than my share of you,

I’ve adopted other ideas of enjoyment.”

She smiled, tracing the line of his mouth

with her finger. In the solitude of the car

it didn’t matter what they said or did, and

he responded by resting his face against her

hand for a second to allow the warmth of her

flesh comfort him more than any of her

words could. She felt like teasing him but

knew better than to do so. Instead she pulled

away her hand reluctantly when they arrived

at the Field Office.

“Damn it,” Mulder said, as the parking lot

seemed closed up. A guard walked over to them

and looked inside. “Sorry, Agents,” he spoke,

“we’ve got mechanical problems – can’t seem

to get the system to unlock this morning.

There’s a reserve parking lot around the back

though. Just go around the corner and drive

up the small parking lot to the left.”

“Thanks,” Mulder muttered, doing as the man

had said. When he parked the vehicle a second

car drove up the lot. Campbell had followed

them and drove up behind him. The two

Chryslers stood next to one another.

“Make sure you get the right car tonight,”

Scully said. Jack made a face. “Hey, I’ve got

the luxury edition. Let’s go.”

The agents walked to the front entrance of

the building, hoping that there wouldn’t be

any press waiting for them there either.

Fortunately the guards had chased most of

them away. “Before I forget to mention it

again, Jack,” Mulder said as he used the

badge to make his way in, “someone came to

see you last night at the Wells’ crime scene.

A guy named Alec Thompson. He said he was an

old friend of yours and works for the mayor.”

“That’s right,” Jack said surprised. “But I

haven’t seen him for ages. And he came to the

Wells’ site?”

“Yep.”

“That’s odd.” Campbell stepped into the

elevator and pushed the button. “Why would he

come and see me there?”

“Perhaps he had something to tell you,”

Mulder said.

“I wouldn’t have a clue as to what that might

be, but I’ll give him a call.” Jack leaned

back against the glass and stared in front of

him. It was obvious he was wondering about

that unexpected visitor. Mulder stared at

Scully, hoping that she might not ask too

many questions.

She understood his look and excused herself

when they got out of the elevator. The night

before she hadn’t asked Mulder about Jack.

She knew her partner would tell her when the

time was right.

“What’s going on, Jack?” Mulder asked as they

walked down the corridor to the offices at

the end. He closed the door behind them and

watched as Jack walked straight to the window

and looked outside, his hands tucked in his

pockets like Skinner always used to do.

“I had another vision last night,” he said.

“They come more often now and they frighten

me. I feel like they’re trying to tell me

that we’re getting close, but that we’re

running out of time. These latest visions

scare me because they’re unlike the ones I’ve

had before. In the past I felt like I could

help people with what I saw. Now I can only

guess at what is happening.”

“You are the conduit,” Mulder tried to

explain. “It’s through you that we must

proceed in finding him.”

“But what if he uses me the same way?” Jack

asked desperately. “What if he too has those

visions and only allows me to see what he

wants me to see?”

“We can only assume that you alone have those

visions, through some connection that you

have with him,” Mulder said slowly, suddenly

realizing he had been through the same thing

years ago with John Lee Roche. The connection

had been there, and it been two-way. “No,” the

agent said out loud. “We cannot assume that.”

Mulder took a deep breath and concentrated on

Jack. “Tell me what you saw.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Just try.”

“There was a large building and a lot of

people inside. They were all dressed in

tuxedos and evening dress. It was some sort

of party or benefit. There was a huge sign

out front. Wait, it was a sign for the AIDS

benefit. He moved and then stopped and

looked around. There were a lot of different

people that I saw, all very blurry faces. I

couldn’t make them out. But there was a

female hand that stretched out. I didn’t see

her face, but I caught a glimpse of her dress

and the ring on her finger. It was a special

ring.”

“Do you think you would be able to recognize

that ring and dress?”

“I think so.”

“He chose his next victim,” Mulder said. “He

was at the AIDS benefit and picked out the

victim Wells gave to him. He’s moving

forward. If the past two days are any

indication, tonight he will try to kill his

third victim.”

“Wells?” Jack asked surprised.

Quickly Mulder explained his theory on the

psychic ability of their killer. Jack

listened in surprise, realizing at last that

he couldn’t grasp what was going on. No one

really could. He sighed deeply and rubbed his

head. He was so tired of these visions. All

he wanted was to lead a regular life and

forget he ever saw anything inside of his

mind.

Mulder put his hand on the man’s shoulder and

said, “You did well, Jack. I promised you

help and I will give it to you. Just hang on

for a bit longer and try to see the best of

it.”

Jack smiled wryly. “You’re forgetting I’m not

so experienced with this paranormal stuff.

You’re the expert.”

“You’re learning quickly,” Mulder responded.

“Now then, can you get us a list of attendees

at that party?”

“Of course,” Jack answered, tiredly.

“We need to concentrate on that ring and

dress. First priority now is to find our

victim. Do you think that ring was custom-

made?”

“It must have been,” Jack said, “I had never

seen anything like it.”

“Can you try to get a list of jewelers in

town that could do this?”

“I’ll have one of my men on it. He’s quite

good at that sort of thing. I’m sure he’ll

find it quickly.”

“Good,” Mulder said. “Because time is running

out on us. Can we compare the list of the

guests of last night’s benefit with the

guests of other well-known benefit parties

that occurred just recently – let’s say

during the past two months?”

“Of course,” Jack said. “Mulder, what exactly

are you thinking? Is our killer a high

profile man? Is he attending all of those

benefits as well, choosing his victims

amongst his friends?”

“The victims let him in. He knew their

habits. He was most likely a friend or

acquaintance. It does make sense. He most

likely had an affair with Susannah Delaney

too. Since that list is quite long, it might

take us a while to go through all the names,

and then we can only hope that their romance

was known.”

“Is all of that in your profile, Mulder?”

Jack grinned.

“Most of it,” the agent responded. “Let’s see

if we can pass the profile on, shall we?”

Within half an hour Mulder’s profile had been

approved by Skinner and sent out by email to

all the law enforcement agencies in town.

Every FBI agent knew what kind of person they

were looking for. But that still didn’t make

things easier. The most confidential note in

the profile was that the killer most likely

lived in the ‘better parts’ of town, probably

leading a double life. Mulder had not

mentioned the Jekyll & Hyde syndrome but had

implied it.

Skinner was more than satisfied with the

preliminary report and profile. So was

Washington. But the killer was still on the

loose and as noon passed and snow began to

cover the streets, everyone felt the tension

grow.

Day Three, December 10, 2001

New York City

Scully left to complete the autopsy of

Stephen Wells. “Here I go again,” she

had muttered while leaving. Mulder and

Campbell worked like crazy going through the

lists of attendees of several high profile

local benefits. It was no good. Several names

popped up on every list, including the

mayor’s.

Another team was going through the tabloids

trying to gather a timeline on Susannah

Delaney’s love life. Jack also placed several

calls with different newspapers and a society

reporter who told him with whom Susannah had

been seen. So far about nine names had popped

up. There were different timeframes that

couldn’t be accounted for, and since her

hunger for one-night stands with young studs

was no big secret, everyone could only guess

at the correct amount of men she’d had.

From the timeline, six names appeared on the

guest lists of all the benefits as well.

Skinner called it a long shot but worth a

look. None of the names meant anything to

him, but both Jack and Mulder uttered a

surprised shout when Alec Thompson’s name

popped up again. At one of the benefits he

had taken Susannah as a guest.

“So Alec knew her,” Jack muttered, looking up

as his eyes darkened.

“Don’t you think you should have a word with

him?” Mulder asked.

“I guess so,” Jack said. “Who could have

thought this would ever happen.”

“What do you mean, Jack? What’s so

surprising about this Thompson guy?”

“I’m not sure at this point; just suffice it

to say something isn’t right, and I’m getting

a bad feeling about this,” he replied

morosely.

Mulder didn’t understand why Jack was so

upset but let his friend be. There were other

things to consider now

Before long Scully returned and on her hair

danced snowflakes. “It’s freezing out there,”

she said, blowing in her cold hands. Her nose

had turned a red tint as well. Mulder looked

at her and his heart made a quick jump before

he was able to concentrate on his work again.

Finally, around three o’clock Jack’s

colleague Chris Morgan called and said he

might have found the ring. From his vision

Jack had made a rough sketch that he had

faxed to his colleague downtown. With that

sketch Chris made his way around New York’s

most expensive jewelers, hoping that the ring

had been a product of The Big Apple.

“Are you sure?” Jack asked.

“Definitely.”

“Let’s go then,” Jack said, grabbing his

jacket. Mulder and Scully followed. Out in

the cold the three pulled their coats tighter

and rushed through the snow to the parking

lot. The cars were covered in snow.

“There’s our car,” Scully said, pointing to

the Chrysler that was parked near the exit.

“Just follow me,” Jack waved before he got

in. Mulder and Scully got in the other car

and waited for the detective to leave, but he

didn’t. Instead he got out and took a look at

the left tire. He waved with his hand towards

the agents.

“What’s wrong?” Mulder asked.

“I’ve got a flat. Damn it! I’ll have to get

that fixed.”

“I’ll tell the guard,” Mulder said. “Maybe he

can arrange to get it fixed.”

Mulder walked to the guard and explained him

what had happened. The guard nodded and said

he would make arrangements. At Mulder’s

insistence Jack slid in behind the steering

wheel and drove.

At the jewelry store Chris Morgan waited for

them. “The jeweler is pretty sure he made

that ring,” Morgan explained. “I showed him

the sketch and he has a photo of the original

that looks a lot like it. I suggest that you

take a look at it.”

The jeweler was polite and showed them a

picture of a ring he had specially designed.

Jack took one look at the photo and knew that

was the ring he had seen. “This is the one,”

he said. “Whom did you design it for?”

The jeweler seemed uncomfortable to give away

personal information but he had two FBI

agents and a cop standing before him. How

could he refuse? “I designed it for

Congresswoman McPherson,” he said. “She’s one

of my regular customers and inherited the

diamond. She wanted a unique design for it.

Her husband gave it to her as an anniversary

gift.”

Jack looked at the others. “If what we think

is right, she might be the next victim.”

“Or it might have been a waste of time,”

Scully said, hoping she was wrong.

“We have to get in touch with her and put her

in protective custody,” Jack said as they

walked out. “But what story are we going to

use? We can’t just go up there and tell her

we feel she might be in danger.”

Scully asked Jack, “Do you think you might

find out if she was involved with Stephen

Wells?”

Jack hesitated before saying softly, “No. She

couldn’t be involved with him.”

“She’s his sister, isn’t she?” Mulder said.

“Stephen Wells had a sister, Sophia. She’s

the one he’s after now. He wants to kill her

too.”

“That’s right,” Jack confirmed. “She is his

sister.”

Mulder felt a shock surge through him as he

suddenly realized he now had confirmation of

how the killer chooses his victims. “He picks

out the last person in one’s mind before

death occurs,” Mulder said slowly. “That’s

how he does it. He feeds on people’s

emotions, choosing that one person that means

more to you than anyone else; the one person

you would think of before dying.”

“Wait,” Scully said, ignoring Chris Morgan’s

stunned look. “Are you now officially calling

this an X-File, Mulder?”

“It has been since the day it started,

Scully,” Mulder said. “And now we have the

proof.”

“Why, because he goes after the sister having

first killed the brother? What proof is that?

It means nothing, Mulder. There is a

connection between all these people and it’s

down to earth. Don’t go looking for things

that aren’t there. We need to pursue this the

logical way. We cannot afford to turn this

into an X-File.”

“It is an X-File,” Jack said as he stepped

forward. “We need to pursue it that way. When

we find Congresswoman McPherson, we will find

him.”

“Fine,” Scully said, “I just don’t want to

be the one to tell Skinner.”

Mulder smiled, knowing he had practically won

her over. The evidence was there. Now all

they had to do was put the pieces together

and see how it explained the reasons behind

the heinous acts.

“Track down Congresswoman McPherson,” Mulder

said. “We need to talk to her before he finds

her and kills her.”

Act 4

Day Three, December 10, 2001

New York City

Later, when night settled in, everyone

felt the tension as they waited for more

bad news to come. But it didn’t. There

was no new attempt. There was no new bombing.

In a safe house, Congresswoman McPherson

waited with her husband. She knew she would

not see her bed that night. They had

persuaded her, convinced her that she was in

mortal danger. And she had run while her

heart was filled with grief over her

brother’s death. He had died by the hands of

the man that was now going to try and kill

her, they said. And so she had not thought it

over. She simply did what they told her to

do.

That night her house stayed empty. There was

no one present but the police officers that

kept an eye out, hoping that he would show

up.

But he didn’t. Because he had known they were

there. He had heard through his office.

Anger had settled in his heart when he stayed

at home that night, seeking revenge. He

wanted to punish the man that was after him.

He wanted to stop him.

And finally, when he went to bed in his

apartment, which he used when meetings ran

over too long and felt too tired to go home,

he knew he was going to kill him.

And he had found just the way.

Day Four, December 11, 2001

New York City

Even at a time like this when the morning

seems so far

Think that pain belongs to you but it’s

happened to us all

It’s all right to make mistakes you’re only

human

Inside everybody’s hiding something

After he dropped Jack off at his apartment

about two blocks from the hotel, Mulder and

Scully arrived back at the hotel around

midnight. Skinner was already there but

nowhere in sight. He had probably gone to bed

after debating for a long time with the mayor

and his assistant.

The two agents had a light meal together.

Again it was too late to eat properly.

Scully sighed while she ate her salad, plucking

at the vegetables on the plate. It was the

only meal the kitchen had to offer them at that

late hour.

They sat alone in the dining room and the

constant chatter of the female cook and one

of the waitresses sounded like white noise to

their ears. The two agents said quietly

together at first, both too tired to do much.

It seemed that it was going to be a very

short night once again.

“What is it?” Mulder asked.

She didn’t respond at first but finally put

down her fork and looked at him. “I’ve got a

bad feeling about this,” she said. “I feel

like we’re being watched. Our every move is

being recorded.”

“That’s the press for you. They know where

you are and what you’re doing. Fortunately

it’s just a one-time thing,” Mulder said

lightly, realizing he, too, wasn’t hungry

anymore. They were all very tired but at

least they could rest assure that tonight’s

victim had not died.

“I’m not talking about the press,” Scully

said. “I’m talking about him.”

“Do you feel he’s watching us?”

“Yes, and it gives me the chills,” she

admitted. “Mulder, in all these years we’ve

seen a lot of gruesome things. We’ve seen

murders that were beyond humanity. I know

there are bombers out there that don’t

hesitate to kill off hundreds of people if it

serves their political purpose. But it’s just

hard to grasp that someone deliberately does

this to make a person suffer. Every bit of

humanity inside that man is gone. He doesn’t

feel anything anymore. He uses his

intelligence and financial means to do this,

and he has the freedom to do this. I can’t

rest properly until I know he’s behind lock

and key.”

“I know,” Mulder said, placing a hand on

hers. “It’s difficult to work on this case,

but it’s going to be worth it when we get

him. And I promised you that vacation. Okay?

When we get out of here, we’re taking off. I

don’t care what anyone says about it. It’s

going to be our vacation.”

“As long as you don’t take me to Vegas, I

don’t care where we’re going,” she smiled.

“It’s a deal.” He smiled and his fingers

lingered long on her hand. “Let’s go,” he

said.

They pushed their chairs back and walked

to the elevators. When the doors closed

behind them, Scully felt her partner’s lips

on hers and she opened her mouth eagerly.

They knew they weren’t going to spend the

night together. In the morning Jack would

come to the hotel to drive to the police

station with them, where the search for the

killer continued. But it was after one and

they needed the rest. At Scully’s door they

said goodbye. With regret Mulder shut the

door behind him and took a shower.

He glanced at his watch. He was awake and not

eager to get to sleep. Sighing, he settled

down on the bed and went through the file for

the fourth or fifth time. He knew it by heart

now. He knew every single detail on the

killer and couldn’t help but wonder what they

had missed. But they had a list now of

potential ‘candidates’. In the morning they

would contact all the suspects and go over

their stories one by one. There would be a

break soon. The killer would slip up.

In the morning he would go for a run; that

always cleared his head. Central Park was

nearby. He had running shoes with him. Yeah,

a run would do him good.

With that thought Mulder finally fell asleep,

only to wake up around six-thirty. He got

changed and scribbled a note that he slipped

under Scully’s door. Jack was picking them up

around eight, so there was still plenty of

time.

Day Five, December 12, 2001

New York City

It was freezing cold out. For a second Mulder

regretted having gone out but his body

adjusted quickly. Warming up to a smooth pace

he left the hotel around the front, passing

the parking lot where a car with a running

engine idled beside his. The man inside the

vehicle glanced at Mulder as the vehicle

drove off. All the cars in the lot were

frozen, except for the one that just left. In

the dark, the vehicle’s lights pierced into

Mulder’s eyes for a second.

Mulder picked up the pace and jogged to

Central Park.

Scully woke up around seven-thirty, for a

while having difficulty remembering where she

was. She had slept like a log from the moment

she put her head down on the soft pillow. She

opened the curtains, and though it was still

dark out, dawn was slowly breaking. She switched

on one of the bedside lamps and caught sight of

something that lay in front of the door. She

yawned, slipped out of bed, and read the note

that Mulder had written her a note saying he

was out for a jog.

Great, Scully thought. He hardly sleeps, and

then he jogs when he should be resting. That

must make me one very lazy person. What a

combination! She smiled at the thought of

living together one day. Then she blushed.

There was no way they could move in together

just now. They had hardly come to terms with

their newfound feelings. Moving in together

seemed like something still too far away to

consider. And besides, she still liked what

little space she had to herself. It was going

perfectly well the way it was.

She washed up, brushed her teeth, and combed

her hair. Mulder would be back soon, and

Jack would be arriving around eight.

Mulder’s feet could hardly keep up with the

pace he was forcing upon himself in Central

Park. He couldn’t remember how long he had

been running like that, going so fast he

could hardly catch his breath. His body was

warm despite the freezing cold, but he didn’t

remove his sweater, knowing that could be

lethal to a runner.

His mind drifted away from everything he was

working on. He forced himself to keep up the

pace, passing a few other joggers on the way

when dawn finally arrived. His head suddenly

spun, his body reacting to the strain he had

put himself under.

Someone watched him while sitting on the

bench, as he made his run through the park.

He had followed Mulder from the hotel, where

their paths had crossed as well. The man’s

glance followed him as Mulder slowly

approached him. The agent was slowing down

now. The killer got up slowly and walked

towards him, making sure their paths would

cross again.

Mulder suddenly stopped, breathing heavily in

and out. He leaned forward, putting his hands

on his thighs as he forced his body to relax.

He opened his mouth as his head pounded and

his lungs filled with cold air. His back and

legs were sore from exhaustion.

The man passed him nearby and for a second

his hand touched Mulder’s back. The touch,

like wind brushing through one’s hair, was so

light it could have been ignored. Then the

touch was gone and the man walked forward.

Mulder blinked, looked up, and started

walking again towards the exit.

Before he reached the hotel, Jack walked

towards him. “Thought I might find you here,”

he smiled. “You’re still quite the runner,

aren’t you Mulder?”

Mulder had caught his breath again and

smiled. His eyes blinked. The run had done

him good. He had to change quickly now before

he started shivering with cold. Jack picked

up the pace and walked with him. “We need to

talk, Mulder,” he said before they entered

the hotel.

Mulder stopped and looked at him. “What

about?”

“This case. The way we’re handling it. Your

input.”

“You’re not happy with my input?” Mulder

frowned.

“Of course I am,” Jack said. “It’s just that

– I’ve got this feeling you’re taking things

very personally. I was thinking about it last

night and I’m not so sure that I’ve done the

right thing getting you here.” Jack’s excuse

sounded weak, Mulder thought. He wondered

what his friend was really trying to say.

“You look tired, Mulder,” Jack continued. “You

don’t sleep that much, do you? Did you eat

anything at all last night?”

“What are you – my mother?” Mulder muttered

as he started walking again. The hotel lobby

was busier now than before. Mulder ignored

the other guests and walked to the elevators.

Jack had difficulty following now.

“Look,” Jack said, “I talked to Smythe last

night. He called me for a report and asked

me to keep an eye on you. It seems that

you’ve got this habit of getting in too

deep, and I don’t want that on my conscience.

I asked you here because you are a fantastic

profiler, but I don’t want you hurt.”

Mulder pushed the elevator button. “No, you

asked me for advice. You got me in on this

case knowing it was an X-File. Technically,

that means I could take over, but I’m not

going to. It’s your case and I’m helping you

out. You still have to live in this town,

Jack. I get to go home when it’s over, and

I’ll watch from a distance how you’ll get

your promotion. And I’ll also watch when you

refuse to give in to your ability to do more

good than you’re already doing. Since you’ve

already made your decision about ignoring

your gift, there’s not much more I can say,

is there?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jack asked.

He paled, realizing Mulder was right. He

hadn’t come here to persuade Mulder to take

it easy. He came here in order to find an

excuse not to proceed with an ability he had

tried to ignore most of his life.

“You know what it means,” Mulder said as the

doors shut behind them. “You do what you want

with your life, Jack, but if you have another

case like this because of your visions, I

suggest you seek other ways to go about solving

it.”

“Are you accusing me of abusing our

friendship?”

Mulder leaned tiredly against the glass.

“Call it what you like. I’m not in the mood

to argue while we should be out there finding

our killer. So if you came here to tell me I

should back off, think again. You asked me to

work this case with you and I am, to the best

of my ability. Smythe knows something about

my habits and the way I work. Now you do,

too. If you don’t like it, you can always

send me back to Washington, but I suspect that

you won’t. You need me too much right now.”

Jack paled even more and didn’t walk out the

elevator with him. “I’ll wait downstairs,”

he said as the doors closed behind him.

Day Five, December 12, 2001

New York City

Scully waited patiently until he returned to

his room. She could hear him slamming the

doors, and then there were noises coming from

the bathroom. He was in the shower. She

decided not to disturb him, but left for the

lobby instead, leaving a note on the door

that she was waiting downstairs.

Jack was downstairs as well, looking very

glum. She could tell there had been an

argument. She walked over to him. “Hey,” she

said. “How’s it going?”

“Besides from the fact I’m an ass,

everything’s going well,” he said. “Where’s

Mulder?”

“Getting changed. Did you have a fight with

him?”

“Let’s just call it a pathetic attempt at

trying to avoid my responsibilities,” Jack

sighed as his fingers touched his temples.

“I’m sorry, Dana. I should have known better,

but I’m just tired and took it out on

Mulder.”

“He’ll forgive you,” she said. “We’ve got

other things to concentrate on right now.

We’ve got a long day ahead of us and

hopefully our killer at the end of it. Are

you driving with us?”

“No. My car is fixed – I got a call from

security. I hope you guys don’t mind.”

“Don’t be silly. Skinner should be down any

minute now too.” Scully turned and saw

Skinner and Mulder come downstairs. At the

breakfast table not a word was spoken. Mulder

was still angry, but Scully could see he was

calming down when he noticed Jack’s

apologetic glance. By the end of breakfast

they were talking again.

“We’re going to work on that list of suspects

this morning,” Mulder said, taking out the

printout he had made the day before with the

names of men that might have been involved

with Susannah. “Sir, if you can, we need your

help too.”

“Of course,” Skinner said. “I suppose we’re

splitting up in two groups?”

“That’s right,” Jack said. “I have my team

going through the extensive list of attendees

at the benefit as well, hoping that they

might bump into a coincidence. This afternoon

I will be talking to Congresswoman McPherson

to see if there are mutual acquaintances with

her brother that might be considered

enemies.”

“Good,” Skinner said. “We’re progressing.

Mrs. McPherson will remain in protective

custody?”

“Yes, sir,” Mulder said. “We are assuming

she’s still high on the hit list. But if he

changes his MO there’s not much we can do

about it.”

“I’ll try again to get through to Alec

Thompson,” Jack said. “I still need to find

out what he was doing at the Wells’ crime

scene. The whole situation is quite odd, but

couldn’t get through to him yesterday. Hopefully,

I’ll have the chance to speak with him today.”

“Good,” Skinner said. “Let’s get to work

then.”

The four got up and walked to the reception

area. Before getting out the hotel manager

walked over. “We will arrange your cars for

you,” he said. “They’ll need defrosting.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Mulder said. “But

not necessary.”

“Please, we insist. Unfortunately we don’t

have an underground parking lot and we always

serve our guests.”

“All right then,” Mulder said, handing over

the keys. Skinner did the same. Two bellboys

hurried out with warm coats to warm up and

fetch the cars. Scully had already gone

outside and was walking while on the phone

with the coroner’s office. She had a meeting

in about an hour to discuss the final

results. Mulder watched as she walked over to

the car.

Mulder turned to the manager. “You don’t have

an underground parking lot?” he asked.

“That’s right, sir.”

“So basically every car that is parked here

at night has to be frozen?”

“I guess so,” the manager said surprised.

Mulder frowned. “Is or was there a guest here

that drives a black Sedan who left early this

morning?”

“I can check, sir,” the manager said. “Is

there a problem?” The manager hurried to the

desk and checked the computer file with guest

entries and vehicles registration numbers.

All the vehicles that stood on the parking

lot were signed in. He looked up at a very

nervous Mulder.

“Jesus Christ,” Mulder said as he glanced

towards the bellboys that had reached the two

cars. There had been a car parked next to his

rental earlier that morning. It hadn’t been

frozen and it wasn’t from any of the guests.

“Jesus Christ,” he repeated as he rushed out,

to Skinner and Jack’s surprise. Mulder

practically flew, shouting Scully’s name. She

was still on the phone and didn’t hear him at

first. In the back, the bellboy had slid into

the car, putting the key in the ignition.

“Scully!” he screamed as his tired legs

refused to go any faster. She turned, still

holding the phone in her hands. Her eyes

looked at him, surprised. Then she was in his

arms as she dropped the phone and he dragged

her with him, making the decision to save

her. It was too late to warn the bellboy.

The car started. Mulder thought he could

actually hear the click as the device armed.

Then there was another click, followed by an

enormous blast that knocked them to the

ground. He threw himself over her as they hit

the ground, hard. The blast was so big that

Mulder could feel the flames on his back, but

they didn’t scourge him. There was a strange

numbness through his body. Scully lay deathly

quiet beneath him.

The next moment the world seemed to be on

fire, and then all went black.

To be concluded in Matrix Part 2

TITLE: MALEVOLENCE

AUTHOR: CindyET

E-MAIL ADDRESS: cindyet@tdstelme.net

DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere is fine — I write ’em for you to read

’em.

SPOILERS: Grotesque

RATING: VERY strong R (Graphic Violence, Language)

CLASSIFICATION: X, Post-Ep of sorts for Grotesque

SUMMARY: When ex-ISU Chief Bill Patterson is found dead in his

prison cell with his face slashed and his eyes cut out, Mulder

and Scully pick up the hunt where they left off five years

earlier. Still convinced the killer is not a man but an evil

spirit, Mulder pursues his own investigative methods, bringing

him to the brink of insanity for a second time. Meanwhile,

Scully is desperate to solve the case before she loses Mulder

to his demons forever.

Disclaimer: Do these characters really belong to Chris Carter,

FOX and 1013 Productions? If so, no copyright infringement

intended. Entertainment, yes. Profit, no.

Author’s notes: “Malevolence” was written for I Made This

Productions Virtual Season 9.

Very special thanks go to great betas Brandon and MaryBeth.

They kept me on my toes.

MALEVOLENCE (1/1)

By CindyET

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

PROLOGUE

LOCATION UNKNOWN

12:16 A.M.

Water drips into a cracked sink.

Plop. Plop.

Blood drools from a knife’s point, dotting the floor and

staining the concrete.

Plop. Plop. Plop.

Terrible sounds in the dark.

The room is frigid, ramshackle. Solitary. A fitting place to

bring this man, to kill him. Better than the prison cell where

Patterson died screaming like madman for mercy.

This man screams, too. Naked, he is trussed to the pipes

beneath the sink. His frantic breaths vanish like ghosts above

his dark hair. A man in his prime, he is muscular, yet

enervated by his own fear.

He has vomited twice since being brought here.

In the end, he is just like Patterson — nothing but a bundle

of raw nerves.

Whoever fights monsters should see to it that he doesn’t become

one, hmm?

The knife’s blade slices easily through the man’s cheek,

gouging a channel from his lips to his left ear, widening his

mouth into a ghoulish, jack-o’-lantern grin. Blood rushes from

his wound and he shrieks. Lightning-fast, the blade slashes his

right cheek to match the left. His eyes clot with tears. The

knife hovers above one glistening orb, its tip reflected in the

jet black of his pupil.

The awful knife dips, bursts his slick eyeball and scoops out

the socket. The other eye pops, too, just as easily as the

first. Sagging lids flutter over empty holes.

Blood pumps from the man’s disfigured face, draining his heart,

spreading his life across the bathroom floor. The growing

puddle haloes his head. Scarlet. Lustrous. A devil’s mirror.

The murderer leans close to inspect its reflection in the

widening pool.

Bald. Thorny-eared. Fanged.

At the sight of its own face, the demon tosses back its head, a

sneer curls its lips, and a mad laugh gurgles from its throat.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

ACT I

D.C. CORRECTIONAL COMPLEX

LORTON, VIRGINIA

4:15 A.M.

“Whaddaya know, Scully? Warden threw a party. Let’s rock.”

Mulder shouldered past a uniformed guard and squeezed into the

crowded Lorton prison cell. Scully trailed a step behind,

stifling a yawn. Unlike Mulder, she needed more than a five-

year-old X-File to shake the cobwebs from her head at such an

early hour. She needed a second cup of coffee.

While Mulder had chattered non-stop on the drive from

Georgetown to Lorton, Scully had drained a Starbucks’ Latte

Grande and envied her partner’s persistent enthusiasm. They

were about to close a case…or not, if she were to go along

with his latest theory.

