Boy in the bathtub By Humbuggie (c) 2001 Read the whole thing at http://www.sv-tales.com Feedback gladly appreciated at san@sv-tales.com Story: A suspected killer, recently released from custody, is challenging Mulder and Scully as his killing spree starts once again, and Mulder is forced to deal with his anger to finish the case once and for all. Background: In my previous profiler stories I have introduced Terence Davis, assistant director in charge of the VCS. If you want to get a background on this man, I'd advice to read the other profiler stories on my site first. But it's not a necessity of course Spoilers: The story takes place during season seven and before season eight, basically ignoring that entire season. Type: Profiler, MSR, MTA and Angst Rated R Warning: This story contains several references to child murder. Be careful if you don't want to read this! Some scenes may be shocking. Disclaimer: Do I need to remind you these characters aren't mine? Unfortunately they belong to CC and 1013, but hey, I don't care. Boy in the Bathtub 1 One single gunshot scared away the crows on the field. The birds moved up and away from their safe haven and sought out protection somewhere else. Their territory had been invaded. A second shot rang out, killing the last of the birds that had dared to stay on the spot after the first shot. Then a third shot shattered the peace forever. Within seconds after the gun went off though the strange, awkward silence returned to the field. And even the crows started making their way back, eager to claim their territory back. But in the middle of the field a man lay on his back. At first sight it seemed as if he were dead. He could have been, because for several seconds he lay there with his eyes open, seemingly staring into nothingness. But the following second, his body moved, and he groaned as he turned on his side and grabbed his chest with his right hand. The following second he was sitting up and several men and women came running towards him. It all happened within a matter of seconds yet it seemed like hours. One woman hurried first into the field, cursing silently when she spotted him motionless on the ground. She had been standing merely six yards from him and came rushing, as she was thirty yards away. Her gun had fired the third shot. Then she was by his side and ordered him to lie still. Not waiting for his response, she pushed him back on the ground with the force of a boxer and pulled up his jacket and shirt, staring in awe at the bulletproof vest, which had saved his life. "You're okay," she breathed in relief as her hands explored his chest, pulling the vest off him. He groaned in the process, but she didn't care. All she wanted to verify was that he was okay. Then the others were there too, and they all seemed to speak at the same time. And he sat on the ground and listened to them. Finally he moved up and groaned, "I'm fine." He tried to push away their hands and get up. He was angry at the situation and not eager to discuss the details with them. It was over, after all. "Jesus Christ," a man muttered behind them. Fox Mulder turned and looked at Skinner, who seemed shocked and angry about the course of events. Mulder then knew he was in for trouble. "Next time you wait for us, Mulder," the assistant director said angrily. "Next time you pull a stunt like this, at least tell us beforehand so we can be prepared." Mulder didn't give an answer but pushed Scully's hands away and rubbed at the exact spot the bullet had impacted his vest. His chest seemed to be burning. He knew that was normal after such an impact. "The paramedics are here," Terence Davis said behind them. The assistant director responsible for the Violent Crimes Section stood near the body of Adam Luther, the man Mulder had just shot and killed with one single bullet. Luther had not seen that the so-called unarmed FBI agent always carried a smaller gun in an ankle holster. He had reacted too late when Mulder aimed and fired without hesitation, lying on the ground with a bullet stuck in his Kevlar vest. Luther hadn't even realized that the agent had held the smaller piece all the time in the sleeve of his jacket, hiding it from the man's sight so that he could use it when necessary. And Mulder had reacted too late when Luther didn't keep his promise and simply fired to kill. The FBI agent had had no choice but to shoot back, even if it meant killing the man who had vowed to tell them about the three women he had buried somewhere. Mulder turned towards Scully, still rubbing his chest. "I don't need to go to a hospital." "Yes, you do," she said, sounding impatiently. He looked at her, knowing he didn't need to push it. He had screwed up and she was pissed. But her look spoke more of worry than anger. He knew she was angry at him for allowing Luther to do this to him. She was angry because he had offered himself to the man to find out about the women. He sounded softer when he said, "Really, I don't. I'm fine." "It's routine," Skinner said. "Besides, you don't want to be around when the press gets here, do you? Or do you plan on giving a statement?" The agent hesitated and then shook his head. "I'll go." He walked over to the ambulance with Scully, ignoring the other agents who patted him on the back and said, "Good work, Mulder." He was still too angry at the whole situation. If he had been more careful, he could have gotten the truth out of Luther. Now, no one would find out where the women were, unless a miracle happened. Annoyed, Mulder climbed