GreatBallsFire.htmlGreat Balls of Fire 
By Vickie Moseley 
vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com 
  
Summary: Two words: ball lightning. 
Spoilers: VS 8, 9, 10, and 11 
Category: X MSR SA 
Rating: PG-13 
Written for The X-Files Virtual Season 11 
Archives: VS 11 exclusive for two weeks then anywhere 
Special thanks to Obfusc8or and Sally for beta services rendered. And to answer 
that age old question, yes, I do watch the Discovery Channel. 
Legend: 
OSHA: the Occupational Safety and Health Administration, a Federal agency that 
oversees workplace safety. OSHA has stringent rules and regulations about 
procedures in factories and has the ability to close down any company it finds 
out of compliance. Nobody messes with OSHA 
'I wanta file a grievance': if a worker (particularly a union employee) feels 
that he has been unfairly treated or feels a violation of the company policy 
manual has been committed against him, he can file a grievance with his union 
steward and the company management has to arbitrate with the union to resolve 
the problem. 
Rating: PG 
Category: casefile, MSR 
? 
Great Balls of Fire 
by Vickie Moseley 
? 
2630 Hegal Place 
Alexandria, VA 
January 23, 2003 
2:35 am 
Red, white and blue lights fought for attention with the bright orange and 
yellow flames shooting from every window of the stone building. Firemen, their 
yellow suits scuffed with soot, yelled into mics hidden in their helmets and 
grappled with fire hoses, which seemed to be having little effect on the sea of 
flames that engulfed the apartment complex. A few of the residents huddled in 
the cold, wrapped in the matching dark gray wool blankets provided by the fire 
department. 
A dark blue sedan pulled up to the curb, some half a block away. The woman 
inside just barely cut the engine before she was out on the street, running 
toward the scene of the blaze. 
In the light of the fire, she almost allowed herself to believe it was a 
mistake. She had almost convinced herself it was the other building, the one to 
the north, not the building she thought it was. But as she drew closer, she 
could see the numbers plain as day above the broken glass of the double doors. 
2630. 
Scully stood in stunned silence, not really believing her eyes. The building was 
completely ablaze. Flames licked out the windows, all the glass had been 
shattered by the intense heat. She choked on the noxious fumes of burning 
mattresses and sofas, carpeting and appliances. Above the cacophony of sounds, 
she could occasionally pick out a muffled pop as a television or computer 
monitor exploded. It was a scene she would vividly remember in her nightmares. 
Frantically, she searched the small cluster of residents, hoping to find a 
familiar face. She caught sight of Mr. Szarflarski, the super for the building. 
Holding her breath, she ran up to the man and grabbed at his shoulder, spinning 
him to face her. 
"My partner. Have you seen Agent Mulder?" she rasped, her voice already raw from 
inhaling the heat and the smoke that hung heavy in the air. 
The man's eyes went wide and he looked around, searching the crowd. "I didn't 
see him, Ms. Scully. Was he home tonight?" 
His words hit her like a punch to the stomach. "Yes, yes, I talked to him about 
an hour ago. He was in the apartment. Are you sure you haven't seen him?" 
The old man shook his head slowly, waiting to choose his words before next he 
spoke. "The firemen found some bodies and got them out, but the floor started to 
collapse. They say the fire started . . ." He dropped his eyes so that he wasn't 
looking at her. "They think the fire started on the fourth floor." 
Scully stood there, staring up at the window she knew so well. At that moment, 
the roof collapsed, raining down through two floors before catching and falling 
the rest of the way to the ground floor. 
"Please, tell me, where did the firemen take . . ." Her voice simply wouldn't 
cooperate any longer, it gave out in the stress. But she had to know. 
"I think I heard them mention GWU. I guess there's a good sized morgue there," 
he said and reached around the blanket he was clutching to touch her arm. "Maybe 
. . . maybe he went out. Sometimes he goes running at all hours, Ms. Scully. I 
hear him sometimes, midnight, 2, even 3 in the morning. Maybe he wasn't there," 
the old man tried desperately to give him something to hold on to, some hope. 
Scully wanted to believe the old man, but she needed proof. Spying a fireman 
with more insignia than the rest, she fished her badge out of her coat pocket as 
she approached him, steeling herself for a confrontation. 
"My name is Special Agent Dana Scully with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. 
An agent, my partner, lives in this building. What can you tell me about the 
fire?" 
The fireman lifted his protective visor and squinted at her badge in the glare 
of the conflagration. Finally, he looked up at her face. "You think its arson?" 
he asked gruffly. 
Scully shook her head in exasperation. "I have no idea. But I want to know, 
where did it start? Has anyone been taken to the hospital, anyone not 
identified?" 
The fireman shook his head and gave her an irritated look. "Lady, I'm a little 
busy right now. We found some people with smoke inhalation, took 'em across the 
river to GWU and GUMC. There were a couple of bodies recovered from the fourth 
floor. What apartment was this guy in?" 
"42," she replied breathlessly. 
His eyes darkened and he drew in a breath before speaking. "Maybe you better 
check the morgue." 
She shook her head, denying the words. It couldn't be true, he couldn't be dead. 
They'd been together just that afternoon, he'd teased her about her alarm clock 
and music selections. 
How could she lose him now after all this time? 
? 
  
Great Balls of Fire 
by Vickie Moseley 
for Virtual Season 11 
? 
Act I 
Fairfax County Light and Power 
Turbine Room no. 4 
October 15, 2003 
2:45 pm 
 
The huge turbine that was the workhorse of the electric plant was purring like 
an enormous lounging cat, its fan humming with the power to light one hundred 
thousand households. Sleek and shiny, the turbine sat much as it had for the 
past quarter century, the giant wheel taking the heat from the coal powered 
furnaces and converting it into megawatts of energy and casting them out on the 
Eastern Power grid as a child might cast a handful of rocks into a pond. The 
cavernous room was incredibly loud, but in a white noise kind of way. The gray 
walls and gray machine only echoed the gray clouds that shown through the high 
windows up near the twenty-five foot ceiling. 
It was a majestic freak of nature when a bolt of pure energy shot out of the sky 
and through the glass panes of the high window. It struck the turbine, arcing 
and dancing for at least a second, a millennium in the life span of a lightning 
strike, before vanishing to thin air, leaving only damage in its wake. 
The fire erupted quickly, as soon as the lightning loosened its grip on the 
surface of the machine. There were safety systems in place that should have 
prevented it, but as sometimes happens, all the safety technicians in the plant, 
in the country for that matter, failed to foresee the havoc a simple random 
lightning strike could produce. The systems failed and the fire spread. 
The alarms rang out loud and shrill through the engine room at the other side of 
the plant. Several plant technicians hurriedly flipped switches and threw levers 
in an attempt to keep the power flowing. The big turbine was taken 'off line' to 
prevent it from surging the other turbines into failure. But now that a blackout 
had been averted, there was still the fire to control. 
Plant fire control specialists suited up and ran down to Turbine Room No. 5 with 
chemical fire extinguishers and enough know how to control and put out the fire. 
And put it out, they did. Using all their equipment, they finally got the fire 
under control and after a few more minutes, it was completely extinguished. The 
men, pulling off their helmets and gloves, patted each other on the back and 
left the room secure in the knowledge that their part of the catastrophe was 
over. What they left was a horrible mess of chemicals, soot and a Turbine that 
would have to be up and running in less than a week, when it would be required 
once again to take up its burden and produce electricity for the Washington, DC 
suburbs, an area that sucked power more effectively than a lobbyist at the end 
of a long legislative session. 
Bill Robinson was the Turbine Room's supervisor and he stood near the end of No. 
5, surveying the damage. Most of it was superficial, he knew. But until he could 
get a better picture, he'd be hard pressed to know what parts could be salvaged 
and what would require replacement. Shaking his head at the work yet to be 
accomplished, he reached over to the phone on the wall near the door and called 
down to maintenance. 
"Jim, this is Bill. Get somebody up here to clean up No. 5. And tell them to 
figure on some overtime. This is a real mess!" 
? 
Ray Boulder was not an ambitious guy. He'd been in the maintenance department at 
FCL&P for over six years and had yet to earn a promotion or more than the usual 
union cost of living increase. At 5 foot 10 inches and tipping the scales at 
just over one hundred fifty pounds, he wasn't very memorable in appearance. Dark 
hair over dark eyes, a faint scar on his chin, probably from a past bar fight 
that he had lost, his personality matched his features--undistinguishable. As he 
looked over the mess that was Turbine No. 5, he swore loudly. Taking up his rags 
and bucket, he proceeded to get to work on cleaning up what others before him 
had helped to create. 
 