“Legend has it, Scully, that a fierce dragon named La

Gargouille lived in the river Seine near Paris,” he had

explained as he drove. “The dragon devoured ships and men

until the village was saved by St. Romanus. After the battle,

the creature was set ablaze. Its body was destroyed, but its

head and neck survived and was mounted on a building.” He

turned to grin at her. “How cool is that?”

“Totally cool, Mulder,” she said without enthusiasm. “But what

does it have to do with the death of Bill Patterson?”

“I’m getting to that. La Gargouille may have become the model

for gargoyles, an attempt by medieval society to embody the

evils of the world into manageable elements. Thing is, evil

isn’t so easily defined…or *con*fined, as the case may be.”

Only two hours earlier, ex-ISU criminal behaviorist Bill

Patterson had been discovered dead in his prison cell with

pictures of gargoyles sketched in blood on the cell’s

cinderblock walls. Official word was Patterson had committed

suicide. Sight unseen, Mulder already disputed the official

word.

“For over 1200 years the grotesque images of gargoyles have

been expressed in stone, clay, wood, oil, charcoal. Born again

and again, the spirit of evil resurrects itself through

tortured human expression, haunting men inwardly so that it

might revisit mankind for eternity.” Mulder’s fingers had

danced with barely restrained energy over the steering wheel as

he spoke.

Scully eyed the bottom of her empty coffee cup. “Your point,

Mulder, please, if there is one.”

“Mark my words, Scully.” The dash lights tinted his face with

a ghoulish glow. “It’s baaaack.”

Now pushing their way through Bill Patterson’s crowded

cell, Mulder and Scully tried to get a closer look at the

body. The room overflowed with agents from the FBI’s

Investigative Support Unit. No surprise. Not that long ago,

Patterson had been an icon in the unit. Heading ISU for more

than two decades, he had practically written the book on behavioral

science. Many of the men combing his cell right now had joined

the Bureau because they wanted to be just like him.

Patterson’s body lay atop the cell’s single bunk, draped with

a sheet. Macabre faces sketched in blood covered all four

walls.

“Agent Roberta Dressler?” Mulder targeted a tall, attractive

brunette taking notes in a back corner.

“Thank you for coming, agents.” Dressler tucked away her pen

and pad. She pinned Mulder with a gray-eyed stare. “Sorry to

get you out of bed so early.”

Following AD Skinner’s instructions, Dressler had called

Scully in Georgetown an hour ago when she couldn’t reach

Mulder at his apartment. Startled from sleep by the ringing

phone, Mulder had grabbed the receiver from Scully’s

nightstand and blurted out his name. Scully’s quiet “damn it”

reminded him too late he wasn’t in his own bed.

Ignoring Dressler’s smirk, Mulder edged closer to the body.

“What can you tell me?”

“Time of death is estimated at around 10:30,” Dressler said.

“May I?” Scully asked. She scraped past Mulder and lifted the

sheet from the corpse, exposing the dead man’s mutilated face.

Two deep knife wounds radiated from the corners of the

victim’s mouth all the way back to his ears. The eye sockets

were both empty. Blood soaked the man’s hair and clothes.

“We’ve seen this before.”

“So I heard. That’s why I called you.” Dressler sidestepped a

crouching photographer to stand beside Mulder. In heels, she

was nearly as tall as he was. “As the investigating agent who

put Patterson in here, I thought you might want to know about

his suicide.”

“Patterson murdered Agent Craig Nemhauser,” Mulder reminded

her. “He tried to kill me, too.”

“I didn’t mean to sound accusatory. Patterson committed a

crime and he deserved to be here.” Dressler’s crimson lips

pursed as she studied the corpse. “But…he didn’t deserve

this.”

“Have you located a weapon?” Scully asked.

Dressler nodded and called to another agent, “Delgado, pass

the knife, will you?”

A stocky, dark-haired man with a permanent five o’clock shadow

produced an evidence bag and handed it to Dressler. Inside the

bag, blood slicked a homemade prison knife.

“Patterson’s been under suicide watch for five years,” Mulder

said. “How did he get something like this?”

“We’re checking on it. His cell was searched on a regular

basis, of course. And Patterson had very little contact with

the general prison population. His mental condition…well,

let’s just say he never made much improvement.”

“I’d like to review his medical records and his psychological

profiles,” Scully said. “And I’d also like to perform the

autopsy.”

“We’re fairly certain Patterson committed suicide.”

“You think the man gouged out his own eyes?” Mulder’s brows

climbed.

“He was mentally ill, Agent Mulder.” Dressler indicated the

ghoulish drawings on the wall. “There are more of those. Let

me show you.” She crossed the cell to sort through a box.

Returning with a handful of sketches, she passed them to

Mulder.

“Deja vu.” He leafed through the stack of drawings,

recognizing the grotesque, devilish faces. Bald. Pointy-eared.

He waggled one at Scully. “Look familiar[DW1]?”

The drawings sent a chill through her. Mulder had recovered

hundreds of similar sketches from John Mostow’s studio after

the serial killer’s arrest, when Patterson had continued the

madman’s killing spree. If you want to know an artist, you

have to look at his art — that was the lesson Bill Patterson

taught young ISU agents. The lesson turned out to be his own

undoing…and very nearly Mulder’s, as well.

“This was no suicide.”

“Mulder…” Scully lowered her voice and leaned close to him.

The overcrowded cell offered little privacy and she wished

they could step into the corridor, away from Dressler’s

watchful eye. “This is a maximum security prison.”

“Ssssoooo…?”

“Who would have access to Patterson? Who would kill him?”

“Not ‘who,’ Scully — ‘what.’ I’m thinking the same evil force

responsible for Mostow’s murders in ’96 is also responsible

for Bill Patterson’s murder last night. It’s returned to pick

up where it left off.”

“Evil force?” Dressler asked, overhearing.

“It killed Patterson and it’ll kill again,” Mulder predicted.

“Really? And how would ‘it’ do that?”

“Maybe by relocating, transferring into another person the

same way it shifted from Mostow to Patterson. It might inhabit

a prison guard right now. Or one of Patterson’s visitors.”

Scully wanted to remind Mulder that Patterson had gone insane

because he had hunted John Mostow for three long years. Every

day and every night he had lived and breathed the horror that

was in Mostow’s head, imagining everything the killer

imagined. When Patterson finally caught Mostow, the violence

didn’t go away; it stayed alive inside him until it drove him

over the edge, turning him into a murderer too. His mental

breakdown had been the result of years of profiling the most

heinous of crimes. The paranormal had played no role in the

murders, then or now.

“Mulder–”

“Prove me wrong, Scully. Autopsy Patterson,” he challenged,

already moving toward the door.

“What will you be doing?”

“Researching these.” He waved the drawings at her before

disappearing into the hall.

Watching him go, Dressler asked Scully, “Does he usually jump

to the most unlikely conclusions?”

“Yes, Agent Dressler…he usually does.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

JOHN MOSTOW’S CELL

DEATH ROW

D.C. CORRECTIONAL COMPLEX

“What do you want?” John Mostow cowered in the back of his

cell, as far from the man beyond the bars as possible. He kept

his eyes focused on the floor, avoiding Mulder’s probing

stare.

Mostow had changed little in five years. A bit thinner. Same

close-cropped hair and beaky nose. Same wretched expression.

He’d lost a front tooth due to a combination of decay and a

prison fight. A cut healed on his chin. Sleeplessness shadowed

his eyes.

Mulder let Patterson’s drawings dangle between the bars. He

tapped the topmost sketch.

“Recognize this?”

“Leave me alone.”

“I can’t, John. It’s returned.”

“It never left.” Mostow drove the heels of his hands into his

eyes. His shoulders trembled. He refused to look at the

sketches. “It wasn’t me.”

“It wasn’t you…what?”

“I didn’t draw those.”

“No, you didn’t. But you know what they mean.”

“I…” Mostow’s brow buckled with frustrated fear.

“Why has it come back, John? What does it want?”

Mostow’s hands dropped from his face. He glared across the

cell at Mulder. “You know what it wants. You got inside it!

You felt its hunger. It wants you and it will find you.”

“I *want* it to find me.”

Mostow’s eyes widened. His lips curled with disgust. “That’s

what you say, but you don’t really want it. No man wants such

a monster. Once it has you, it won’t let you go.”

“It let you go.”

“Because it won’t be held prisoner. You’re a fool to think you

can control it.” Mostow turned his back on Mulder, pressed his

cheek to the cinderblock wall. “Leave me alone. There’s

nothing that can be done. It will kill just as it has always

killed. By my hand. By your hand. It doesn’t care.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

QUANTICO MORGUE

Dressed in scrubs and sneakers, Scully leaned over the body of

Bill Patterson.

“William R. Patterson, white male, six-foot-one-inches tall,

age 56, 176 pounds. The deceased has pronounced facial

mutilations…with gashes approximately nine centimeters in

length extending from the corners of the mouth back to both

ears…severing the internal maxillary and temporal branches of

the carotid artery, resulting in death due to massive blood

loss.”

She pressed a finger into the corpse’s left cheek.

“Each incision resulted from a single, deep cut through the

orbicularis oris and the zygomatic and masseter below.”

Moving on, she parted a bloodied eyelid.

“Left and right eyes have been enucleated. Nicks in the

supraorbital ridge remain consistent with the weapon recovered

at the scene.”

This was the same signature mutilation she had seen on

Mostow’s victims and then later on Patterson’s.

“Whoever fights monsters…” she muttered, quoting Nietzsche.

Examining the victim’s hands, she found traces of dried clay

on the palms and beneath the nails. She scraped samples and

bagged them for analysis.

She picked up a scalpel.

“I’ll begin with a Y-incision.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

D.C. CORRECTIONAL COMPLEX

LORTON, VIRGINIA

Mulder cracked a sunflower seed between his teeth and fast-

forwarded through the first of a short stack of surveillance

tapes. He sat alone in a small room equipped with a monitor, a

VCR, and little else. The videos documented Lorton inmates and

their visitors in the prison’s visitor’s room.

Each videotape was marked with a date that corresponded to a

sign-in sheet. The lists of signatures filled several binders.

Mulder had begun his search an hour before by skimming the logs,

starting with the most recent and working his way backward,

copying down the dates and names of everyone who had seen

Patterson during his incarceration. He then sorted through the

shelves of videos, pulling any that matched his list.

According to the logs, a representative of the Little Sisters

of Charity paid regular calls to Patterson four times a year

just as they did with all Lorton inmates. Patterson’s wife had

visited once a week for two years. Her calls became more

sporadic after that, until they eventually tapered off

altogether. The same was true of Patterson’s ISU colleagues.

Proteges and Patterson-wannabees called on him intermittently,

including Roberta Dressler and her sidekick Tony Delgado. Even

Mulder had visited — as recently as two weeks ago, after he

had received a letter written on prison stationery. One phrase

had struck a chord with him, compelling him to make the trip

to Lorton and question Patterson face-to-face. “With a snap of

its finger, it makes men lick the greasy floor of hell just to

see its reflection.” Mostow’s exact words, spoken years

before.

Funny thing was, Patterson denied writing the letter. Mulder

left Lorton having learned nothing at all.

Rolling a seed across his tongue, he scrutinized the monitor’s

fuzzy image. The tape — the most recent — included his own

visit.

A Little Sister of Charity appeared opposite Patterson on the

screen. Mulder slowed the tape to take a closer look. He’d

learned the hard way not to trust the Sisters. Linda Bowman

had posed as one of the nuns while visiting her brother Robert

Modell in Lorton back in ’98.

Jesus, that had been a hell of a case. He’d let the killer get

inside his head, and wound up pointing his gun at Scully,

coming closer than he’d ever imagined to shooting her. It had

taken him a long time to shake his feelings of frustration and

fear after that case.

Reaching for another seed, he watched himself take the nun’s

place opposite Patterson on the monitor. The ex-ISU chief

became agitated when Mulder showed him the note. He held up

his hands, palms out, as if pushing both the letter and Mulder

away. Mulder remembered Patterson yelling, “leave me alone,

leave me alone,” over and over again. With no other choice, he

had pocketed the letter. He had stood and turned to go,

casting a shadow across Patterson’s tormented face.

What the hell? He rewound the tape. Played the segment again.

For just a second it almost looked as if… Couldn’t be. He

replayed the tape once more.

Darkened by Mulder’s shadow, Patterson appeared to transform –

– for just a frame or two — into the hideous creature he’d

seen years ago in Mostow’s building. Bald head. Pointy ears.

Clawed hands. Abruptly Patterson returned to normal.

“Eeny meeny, chili beeny.”

Mulder replayed the clip again.

And again.

His cell phone rang and he paused the tape just as the

monster’s image fluttered across Patterson’s startled features.

Pulling his cell from his pocket, he checked the phone’s

display. Scully’s number glowed on the tiny screen.

“Whassup, Scully?” he said into the phone.

“Patterson didn’t kill himself.”

“Do tell.”

“The autopsy showed the angle of the facial cuts was all wrong

for self-mutilation. Other than what appears to be artist’s

modeling clay on the hands and under the fingernails, there

were no prints, hairs or fibers on the body. Toxicology came

back clean.”

“Dust off your Ouija board, Scully.”

“I’m not buying your demonic spirit theory, Mulder. At least

not until we’ve exhausted all the quantifiable possibilities.

Where are you now?”

“Still at Lorton.”

“Have you found anything?”

Mulder squinted at the tape. “Yyyyyes, but it probably doesn’t

fit your definition of quantifiable.”

“Well, I may have something that does.”

“Lay it on me, G-Woman.” Mulder drew an invisible circle with

his index finger around Patterson’s head, frozen beneath a

devil’s mask on the monitor.

“Agent Dressler called. She’s found another body.”

“Same signature?”

“Yep. She wants us at the scene. ASAP. 1465 Hazelwood

Street, Falls Church.”

Ejecting the tape, Mulder stood and grabbed his trenchcoat.

Phone trapped between his ear and shoulder, he pocketed the

video. “I’m on my way.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

LOCATION UNKNOWN

The sink drips. The air is cold.

Poor man. Soooooo frightened. Like a little boy, worried the

bogeyman sleeps beneath his bed at night.

He cringes on the floor, arms raised above his head, wrists

roped to the drainpipe beneath the sink.

Coward.

He is crying and the devil pokes at his tears.

The man’s bare chest hiccups with panic. Goose-flesh stipples

his arms, his legs, turns his nipples into hard, tight points.

Touch the knife there and he bleeds. A crimson drop swells up

out of pink flesh, looking like a jewel, rounded into a

perfect half-sphere of ruby red. The monster sees itself in

the drop’s satin-smooth surface.

Look, look, look.

The inside is outside.

Let’s see what you’re made of, young man. Slit the left cheek.

Slice the right. Listen to the baby wail.

Eyes wide open. I see me when I look at you. My eyes in your

eyes in my eyes in your eyes ad infinitum forever and ever and

ever, amen.

Pop. Pop. We disappear from our view. Your eyes drain like

spilled milk. No use crying. You’re dead.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

ACT II

1465 HAZELWOOD STREET

FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

Entrails and body parts swamped the pavement behind the vacant

warehouse; this had been a living human being as recently as

yesterday. Uniformed officers and plain-clothed agents

clustered around the gore, circling, buzzing. Like blowflies,

Scully thought.

Mulder broke trail through yellow tape and law enforcement, his

badge dangling from an outstretched fist, his trenchcoat

flailing in the November wind. Scully matched him step for

step, puddle for puddle, until the rainwater, bronzed by

flashing ambulance lights and lost blood, turned red beneath

her shoes.

With one graceful, practiced motion, Mulder pocketed his ID and

crouched beside the body.

“Check it out, Scully.” He aimed a finger at the corpse’s

scored face, the exposed cheekbones, the empty eye sockets. “A

face not even a mother could love. That makes two.”

She eyed a deep incision that ran from breastbone to pelvis.

Both the victim’s hands had been severed. One lay next to the

body. The other was missing. “This man wasn’t murdered here,

Mulder. There would be more blood. He must have been

transported. Unless your evil spirit has a valid Virginia

driver’s license, I think we can rule it out.”

Mulder tugged on a latex glove. He lifted the victim’s severed

hand from the pavement and examined the fingers.

“Clay, Scully.”

“Same as Patterson.”

“Yep. I’m thinking we might find another sculpture gallery

somewhere.”

She hoped not. Dismembered body parts swathed in wet clay had

proved to be a little too compelling for Mulder the last time.

Agent Dressler approached, a frown creasing her brow and the

damp breeze badgering her long dark hair. She joined the agents

beside the body. “The victim is Paul Martin,” she said. “He was

an agent in the ISU.”

“An FBI agent?” Scully asked.

“Yes. My partner, several years ago. I don’t need to tell you

how much I want to catch the asshole who did this.”

Mulder set the severed hand back on the ground. “I wonder what

happened to the other hand.”

“It’s possible the killer kept it,” Dressler suggested.

“A trophy?” Mulder stood to face the statuesque agent. “That

deviates from the signature. Mostow and Patterson sliced and

diced but they didn’t keep souvenirs. Maybe you just haven’t

looked hard enough.”

He scanned the edge of the parking lot where Agent Delgado

walked the perimeter with two detectives at his heels.

“Agent Mulder, need I remind you, we aren’t looking for Mostow

or Patterson.”

“What are you looking for?” His eyes traveled to the back of

the warehouse.

“Not what, who–”

Mulder no longer listened. Abandoning Dressler and Scully, he

wandered toward a graffiti-covered door at the back of the

building.

“Your partner has a one track mind. You aren’t buying this evil

spirit nonsense of his, are you, Agent Scully?”

“I’ve come to trust Mulder’s instincts.”

Dressler frowned and faced the wind. “If you don’t mind me

asking, didn’t Agent Mulder wig out during the Mostow case?”

“Agent Mulder’s investigation led to the arrest of a murderer.”

“Yes, but I heard he used some pretty unorthodox methods. Spent

the night in Mostow’s studio, took the murder weapon from

Evidence–”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Bureau grapevine. Never underestimate–”

“Scully!” Across the lot, Mulder stood just inside the

warehouse door. He beckoned the agents with a waggle of two

fingers.

Dressler and Scully broke into a jog. They crossed the lot

quickly and joined Mulder at the open door. He led them inside

and across a wide, dark room. The sound of their footsteps

clattered against the walls as they walked. The empty interior

felt cold and it smelled of machinery oil and undisturbed dust.

Reaching the far wall, Mulder stopped and aimed the beam of his

flashlight at a jumble of ancient wastewater pipes. Mounted

atop one disconnected stack, the victim’s severed hand

protruded as if from a coat sleeve…with its middle finger

extended skyward.

“Think we did something to piss it off?” He spotlighted the

gruesome gesture with his light.

“This can’t be what it looks like.” Scully approached the hand.

“It must be…it must be some sort of anomalous rigor.”

“It’s flipping us the bird, Scully.” He walked a half-circle

around the hand, checking it from all angles.

“Agent Mulder, does this,” — Dressler tilted her head at the

severed hand — “give you any insight into the killer’s

motives?”

“You want a profile?”

“My team is already working on a profile. What I want is your

opinion. Your investigation during the Mostow case nailed

Patterson. Given the similarities in the signature, I called

you because I thought you might have something helpful to

contribute to this case.”

“My *opinion*, Agent Dressler, is that a profile identifies a

personality type…which implies the killer is a person. I

think we’re looking for something more extreme here.”

Dressler huffed with impatience. “You’re not going to say we

should be hunting an evil spirit, are you?”

“You have to stop looking for a man, Agent Dressler. You aren’t

going to catch this thing that way.”

“Exactly how would you suggest we catch him? Get inside his

head?” Dressler stepped closer to Mulder, pushing the limits of

his personal space. “Like Patterson did? Like you did?”

Mulder bristled at her suggestion. “Meaning?”

“Mulder,” — Scully took hold of his sleeve — “We need to

follow standard procedure: examine the victims and profile the

killer.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Mulder–”

“*You* examine the victims, Scully. *You* profile the killer.”

He pulled away from her. Pocketing his flashlight, he turned on

his heel and headed for the exit.

“Mulder, where are you going?”

“To catch this thing — my own way.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

FBI HEADQUARTERS

VIDEO PRODUCTION UNIT

“Back it up a few frames, Jerry.” Mulder hovered over the

technician’s shoulder while the young man rewound the Lorton

surveillance tape in slow motion. “There. Now magnify this

section here.” He tapped the computer screen.

“Yes, sir.” Jerry outlined the area with a dashed marquee.

Three clicks on his keypad and he enlarged the region eight

hundred percent. “It’s pretty dark.”

“Can you lighten it?”

“I can try.” The technician increased the brightness and

adjusted the contrast.

A face emerged from the shadows. Bald. Pointy-eared. Fanged.

The technician twisted in his seat to look over his shoulder at

Mulder. “What in hell?”

“It’s not in hell anymore, Jerry.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

QUANTICO MORGUE

Scully faced the autopsy table, eyes fixed on the Falls Church

victim. The deceased’s two severed hands rested palms down on a

steel tray beside the corpse.

“Paul Martin, white male, five-foot-ten-inches tall, 168

pounds, age 37. External exam reveals pronounced facial

mutilations, disembowelment and dismemberment.”

She fingered the ragged edge of one handless arm.

“Ligature furrows and abraded contusions are present on both

wrists, indicating the victim was tied and struggled before he

died.”

Using steel tweezers, she teased what appeared to be rodent

feces from the backs of the arms, legs and the bottoms of the

feet. She found no evidence of grass stains or mud. Martin had

been made to walk barefoot and lay down naked on a filthy

interior floor.

She bagged the evidence for analysis.

Although not a huge man, Martin was muscular, in good shape.

How had the killer managed to subdue a trained FBI agent? No

weapon had been recovered. Scully examined the facial

lacerations. They were deeper and smoother than the cuts on

Patterson. Opening one eyelid, she studied the empty socket.

“Pronounced scoring of the supraorbital ridge, most likely the

result of a very sharp knife.” The deep, well-defined gouges

had not been made by a dull prison shiv this time.

Scully’s cell phone rang. She stripped off her gloves and

pulled the phone from her lab coat pocket.

“Scully,” she identified herself.

“Scully, it’s me.”

“Where are you, Mulder?”

“On my way to Mostow’s old studio.”

“What for?”

“Scully, what’s the first thing we learned in detective

school?”

“Detective school?”

“Killers always return to the scene of the crime.”

“Mulder, that’s not true.”

“It isn’t? Coulda sworn I got that question right on my final

exam.”

“Mulder, John Mostow won’t be returning to the scene of any

crime; he’s still in jail.”

“But his evil spirit isn’t.”

Irritated by her partner’s single-mindedness, Scully massaged

an ache at the bridge of her nose. “Don’t you think our time

would be better spent examining the hard evidence at hand?”

“Do we have any?”

“Yes, we do. Mulder, does your reluctance to profile this

killer have anything to do with Patterson and his methods?”

“Scully, we both know that the statistical generalizations and

experiential theorizing of profiling, while sometimes helpful,

are incomplete and can often mislead an investigation, even

encourage investigative laziness. When we think we have all of

the answers, we collect only evidence that fits those answers,

and we erroneously think that a thorough investigation is no

longer requisite at all.”

“Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing now, Mulder? You claim

to have the answers and it’s making you turn a blind eye to

the physical evidence, the victimology, and the crime scene as

the primary behavioral and motivational documentation. Those

are the elements that will illuminate the offender’s

motivation. Once you discover the motive, you find the

killer.”

“I’ve seen this thing, Scully. I’ve been inside its head. I

don’t need a profile to find it.”

“Mulder–”

“After you’ve finished the autopsy, do me a favor, will you? Pick

up Mostow’s sketches from Evidence and bring them back to my place.”

Those damn drawings. Five years ago, Mulder had wallpapered

his apartment with those sketches. Studying them, Mostow’s

madness had threatened to engulf him, sinking him deeper and

deeper into the serial killer’s perverse mind.

“Mulder, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Scully. I’ll meet you later.”

“Mul–”

He’d ended the call, cutting her off.

Pocketing her phone, she turned to face the cadaver.

Maybe they should step away from this case, let Dressler solve

it rather than risk Mulder’s sanity again. Could he walk to the

edge of madness twice and not fall in?

“Mulder, I hope you know what the hell you’re doing.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

JOHN MOSTOW’S STUDIO

1222 SOUTH DAKOTA STREET

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Other than the bare walls and the empty back room, Mostow’s

ramshackle studio looked much as it had the last time Mulder

visited. After the murders, the building had stood vacant, a

“For Sale” sign nailed to the outside. No one had been

interested in purchasing or renovating the derelict. The

studio had been left untouched, with the exception of the

items related to the case — the drawings, the clay

sculptures, the miscellaneous body parts. These had been

collected for evidence. A strip of crime scene tape still

fluttered at the studio door.

Dust and rat droppings coated the floor in the main room.

Boxes of cereal and bags of chips had been gnawed and left

empty on the counters. The rumpled bed still waited unmade in

a corner.

In the back room, Craig Nemhauser’s blood permanently

discolored the studio floor. Mulder crouched over the black

stain and ran a finger over the dried gore. He remembered

Mostow’s cat lapping the puddle of fresh blood, drawing his

attention to Patterson’s final victim.

Recent footprints tracked across the stain, disturbing the

dust and the rat droppings. At least two distinct shoe sizes,

both large enough to be men.

Mulder rose, paced the perimeter of the studio. He ducked into

the cold bathroom where water dripped from a rusty faucet into

a cracked sink. The room smelled sour. Mulder pulled out his

flashlight and pointed its beam into the shadowy corners. His

light sent a knot of cockroaches scuttling for cover. He

followed one as it crisscrossed the concrete floor.

Jesus. The floor was covered with blood. Lots of blood. And

something else.

Mulder squatted and inspected the dark puddle by swiping a

finger through it. He rubbed the substance between his thumb

and forefingers. It was sticky. He brought it to his nose.

A wash of bile stung the back of his throat when he realized

he sniffed a congealing mixture of fresh blood and vomit. He

stood, wiping his hand on his pants.

Moving away from the gore, he swung his flashlight around the

room. His beam revealed a pile of damp clothes blocking the

drain of a makeshift shower.

He approached the pile. If Scully were here, she’d chide him

for disturbing evidence. He lifted a sport coat off the top.

Water drizzled from its sleeves and Paul Martin’s badge fell

from the breast pocket, hitting the mound of clothes below

with a wet slap. A little more fishing produced the agent’s

sidearm. Mulder dug deeper. Two pairs of men’s pants, two

dress shirts, two neckties, another suit coat. Another badge.

Shit. This one belonged to a Special Agent John Perry, also

from the Bureau’s ISU.

Mulder pocketed both officers’ badges and weapons. He left the

shoes and the clothing where they were. Taking a last look

around, he caught his own reflection in the mirror above the

sink. A horizontal crack in the glass appeared to run from the

corner of his mouth to his ear. Over his left shoulder he

spotted the ghoulish face of the monster he’d seen five years

ago.

Bald. Thorny-eared. The thing grinned at him, exposing a

glistening row of sharp teeth.

Spinning, Mulder drew his weapon.

The monster vanished beyond the door, its retreating footsteps

echoing through the studio. Mulder lunged after it, following

the sound of thudding feet through the main room and out into

the corridor.

Mulder sprinted down the hall. The monster was nowhere in

sight, but he felt certain it had come this way. Trusting his

instincts, he mounted the stairs at the end of the corridor,

two at a time, and jogged quickly to the second floor catwalk.

Footsteps hammered on the stairs at the opposite end of the

walk.

He ran toward the sound.

Skidding into the stairwell, Mulder clipped the railing with

his elbow. The impact sent a jolt of pain sizzling down his

arm and caused his gun to somersault from his hand. It bounced

over the stair rail and fell, landing with a clatter on the

cement — two floors below.

“Shit.”

He grabbed the .380 from his ankle holster and charged up the

stairs.

On the third-floor landing, he stopped and held his breath to

listen for the monster’s footfalls. Nothing. Nothing but his

own heart battering his eardrums.

Which way had it gone? Down the corridor or up to the roof?

Fifty-fifty chance.

Deciding to continue to the roof, he climbed the final flight

of stairs.

He burst through the outer door and squinted into the setting

sun. Blinded, he stiffened his arms and swung his weapon left

to right. He dodged to one side, trying to see through the

glare.

Then he smelled it.

A terrible stench, like rotting eggs or sulfur.

Where was it?

A knife flashed. It sliced the fragile skin at his temple. The

sting sent him reeling backward. Blood streamed from the wound

and swamped his right eye. He tried to aim his gun but

couldn’t locate a target.

A scorching breath of air seared the back of his neck.

When he turned, he found himself face-to-face with the

grinning monster.

Like a medieval gargoyle, it gawked at him with granite eyes.

It stood less than a foot away, and although it appeared to be

made of stone or clay, it moved as if flesh and bone. In its

clawed hand, it gripped a silver-handled knife. Blood — his

blood — painted the knife’s blade.

The sun dipped below the skyline, casting the roof in shadow.

Mulder’s trenchcoat slapped in the cold wind. Blood rained

from his jaw, each bead turning to spray in the gusting air.

He raised his gun. Aimed at the gargoyle’s stony chest.

The monster opened its mouth, its lips stretching impossibly

wide around its jagged teeth. A hair-raising laugh poured from

its throat and its fiery breath rolled over Mulder, singeing

his face. Blinking against the corrosive fumes, Mulder lifted

his hand to protect his eyes.

The terrible heat rattled past.

Mulder lowered his arm.

The devil had disappeared.

Three strides brought Mulder to the fire escape, which was

little more than a ladder welded to the side of the building.

He looked over the edge. The ladder met with a landing at the

floor below, where a set of stairs zigzagged to the ground.

He swung out onto the ladder. Blood still streamed from his

face, staining his shirt and dripping downward between his

feet. He climbed halfway down the ladder and then jumped with

a stomach-churning clank onto the iron landing below.

Crouching, he looked down through the metal grate. He felt

dizzy. Not from the height but from loss of blood. Fingering

the wound at his temple, he allowed a second or two to pass

before he attempted to stand.