inside the ambulance and let the EMT's check him out. He responded to their routine questions by giving routine answers. A bruise was already showing where the bullet had impacted. "That's going to be a beauty," the female EMT said, pointing to the exact spot. Mulder grinned painfully and sat back, refusing to lie down despite Scully's insistence. He was going like a man. He wasn't injured. He was doing fine. In the crowded ER, the agent finally got the chance to think things through. Only then did he remember very clearly Luther's eyes. They had been deliberate, cold and provoking. He had wanted Mulder to do this. He had wanted to take a last victim, knowing that he would get shot in the process. That had been the death he desired. His name would now appear in the newspapers. He would be one of the renowned serial killers who left a trace of death and violence. And his life would have some sort of strange, bizarre meaning. After nearly three hours the doctor came back with the results of the X-Rays taken of his chest. "You were lucky," he explained. "You've got a bruised rib. If that bullet had struck you a bit lower, you would have cracked it. You'll be in a bit of pain the next few days but all in all it should go well. I'll give you something for the pain, and you should take it easy." "Good," Mulder said, not unfriendly. "Thanks." He slid off the bed and started dressing, pulling his shirt carefully over the T-shirt. Wearing it half unbuttoned he was nearly on his way out when Scully stopped him. There were still some papers to fill in. Mulder sighed and started working on them in the crowded ER. Quickly, he scribbled down his name, entered the necessary info and threw the pen down. He had to face Skinner in a couple of minutes and that was not something to look forward to. He sighed and put on his jacket. Scully was still talking to one of the nurses, standing with her back against him. The male agent felt uncomfortable at hospitals and looked around for a way to get out of the ER quickly. Then he stopped in his tracks as a small, short man passed him by. Mulder blinked with his eyelids, wondering at first if this was a dream. Then he recognized the man very clearly. He moved towards him and saw he was bleeding from his left hand. A white cloth was draped over it. He carried it with his other hand. "Kane?" The short man turned around and stopped in his tracks. His facial expression changed into a strange acknowledgement. He wanted to escape. That much Mulder could see by the way he stared back at him. He wanted to deny that he saw the FBI agent. But he couldn't. It would mean a betrayal of the self-confidence he had developed since his release from prison. Mulder had seen enough criminals like that to know. "It is you," Mulder stated, simply refusing to let the man go that easily. "What are you doing here?" Kane swallowed away the lump in his throat and said nervously, while raising his injured hand, "Got into an accident. Why are you asking me this? I'm no longer in custody. I'm not even out on bail." "Just curious," Mulder said friendlier than he had wanted to. In truth he wanted to put his hands around the neck of the shorter man and force the truth out of him. Instead, he just stayed externally calm, while his inside seemed to be shouting in anger. "You're right. You don't owe me any explanations, Kane. Except why you killed those boys." Kane glanced around, noticing people were picking up pieces of the conversation. He wanted to escape and forget all of this was happening. Why, of all people, did he have to bump into Mulder; the man who had so meticulously sought him out in the first place? "Look," Kane said, trying to find a way to escape, "I know you're pissed 'cause they released me. But again, I haven't done anything wrong. How many times do I have to tell you this before you start believing me?" The FBI agent rubbed his painful chest and smiled with knowledge gathered through the course of the investigation that had first led to Kane and then charged him. Even though others let the man go on a technicality, he still knew this was the man who had committed seven murders and would probably commit more unless stopped. Kane got nervous when Mulder didn't give an answer. He wanted to escape; to go back where he came from. But his hand was aching and he needed medical treatment. He glanced around, hoping that no one of the medical staff had overheard the conversation. It was bad enough that everyone still recognized his face when he walked down the streets. He had been all over the news. And people did not forget the face of a supposed criminal when they saw it. "I'm outta here," he finally said, walking past the agent. "You can run but you can't hide," Mulder said, turning around. "We're keeping an eye on you Kane." Kane flustered when he rushed through the doors leading outside. He would go to another ER and find treatment there. This place reeked of cops and Feds. Mulder's smile faded when he saw Kane take off. There was only guessing to what the little weasel would do next. Would he go out and find another victim to sooth his anger? Would he lure another boy into death as he had done all the others? He could not know, and it frustrated him. "Was that Paul Kane?" Scully asked surprised behind him. Mulder startled and turned around to face her. "Yeah, it was." "Damn." "Yeah." "Did you provoke him?" Mulder smiled. "Would I ever do that, Scully?" "That's why I'm asking." 