When he touched the metal with the wet rag, a soft surge went through his hand. 
Ray had been around the plant long enough to know that water and electricity are 
a lethal combination. He stopped cleaning and went to check the controls on the 
far wall that would tell him if the turbine was still 'hot' and operating. All 
the needles were buried in the black area to the far left of the gauge, 
indicating a cold engine. Ray scratched absently at his thinning dark hair and 
moved back over to the turbine to continue his work. 
When the second surge hit him, it wasn't as soft. He yelped and flinched, the 
rag dropping to his feet. Frowning, he once again went over to the gauge on the 
wall, tapping the faceplate this time in an effort to dislodge the needle, if 
indeed it was malfunctioning. The gauge continued to mock him with its 
interpretation of events. The turbine was definitely not showing any signs of 
life. 
More disgruntled than worried, Ray once again picked up his rag and went back to 
work. The work finally engaged him and he was concentrating to the point where 
he didn't hear the faint popping sound behind him. He leaned up, attempting to 
clear away some burnt and peeling paint when the popping sound became louder, 
right near his ear. He looked over his shoulder just before the large ball of 
bright light engulfed him in its plasma. 
The next thing Ray knew, he was sailing through the air. When he landed with a 
thud, every muscle in his body flinched with static electricity. Ray shook his 
head trying to clear it. Flat on his back, he lifted his hands close to his face 
to stare at them, noticing the light feathering along his palms and the backs of 
his hands where he had been touching the metal of the turbine, almost like a 
tattoo done with a child's paint brush and red ochre paint. Shakily, he let his 
hands fall to rest on his chest, feeling his heart race like he'd just run a 
marathon. He drew in a deep breath, still trying to figure out how the hell he 
was alive. 
The door to the turbine room opened and two technicians and Bill Robinson came 
running in. "Hey, buddy, you OK?" Bill asked Ray frantically as he and one of 
the techs ran to assist Ray while the other tech ran to the wall to check the 
gauges. "What the hell happened?" 
Ray looked up at Bill like the man had three heads. "How the hell should I know? 
What did you guys do, turn the damn thing on?" he demanded. "I wanta file a 
grievance!" he added, but his threat sounded more like a whine. 
"No way, man," the technician assured him. "We were watching the gauges really 
close and this one just lit up for a second. Bill knew somebody was down here 
cleaning, we came running to make sure they weren't fried. We hadn't touched a 
thing!" 
Bill was already on the phone, calling 911. Ray tried to stand, but the 
technician held him to the floor, though it didn't take much to accomplish that 
feat. "I don't need a doctor, I'm fine," Ray objected. 
"Sorry, um, Ray, isn't it?" Bill stumbled. "OSHA regs. You have to be checked 
out. Besides, you don't know how this could affect you." His thought for a 
moment and then his eyes twinkled. "And you want all this documented for any 
workers comp claim you might have to make in the future." Workers comp was the 
winning lotto ticket to every blue-collar stiff and Bill, having been blue 
collar once, knew that. 
"Oh, yeah, right. Workers comp," Ray muttered. He didn't' really feel like 
getting up anyway. His nerves were still tingling, like his entire body had 
fallen asleep. He closed his eyes and saw colored spots on his lids. 
Fairfax Mercy Hospital 
Emergency Department 
7:15 pm 
The ride in the ambulance was exciting at first. He had wanted to do that since 
he was a kid. But it wasn't as much fun as he'd imagined because he was strapped 
to a backboard and forced to lie completely still. Ray didn't like the IV needle 
in the back of his hand at all and liked the oxygen mask over his face even 
less. Once at the hospital, it was three hours of being poked with needles, 
prodded with little rubber hammers and finally left alone for thirty minutes, 
just wanting to go home. 
Ray was just about ready to get up off the gurney and make his escape when the 
cute little blond haired doctor came back into his cubicle at the ER. 
"Well, Mr. Boulder, looks like this is your lucky day," the doctor told him, 
flipping through her notes. "Your tests all look fine. Aside from a little 
residual muscle weakness you might feel, just from the shock, I would say that 
you're pretty darned good for a man who took on an electrical turbine!" 
"So, I can get out of here?" Ray asked, already sitting up and looking around 
for his clothes that had been taken from him earlier. 
"I see no reason to keep you. I have discharge papers here I need you to sign. I 
want you to take it easy tonight, just go home and veg out in front of the TV. 
And I think you should probably take it easy tomorrow as well. I'll write you a 
note for work. Other than that, do what you feel like doing. If you experience 
any pain, especially pain in your chest or down your left arm, call us 
immediately or just come back here." 
"Yeah, I'll do that," Ray assured her, grabbing the papers. "Uh, the company 
pays for all this, right?" 
The doctor looked slightly bemused but nodded. "Yes, I was assured that Fairfax 
L&P would be picking up the bill. We won't even send one to your house," she 
added with a smile. 
"Thanks, Doc. I appreciate it," Ray said and then the woman left and he hurried 
to get dressed and out the door. 
His car was still back at the power plant, so he had to take a bus to get it. By 
the time he got there, it was already past 8:30. He cursed angrily and got in 
the beat up old Chevy Caprice Classic and gunned the engine. It coughed to life 
and he pulled out onto the highway. 
Three hours later 
Falls Church, VA 
Back room of Big Babe's Bar and Grill 
Ray looked down at his hand again and tried to keep a straight face, but it was 
hard. A three of clubs, a five of diamonds, two eights, a jack, a seven and a 
queen of spades looked back at him. Bumpkus! And he was already in the hole for 
$150. He licked his lips and looked at the other men seated across from him at 
the poker table. "Uh, I'll raise you three," he told the big man to his right. 
"You ain't got 'three', Rockie," the man smirked. 
"I'll give ya a marker, Bennie," he told a smallish man with a hard glint to his 
eye. 
"You run out of markers, Rock. Show Bert the cards." 
Ray looked each man in the eye and sighed. Slowly he laid down his cards. The 
room broke up into laughter. 
"Some bluff you tried, there Boulder. Or should I call you 'Pebble'," roared the 
man called Bert who happily raked in all the chips from the center of the table. 

Ray glared at the man and sat back in his chair. "I'm out," he declared. He'd 
hoped his luck from earlier in the day would have held, but apparently, it was a 
fleeting as the feeling of euphoria that had embraced him after leaving the 
hospital. 
"You ain't 'out'. You gotta settle," Bennie reminded him. 
Ray swallowed. He was completely tapped out, no more funds available. He knew 
that any move on his part at that moment would result in tremendous pain, 
inflicted by any of the gentlemen seated at the table. He would have to try 
bluffing just one more time. 
"I got my rent money in the glove compartment of my car. Let me go get it." 
There was silence in the room, but Bennie and Bert exchanged a quick look. Then 
Bennie smiled at Ray. "Sure, Ray. Go on out to the car. But don't try no funny 
stuff," he warned with a good-natured chuckle. 
"Nah, never," Ray promised and quickly left the room. He had to force himself to 
walk slowly through the bar, his every instinct told him to break into a run. 
But he made it to the door and out to the parking lot. It wasn't until he got to 
his car that he saw he was not alone. Bert and another man whose name Ray 
couldn't remember were standing by his car with short steel rods about two feet 
long in their hands. 
"We come out to help you find your way back," Bert said with a malicious grin. 
"Uh, thanks," Ray muttered, looking around quickly for a path of escape. 
"Ray, quite wastin' our time. Get the money or pay off the 'interest'," Bert 
said, slapping the rod in his hands. There was no mistaking what the 'interest' 
would end up being. The other man with Bert chuckled at the joke. 
Ray walked over to his car, between the two men. He opened the door and was just 
about to slam it shut when Bert grabbed it from his hand and held it open. "None 
'o that," Bert growled. 
Ray reached over to the glove compartment on autopilot. He somehow convinced 
himself that if he played out the hand, he might be surprised. Like maybe his 
fairy godmother had left two hundred dollars in the car without him knowing 
about it. With shaking hands, Ray opened the glove box door. 
His registration and an old parking citation stared back at him. 
"Just as we thought," Bert said sadly. "Ray, you jest don't know when t' quit. 
So we gotta teach ya a lesson." He pulled Ray out of the car and with the help 
of the other man, pushed him toward some trees near the edge of the parking lot. 

"No, please, don't hurt me," Ray begged. 
"Don't be such a pussy!" Bert ordered. "We'll try not to mess up your face too 
bad," he chuckled at his own joke. 
"Please, you don't understand, I've had a really bad day," Ray persisted. 
"Yeah, well my day just got a whole lot brighter," Bert assured him. "Whaddya 
think o' that?" 
Ray was thrown down on the ground and he saw Bert raise the length of pipe above 
his head like a baton. Then, Ray heard that popping sound again. He looked over 
Bert's shoulder and his eyes grew wide. It was that ball of light. It was coming 
right for them. Ray rolled into a tight ball, expecting both the beating from 
the pipe in Bert's hand and the jolt of electricity from the ball of light. 
Neither happened. 
He heard a loud popping sound and then heard a stifled scream. When he looked 
up, both of his attackers were engulfed in flames. Ray scurried back on his 
hands and feet until his back hit the base of a tree. The men were fully aflame 
and it was scary, but fascinating at the same time. Ray looked around for the 
ball of light, but it was nowhere to be seen. 
  
Dana Scully's residence 
Three months later 
6:55 am 
Fox Mulder wiped his face with his just removed tee shirt, both were dripping 
with sweat. He glanced over at the clock on the nightstand and frowned. He was 
going to be fighting traffic if he didn't get a move on. 
He looked down at his partner, snuggled up, her head on her pillow and his 
pillow held tight in the circle of her arms. She looked so damn cute like that. 
He grinned, knowing full well that there were only a few places he could call 
Dana Scully 'cute' and live to see another sunrise. Her bedroom was one such 
place, his bedroom and on occasion, his couch, were the other two. 
He leaned over the bed and brushed a lock of red hair from her face. She stirred 
and one eye opened. "Mulder?" 
"I'm just leaving," he told her softly. She opened her arms, inviting him back 
into the bed. "No, Scully, I just got back from my run. I'm all sweaty," he 
whispered. 
"I like you sweaty," she murmured. 
"I'm glad, but you make me change the sheets when I get 'em all wet and smelly 
and I don't have time, not this morning," he replied. "Go back to sleep, you 
don't have to get up for another fifteen minutes." 
"Ummm, good," she sighed. He kissed her tenderly on the lips and when he drew 
back, she was smiling in her sleep. He hated leaving her like this, but it was 
part of their lives. Half the time he had to get up and leave, so he could 
shower and dress at his place. The other half of the time, Scully had to leave 
him so that she could get ready for work at her apartment. It was a lousy 
arrangement, but they were hard pressed to change it. Neither of them felt they 
were quite ready to take the next logical 'step', whatever that meant. Sleeping 
over seemed like a big step after all their years of denial. They'd never even 
discussed moving in together. Even after two plus years of great sex, they were 
still getting used to the idea of being a couple. 
He let himself watch her for another minute, and then reluctantly headed for the 
door. 
J. Edgar Hoover Building, FBI Headquarters 
Office of Assistant Director Walter Skinner 
9:15 am 
Scully skidded to a halt outside AD Skinner's door, tossed a quick smile at his 
assistant and then tried to walk calmly into the office after a perfunctory 
knock on the open door. 
Skinner looked over at her, a slight scowl on his face and then a glance over at 
her partner, seated in his customary chair. Mulder was engrossed with a file in 
his hands and didn't bother to acknowledge her so she bumped his chair on her 
way to take her seat. He flashed her a confused smile that she returned with a 
pointed glare. 
"Sorry I'm late, sir. My alarm clock was set for the wrong time," she said with 
a thin-lipped expression. 
Mulder had the good grace to wince slightly and give her an apologetic shrug. 
"That's all right, Agent, these things happen," Skinner said, giving Mulder a 
glare for good measure. "This was just called down from the Director's office." 
He waved at Mulder, who handed the file in his hands to his partner. 
"Five men have died in fires in the last three months. All men have possible mob 
connections," Skinner explained as Scully flipped through the pages of the 
report. 
"They were burned, arson fires, possibly," Scully suggested, picking up a key 
paragraph on one page. 
"They weren't really in buildings at the time," Mulder interjects. At his 
comment, Scully scans the rest of the page and her lips form an 'O'. 
"They were set ablaze?" she amended her previous statement. 
"With no traceable accelerant," Mulder added. "And the bodies maintain an 
electrical charge for up to 24 hours after estimated time of death." 
"So the fire could have been caused by electrical contact, but at extremely high 
voltage," Scully mused, going back to read that section of the autopsy report. 
"Well, at least none of them were found on bridges," Mulder muttered for 
Scully's ears only. She shot him a quick glance before turning her attention 
back to their superior. 
"You can see why you've been called in to do the autopsy on the latest victim," 
Skinner said, sitting back in his chair. 
Scully looked at the file folder suddenly, noticing none of the usual markings 
of a case for their division. "Is this case an X file, sir?" Scully asked. 
Skinner pursed his lips and regarded Mulder for a minute, then looked back to 
Scully. "At this time, the case is being classified as mob related. There is an 
organized crime task force already in place and it has been given the lead on 
this investigation." 
Scully looked over at her partner, confused. "So why are we here?" 
"They want you, because of your expertise," Mulder explained calmly. 
"But what about you?" she asked. 
"I'll just keep the home fires burnin'," he mugged. "It seems my invitation to 
this particular ball got lost in the mail," he said, looked directly at the 
Assistant Director. 
"Over my objections, believe me," Skinner quickly pointed out. "I specifically 
requested this investigation go to the X Files Division. That request was shot 
down." 
Mulder mimed getting shot in the heart and Scully frowned at him. 
"The body is in at Quantico. I suggest you clear your schedule to make yourself 
available to the task force. The Special Agent In Charge will be contacting you 
later today," Skinner said, ignoring the silent conversation being waged in 
front of him. 
"Yes sir," Scully said finally. Mulder was already out the door when she stopped 
and turned back to her superior. "Sir, might I say that I'm not happy with the 
direction this case is going?" 
"I'll add your objections to my own, Agent Scully. But in the meantime, you have 
work to do," Skinner said, picking up a file on his desk and letting her know 
the subject was closed. 
Scully caught up with her partner at the elevators. "Mulder," she started but 
the doors opened and they entered the elevator car. Mulder waited to see if 
anyone followed them, and watched the doors slide shut, giving them some privacy 
from the crowded hallway. 
"Scully, chill out," he told her, taking her hand and brushing his thumb across 
her knuckles lightly. "It's one autopsy. You consult on autopsies all the time," 
he added. 
"I just don't like the way this case it being given to Organized Crime," she 
grumbled. "If there was no accelerate, the unexplained presence of an electrical 
charge long after death, those two facts alone would tell us this case qualifies 
as an X file. I don't like them cutting you out of the loop!" 
He grinned at her anger and squeezed her shoulder, their 'on the clock' 
equivalent of a tender kiss. "Hey, I've been Monster Boy for a long time, now. 
Maybe this is your chance to become Monster Girl!" 
She smirked up at him, placing her hand over his and giving it a squeeze back. 
"I just hate the thought of leaving you to your own devices for any length of 
time." 
"What? You don't trust me?" he cried, trying to sound wounded at her words. 
"I don't trust you and that shipment of office supplies we just got in," she 
said dryly. 
"Scully, I swear, I have no idea how those pencils got in the ceiling," he said, 
holding two fingers of his right hand up and his left hand over his heart. 
"Yeah, well I'm locking the twelve boxes of pencils we just received in my desk 
upstairs and taking the key, just in case they decide to sneak down to the 
basement and play," she said. 
"Fine," he said with a pout. "Don't trust me." Besides, he mused silently, her 
desk drawer was child's play to pick the lock. 
  