Where had the damn monster gone?

Weak-kneed, he stood and rattled the third floor door handle.

Wet clay coated the knob. The door was locked. Should he take

the time to pick the lock or should he climb down to the

ground and search the building from the bottom up? Calling for

backup would be a waste of time — the monster would be long

gone before help arrived.

Shit, it was cold.

He decided to intercept the creature from below.

Teeth chattering, he descended the fire escape at a trot. His

head ached where he’d been cut. The steps blurred beneath his

hurrying feet, came into focus, and then blurred again. On the

second floor landing, he slowed and tried to control his

lightheadedness by bending, hands on his knees.

“Shit.” Too much time. He was going to lose the damn thing.

Sucking in a lungful of frosty air, he jogged down the last of

the steps. When he jumped to the ground, his knees buckled. He

fell to the pavement, hitting his head hard. Stretched on his

stomach in the alley, Mulder lost consciousness.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Lying down on the job?

Watch out! Whoever fights monsters should see to it that he

does not become a monster. Good advice, yes?

I’ll be back for you tomorrow. Or maybe the next day.

Other fish to fry tonight. Other fair-haired boys to fillet.

Eeny, meeny, miney, my. Catch an agent in a lie. If he

hollers, make him cry. One jab, two jabs…who’s next to die?

*I* am the abyss, Agent Mulder, and I am looking into you.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

2630 HEGAL PLACE, APT. 42

ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA

9:23 P.M.

Keys jangling, Scully let herself into Mulder’s apartment.

With the exception of the fish tank, the place was dark. And

the phone was ringing.

Scully deposited Mostow’s drawings on the coffee table. She

hurried to the phone, picked up the receiver and identified

herself to the caller.

“Agent Scully?” The voice at the other end sounded confused.

“This is Agent Dressler. I was…I was expecting Agent

Mulder.”

Me, too, Scully thought. She’d been trying to reach him on his

cell phone for the last two hours. Tucking the phone between

her shoulder and ear, she shed her coat. “He’s not here.”

“Oh…”

“Is there something I can help you with, Agent?” Scully

prompted Dressler.

“We’ve found another victim. A…another colleague of mine.

Special Agent John Perry. He is…he *was* assistant to ISU

Chief Frank Wilcox.”

Jesus, another ISU agent. These victims were not the anonymous

young men Mostow had preferred.

“Where?”

“A parking garage in Arlington.”

“Same signature?” Scully sank onto the couch. She leafed

through Mostow’s drawings, spread a few across the table.

Dozens of ghoulish faces scowled up at her, sketched in

pencil, ink, charcoal, even blood.

“Yes. Both arms were amputated, too. And his head was…Jesus,

the bastard cut his fucking head off. Filled the mouth with

some sort of clay.”

Scully closed her eyes, shutting out the horrible faces of

Mostow’s drawings.

“Do you want me to come down to the scene?”

“No, the body’s already on its way to Quantico.” Dressler

sounded tired. “What I want, Agent Scully, is to catch this

damn killer. I’d appreciate anything you or Agent Mulder could

do to facilitate that.”

“We’re on it.” Scully tried to sound more confident than she

felt. She worried again about Mulder. Where was he?

Dressler hung up and Scully considered what to do next. Return

to Quantico. Wait for Mulder. Call the crime lab.

She dialed the lab.

“Hey, Jen. It’s Dana. Got anything for me?”

“Good news and not-so-good news.”

Scully leaned into the leather cushions. Toeing off her shoes,

she placed her feet on the coffee table, careful to stay clear

of Mostow’s drawings.

“Give me the not-so-good news first.”

“The rodent feces you sent over are from an ordinary, run-of-

the-mill Rattus norvegicus, found throughout the city and the

continental U.S. Mixed in with the rat droppings, I found

cockroach legs, antennae, shell casings. Nothing unusual about

that, really. Want my expert opinion?”

“Always.”

“Your killer needs a maid service.”

Scully smiled, despite her frustration with the case. “What’s

the good news?”

“I discovered a couple of microscopic flakes of dried blood in

your sample. They didn’t match the victim’s type.”

“Can you run an RFLP?”

“No, the sample is too small. I can try a PCR, but as you

know, PCR tests are extremely sensitive to contaminating DNA

at the crime scene. And considering all the rat droppings…”

“Run it anyway. What was the type?”

“Your victim was A-positive. The sample was O-negative.”

“Thanks, Jen. Let me know if you come up with anything on the

PCR.”

“Will do,” the lab technician agreed and hung up.

Scully rose from the couch and crossed to Mulder’s desk. She

powered up his computer and punched in his password of the

week. “STEPPINGSTONE.” The choice had come from a recent

conversation between the two of them…about their romantic

involvement, of all things — a subject they usually avoided.

A chance after-hours meeting with AD Skinner’s secretary at

Pete’s Grill spurred the discussion. Caught in public with

fingers intertwined, Mulder had snaked away his hand and

waited for Kim to leave before apologizing to Scully. He

reminded her that the Bureau’s good ol’ boys tended to come

down particularly hard on female agents who slept with their

partners and he didn’t want her to suffer the inevitable

insults. He said he already knew from personal experience how

it felt to wear a millstone of mockery. He didn’t want her

reduced to a stereotype by a bunch of catty bullpen gossips or

judgmental superiors — she was too fine an agent.

“They’ll accuse you of sleeping your way to the top, Scully,”

he had said.

“The top?” She’d laughed. “Is ‘Spooky’ Mulder a step *up* the

corporate ladder?”

He had seen her point and laughed, too; she was more apt to be

ridiculed for tossing away her career on a misguided pleasure

ride with the company crackpot than with trying to move up the

metaphorical food chain.

“I-I-I-I’m not your steppin’ stone,” he had crooned the old

Monkees’ tune and then gave her hand a quick squeeze —

beneath the table.

Using the password, Scully logged onto the Internet and

initiated a search for “gargoyles.” She settled into a chair.

Her Web search revealed several dozen sites. She selected a

link to the University of North Carolina and scanned the page.

**…an inordinate number of gargoyles have wide, open mouths

with protruding tongues — a symbol of devouring giants. Among

the most hideous faces are those that are, literally, pulling

the face with both hands, stretching the mouth, an act called

“girning,” a threatening gesture, which serves to remind us

that we are vulnerable to forces larger than ourselves.**

Many of Mostow’s drawings depicted these open-mouthed

gargoyles.

The killer widened his victims’ mouths, too, with the slash of

his knife.

Scully knew from VICAP statistics that serial killers fell

into one of four broad categories: visionaries, missionaries,

hedonists, and power seekers.

Mostow had been a “visionary,” acting in response to voices in

his head, receiving instructions from them to justify and

legitimize his acts of murder.

Patterson had fallen into the “missionary” category; he had

felt responsible for purifying society by expelling its

undesirable components — an extension of his job at ISU.

Pleasure, often including sexual satisfaction, was the reward

for hedonists, whose crimes tended to be the most sadistic. So

far, none of these murders exhibited any sign of sexual

assault.

Power seekers, the final category, desired to control the life

and death of others to such a degree that it served as an

intrinsic motive to murder.

The man who killed Paul Martin, John Perry, and maybe Bill

Patterson, could easily fit into any one of these categories.

Or none of them. He already fell outside the “normal” profile.

Most serial killers targeted weaker victims — or victims they

perceived as weak — women, children, the elderly. This killer

had murdered three FBI agents, all powerful men. Did that mean

he perceived them as weak, too?

Perhaps murdering strong, capable men added to the killer’s

perverse pleasure, inflating his own opinion of himself.

Unlike Mostow and Patterson, he apparently didn’t feel the

need to sketch pictures of gargoyles. Outside of Patterson’s

cell, not a single drawing had been found.

Maybe this killer didn’t want to keep his demons away.

Damn it, where was Mulder? Profiling was his bailiwick, not

hers.

Scully scrolled down the page. One contorted stone face after

the next rolled by.

A thud sounded at Mulder’s front door. Scully reached for her

weapon.

Hearing the jingle of keys, she relaxed a bit. It must be

Mulder. Finally.

The door swung inward and Mulder stumbled across the

threshold. At the sight of fresh stitches on his forehead,

Scully rose to meet him.

“Mulder, what happened?” She took his arm and guided him to

the couch. His fingers were frigid and his gait unsteady. His

eyes appeared unfocused. “Where have you been?”

“Hospital.” His hand lifted to his brow.

“So I see.” She tugged his cold fingers away from the wound so

she could inspect it. “Sit,” she ordered.

He obeyed, dropping to the couch.

Eight even sutures dotted his temple.

“How did you get cut?”

“I saw it, Scully.” His eyes settled on Mostow’s drawings.

“It?”

“The monster. It exists. I saw it.”

“Where?”

“Mostow’s studio.”

This can’t be happening, she thought, not again. Running off

on his own, refusing to answer his phone, insisting he saw

demons and ghouls and evil spirits.

**You still haven’t told me what you were doing in Mostow’s

studio, Mulder.**

**I was working.**

**At 3:30 in the morning? I haven’t seen or spoken to you in

almost two days. You haven’t been returning my calls–**

**This thing exists, Scully. It’s real.**

**It? What are you talking about?**

**Whatever keeps killing those young men.**

**Mostow killed those men, Mulder, and out of some sick

alliance, some other person is continuing where he left off.**

**Whoever attacked me wasn’t a person.**

Of course, in the end Mulder had been wrong. The killer had

been a person — Bill Patterson, driven mad by the very

monsters he chased.

“Tell me what happened, Mulder.” She sat beside him. Combing

through his hair with her fingers, she inspected his skull for

signs of further injury. She discovered a nasty welt where his

head had hit the pavement.

“A man’s character is his fate, don’t you think, Scully? It’s

not a choice but a calling. Sometimes the weight of this

burden…” His voice faded off, distracted by the images on

the coffee table.

“Mulder, what are you talking about?” She held a finger up in

front of his face. “Focus, Mulder.” She tried to draw his

attention away from Mostow’s drawings. “Did they x-ray you?

Check for concussion?”

He continued to stare past her.

In frustration she gathered the drawings into a pile and

placed them face down on the table.

“They would come alive at nighttime, Scully, while their

protectees were asleep. They would fly over their territories

to stand guard. At dawn, they would return to their places of

rest on the rooftops.”

“Who, Mulder?”

“Gargoyles.” He slouched into the cushions. Leaning his head

back, he closed his eyes. “Evil can approach and sometimes win

out over us, Scully. We are not immune.”

“Mulder–”

“We need protection.”

“Mulder, you’ve been injured. You’re tired–”

His eyes flew open. “I *saw* it, Scully!” He dug into his

pockets. “It left these behind.” He withdrew the two guns he’d

found. He placed them in his lap and then fished out the IDs.

“Am I making these up?” he challenged[DW3].

She took the IDs. Paul Martin. John Perry.

Mulder caressed one of the guns, tracing a crooked path over

the grip.

Scully gasped when he suddenly lifted the weapon and pointed

the barrel upward into his jaw. His finger curled around the

trigger.

“It let me go, Scully. Twice. Why?”

“I…I don’t know.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Mulder,

please…” She held out her hand for the weapon.

Head shaking, he looked miserable. She watched his Adam’s

apple glide against the gun’s barrel as he swallowed.

“Mulder, give me the gun.”

He turned red-rimmed eyes on her. And offered her the weapon.

She slid it from his light grasp. Plucking the second gun from

his lap, she carried them both to the desk where she placed

them, side-by-side, next to the computer. With a click of the

mouse, she closed the browser window. The hideous photos

vanished, leaving only a blank, blue screen.

Should she demand he give her his own guns, too? He looked

ready to fall asleep.

“It murdered them in the bathroom.” Mulder’s eyes closed once

more, his face tilted ceiling-ward.

“At Mostow’s?”

“Mmm hmm.” His jaw fell slack. A soft snore vibrated from his

throat.

Scully went to him. She studied the stripes of dried blood

still marking his cheek. A purple-black bruise mottled his

right eye where he’d been cut. The stitches at his hairline

puckered his raw skin. His vulnerability made her chest ache.

She unfolded the Indian blanket that decorated the back of the

couch and gently laid it over him. His eyelids fluttered but

he didn’t wake.

Returning to the phone, Scully dialed Agent Dressler’s number.

Watching Mulder sleep, she told Dressler what little she knew

about his discovery at Mostow’s studio.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

ACT III

MULDER’S APARTMENT

The phone rang, jarring Scully from sleep. She was startled to

find herself in Mulder’s living room, curled in the chair that

faced his couch. Mulder slept stretched on the sofa beneath

his Navajo blanket.

The phone didn’t wake him. His dark lashes rested without

moving against pale cheeks. The bruise on his brow had

swallowed his entire right eye. Protecting the wound in the

crook of one arm, he still wore his trenchcoat and shoes.

Scully ignored the ringing phone and rose stiffly to check

him. Her neck and back ached from sleeping in the chair. She

chided herself for not going to his bed instead, but her worry

had anchored her to his side.

The phone stopped ringing.

She bent and pressed her palm to his brow. He burned with a

low-grade fever.

She was about to search his medicine cabinet for Ibuprofen

when her cell phone rang. The high-pitched trill startled

Mulder and he opened his eyes.

“Sorry,” she apologized and retrieved her cell from her coat

across the room. “Scully,” she said into the phone.

“This is Agent Dressler. There’s been another murder.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

1222 SOUTH DAKOTA STREET

WASHINGTON, D.C.

6:20 A.M.

Scully led the way through the long, cold building, retracing

a familiar path to Mostow’s studio. Mulder trailed her,

uncharacteristically reticent and trying to hide the fact that

he shivered from his fever. Neither of them had bothered to

change their clothes. It seemed ludicrous to shower and dress

before going to such an odious place. Even the air here felt

contaminated by the killer’s depravity.

Agent Delgado, looking a little green around the gills, met

them at Mostow’s studio door.

“Body’s on the roof,” was all he said, pointing limply upward.

“This way,” Mulder murmured. His palm steered Scully toward

the stairs. Delgado shadowed them down the corridor.

They walked without talking. Up the stairs. Along the catwalk.

More stairs.

The feeble glow of dawn greeted them when they stepped out

onto the roof. The air was icy cold. An investigative team

worked in silence, spread out from one end of the roof to the

other, a distance of about one hundred yards.

“Oh, God…my God.”

Nothing Scully had seen — in the field or in the morgue —

prepared her for the debauchery she faced on the roof of

Mostow’s building. Mulder spun on his heel, turning his back

on the atrocity to stare at the brightening sky. Delgado

loitered at the door, eyes on his wingtips.

Scully walked stiff-legged, palm pressed to her mouth, picking

her way past silent ISU agents bent at their tasks. She

followed a course of blood and bone at her feet. The placement

of body parts reminded her of a plane wreck, with

unrecognizable bits and pieces scattered over an unimaginable

distance. The level of violence staggered her.

She paused when she encountered what remained of the victim’s

head. Signature knife wounds ran from the corners of the mouth

to the ears…which had been sliced away. The eyes were gone.

The scalp removed. A bullet hole pierced the back of the

skull.

Dressler joined Scully. She nodded at the decapitated head.

“The victim was Frank Wilcox,” she said, her voice unsteady.

Scully’s eyes widened. “ISU Chief?”

“Yes. We found his clothes, his badge, downstairs.”

Jesus. This…this could have been Mulder.

She glanced over her shoulder at him.

He paced the edge of the roof, still watching the sky. Frosty

air sifted from his lungs, floating heavenward with each

gulping breath.

“We also found this.” Dressler held up an evidence bag

containing a SIG P228.

It looked like Mulder’s gun.

Scully glanced at him again. Did he have his gun on him?

“Excuse me.” She abandoned Dressler and headed for Mulder.

Sensing her approach, he turned to face her.

“Why did it let me go?” he asked when she stood beside him at

the edge of the roof. He shivered openly now, no longer caring

if she saw him tremble. “Why did it kill this man instead of

me?”

“I don’t know, Mulder.”

“I think I do.” His voice faded to a raspy whisper. “It sees

itself when it looks at me.”

“Mulder–”

“Mostow said it wants to see its own reflection.” He ran his

hand through his hair. His eyes shone overly bright with

fever.

“What are you saying, Mulder? That you’re evil?”

“It’s looking for condemned souls like itself, the evil born

in each of us. We’re all repositories for our own dark fears

and horrific imaginations.”

“Stop it.”

“Scully, it is what it is.”

“Don’t do this.” She stilled his fidgety hands with her own.

His skin was fiery, despite the morning chill. “Step away from

the case, Mulder. Now.”

“I can’t. It won’t let me.”

“You talk as if the killer is doing this, murdering these men,

to get to you.”

“That’s exactly what it’s doing.”

“Mulder…” She paused to steady her voice. “Mulder, are you

wearing your weapon?”

He reached beneath his coat and felt for his gun.

“No, I…I dropped it last night. In the stairwell. I chased

the monster up to the roof and–”

The clack of heels silenced him. Dressler cleared her throat.

“You saw the killer?” She studied the bruise circling his eye.

“Can you describe him?”

A humorless laugh chuffed from Mulder’s lungs. “Yes, but you

won’t believe me.”

“Agent Mulder, if you know anything that will help us with

this investigation, I’m all ears.”

Mulder squinted at the tall agent, gauging her sincerity, and

then shook his head. “Your refusal to accept the truth is

blinding you to the facts, Agent Dressler.”

The gray-eyed woman met his stare. “I’m not blind to the fact

that it was you who led my team to this crime scene. I’m also

not blind to your current condition.” She tilted her head at

his blood-soaked clothes and swollen eye. Holding up her

evidence bag, she asked, “Is this your gun?”

He looked at the weapon and slowly nodded. “I think so.”

She pocketed the gun. “Agent Mulder, why don’t you stop hiding

behind a smoke screen of paranormal mumbo-jumbo and tell the

truth. What happened up here last night?”

Confusion clouded his face. “You aren’t implying that I…?”

He looked past her at the widespread gore.

“I know you visited Patterson at Lorton several weeks ago. I

checked the logs last night.” She stepped forward, shrinking

the space that separated them. “Strange thing is, when I went

to view the tape, I couldn’t find it. You wouldn’t happen to

know where it might have gone, would you, Agent Mulder?”

His gaze fell away. “It’s at VPU. I left it with Jerry.”

She nodded. “I have a theory about this case, Agent Mulder.

Care to hear it?”

“Yes.” He raised his eyes to look at her.

“I think the only specters here are the ones that haunt you —

the memories of your transfer from the ISU years ago and your

failure to live up to Patterson’s expectations. I think you

presumed to be Patterson’s next golden boy, but he passed you

by. That burned you. It still does.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Exactly my point.” She licked crimson lips. “Agent Scully

called me last night and told me you returned to your

apartment with the badges and guns of Agents Martin and

Perry.”

“I found them here, downstairs in the bathroom.”

“Yes, but how did you know to come here?”

“I didn’t. I was following a hunch.”

“Well, I followed a hunch, too.” Her stare was unblinking. “I

called the SCI-Crime Lab last night on my way here. Do you

know what they told me?”

“No.” The word passed almost without sound from his dried

lips. Perspiration slicked his forehead and cheeks.

Scully wondered where Dressler was going with this. The rat

droppings, the blood — what did they have to do with Mulder?

“The lab analyzed a sample of blood recovered from Paul

Martin’s body. The test showed the blood was O-negative.

That’s your type, isn’t it, Agent Mulder?”

It was, but–

“Forty-six percent of the U.S. population has type O blood,”

Scully said on his behalf.

“True. That’s why I’m curious to receive the results of the

PCR.”

Mulder chafed beneath Dressler’s critical watch. “Are you

arresting me?”

“Not yet, but I’d appreciate your cooperation while we wait

for the test results. I’d like you to come back to

headquarters with me.”

Mulder shook his head. “You’re wasting time, Agent Dressler.

We need to be looking for the killer…the *real* killer.”

“Mulder…” Scully hesitated. He wasn’t going to like what she

was about to say. “Maybe…maybe you should do as she asks.”

“Scully?” His frown told her he felt betrayed by her alignment

with Dressler.

“Look, Mulder. You’re hurt and you’re ill–”

“I’m fine.”

“You are not fine. Go with Dressler. I’ll take care of things

here.”

“Scully–”

“Go,” she insisted. “I’ll find the truth.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

INVESTIGATIVE SUPPORT UNIT

AGENT DRESSLER’S OFFICE

QUANTICO

“Have a seat, Agent Mulder.”

He wanted to remain standing — as a show of defiance — but

the truth was he felt ready to collapse, so he chose one of

two chairs that faced Dressler’s desk and sat.

Dressler hung up her coat.

Agent Delgado loitered just inside the closed door. His

purpose was to keep out angry ISU agents who wanted their

colleagues’ killer behind bars. The rumor that “Spooky” Mulder

might be guilty of murder had traveled through the department’s

grapevine like the spark on a lit fuse. Before Mulder entered

the building, everyone from the janitor to the top brass had

already heard the accusation.

Mulder’s cockiness and arrogance had earned him few friends

during his tenure in ISU; many of the Unit’s agents still

carried a grudge. Fresh from the Academy, Mulder’s disregard

for the opinions of his fellow agents, as well as those of his

superiors, rankled even after thirteen years.

Guarding the door, Delgado whittled at his teeth with a

toothpick. His pretended nonchalance irritated the heck out of

Mulder.

Hell, everything irritated Mulder about this situation.

To be accused–

“Tell me about last night, Agent Mulder,” Dressler said. She

smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from her skirt and sat at her

desk. “How did you get that cut on your head?”

“I…” What could he tell her? That an evil spirit attacked

him? She already considered him crazy.

A row of grisly crime scene photos lined her desktop and drew

his eye. Martin and Perry — hacked to bits.

“You think I did that?” He thrust his chin at the photos.

“I think that’s a more plausible explanation than your

possession theory.”

He shook his head. “You’re wrong.”

“We’ll see. The lab will be calling with the PCR results soon.

The test will prove whether or not the blood found on Paul

Martin’s corpse is yours.” She steepled her fingers and leaned

back in her chair. “Do you know a good lawyer, Agent Mulder?”

“The PCR will prove nothing. It’s entirely possible my blood

contaminated the scene a priori,” he argued. “I was cut five

years ago in John Mostow’s studio — by Bill Patterson. The

victim could have picked up traces of my blood from the

floor.”

“It’s possible. How do you think the jury will see it at the

trial?”

“This will never go that far.” He shook his head. The movement

caused a stomach-churning ache to shoot from his swollen eye

straight to the back of his skull. “I didn’t kill those men.”

“Then why steal the Lorton surveillance tape?”

“I didn’t steal it.” Mulder feared he might throw up. His back

and neck burned with fever; his fingers felt numb with cold.

“Did you ask permission to borrow the tape? According to

Lorton–”

“No, I didn’t ask permission. I just–”

“Stole it.”

“*Borrowed* it.”

“I see very little distinction between the two.”

The phone rang. Dressler glanced at the caller ID.

“That’s the lab. Anything you want to say, Agent Mulder,

before I take this call? A confession could help you.”

He pressed his lips together and shook his head.

Dressler picked up the phone. She nodded while she listened.

Her gray eyes never left Mulder’s face. She ended her

conversation with a thank you and an order for a copy of the

report to be sent to her office ASAP.

“Well?” Mulder asked when Dressler hung up the phone.

“Agent Mulder, I’m placing you under arrest for murder.” She

stood and signaled Delgado. “You have the right to remain

silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a

court of law. You have the right to be speak to an

attorney…”

Delgado tossed his toothpick into the trash. Pulling handcuffs

from his coat pocket, he crossed the room to Mulder’s chair. A

frown thinned his lips. While Dressler continued the Miranda,

he yanked Mulder to his feet and cuffed him.

“You’re making a mistake,” Mulder insisted. “You have

nothing.”

“I disagree.” Dressler narrowed her eyes. “I’ve got plenty.

One…” — she held up a finger — “you stole a surveillance

tape from Lorton prison that showed your visit with Bill

Patterson just weeks before his death. Two…” — another

finger went up — “you visited Mostow’s studio last night at

the approximate time Frank Wilcox was murdered. Three…” —

she extended a third finger — “you returned to your apartment

with an unexplained cut on your head and Martin and Perry’s

guns and badges in your possession. Four… — she held out

all but her thumb — “your service weapon was found at the

scene. It’s been fired, Agent Mulder. And the deceased has a

bullet hole in the back of his decapitated head. And finally,

five…” — she opened her entire hand — “traces of your

blood were discovered on Martin’s body. Need I remind you, it

was your own partner who performed the autopsy and collected

the forensic evidence?”

“That’s all circumstantial. What about motive? What possible

reason would I have for killing three ISU agents?”

“Four agents.”

“Four?”

“Don’t forget Patterson. You said it yourself, Agent Mulder:

Patterson’s death was no suicide. I’m finally agreeing with

you.”

Dressler came around her desk and stepped directly in front of

him. “Agent Mulder, I think you’ve followed Bill Patterson’s

footsteps straight to the loony bin. I think you’re

copycatting his murders and you’re responsible for the deaths

of four men.”

“You’re wrong, Dressler. You couldn’t be more wrong.”

Delgado opened the office door. “Want me to transport him?”

“No, thanks, Tony. I’ll drive him myself.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

QUANTICO MORGUE

The decapitated head of ISU Chief Frank Wilcox gaped at Scully

from a nearby table tray. Beside it, a shallow basin contained

what was left of the Chief’s butchered remains.

Wilcox’s mouth, like Perry’s, had been stuffed with clay,

forcing the jaws open and plugging the throat. A bullet had

entered his head from the back, tearing through the parietal

lobe and lodging in the clay just behind the superior

maxillary. Scully had removed the bullet more than an hour ago

and sent it down to ballistics.

Earlier, Dressler had argued against Scully performing

autopsies on either Wilcox or Perry. She claimed Scully’s

objectivity was unlikely, given that Mulder was under

suspicion for their murders. At Scully’s request, Skinner

intervened. He had okayed her involvement, telling Dressler

that Mulder was innocent until proven otherwise and that

Scully’s professionalism was not under suspicion.

The AD’s decision appeared to infuriate Dressler, but she

backed down, conceding to Skinner without another word. Her

quick surrender surprised Scully. Dressler hadn’t played her

ace: her suspicion of the agents’ romantic relationship. Her

reticence allowed Scully to return to the morgue.

Hands thrust into Perry’s chest cavity, Scully checked his

lungs.

“Evidence of bronchial occlusion indicates the mouth was

packed with clay while the victim was still alive. The

presence of blood in the lungs suggests the clay was

introduced into the oral cavity only after the face was cut,

causing the victim to inhale both blood and clay before

dying.”

Jesus, this killer was a sadistic son-of-a-bitch. Or a madman.

Scully knew from VICAP statistics that most serial killers

were not insane. Yet it was hard to reconcile what she saw

here with the acts of any sane person.

Of course, Mulder would insist this wasn’t the work of a

person at all.

The phone rang and Scully set down her scalpel. She removed

one bloody glove and answered the phone.

“Hello, Dana; it’s Jen,” the technician said. “I’m probably

gonna get in trouble over this, but I thought you should

know.”

“Know what?”

“I just ran into Dan.”

“From ballistics?”

“Yes. He told me the bullet you recovered from Frank Wilcox’s

head…it was your partner’s.”

“Why didn’t Dan call me himself?”

“He said he was under orders.”

“Who’s orders?”

Scully knew the answer even before hearing it.

“Agent Roberta Dressler.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-

EN ROUTE TO LORTON CORRECTIONAL COMPLEX

“These cuffs aren’t necessary.” Mulder glared at Dressler from

the back seat of her car.

She glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Standard

procedure, Agent Mulder. I think you know that.”

“Was it standard procedure to parade me through the bullpen?

Or was that for your own entertainment?”

“I don’t find anything about this case entertaining.”

She steered onto the freeway. Mid-morning traffic filled all

four lanes.

Mulder heaved a sigh. His march through ISU had created quite

a spectacle. All the agents he’d managed to tick off during

his tenure in the Unit — which appeared to be most of them —

vacated their offices to witness his humiliation.

“Look at that,” — someone had sniggered — “Dead man walking,

and it ain’t no X-File!”

“Hey, Mulder, maybe you’ll be rescued by the Mother Ship. Beam

me up, Spooky.”

“You get one call, Mulder. Better phone hooooome.”

The laughter did little to drown out the more serious name-

calling. “Arrogant prick.” “Freaking crackpot.” “Goddamn

embarrassment to the Bureau.”

The worst came when someone said, “Looks like Mrs. Spooky’ll

be collecting widow’s benefits before long.”

Mulder squirmed at the memory and slumped lower in Dressler’s

back seat. He didn’t mind being the target of insults; he’d

become used to them over the years. It rankled, however, that

Scully’s reputation hinged on his own. He hated the idea of

dragging her down with him.

Christ, his head ached.

Dressler changed lanes and passed a slow-moving minivan.

“What do you see when you look at yourself in the mirror,

Agent Mulder?” she asked.

“You missed your exit,” he told her, ignoring her question.

“Lorton’s back that way.”

“We’re not going to Lorton.”

“What happened to standard procedure?”

“You know, Agent Mulder, Patterson never should have called

you in on the Mostow case.”

“Excuse me?”

“I never understood his reasons. Maybe another agent could

have prevented…” Her voice trailed off. She watched the road

and stepped more heavily on the gas.

He studied her face in the mirror. Only her eyes were visible.

Gray and cold. Full of anger.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” he asked. He clenched his fists and

tested the handcuffs, tugging until the metal cut painfully

into his wrists. He was trapped. “You’re the one. You killed

them…even Patterson, didn’t you?”

“What do you see, Agent Mulder…what do you see when you look

at yourself in the mirror?” she asked again. “God’s gift to

the world?”

He said nothing. With the doors locked, there was no escape

from the car, not until she stopped and let him out.

“Maybe you think it’s okay for you to ignore protocol, Agent

Mulder. Maybe you think it’s okay to step on other people’s

toes. Do the ends really justify the means?”