2 Paul Kane did not like the attention brought upon him when the law arrested him and charged him with seven murders. Somehow, he even regretted that they let him out. After all, if the case had gone to trial and had not been discharged on a technicality, he would have been able to prove his innocence. Now he forever had the stigma of a suspected killer; a person who people feared. He lost his job at the school of course. No one was willing to keep him there, not even the principal with whom he'd had a fairly good relationship before the accusations. He had wanted to move out of D.C., but his wife would not hear of it. She loved it there, so she said. There was no reason to go. After all, he had been released, hadn't he? How could he explain to her that he had a mark branded into his forehead for the rest of his life? How could they live off the small unemployment income? How could he persuade her that in another state, or perhaps even another country, he would be able to live without eyes piercing into his back? She did not understand. She lived her life as if nothing had ever happened and he had not been the victim of false accusations. When he came home after spending two hours at another ER where they treated his hand without asking too many questions, she was waiting for him in anger. He was too late, and she did not like it. "You forgot about the party, didn't you?" she said. "We were supposed to be there by now. Do you have any idea how important that party is for my future career?" He couldn't help but laugh cynically when she spoke of 'a career.' He didn't even have a job, but she had a career. "I'm sorry," he said, forcing back the laughter with all the strength he had in him. "I'm not going. I'm very tired. They gave me pain medication for my hand and I'm drowsy." "You're not suggesting that I go alone, do you?" "I'm sorry," he said again weakly. "I'm just. tired." "I see. Okay, then. I'll go by myself." She turned to grab her coat and purse, and slammed the door behind him. He knew she was angry. So was he. He was angry at the world. He hated every single human being on the planet. He wanted to go to sleep and forget everything. But he knew he couldn't. He poured a glass of milk and drank it in one large sip. Then he chewed on dry cookies, while staring at the kitchen window for hours. He wanted a way out, but he wasn't going to kill himself. He couldn't. He was too chicken to do that. Yet he knew that the inevitable was going to happen soon enough. It might even happen today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that. But soon enough, it would happen. Again. 3 "I don't understand why you're so angry at me," Mulder said as he rested comfortably in one of Skinner's seats. "We got Luther, didn't we?" "You got him, all right. He's dead. This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been so stubborn." Skinner paced through the room, trying to avoid staring at Mulder. His anger had been bottling up ever since he saw Mulder take a bullet. He was angry, yes, but worried even more. Mulder was on the verge of a breakdown and his actions in the field confirmed that even more. The assistant director glanced at his colleague, Terence Davis, who shared his look of worry. Then he stopped at Scully's face. She, too, seemed worried but he could only guess what scared her the most. They had not spoken about Mulder's attitude for some time and he wanted to find an opportunity to be alone with her and discuss matters. Scully however had done her best to avoid Skinner for some time now, and had succeeded in doing just that. It was obvious she wasn't in the mood for an argument right now either. "Look," Mulder said, straightening his back and wincing in the process as he hurt his chest, "let's get a few things straight here. You asked me to profile Luther. I did. I warned you all that he was a bomb set to go off. You didn't act on it. You waited until he was near that house to make your move. You wouldn't have stopped him if he had a hostage in his hands. But I did." "You couldn't have known he would be going into that house. He might have been in his stalking phase. We would have nailed him when he left." "Come on," Mulder objected, "Luther knew we were at the site. He wasn't going to keep up his standard MO. He didn't have time to stalk the girl first. He wanted to get her right away. He was nervous and agitated." "And so you made sure he knew we were there." "Yes, I did. He had to know. I counted on the fact he would surrender; that he would love his own life enough to give it up. Obviously I was wrong on that part. He wanted to go out with a bang." "You allowed him to take revenge on you," Terence Davis said, trying to sooth both Skinner and Mulder. "I'm curious as to why, though, Mulder." Mulder looked at Davis. Then his eyes softened as he remembered the first lessons he'd had from this guy, way back in the VCS. The first thing Davis had taught him was never to make things personal. Yet this time it had become personal, and they all knew why. Mulder swallowed the lump in his throat, knowing he had to say it out loud. "I didn't want this guy to get away." Mulder blinked his eyelids furiously, remembering every single event that happened during the Paul Kane case; the case he had investigated before taking on Luther's profile. "You thought he was going to walk out on a technicality too, didn't you? You didn't want the cops to catch him and then watch as he walked out too?" Davis' calm voice confirmed what the others were thinking. All eyes were focused on Mulder, who stared dreamingly into nothingness. "Yeah. I