FBI Academy at Quantico 
Autopsy Bay C 
2:45 pm 
She had just opened up the body with a Y incision and was examining the internal 
organs. As was often the case in burn victims, the organs appeared 'cooked'. She 
grimaced slightly as she continued. It wasn't that Scully was totally immune to 
the gruesomeness she witnessed on a daily basis. It was just that it wasn't 
enough to deter her from continuing to look. What made many people recoil in 
horror and slam the door just made Dana Scully more curious. 
She was leaning forward, face close to the body when the door behind her opened. 
She could hear someone coming up behind her, she was positive it was her 
partner. Mulder had a penchant for sneaking up on her during autopsies and she 
knew he wouldn't be able to stay away from this one for long. With a mixture of 
annoyance and expectation, she stood up straight and turned toward the 
footsteps. 
"Well, Mulder what took you so--" Her sentence hung like a fog in the room when 
she realized it was not her partner, but a man she'd never laid eyes on before. 
"Excuse me, I thought you were someone else." 
"Wish I were that someone," smirked the man, and then he nodded at the body on 
the table, turning his head as he viewed the internal organs on full display. 
"Damn glad I'm not that guy, though." 
Scully took a moment to compose herself, she felt immediately uneasy with this 
gentleman. "If you'll excuse me, I'm working here." She turned back to the body. 

"Yes, I know. I asked for your assistance. I'm Grif Michelin, I'm the SIC for 
the Organized Crime Task Force." 
Scully was glad she was turned away from the other agent, because she knew her 
face would betray her disgust. She took a deep breath and pasted on a smile. 
"Agent Michelin, nice to meet you." She held up her latex gloved right hand and 
shrugged in apology. "Sorry." 
"That's OK, Agent Scully. Dana, isn't it? I'm just here to introduce myself, see 
if there's anything you've come up with." 
"I just started my internal exam, Agent Michelin. It will be a while before I 
can make my full report," she said with forced calm. 
"Oh, believe me, I'm not Spooky Mulder. I don't expect instant results. And I 
prefer first names, don't you, Dana? Call me Grif." His smile would have been 
dazzling if Scully didn't find it so oily. 
"Well, regardless of your opinions of other agents, _Agent Michelin_, unless you 
stand aside and give me enough room to work, it will be even longer until you 
get my report," Scully said, picking up her scalpel, the faintest tone of threat 
in her voice. 
Michelin only laughed. "I heard you were a spitfire! But seriously, my people 
are working on the assumption that this was a gangland killing, possibly the 
start of a new gang and this is their signature hit using fire. What do you 
think so far?" 
Scully was getting angrier by the minute, but as SIC for the Task Force, it was 
a valid question. She couldn't help but feel she was getting a taste of the 
medicine Mulder had been forced to swallow for years. SICs who disregarded you 
as an agent only to suck all information out of your brain and then toss you 
aside, she had seen it happen too many times to count. 
"The bodies were burned, there is no doubt of that. But it was not induced in 
any normal manner. They were subjected to an electrical field of some sort, 
extremely high voltage." 
"Car battery, powered up tazer, hell, a power cord all could produce electrical 
current," Michelin pointed out. 
"No, Agent Michelin, you're not hearing me. This is extremely high voltage. You 
don't find this voltage on any thing except some very large electrical 
transformers. But even that theory doesn't work well because the induction of 
electricity to the body was exceedingly quick and there's no obvious point of 
contact. I would say this was done by a lightning strike, but again, in death by 
lightning, you see contact points and grounding points on the shoes." 
"Lightning? That's you're working opinion?" Michelin hooted. "What, you're 
saying the 'hand of God' killed this man? That's a good one, Dana. I can't wait 
to pass that one along," he laughed bitterly. "C'mon, Dana. Spooky is all the 
way back in DC. Try to remember what it was like _before_ you met him and give 
me a _real_ scientific opinion. This body was found a good ten miles from the 
nearest large transformer. The scorch marks on the ground indicate the murder 
occurred where the body was found. There was not a cloud in the sky that night, 
so lightning is out of the question. The pathologist we had look at the first 
victim tried that 'lightning' shit and obviously, we have four more 'lightning 
victims' to account for. I expected more out of you. I guess your reputation has 
exceeded your abilities!" 
Scully was seething. "I have work to do, Agent Michelin. I informed you that my 
report is not complete. Now I suggest you get the hell out of this autopsy bay 
and let me continue examining this body." 
"I want something, Scully, something I can _use_ by noon tomorrow. I'm a nice 
guy, but I have deadlines, too, you know," he sneered. 
Scully had already dismissed him in her mind, but when she heard the door swing 
shut behind her she let out a growl and kicked the metal gurney in front of her. 
It hurt her big toe like hell, but it made the rest of her feel a little bit 
better. 
  