“What ends are we talking about?”

“You’ve enjoyed every advantage.”

“Me?”

“Do you know how often Bill Patterson praised you?” She

gripped the steering wheel until her fingers turned bone-

white. “And you…you were so goddamn ungrateful. The rest of

us, we…I…we walked through hell for that man, hunting his

damn monsters until that was all we ever saw when we closed

our eyes at night. And he…he never realized it. He never

noticed the things we gave up. Little bits and pieces of

ourselves. Years of our lives. Our peace of mind. It didn’t

matter. No matter how hard–” She shook her head. “But

you…you were the prodigal son. He said we could all take a

lesson from you. He held you up as the ideal, the

quintessential profiler. And then *you*,” — she pounded the

heal of her hand against the wheel — “you…walked…away

from him. You quit the Unit.”

“That’s not how it was–”

“Don’t tell me how it was! I was there, Agent Mulder.” Tears

swamped her eyes. “It wasn’t fair. I worked hard, followed his

orders, his methods, believed in him, and then he…he called

*you* to help with the Mostow case. I asked first, you know? I

asked if I could head the team and he…he just laughed at

me.”

“Where are we going, Agent Dressler?”

“Now it’s my turn–”

“Agent Dressler, where are you taking me?”

“Now it’s my turn to snap my fingers, Agent Mulder, and make

you lick the greasy floor of hell.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

ACT IV

QUANTICO MORGUE

Scraping clay from John Perry’s lungs, Scully wondered how

Mulder was faring.

Dressler’s accusations were ludicrous, of course, despite the

circumstantial evidence. The victimology was every bit as

important as the physical evidence; both things together

served as documentation of the killer’s behavior and motive.

Scully believed that. Find the motive and you find the killer.

She’d said as much to Mulder only yesterday.

So what was the motive?

She put down her scalpel.

Out on the roof of Mostow’s building, Dressler had insinuated

Mulder’s motive was fueled by professional jealousy. Scully knew

better. Mulder wasn’t like that. He walked his own path; rising to

the top meant nothing to him. He was more than satisfied with his

life in the basement, as long as he was allowed the freedom to

pursue the X-Files.

“Come on, Dana, put the pieces together,” she said to herself.

“Look at the victims and figure out who killed them…and

why.”

The victims had all been strong, healthy FBI agents. Trained

to hunt criminals. They were good at it. Each had earned their

way to the top of ISU. Patterson and Wilcox had both served as

Unit Chief. John Perry had been Wilcox’s right-hand man,

second-in-command. Paul Martin was only a step behind with

fifteen years of service and commendations up the yin-yang.

Scully yanked her gloves from her hands and tossed them into

the trash with a rubbery slap. Hurrying, she crossed the room

to a computer station.

The person who murdered these men was someone who could get

close to them, someone they trusted. A colleague.

She logged onto the Bureau employee database and brought up

the ISU staff list.

Who would want to kill four agents and implicate Mulder?

She scanned the list for agents whose work history extended as

far back as ’88 to ’91, the years Mulder spent in the Unit.

There were quite a few.

Including Roberta Dressler. Was it possible–?

Scully opened Dressler’s file.

Born in ’63

Graduated from the Academy in ’89

Assigned to Violent Crimes Section, Behavioral Science Unit in

’91

Mulder had been in the Unit for almost three years by that

time. He had already gained himself a reputation…as a

crackerjack profiler, and as a renegade who often preferred to

work outside the mainstream.

The database showed that when Mulder was assigned to the X-

Files in ’91, Dressler was paired with Mulder’s old partner

Jerry Lamana. Scully remembered him from the Eurisko case. A

real ladder-climbing opportunist. The guy had stepped all over

Mulder during the investigation into the death of Benjamin

Drake. Went so far as to steal Mulder’s profile right off his

desk and present it as his own.

Dressler and Lamana were reassigned a year after they were

paired. She was then partnered with Wilcox, Martin and Perry

in rather quick succession. Their partnerships lasted anywhere

from nine months to a year. In between, she was assigned to

background checks and general grunt work — the kind of stuff

handed to agents fresh from the Academy…or when they were

placed on punitive probation. Unfortunately, FBI personnel

records didn’t detail disciplinary actions.

Agent Dressler’s transitory partnerships and constant

reassignments were unusual, but not unheard of. The Bureau’s

rumor mill often reported similar professional breakups,

speculating on personal reasons behind a split. Male/female

partners in particular became targets for innuendo. The

durability of Mulder and Scully’s own pairing was a testament

to their professionalism, as well as their ability to ignore

the office gossips.

Scully scanned the victims’ personnel files. She found that,

with the exception of Patterson, they had all been promoted

within the department after splitting with Dressler. Yet

Dressler had never received a single promotion, not once in

ten years.

Could professional jealousy be reason enough to brutally kill

four men?

Dressler had accused Mulder of that very motivation.

Scully picked up the phone and dialed ISU.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

MOSTOW’S STUDIO

Mulder groaned. Lying on his back with his arms pulled high

over his head, he realized his ankles had been tied together

and his wrists tethered to…to what? He twisted in an effort

to see what held him. His vision blurred and his head pounded.

He blinked several times before he could make out the knot of

rope securing his wrists to a water pipe. Somewhere above him,

a faucet dripped.

Where in hell…?

He remembered…what? A car ride…with Agent

Dressler…to…to Lorton.

God, his head hurt.

Dressler had…pointed her gun at him. She had ordered him out

of the car.

Where had she taken him?

This place looked like…

Mostow’s studio.

Dressler…

Dressler was the killer.

She must have hit him over the head.

Jesus, his skull felt ready to explode. Pain radiated through

him and he moaned again.

A scraping sound drew his attention to a shadowed corner of

the room. Something moved in the dark.

Damn it, he couldn’t see; it was too dark or his vision was

too fuzzy. He blinked again, trying to bring whatever it was

into focus.

The smell of sulfur flooded the room. Mulder’s stomach rolled.

He held his breath. Even so, the stench filtered into his

nostrils, insinuated its way into his sinuses.

The thing stepped closer.

Mulder squinted into the dark. He dimly saw what looked like

the monster from the roof. A hideous gargoyle, gray and

seemingly as solid as carved granite. Bald. Pointy-eared. Long

claws curved from its bent fingers. Sharp teeth glistened

between over-stretched lips.

This wasn’t Dressler, any more than it had been Patterson five

years ago. This was a malevolence as old as mankind.

It held a knife.

Mulder pictured the blade slipping into Frank Wilcox’s flesh,

reducing the ISU Chief to a pile of unrecognizable bits and

pieces.

“What–” Mulder’s voice scraped past taut vocal chords. “What

do you want?”

Sidling closer, it chuckled. A deep, hollow gurgling sound,

like water through a sewer pipe.

Jesus, the creature looked as solid as stone, carved from rock

like the medieval gargoyles on the cathedrals of Europe. Yet

its movements were smooth, even graceful.

Mulder struggled to free himself, but the ropes held him

securely in place.

Squatting, the monster dipped its head until its face hung

mere inches above his own. Pressing the tip of its knife to

Mulder’s lower eyelid, it smiled, revealing two horrible rows

of razor-sharp teeth.

Mulder licked dry lips. “Care to share the joke with the rest

of the class?” he whispered.

Another laugh burbled from the creature’s throat. Using one

long claw, it traced an invisible line from the corner of

Mulder’s mouth to his ear. The pressure caused the muscles in

his cheek to twitch. The nail left behind a rising red welt.

Tunneling its spiky fingers through Mulder’s hair, it combed

dark locks away from his feverish brow. It traced a thumb over

one eyebrow, around the black eye. Its nail ticked across the

tiny sutures at his temple.

Mulder stared into the monster’s inky pupils, lured by his own

astonished reflection.

John Mostow’s warning surfaced in his memory: “You have felt

its hunger, so you know…nothing can be done.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

INVESTIGATIVE SUPPORT UNIT

QUANTICO

“What do you mean Mulder and Dressler have disappeared?”

Scully paced toward Tony Delgado, fire in her eyes.

The stocky man closed a file folder and set it down in front

of him on his desk. He turned in his chair to face her. “They

were on their way to Lorton,” he said.

“They never arrived.”

“I tried to reach Agent Dressler right after you called. When

she didn’t answer, I dispatched a team. I’m still waiting–”

“God damn it!” Scully’s fist hammered his desk, causing him to

jump. “Dressler is the killer.”

“Have you lost your mind?” He stood to face her.

“Why else would she kidnap Mulder?”

“It’s more likely he kidnapped her.”

“She plans to kill him, just like she killed the others.”

“You’ve got it backward, Agent Scully. Mulder is the one who

has been arrested for murder. He may be able to pull the wool

over your eyes, but he isn’t fooling the rest of us. Your

judgment in this matter is–” Delgado stopped himself.

“Say what you mean, Agent.”

His eyes dropped to the floor. Uncomfortable, he cleared his

throat. “Rumor has it, you two are…more than partners. Your

perspective is likely to be…compromised.”

This was exactly the type of judgmental misconstruction she

and Mulder had hoped to avoid by keeping their romantic

involvement secret.

She reigned in her temper, lowered her voice.

“Mulder is in trouble.”

“It’s Dressler who’s in trouble.”

She stared Delgado straight in the eye. “Can we at least agree

we need to find them?”

Delgado nodded. “Where do we begin?”

“I think I know.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

MOSTOW’S STUDIO

Crouching over Mulder, the creature hummed while it undressed

him. Its song was no more than a tuneless, tinny gurgle. The

sound grated like fingernails on a blackboard.

It fumbled with his tie, loosening the knot at his neck and

sliding the silk from his shirt collar. The creature tossed

the tie over its shoulder into the shower. Perry’s and

Martin’s clothes no longer clogged the drain there; they had

been removed by the same ISU agents who had scraped Frank

Wilcox’s dismembered body from the roof.

Unfastening Mulder’s shirt one pearly button at a time, it

worked carefully, almost gently, slipping each button from its

hole with painstaking precision. It paused for a moment to

stroke a stain of dried blood on the breast pocket. Its long,

clawed fingers traced back and forth with a scritch-scratchy

caress.

Shirt unbuttoned, the monster pushed the fabric aside to

expose Mulder’s bare chest. The chill of the room raised

goose bumps on his feverish skin. He shivered when the creature

laid an icy palm on the flat of his stomach.

Its coarse fingers grated upward across his skin. Scouring

like sandpaper, it followed the curve of his ribs to his

breastbone. Stopping directly over his heart, it tapped his

chest with a sharp claw. Once, twice, three times.

It brought the knife to the spot and sliced a shallow line

into the skin. Not deep, but Mulder yelped from the sudden

pain. Blood seeped from the wound, pooled in the hollow of his

chest and trickled downward toward his navel. The creature

smiled.

It lifted the knife to Mulder’s jaw. Skimming the blade along

the bone, it scraped the flesh just enough to redden the skin.

It inched the knife upward and stopped at Mulder’s left eye.

The tip combed his lower lashes, one fine, dark hair at a

time.

Mulder didn’t blink, the point was so close…

“Go back to hell,” he said through gritted teeth.

The monster’s wide smile disintegrated. Anger glowed in its

eyes.

The pipes beneath the sink rattled. The floor trembled.

Somewhere overhead, a support beam groaned. The monster

hunkered over Mulder’s body, its knife ready. It opened its

mouth.

When it roared, the fiery odor of sulfur rushed at Mulder’s

face, swirled around his head. Its breath burned with a thousand

years of depravity. Its evil expanded to fill the room. Mulder

couldn’t catch his breath. A sudden buildup in air pressure

popped his ears.

The floor vibrated, creaked and then bucked. With a clapping

crack, the concrete fractured beneath Mulder’s shoulder

blades.

The entire building shuddered. A ceiling tile shook loose and

spiraled to the floor. Mulder’s heart hammered in his chest.

He jumped when the mirror above the sink suddenly exploded and

spewed a blizzard of needle-sharp fragments into the air. The

creature’s knife nicked his cheek when he flinched.

Beyond the closed bathroom door, out in the studio, an easel

toppled. A stool slid and collided into a wall. Paint jars burst,

one after the next, hurtling bits of glass across the room. A

maelstrom of brushes and oil rags and paper wheeled into the

air, spinning out of control. The building hummed with a

magnetic charge, snapping and crackling with static electricity.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

When a violent jolt shook the long hall outside Mostow’s

studio, Scully and Delgado stopped dead in their tracks. They

turned a wary eye to the shimmying catwalk overhead. The SWAT

team waited behind them, guns ready, eyes searching for the

source of the temblor. Metal squealed when a second booming

pulse reverberated through the building, bending the stair

railing and causing the catwalk to break free at one end.

“Watch out,” Scully warned and led the team forward. She

ducked when a ceiling beam groaned, cracking the sheetrock and

blasting them with plaster dust.

Was this an earthquake?

Delgado’s face paled. The derelict building didn’t look as if

it could withstand any sort of severe stress.

“Let’s hurry.” Scully staggered toward Mostow’s studio,

dodging fallen debris as she ran.

Dust and the stink of sulfur fogged the air.

“What’s causing the smell?” Delgado shouted, hand to his nose.

Scully shook her head.

She reached the door and yanked on the handle. Damn it, the

door was stuck. The warped frame pinched it solidly in place.

Another quake rattled the building. A fissure zigzagged down

the wall beside the doorframe. Above them on an upper floor, a

ceiling collapsed with a thunderous crash.

“Get that door open,” Scully yelled to the SWAT team, “before

we’re buried alive.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Mulder struggled against his ropes.

The creature straddled his hips, as heavy and cold as a

boulder, pinning him in place.

It tipped its stony head. A sneer curled its lips.

It raised the knife.

“Why…why kill me?”

The monster laughed. An explosive guffaw. Sulfur churned from

its throat. Its roar blasted through the room like a sonic

boom, rocking the walls. A storm of dust fell when the ceiling

gave way and the tiles rained down.

“Because…I…can,” it hissed. It brought the knife to

Mulder’s cheek.

He turned his head. The blade raked his skin. Blood spouted

from the wound. Pain rocketed through him and he screamed.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Scully heard Mulder’s cry.

“Open that door…now!” she ordered.

The SWAT officers increased their efforts, pummeling the door

with their battering ram. Three, four more hits and the door

popped free.

A blast of wind rushed from the room. Inside, debris spun in

frenzied cyclones.

Delgado shoved the broken door out of the way and Scully

stepped inside.

Visibility was terrible. Dust stung her eyes and skin.

Across the room, broken beams and collapsed cinderblocks

barricaded the entrance to the studio and the bathroom beyond.

Mulder must be trapped inside with the killer.

Another massive tremor shook the building. Cans and jars

plummeted from high shelves and bounced from the countertop to

the floor. The eerie wind battered a bank of overhead lights;

two fluorescent tubes shook free and somersaulted downward.

They exploded on the concrete. Scully lifted an arm to protect

her face from the spray of glass.

“Dig this out,” she ordered, pointing to the debris that

blocked the door.

The team moved in. Ignoring the choking dust, they cleared

ragged chunks of concrete, twisted metal beams, broken panels

of plasterboard.

From behind the blocked door, Mulder screamed again.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The monster gripped Mulder’s hair. It forced his head back,

exposing his throat. He cried out when the tip of the knife

slipped into his skin, just below his jawbone. The pain was

ungodly. The knife seesawed toward his chin, following the

bone. Blood wept from the lengthening wound. Mulder’s lungs

stalled. Tears flooded his eyes.

With a slap, the bathroom door flew open. Scully stood at the

threshold, her gun pointed at the creature’s back.

“Drop your weapon!” she demanded.

The monster stopped cutting and growled. It swiveled to glare

at Scully. Eyes fastened on her, it pulled its knife from

Mulder’s jaw and aimed the blade at his heart.

When its arm dropped, Scully fired. Her bullet pierced the

creature’s head, drilling a dime-sized hole between its angry

eyes. Clay exploded from the back of its skull, showering

Mulder with a spray of fine sandstone.

The monster slumped and tumbled sideways. Its knife clattered

to the floor.

Scully hurried to Mulder’s side. She squatted and applied

pressure to the wound at his jaw, staunching the flow of

blood.

The building ceased its terrible rocking. The gusting wind

died away.

Delgado stepped forward and rolled the creature off Mulder’s

legs. Clay crumbled away from the thing’s hideous face.

Beneath the monster’s mask, Roberta Dressler stared back at

them with astonished, dead eyes.

-X–X–X–X-

EPILOGUE

SCULLY’S APARTMENT

10:59 P.M.

“Hold still, Mulder.”

“Scully…” He squirmed, not wanting to be doctored.

She sat beside him on the couch, trying to inspect the

underside of his chin. He had showered and changed into a

clean t-shirt and sweats. With the blood washed away, his

black eye stood out darker than before. A new row of stitches

lined the underside of his jaw, nearly hidden in the stubble

of his beard.

“Mulder, I can’t see.”

“Scully…”

“Mulder, let me look.”

Surrendering, he rolled onto his back and placed his head in

her lap. Bare feet propped on the far arm of the couch, he

pointed his chin ceiling-ward. “Better?”

“Yes. Thank you.” She checked the sutures. “No sign of

infection. Your fever appears to be gone, too.” She laid a

palm on his forehead, one more time, just to be sure.

“I’m fine, Scully, really.”

She resisted the urge to check the abrasions on his wrists

again. He was safe; he was here. Dressler was dead. Reaching

behind her, she switched off the table lamp. Only the fire in

the fireplace lit the living room. She watched the flames and

absently combed her fingers through his hair.

“I read your report, Scully,” he said in a low voice. His

eyelids drooped as he relaxed beneath her caress. “I’m not

sure I agree with it.”

“Roberta Dressler killed four men, Mulder, and she tried to

kill you, too. What’s to argue?”

“I’m not arguing the ‘what,’ but the ‘why.'”

“She killed her colleagues because she was frustrated by what

she perceived to be an unfair professional environment.”

“Perceived?”

“Perceived. The way she saw it, her male colleagues were

granted every advantage, while she was denied equal

privilege.”

“There might be some truth to that.”

“Perhaps.” She carefully avoided the stitches at his temple as

she smoothed his hair.

“The Bureau has its share of good ol’ boys, Scully. You see

that sort of prejudice yourself all the time.”

“Not that often.”

He opened his good eye to look at her. “Fine…’Mrs. Spooky.'”

She took his point and smiled. “Dressler felt powerless. She

sought to control life to such a degree that it finally served

as a motive to murder. It’s one of VICAP’s categories for

serial killers.”

“Power Seekers.”

“Yes. You told me yourself she idolized Patterson. It must

have infuriated her when he asked for your help and not hers

on the Mostow case.”

He nodded. “She couldn’t reconcile my piss-poor attitude

toward Patterson with his apparent admiration for me.”

“That’s true. But there was more to it than that.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Did you know she slept with Patterson?”

This opened both his eyes. He stared up at her. “Where’d you

hear that?”

“Water cooler.”

Now he smiled, too. “Must be true then, huh?”

“No, but the point is, she heard the rumors. Whether she slept

with Patterson, or her partners for that matter, is

irrelevant. She was the one accused of impropriety, not them.

They were promoted. She wasn’t. That was bound to fuel her

anger at them…and at you.”

“Me?”

“If you recall, she called here in the middle of the night,

and you answered my phone.”

“She assumed I was taking advantage of you.”

“A common misconception,” she teased. She smoothed a wrinkle

from the front of his t-shirt, leaving her hand over his

heart. “You know, I wondered why she didn’t bring that up when

she launched her protest to Skinner about Wilcox’s and Perry’s

autopsies. Given the circumstances, my involvement with you

could have been construed as a conflict of interest.”

“She wanted you to find the evidence to incriminate me.”

“I think so. She projected her own circumstances onto me. It

would have been a complete victory for her if I had been the

one to put you in your place.”

“Downtrodden female agent triumphs over hound dog partner.”

“More than anything, Dressler wanted to be Patterson’s protegee,

to rise in the ranks. We may never know what methods she

undertook in hopes of climbing the corporate ladder, but it’s

obvious she was passed over, time and again. While her

partners were promoted, she grew increasingly outraged.”

“You’re saying she simply snapped one day?”

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying. What are you saying, Mulder?”

“I’m thinking it was more than professional jealousy and

office politics that turned Dressler into a murderer.”

“Meaning…?”

His gaze flicked to the stack of sketches on Scully’s coffee

table. Mostow’s drawings. “I’m still leaning toward the evil

spirit theory.”

“Mulder–”

“No, really, Scully. You were there. You saw what happened to

Mostow’s building.”

“An earthquake.”

“Nooooo,” he groaned. “Scullee! There was no report of an

earthquake.”

“The building was a derelict, Mulder. Maybe the underpinnings

finally gave way.”

“Fine. Then how did Dressler get into Lorton to kill

Patterson?”

“I don’t know, Mulder, but it’s not entirely impossible.”

“And how do you explain the creature you saw in Mostow’s

studio? The pointy ears, the fangs, the claws?”

“It was nothing more than clay.”

“No, Scully. You saw it. I saw it.” He sat up and swung his

feet to the floor.

“I don’t know what I saw, Mulder. Everything happened so fast.

And *you*,” — she gently rubbed him between his shoulders —

“were suffering from a concussion and a fever.”

He shook his head. “What about the surveillance tape from

Lorton? There was proof on that tape.”

“The tape is gone, Mulder. I checked. Dressler must have taken

it and gotten rid of it.”

He slumped forward and let his hands dangle between his knees.

His eyes scoured the gargoyle pictured in the uppermost

sketch. “It wanted revenge, Scully, for my role in Patterson’s

— in *its* — incarceration. It failed to drag me into the

abyss the last time and it returned to finish what it

started.” He stood, groaning from his bruises, and turned to

give her a hand up.

She allowed him to pull her to her feet.

“It’ll be back,” he predicted.

He looked exhausted. His eyes traveled down her hall. “Bed?”

he asked, tilting his head in the direction of her bedroom.

“You go on ahead, Mulder. I’ll just be a minute. I want to put

a few things away.”

He nodded and lightly kissed her lips. “Don’t be long,” he

murmured against her mouth. Releasing her hand, he shuffled

down her hall.

As soon as he was out of sight, she gathered Mostow’s

drawings. She took them to the fireplace and dropped the

entire stack into the flames. The edges curled and the

uppermost sheets turned black. She stood for only a moment

watching the horrible faces disappear before she turned and

followed Mulder down the hall to her bedroom.

THE END

Author’s notes: Feedback, good or bad, is welcome on this or

any of my stories. Send comments to cindyet@tdstelme.net.

Visit my other fanfic at my Web site at

http://cindyet.xfilesfanfiction.com.

=00

PARVOR NOCTURNUS

AUTHOR: Ewa

E-mail: ewa@whatewa.com

ARCHIVES: IMTP for the first two weeks, then whatewa,

Ephemeral, Gossamer, MTA, and any other site that has

received prior written permission. All others, please

contact the author

SPOILER: Avatar

RATING: PG 17

CATEGORY: X-file VS9

KEYWORDS: MSA/R, Sk, M POV,

SUMMARY: Scully stands accused of murder.

DISCLAIMER: Mulder & Scully as well as all other

recognizable character references belong to Chris

Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and Twentieth Century

Fox Television. They are used here without permission.

No copyright infringement is intended. Kenny ‘The Kid’

Andrews is the creation of Susan Proto and Vickie

Moseley and was released to consult on this case with

their permission. Other characters belong to the

author.

THANKS: To Susan Proto and Vickie Moseley for Kenny. To

Laurie and Vickie for their beta and for their helpful

suggestions. To Tabula Raza for beta reading this

concoction. With comments like ‘[oh my god! he almost

killed Kenny! that bastard! sorry. couldn’t help it.

I’ll thwap myself]’, she made correcting this a lot

more fun. Thanks also to Brandon Ray who cooperated

with the continuity and the biggest bouquet to Susan

who, with her ‘slicin’ and dicin’, made this what it

is. What a wonderful team you all are.

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Parvor Nocturnus – Night terrors.

This was written as one of the episodes of Virtual Season 9.

Feedback always welcome! It’s the only recompense I

get for the work involved producing this.

ewa@whatewa.com

02.06.01

PARVOR NOCTURNUS

Prologue

The feeling of emptiness, of abandonment, was so

intense it took her breath away, contracting her lungs

with the pain, causing her heart to shrivel within her.

It was over now. She’d been stripped of everything,

everyone she’d ever had. The pain of it all, the horror

was almost too much for her to bear. The loss of

something so precious. That, which had been taken away

from her, could never be replaced, could never be

restored. She was alone, adrift, no one left to guide

her, to help her. She’d been here before, but she

couldn’t remember when, she couldn’t remember why, only

the anguish, only the agony.

She felt moisture on her face… it was tears, she felt

them as they coursed down her face.

Reaching out her hand in the darkness, she fumbled

around, needing physical contact with something,

anything. Her hand brushed against something solid-she

recognized her nightstand. Her mind focused itself on

finding the light switch.

By the light of the lamp she saw the blood. Blood on

her hands… blood all over her, it was everywhere. So

much blood. With incredulous eyes she looked down at

herself and felt bile rising in her throat. There was a

horrible, erratic thumping in her chest, as if a large

bird was trapped inside her ribcage and was beating

itself to death. Gasping, she lay in her bed, panting

with terror. She was trembling all over, drenched with

sweat. Long shadows, nightmare light. The sounds of

screams reverberated in her ears, rebounding off her

bedroom walls, finally bringing her to full consciousness.

It was her own voice she could hear, it was she who was

screaming.

Then, Jeff was in the room with her, looking as shaken

as she felt. He was beside her using the phone, telling

her not to move, that everything would be all right.

With force of habit, Scully reached over to her

nightstand, and with trembling fingers picked up her

cell phone. She punched in a well memorized number. As

she waited for her call to be answered, she gazed

unbelievingly at the marks she’d left on the nightstand;

at the red smears that were now covering the number

pad on her cell phone. Trying to calm herself, she

remembered the words she’d said to her partner so

often. “Mulder. Mulder breathe, slowly, in… out… that’s

it. Take it easy now.”

She heard the voice on the other end of the phone

sleepily identifying himself and she began to speak.

“It’s Scully. You need to get down here now, there’s a

situation.” Her voice quavered as she continued,

“S-sir? I think I’m in need of your assistance.”

ACT I

MULDER’S APARTMENT

Saturday, very early morning

The chirping of his cell phone broke into his restless

sleep, bringing Mulder relief from that nameless thing

which wandered through his disturbed rest causing him

to wake drenched in sweat.

“Mulder.” He glanced at the alarm clock on the

nightstand, 6:02 a.m. He struggled to sit up and make

sense of where he was.

“Mulder, you’d better get over here right away.

There’s something damned weird going on.”

Mulder was surprised. He was used to his partner

calling him at this hour but his stomach cramped with

anxiety as he recognized his superior’s gravelly voice.

A feeling of dread rolled over him.

“Weird? How do you mean, weird? What’s happened? Where

are you?”

“It’s Scully…”

Mulder was speechless for a second, incapable of

anything apart from trying to get air back into his

lungs and fighting the panic that threatened to

overtake him. Taking deep breaths, he forced the

question past his lips, disregarding any attempt at

protocol in the heat of the moment. “Skinner, is…is

she all right? He couldn’t trust his voice further.

“She’s safe Mulder, but you need to get over here at

once, something strange is going on.”

The reassurance Skinner gave as to Scully’s safety did

nothing to placate Mulder. Even as he yelled through

the phone, “Where are you?”, he was pulling on his

pants and pushing his sockless feet into his shoes.

Shit! Wrong one!

“Just get over to Scully’s apartment, ASAP.”

Mulder grabbed his badge and gun off the nightstand and

headed for the door, tee shirt and jacket in hand.

“Dammit! Car keys!”

Snatching them off the table, he ran out of the

apartment and down the stairs two at a time, to where

his car was parked; dressing as he went, the early

morning chill and his mounting apprehension causing a

shiver to run down his spine.

SCULLY’S BUILDING

6:37 a.m.

The roads were all but empty of traffic as he sped to

Scully’s apartment with little regard to speed limits

or traffic cops. He couldn’t help wondering why she

hadn’t phoned him. There must be a reason and that’s

what scared him.

Why hadn’t he insisted on staying over last night?

That was their usual arrangement for the weekends of

late.

Mulder picked his way through the crowd of onlookers,

D.C. police and paramedics who were milling about the

hallway outside Scully’s apartment despite the early

hour.

“What the hell…!”

As Mulder approached the door, one of a pair of

officers standing outside the open door of Scully’s

home, stepped forward.

“Sir? Sir, I’m sorry but you can’t go in there.”

Mulder flashed his badge at him and addressed the

other.

“I’m looking for Assistant Director Walter Skinner?”

“And you are?”

“Special agent Fox Mulder, FBI.”

“So, what’s the FBI’s interest in this?” The officer

addressed his colleague.

“She’s one of their own.”

Mulder decided that the sixty seconds standing there,

waiting for some sort of an acknowledgement from the

pair of officers was about forty-five too long,

Mulder threw them an irritated glance before he took

charge of the conversation. “Exactly what’s happened

here?”

“When we’ve figured it out sir; don’t worry, you’ll be

among the first to know.”

Mulder swept past them, too apprehensive to take note

of the officer’s sarcasm.

He felt the waves of dizziness and nausea sweep over

him as he caught sight of his partner. White as milk,

she sat on her once pristine sofa.

He felt a hand kindly but firmly push him down onto a

chair and heard Skinner’s reassuring voice over the

humming and buzzing in his ears.

“She’s okay, Mulder, she’s not hurt. It’s not her

blood, she’s *all right*.” Mulder took a couple of

deep breaths in an attempt to chase the threatening

blackness away.

“I’m okay now, just need a minute.” Mulder told his

superior breathlessly. His continued heavy breathing

must have convinced Skinner that he was

hyperventilating.

“Relax.” He felt Skinner’s hand firmly on the back of

his neck. “Relax, Mulder.” His breathing started to

calm. “Easy now, that’s it,” his boss’s concerned

voice both soothed and bothered him. This was all too

surreal, Mulder couldn’t help thinking.