did." "We had Luther on all bases, Mulder," Terence continued as he put a hand on Mulder's shoulder, as if to assure his former pupil that things were okay. "He had nowhere to go." Skinner moved, frowning as he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "You did well, Mulder. You got your man. But this was not the way to go about it." Mulder looked up at Skinner. "Case closed." "Yeah." Skinner moved towards his desk and sat down on the leather chair he liked so much. "I want you to go see a counselor on this, to discuss matters. I don't want you on any other profiler cases until he gives it the okay." Mulder opened his mouth to object, only to be stopped by Skinner. "I don't want to hear it, Mulder. You know that this case could put your career in jeopardy. Officially, you made a decision to stop Luther because you believed he might cause immediate danger to the girl he was stalking inside that house. But unofficially we know that you are worn out and too tired to proceed from here on. You're bound to make mistakes if you keep this up." Skinner looked at, catching Mulder's glance. "Look," he continued softer, "I know how frustrated you feel that Kane walked out because one cop screwed up. But it happens. It happens all the time. You have to deal with it, or you're going to suffocate. You've done a lot of profiles lately; cases that go far beyond your duty as an FBI agent. It's time that you take a break. If I have to, I'll put you on sick leave so that you can rest up and think things through." "I can't quit doing what I'm doing," Mulder said softly. "You can't make me do that. There's too much ." He stopped, looking at Scully who looked back. She understood perfectly well what he was going to say. She knew he was thinking about all the John Lee Roche's and Modell's out there. "There's just too much crap going on," he concluded. Davis nodded understandingly. "We all know that. But you've done two difficult cases non-stop. It's time to step back for now and take a break." Mulder nodded. "I understand why you think this is best for me, but believe me, it's not. Paul Kane is out there and he won't stop until he has satisfied his needs again. More boys will be killed soon. Mark my words. How can we sit back and watch it happen?" "The only way a judge is going to warrant an arrest now, is if we catch him in the act," Davis said. "That's the way it works, Mulder." "I know." Mulder sighed and rubbed his eyes too, feeling very tired. He got up and looked at the others. "If you don't mind, sir," he said, directing himself to Skinner, "I'd like to have an early leave today." "Granted." "Thanks." Mulder turned and left the room. Scully did not go after him. He knew she would catch up him with him later. He also knew they would talk about him inside Skinner's office to argue about his health. He was too tired to care right now. He just wanted to go home and rest for now. The agent picked up his things at the basement office and left the Bureau. He got in his car and looked at the steering wheel for awhile, thinking back to the brief encounter with Kane. There was a strange sense he had felt when talking to Kane; like something was about to happen again. He shook his head and started the car. Right now there was nothing he could do about it. Or was there? 4 "Do you need a ride?" The boy looked insecure, not sure if he had to do this. Didn't they say you shouldn't be taking rides from strangers? But somehow he didn't really feel like he was in danger, not with the person driving the car. After all, he knew the one who offered him the ride. It wasn't really a stranger. "Sure," he said, pointing at his bike. "I got a flat. Can you take it with you?" "Of course. Let me open the trunk for you." Eleven-year-old Adam shoved his bike in the back of the trunk, on top of all the rubbish that lay in it. The Jeep had a huge trunk that could easily hold three bikes, he thought jealously, thinking of his mom's own small car that couldn't even carry one. He always had to ride the bike to school, even when snow started falling and the roads were covered with frost. "Thanks," he said, sliding in up front next to the driver. "I appreciate it." "Don't mention it. So tell me, why does your mom never pick you up from school?" He explained the car problem, and then proceeded to talk about his mom's late shifts. She had started a new job at Frank's Deli and never got home before 11. Frank, the owner, had done some marketing and research and found out that he best benefited from late hours, instead of early ones, like most delis did. So he had decided to make a radical change in opening hours, and as a result, his profits had gone sky-high. But as a result, Adam's mom also saw her hours change, and she never saw her son anymore. "Do you feel sad that she's not around that much?" "I guess so. But I'm used to it. And I can take care of myself," Adam said bravely. "I'm sure you can." The twenty-minute drive brought Adam home. He smiled as he took out his backpack and said, "Thanks for the ride." "Would you mind if I come up with you for a second? I need to go to the bathroom. It's urgent." Adam hesitated, but how could he deny his driver anything? "Of course. Come on in." The boy placed the bike in the hallway like he always did and waited patiently until the Jeep got parked on the small private parking lot behind the two-story apartment building. Then he used his key to let the driver in. Upstairs, in the small apartment Adam had lived all his life with his mother he showed the bathroom