Act II 
Fox Mulder's apartment 
6:45 pm 
Two bags of take out were clenched firmly in her teeth, her briefcase was slowly 
answering the call of gravity and slipping off her left shoulder, she had the 
keys in her hand at the bottom of her purse but wasn't able to manipulate them 
around her wallet to get the right key to the top and into her fingers. Just as 
she felt success with the keys, the door opened of its own volition. She almost 
ran into the kitchen to drop the bags on the table. 
"Just in time," she panted, tucking her purse and briefcase on the spare dinette 
chairs. 
"Just part of the service, ma'am," Mulder purred and pulled her into his arms, 
kissing her soundly on the mouth. She returned the kiss, added a little 
attention to detail of her own, and patted him on the bottom before pulling 
away. "I'm starved." 
"So am I," Mulder agreed, not letting her out of his arms. 
"Mulder," she said with a warning growl. 
"Oh, all right. What are we dining on tonight?" 
"Pad thai, curried chicken, sticky rice, but we're sharing that. Did you make 
more tea, we drank the last the other night." 
"Two quarts, in the refrigerator. And I even made ice this morning before I left 
for work." 
"Oh, that reminds me," Scully turned and gave him a sweet smile. "Mess with my 
alarm again and this time the bullet won't go through your shoulder." 
"Hey, I tried to make sure you would get up in time." 
"Well, it's going to go off at 7:00 tonight," she said with a shake of her head. 
"Next time, just make sure I crawl out of bed before you leave the apartment." 
He walked over to where she was pulling plates out of the cabinet. "I will. I'm 
sorry. I know this is a pain." 
She leaned back into him. "No, it's not. If we get to sleep together most nights 
when we're in town, I'm all for it. Maybe I should invest in one of those alarm 
clocks with two time settings." 
"And a CD player," he commented, getting out the silverware. 
"You don't like my choice of morning programming, Mulder?" she asked with a 
raised eyebrow. 
"Scully, how do I put this? NPR and 'Morning Edition' tend to put me in a coma. 
I need something a little bouncier to wake me up." 
"Mulder, I refuse to allow any of your 'shock jocks' on my radio. It would fry 
the electric in this building." 
They sat down and ate in silence for a few minutes. He stole some of her curried 
chicken and fed her some of his Pad thai. She was breaking out the sticky rice 
when he decided to broach the subject of her day. 
"So, how'd that autopsy go?" 
It had seemed like an innocent inquiry, but not from the pink flush that colored 
her cheeks or the fire that suddenly burned bright in her eyes. 
"Autopsy? That went fine. The asshole in charge of the task force, that's 
another matter," she said, shoving him a plate of dessert across the table but 
not dishing up one for herself. She leaned back and watched him dig in. 
"So, does the 'asshole' have a name?" he asked, trying not to let his bemusement 
at her ire get any of it directed his way. 
He was successful, she smirked. "I suppose so. His name is Grif Michelin. What 
kind of name is 'Grif' anyway?" she mused aloud as she picked up his empty plate 
and took it to the sink. 
"Not one to throw stones, I think it's short for Griffith. As in Griffith 
Michelin, III. Old money." 
She turned to give him a wide-eyed look. "You're kidding." 
He shook his head. "I wish. No, Grif isn't part of the fortune, not directly at 
least. But as a second or third cousin twice removed his father more than made 
up for his distance by using the family name to get some heavy hitter clients 
for his law firm." 
"Is 'Grif' a lawyer? And exactly how do you know so much about him?" 
"Grif just barely squeaked through law school but he couldn't pass the 
California bar. Still, his degree managed to get him a spot in White Collar 
Crime. Not sure how he made the hop over to Organized, but hey, I've taken a 
left turn or two in my day," Mulder said, eyes sparkling. "And I know him 
because I taught him." 
"When did you ever teach?" she demanded, handing him a plate that he dutifully 
dried with the towel he'd picked up from the counter. 
"Right after Patterson, right before the X files. Nobody was sure what to do 
with me. I wanted to investigate the X files, no one wanted me doing that. 
Matheson was working his connections. So I was in limbo. They had me teaching 
basic profiling at the Academy for four months." 
"Mulder, you keep unfolding like a flower," she smiled and hugged him with her 
now wet and soapy hands. 
He leaned down and accepted a kiss, then pulled up, smiling back at her. 
"Obviously old Griffy boy made an impression with you. Not one he could use to 
run for President, I'd bet." 
"Oh yes, he made quite the impression. He belittled my initial assessment, made 
snide comments about our work and threw around a few veiled threats. I was ready 
to turn my scalpel on him, but he left." 
"I thought they tossed his ass out on the street years ago," Mulder agreed. "But 
then, there are a few others like that," he added with a grin. 
"I'm glad I'm just consulting on this one. If I had to actually work with that 
asshole for any length of time--" 
"Oh, Scully, I'm getting very turned on," he murmured in her ear. She shook her 
head and accepted his kisses on her neck. "Hey, mind if I take a look at your 
report--when you have the results back?" 
She looked up into his eyes. "You know, Mulder, 'Grif' would probably be very 
upset that you were sticking your nose in this case." 
Mulder bit on his lip and nodded slowly. "So you don't want me to look at it?" 
he asked, trying hard not to sound as wounded as he felt. 
"No, that's not what I'm saying at all!" she corrected him. "I would love to 
have you look at my report. And when we figure it out, without the aid of his 
little task force, I want to have a front row seat when we rub his nose in it," 
she grinned. 
Mulder gazed at her in open adoration. "Wow, Scully, I knew you were a wild red 
head, but this vicious, vindictive nature is a whole new side of you. C'mon, 
leave the dishes, I have plans for you tonight!" He pulled her toward the 
bedroom and she followed willingly. 
K&M Heating and Air Conditioning Warehouse 
Greene Street and 68th Street 
Fairfax, Virginia 
2 days later 
Carlos Mendera was not a happy man. He'd spent most of his life building up a 
business and now it appeared that someone was trying to horn in on his 
operation. Worse yet, his people, the blithering idiots he called 'cousins', 
couldn't even tell him _who_ was behind the murder of three of his better 
'enforcers'. He slammed a meaty fist down on the ancient metal desk, making the 
two men in front of him jump in surprise. 
"You're telling me you have no idea who this gang is or where they come from?" 
Carlos demanded, slamming his fist down again for good measure. 
"Carlos, we done looked everywhere. We roughed up some guys at the docks in 
Annapolis and one of the 'Banderas' gang up in Baltimore. Nobody's sayin' 
nuthin'!" 
"Besides, we ain't the only ones being hit, boss," the other man chimed in 
nervously. "Orlando lost a couple o' his goons in the last month, too." 
"Probably shot each other in the dark," Carlos said with a grunt. "Look, you 
dumbshits, I got a shipment comin' up from Bogata in four days. It don't look 
good to my suppliers to have dead bodies lyin' around. Luis, nose around a 
little more, find out about the two goons Orlando lost. Do we know how they 
died?" 
"Fire, that's all we know, boss," answered the second man. 
"We did find out somethin', boss," the first man added suddenly. "There's a Fed 
nosin' around. Guy by the name of Mulder." 
Carlos leaned forward, his face a picture of renewed concern. "A Fed? DEA?" 
"Nah, FBI," came the quick reply. 
Carlos smiled. "A friend of our 'friend'?" 
The man shook his head. "I don't think so, boss. We ain't been told to look out 
for this guy. I think he's working the case himself." 
Carlos shook his head slowly and chewed on a well-manicured thumbnail. "I don't 
like it. Contact our friend, find out what you can about this Mulder joker. We 
may have to keep an eye on him." 
"You got it, boss," the man said, and left with his companion. 
"Mr. Michelin, you better be worth what I'm payin' you," Carlos muttered to the 
walls before dragging a logbook over, put on his glasses and got down to work. 
Hoover Building 
Organized Crime Task Force 
SIC Michelin's office 
8:45 pm 
The phone rang, startling Michelin. He'd been going over his notes of the 
afternoon, wondering how in the hell he could make all the angles work. He knew 
bringing Dana Scully in on the case would be a waste of time, but higher 
authorities had overruled his objections. Now he just had to work around her, as 
well as he could. But he still needed answers. 
He grabbed the phone, anxious to get rid of any caller that late at night. 
"Michelin, and make it brief, I'm busy," he growled into the receiver. 
"Now, that ain't no way to talk to an old buddy," Carlos replied with a smile 
that didn't make its way to his voice. 
"I told you never to call me here," Grif snarled. 
"What, the FBI tapping its own phones now? Shuddup, I gotta tell ya somthin'. 
You got some dipwad playing in your playhouse. Name's Mulder. He one of yours?" 
"Shit," Michelin cursed under his breath. "Fox Mulder is FBI but he's not one of 
my guys. Where'd you hear he was working this case?" 
"My guys heard about him. What's his interest in this? He trying to horn in on 
your turf?" Carlos asked, more curious than ever because of Michelin's obvious 
lack of details on this new agent. "This guy don't work for Internal Affairs or 
nothin', does he?" 
"It's called Office of Professional Responsibility and I would dare say Fox 
Mulder is the last person they'd assign to work there," Michelin huffed. "No, 
he's probably nosing around because his girlfriend is supposed to be consulting 
on the case." 
"She that slicer you mentioned?" Carlos asked, but then didn't wait for a reply. 
"She come up with anything? You know, I get first crack at this asshole who's 
been offin' my boys!" 
Michelin shifted the phone to his other ear and leaned back in his seat. "We 
have a deal, Mendera. You keep me in the loop, toss me enough to get me that 
ASAC position and I'll keep you in the loop. One hand washes the other." 
"Just make sure you don't start lookin' for other hands to wash, comprendo, 
Agent Michelin," Carlos growled and slammed the phone back on the receiver. 
"'Cause if you cross me, you end up dead, little man!" he said to the silent 
black phone. 
X Files office 
J. Edgar Hoover Building 
next day 
4:56 pm 
Mulder was deep in thought as he stared at the pictures spread out before him. 
Five bodies all burned beyond recognition. All five identified by dental records 
and vehicles not far from the scene of the murders. Two of the victims were 
found together, the others were singled out. Mulder chewed on his thumb and 
frowned. So far, all they knew was that each man was connected to organized 
crime. He leaned back and put his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. 
Hell, he mused, maybe this was an organized crime hit. But why did it feel so 
much like an X file? 
Murder weapon, his mind shouted back. Fire. He grimaced slightly. It was a lot 
of years since that word could cause terror in his heart and he'd faced fire a 
couple of times in the meantime, but the thought of fire still gave him the 
willies. Not that he'd ever admit that to Scully. Not unless she hog-tied him, 
of course. He smiled at that image. Maybe, if he could get some nice nylon rope 
before the weekend . . . He shook his head to clear his mind. Not the time for 
fantasies now. Besides, he knew that unless there was a break in this case, 
Scully would likely be working all weekend, going over every minute detail of 
the previous autopsies, at the beck and call of 'Grif' Michelin, bastard 
extraordinaire. 
The autopsy photos, although interesting, weren't giving him any information. 
All three of these men had something more in common than 'work associates'. They 
were all killed at night, all within walking distance of their cars. Near their 
homes? He flipped through some pages of the reports. No, not near their homes. 
Near a common place? Again, it appeared that the murders didn't occur at a 
common place or even in the same town. 
Mulder tilted back in his chair, propped his feet firmly on his desk and stared 
at the ceiling. Five men, all in the same line of work, criminal activities, and 
all dead. What could be the common thread? If they'd all died at the same time, 
he'd have no doubt that it was connected to their 'associates'. But they'd died 
separately, over a period of a couple of months. It appeared to be hits, but it 
was a damned unusual signature. What did men like that do on . . . 
Inspiration struck when he finally found the connecting piece. All the men had 
died on the same night. Thursday. The common thread was Thursday. Now, all he 
needed to do was dig a little, make a few phone calls and find out what the hell 
there was to do in the greater Washington DC metropolitan area on a Thursday 
night. 
Two hours later, his ear was starting to burn and his right hand index finger 
was feeling bruised, but Mulder felt triumphant. It had taken a little 
subterfuge, a few white lies and a whole lot of moxie on his part, but he now 
had the schedule of a weekly traveling poker game and the names of some of the 
participants. 
With his list firmly in his pocket, he headed out the door in search of a 
killer. 
One hour later 
Scully pushed open the door to the office, noticing immediately that it was 
empty. Where the hell had Mulder gone now? 
She'd just returned from another go round with SIC Michelin. The man had gone 
from insufferable to potential homicide victim in the space of ten minutes, a 
new record for Scully. She could take his arrogance; she could even take his 
demeaning attitude toward her and her profession. What was really making her 
look for places to stick her scalpel where his severed artery wouldn't stain her 
lab coat was the way he kept invading her personal space every time he was 
around her. 
Sure, they hadn't taken out an ad in the Bureau employee newsletter, but her 
relationship with Mulder had been office canon for years even before they _had_ 
a relationship, at least in a physical sense. She knew Grif was simply finding 
new and inventive ways to push her buttons but that realization did nothing to 
dampen her anger. 
She wanted nothing more than to go to her apartment and soak in a hot tub. But 
Michelin wanted a detailed report on the tox screenings of all five victims and 
she'd stuck her foot in her mouth, telling him she'd have it to him first thing 
in the morning. That meant at least another two or three hours in the office. 
She closed her eyes and cursed the day Grif Michelin's mother looked at his 
father. And then her cell phone rang. 
"Scully, where are you?" Mulder asked. 
"I'm in the office. Where the hell are you?" she shot right back. 
"I'm on my way to a poker game, actually," he said with a smile she could detect 
even through the phone line. 
"Poker game? Mulder, do you even know how to play poker?" she asked, trying 
shake the 'fishwife' image from her mind. 
"I'll have you know I won the money for my plane ticket back to the states one 
summer from an all night poker game after orals," he said with a sniff. 
"Playing a bunch of rich, spoiled preppies, Mulder. I'm not surprised. But why 
did you decide to take up the sport right now?" 
"I'm pretty sure that's the connection between your victims." 
"Tell me you aren't going to this game to find the killer," Scully said with a 
heavy sigh. "Mulder, we've had this conversation too many times . . ." 
"Hey, this does not count as a ditch," he defended himself. "I'm calling you 
right now, at 7:35 pm, to tell you the exact location and the nature of my 
meeting." 
"You make it sound like I'm your appointments secretary," she growled. 
"I'm sorry," he said contritely. "I know you worry, Scully and I also know that 
in the past I've given you just cause . . ." 
"In the past? Try last week," she huffed but he ignored her comment and 
continued on. 
"I'm telling you where I'm going and what I'm doing. I'm just checking the place 
out. It's a traveling poker game. I'll sit in, play a few hands and unless I 
lose my paycheck early, I'll be home by 11, Scouts Honor!" 
"Once again, Mulder, you were an Indian Guide," Scully ground out through 
clenched teeth. 
"Whatever," Mulder quipped. "Scully, I have my gun, I have my cell phone, I'll 
be fine. Now, are you going over to my place or should I come to yours?" 
She sighed, remembering the report she had yet to start. "I'll be at the office, 
more than likely," she said dejectedly. "I promised Michelin a report first 
thing tomorrow." 
"Want I should kick his ass?" Mulder asked innocently. 
"No, I'm more than capable of handling that particular assignment, thank you," 
she replied happily. 
"Well, I guess I have to give you first dibs, then. So, keep the bed warm, or 
I'll keep the bed warm, hey, did we ever decide what bed we're warming tonight?" 
he asked in a slightly befuddled voice. 
"My turn tonight." 
"Then I better stop by the apartment and feed the fish," he reminded himself 
absently. "I'll catch you later, G-woman." 
"Just don't lose the rent, G-man." 
"Affirmative," he replied crisply. "Hey, did you know that I'm madly in love 
with my partner?" 
Her whole face broke into a broad smile. "I heard that years ago. That's old 
news." 
"Yeah, well, I hear she's madly in love with me, too," he taunted. 
"Now, _that_ you can take to the bank, Mulder. Try to get home in one piece." 
"I promise," he answered. "As an Indian Guide." Before she could make any 
response, he'd hung up. 
Scully shook her head and slipped her phone back in her pocket. While talking to 
Mulder she'd booted up the computer and now she sat staring at the desktop 
icons. Double clicking on the little blue 'e', she waited for the FBI homepage 
to appear. Now, where to start? 
Nero's Palace Italian Restaurant 
Tyson's Corner, Virginia 
11:57 pm 
Benito Orlando glared at the two men sitting in front of him. 
"Whaddya mean you got no idea who's doin' this? Either it's Mendera or some new 
slob but I don't pay you goons to sit on your asses doin' nothin'!" the olive 
skinned man said, strangling his knife and fork in each hand. Orlando wasn't a 
tall man, but what he lacked in stature he made up in sheer meanness. In his 
youth he'd been known as 'pollo de muerte', little chicken of death. It was a 
nickname he was proud to hold. 
The taller of the two men licked his lip nervously. "It ain't Mendera, boss. 
He's as pissed off as you." 
"Then it's a new bunch, some outsiders. Has anyone checked with the Banderas up 
in Baltimore?" Orlando demanded. 
The second man, small with beady eyes that seemed about to burst into tears 
shook his head emphatically. "Boss, Vito's tellin' the truth. We checked with 
Banderas, we checked all the way up to Atlantic City. There ain't no new gangs 
forming. This guy, who ever he is, he's workin' alone." 
"So we got some mope tryin' to play Wyatt Erp, is that what you're sayin'?" 
Orlando asked, calming down enough to put his knife and fork gently back on the 
table. 
Both men nodded in unison, a freakish imitation of two life-sized bobbleheads. 
Orlando leaned back in his chair, an oily smile on his face. "So, he's alone. 
That just makes our job easier." 
"But boss, we got no idea who he is!" cried beady-eyes. 
"And we ain't the only ones looking for him, neither," interjected the tall one. 
"The FBI is gunnin' for him." 
"For what?" Orlando asked, confused. 
The taller man shrugged. "Knockin' off enforcers," he said with a bemused 
expression. 
Orlando chuckled at that. "Boy, it's gotten a lot more confusin' since the days 
when my granddad used to send tortellini and lasagna to J. Edgar for his little 
parties," he huffed. "But I never thought they'd be doing our work for us." 
"There's a rumor that he's hittin' guys after poker games. We was gonna check 
that out," beady-eyes jumped in, now that the boss seemed in a better frame of 
mind. 
"So what the hell are ya doin' here?" Orlando roared. "Get your asses out on the 
street. And don't come back till you have word on this guy." 
"You wants us to 'erase' him, boss?" beady-eyes asked, feeling more secure by 
the minute. 
Orlando considered the remains of his veal scaloppini intently before looking up 
at his two associates. "Nah. You goons had your day. Now it's time to bring in 
the big guns. Just tell me where he is, I'll do the rest." 
The little man deflated slightly but nodded, heading out the door with his 
companion. 
"So, who do you think the boss is gonna call?" beady-eyes asked his friend. 
"Ain't gonna call no 'ghostbusters', that's for sure!" replied the taller man. 
"I'd put my money on Benny callin' Vinnie." 
Beady-eyes sucked in a breath at the name. "Vinnie . . . the Torch?" 
"Hey, ya gotta fight fire with fire, right," the tall man reasoned and they both 
broke into laughter. 
FBI Headquarters 
The next day 
9:15 am 
Scully sat staring so hard at the blank screen that her eyes began to cross. She 
had been through all the possible medical sites, and even a few of the more in 
depth crime statistical sites and had come up with nothing. It didn't help 
matters that she'd waited up until well past midnight for her partner, cursing 
his video collection for it's complete lack of anything to amuse her while she 
tried to forget about the case. She'd fallen asleep on his couch and he hadn't 
managed to wake her when he carried her into bed. Even so, she'd awakened 30 
minutes late to find he was nowhere in the apartment. Now she was tired, grumpy 
and wanted nothing more than to have Skinner call up and tell her they were 
required on a case in Middle of Nowhere, Kansas and their flight was to leave in 
an hour. 
Mulder must have sensed her foul mood because he'd left a note on his computer 
screen telling her he had some research to do that would take him out of the 
office for most of the day. Scully was pretty sure he was off in a corner of the 
building using a covert computer to find casino sites and practice up on his 
poker abilities, but he turned off his phone to escape detection and she hadn't 
had a chance to call him on it. 
Now, she sat where she'd sat most of the day before. The computer screen was 
still blank, waiting for her report. Mulder had equipped her computer with 
several of his favorite bookmarks, a pastime she had repeatedly scolded him 
about. As inspiration struck, she was glad to have them. As much as she tried to 
rationalize the bodies she'd seen in the last few days, there seemed no logical 
or plausible explanation. At least, not an easily arrived at plausible 
explanation. 
Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she clicked on 'favorites' and let her 
eyes scan the list. She grimaced, but finally clicked on the 'Weird Science 
Database'. Thank heavens Mulder was not in the room to see her at that moment or 
she would never live it down. Most of the entries were of no merit to the case, 
it wasn't a ghost, she doubted to the extreme that it could be attributed to 
alien abduction. Two words jumped out at her from the screen: ball lightning. 
Ball lightning, Scully already knew, was another name for plasma electricity 
balls that seemingly appeared out of thin air. They were sometimes connected 
with storm activity in the atmosphere, but sometimes they just appeared with no 
source and disappeared in an equally mysterious manner. Some accounts considered 
them harmless, but on occasion they had started fires, fried televisions and 
wrecked havoc before vanishing into nothing. For years, scientists had doubted 
the validity of claims of ball lightning, but in the last couple of decades, 
several respected scientists had documented some of the eyewitness accounts and 
the phenomena was grudgingly receiving official recognition in the scientific 
community. 
Among the pages of scientific explanations of ball lightning there were several 
eyewitness accounts of encounters with the plasma balls. As she clicked on each 
entry and read the stories, each person's ordeal began to take on a familiar 
tone. Of course, there were no cases of people who had actually been touched by 
the balls of floating plasma. It seemed in most cases the witnesses could 
outdistance the balls or the balls actually seemed to 'avoid' contact with 
humans. 
But what if that wasn't the case? 
Scully tapped her foot and grabbed the mouse again, this time looking for sites 
on electrical injuries. Just from her own observation, she was positive the 
voltage to produce such massive destruction within the victims had to be much 
higher than ordinary household current. Lightning, in whatever form, seemed a 
more plausible explanation. This was the connection, the cause. And, Scully 
gleefully mused, it had scientific, or at least 'fringe' scientific, standing. 
After several hours of reading, she opened a clear screen and started to type up 
her report for the Task Force. 
The X Files office 
6:21 pm 
When he'd not gotten an answer at her apartment, Mulder hadn't bothered calling 
her cell phone. She was most likely still in the basement, working on her 
report. That's exactly where he found her. 
Her head jerked up when she heard the door swing open. She reached for her gun, 
but quickly dropped her hand and allowed herself to break into a huge grin. "Is 
that a pepperoni pizza in that box, G-Man?" 
"Either that or I'm really glad to see you," he shot back and deposited the 
pizza box on the flattest pile of papers on his desk. "Pepperoni, half mushrooms 
for the fungus lover." 
"Mulder, you old softie!" she exclaimed, opening the box and pulling out a 
slice. "You didn't wake me when you came in last night. So, how much did you 
lose?" she asked, reaching over to her desk to grab a handful of tissues to use 
as napkins. 
"You wound me, Scully! 'How much did you lose?' What, have you no confidence in 
my ability to master the simple game of poker?" 
"We'll play 'the simple game of poker' with Bill and Tara the next time Mom has 
a family gathering, and we'll see how well you've mastered it," she smiled 
coyly. "How much are you out?" 
"Forty-three bucks," he said with a sigh and grabbed out his own slice. "But I 
could have won it back if I'd been able to stay out past curfew," he added with 
a dejected slump to his shoulders. 
"You were several hours past curfew in my house, sailor. Any leads on a possible 
UNSUB?" she asked, settling down on her chair. 
"Nada. But I found out there's more than one game. There's another one tonight. 
Apparently gambling is alive and well in Northern Virginia and the Maryland 
Suburbs, Scully. All that potential tax money and no body to collect it." 
"Well, I may have stumbled on the murder weapon, so to speak," she grinned, 
pleased that at least she'd made some progress on the case. "Assuming these were 
actually murders," she added, moving to pick up sheets from the printer and 
handing them to her partner. 
Mulder sat down at his desk and read quickly through the printed pages. When he 
got to her findings, he looked up in surprise, a smile spreading across his 
features. "Dear Diary, today Dana Scully used the words 'ball lightning' in an 
autopsy report. My heart leapt!" He skimmed the rest of the report and handed it 
back to her. "Good work, Scully. But are you sure you want to put that on the 
record?" 
Scully took the pages, straightened them and sat down across the desk from 
Mulder. "It's the only explanation that makes sense, Mulder. There was no 'point 
of contact' burns, the voltage was extreme to say the least. I would say these 
men were just the unfortunate victims of plasma electricity." 
Mulder pulled on his lip, staring off toward the darkened back of the office. 
"You think this was, what? An act of God?" 
"Mulder, look at the evidence. Ball lightning occurs naturally, there are 
hundreds of documented and eye witness reports . . ." 
"And in all those reports, Scully, how many deaths occur each year?" 
Scully dropped her eyes and tried not to look rattled. "Well, to be perfectly 
honest . . ." 
"None, if I'm not mistaken. I've done a little homework on ball lightning 
myself, quite some time ago. I ran across the same websites you found when we 
were investigating some deaths by lightning a few years back. And I distinctly 
remember that ball lightning had accounted for no deaths, according to the 
documentation. However, I did see evidence of several fried TVs and computers." 
Scully's face fell. "You don't think it's ball lightning," she said calmly. 
He smiled at her. "You give up too easy, Scully. No, I think it's quite probably 
ball lightning. I just don't think it's 'occurring naturally' as you seem to 
think. I think it's being directed at these men," he poked his pizza slice in 
the air to make his point. "I think it truly is being used as a murder weapon. 
That is the only way to explain how five different men could die of the same 
'naturally occurring phenomenon'. The only remaining question is who is 
committing the murders." 
Scully frowned and looked back at the screen. Mulder was correct, five deaths, 
even by regular lightning, would be skirting the edges of extreme possibility. 
And it did feel like a crime was being committed. "I just don't see how we'll be 
able to find the killer, Mulder. What are we looking for, somebody with a really 
big plasma ball? They might stand out in a crowd," Scully reminded him dryly. 
"I'm not giving up on the poker game, Scully. I think there's something there." 
She rubbed the back of her neck with one hand while clicking off the computer 
with the other. "OK, Mulder, go play poker. But I warn you, I don't make loans." 