As the dizziness receded, Mulder looked up at Skinner.

The AD was as impassive as ever, but there was a look

of strain and exhaustion about his eyes. He was a big,

powerful man, but right now, his broad shoulders were

slumped. Skinner sank down slowly into the chair next

to him, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“She doesn’t know what happened, she woke up in this

state,” The AD’s voice was tight. “And, uh…. It was

her neighbor Jeff Jackson who called this in. He was

rather shaken by it all. The local boys are still

questioning him,” he paused, looking uncomfortable,

his eyes settling on Scully for a moment before

meeting Mulder’s eyes again. Mulder read the

uncertainty in the AD’s eyes.

Mulder’s eyes locked on to Scully’s white, blood

spattered face. He saw her bewilderment and the lack

of comprehension in her eyes. Her gray flannel pajamas

were covered in blood, it looked like there was

gallons of it.

He dropped to his knees by the sofa and went to take

her hand in his. He couldn’t bear to see her like

this.

“Stop, Mulder, don’t touch her!” Skinner’s warning

stopped him dead. Mulder’s eyes widened. For a moment

he stared at his superior uncomprehendingly. What was

going on here?

“This is all evidence. They’re saying this is a

possible homicide.” Skinner’s embarrassment as he

tried to explain was patently obvious.

Mulder just managed to restrain himself. Not believing

what he’d just heard, he turned to his superior for

enlightenment.

“Who…? Who is saying?”

“The local boys.”

Skinner was looking bad. “Sir, are you all right?”

Mulder asked, Skinner was biting his lip as he nodded.

“What in God’s name happened here?” Mulder looked at

his partner, who appeared to be in some kind of

trance.

“We don’t know that yet, but we’re working on it.”

“Scully? Scully, can you hear me? Look at me. I’m here

now. It’s all gonna be okay now, everything’s going to

be fine” his soft tone of his voice belied his panic.

His arms ached to encircle his partner, to comfort

her, to take that bewildered look from her face.

Everything’s going to be fine, everything’s going to

be fine. The phrase kept going through his head like a

prayer, a mantra to chase his fear away.

She roused herself enough to answer her partner.

“Mulder…I’m…I’m perfectly fine.” Her fragile,

anxious voice contradicted the statement. Scully

shivered, Mulder was back on his knees in front of

her.

“Yeah, I can see that.” Mulder had to ball his hands

to keep from touching her.

Then she stared directly into his eyes, her gaze

unbearably intense. “Mulder, I’m okay,” she murmured,

breaking the direct eye contact. Her voice wavered,

telling of the fear she insisted on denying. Her voice

quivered as she spoke again. “I don’t know what

happened, I woke up and I was covered in blood. I

can’t remember anything.”

“It’s gonna be okay, Scully, we’re here now.”

He saw her swallow hard before she nodded, then the

shivering started shaking her fragile-looking body.

“Sir?” Mulder turned to his superior. “Can’t we at

least cover her in a blanket? She’s in shock, just

look at her.” The look on his supervisor’s face

informed him that this couldn’t be an option.

Mulder paused and turned to address one of the

detectives on the scene. “Do you have any suspects?

Is there any sign of forced entry? There must be

evidence of an intruder of some kind.”

“No, we checked that one out. It appears that her door

was ajar when one of her neighbors heard her screams

and found her. *He* called 911. I’ve been in this

business along time now, I know the drill. We’re doing

a house-to-house on the tenants at the moment,” the

detective huffed.

“I’m sorry detective, don’t mean to step on any toes.

I didn’t mean to imply….”

The last thing Mulder wanted to do was to antagonize

the locals, and he acknowledged he had a natural gift

for doing just that. Scully was the one who normally

held him in check, smoothed things over.

“Yeah, no problem, I appreciate what it’s like when a

colleague is involved.”

Skinner moved the man to the side so Mulder and his

partner could have a little privacy.

For a moment Mulder didn’t know how to start, what to

say, she looked so frail and lost. Her eyes had a shadowed

look, they seemed haunted by the same dark fear that

was in her voice. Just as a child might reach for its

security blanket in times of stress, Scully’s hand reached

up to her neck.

“Scully, are you hurt?” He asked gently. Guilt washed

over him. “I’m sorry Scully, I should have been here….”

“I’m all right Mulder, it-it’s not your fault….”

Mulder tried again. “Talk to me, Scully. Can you do

that?” She nodded her head.

Mulder took a long breath. “What happened, Scully?”

“I don’t know. I’ve no idea, no rational explanation.

I was so alone, so empty.”

She’d told him about her planned date before they’d

finished work yesterday. He tried that avenue first.

“Did you go to your friend’s bachelorette party? What

happened to you?”

“Mulder, I don’t know, I can’t remember.”

She paused for a moment to take a deep breath trying

to control the trembling. “I keep thinking in a minute

I’m gonna wake up and this all will have been a dream,

a terrible dream. I’m gonna wake up and phone you and

have you talk to me and tell me everything’s fine.

Tell me Mulder, tell me I’m just having a nightmare….

Tell me I’m asleep and this is just a bad dream. I’ve

had dreams before. Mulder, tell me you’ll be right over

and everything will be fine.”

The pleading in her voice was almost too much for him.

Mulder felt as if he’d betrayed her when he couldn’t

offer her the words of comfort she so desperately

needed.

This *wasn’t* a dream. There was nothing he could say

or do that would change that. He needed so much to

hold her, to reassure himself as much as her. It *was*

his fault. He should have insisted on being here for

her when she got home last night.

“I’m here now Scully, I’m not going to leave you.

We’ll sort this out together, I promise you. Just hang

in there. M-maybe you drank too much last night, maybe

it’s someone’s idea of a sick joke.”

A female officer interrupted them. “We’re going to

need your pajamas, Ms. Scully.”

“Of course…yes.”

Scully was beginning to look vague again.

“Ms. Scully, just change, no shower or bathing.”

“Scully?” She didn’t appear to hear him. Moving like a

sleepwalker, she went with the officer.

Later, Scully came out of her bedroom, her ashen

complexion more made prominent by the white police

issue overalls she dressed in. The smudges of blood

still on her face stood out in sharp contrast. Out of

the corner of his eye, Mulder could see Skinner

talking into a phone in low angry tones that carried

despite the man’s best efforts.

“This is absolutely inconceivable…Don’t you think

you’re jumping to conclusions, here….I don’t

care…yes, of course I realize the implications…due

process…. Fine. Do whatever you feel you have to

do.”

He glanced away from his partner, to where their

superior had just slammed down the phone, a look of

controlled fury on his face. Their eyes met and

Skinner came over to the agents, looking very

agitated, a gray tinge to his face.

“I’m sorry. Things have just gotten a damn sight

worse. A homicide’s just been called in. The body of a

male has turned up downtown. Seems he was

bludgeoned to death as he slept…they think…

someone’s trying to score brownie points.” Mulder was

surprised at the mask of quiet defeat Skinner was

wearing.

Their superior was having great trouble coming to the

point.

“They think you could be a suspect, Scully.”

Mulder looked at his partner, his face mirroring the

disbelief in hers.

Things happened so fast then. Before they knew what

had hit them, two officers were ready to escort Scully

down to the local P. D. for questioning.

As they led her out of the room she tried to turn

toward him.

“Mulder!”

The note of panic in her voice nearly made him do

something desperate and only Skinner’s hold on his

shoulder stopped him rushing after her. “I’ll go with

her, I’ll see to it that she’s okay. Mulder? Mulder!

Damn it! Are you listening to me agent?” Skinner

commanded.

Mulder tried to focus on his superior’s voice.

“You’re no good to her like this, Agent. You’re too

close to be objective. The scene’s been secured

downtown. I need you to get your butt down there and

find out what the hell is going on. Do you hear me?”

“But….”

“But, that’s an order Agent. I’ll be in touch as soon

as I know anything.”

Mulder saw he was wasting his breath. There was a

moment of tense silence before Skinner eased his iron

grip on Mulder’s shoulder and turned to follow Scully

and the officers out.

Mulder stood in the center of the room that had become

a second home to him. For a moment, he felt too shell-

shocked to move. God! He’d nearly blown it then. Don’t

panic, he thought to himself. Don’t panic, Skinner’s

right, if you want to help Scully, you’ll have to keep

your cool.

LOCATION OF THE CRIME SCENE

Downtown Washington, D.C.

Saturday, 10:20 a.m.

Yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the breeze,

cordoning off the site. Clumps of shocked neighbors

and curious passers-by distracted from Saturday

morning shopping stood around outside the building as

he parked the car and made his way to the entrance.

The building itself, although not run down, had a

slightly shabby look about it which was shared by so

many others in this neighborhood.

One of the officers stepped forward as Mulder

approached the house. The expression on his weary,

Hispanic face told Mulder that it had been a very

long shift.

“Sorry, sir…” the cop began, but stopped when Mulder

produced his badge and identified himself. The officer

lifted the tape and Mulder ducked under. Mulder went

to introduce himself to the detective in charge,

knowing that he had to make nice with the locals.

“So, what have you got?” Mulder asked.

“Not a whole hell of a lot.”

“Any sign of a break-in?”

“The door was wide open when we got here, his

bedroom…well, look for yourself!”

In the spartan living room Mulder paused, looking

around, trying to gauge what sort of a man the victim

had been. He absorbed every detail of his

surroundings; the layout of the room, the ambiance or

in this case, the lack of it. There were half-empty

cartons from Chinese take out on the coffee table, a

couple of empty beer cans overturned on the floor

under the couch.

Mulder stepped through into Marcus Lowry’s bedroom.

The victim lay where he’d been fatally assaulted.

Mulder took in the exact placement of the body, the

carnage all around it. A few clothes and shoes were

scattered on the floor, just where they’d been

dropped.

Mulder listened to the detective’s speculation. “Looks

like he was asleep when he was attacked. The guy never

stood a chance.”

A police photographer moved in front of them, busily

clicking away. The continued flashing of his camera

reminded Mulder that he had the beginnings of a

headache.

The blood-soaked body lay on the bed. Dressed in

t-shirt and boxers, the victim lay face down on the

bed, at least Mulder assumed that was the position;

there wasn’t a great deal left of the face or head to

be positive. The attack had been ferocious, the blood

spattering the wall behind the headboard. “Any

witnesses, suspects?”

“We’re talking to the neighbors now. So far there’s

not a great deal to go on. No one saw anything, heard

anything. Oh, apart from one party animal. The guy

from down the hall was trying to make his way up the

stairs in the early hours and he swears something

brushed past him, it was too dark to see clearly in

the moonlight, but he got the impression it was a

woman. Seemed very confused when we tried to draw him

on that. Some witness huh? He was still so ‘out of it’

when we spoke to him, I doubt if he would have

recognized his own mother. Anyway there’s a security

camera down in the foyer, we’ll be checking that to see

if we can pick something up. As to suspects, I hear

they’re holding a woman in Georgetown. Lucky break or

what? It was probably a lover’s tiff or some such.”

Mulder felt nauseous. This was not the first time he’d

seen so much blood, or such horrendous injuries, it

was the fact that the police here seemed to feel that

the case was all done and dusted, and the perp already

in detention. He was glad he hadn’t let these schmucks

know his connection to Scully.

He went across to speak with the coroner. Forensics

was still working on cross-matching the blood stains;

the prints were being processed.

“This is all provisional of course. The initial exam

shows this was typical of a blunt force trauma attack.

There appears to have been eight or nine blows to the

head; cerebral contusions with bruising to the brain,

multiple skull fractures….The body had not yet

attained rigor mortis when we arrived at the scene.

I’d put the time of death between three and four this

morning,” the coroner told Mulder.

“When will you know for sure?”

“Probably later in the day, depending on how fast I

can get the autopsy done and the blood and other

samples processed. This being Saturday, things tend

to wind down a little. I’m running a toxicology screen

as well. He may well have been doped before he was

attacked.”

Mulder handed the coroner his card.

“Look, I’d appreciate if you could let me know…”

“Sure, no problem, I’ll call you as soon as I’ve got

anything, Agent Mulder.”

The detective in charge took over. Mulder recognized

several plainclothes officers from Homicide. “This is

how we’ll divide it. I want all phone messages

checked, his cell phone, the email anything that might

be of use. Interview any family, friends, work,

previous sexual partners. Watkins, you’ve started on

the neighbors?”

“Yes, sir, not much so far, other then the party-goer

who was a bit worse for drink and whatever. We’ve got

his statement already, such as it is. One of the

neighbors mentioned a club the victim hung out

at….’The Tiempo’.”

“Griffiths, you and Pariet start checking on his

social activities; get down to that club and check it

out. Right, guys, let’s get this show on the road.”

Everywhere Mulder went he found detectives, cameras, a

rush of uniformed men, and the incessant cackle of

radios. He needed to be still. Mulder cleared his

throat. “Mind if I take a look around?” He asked the

officer in charge.

“Nope, help yourself.”

He started to explore the rest of the house. There

wasn’t much to see. The victim was obviously a

bachelor, living on his own. The state of the kitchen

and fridge was only marginally better than Mulder’s

own. A half-empty box of stale looking cereal in one

cabinet, the remains of a six pack of imported beer

and some moldy cheese in the fridge.

He moved into the small unremarkable bathroom,

containing only a small selection of masculine

toiletries, a razor left in the sink, a toothbrush and

a tube of paste which had been squeezed in the middle

and lay minus its cap on the edge of the tub. A wet

towel was thrown in a heap on the floor together with

dirty socks and a pair of boxers. The guy certainly

wasn’t very house proud.

Mulder walked back into the bedroom, his footsteps

loud and echoing on the wooden floor. He stood, almost

mesmerized, gazing at the bloody spot where the victim

had lain. Just then, one of the men examining the now

empty bed called out.

“Hey sir! look at this.” Using a pencil the cop carefully

lifted something off the sheet, something covered in blood,

something that glinted in the light as it swung to and fro

from the pencil.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder saw a small black

shape scoot into the corner behind the closet.

The sound of his cell phone distracted him.

FIRST DISTRICT POLICE PRECINCT

Saturday, 2:10 p.m.

Scully wanted Mulder present during her questioning,

Skinner’s call informed him. Mulder wasted no time

getting down there.

Her relief was evident as she glanced up at him when he

walked into the interview room. In those few seconds of

eye contact they managed to communicate their feelings.

Catching his eye Scully had questioned him with the

raise of her eyebrow. A barely perceptible shake of his

head confirmed that he was none the wiser now. With a

crease of her brows, she asked if he was okay. Even

now, when she was in such a position, the woman was

worrying about him. The smile in his eyes told her that

he was okay.

Scully leaned back in her seat and let out a breath

slowly. Mulder could see she was mentally preparing

herself for the coming ordeal. Awkwardly, he went to

stand by the wall next to where Skinner sat.

The detective in charge dictated into the recorder.

“Special Agent Fox Mulder has entered the interview

room, time…2:12 p.m.”

Seeing Scully dressed in prison orange overalls shook

Mulder, but at least she’d had a chance to shower.

“You up to this?” Skinner asked her.

Scully nodded. Looking at her haggard face, Mulder felt

concerned and duly so.

Detective Foster took over.

“Right. So, Ms. Scully, let’s go back to yesterday

evening.”

Mulder was annoyed at how quickly they’d stripped her

of her title, no ‘Agent Scully’ or ‘Dr. Scully’, just

plain Ms.

“I was invited to go to Jodie’s bachelorette party last

night.” His partner started to explain.

“Who’s Jodie?” she was interrupted.

“She’s my friend from med school. We’ve kept in touch

over the years. I-I went, but I decided to leave early,

I had work to do.

“And what time would that have been?”

“About eleven, I had a report to finish. I needed to

check it over. I wanted to get it out of the way. I was

finally done about one thirty. I was going to call my

partner to tell him I’d…”

“Isn’t that a bit unusual?”

“How so?”

Mulder could hear the tension in her voice. She

wouldn’t want to make their relationship public.

“Wasn’t it a little late?”

“No, Mulder is still up at that time.”

“And *did* you call him?”

“No. I decided it could wait. I felt too tired. I made

myself a mug of hot chocolate and went to bed.”

“And this morning when you awoke?” The second officer

demanded. She didn’t appear to have heard him.

“I had this dream… and then I woke up. You know how

sometimes you’re not quite sure if you’re awake or

asleep….I had this awful feeling of emptiness, of

loss. As if something very precious had been taken away

from me…. I felt moisture on my face… tears. I

reached out my hand to put the light on and there was

blood on my hands…blood all over me, everywhere…. I

must have screamed…. Next thing, Jeff Jackson was in

the room with me.” She paused to take a shuddering

breath.

“Who is Jeff Jackson?”

“He and his wife live across the hall. He’s a shift worker.

He must have called 911….I don’t understand. I was asleep,

I was asleep the whole night. I was sound asleep….”

“Why did you call AD Skinner and not your partner?”

Mulder felt himself especially attentive at hearing

that question; he wondered about that as well.

Scully, however, seemed surprised at the question. “I

don’t know, he’s my superior… I don’t know.”

One of the officers thrust a photograph at Scully.

Mulder had a quick look at the image of a man, but he

didn’t recognize him.

“Do you know this man, Ms. Scully?”

Scully frowned as she studied the photo. “Umm, no, I

don’t know him, but I have seen him… yesterday. I saw

him last night at the club where the party was held. We

spoke briefly as I waited for the waitress to get the

drink order. I didn’t get his name. Why?”

“What did you talk about?”

“It was just small talk, I was waiting for the drinks

and he was waiting for his girlfriend, Annelise, to

finish her shift. She was one of the waitresses.”

“So you talked long enough to find *that* out. What

was the name of the club?”

“The Tiempo.”

The detective’s tone of voice hardened. “This was

Marcus Lowry, The man whose blood you were covered in.

The preliminary tests have matched the blood found at

both scenes,” he informed her.

The SOB wasn’t going to spare his partner anything,

Mulder thought as he looked into her shocked face.

“Is this your cross and chain?”

“I-I don’t….” Scully’s fingers instinctively sought

the cross she’d always wore. Her fingers blundered

around her collarbones, seeking solace. Mulder saw her

fighting the emotions as it dawned on her that she no

longer wore the tiny cross and chain that had been such

an integral part of her life for so long.

“Can you explain how it came to be found at the scene?

Mulder saw her lip tremble, saw her bite it, and a tiny

bead of scarlet appeared.

Her eyes sought him out. “Oh, God, no….” How strange

it was that both he and Scully had spoken in unison,

Mulder thought later.

“Mulder, I swear….” The look of anguish in her eyes

almost finished him. He turned away, walking toward the

wall. He felt the pain across his knuckles and realized

he had punched the wall.

He swallowed hard. God help him, he wasn’t helping

Scully behaving like this. He thrust his hands deep

into his pants pockets, breathing deeply, knowing he

had to calm down if he was to be of any use to her. ‘I

want to believe’ stated the poster in their office. Yet

he knew her well enough, trusted her enough to believe

in her innocence despite the mounting evidence to the

contrary. His vision swam. He closed his eyes.

FBI BUILDING

AD SKINNER’S OFFICE

Saturday, 6:04 p.m.

At the muffled “Come in.” Mulder turned the knob and

reluctantly pushed open the door.

“You requested to see me, Sir?”

“Yes, Mulder, I did,” he responded not unkindly.

“Thank you for coming so promptly. Please, take a

seat.”

The AD turned from where he’d been standing by the

window, looking out through the white slatted blinds at

the Old Post Office Pavilion below. He gestured to the

chairs in front of his desk.

The AD looked ill at ease. Skinner took off his glasses

and rubbed his eyes. Mulder got the impression that

what ever was coming was going to be equally difficult

for both of them.

“Listen Mulder and listen good, we’re talking about a

federal agent who has been accused of murder. This

isn’t just going to peter out. This isn’t a case for

your crop circle or spoon-bending philosophies.”

At any other time, Mulder would have probably taken

issue with the AD over these remarks, but he realized

they were not said to censure him. Mulder could almost

taste the man’s frustration. “I need empirical proof,

scientific facts. The blood on Scully’s pajamas didn’t

appear there by translocation. And then there’s the

matter of what appears to be her cross and chain.”

“What are you implying, Sir?”

Skinner walked around his desk to sit in his chair.

He looked at Mulder rather narrowly before taking a sip

of his coffee. “I’m not implying anything, Mulder.

Under normal circumstances, Agent Scully is the

strongest person I know. But the fact is, given

Scully’s highly distressed state at present, if clumsy

or inappropriate psychological pressure is applied, it

could lead to a confession and she could admit to

anything.”

Mulder tried to ignore the small, hard kernel of dread

that was forming in his gut. That’s what he was afraid

of too. He was surprised by the look of compassion on

his supervisor’s face. He’d seen the AD angry, sad,

scared, hurt, he’d seen him starved of companionship,

but never this, never as if he were physically hurting

for his agents.

And then it was gone and Skinner continued. “Mulder,

she’s vulnerable. We both know that Scully is wholly

incapable of this. But I’ve been down that road, I

remember what it’s like. I was lucky in that I had two good

agents on my side, who believed in my innocence and were

prepared to fight to prove it. Let’s see if we can do the same

for Agent Scully. All our energy must be put into proving this

to others. We need proof — cold, clinical, irrefutable proof.

We’ve got to find out what happened. This theory of amnesia,

do you believe it?”

“What’s not to believe?”

“It all seems fantastic, and yet…. Do you have any

theories, Agent?”

Mulder let out a cracked laugh as the full implication

of the situation hit him. “What? You mean an X-File

explanation? For once in my life I’ve got no theories

to offer, no unsubstantiated leaps of logic. Nothing,

other than a gut feeling that she’s being set up, that

we’re being set up. All I can consider at the moment is

the fantastic.”

“Could this have been done while she was under the

influence of anything? She said she’d had a mug of

hot chocolate before going to bed, could that have been

doctored?” Skinner pondered.

“Let’s hope that just this one time she wasn’t fastidiously

tidy.”

“I’ll get someone over there immediately. No, not you,

Mulder. As far as this case is concerned we must be

like Caesar’s wife, seen to be squeaky clean. Before

you say anything Mulder, I *know*. Your paranoia must

be catching, but at this moment in time, I’m not sure

what we’re up against either.”

Skinner was on his agents’ side, Mulder reminded

himself. He decided not to belabor the point, but it

didn’t make the situation any easier to bear.

“Forensics has confirmed that the blood on her pajamas

matches that of the victim, the splatter pattern is

consistent with the ferocity of the attack. And they

recovered a baseball bat that just outside the building

which could well be the murder implement. They’re using

the FBI’s FINDER to check out the prints.

“Her necklace was found at the scene. The only

inconsistency, the only thing in her favor so far, is

Scully’s size. It would be extremely difficult for

someone of her stature to have the strength to inflict

so much damage. The angle is all wrong, too. I can’t

understand it… On the face of it, it’s an open and

shut case….”

“Sir!”

“Mulder, go get some rest. It’s been a long, traumatic

day for us all. We need clear heads if we’re going to

help her.”

“I can’t see myself getting much rest while Scully’s

stuck in some jail cell.”

“Mulder, You’re not listening to what I’m telling you.

I’m working on that, but for tonight, things have to

stay as they are. Get your ass into gear and go home,

get some rest. If you can’t sleep, I don’t suppose

anyone would be any the wiser if you discreetly looked

over some of the computer files on this.”

Mulder couldn’t believe his ears. For a moment he

wondered if he’d strayed into one of those parallel

universes that Scully always reckoned he was in.

Skinner suddenly looked ill at ease. He blinked and

looked away. “Goodnight, Agent.”

Mulder sighed. “Goodnight, Sir.”

MULDER’S APARTMENT

Sunday 1:18 a.m.

He’d managed to access some of the files, but there was

nothing there that he didn’t already know. He sighed

and stretched, he felt as if he was stuck in one of

those Escher etchings, the ones where everything looks

normal, but when you look further, water is flowing up

hill although it appears to be cascading down. “Yeah,

one of those etchings just about summarizes things.”

Mulder let out a weary sigh.

Mulder wasn’t surprised at how tired he was. He didn’t

need a lot of sleep as a rule, but this last week, he’d

found it increasingly difficult to rest. Oh, he could

fall asleep all right, it’s just that he didn’t want to

stay asleep. Maybe it had something to do with his

recent experiences, but that was still too raw for him

to explore in any great depth. Maybe it was because he

was missing Scully’s presence in his bed during the

week; undoubtedly that had a lot to do with it.

The dreams, although always very vague, had been

increasingly disturbing, making him waken with all the

symptoms of a full-blown panic attack. He hadn’t said

anything to Scully, not wanting her to make a fuss.

She’d had her own problems to work through and deal

with.

Tonight, he lay down on his couch by the light of his

gurgling fish tank, his thoughts on his partner; how

scared she would be in that cell, how alone. He wanted

to hold her, comfort her, make her world right again.

Not being able to talk with her, hold her, comfort her

was killing him. Just leaving her there was inhuman.

Once he’d got over his initial feelings of…could it

be jealousy? He’d been glad that Scully had been with

it enough to have initially called their superior. She

*was* in deep trouble with this and him, being first on

the scene might have compromised things. Skinner was

right on that score, but it didn’t make things any

easier to accept.

He’d come to understand something over the last months,

this thing between them and Skinner… this cautious

trust. It was never spoken of but nevertheless Mulder

was sure it existed. Mulder wondered if they could ever

be friends; they were friends, the three of them, in a

strange, dysfunctional way. “Why spoil the habits of a

lifetime,” Mulder added under his breath. Though it

was a tentative sort of friendship, they owed Skinner

their gratitude.

But now Mulder felt powerless. He needed to prove her

innocence, but for once, he didn’t know how. It was as

if all his investigative powers had deserted him just

when he needed them most.

There was more to all this, much more. Everything

dovetailed too smoothly, there was too much

coincidence. If he could find that one link, he had a

gut feeling that it would all lead to an explanation.

He had faith in her; he had faith in them both. The

remarkable thing about faith was that it wasn’t a

sudden flash from the heavens or an unexpected insight.

It was something that quietly sustained. “You can do

your worst, but you’ll never destroy her, never destroy

us, ever.”

The gurgling of the pump and the flickering of the

muted TV gradually lulled him to sleep.

It was the scuffling shuffle that first alerted him,

the whispering. There was something or someone in the

room with him, he could make out a small, crouched form

near the corner of the room, he saw it approaching the

couch, black and threatening, growling and snarling

softly.

He tried to move, tried to reach for his gun, his heart

slamming against his rib cage. He was paralyzed. It was

as though he was being held down.

His heartbeat threatened to choke him. His fear was

such…he fought to move, to make a sound…. He heard

the screams reverberating in his ears, and realized

they were his. And then, he was free.

He froze, flattened against damp fabric, sweat beading

on his skin, face down, afraid to move. Afraid to even

breath, although his lungs were clamoring for oxygen.

What? Where? He rolled over and looked around in panic.

The big room with the muted TV and illuminated fish

tank was quiet, save for the gentle gurgling of the

pump.

He was on the couch and his living room was exactly as

it had been. There was nothing. No one but him in the

room.

His attempt to sit up made the room shimmer and shake

around him, he sank back down sweat pouring from him.

Nauseous with the panic, he tried to catch his breath

and still his pounding heart.

He raked a hand through his hair, trying to gain

control. The dream again, over the last few nights it

had changed, mutated. It had become more explicit, more

terrifying.

It was no good, he wouldn’t sleep, didn’t want to sleep

again. He was an expert when it came to nightmares.

Hadn’t he had more than his fair share of them over the

years? The incidents with Modell, Pfaster, Schauz had

all caused him to wake up bathed in sweat. But this

one, this was turning out to be the granddaddy of them

all.

It had just turned four in the morning and though still

trembling, he got up to shower and dress.

HOOVER BUILDING

Basement Office

Sunday, 7:34 a.m.

Mulder had been seated in front of the computer screen

for several hours now and his spine was beginning to

protest. He’d read up on the case of a Toronto man who

had killed his mother-in-law while he was allegedly asleep. He

had pulled this, and many similar cases, off the net.

This sort of phenomenon seemed to be universal; there

were reported cases in the UK and in Australia.

Mulder swung idly on the back legs of his chair. It was

a habit that drove Scully to distraction. He felt a

smile pull across his face as momentarily he visualized

Scully’s face whenever he did this.

He was trying to rationalize the facts. In most of the

cases, the victim was in close proximity to the

perpetrator, room next door, down the hall. In one case

the victim lived in the adjoining house, but had left a

window open. In all the cases the victim had been well

known to the perp, as had been the location. There was

one a lot closer to home. Hadn’t Skinner been accused

of strangling Carina Sayles in similar circumstances a

few years back?

He swung back further, holding on to the desk with one

hand, he aimed and threw another sharpened, yellow

government issue pencil up at the acoustic tile ceiling

overhead. It neatly joined the other dozen or so

already up there. Strange how doing this helped him

focus.

In Scully’s case there were plenty of dissimilarities.

Scully had only met the victim for a very short time

and she’d met him at the club, not where he’d met his

end. How was she supposed to know where he lived? She

couldn’t even have easily looked the address up unless

she’d asked someone else his name. The most important

factor was that the distance between the apartments

involved a twenty-minute drive each way…over an

unfamiliar route. Interesting, but how to prove it? The

other factor that had him scared shitless was the

cross. Was it Scully’s? How did it get there?

He was going to have to see things from the point of

view of someone trying to prove her guilt; that was the

way to prove her innocence.

“How are you doing, Agent? I thought I’d find you down

here, even on a Sunday. Haven’t you got a home to go

to, Mulder?”

Skinner’s voice startled him. Mulder jumped, the chair

wobbled backwards alarmingly, before crashing forwards

onto all its four legs, almost depositing Mulder in a

heap on the floor in the process. He’d been too

engrossed in his thoughts to hear the hum of the

elevator or the AD’s footsteps as he approached the

basement office of the X-Files division.