and said, "Go ahead." "Thanks." Adam whistled as he brought his backpack to the bedroom. He had a lot of homework to do before watching the 'Knight Rider' reruns. That was his favorite show. It always made him wonder if one day everyone would own a talking car. The toilet flushed and the door opened. He turned to look at the driver, and then startled as a strong hand forced itself over his mouth. There was a strange smelling rag in it. The smell made him dizzy and nauseated. "That's it, Adam," the voice said, "Let yourself go." Adam struggled with all his senses, fighting back the dizziness. But he knew he was about to loose. Instinctively he knew he was struggling for life. He knew now that what would happen to him, had happened to so many kids before. He was about to die because he had trusted a stranger. No, his mind screamed. No, Mom! Mom, help me! But his mom was working at Frank's Deli until 11. And when she would come home, she would find her son drowned in her own bathtub. 5 Sleeping during the evening meant being wide awake at night. But Mulder had not been able to keep his eyes open. He had slept soundly for four hours, then woke around 1 a.m. and could not sleep any longer. After a while, he got out of bed and turned on the television, just in time to catch a rerun of the news. He sighed and got out a glass of orange juice. Then every thought of sleep escaped him as he watched a report on the drowning of an 11-year-old boy in his own bathtub only four hours earlier. Mulder put down the glass and stared blankly at the television screen as the reporter went on to explain that the boy's mother came home to find her son drowned in the bathtub. She was in shock and had been taken to a hospital. For Adam, all help came too late. The agent knew. Just like before he had known that this was no coincidence. This was what he had feared the most. It had started again, and this time, Paul Kane, was going down. But at what expense? 6 Around 6 a.m., Paul Kane woke up and stared at the first sunlight behind the curtains that were supposed to stop the sun from coming in. The sunlight always woke him up. Before, it had been his alarm. He never overslept this way. But even now, months after he had lost his job at the school, he still awoke and his first thought was that he had to get up and get to work. Now, however, it only seemed to make the days longer and even more despicable. He woke up now with the sense that he had no clue on what he was going to do with his time. Marybeth slept beside him. Her face frowned, even in sleep. She was not a happy person, even though she claimed to be content with the way things were. He knew she hated him. They all hated him, so why wouldn't she? He knew she would not leave him, though. They had been through too much together, and this was not the time to call it quits. He slipped out of bed and rubbed his eyes. It was a little after 6. Marybeth wouldn't wake up until 8. She would be at work by 9. And he would have the house to himself and the talkshows and soaps that filled his days. He was getting hooked on them. He turned on the television and put a bagel in the toaster. Then he got the milk out of the fridge and poured a glass. He took one sip. And then he dropped the glass to the floor. It shattered with a hard sound that rang throughout the entire house. But he didn't even notice that bits of the glass entered the skin of his foot and created small, bleeding cuts. He stared at the television screen and watched his own face on the morning news. He was on the news. They showed footage of him walking into the courtroom for the preliminary hearing. And then the reporter said, "Paul Kane, released on a technicality, still remains the prime suspect in the investigation to the death of Adam Wilton. The FBI has not confirmed so far if Special Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully will be in charge of this investigation, as they have been during the previous investigation." With the sense that his fake world was about to be blown to pieces once again, Paul rushed to the living room window and pulled up the blinds. Instantly flashes blinded him. He shouted in anger as dozens of cameras peered into his house and photos were being taken. "No!" His shout was loud and filled with anger. It had started again. This time, it hadn't even taken that long. 7 Dana Scully hated child murder. She detested doing the autopsy of young children. The fact that a child laid on a slab in the coroner's office was the ultimate token of the evil in this world. But here she was now, staring at the body of a boy who died only twelve hours ago in the bathtub of his own apartment. At first she would have thought he died a natural death. People did die in their bathtubs. They did drown after hitting their heads, of slipping on wet surface. But those deaths came with other injuries. And people were murdered in their bathtubs too. As were the seven 9- to 11-year-old boys who found death, supposedly, at the hands of Paul Kane, 'The Bathtub- Killer,' as the press had baptized him. These seven victims all had bruises on their bodies, as if someone had held them down in the water until they died. With the first victim, it might have looked as if he had hit his head. There was blood on the back of his head. And so his death was pronounced accidental. But when the second and third boy died, and autopsies revealed the distinctive bruises, people started to speculate that there might a killer out there. And the murders continued. Until Paul Kane was