He came up behind her, took over the neck rub with his own hands and kissed her 
just under her left earlobe. 
"I was hoping to get an advance on 'services rendered'," he whispered in her 
ear. 
"In your dreams, G-man," she laughed. She turned her head and pressed his 
fingers to her lips. "I have a task force meeting at 8," she said with a 
disappointed sigh. 
"That's OK. The poker game starts at 9," he said, tapping her nose with his 
index finger. "We'll meet up at your place at . . ." 
"God knows when," she supplied. "Mulder, I'm going home and taking a hot bath 
when this meeting is over. If I'm still there when you get in, drain the tub and 
carry me to bed," she requested with a big yawn. 
His smile was enough to brighten a darkened city block. "I think I can handle 
that," he said cheerfully. "See you tonight," he added, snagging the last piece 
of pizza and heading out the door, leaving her to finish her report. 
K&M Construction 
14564 Canal Street 
Alexandria, Virginia 
11:13 pm 
Mulder licked his lips and stared hard at his cards. Two eights, two aces, and a 
six of clubs stared back at him. Dead man's hand. Scully would not be pleased. 
He looked around the table and considered his options. "I'm out," he said flatly 
and threw the cards on the table. 
"Mr. Ed-u-kay-shun is out, gentlemen," said the dealer, a wirey African-American 
with a gleaming smile. "That brings us to you, Rockie." 
Ray Boulder looked nervously at his cards. Squat. Nothing there. A five, a 
seven, a jack, and two threes. It was worse than nothing. And he knew he was 
already in the hole. There was only one option. "I'll raise you ten," he said 
and stared straight across the table into the eyes of the large man with a big 
black moustache. 
Four of the men at the table, including Mr. Moustache, broke into uproarious 
laughter. "Rockie, you ain't got squat," bellowed the Moustache. "Now don't go 
diggin' youself in no hole you can't climb outta. Just lay down the cards and 
call it a night." 
Ray sat there, resisting the urge to squirm. But then he thought about the last 
several weeks and a calm smile came to his face. "Sure, Al. What was I thinkin'? 
Just kiddin' around, ya know how it is." He placed his cards face down on the 
table. Al's smile turned up a hundred watts as he raked his winnings into a pile 
in front of him. 
"I'm out," Mulder announced, pushing back his chair. The dealer smiled at him as 
Mulder handed over four twenties and a ten, his losses for the evening. 
"Pleasure playin' wid ya, Marty. Come back anytime," the dealer laughed. He then 
turned to Ray. "So, we come to the Rock. Dig out the wallet and cough up 5 
pictures of Mr. Jackson, and be quick about it, we got a game to finish." 
"Nah, Jake, let's call it a night," Al said with a stretch and a yawn. 
The other men looked nervously at Al, but no one said a word. Jake's eyes darted 
from Ray to Al and back again. 
"I'll settle up with Rockie, here," Al said with a forced smile. "Besides, he 
owes me all the money he's out. Why make everybody else wait, right?" 
The table immediately broke into nods and mutters of agreement. Before Mulder 
had a chance to reach for his jacket, most of the men had fled the small 
conference room at the back of the construction company office. 
"Al, look, I have the money," Ray blurted out. "It's all back at my car. I don't 
like comin' into these games with too much money on me, ya know? No tellin' what 
might happen. Let me go get it and I'll be right back," he assured 
"Lemme walk ya to your car, Rockie," Al said with an oily smile. "So you don't 
have to walk all the way back." He turned and glared at Mulder. "Hey, you, 
rube," he sneered. "Beat it!" 
Mulder looked from Ray to Al and knew immediately that he shouldn't get 
involved. It was a gambling debt; no court in the land would defend the man. He 
had no business getting involved. Scully would absolutely kill him if he got 
mangled in a fight over a stupid poker game. 
"Um, I need a ride," Mulder said calmly, unobtrusively rubbing his ankle against 
his other ankle, checking to make sure his spare gun was indeed still in place. 
He could hear Scully's sigh as if she was standing right behind him. 
"Bus stops half a block down to the left," Al said with a frown. 
"Oh, yeah. Well, trouble is, I'm tapped out," Mulder continued. His hand was 
itching to reach down to his gun, but he forced himself to stand tall and look 
straight into Al's eyes. His mind flashed a strange image of staring down a 
cobra. 
Al regarded Mulder coolly and then swiftly dug in his pocket, coming up with a 
handful of coins. He tossed the coins down on the table, just inches from where 
Mulder stood. 
"Now, I repeat, beat it!" 
"Sure thing. Nice playing with you," Mulder said quickly, scraping the coins 
into his hand and depositing them in his pocket. There was no point in 
antagonizing the man, who outweighed him by at least 150 pounds. Mulder shrugged 
on his jacket and left by the door he'd come in. 
'Go home, go home, go home,' a voice that sounded incredibly like his partner's 
sang in his head, but Mulder looked around the industrial park and spotted a 
good hiding place, a darkened alcove across the street. Sure, Ray had tried to 
cheat, that much was obvious. Mulder had watched as the little man palmed cards 
during the night, and he was certain Ray was trying hard to skip out on the 
money he owed. But Mulder knew he couldn't go home with a clear conscious if the 
man was beaten. Besides, Mulder reasoned, maybe Ray could give him some 
information about the games and the players that could lead to their killer. 
'Right,' Scully's little voice growled sarcastically in his head. 
Al and Ray wasted no time coming out of the construction office. Ray was a few 
feet ahead and Al was staring holes in the man's back. When they arrived at 
Ray's beat up old Caprice, Al didn't wait any longer. He grabbed Ray by the 
collar and lifted him up into the air, slamming the smaller man down on the hood 
of the car before raising his fist to pummel Ray's head. 
Mulder reached down and unholstered his gun, preparing to step out and break up 
the melee, when he heard a loud noise, like a giant balloon popping. Suddenly, 
from nowhere, a ball of blue light at least three feet in diameter appeared 
behind Al. As the giant man stepped back to renew his assault on Ray, he was 
engulfed in the ball and static electricity danced off every hair on his body. 
He was lifted off the ground at least four feet into the air and with a noise 
that rivaled a sonic boom, he sailed a dozen feet and landed in a smoking heap 
in the middle of the deserted street. 
Before Mulder could move, Ray was jumping in the front seat of his car and 
shoving the key in the ignition. Coming to his senses after witnessing such a 
display, Mulder ran to the passenger side of the car and pounded on the window. 
"Open up, Ray. I'm with the FBI!" he shouted through the glass of the passenger 
side window. His gun still plainly in sight, he pulled out his identification 
wallet and plastered it against the window. 
Ray's eyes grew wide, but he dropped his hands from the steering wheel. Slowly, 
he leaned over and unlocked the car door, allowing Mulder to open it. Mulder 
slid in the seat and looked at Ray. 
"I don't want to hurt you," he said in a rush. "I think you know something about 
some deaths that have been occurring lately. I just want to talk to you." 
"I ain't done nuthin' wrong," Ray cried out, shaking his head and beating his 
fists on the steering wheel. "I didn't do that, there's no way in hell I could 
do that," he stammered, looking terrified out at where Al's body still smoldered 
in the wane light of the street lamp half a block away. "I didn't do it," he 
said, spent from his panic and laid his head on the steering wheel. 
Mulder considered his options. "Look, will you come with me? I think I can help 
you." 
Ray turned his head and peered at Mulder. "You said you were FBI. Why do you 
want to help me?" 
Mulder smiled. "Because I think you have a unique ability that you don't even 
know and I think we need to figure out how you can control it." Then he grew 
serious. "And you were present at the deaths of six individuals." 
"Scumbags!" Ray spit out without lifting his head. "They were nothin' but scum!" 