“H-how can I help you, Sir?”

Skinner had a smile on his face. “I thought I’d come

down to tell you the news, personally. I’ve managed to

persuade them to set bail for Scully.”

Mulder was out of his seat. His eyes widened. “When?”

“Now, the authorities recognize the evidence is still

circumstantial this point, so that’s why they’re

allowing Scully out on bail.”

“Sir, this great news, but…she’s in no state to be

left on her own,” Mulder hesitated.

“I agree with that assessment, Agent. That’s the

reason…”

“The reason, Sir?”

“That’s the reason I offered her residence in my guest

room until this mess is sorted.” Mulder’s face

registered the surprise that Skinner expected.

“Mulder, I need you to investigate this case. If she

stayed with you, she’d be left alone most of the time

while you were off chasing any number of possible

leads, now wouldn’t she?”

Skinner paused for a moment to allow his reasoning to

sink in. Then, softly and with understanding, the AD

added, “I’ll keep her safe for you. I promise.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment. Mulder

glanced up, he didn’t know what to say. He trusted

Skinner to keep his word, to do his best…but it

rankled nevertheless. This should be his job, to take

care of his partner, but he also saw the truth in the A.D.’s

reasoning.

Scully needed someone to find the truth and he was heir

best bet at that point. Skinner would have to be the

one to stand guard, while he sought out the real

killer. The fact that Skinner recognized that before

he did was mildly surprising.

“Thank you, Sir,” he said after a moment. “I want you

to know I appreciate it.”

Skinner appeared to understand Mulder’s reticence in

agreeing to these arrangements without belaboring the

reasons.

“It’s no trouble. I’m glad I could help out. I’ll see

what I can arrange Mulder, I understand that you feel

you’re in an untenable position. Our biggest problem is

going to get Scully to go along with this.”

Skinner paused for a moment, “Oh, umm, one other thing

Agent, go easy on the pencils, eh.”

FIRST DISTRICT POLICE STATION

Sunday, 3:12 p.m.

Both men went to ‘spring’ Scully later that day.

Mulder had persuaded Skinner to go to Scully’s

apartment with him, so that he could pack a bag for

her. He was worried about the effect coming back to her

home in the state it was still in, might have on his

partner.

Skinner was right in his prediction that Scully would be

furious over the arrangements, but the two men were

finally able to persuade her, albeit over many protests,

it was for the best.

It had taken an inordinate length of time to get

through the paperwork to release Scully. To Mulder, it

felt as though Skinner had to sign every damned form in

the place in triplicate. This was bureaucracy at its

best. He took this opportunity to lay all the facts on

the line for his partner.

“You all done being mad, Scully?” Mulder asked her

quietly, as they waited in a deserted corner for

Skinner to fetch them.

Smiling gratefully, if a little embarrassed, Scully

nodded “Yes.” The frown evaporated from Scully’s face

like mist before the sun. “I’m all done.”

Mulder breathed out a sigh of relief. “If you behave, I’ll

bring some bagel’s from Katz’s over tomorrow.” She

smiled at that. He knew in her opinion, the best bagels

on the planet came from the little hole in the wall shop

down the street from his apartment.

“Yeah, you’re on, Mulder.”

He massaged the bridge of his nose between his

thumb and forefinger. He was wiped out. The strain and

lack of sleep were beginning to get to him. He was

grateful that his partner could never stay mad at him

for long.

Finally Skinner reappeared. “We’re finished here, so we

can leave now,” Skinner said. “I think it’s probably

best if I help Scully get settled in her temporary

quarters while you get back to work, Agent.”

Giving Mulder a look of encouragement, Scully squeezed

his hand. “Just so you know…” she said just loud enough

for him to hear. After a few seconds staring at her, he

swallowed and nodded. Their hands trailed apart as he left

her side to get back to work.

It was time for some ferreting around at that club

Scully had been to.

THE TIEMPO CLUB

Sunday, 7:29 p.m.

It was still very early, relatively speaking, when he

got to the club. He ordered a drink and struck up a

conversation with one of the waitresses. News of Marcus

Lowry’s death had reached here, and Fleur, the waitress

who served him, although distressed, had quite a lot to

say on the matter.

Marcus was a popular regular there. Recently he’d been

seeing Annelise, one of the other girls who worked

here. In the course of the conversation, Fleur

confirmed that Annelise had been on the early shift

last Friday but that she wouldn’t be on duty until

later on tonight.

Since the club was almost empty, he offered to buy

Fleur a drink. He didn’t have to ask any questions, she

was very forthcoming. Mulder let her ramble on. He

learned a lot, but nothing that bore any obvious

connection to this whole mess.

A greater problem faced Mulder on his returned back to

the basement office the following day.

HOOVER BUILDING

Basement Office

Monday, 7:40 a.m.

In the early morning mist the J. Edgar Hoover Building

looked like a great concrete cage as he drove in. The

area may well be the hub of tourist attractions, but at

this hour of the day it was still quiet. Making his way

down in the elevator to their basement office, Mulder’s

mind was going over yesterday’s events, and trying to

sort out how best he could serve Scully’s cause. He’d

left the promised bagels in the car, planning only to

check on his emails before going over to Skinner’s

apartment.

He was surprised to see the door unlocked and ajar so

early in the morning. It couldn’t be Scully. Skinner?

No, he wouldn’t have let himself in like that. Mulder

was even more astounded to see a short, balding man

sitting at his desk rummaging through the papers and

files, which have been left on the desk in their usual

haphazard state.

“What’s going on here?”

“Agent Mulder?”

“Yes, and you are?”

“Special Agent Davis. I’ve been called up to coordinate

this inquiry.”

“What inquiry is that? I don’t know what it’s like

where you’re from, but last time I checked, breaking

into someone’s office was deemed to be invasion of

privacy.”

“Agent Mulder, we’re operating under guidelines laid

down by the Office of Professional Conduct.”

“And what has that to do with me?”

“I want you to make yourself available this afternoon.”

“Available for what?”

“A formal hearing regarding Agent Scully’s case to

assess and determine Agent Scully’s ability to continue

as a Special Agent in the FBI. We will be appointing

our own team of investigators to pursue any criminal

case, so there will be no further need for you to

investigate this case.”

“Why? In case I can prove her innocence?”

“We expect to see you at the hearing at five p.m.

sharp, Agent Mulder.”

Mulder was seething, he still could not believe what

he’d just heard. He stared at Davis’s back as he left the

office. The morning light was sober and pale as it

filtered through the tiny window close to he ceiling.

It made the room seem horribly quiet. He heard

the agent’s footsteps dying in the hallway.

For a moment everything felt faded, silent, and

dangerously calm. Mulder turned back to see what Agent

Davis had been examining on his desk. The sight that

met his eyes made him shake uncontrollably. There was a

black figure crouched in the corner of the room.

He shivered as he recognized the feeling of pure evil,

the thing from his dreams. He blinked, and all there

was on the chair was his black trench coat, just where

he’d carelessly thrown it yesterday, forgetting to take

it with him when he went home.

Was he losing it? He felt sure whatever ‘it’ was *had* been

there. He still felt the waves of evil. Their malevolence

gradually receded, but the stench of it left him

nauseous and trembling and feeling suddenly very cold.

And yet… how could that be? That was it! With one weird

thing after another, his nerves were shot to pieces. He’d

started imagining things. Impossible things.

With trembling hands he reached for the back of his

chair. He sank down onto its comfort, his head on his

icy hands, his irregular breathing rasped loud in the

stillness. He though of the dreams, his dreams…all

those layers of silence on silence. In his nightmares

he saw a presence. Were all the broken nights and the

strain of all this getting to him?

Shit! He needed help with this, someone to bounce ideas

off, someone with objectivity, someone with an open

mind, who thought like him, but his partner was in no

position to help, and Skinner…. Well even with the best

of intent, Skinner wasn’t a lateral thinker.

Then he remembered ‘the Kid’. He’d worked with Kenny

Andrews last fall on a case involving the systematic

murder of members of the clergy. Mulder had met up with

Kenny in Biloxi Mississippi, when he’d been seconded to

VCS to help the young profiler. The kid had his

intuitiveness, could see and feel things where other’s

couldn’t.

Kenny was an up and coming profiler extraordinaire.

Mulder’s position in that case had been mainly to stop

Kenny from going in too deeply, and to show him the way

out once he’d crossed that line. ‘To be spooky, but not

lose his marbles’. It was a pity that in the course of

that case Mulder was the one who ‘lost it’ and had shot

the younger man at La Guardia airport. Knowing the

circumstances, Kenny had easily forgiven him, but would

he be willing to work with Mulder again?

Mulder considered various methods as to how to present

the issues to Agent Kenneth Andrews, and in the end he

decided that the straightforward approach was probably

the best. As he searched through to find Andrews’

number, he speculated that it wasn’t really surprising

that Kenny was so intuitive, so in tune with things.

The boy had inherited his spirituality both from his

Native American mother and his Irish father, and with a

combination like that….

When he put the call through asking if Andrews would

consider consulting on the case, he expected to have to

eat a lot of crow. He was amazed when Kenny, having

heard the problem, had simply said, yes. His only

proviso was that Mulder lay in a large supply of Coke,

but that had been a given anyway.

OFFICE OF PROFESSIONAL CONDUCT

Monday, 5 p.m.

The hearing was every bit of the complete farce that

Mulder had expected it to be. They were ushered in

through a set of large double doors, where they found

an oval table around which several high-ranking members

of the FBI sat.

The men at the table leafed through thick folders. God

alone knew what they had in front of them. To Mulder it

seemed they had both of their histories dating back to

their very first day with the FBI. For long moments,

the only sound was rustling paper. It was unnerving in

the extreme.

Finally, one of the men spoke. “You are familiar with

the reason that this inquiry was called?” From that

point on, Scully hadn’t stood a snowball’s chance in hell.

She stood before three other agents apart from Davis. The

whole process lasted ten minutes from start to finish.

The final report had been written long before any of

them had stepped into the room. Do the math, Mulder.

Did you seriously expect anything else, he silently

chided himself.

They suspended her without pay pending investigation.

He felt for her as she handed over her badge and her

gun. Skinner tried to protect her as best he could. He

was all business, the efficient AD in charge. But in

this case his stance had gotten him nowhere, the whole

thing had been a forgone conclusion. As for himself,

Mulder hadn’t been allowed to get a word in edgewise.

He saw the gratitude in Scully’s eyes that they had

been there for her, and he felt her embarrassment at

them witnessing her humiliation at being censured in

this way.

Looking at Skinner, Mulder saw that the man felt for

her pain as much as he did.

Outside he wanted to either put his arms around her or

hit someone. In the end he did neither. Skinner pinned

him with his gaze, a silent warning not to compromise

his partner any further. It was like having a bucket of

iced water thrown over him. He had to learn to be

patient, to bide his time.

He shared with Skinner the news that Kenny Andrews had

agreed to help clear Scully. The A.D. appeared pleased

with this bit of news. He remembered the last time those

two had worked together.

“So, he’s back to active duty then. He must be either

very trusting or very foolish,” Skinner said with a dry

laugh, shaking his head.

“Neither — for a greenhorn he’s good. More than that, he’s

extraordinary. I explained the situation and he found it very

intriguing. Apart from that, he said he owes me a consult.

Though why he thinks *he* owes *me* is hard to understand.”

ACT II

MULDER’S APARTMENT

Monday, 11:29 p.m.

It wasn’t strictly ethical, but hell, they’d only suggested that

it wasn’t necessary for him to investigate the case. No one

ordered him to stop the investigation and certainly no one

ordered him to have no contact with his partner. There

certainly wasn’t anything wrong with him calling her. Mulder

needed to hear her voice.

She picked her cell phone up on the fourth ring.

“Yes, Scully,” she panted, her voice cracking.

“You’re slipping, Scully….Scully? You okay?”

There was a brief silence and then a unsettled sigh.

“Scully, are you still there?”

“Mulder…. I needed to hear you. I miss you.” He could

hear her labored breathing.

“What’s wrong? Scully? Have you been crying?” He could

still hear the hitch in her breathing. Wrong question,

she’d never admit to that. “For God’s sake, Scully, talk

to me. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Mulder. I was asleep, I was dreaming…”

“Asleep? It’s just barely eleven. Since when have you

gone to bed before the late news is off?” he asked, trying

to make a joke of it, but failing to hide his concern. “You sure

you’re okay?” He didn’t want to ask about her dream, but it

was obviously not a happy one. With all she’d been through

these last few days, it was hardly surprising.

“It’s been a long day, Mulder. One I don’t really care

to remember.” She trailed off.

As if that was an explanation, Mulder thought. He tried

to change the subject, lighten the atmosphere.

“How’s Skinner treating you?”

“It was good of him to offer, he’s laying a lot on the line

here, and I appreciate it…. It’s so good just to hear your

voice.” She paused for a moment. “Mulder, exactly why am

I here?”

“Are we talking metaphysics here, Scully?” That was

always his line. It was an old answer to an old question, but

he knew it never failed to make her smile, and it did this time

too, he could hear it. It was the least he could do for her tonight.

“Skinner thought by your staying with him, it would ease my mind

so I could put all of my energy into investigating this case. And

I am, Scully. I’m going to find the killer, I promise.” He could hear

her relaxing as he talked to her.

“Hey Scully, you remember Kenny Andrews? I asked him to

come over so I could bounce ideas off him.”

“Who? Oh, you mean ‘the Kid’?” she responded with a smile in

her voice.

“Yeah, him, we’ve done a deal. He should be arriving some time

tomorrow. It’s not a bad deal, a few six-packs of Coke in exchange

for support. Say, Scully, could this go down as bribery and

corruption?” He could really hear the smile in her voice now.

“You mean he’s forgiven you for taking pot shots at him?” There

was soft laugh.

“What’s to forgive? He, better than most, understood what happened

there. He’s a good guy. He wants to help and I can’t be seen to have

anything to do with any of the evidence. I need him to keep an eye on

things, to keep me in the loop.”

“Mm-hmm” Scully sounded more relaxed now, almost drowsy.

“Hey. G-woman, go to sleep now. I’m only on the other end of

the phone.”

“G’night, Mulder. And thanks.”

He smiled as he heard her yawn. “Catch you later.”

“Yeah, later,” Scully said.

Sleep was a long time coming to him that night. He

never doubted for a moment that Scully had been set up,

but why? And by whom? He worried about the way the

evidence was pointing; he’d have to see if the security

camera showed anything.

He missed her. Missed just being able to talk with her.

Missed her questioning him, “Do you have a theory?”

Missed being able to answer her with, “Me? I have

plenty of theories.” He missed having her refute them

in the dance that was solely their own. More than

anything, he missed the luxury of having her sleep in

his arms.

He wasn’t conscious of having fallen asleep. All he

knew was that he was completely paralyzed. No, not

entirely, since he could breathe, he could see. He felt

the vibrations through his body, the pain in his spine.

He could hear the scrabbling getting louder, coming

nearer, neared to the bed. It was pulling on the bedclothes,

crawling up the bed. The sound was getting louder, more

terrifying.

He could make out the black shape in the moonlight that

broke through the gap in the blinds. It moved stealthily towards him,

panting. His heart pounded in his chest, threatening to suffocate

him. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t throw the weight off his

chest. He looked up and saw the creature looming over

him. As darkness overpowered him, he screamed and

screamed and screamed. And suddenly he was free.

Gradually the ringing in his ears stopped and the

vibrating pain eased. He tried to sit up, heart pounding,

slapping a blank wall for the light switch as he

shook from the horror. Strange shapes, unfamiliar

shadows, crowded horribly around him; nothing offered

any clue to his whereabouts, and for a few delirious

moments he wondered if he was dead.

Then he saw the flashing, demonic red of a digital

clock face. Absolute panic subsided as he saw the time,

two-thirty. In the streetlight that filtered through

the blind, he looked around the room, his room. The

bedroom was the same as ever, nothing out of place.

Yet he could still smell the rank scent of it. This was

more than a dream. The knowledge scared the shit out of

him. This wasn’t to do with the case.

These occurrences had started before…. Skinner!

Skinner had dreamt things once, and look where that had

ended. What was it he’d said? “There was a presence,

something or someone was in the room with me….”

Skinner had dreamt of an old crone, had thought he’d

seen her during the day.

Mulder shook his head, rejecting his own rationale.

Imagination was a creative tool. He employed it to

enhance his work, but never for total fabrication. “At

least not before now,” he muttered to himself. Was this

all more the effects of stress and sleeplessness than

he knew? Were his mind and perception so steeped in the

conspiracies and lies, that he could no longer distinguish

reality?

Did he want to consider the fantastic? He had once told

Scully to consider the fantastic when science failed;

but had he considered science at all? It worried him

that he turned to this so readily in an effort to make

sense of what was senseless. He got up and found his

clothes. He dressed as best he could while his hands

still shook then went out into the kitchen to get himself

some coffee. Another night’s sleep curtailed.

MULDER’S OFFICE

Tuesday, 6:45 a.m.

He was going through his old notes and files, pulling

up all he could on that incident five years ago, when

Skinner was going through the divorce with Sharon.

Then, his supervisor had been accused of murdering

Carina Sayles.

He pulled up the name of the sleep clinic that had

treated Skinner. In the cold light of day, it seemed

very sensible to Mulder to not only check the place

out, but maybe check himself in. Maybe someone there

could explain his recurring dream to him, and

hopefully, rid him of it. “Do the science *first*

Mulder, then consider the fantastic. Scully would be

proud of you.”

The chirping of his cell phone interrupted his

thoughts.

“Mulder.” Out of sheer habit, he was expecting to hear

his partner’s voice. He leaned back in his chair, the

bones in his back crackling.

“Hey, Mulder. Kenny Andrews, here. How you doing, Man?

Did I wake you?”

“Oh, hi, Andrews. No, I’m working.” Mulder massaged

the back of his neck as he spoke to Kenny.

“You sound disappointed Mulder. Look, could you do me

a favor? My flight should be into National at 2:50 this

afternoon. Can you pick me up?”

“Yeah, no problem, I’ll wait for you at the gate.”

“That’ll be great. See you later.”

“Yeah, later. Oh, and thanks, Kid.”

Mulder wondered how he was going to explain all this to

the young profiler, especially as he himself couldn’t

get a handle on it.

BETHESDA NAVAL HOSPITAL

SLEEP DISORDER CLINIC

Tuesday 10:30 a.m.

“Hi, Dr. Cardoso. We spoke on the phone. I’m Special

Agent Fox Mulder. Thank you for making time to see me

at such short notice.”

“It’s no problem, Mr. Mulder, this is a sort of slack

time for us here. Business doesn’t pick up till late

in this department,” he said with a wry grin. How may I

help you Mr. Mulder? What is it exactly that you’re

after?”

“It’s just Mulder. Um, I need to find out more about

sleep disorders, recurring dreams, especially nightmares,

that sort of thing.”

“Anything specific?”

“Well, er…”

“Tell you what Mulder, I’ll give you a general rundown,

and you just tell me what else you need. Feel free to

ask about anything you don’t understand.”

She led Mulder over to a bank of monitor screens,

explaining as she went. She threw out terms like

‘parasomnia’ and the various types of sleep, such as

non-REM sleep and REM sleep. The doctor went into

detail about their differences. Finally, Dr. Cardosa

began to speak of an aspect of sleep that really caught

Mulder’s attention.

“There is a rare type of frightening phenomenon during

sleep which is not quite like a nightmare. It’s called

‘night terrors’ or ‘parvor nocturnus’. This is a severe sleep

disturbance, consisting of attacks of acute terror arising in

deep sleep without lucid dreaming. It’s accompanied by

violent body movements, extreme agitation, gasping, moaning,

screaming, sweating, confusion and in some cases, flight from

the bed or the room, destructive behaviour and aggression

directed towards objects or against themselves or other

persons. Wounds, fractures and lesions may occur in

consequence. Total or partial amnesia is symptomatic of

this condition.”

“Are there exceptions to this rule? Could the dreamer

have total recall of such dreams?

“Humm, I suppose there could be a possibility, but

I’ve never heard of a case to be honest.”

She moved over to a shelf and selected another video.

“Look, you can see with this young man. Here, the

dreamer wakes up screaming and still frightened; he is

covered with perspiration and is breathing rapidly. He

is terrified, but has no recollection of what has just

happened. Nightmares can be defined as long frightening

dreams that often awake the sleeper, which tend to be

more frequent during times of stress and change. In

contrast, night terrors are episodes of panic that may

cause the sleeper to suddenly sit up and shriek with

fear. Mostly they are instigated by over-tiredness or

stress.”

“So I lose every which way,” Mulder muttered to

himself.

“Did you say something?”

“Em… sorry, no, just thinking aloud. I understand

about the two different scenarios, but is it possible

to experience a mixture of the two?”

“Yes there have been rare cases recorded. There have

been instances where the paralyzing effect has not

kicked in, and people have acted on their dreams,

sometimes with tragic consequences, but as I’ve said,

it’s most unusual.”

“And these nightmares, terrors, whatever, is it

possible to see them in your waking hours?”

“Mmm, it’s hard to say. I suppose given a high enough

level of stress. The mind is a strange thing.”

“How about shared dreams? Is that a possibility?”

“Ah, now, that’s a different matter. It’s a bit like

God really, whether you believe or not, each person has

a different picture in their heads. Shared idea,

different perception.”

It was almost 2 p.m. before he was finished at

Bethesda. He had just enough time to get over to

National Airport before Kenny’s plane landed. Driving

along the George Washington Memorial Parkway, Mulder

considered how much things had changed since he last

worked with Andrews. He was looking forward to seeing

him again, and having someone ground some of his ideas.

Without Scully’s calming influence, he was afraid that

some of his ideas were getting too ‘out there’ for his

own good.

MURDER SCENE

Tuesday, 4:15 p.m.

Mulder hadn’t had any difficulty spotting Kenny in the

Arrivals area of the airport. With his mixed heritage,

his looks were both unusual and striking. His ink-

black, curly hair was longer now than when they had

first worked as a team. This, together with his light

copper skin, high cheekbones and angular nose,

contrasted sharply with his soft, sky-blue eyes.

Mulder explained the difficulties and constraints of

the case to Kenny as they drove from the airport. There

was a great deal to go on. Kenny wanted to see Marcus

Lowry’s apartment and Mulder decided to swing by there

on the way through. Seemed like Skinner must have done

some ground work, as no one questioned their right to

be there.

“Thanks for coming down, Andrews. You didn’t have to,

and I want you to know that I appreciate it. We both

do,” Mulder told Kenny as they moved through the

apartment.

“It’s no trouble, Mulder, I’m only glad you think I can

be of help.”

In the now bare bedroom they paused. The body had of

course been removed, but the feel of death, the

coppery smell of blood was still very apparent in the

apartment. Even as they were looking at the crime

scene, Mulder looked out of a window and spotted a

pretty girl delivering flowers. She stopped to talk to

the officer stationed at the entrance to the building.

When later, they stopped to talk to the officer on duty

outside, they found out it was Annelise the waitress,

Lowry’s girlfriend. This was getting to be intriguing.

TIEMPO CLUB

Tuesday, 7:20 p.m.

Mulder and Kenny caught up with Annelise at the Tiempo

Club later that evening. She was prepared and willing

to talk to them about Marcus. She didn’t seem as upset

as Mulder supposed she might be. The reason for this

became clearer as she spoke.

“He was a friend. This bunch here liked to tease me

that he was my boyfriend, but he was a friend, that’s

all. We did have a ‘thing’ going but that was for a

very short time and some time ago. He’d broken off with

his regular girlfriend and he’d been drinking. Well,

one thing led to another, but it was one time, fun

while it lasted. He came in here mostly for company I

suppose. And we used to sit and talk if it wasn’t busy.

He’d wait for me and take me home on the nights he was

in. I suppose that’s why most people assumed we were an

item.”

“So, why did you bring flowers to the apartment today?”

Kenny asked her.

“It just seemed the fitting thing to do. He was a

friend, and he didn’t have anyone else.”

“He had no family?”

“They were non-existent for all intents and purposes.”

“Last Friday, can you remember if Marcus spoke to

anyone else?” Mulder asked.

“Things were a bit hectic. Apart from the regular

Friday-nighters, there was a bachelorette party here.

It was all hands on deck here that night I can tell you. I did

see him talking briefly to a petite, redheaded woman.

Actually, she was really good looking. They chatted as

she waited for an order of drinks but that was it as

far as I know. I can’t say I remember seeing her again

that night.”

“So what happened when you went off-duty?” Mulder

asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t Marcus see you home?” Kenny inquired.

“No, he got fed up waiting. The noise was getting to

him, he just said goodnight and split; said he’d call

me, but he never had a chance to….”

After they’d finished in the club, Mulder called

Skinner’s apartment. “Sir? Just finished talking to

Annelise. She’s corroborated what Scully told us, and

I’ve got Kenny Andrews here.”

Skinner interrupted. “The pair of you come over. I’d

appreciate a heads up before we go any further. We need

to trade notes and I’d like the chance to talk with

Kenny. Besides which, Scully needs cheering up.”

Skinner sounded almost grateful.

“Give us half an hour. We’ll bring some Chinese in with

us.”

“Yeah, do that. Scully will appreciate the visit.”

VIVA TOWER, CRYSTAL CITY, VIRGINIA

Skinner’s Apartment

Tuesday, 8:30 p.m.

“Mulder, Andrews, come on in.” Mulder was surprised at

how pleased his boss seemed to see them.

“Did you have a good flight, Agent Andrews?” the AD

continued.

“Yes, Sir, it was fine, thank-you.”

“Good, good.” Skinner said, nodding. “Have you had time to

familiarize yourself with the case?”

Mulder was amazed. Making small talk was so unlike the

Skinner he knew so well, he almost sounded nervous.

Mulder immediately banished the idea. Skinner all but

grabbed the take out bags from them as they came in

through his door.

“Would you like a beer, Kenny? Come through to the

kitchen and give me a hand serving this up.”

Kenny started up the hallway. Mulder stood in the

hallway needing to see his partner, and wondering how

to go about it. “I need to….” He bit his lip, not

knowing how to go on.

Skinner hooked a thumb towards the other door. “Go

ahead, she’s in there,” he said, gently. Skinner was

cutting the pair of them some slack.

“Yeah, thanks.” Smiling gratefully, if a little embarrassed,

Mulder opened the door and stepped into the living room.

Skinner’s furniture was dark wood – a desk, bookcases.

All very pristine. Mulder remembered the curved balcony

that this room led out on to. The white railings were just

visible in the dark night outside, as was the panorama of

the lights of Crystal City and its surroundings.

He turned his head to the center of the room. Scully

was on the sofa, her face ran a gamut of expressions as

she looked up and saw who it was that had come in.

“C’mere, Scully.”

He opened his arms to her and she was in them, clinging

to him as if her very life depended on it.

“Oh, Scully. I’ve missed you.”

Normally she’d never allow this anywhere outside their

homes. He wasn’t sure if she would now, but he needed

to hold her. Though she was not one for public

demonstrations of affection, now was different. For a

moment, she was silent and burrowed against him. He

held her close, savoring the feel of her in his arms,

while inhaling her fragrance.

“Just hold me, Mulder, that’s all I need.”

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Always,

Scully, always. It’ll be okay. We’ll sort this thing

out.”

“I wish I could believe that. I’m really trying, Mulder.”

“You *do* trust me on this?”

“Only you.”

“The Kid’s here to give us a hand. Another few days….

I promise.”

She lifted her fingers to his mouth. “Shh, Mulder,

don’t say anything. This is enough for now.” Her

fingers stroked his face. “You’re a good man Mulder.”

There was a discreet coughing outside the door, and

they sprang apart as Skinner and Kenny walked in

bearing filled plates.

“Look Scully, matching crockery.” Mulder said in mock

amazement, trying to ease her embarrassment and his

own. Scully couldn’t help the smile.

“Agents? The joke?”

“‘Fraid you’ll have to excuse my partner, Sir, he’s got

no finesse. Or matching plates,” she added, grinning.

“Scully?” Mulder whined, managing a theatrical puzzled

look. “Have I got *any* plates?”

The ice was broken. They spent the next few hours

eating, talking, making plans and going over what

they’d come up with so far. Mulder didn’t say anything

at all to anyone about his nightmares. No point

worrying Scully, she had problems enough of her own.

That Scully got on well with Kenny made Mulder glad.

Some of Kenny’s tales brought a smile to her lips.

Mulder looked at the twenty-five year old agent, and

wondered if he’d really ever looked as young and

guileless as Kenny looked now. He must be getting old,

someone had once said that was how you knew — when

policemen started looking as if they were still in high

school. He couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his

lips.

Mulder and Skinner, and Scully to a lesser extent,

filled Kenny in on all their non-findings. Mulder

noticed how their boss’s eyes kept roaming over to

where he and Scully sat next to each other on the sofa.

Being in each other’s presence was an unexpected bonus,

they shouldn’t have touched each other but

nevertheless, every now and then their hands would meet

on the no-man’s-land between them, and their fingers

would twine. Mulder was surprised to see an indulgent

smile on the older man’s face.

Skinner surprised them with the information that the

video tapes from Lowry’s building showed nothing at

all, literally. At the time they assumed the attack was

taking place there must have been some sort of an

electrical disturbance. The video film merely displayed

a ‘snow’ effect.

Later, Mulder went out to the kitchen with Skinner to

help bring in the coffee.

“By the way, Sir, thanks for easing Kenny in. I thought

we’d have grief at the crime scene, but the local PD

was expecting him.”

“It’s the least I could do in the circumstances,

Mulder.”

“Truthfully, Sir, how’s she doing? I, umm….”

“I understand. She’s restless. She didn’t sleep very well

last night either. I suspect Scully’s never been one to enjoy

being cooped up with nothing to do. Hopefully this won’t be

for much longer. She’s even started cleaning the place.”

Mulder felt his eyes rolling upwards and a grin

threatened to split his face. “Yes, *that* can be quite

trying,” he said nodding in sympathy.

They all knew this time out of time was over. They had

to get back to dealing with the realities.