arrested. Then they stopped. And people believed that he was the killer. He had the motive and means. It had been an open and shut case. But Scully's first impression on this boy was that he hadn't been held under water. There were no bruises. There was nothing to indicate he had been held against his own will. Yet when Mulder called her and asked her to do the autopsy, he had sounded very persuasive in explaining this was the same killer. He could feel it to the bone. He had not seen the body yet; he had no details on the murder, yet he knew. It was a feeling. And so she was here, looking down at the body of a boy who shouldn't have died. It had been too early for him. He should have died an old man, in his bed. The coroner walked in with the first test results. "The boy's been drugged," he said. "I found traces of morphine in his system. That didn't kill him though. He was drowned, but I'd say he never knew what happened to him. I'm pretty sure the autopsy will confirm." "Why would a boy not fight when something's being injected into him?" Scully asked curiously. "He must have struggled unless he was tied down, yet there are no rope burns or other bruises." "He probably didn't know what hit him. Or he was drugged with chlorophorm first. It would explain it." "Can you trace that?" "No. But I'd say that's probably pretty much what happened. Are you going to perform the autopsy, Agent Scully?" "No. I'd rather you do it," she said with resentment. "I'll stay here if that's okay with you, but since you've done the other autopsies, I want you to compare." "So we're looking at the same killer, even if the first results are different?" "The coincidence is too large." "What about a copycat?" the coroner offered. "This case got a lot of headlines. Someone might have been waiting for Kane's release to start these killings, knowing that you would be looking for Kane." "Anything's possible right now," Scully said, not wanting to go into detail with the coroner before talking to Mulder. It was true, though, that the murders were not the same. There were significant differences that might indicate there was another killer at hand. Or Kane might have been playing it handy by suggesting there was someone else involved. She watched as the coroner started his gruesome work. Her mind switched into professional mode, and for a few moments she even succeeded in forgetting they were autopsying a boy. 8 Mulder felt frustrated and furious when Skinner denied his request to work on the case. Before, the assistant director had always budged whenever he came up with good reasons. This time however, Skinner refused. "This is Davis' territory," Skinner said, "but he will go with my advice and he needs my permission to have you work for the VCS. Your request has been denied, Agent Mulder. This is no longer your case." "You know I've got Kane, sir," he said. "No one knows him better than I do. If you take me off the case now, we will loose precious time we don't have. More boys will die within a week's time. That's the way Kane works. He murders every two days because he cannot resist the urge to wait any longer. He loves to kill. The longer we wait, the larger the death list will be." "That may be so," Skinner agreed, "but I have a job to do. My job is to keep you and Agent Scully safe from harm. You are mentally not capable right now to handle this case. Look at yourself, Mulder. You've been working like hell. You look like hell, too. My agent's life comes first. Davis knows that too. He'll agree to get someone else on it, if I ask him to." "If you refuse me this case, I'll quit." Mulder's voice sounded hard when he said it, and he startled by his own remark. Then he realized that he meant it. Kane could not walk about, and he would take him on at his own expense if needs be. "And then what?" Skinner asked. "Are you going to play vigilante and take him on unarmed?" "I don't care what I have to do. Kane needs to be stopped." Skinner moved up and away from his desk and stepped forward, leaning on the side of it so that he could face Mulder from a short distance. The agent sat agitated in his seat. Skinner had not seen him like this many times before. He knew that his agent had already stepped into Kane's darkness once again. Skinner knew his agent was a damned good profiler. But he also took risks. He didn't care what happened to himself, as long as he got his man. Usually Scully was there to pick up the pieces. But what if some day the pieces would become too shattered to be mending again? What if Mulder one day would wake up and become that which he feared the most? "I'm sorry, Mulder," Skinner said softer, "I truly am. I don't know how I can help you. You want to get your guy. I know that, I appreciate that and I realize that this is what you need to do. Kane has been frustrating you for two weeks now. He's never been outside your mind. But let him go. Let someone else take him on. You can't do the job right now." "Yes, I can," Mulder said forcefully, not budging when Skinner tried to persuade him. "I know my limits, sir. With all due respect, I've been through hell and back before. Kane is not dragging me into his hell this time. I know what I have to do. We're going to catch him with good, proper police work. We have our man. All we have to do is connect him with the facts. I will not try and crawl into his mind again. If that's the promise you want, I'm giving it to you. But don't take me off this case. If you care about me, you will let me see this through. I need to be there. If