"That might be the case, Ray, but they were killed by something you say you had 
no part of. What if the next time it decides to turn on you?" 
It was obvious to Mulder and the thought had crossed Ray's mind. He raised his 
head and nodded in agreement. 
"So, where you wanta go?" Ray asked. "I don't got much gas." 
Mulder refrained from chuckling. "My apartment is just on the other side of 
town. We can go there, relax and you can tell me how all this came about." 
Ray shrugged and started the engine. As he pulled away from the curb, neither 
man noticed a black Lexus SUV a block down the street, which waited until Ray 
turned and then followed them, not even slowing down as it passed the smoldering 
remains of Big Al. 
Mulder pulled out his cell phone and punched a couple of buttons. The phone rang 
a few times and then voice mail picked up. "This is Dana Scully. Please leave a 
message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can." 
Mulder cursed softly and then straightened in his seat. "Scully, it's me. Look, 
I think I found a really big lead. But I need you to do something for me. Call 
the Alexandria PD and tell them there's another stiff outside K & M Construction 
at 145th and Canal. Don't bother with the autopsy just yet, I can give an 
eyewitness account. Call me when you get this, OK?" He shut off the phone and 
looked over at Ray. 
"You were there, right? At all six deaths?" 
Ray nodded, concentrating on the road ahead. "What was the address?" 
Mulder shook his head and looked out the window. "2630 Hegal Place. Just take 
this road another couple of miles and you'll run into Hegal. Then take a left." 
The rest of the ride was in silence. 
? 
Act III 
FBI Headquarters 
11:45 pm 
Conference room 4B 
Scully sat quietly at the back of the room of agents, glaring at Grif Michelin 
who was calmly listening to each man or woman's report. The meeting had started 
at 8 and she was certain she'd be on the way to Mulder's apartment by 10 at the 
latest, but Grif seemed to relish in particularly long meetings. Her ass had 
fallen asleep at least 45 minutes ago. 
"And that brings us to our 'consultant', Agent Scully. Come on up and tell the 
folks about your 'revelation', Agent Scully," Michelin crowed as he waved Scully 
up to the front of the room. 
Scully tamped down the rage boiling within her and stood, collecting her papers 
with measured deliberativeness. With head held high, she made her way to the 
front of the room. Surveying the gathered agents, she looked them each in the 
eye and began her report. 
"You're out of the friggin' mind, Scully!" 
"I thought we had the 'sane' half of the partnership working on this task 
force!" 
"What a minute, didn't I see something about ball lightning on the Sci Fi 
channel last night?" 
"So what are you trying to tell us, Scully? We're to be on the lookout for a 
really big thundercloud?" 
A full ten minutes after the break up of the meeting and her mind was still 
reeling from the taunts and accusations flung at her. She was angry enough to 
break into tears, but that was one thing living with an asshole brother like 
Bill had taught her - never let them see you cry. She collected her papers from 
the podium and headed for the elevator. She'd go down to the basement, toss her 
report in the garbage, drive to her apartment and bring that bottle of 
chardonnay into the bathtub with her. If she didn't drown herself in a drunken 
stupor, maybe Mulder would come home and take her to bed. Maybe, just maybe, 
she'd let him keep her in bed for the next month. 
The last person she wanted to see was Grif Michelin leaning against the wall 
next to the elevators. 
"Quite a show you put on in there tonight, Scully. Do you do matinees on the 
weekends?" he asked with a smirk. Scully wanted nothing more than to knock out 
his two perfectly matched and artificially white front teeth. 
"I gave my report, Agent Michelin. And now, I'm going home," she replied through 
gritted teeth. 
She started to stab at the elevator button, but Michelin's hand shot out and 
grabbed her at the sleeve. "Scully, when you get home tonight, do us all a favor 
and tie a bell around your partner's dick. Or better yet, cuff him to the bed 
for a while." 
"Remove your hand right now or I'll have you up on harassment," she seethed. 
"Oh, I don't think so," Michelin purred. "If anybody's been 'sexually harassing' 
you, that would be Mulder. But I want you to listen to me and listen good. Your 
partner is in deep shit if he thinks he's going to work on this case behind my 
back. I can have you both exiled to some field office in Nebraska, if I so 
desire." 
"I don't know what you're talking about," Scully ground out, ripping her arm 
from Michelin's grasp. She hit the button to call for the next car with a little 
more force than necessary, almost breaking a nail in the process. 
"Just tell old Foxy boy to keep his dick where it belongs and out of my 
investigation. Or I can't be held responsible. Got it?" He turned on his heel 
and swaggered down the hallway. 
"Fuck off," Scully muttered, but Michelin was already out of earshot. 
It didn't take long to toss the report, grab her coat and purse and start for 
the door. But in her haste, her purse strap caught on the edge of her desk, 
causing her purse to tilt and the contents to spill all over the floor. 
"Goddammit," she shouted to the walls and stooped down to pick up the mess. As 
she was putting her cell phone back in its holder, she noticed the message 
symbol was blinking. Punching in the appropriate numbers, she listened to 
Mulder's message. 
"Goddammit to hell!" she shouted louder. As usual, Mulder had run off and left 
her with all the dirty work. Angrily she punched in the number for the 
Alexandria Police Department as she headed out to her car. In minutes she was on 
the way to 145th and Canal. She was mad enough that she wanted to tell him off, 
but when she dialed his cell phone, she got his voice mail. Refusing to give up 
the satisfaction of yelling at him in person, she disconnected the call without 
leaving a message and threw the phone on the passenger seat. The rest of the 
ride to the crime scene was spent devising tortures for both her partner and 
Agent Grif Michelin, each more gruesome than the last. 
2630 Hegal Place 
11:45 pm 
Mulder unlocked the door to his apartment, ushering Ray into the darkened foyer. 
He flipped on a light and nodded toward the sofa. "Take a load off. Want 
something to drink?" 
"Beer?" Ray requested innocently. 
Mulder just stared back at the man with crossed arms. 
"Ice water," Ray relented and perched nervously on the edge of the seat. "So, 
you gonna arrest me?" 
Mulder got the water and heading back into the living room. "I'm not altogether 
convinced that you've committed a crime, Mr. . . . um . . ." 
"Boulder, Ray Boulder," Ray said, taking the glass from Mulder's hand. 
"Ah," Mulder said with a knowing smile. "That's where all the 'Rockie' 
references were coming from." 
"Yeah, well it ain't because I was a heavyweight champ," Ray snorted. "It's 
usually a put down." 
Mulder nodded again. "Ray, how long have you, uh, been witnessing this . . ." 
"The blue ball?" Ray offered. He stared down at the glass of water as if hoping 
it would supply an answer. "Shit, I don't know. A couple of months now, I guess. 
It started right after I got electrocuted." 
"You were electrocuted?" Mulder asked in surprise. "You look pretty good for . . 
." 
"Nah, I was just shocked real bad, that's all. Made my hair stand on end, that 
sort of stuff. Didn't even lose a full day of work, dammit," Ray groused. "But 
it was that night, after a poker game, that I saw it for the first time." 
"Tell me about it, Ray," Mulder prodded. 
"Well, see, these two goons were gonna rough me up." 
"Like tonight," Mulder interjected. 
"Yeah, like tonight. And all of a sudden, I hear this noise and this big blue 
ball of light and the two goons go up like a cheap roman candle. I mean, I 
couldn't do nothin', ya know. I ain't no doctor!" 
"No, of course not," Mulder said dryly. "So you had nothing to do with the 'big 
blue ball of light's appearance?" 
"What, like 'summon' it or something? Christ, no! I mean, it scared the shit out 
of me! I didn't want nothin' to do with it." 
"But you have been, shall we say, using it, haven't you, Ray?" Mulder nudged. 
"Sort of like a 'bodyguard', maybe?" 
Ray tilted his chin up in defiance, but refused to meet Mulder's eyes. "Look, it 
ain't my fault if it happens to not like it when some two-bit goomba is trying 
to bust my nuts. For all I know, it's my goddam guardian angel." 
"Or fairy godmother," Mulder deadpanned. "Look, Ray, you had to know that this 
thing was lethal. And yet you continued to put yourself in situations that 
caused it to respond. That could be considered premeditated," Mulder explained. 
Ray bristled immediately. "Hey, we ain't talkin' about no murder charges, are 
we? Coz, I don't think I'm in too much danger o' that! Who's gonna believe this 
shit? No cop I know. An' besides, it ain't like I was takin' out 'upstanding 
model citizens'. These pukes had rap sheets as long as your arm! If I had any 
part in this, I was doin' a public service!" 
"Ray, Justice isn't _that_ blind," Mulder said tersely. "But you realize, you've 
been stepping on some big toes. Aren't you afraid somebody's going to come after 
you?" 
The small man laughed at that. "You saw what this thing can do tonight. Bring 
'em on! I ain't afraid of nothin'!" 
There's a bang behind them, like a gunshot, but when Mulder reached for his 
weapon and looked around, he realized it was the lock on his door giving way as 
it was kicked inward. A man was standing in the now open doorway, a sawed off 
shotgun straddling his arms. "Maybe you better start being afraid, now, Ray," 
Mulder whispered. 
145th and Canal 
Alexandria, VA 
12:10 am 
"What the hell did that?" demanded the Alexandria Police detective who had 
arrived at the scene just minutes before Scully. 
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Scully answered tersely. "Did you call 
the M.E. already?" 
The detective frowned at her but nodded. "Yeah. They should be here in about 
half an hour." 
Scully closed her eyes, wishing she were anywhere else but the middle of a 
deserted street in an industrial park waiting for a morgue wagon. Finally, she 
opened her eyes and looked around. A few cars were scattered up and down the 
street. One about two-thirds of a block down looked awfully familiar. She jogged 
down the street and looked in the driver's side window. 
"Mulder?" she called out, but it was apparent the car was abandoned. If he'd 
left his car, where was he, she wondered. 
The disgruntled detective caught up with her, touching her shoulder to get her 
attention. "You wanta come here and give me something to go on?" he pleaded. 
"Sure, just as soon as I call my partner," Scully said, but stopped as she was 
pulling her phone out. Several other cars had arrived and even from half a block 
away she recognized one man out of the rest. Grif Michelin. Foregoing her call, 
she stormed over to the head of the task force. 
"Come to see for yourself, Agent Michelin?" she spat out as she approached him. 
Michelin turned toward her, eyes ablaze. "And why the hell didn't I get a call 
from you, Agent Scully. You look like you've been here a while. I had to hear 
about this from the Alexandria PD." 
"I called the Alexandria PD," Scully shot back. "And I'm here because Mulder 
witnessed the killing. He left me a message while I was in the meeting tonight 
and directed me to find the dead man here." 
"So why didn't he stick around? Where is the Spookster?" Michelin asked, eyes 
scanning the assembled crowd. 
"He said he thought he was going to have an explanation." 
Scully could almost see a blue vein bulging out on the agent's neck. "I thought 
I made it clear that Spooky Mulder was to have no part in this investigation!" 
he roared. 
"And you also made it clear that you were unwilling to listen to any explanation 
that didn't fit into your limited world view," Scully shouted right back. 
It took some effort, but Michelin brought himself under control. "So, you still 
think this was done by ball lightning?" he smirked. 
"Yeah, I do," Scully sneered. "And I bet it had something to do with the poker 
game that took place in that building right there," she added, pointing to the 
construction company office. 
"That's an office building," Michelin said dismissively. 
"And a traveling poker game meets there on Thursday nights," Scully explained. 
"Or at least it did tonight." 
Michelin's eyes grew wide and Scully saw something in them, something the agent 
was hiding. Before she could question him on it, another agent shouted at them 
from the curb. 
"Agent Michelin, we found something!" 
Michelin glared at Scully for a moment and then trotted over to the agent. "What 
is it?" 
"It's a wallet. Belongs to a Raymond Boulder, Tysons Corners." 
Michelin took the wallet and stared at the license, then walked over and looked 
at the burned corpse still lying in the street. "Unless he really gained weight, 
not to mention grew a few inches, this license doesn't belong to this guy." 
Scully was beside him in an instant, taking the wallet from his hands. "Then it 
must belong to the killer," she deduced. 
"Do you think Mulder took him in?" Michelin asked. It was the first time he'd 
asked a question honestly all night. 
"I don't know. He might have. But I don't think he would have taken him to the 
police station. I was about to call him when you arrived." 
"Call him. We need to track down this Mr. Boulder and ask a few pointed 
questions." 
2630 Hegal Place 
12:15 am 
"Put that little peashooter down, Mr. FBI," the incredibly big man drawled as he 
walked into the apartment. "I just want the little pebble there." 
"You don't wanta do this," Ray said quietly, looking anxiously over the big 
man's shoulder. 
"You ain't gettin' no help from above this time, pipsqueak," the man growled and 
with one hand he cocked the shotgun. 
"Um, I really wouldn't do that," Mulder said, watching the same spot Ray was so 
fixated on right behind the big man with the gun. 
"No Fibbie gonna tell me what ta do!" the man sneered and took aim at both men 
as they sat on the sofa. 
What happened next, Mulder would be hard pressed to say. The minute the man's 
fingers tightened on the trigger, Ray launched himself at his tree trunk-like 
legs, bringing him down. Almost simultaneously, there was an enormous pop and 
crack and a glowing blue ball, six to eight feet in diameter appeared, engulfing 
the man, Ray and half Mulder's living room in its center. There was a second 
where all the light bulbs in the room popped from the electric surge. There was 
a sizzling sound and the room exploded in fire. 
Mulder was mesmerized, unable to move. He could feel the heat of the blaze as it 
blistered his skin, could see the bodies writhing on the floor within the flame, 
but was frozen to his spot. 
'Get out! Get out NOW!' It was Scully, but it wasn't Scully. It was that little 
voice in his head that always said what Scully would say to him at just the 
moment he needed to hear it. He looked over at the door. The flames had quickly 
spread across the hard wood, licking up the varnish like it was saltwater taffy. 
There was a wall of fire between him and the door. Smoke was choking all the air 
out of the room and he crouched down, trying to decide whether to run through 
the fire or just lay down and die. 
 