When it was time for them to leave, Skinner took Kenny

out with him, giving Mulder and Scully a few moments on

their own to say goodbye.

“Skinner’s getting very thoughtful in his old age,

don’t you agree?” Scully asked softly.

“Mmm. Yes, he’s definitely mellowing.” Mulder hugged

her fiercely to him. Her arms wound around his waist as

he gently tilted her face up to his and kissed her

softly on the mouth. He traced a path over her cheeks

with his fingers and, while still cupping her face in

his hands. Finally, he closed her eyes with his

thumbs.

“Hold that thought, Scully,” he whispered and then

dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose as an

afterthought. Breathing unsteadily, he eased back from

her.

Scully stood in the center of the room, her arms

wrapped around herself, her eyes tightly shut as he

left her.

MULDER’S APARTMENT

Wednesday, 12:15 a.m.

No matter how hard he tried, the thoughts of Scully

couldn’t hold his demons at bay. Her words kept running

through his head over and over like stuck record.

“I had this dream… awake or asleep…. I had this

awful feeling of emptiness, of loss as if something

very precious had been taken away from me….”

In deference to Kenny, who was now softly snoring in

the bedroom, Mulder didn’t switch his TV on. It had

been a very long day for the fledging profiler, and he

didn’t have Mulder’s odd inner body clock.

Mulder squirmed around on the couch, trying to make

himself comfortable. He was physically and mentally

exhausted. He’d kept a front up during the evening for

Scully’s sake. Now alone, in the semidarkness, he

wished more than anything, for a restful few hours;

that and her in his arms. But then, the two things were

synonymous.

A soft swishing sound in the corner of the room caught

his attention, like cloth dragged along the floor. A

patter, as if there was a mouse or a rat in the corner.

The scrabbling got louder, coming nearer, a small dark

shape, or was it a shadow, flitted around the room,

first here, then over there. It seemed to grow in

intensity, in darkness. He couldn’t judge now if it

were just a shadow, or a growing shape with illogically

no shadow at all. Could it be an animal. Part of his

brain was questioning this statement. What would an

animal be doing in his apartment? How can a black

object increase in darkness? He could make out the

black shape.

He started to get up to investigate, but his legs felt

leaden. He couldn’t stir. He was unable to move at all,

not even his head. He could see the shape only when it

flitted across his field of vision, getting nearer and

neared to the couch. Fear spiraled, clutching at his

throat, his ragged breath felt icy against his lips.

Something was pulling on the blanket, the shifting

weight moved up the cushions, crawling up toward him.

The sound was getting louder, more intense, more

menacing.

His heart pounded in his chest, threatening to

suffocate him. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t throw the

weight off his chest. Its fists against his shoulders,

it held him down. He saw the misshapen face looming

over him, its breath rancid, coming in gasps that

scorched his cheek, made his stomach turn. The pressure

around his neck, squeezing, throttling, the misshapen

fingers, clawing at his throat. His eyes threatened to

pop from their sockets.

Darkness overpowered him, the breath sucked out of him.

Scully! Oblivion threatened to crush him and he fought

the malevolence with all the strength he had left in

him. He felt his fist connecting with something, then

he heard the grunt of pain in the darkness, followed by

gasp.

In the semidarkness he saw the shape again, scuttling

with a crab-like gait. Mulder twisted around on the

couch to try to reach his gun. It was all around him,

he could sense it, smell it, taste it. This presence

was evil personified. It made his gut heave.

An arm closed around his wrist like a vise, dragging

him back. The body that held him down was solid,

heavier than before. Suddenly it rolled and a light

snapped on.

“Dammit, Mulder! Wake up! Ya gotta wake up!” Kenny

pleaded.

Kenny’s frustration evaporated as he saw Mulder’s

helpless panic. Seeing Kenny standing to the side of

him, nursing a bloody nose brought Mulder back to the

present.

“Kenny? Shit, I’m sorry.”

“I heard you screaming and came in to see what the

matter was. So, it seems all I ever do is get

assaulted for my troubles. Jeez, Mulder,” he said, with

a rueful smile, “I’d hate to be your enemy, if this is how

you treat your friends.”

Kenny looked at his former mentor. Mulder felt the

terror receding, gradually ebbing away but apprehension

still lingered, even now with the light on.

Kenny instinctively seemed to know. “Wanna talk about

it?”

“Nah…yes…I don’t know. It’s only some damn fool

nightmare. Been overdoing it, that’s all.”

“Yeah, like I believe you. Look, Mulder, it’s ‘Spooky,

Junior’ you’re talking to here, so cut the crap and

talk. What did you dream? Something was here. I thought

it was you when I first came in…but there was

something else in here, I swear….I felt it, it gave

me the creeps. It’s cold in here!” Kenny shivered.

“Leave it, Kenny, we’re both overreacting. I’ve been

under a lot of strain recently, and you’re ready to

drop with fatigue. Not very good witness material,

either of us.”

But Mulder knew better than to try to BS his friend, so

he explained what he’d been experiencing over the past

week.

“So you mean that this started *before* your partner’s

arrest?”

“Yeah, a couple of days before, but it was never as bad

as this. It’s escalating. It seems so real… It scares

the living daylights out of me.” Mulder couldn’t help

the shudder that shook him.

Kenny took a long look at the older man. “Hey, Mulder,

What have you done to your neck? You’ve got scratches

all around your throat.”

Mulder’s fingers went up to touch the sore area. They

came away spotted with blood.

It took a while for them to clean themselves up and try

to fix the damage Mulder had done to Kenny’s nose. It

was sometime later before they managed to settle back

into their respective sleeping quarters.

ACT III

WEDNESDAY, 3:46 a.m.

In the hours before dawn Mulder woke from a deep sleep.

He saw the room was still dark, and shuffled back until

he felt the back of the couch comfortably press against

the small of his back. He did not know why he had

awakened until the phone rang a second time, startling

him back into consciousness. He fumbled in the semi-

dark to find the instrument.

“This had better be important,” he snarled into the

receiver.

“It is. I’m sorry to wake you.” Mulder recognized

Walter Skinner’s voice. He also recognized the deadly

urgency in his tone. He sat on the edge of the couch

and rubbed a hand over his rough chin.

“What’s wrong? His tone became concerned. Silence

hummed over the line, broken by intermittent static.

“There’s a problem,” Skinner said, breaking the

silence.

“What problem? Scully?” Mulder’s hand gripped the

receiver so tightly the plastic nearly cracked.

“Scully’s fine, she’s asleep.”

“So what’s happened? What do you want me to do?”

“I need for you and Agent Andrews to get over here,

now. There’s been a development.”

“Sir?”

“Just get over here, I can’t discuss this over the

phone.”

“We’re on our way,” he told his superior.

VIVA TOWER, CRYSTAL CITY, VIRGINIA

Skinner’s Apartment

Wednesday, 4:30 a.m.

The AD was waiting for them at the door when they

arrived. Skinner looked hard at the agents as they

entered. Almost imperceptibly his piecing gaze shifted

from Mulder to Kenny and back to Mulder. Skinner let

out a sigh, a questioning look on his face. He eyes

never left Mulder.

“You look like hell, Mulder,” Skinner said as he led

them into his living room.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Having trouble sleeping?”

“Try not sleeping at all.”

“Hmm. You and Andrews had a disagreement?”

“Sir?”

Skinner looked pointedly at Kenny’s swollen face and

then at Mulder’s neck.

“You know the Bureau’s policy on agents brawling?”

“It’s not what you think, Sir.”

“I sincerely hope not, Agent.”

“I was dreaming, Kenny came in to see what the noise

was about, and I’m afraid I overreacted.”

Skinner appeared to have lost interest in that

conversation. They entered the room.

“Please, take a seat. Would you like coffee? I’ve just

made some.”

Mulder took a sip of his coffee as he sat on the couch.

He used the movement to surreptitiously glance at his

companions who sat on dark wood chairs at the side of

him. Skinner looked as though he’d got dressed in a

hurry and Kenny… well, the Kid just looked tired, bruised,

and battered.

“So, Sir, what’s come up? You said when you called,

there’d been a development. Is Scully finally off the

hook?”

“No, I’m afraid things look as if they’re escalating.”

Skinner unhooked his eye glasses and polished them

vigorously on the edge of his white t-shirt. For some

reason, this action always made Mulder anxious. He’d

learned that the man only ever did this when he felt

stressed. It was almost as if his superior was buying

time, trying to find the right words. Skinner’s eyes

without the glasses were blind, unwavering and

surprisingly compassionate.

“Escalating? How so?” Mulder asked.

“Annelise Gates, the girl you interviewed yesterday.”

“Yes?”

“She’s dead.”

“Dead? How…? Why…?”

“She died under the wheels of the 11:50 Metro train on

her way home at the end of her shift tonight. Thank

your lucky stars that you had Kenny with you when you

interviewed her. It could have looked bad as the prime

suspect’s partner being the last to see her alive.

“The local police force is covering the station,

interviewing the witnesses. The platform was crowded.

That was the last train out; a lot of people were

trying to get home. At the moment the opinion seems

evenly split between her jumping and being pushed. Get

yourselves down there and see what else you can pick

up.”

The telephone at Skinner’s elbow rang. As he listened,

his face was grave, his comments terse. When the

receiver clattered back into position, he addressed the

men who waited.

“We might have a break. They’re looking to see if the

security cameras picked anything up.”

Kenny and Mulder turned to leave.

“You’re a good agent, Mulder- trust your instincts. But

Mulder, for the sake of us all, especially your

partner, keep a low profile. We don’t need any more

attention focused on us. Am I making myself clear?”

“Crystal.” Mulder paused for moment. “Umm, I was

thinking about what you said earlier. Would you do

something for me?” Mulder ground to a halt, unsure how

to phrase his request.

“You need me to do something,” Skinner prompted with

surprising patience given the circumstances.

“Uhm…yeah…er…would you to give this to Scully

when she wakes up…it may cheer her up.”

Mulder took out a small rectangular package, wrapped in

a green plastic sack out of his coat pocket and held it

out to Skinner.

Skinner’s face softened as much as it could as he

nodded.

“I’ll see to it that she gets it, Mulder.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure thing.”

J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING

VIDEO PROCESSING DEPT.

Wednesday, 8:45 a.m.

They’d returned from the train station with little more

information than they’d arrived with. But it seemed

they’d finally caught a break. The incident was

recorded on camera, but the images were not as clear as

they would have liked. The two agents were on their way

to see Mulder’s technician friend to see if he could

improve on the imaging.

“Hey, Danny, long time no see. We really need the

favor. Wonder if you could help us out on this.”

Mulder handed over the video cassette. Danny had

managed to create miracles on previous occasions,

especially that time Scully had been abducted. He was a

whiz with computers, digital enhancement, the works. If

anyone could pull clear pictures off this, Danny would

be the guy to do it.

“Look, guys, this may take an hour or two, I’ll need

to get this freeze-framed, enlarged, whatever. The pair

of you look bushed, why don’t you go get yourselves

cleaned up, grab something to eat. I’ll call your cell

phone just as soon as I’ve got anything.”

“Yeah, right. What’s it gonna cost us this time?”

“The Redskins are playing at the Jack Kent Cook

Stadium in two weeks time, I could sure use a couple of

prime tickets for that.”

“Okay Danny, you’re on, but for that, this had better

be good.”

MULDER’S APARTMENT

Wednesday, 9:15 a.m.

His phone rang in the living room just as Mulder and

Kenny stepped through the door. Mulder moved swiftly

across the room to get to the phone before the machine

picked up.

“Mulder?”

“Right here, Scully.”

“I just wanted to say thanks. I appreciated the loan.”

“You’re welcome, Scully.” It always amazed Mulder how

even just the sound of his partner’s voice could lighten his

spirit.

“You shouldn’t have done it, Mulder, but thank you. I

know how much that video means to you. I mean,

Caddyshack *is* your favorite, along with some of those

videos that aren’t yours.”

He grinned before answering her. “I didn’t think you’d

appreciate *those* ones. I just thought…. Thinking about it,

I’m too tired to remember what I thought, other than it seemed

like a good idea at the time.” All of a sudden he felt a little shy.

He changed the subject. “How you doing, Scully?”

“Other than being bored and going stir crazy? I think

I’m doing just fine. How much daytime TV can a person

watch before finally flipping out? You know, I’d even be

happy to do some expense reports right now.”

“Mmm. Things are *that* bad, are they?”

“Yeah, even flukemen are beginning to be appealing.

Mulder? Skinner told me about Annelise. I’m getting

a bad feeling about this. And yes, I know that’s usually

your department, but just be careful, ‘kay? I can’t be there

to cover your back. I-I wish there was something I could

do. Being confined is doing my head in and Skinner is so

organized that there isn’t anything for me to do. I even

thought I’d help out a little by cleaning up a bit, but I get the

impression I’m beginning to drive the guy nuts.”

“I’ll be careful, I promise. I’m even gonna have breakfast and

a rest before I get back to the grindstone, how about that,

hmm? As to flukemen, I’ll see what I can find for you.” He heard

her laugh. “Gotta go, Scully. Talk to you later.”

After he and Kenny had eaten, Mulder showered. He was

dragging a razor around his face when the call came

through on his cell.

“Danny here, I’ve got it looking as good as it gets. Come over

and take a look.”

FBI BUILDING.

VIDEO PROCESSING DEPT.

Wednesday, 1:10 p.m.

“I have to admit, usually at this point in the investigation,

I’m a little more secure in what it is that we’re supposed to

be investigating. I’m hoping you’ll be able to throw some

light on all of this, Danny.”

“I’ve done the best I can with this, boss. It’s freeze-

framed, digitally enhanced, blown up, slowed down. You

name it, I’ve done it. Here, let me show you.”

Danny ran the video via the computer onto a large

overhead screen.

“Look, there she is, the train comes in, she lunges

forward; she’s down.”

“Let’s see that again. Look, look just there. That shadow.

See? It seems to move towards Annelise. Just before she

goes into the lunge, it recedes. Just there! Do you see what

I mean?”

Danny ran the clip over a few times. Kenny shivered.

“Hey, Kid? You cold?”

“No, just felt like someone walked over my grave. Guess it’s

the lack of sleep getting to me that’s making me jumpy. It’s no

big deal.”

“Danny, can you blow this up further, slow it down some

more?”

“Comin’ right up, Mulder.”

He fiddled with the settings, muttering to himself.

“What do *you* think happened, Mulder? Did she jump,

or was she pushed?” Kenny inquired.

Danny was finally finished with the adjustments.

“Jeez!” Mulder couldn’t believe what he was seeing

here.

“Run that again!” He all but shouted at the technician.

“Look, Kenny, are my eyes deceiving me? Do I think I

see what I think I see?

At this magnification and speed, the shadow had

materialized into a shape, a familiar shape, a shape

that haunted him in his nightmares night after night.

They could clearly see it approaching Annelise, just as

the train was drawing level with her, they could see

her propelled forward by the black draped form, before

it turned and retreated.

“Christ!” gasped Kenny. “I don’t believe this! What the

hell is that?”

“She was pushed! It pushed Annelise under the goddamned

train! It’s out and out murder! Kenny that’s what I keep seeing,

at night. That’s the thing, the crone. Shit! Kenny I can’t get my

head around this.”

“Mulder? Hey, are you okay, you’re as white as a sheet.”

Mulder ignored him.

“Danny, can you print off a hard copy of that image for me?”

“Sure thing, Mulder. Do you want me to record the clip at this

speed and magnification?”

“Is that possible?”

“For you, Mulder, anything.”

Mulder managed to get the AD on his private line and

explained to Skinner what Danny had found.

“Sir? Listen, you’ve just got to get down here and see

this. You’re not gonna believe it. I barely can. I think this

case has just graduated from plain homicide to an X-File.

Please get over here and take a look for yourself.”

As they waited for Skinner to come down, Kenny asked

Mulder quietly, “Have you told anyone about your dreams?”

“Nah. It’s not like anyone else would believe me.”

MULDER’S APARTMENT

Wednesday, 10:15 p.m.

Mulder lay on his couch. Kenny had already hit the sack. Ahh,

these youngsters, they just haven’t got the stamina, he thought,

grinning.

It had been an extremely busy afternoon and evening. In the

light of the new evidence, strange as it was, a lot of things

had been re-examined. Suddenly Mulder wasn’t quite the persona

non grata he’d been before. It’s nice to know I’m so highly regarded,

he thought to himself. He had no illusions as to the reason for his

suddenly elevated status. All this had deepened the mystery further,

but at least they couldn’t try to lay the blame for Annelise’s death on

Scully. This in turn put a different slant on the original killing.

He and Kenny had done a lot of legwork during the

afternoon, revisiting the various locations. Signing

and resigning for various bits of evidence. There was

one surprise for them when they went back to Lowry’s

apartment. Mulder had overlooked it before as it didn’t

seem to have any bearing on the case at the time. In he

living room there was a framed etching on the wall. The

print, when it caught his eye, stopped Mulder dead in

his tracks.

Kenny looked up at the print. “Henry Fusili, 18th

Century Italian painter. One of my professors of

psychology was very heavily into art. I remember having

to listen to his lectures. He’d illustrate much of his

lessons with various paintings. This was one of his

favorites. He had this theory that this showed our

subconscious fears. The demon, crone, whatever that is

sitting on the young woman’s chest is a presentiment of

death. See how the girl appears either unconscious or

dead? He said it was fear that caused such dreams.”

He looked over at Mulder who was feeling physically

sick. It must have showed.

“Mulder? Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure I’m awake.”

“You think this is a dream?”

“That’s it, Kenny. This is what I see in my dreams, it’s what I

*feel*. But it’s evil, Kenny, pure evil. Why do I keep seeing it?

Why me? There are too many coincidences, but I can’t see

what my connection to all this is. I feel that somehow it knows

me. I feel as though it’s stalking me.”

Kenny hadn’t known what to say to that, but his face

had told Mulder all he needed to know — he was finally

losing it.

Now, as he lay on his couch trying to rest, Mulder

thought back to the incident with Skinner years back.

There was a woman in his dreams too, an ancient elder,

a crone; but strangely enough that one had seemed oddly

protective of the man. Maybe he should talk to Skinner

about this, but he couldn’t see his boss opening up

enough to discuss this with him.

There was nothing protective about the images that

haunted Mulder’s nights and intruded into his days.

This was pure malevolence, something he was sure would

enjoy taking his life if he let his guard slip.

He left the desk light on. It softly illuminated his

living room, chasing his fears away. Maybe tonight he

would be able to rest.

Mulder shot up on the couch, the air was filled with

Scully’s cries, cries of pure terror. His heart raced,

and it took him a moment to grasp where he was. He was

in his living room, lying on his couch in an uncomfortable

position. Scully wasn’t here, Scully was safe in Skinner’s

apartment.

The darkness hovering over Scully was just a dream, a

figment of his imagination. The light was still on, and for a few

seconds he lay motionless, trying to recapture the moments

just before he’d woken up. He rubbed the waffle pattern the

cushion had left on his cheek.

As he remembered, his breathing accelerated. Scully was

in danger. He could feel her panic, so close, so close.

Mulder wasn’t sure what had happened. The sense of

dread that had come over him steadily grew. Something

was desperately wrong. He *had* to get to her. He got

up and quietly started to pull his clothes on.

His cell phone sounded. He picked it up after the first

ring.

“Mulder.”

“Sorry to wake you.”

“Scully? Is she all right? I dreamed….”

“My God,” breathed the A.D. “That’s impossible!” For a

moment Skinner seemed to stunned to continue, then he

appeared to think better of it. “How…? Y-you’d better

get over here Mulder. She needs you, and you’re the

only one she’s likely to listen to.”

“What?”

“I’ll explain when you get here, she’s safe, but she’s

very upset.” Skinner sounded distressed too. This more

than anything else troubled Mulder.

“I’m on my way.”

He stopped for only long enough to leave a note for

Kenny.

ACT IV

CRYSTAL CITY

Skinner’s Apartment

Thursday, 2:10 a.m.

As Mulder squinted against the glare of the headlights

as he drove along the Jefferson Davis Memorial Highway

toward Skinner’s apartment, he couldn’t help worrying.

Worrying? Shit, he was frantic. He looked down and saw

his hands, white knuckled on the steering wheel. He

hadn’t even noticed the speed he was doing until he

looked at the gauges to see the speedometer wavered

between 85 and 90. What was he doing, he chided

himself. He eased his foot off the gas a little and

slowed down. All he needed now was a run in with the

police.

For once his good fortune held. Luckily, at this time

of night there was not much traffic. He pulled off the

JD Highway in front of Skinner’s glassy tower building.

It took him minutes to park the car and like forever to

get up to the AD’s front door. An uncharacteristically

flustered Skinner opened the door to him, dressed in

pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. Mulder could see

something was seriously wrong. Skinner’s jaw was so

tight, Mulder could almost see him grinding his teeth.

There was a scratch mark on his cheek; the one on his

arm was oozing slightly.

“Mulder, she’s through there.” Relief was evident on

Skinner’s face.

“Sir, what the hell happened here?” Mulder saw Skinner’s

Sig Sauer lying on the small table in the hallway. “Are you

okay, Sir? You don’t look too well.”

“I just can’t stop shaking. I must have been in a deep

sleep, when I heard her screaming. My first thought

was that there was an intruder, I drew my weapon

automatically. She was standing outside my bedroom, it

was dark and she just screamed, and then something

brushed past me, black, soft. I felt…I-I can’t

describe *what* I felt. Danger, revulsion?” Skinner

paused to catch his breath.

“Scully was totally out of it. She didn’t seem to

recognize me or know where she was. That’s when I

called you, Mulder. She’s calmer now. At first, when I

tried to lead her back to her room, she just went for

me. She fought me, she was afraid of me. Then she sort

of sagged and crumpled. I had to carry her back to her

bed. She’s been whimpering in the corner ever since. I

don’t understand what happened here…. I don’t know

what to do. She doesn’t seem to know me.”

Mulder was shocked to see the fatigue and anxiety

evident in his boss’s body posture, and for once he

didn’t try to mask it by assuming the A.D. mantle.

Mulder could see how very uncomfortable Skinner was

with the situation. Was there something he wasn’t

telling Mulder? He kept fiddling with his eyeglasses,

taking them off to polish on his t-shirt, before

replacing them again only to remove them to rub his

eyes.

“Uh, I need to see her, I need to talk to her…”

“It’s okay, Mulder, do what you need to do. I’ll leave

the two of you alone. She’ll be better with you. To be

honest she scared the shit out of me.” This admission

in itself was enough to push Mulder’s anxiety a few

notched higher.

“Look, if you need anything, you know where the kitchen

is, just make yourself at home. I’ll make myself scarce.

I’ll most likely only upset her again if she sees me again

tonight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Mulder could have sworn his boss added “Good luck.”

Outside her room, Mulder ran a hand through his hair

And tried to work out what had happened here. Scully

was rarely out of control, practically unflappable, as

was their boss. Whatever had taken place here tonight

had really shaken them both up.

Softly he tapped on the door. Not waiting for an

answer, he went in. He was stunned by the state of his

partner. She was huddled up, cringing in the corner of

the bed but at least the whimpering had stopped.

“Hey, Scully. I’m here now. It’s going to be all

right.” He tried to keep his voice quiet and

reassuring.

She nodded as she recognized him, but her quivering

lower lip and tear-filled eyes told him that she didn’t

yet share his believe that every thing would be okay.

He knelt beside her, by the side of the bed and tucked

an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

“Feel like talking, Scully?”

She didn’t answer him at first. He saw the lone tear

break free and trail down her cheek. She shook her

head.

There would be plenty of time later for talk,

explanations. At this moment, all Scully really needed

was to be held. He couldn’t deny her that. He moved

over onto the bed and gathered her trembling form into

his arms. At first she resisted his touch, almost as if

she were afraid of him, then slowly, slowly the tension

in her eased.

He sat down, pulling her gently towards him and rocked

her. He wasn’t sure which of them needed this contact

more. He could feel all tension leaving him as he

buried his nose in her hair and inhaled. He didn’t know

how long they sat like that. Finally she moved in his

arms, pulling away.

“You’re going to be okay,” he assured. He was loath to

let her go, but she needed her space, needed to put the

veneer of composure around herself. It was just the way

she was.

“Yeah, I’m just…I’m just going to take a shower and

then, well, try to sleep.”

He looked down at her upset face, but wasn’t surprised

at her denial of the situation, they were masters of it

after all.. “Scully, let me in, let me help you.”

But it was as if she hadn’t heard nor wanted to hear.

He decided not to pursue this tonight.

“You want something hot to drink, Scully?”

She nodded. “Thanks, Mulder.”

“Always… you know that.” He smiled at her as he headed toward

the kitchen.

ACT V

“Easy, Scully. Relax. It was just a dream.” His fingers

gently stroked her cheek, bringing warming blood back

to the icy flesh. Still swimming towards consciousness,

she turned towards his comforting touch. After an age

she opened her eyes.

Mulder sat on her bed wearing only his jeans, his eyes

red from lack of sleep. He pulled her into in his arms.

It had just turned four when the sound of her voice

roused him out of the heavy dreamless sleep he’d been

in. He’d rushed in from the couch in the living room,

glad she hadn’t woken Skinner up. She continued to

whimper, trapped in her dreams. “C’mon, Scully, it’s

okay, I have you now.”

She pulled him tighter to herself. She began to shake,

her teeth chattering.

“Can you tell me, Scully? Tell me what’s upsetting

you.”

Slowly she shook her head against his chest. She was

well and truly spooked, but she wasn’t ready to share

with him, and he couldn’t, wouldn’t push her.

“I’m not u-usually like this,” she murmured. “I’m always so g-good

at …at coping, but this…” She broke off, her gaze clinging to his.

“S-sorry. This isn’t your problem.”

“You’re okay. It’s okay,” Mulder repeated over and over as he rocked

her slowly in his arms. “You’re safe, now, I’m here, and it *is* my

problem. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

“Don’t go,” she pleaded.

“I won’t leave you, ever,” Mulder answered. He

hesitated, then loosened his hold slightly so he could

scoot underneath the blankets next to her. She clung on

to him.

“Shh, It’s okay, it’s okay. Come on, put your head

down, you need to sleep.”

“I saw it Mulder,” she whispered. “I saw the blood, it

was everywhere. I-I think I was g-gonna hurt S-

Skinner.” This disclosure sent an involuntary shiver

through him, compounding the chaos that reigned in his

head.

“Shh, Scully it was a dream, it was only a bad dream,

that’s all.”

He gathered her close to him, the soft cotton of her

pajamas brushed against his skin. Right, this felt so

right, the feel of her against his body. He lowered his

mouth to her and felt her hands move into his hair,

pressing him closer to herself. “I need to hold you,

Scully, to touch you.”

“I need you too Mulder, but Skinner… we can’t… not

here…” she began to edge away from him.

Mulder shifted, then lifted her, leaning her back

against his chest, trapping her between his spread

legs.

“But I….”

“Shh, ” he said nuzzling her neck. “Let me touch you

Scully, let me hold you, please. Let me make you feel

better.” His hand trailed down to the waistband of her

green plaid pajamas and she made a soft mewing sound.

He let his fingers roam over her, caressing, reassuring.

She jerked as if startled. It was so good touching her.

For now this was enough for him. His mouth on hers

absorbed the little sounds she was making. And still he

held her, enjoying the weight of her as she covered him

like a blanket.

Finally she craned her head so she could see his face.

He smiled up at her.

“Go to sleep, Scully,” he ordered in a gruff voice.

“I’ll keep the nightmares away.”

She smiled. “Mmm.”

She slept.

Mulder lay on his back, one arm flung across his face,

grateful for the darkness. Scully’s cheek was a gentle

weight on his shoulder, as she lay against him. He

breathed in, filling his lungs, aware of the faint

musky rose scent of her body, that delicious womanly

scent that was intrinsically Scully. Strangely, he felt

it shroud him, protect him. Maybe she could keep him

safe too, keep *his* nightmares at bay.

He started worrying about what had happened before he

got there, what she’d seen. There was no way she could

have killed Lowry. And what had spooked Skinner? Did he

believe himself in danger from Scully? How did it all

fit together? That was the mystery.

He wasn’t leaving her alone tonight. To hell with

precedence and protocol, and if it came to that, to

hell with Skinner. Let the Bureau do its worst. His

last coherent thought was, together they would be safe.

THURSDAY, 7:15 a.m.

It was the smell of fresh coffee and toasted cinnamon

and raisin bagels that woke him up. He looked down at

Scully, still peacefully asleep in his arms. Had last

night really happened, or was it just a dream?

He moved to slide out of the bed. He’d compromised his

partner enough as it was. What they did in their own

time was their own business and he wasn’t ashamed of

it, but this was Skinner’s home. He might be their

friend, but Mulder didn’t want to put their superior in

an untenable position.

As he got up, Scully opened her eyes. Although she

still looked a little dazed, the look of fear had gone

from her face. He grazed his knuckles gently across her

cheek.

“It’s all right, Scully, I’m just going to the kitchen,

Skinner seems to be in breakfast mode.”

Stepping into the kitchen, he knew that there was no

way that Skinner couldn’t know where Mulder had spent

the night.

“It’s okay, Mulder, this is all strictly off the record.” The older

man tried to put him at ease, and Mulder couldn’t quite contain

the sigh of relief. He could have sworn he heard his superior say,

“Last night never happened, Agent Mulder.”

Skinner’s remark surprised him. There was something

different about their boss this morning. Although he

seemed very understanding, he also seemed ill at ease,

nervous somehow. “Sir, about last night, before I got

here, exactly what happened?”

Mulder was taken aback at Walter Skinner’s reaction.

The man turned pale.

“If you don’t mind, Mulder, I’d rather not discuss the

matter at this time. I need to get it straight in my

head first.” Walter Skinner hesitated. “I think the

pair of you need to talk, Mulder. Scully will find it a

lot easier if I’m not here. I’m going into the office

to catch up on the paperwork and there are a number of

reports I need to review. I should be done by late

afternoon.”