I'm not, there is no closure." Skinner nodded. "Under one condition, Mulder. I meant what I said about that counselor. You are going to speak with him. I'm making an appointment for you. If you don't, you're off the case. Understood?" "Yes sir." Skinner shifted and returned to sit down. Then he stopped and looked at his agent, who still sat wearily in the seat. "Why do you do this, Mulder? It's so amazing to see you crawl inside a murderer's head. But why do you do it? You're destroying your own sanity every time." Mulder attempted to smile as he responded. "It's so easy, you know. Once you get into it, you know how to do it. In the end, those killers are all the same. They all get off on one thing, and once you figure out what that thing is, you've got them. Whenever I work such a case, I go home with the knowledge that I have given some families peace of mind. And I know that I might have saved lives. Perhaps it's a stupid way to think about things, but that's what I need." Mulder got up and turned. He stopped before he left the office and looked around. "Remember when John Lee Roche challenged me with those cloth hearts? He said that I had to choose which one was my sister's. I knew instinctively that she was not one of those two, because I had believed for so long aliens took her. Yet I took the challenge because I wanted to know how I could get inside Roche's head and see what made him tick. I couldn't. It was extremely frustrating but I couldn't because he got inside mine instead. I allowed that to happen on a personal level, because I was so desperate to find my sister. I vowed never to let that happen to me again. I know that the cops and FBI are challenged a lot by serial killers to catch them. It's like a cat-and-mouse game. They usually believe they're the cats. But I swore after Roche that I would never be the mouse again." "So you're still paying repentance for Roche?" Mulder smiled. "No. I'm paying repentance for choosing this line of work. I'm paying repentance because my father made a deal that my sister would be taken. And I guess I'm paying repentance because I happen to be a damned good profiler." Mulder closed the door silently and left Skinner alone. The assistant director stayed behind, feeling the utmost respect for the agent who so many times had driven him crazy. 9 The gathered group sitting in Skinner's office consisted of agents and cops who had all worked on the Paul Kane case before. Before, they had worked in unison to get Kane. Yet, when the case was dismissed because the arresting police officer at the scene had neglected to read him his Miranda rights, the group had been divided into two. When it happened, the FBI had written an official complaint to the police commissioner, who had not appreciated that at all. Commissioner Simon had sworn that this would be the last time he ever worked with the FBI on a serial killer case. In the future, he would do everything alone. That way at least, the FBI could not accuse the police of negligence. Of course, Simon very conveniently forgot that it was one of his officers who screwed up. He hadn't even reprimanded the officer. He stood up for his officers, even if it meant neglecting the flaws and mistakes his department made. Now, though, Simon wasn't surprised when A.D. Davis got on the phone with him to discuss the matters. He had known the minute he saw the news report on the drowned boy that the Feds would come back to talk to him and ask him for his help. Despite the indifferences during preliminary hearing, there had been some pretty good people working on the case and right now they needed all the help they could get. And so Police Commissioner Simon swallowed his pride and accepted the offer of cooperation. Perhaps a part of him had wanted to make up for what happened earlier. But mostly, another part of him wanted to finish this case once and for all. After all, Paul Kane was a scumbag of the worst sort, he thought as he called in his officers and explained to them that they had gotten a second chance in this case. Commissioner Simon did not like the FBI very much, even though he had to admit their cooperation in the past had gone well. It was true, though, that with the former director; it had been more difficult to work with. With the current new wind blowing through the federal offices, Simon actually believed he might learn a thing or two on how to catch serial killers. The one thing that his police force lacked right now was a good profiler. He had extremely good cops working for him, and two detectives who had caught three wannabe serial killers by themselves. But he didn't have a profiler working for him. That was a privilege only the FBI owned. The first time he spoke to Fox Mulder, he had gone by the reputation the agent had at the Bureau. He had skimmed through his file and actually remembered a case where he encountered the agent briefly. It had been a fluky case, with paranormal hints to it. Simon believed in the paranormal. In all the years he had been a cop, he had seen a thing or two he could not explain. Usually they were impressions or things he simply felt. But he had never believed that the Bureau would actually pay someone to investigate those things. He believed that Mulder would be a geek; someone who would be rambling on and on about UFO's and aliens and witches and ghosts and all that stuff that no one really cared about. His surprise had been great when he noticed that the FBI agent also happened to be a pretty good profiler with his head screwed on