'Water!' 
He squinted through the smoky haze and could make out the way to his kitchen. 
Picking around the small dinette that was already smoldering and caught fire as 
he approached, he ran the last few feet to the sink and grabbed the towel from 
the oven door handle. He doused the towel in water and hurriedly wrapped it 
around his face, covering his nose and mouth. As an after thought, he seized the 
sprayer attachment to his faucet and soaked his body liberally. Without 
bothering to turn the water off, he huddled down as far as he could and crab 
walked toward the door. 
It was no use, the last ten feet would be through flame. He could just make out 
the hallway, and saw the flames licking the walls out there. Making sure of his 
direction, he closed his eyes and ran as fast as he could. 
It was one of his worst nightmares revisited. The hallway was going up as 
quickly as his apartment. For a moment he was lost in a sea of smoke, fire and 
panic, but again, that little voice called to him. 'Left, the stairway is left'. 
He didn't even think to doubt it, he just turned left and ran like hell. 
The stairs were crowded with other tenants fleeing the inferno. His heart was 
racing, his flight instinct taking control of his actions. It was a struggle to 
not climb over the other people as desperate to escape as he was. On the landing 
of the second floor, he caught sight of one of his neighbors, straining to get 
her father, who was in a wheelchair, down the stairs. His heart almost burst in 
his chest, but he knew what had to be done. Clutching the arm of the most able 
bodied man next to him, he pointed toward the woman and her father. "We have to 
help them get out!" 
The man, Mulder recognized him as the new tenant above him, glared at him for a 
moment, but nodded and hurried down the last few steps to the landing. Together, 
they hoisted the old man out of the wheelchair and began carrying him down the 
remaining two flights. Mulder looked over his shoulder and could see the 
daughter, still fighting to get the wheelchair down the stairs. "Leave it, don't 
block the stairs," he shouted up to her. A moment of indecision and the woman 
shoved the wheelchair into the hallway and joined them as they hastened to the 
exit. 
Mulder didn't even notice they'd reached the bottom until the cold air hit him 
like high tide hitting the beach. It completely knocked what little oxygen he 
had out of his lungs. He was coughing, gasping for breath that refused to come. 
His lungs felt on fire. The last thing he remembered was seeing a creature in 
yellow snatch his arm and then all was darkness. 
4:45 am 
Dana Scully's car 
It was too hard. She didn't want to go in. She'd called both morgues and neither 
had been able to identify the bodies taken from the scene of the fire. She'd 
gone to George Washington University Medical Center and had barged into the 
morgue, demanding access to the victims. One by one, she examined each corpse, 
each time going through the dread of lifting the sheet, only to find a moment of 
relief, then pounding fear when she realized that she hadn't found her partner 
yet. He was still out there. She had to keep searching. 
She looked up and saw the familiar Emergency Department entrance to Northeast 
Georgetown Memorial Hospital. Not here, could they have taken the body here, 
just blocks from her apartment? What cruel irony to find Mulder so close and yet 
gone. She parked the car in a spot she knew wouldn't be towed and dragged her 
feet all the way to the door. 
The Emergency Department was bright and hectic. People sat in the chairs or 
stood shivering nearby, some wrapped in blankets. She walked with heavy heart to 
the information desk, drawing out her badge to display it for the receptionist. 
A friendly face greeted her. "Agent Scully! I wondered when you'd get here," 
exclaimed the young woman behind the desk. "Cathie Mosely, you remember me from 
your partner's last visit with us?" 
"Oh, Cathie, yes." Scully fought to find her composure. "About my partner . . ." 