“Thank you, Sir. I appreciate everything you’re doing

for Scully, for us.”

“It’s the least I can do for friends, Mulder.”

Mulder felt strangely touched by that remark. For just a

moment there, Skinner had seemed both very alone and

envious at the same time. This lack of sleep was definitely

getting to Mulder’s thinking patterns.

Skinner had already left the apartment by the time Scully came

into the kitchen.

“Come and eat, Scully, and then we need to talk.”

Scully drank her coffee but only toyed with the bagels. Mulder

understood how difficult this was going to be for them both.

“Come on, Scully, you trust me don’t you? Tell me about

the dream last night. What did you see? What happened

that frightened Skinner?”

“How do you know that, Mulder?”

“It was something you said last night, that and

Skinner’s reaction to all this. I’ve…umm, I’ve looked

into it recently. I’ve been in contact with Dr. Cardoso

at the Bethesda Sleep Clinic. Do you remember? They

helped us when Skinner was having sleep problems.”

“You think that’s what my problem is? That I’m likely

to…. That I…. Is that why Skinner isn’t here this

morning? God, the one thing I *do* remember from last

night was the look of fear on his face. Jesus…”

“Scully, it’s not….”

“Last night Mulder, last night I woke up outside Skinner’s

room. It’s been playing through my head, over and over….

Was I going to do to him what I must have done to Marcus

Lowry? Or was I going to take his life some other way?

Was that why he was so scared, Mulder? Was it all a bad

dream, or did I really do that to Marcus? I can’t remember… but

I saw the photos. Am I capable of doing something like that to a

total stranger? Mulder, my necklace was found in his bed.”

Mulder heard the rising panic in her voice. “I didn’t

know him, Mulder, I don’t know where he lived. How

could I…?”

He came around the table and took hold of her. She was

trembling.

“Scully? Calm down. I can’t believe you’re saying this;

that you’re even considering going down that path.

Skinner doesn’t believe you’re capable of anything like

that. I certainly don’t.”

“That’s just the point. I feel I’m on borrowed time,

waiting for something dreadful to happen.”

“I’d have said the worst has already happened.”

“Am I crazy, Mulder? Are you afraid of me?”

“I’m afraid of where you’re going with this, but no, I

could never fear you. I trust you with my life.”

“Even after you saw Marcus, even after what might have

happened last night?”

“I trust you with my life. I always have, and I always

will, no matter what.”

She pulled away from him.

“I need to try to make some sense of all this, Mulder.

I think I want to check myself into that sleep clinic.

Would you take me over there, will you do that for me?”

“Scully, you didn’t do it; you couldn’t do it. It’s not

in your nature.”

“Please Mulder, I need to do this. I need to know.”

He couldn’t deny her this. He could never deny her

anything.

BETHESDA SLEEP DISORDER CLINIC

Dr. Cardoso’s office

Thursday, 11:28 a.m.

Skinner had been all for the idea and it had taken

surprisingly little time to get Scully an appointment.

Mulder couldn’t help wondering what strings had been

pulled.

She asked Mulder to come in with her to see the

doctor. He moved to sit next to her as the procedure was

explained to them.

“After consultation with, and comprehensive evaluation

by a sleep specialist, each patient is diagnosed and he

appropriate therapy is determined. As part of the

consultation and evaluation, a sleep study may be

performed during a period of one or two nights. You

understand, Dr. Scully, that hospitalization is not

necessarily required?”

“I think I’d rather the tests be done here.” Mulder

surreptitiously took Scully’s hand and gave it an

encouraging squeeze. She did not pull away.

“That’s not a problem, Dr. Scully, we can accommodate

you on that. Overnight tests are completed by 7 am.

During a sleep study, you will be monitored by

painless, non-invasive technology.”

Dr. Cardoso took them both to see one of the suites

where the testing would take place.

“Apart from the recordings of all the monitors that the

patient is attached to during the test, we also keep a

video record of the patient. The actual observation

booth is situated a little up the hall, away from the

suites where the patients stay. It lessens the chance

of patients being disturbed by the comings and goings

of the technicians. There is continuous monitoring of

course, but most patients prefer this setup. It’s not

quite as if we were in the room with them.” She smiled.

“A sleep test, the polysomnogram, simultaneously

records heart rate, brain waves, breathing, oxygenation

and eye and leg movements. As you can see, this suite is

state-of-the-art. Treatment for sleep disorders may

include a prescription for a device to aid the

patient’s breathing while sleeping, medication or light

therapy as well as neuropsychiatric interventions,

including biofeedback. Don’t worry, none of that is as

daunting as it sounds. If indicated, referral to, or

consultations with other specialists might be

recommended to aid in diagnosis and treatment.”

The doctor smiled at them, “Is there a problem with any

of that?”

Scully even managed a weak smile as she shook her head.

Scully was to report back by half past eight that

evening. It would give the doctor and the technician a

chance to run preliminary tests and get her ‘wired up’.

Now that it was all set up, she relaxed a little.

“Do you mind if I come with you, Scully? I can sit with

the technician in the observation booth. It won’t be

the first time I’ve watched you sleep, and at least

this time you won’t be drooling all over my shoulder,”

he quipped, and was glad to see a corresponding smile

on her lips.

“Never let it be said that I’d deprive you of scintillating

entertainment, Mulder.”

“Well,” he tried giving her his best leer. “There’s only reruns on

TV for the next few nights. There isn’t even a decent game

anywhere.”

“Oh, well Mulder, that *definitely* settles it then, doesn’t it.”

“Well, if watching you sleep becomes too tedious, I could

always catch up on writing some of those reports.”

“What, and run the risk of giving our superior a heart attack?”

BETHESDA SLEEP DISORDER CLINIC

Friday, 3:30 a.m.

Scully settled for the night, and judging by the monitors and

viewing screen, she was enjoying normal restful sleep.

Mulder found it very soothing, watching his partner

sleep. It gave him plenty of opportunity to sit and

just think.

As he repeatedly turned the events over in his mind,

he began to realize that nothing was as clear to him as

the fact of his own confusion. He thought he knew what

he’d seen, what he’d experienced. But now, seeing how

deeply these revelations had affected his partner… he

wasn’t sure what to think. His normally ordered, precise

mind was in total chaos.

This case was really bugging him, so many anomalies.

Had it been anyone else but Scully involved it would

have been pretty much open and shut, but regardless of

how things appeared, this couldn’t possibly be so here.

He knew his partner too well. Mulder chewed his lip as

he considered the possibilities. How had the blood got

onto her pajamas? There was no way she could have

traveled the distance between the two buildings — could

there? No, he wasn’t even going to entertain that theory.

But if it hadn’t been her, then who?

His own dreams worried him. He couldn’t work out why

they had started when they had. Were they some sort of

a portent, or just the figment of his overactive, exhausted

mind. He’d always accepted that evil existed per se, but

the idea of a struggle between the forces of good and evil

fitted better between the lines of some gothic novel than

into his life.

Men were good, men were evil, evil thoughts, evil

deeds. Yet he’d never really considered either good or

evil as being a creature in its own right, a being

self contained, self motivated. Up till now, he had

come face to face with an entity that threatened to

take over his entire being, but this creature was self-

contained. It seemed now to be behind much of what

they’d seen in their work on the X-Files.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Mulder muttered.

“There’s something I’m not getting. Something’s

missing…. Why her, why me? Is there a link, and if

so what is it?” He cast his mind back to a week before

when they were working on their last case. What was it

she’d said about God choosing his own tools?

With her bias towards scientific proof and logical

explanations, he was surprised in the past at her

ready acceptance of the concept of evil. He would have

expected her to shy away from this exotic idea, that it

would make the scientist in her uncomfortable. But

then, she believed in God. You had to have good if you

were to have bad; it was just the way things worked.

To Scully it had been so simple, there was something

out there, trying to make her do things, had maybe made

her do things, waiting to get her. It terrified her,

but she was prepared to go down that path to try to

discover more, to resolve the problem. She had the

belief. He on the other hand was so much in denial that

sometimes he feared he’d never ever extract his head

again.

Their roles here had been reversed, she the believer,

he the skeptic. He had seen it, felt it, smelled it,

yet part of his mind was still trying to rationalize

it, to find reasons, to find excuses. He felt that

somehow his dreams and what Scully had been

experiencing were somehow connected, but how? That was

the big question.

Shit, it was way too late at night to be going into

self-analysis and psychology. What wouldn’t he give for

a night’s uninterrupted sleep? Last night’s rest,

although short, was the most he’d had for days. There

was something about just being with Scully, she always

chased his demons away.

He must have dozed off then. Seven o’clock came, and

the smell of the technicians coffee woke him, ending

his vigil.

He’d take her back to Skinner’s and then go on home to

try to catch some sleep during the day. Somehow that

felt safer than trying to sleep in the dark. He was

going to have to try to talk to Kenny. The Kid was open

minded enough not to shoot him down in flames as he

tried to work a theory out.

ACT VI

BETHESDA SLEEP DISORDER CLINIC

Saturday, 1:15 a.m.

Kenny had insisted he come to keep Mulder company

tonight, although Mulder could see that the guy was

bushed. “Look, Kenny, much as I appreciate the show of

solidarity, you’ll be a lot more use to me tomorrow if

you’re not asleep on your feet.”

He finally persuaded Kenny to stretch out on a bench in

the hallway outside Scully’s room. Only Mulder’s

promise to wake him, should the need arise, finally

persuaded Kenny to rest.

It had been one of the longest weeks in Mulder’s life.

He spent some time in the observation booth, talking

with the technician on duty. George recounted some of

the funny and bizarre things he’d seen here while on

duty. It helped to pass the time.

Saturday night here, unlike other medical departments,

tended to be very quiet; in fact Scully was the only

one in tonight. It looked like another routine night.

The sound effects of the monitors got to be irritating,

and after a while George turned the audio off. The

visual would alert them to any thing.

By two-thirty, the technician had gone for a break,

promising to bring Mulder back a coffee when he

returned.

“Not that the coffee here is anything to write home

about, but at least it’s hot and wet, with enough

caffeine to jump-start a truck on a cold morning. A cup

of *that* in you and there’s no chance of you nodding

off.” He laughed as he left the booth.

Mulder sat on his own, watching the screens as various

CCTV cameras panned both Scully’s room and other areas

of the department. He could see Kenny asleep in the

hallway. Mulder thought he really should tell Andrews

to go to bed. The monitors were recording Scully’s

vitals, her brain wave patterns, eye movement. At least

she was getting some rest, Mulder thought enviously.

Maybe he should call it a night too. She was safe

enough here with all the hi-tech surrounding her.

He must have dropped off himself for a minute or two,

when George Hanover’s gasp woke him up.

“Jeez, she’s moved, she’s gone. Look at the printout on

that monitor! She was into an episode. Where the hell

is she?”

With that, George was flipping through all the cameras,

trying to get a fix on where she might have strayed. As

he did so, he activated the Security measures. On the

monitor, Mulder saw the room Scully had been in was now

empty. The leads that had not so long ago been

attached to her lay scattered.

“Shit!”

“Yeah, looks like we’ve got a walker…” George

continued flipping through the monitors. “There. Is

that her? Looks like someone’s just left the building

by the fire exit at the end of the hall, I can see a

shadow moving away.”

Mulder could see his young disciple still asleep on the

bench outside her room. Scully must have walked right

past him as he slept.

Mulder called Kenny on his cell phone, and grabbing his

coat, moved to get after Scully.

Kenny had gotten a head start over him as he was nearer

that exit. By the time Mulder arrived at the bench,

Andrews was already gone. Mulder stepped out of the

fire exit door onto the sidewalk into the chilly night

air. He turned and surveyed the empty streets. At

quarter to three in the morning, not much moved.

Where the hell was Kenny? And why the hell had he

himself chosen that moment to doze off, Mulder riled.

He stood for a moment looking around trying to work out

which way she might have gone. He found it hard to

believe that this could have happened. He saw a

movement to the left, someway up the street.

Was that her? He decided to chance it and broke into a

run to try to catch up with her. Should he call out to

her? He’d heard somewhere that it was dangerous to wake

up a ‘walker’ abruptly. Hopefully Kenny was somewhere

close by, and between them they could head her off.

Shit! She was going to cross the street. Scully was

moving slowly. She seemed to be oblivious to her

surroundings and to the cold. She paused for a moment

under a street lamp.

He ran hard to catch up with her, but it was as if he

was running through deep, sticky mud. Everything was

in slow motion and taken on a dreamlike quality. For a

moment he thought he might have been dreaming, and then

he prayed that he was.

Mulder knew what was going to happen even as he heard

the revving of an engine and saw the car bearing down

towards her. He knew before its headlights pinioned her

in their glare and realized that there was nothing on

this earth he could do to prevent the tragedy that was

about to unfold.

He called out a warning that was too late. Like a film

in slow motion, clip by silent clip, Scully teetered on

the edge of the sidewalk, her bare toes curling over he

curb. Then it cut to the speeding vehicle as it bore

down towards her.

“Scully! Scully, for God’s sake, STOP!”

For a split second he thought she’d heard him, thought

she’d understood. She shook her head as though coming

out of a dream. He saw her startled look, her

expression frozen in shock that was drawn in stark

relief by the unrelenting blaze of light. Her

realization, too late, of the inevitability of what was

about to happen. Then he saw the black shadow, as it

appeared to enclose her like a cloak, to propel her

forward straight into the path of the oncoming SUV.

“No, Scully! NO!”

In the beam of the headlights, he saw the terror in her

face, saw her tumbling like a rag doll; then a black

shape launched itself into the beam of light knocking

Scully out of the path of the wheels, followed by the

sounds he never forget. The squeal of brakes, the

scream, the sickening thud of soft body contacting hard

metal and the sound of splintering glass seemed to be

amplified out of all proportion, as it shattered the

quiet of the night.

Finally he was able to move, the thick cloying feeling

had gone. He raced down the street to her. His cry

distorted with anguish

“SCULLY!”

Lights flashed on in the building across the street,

faces appeared in windows.

“Scully! Oh my God! Scully.”

He was on his knees, a finger at her pulse. He was

grateful beyond measure for the telltale signs of life.

The beat against his fingertips was thready, but all he

cared about was that it was there at all. With the

stench of oil and gas rising around him, he forced

himself to look for the worst.

She lay so still as he knelt down beside her on the

asphalt, the light of the headlights accentuating her

pallor, clearly showed the small cut that marred her

temple. His fingers automatically went to tuck the

stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Short of more abrasions and contusions, his careful,

fearful search found nothing. No trails of blood warned

of cranial injury, no arteries spurted, no veins

trickled. There were no bones twisted at odd angles.

Her breathing was slow but not labored.

“Scully.” He hardly recognized the anguished whisper as

his own voice.

Mulder pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and

dialed 911.

As he covered Scully with this coat, the driver of the

SUV approached them.

“I’m sorry, God, I’m *so* sorry. I didn’t see her; she

just fell out in front of me. I tried to brake, I

swear….” He turned away gagging, only to throw up in

the gutter a few yards away from them.

To be honest, Mulder wasn’t concentrating about the

driver who’d done this to Scully, he was far too

concerned about how still she was, how pale.

“Scully, please be all right. Hold on, please, just

hold on, help’s coming. Hang on, Scully.” Tentatively

he stroked her face. He wanted so badly to hold her,

but didn’t dare move her in case he made her injuries

worse.

He heard her sob even as he wondered what he should

next.

“Mulder…?”

“Hush Scully, I’m here, it’s gonna be okay. The

ambulance is on its way. Hang on, they’ll be here in a

minute. No! Don’t move!” he gasped, as she tried to

grasp his hand. His fingers trailed across her

cheekbone.

“Gentle,” she murmured. Her gaze was blurring, her

lashes fluttering. “An angel.”

She was making no sense to him. His only thought was

that she was lapsing into confused gibberish. There was

no reason, nor time to think differently as she moaned

softly against his palm. Shock. She was shivering. He

gently pulled his coat closer around her trembling

body. “Hush, Scully, help’s coming.”

“Mulder…what happened? I saw a bright light,

falling…then something cannoned into me, pushed me

out of the way. Mulder…I felt the hand of an ang…”

Her voice shuddered on the sob.

“No, you were pushed. Right under the wheels of that SUV.

I saw it, Scully. I stood frozen, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t help

you. There was nothing I could do to stop it.”

There was a faint, weak moan from the darkness beyond

the range of the headlights. Mulder turned to

investigate and pulled his penlight out of his pocket.

The sight that his eyes beheld froze him.

“Mulder… what is it, Mulder?” He heard his partner’s

voice cut through his horror of the sight illuminated

by the faint, narrow beam of light.

“God, Kenny!”

The kid’s crumpled, bloodied body lay in a heap on the

asphalt, his arm and leg at unusual angles.

“Mulder, is he all right?”

“I don’t know, Scully, I don’t think so. Christ, what have

I done?”

He turned to see Scully struggling to sit up.

“Scully! No!”

“But I’m a …”

“Don’t move Scully please,” he begged her. “We don’t

know how badly you’re hurt.”

The sense of what he said must have overridden the

doctor instincts in her. “Take the coat Mulder, he

needs it more than I do….”

Mulder couldn’t remember when he’d prayed so hard

before in his life. Please let the paramedics be quick,

please let them both be okay.

Someone came out of the building carrying blankets.

They covered Kenny over to keep him warm.

“You okay?” a voice asked.

Mulder felt himself led back to the curb. As the

adrenaline rush dissipated, he felt his legs crumbling

beneath him. Someone made him sit down next to Scully,

pushing his head down between his knees before they

wrapped a blanket around him too. The movement made him

feel light-headed. Then reaction set in, he was shaking

like leaf. The deepening chill of shock, racked him

from head to toe.

He had to fight this, he had to be strong for them.

They needed him. He had to let their boss know what had

happened. He took his cell phone out again and dialed

Skinner’s number.

“Sir? Sir, you’d better get down here, there’s been an

accident…yeah, it’s looking pretty bad. Scully’s

hurt, but the k-kid…. I-I don’t know…no…. Gotta

go, Sir. I can hear the siren, so the paramedics are on

their way.”

Then he turned away to heave and part company with his

last meal, and some of the fear went away with it.

BETHESDA NAVAL HOSPITAL

Saturday, 4:46 a.m.

Skinner and Mulder has been pacing the hallways for the

past few hours. The doctor had taken his own sweet time

checking her out. God, how long could a set of x-rays take?

That Scully hadn’t been killed or at least severely maimed

was thanks to the hand of fate in the guise of Agent Kenneth

Andrews.

They could only presume that, somehow, in the extra few

moments head start Kenny had over Mulder, he’d circled around

and was approaching from the other side of the street. Had he not

positioned himself where he had, Scully’s injuries would have

amounted to a great deal more than grazes, contusions, sprained

ankle and slight concussion that the doctor finally confirmed she’d

suffered.

She was resting at the moment, best let her sleep the

nurse had told them. Skinner was surprised that Mulder

did not insist upon seeing his partner no matter what.

When he mentioned this to Mulder, he’d replied that at

least they knew that Scully was safe and not in pain,

“Kenny, on the other hand….” Mulder hadn’t been able

to finish.

No, their biggest worry was Kenny. In the best case

scenario he’d suffered a broken arm and leg. In the

worse…. He was still in surgery and there was nobody

there who was prepared to commit themselves to any sort

of opinion at all. Mulder wasn’t sure if that was in

spite of or because of the A.D.’s presence. No amount of

badge waving would elicit any further information. The

waiting was killing them both. Neither of them knew

what to do. In the end Skinner took matters into his

own hands.

“Come on, Mulder, let’s get some coffee into you, you

look like shit.”

“With all due respect, Sir…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before; now move it,

Agent.”

Mulder was too tired to argue. The two of them nursed

bad hospital coffee as they sat in hard hospital chairs

waiting for word on Kenny.

MULDER’S APARTMENT

Saturday 5:32 AM

He got back to his apartment by a confused, circular

route and fell onto his couch without taking off his

coat or his shoes. The lights were on and he felt

weirdly exposed and vulnerable, but he didn’t want to

turn them off. The couch seemed to be rocking a little,

like a raft, and he kept one foot on the floor to

steady it.

Then he fell asleep and slept soundly for a couple of

hours until he was awakened by a knock on the door.

Seized with fresh panic, he fought to sit up in the

tangle of his coat, as the knocking became more

insistent. Then Mulder hear Skinner’s voice calling his

name. He momentarily lay back on the cushion, so

relieved he felt like laughing.

“Are you okay?” Skinner asked once he gained entry. Upon

seeing the younger man’s nod, the A.D. said, “Come on,

I’m driving.”

BETHESDA NAVAL HOSPITAL

Private room

Saturday, 8:29 AM

Both Mulder and Skinner knew that when hospital

authorities put you in a private room to break the news

to you, that news is usually of the worst kind. Mulder,

having seen Kenny at the site of the accident, had no

illusions about how seriously hurt his friend might

have been. Now, as they stood in the center of the

antiseptic room, they were both growing increasingly

concerned that the young agent might not survive.

Mulder was mentally preparing himself to hear the worst

when a doctor stepped in to join them.

The list of injuries was horrific. Apart from head

injuries, Kenny suffered a bad break to his femur, his

left arm, and his nose. There was also damage to his

pelvis.

“He must be the luckiest man alive,” the doctor said,

“It was touch and go for a while. It’s as though

someone up there is looking out for him.”

BETHESDA NAVAL HOSPITAL

Side room

Saturday, 9:20 AM

As Mulder sat by Scully’s bedside, he marveled on the

nature of love and friendship. They were in a

relationship, but when was the last time he’d said

those words to her and told her how much she meant to

him?

“Mulder?” Scully’s voice echoed around the small

hospital room, bringing him back to the present.

“Who else were you expecting?” Mulder tried to joke.

He went over to sit on the side of her bed and grasped

her hand in both of his, so relieved that he had her

back safe and sound. “How are you feeling partner?

You had me scared back there.”

“Don’t worry Mulder, I had *myself* scared back there.

How’s?…Is Kenny?…T-They wouldn’t tell me, Mulder.

Did-did he get through the surgery?”

“Kenny’s one tough agent, although I can’t see him ever

wanting to work with me again. He was *so* lucky.

The doctors said it was almost as if he were protected,

you know. At first they suspected skull fractures,

major internal trauma, the works.

“He looked real bad when they brought him in. He got

away with a broken arm, leg, and pelvis, as well as some

minor head injuries, which included a broken nose. His

poor nose certainly took a beating on this case. His

condition is serious, but the prognosis is good. He had

a good team working on him.”

Mulder turned her hand over in his and appeared to find

the lines on her palm extremely fascinating.

“Scully, umm…Do you remember what happened out there?

It’s just that what I think I saw and what you said

just after you got hurt, well umm…there are

differences. I was following you, Scully. I just could

never seem to catch up. I saw you poised on the edge of

that curb with the SUV coming directly towards you.

“The driver seemed to be traveling too fast, but I

found out later the poor guy was going the speed limit;

it just seemed too fast. From where I stood, you

seemed to still be a safe distance away, but then

suddenly you were covered by blackness, and I saw you

being hurtled towards the vehicle. You didn’t step out,

you were pushed with a great deal of force.”

Mulder could hardly bear to go on. The memory was too

painful. He’d stood by impotently watching his partner

face death, and he couldn’t move nor do anything to

save her.

“And then you seemed to fall backwards towards the

curb, and the next thing I see is Kenny lying badly

injured in the street. I saw it all, Scully, I just

don’t understand it.”

He felt her cover his hand with her own, gently

stroking with her thumb. He finally looked up at her.

“What happened, Scully? Do you remember? I need to

know. You said something strange back there….”

“I remember,” she began hesitantly, “seeing lights to

the left of me, and as their intensity grew, I felt

myself falling. But at the same time, I kept hearing

my name being called, yet it seemed so far away….

And then I looked up and the car was just there. I knew

that was it, that I would never see you again. It made

me feel very sad, but there didn’t seem to be any

urgency to anything, like everything was happening in

slow motion.

“Then I felt it on me. There was a bright white light

and a black shape, not horrifying like before, not evil

at all, but sort of warm and good like a gentle hand.

For a moment I thought I saw an ange_, I-I thought I

saw something. But then suddenly I felt pain as the

car slammed into me, and I was falling backwards. I

must have hit my head as I landed.

“Mulder, it was Kenny who saved my life. He saved my

life and came so close to-to losing his own.”

As Mulder pulled her into his arms and held her close,

he rested his head on her hair. He acknowledged to

himself how close again he’d been to losing her. Thank

God for Kenny. The kid was almost like a gift from

God. He couldn’t stop the self-deprecating smile.

Scully must have felt it, for she pulled away to look

up.

“Mulder? What is it?”

“I don’t know how I even entertain the thought,

Scully. Guardian angels?”

But she didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile. Perhaps that’s

where he needed to look. In a strength beyond his own.

To a source higher than Scully’s science or his logic.

To a source of faith, grace and power. But was he ready

for such a journey? Scully had invited him to join her.

The very notion was difficult for him to comprehend.

Scully had been traveling that path for a long time

now, although she was loath to admit it either to

herself or to him.

He saw it in her eyes now, heard it in her voice and

felt it in her touch. She, unlike him, had no problem

with the idea. Maybe it was this faith of hers that

protected her, them, that ultimately kept them both

safe, even in the greatest of perils. He could see

where her hope stemmed from.

“What happened to you, Mulder?” her voice was soft as

she asked him after a while.

He was silent for a moment, not wanting to revisit his

experiences of the past week for the moment. He settled

down next to her on the bed, shivering a little at the

thought. Scully pulled him back into her arms, he was

thankful that she was still here to be able to do it.

He took a long breath. “I don’t know where to start,

where to go with this. We owe Kenny a great debt,

Scully. And Skinner, he’s a better friend to us than

we’ll ever know.”

“I know that,” which surprised him.

He had to tell her, had to explain about the dreams

he’d been having, but he needed time. This was as near

as he could go at the moment.

There was a soft knock at the door and Skinner walked

in interrupting what Mulder was about to say.

“I think we need to clear up some lose ends here, Agent

Mulder.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jeff Jackson has just been in to see me. He’s been

feeling very bad about something.”

“Jeff?” Scully was puzzled.

“Yeah, something he didn’t say when he was first

interviewed. He was in shock at the time; he thought he

was hallucinating. Later he kept quiet because he

didn’t know what he’d seen or what he’d imagined. He

didn’t think it was important, but it kept niggling at

him, till he had to do something about it.”

“I don’t understand,” Scully said. “Where is this

leading?”

“It’s something that he believes he saw, believes he

felt when he came into your room.”

“The black shadow, the presence,” Mulder filled in.

“Mulder? Sir? What are you talking about?”

Mulder went on as if she hadn’t spoken. It all came

out; his nightmares, the black shape he thought he saw,

no, that he *knew* he saw during the day and when Kenny

was at his side during the night.

“It’s over, Scully. Somehow this ties in with everything

else. I don’t know how or why, but I can’t feel that

feeling of dread any longer.”

For once both Scully and Skinner didn’t refute his

theory, didn’t ask for scientific proof to back what

he’d told them.

Later, when they stopped by the precinct station, they

were both surprised to learn that Scully was now

officially off the hook. The blood on her pajamas was

not the perfect match as was thought at first, further

DNA testing had shown that the two samples were not a

match. There were no fingerprints on the assault

weapon.

Both Mulder and Skinner looked perplexed, and the

officer on duty looked extremely embarrassed and

uncomfortable as he explained that it had been a rookie

who’d run the fingerprints through the FINDER.

He apologized profusely for the mistake.

There was a ton of paperwork to fill in. The only thing

about it that made Mulder smile the was that

Skinner had more than his fair share of it to do.

EPILOGUE

BETHESDA NAVAL HOSPITAL

Side room

A week later.

All three of then came in to visit with Kenny. His

recovery rate had astounded both the doctors and his

friends alike. Although he would be out of action for a

few months yet, his predicted stay in hospital was now

down to three weeks.

Kenny could remember nothing after seeing Scully

teetering on the edge of the curb. But he *did*

remember what happened immediately before. He

remembered the wizen face of the black crone as she

appeared behind Scully.

“I must be the luckiest man alive. I still can’t

remember exactly what happened or how- maybe it’s just

as well,” Kenny confided to Mulder.

Mulder smiled when he saw Andrews blushing as Scully

placed a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, Kenny.” There was nothing else she could

say.

“You’re welcome, Dana. I’m glad I was there.”

Mulder came over to him and shook his good hand. “I’ll

always owe you one, pal, you know that, don’t you?

Though I’m sorry you got hurt again, you’re a good man

to have on a team, and I’m proud to have worked with

you.”

Kenny smiled as he said, “Remind me to up my insurance

if I ever work with you again, Mulder. In fact next

time, email me first, and I’ll make sure I head off in

the opposite direction. Besides, I don’t think Kerry

would ever okay another team-up.”

All of the agents remembered fondly Kenny’s long time

girlfriend. “No, I don’t suppose she would, but if

there’s ever an emergency, you just let me speak with

her, okay?” Scully assured them confidently.

Skinner spoke up. “There’s no getting away from it,

Kenny. You’re a hero. I’ve made recommendations that

your bravery be rewarded in a fitting manner. Your

contribution to this extraordinary case will be noted

in your files.” Kenny, as seen by the color of his

face, was more embarrassed then ever.

A nurse pecked at the glass.

Mulder smiled. “We’ve got to go. Guess they just don’t

respect credentials around here. They just throw you

out when the time’s up. See you later, Kid. Take care,

you hear me?”

As they went out to the car, Scully stopped and touched

the tiny cross around her neck. “Mulder, I didn’t lose

this at the club. I still had it around my neck when I

undressed that night.”

“How can you be so sure Scully?”

“Because a thread from my shirt caught in the chain and

I had a job to untangle it.”

FIN

28/07/01

Finally!!!

So. What did you think?

ewa@whatewa.com

‘I have spread my dreams under your feet;

tread softly for you tread on my dreams.’