"I think they have him settled in a room. Let me check," Cathie said, turning to 
her computer. "Mulder, right?" 
Scully almost collapsed with relief and elation. "Yes, Mulder, Fox. Can you tell 
me the room, please?" She didn't even care that she made it sound so dire that 
she find him. 
"Room 713, right across from the nurses' station." 
Cathie didn't even have time to write the room number down on a card, Scully was 
already running to the elevators. 
? 
Epilogue 
Northeast Georgetown Memorial Hospital 
Room 713 
12:31 pm 
He coughed, long and hard. It made his ribs rattle and his head ache. But it 
woke him up as effectively as a bucket of cold water. He glanced around. Oh, 
yeah, hospital. Had he had this room before? But there was a scraping of a chair 
and he turned his head. Ahh, much better! Scully! Before he could enjoy the 
view, he started hacking up a lung again. 
"Try to relax, Mulder. Here," she handed him a cup of water. "Just sips. We 
don't want you to choke on top of everything else!" 
"I found the killer, or rather what killed those men," he rasped out, allowing 
her to press him back against the pillows. 
"Raymond James Boulder. 1347 East Elm, Tysons Corners, Virginia. Thirty-six 
years old, worked for Fairfax Power and Light Company. Deceased, or at least I'm 
almost certain that was him the firemen found in your apartment." 
"He was the source of ball lightning, Scully," he said, his voice trailing off 
into another coughing fit. 
Scully waited patiently for him to recover before she spoke. "Yes, Mr. Boulder 
was a victim of an industrial accident at his job the day of the first death. 
Apparently he became a conduit for ball lightning." 
"There was another guy, a hit man," Mulder choked out the words and took another 
sip of water gratefully. 
"Vincent Pallano, a.k.a. Vinnie the Enforcer, a.k.a. Vinnie the Fist, a.k.a. 
Vinnie the Torch. Before he was burned to a crisp tonight, he was a member of 
the Orlando Crime Family. Apparently he was following Ray or you, or both." 
Mulder looked over at the clock on the wall. "Was I out of it for days again? 
You sure seem to know a lot of stuff for just a little after lunch!" 
That earned him a smile that lit her whole face. "I did spend a considerable 
amount of time piecing together the facts about Ray this morning. But as far as 
Vinnie is concerned, a little bird told me. Or rather, told the D.A. One of the 
Orlando gang was pulled over for a routine traffic violation. When they realized 
he'd also violated parole, he started singing like the first robin of spring." 
"He's giving up his family? Guy won't last long," Mulder said around a cough. 
"He's going WPP. New name, new identity. But among the people he gave up was a 
certain FBI Agent with strong ties to all the major organized crime families in 
the Metro DC area," she said with a smug grin. 
Mulder eyes grew to the size of saucers. "Michelin? Get outta here!" 
"Grif Michelin is currently suspended from duty, without pay and is under house 
arrest. His career, from the looks of it, is over!" 
"And they say there is no Santa Claus," Mulder grinned. "OK, so that's the good 
news, what's the bad news. How long is my sentence here?" 
"Actually, you can leave as soon as we find you something to wear. You did 
suffer some smoke inhalation, as you might have guessed from the coughing. You 
have second degree burns on your exposed skin, but the firemen were quite 
impressed that you had the presence of mind to get your clothes wet before 
braving the fire in the hallway. They think you were incredibly stupid to try 
running through the fire, but it was that or jump, so you took the better route. 
For that matter, I was quite impressed. Mulder, you've come a long way since the 
Venerable Plaza," she said proudly, caressing his cheek. 
"I can honestly say I owe it all to you, Scully. I kept hearing you tell me what 
to do. It was like you were right beside me. You saved my life." 
Tears were sparkling in her eyes as she let him kiss her palm. "I wish I had 
been with you. It would have saved me several hours of panicked worry," she 
whispered. Giving them just a moment to revel in this one more escape from the 
clutches of death, she slipped her hand from his grasp and ruffled his hair. 
"Your apartment, on the other hand, did not fare so well." 
Mulder closed his eyes. "How bad?" 
"Total loss, Mulder. The whole building. I went by there this morning, when the 
doctor assured me that you were fine but just needed to sleep. Two of the 
exterior walls are still standing, but the building owner was there and said he 
has no intention of rebuliding. He's going to demolish what is left and sell the 
lot. It will probably become a parking lot for the apartment complex next door." 

"Great," Mulder said with a heavy sigh. "So, I have no where to go. Think 
Skinner would notice if I crashed on the sofa outside his office at night?" he 
asked with a wry grin. 
"I think I have a better idea," Scully said, leaning over to kiss him. 
Dana Scully's Apartment 
Georgetown 
9:45 pm 
"This is just 'til I find a new place, Scully. We work together, we spend a lot 
of time together, I don't want us to get on each other's nerves," he said, 
helping her move clothes from one of the dresser drawers to make room for the 
contents of the Joseph A. Banks sacks sitting on the bed. He picked up the sacks 
and dumped them in the drawers, missing Scully's look of total dismay at his 
'organizational skills'. 
"Mulder, it's fine. We won't get on each other's nerves. If you haven't managed 
to get on my nerves yet, I think we're fairly safe." 
"But we've never . . . cohabited before, Scully. I tell ya, this is more than 
either of us intended. I'll start looking for apartments tomorrow." 
"The doctor let you out of the hospital because I assured him you would rest. 
Instead, we spent three hours in the mall restocking your wardrobe. The only 
thing you're going to do tomorrow is sleep in," she said firmly. "I'm going to 
call for the pizza. Anything special you want on it?" 
"Is requesting hot peppers too much?" he asked sweetly. 
"No, as long as they don't sneak over to my half of the pizza," she said with a 
smile. 
A few minutes later, she found him on her sofa, trying to lie down. His legs 
were bent at the knees and he looked totally miserable. 
"It's a little short," he said, sitting up. 
"You've been on it before, Mulder," she scolded. 
"Only to sit. To sleep, you always let me take the bed. Hope you don't make me 
sleep on the couch," he said, drawing her down onto his lap. 
"Behave and you can stay in the bed," she promised, kissing his forehead. She 
ran her hand over his head, brushing his hair back at the same time. "Mulder, 
are you OK with all this? You lost all your clothes . . ." 
"I can't believe I'm going to work wearing Joseph Banks," he said with a groan. 
"All those videos you don't own . . ." 
"More Frohike's loss than mine. I haven't watched them in years." 
"You lost your sofa . . ." 
"I know, Scully. I'm feeling that right now," he said sadly. 
"And your poor fish." 
He sighed deeply. "Yeah, those guys had been with me a while. That one molly was 
close to a year old. And the tank, did I ever tell you I got that tank the week 
after I graduated from the Academy? I bought it when I moved in to that 
apartment." 
She kissed him tenderly on the forehead. "I'm just glad you didn't share its 
fate." 
He shrugged and she could see he was struggling with his emotions. Then he 
tightened his arms around her. "I didn't lose anything I can't replace, Scully. 
All I really need is right here in my arms." 
"Good answer," she said, leaning down to capture his lips in a kiss. "And one of 
these days, we'll get you some more fish." 
the end. 
------------------------------------------------------------------------ 
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