straight. Mulder left a very good impression on Simon after their talk. He knew what he was talking about. It gave Simon enough conviction to broaden the case and accept the FBI's help. After the first four murders the FBI had offered the police their input. Mulder in particular convinced Simon that there was no need of rivalry. Instead, there would be cooperation. Mulder had a partner Simon secretly had a bit of a crush on. She was level-headed and very down-to-earth. She performed the autopsies on the new casualties and went through the details of the previous ones. And above all, strangely enough, she had a very soothing influence on her partner. It became very clear to Simon that Mulder gave it his all when he was working on a case. Within three days he had set up a profile that they used to track potential suspects down, plus, he gave detailed information on where to look and how to look. Time was running out for them. Two other casualties had fallen during the FBI's investigation. The killer was moving rapidly now, speeding up the process of tracking and killing his victims. Since the victims all fell within the same state, a statewide warning was issued, warning all young teenage boys to handle very careful. Especially boys with parents working night shifts were warned not to let anyone in, or take rides from strangers or vague acquaintances. Progress was made. The FBI's investigation made the necessary connection. The killer was most likely a man or woman with a job that brought him or her into different areas around D.C., and different schools. They were looking for a teacher or someone who was a member of the staff. Or someone who worked different schools throughout his job; like a janitor or a cleaner. And they were looking for someone who knew all the kids well enough, to win their trust enough so that they considered him harmless and a friend. Someone like Paul Kane. Unexpectedly the seventh victim gave them the killer's identity. Within an hour after she found her boy drowned in her bathtub, Elisa Grant explained how her son always got a ride home from Paul Kane, the janitor working a couple of hours a day at Field High. Her 13-year-old boy had become friends with Kane a few weeks ago. When he broke his ankle, Kane had offered to drop him off until he was feeling better. Since Elisa worked evenings and nights, she could not bring her son home herself. Immediately, an arrest warrant was granted to find and bring Paul Kane in, especially when they found out Kane worked the odd job here and there at different schools that happened to house the other victims. Mulder's profile was coming true. They had a suspect, they had potential and now they had a name. And they had a runaway. Kane could not be found at first; not at his house, not at the schools he worked at and not at his wife's second house near Provencetown where they spent a lot of spare time. His wife, Marybeth Kane, was questioned about her husband's whereabouts. She had nothing to say, claiming that all of this was based on a mistake. She was a respected member of the community and so was her husband. But unlike Marybeth Kane, who worked as a lawyer in a small but growing firm downtown, her husband did not seem so respected. He was a strange little fellow who had nothing going for him. He worked as a janitor because he had not finished his education. He did the odd job here and there because no one wanted to hire him full-time. And even though some said he did a good job, more than once he got caught doing things he wasn't supposed to do. Simon remembered how Mulder stated that the man would not leave the state. He wasn't capable of doing that. He wanted to stay in the environment he knew best because he had his wife run the show for him for fifteen years now. He didn't know how to plan or scheme. He killed the boys at their homes because he didn't have a hideout where he could perform his hideous tasks. And then the suggestion came that he might be hiding in one of the schools. Several parties split up for the search. And finally, one police officer happened to stumble upon his feet, as he searched through the basement where all the cleaning equipment was stashed. Instead of making a run for it or attacking the cop who found him, Kane did not put up a fight. He seemed frightened to death and raised his hands when the cop pointed a gun at him. And then the screw-up happened. The cop was excited because he - a rookie still - found Kane. So he cuffed him and forgot the obligated warning. After being brought in for questioning, Kane admitted to nothing. He was afraid because he knew about the bathtub- killer and had put two and two together when he realized people would know he always brought David Grant home. He got scared and he made a run for it. During a six-hour questioning Kane did not budge. They threw accusations at him, delivered facts that placed him at the schools, and started accounting for his whereabouts during the times of the murders. For none of the seven counts of murder could he deliver an alibi. They knew they had him. And then suddenly, his wife stormed in after having being put on hold for hours in the reception area of the police station. She started threatening them and throwing accusations at them. When she finally saw her husband, she demanded to be alone with him. They spoke for several hours. Then she emerged, claiming that her husband had not received the Miranda warning and that everything he had said had been forced and was not eligible in court. Immediately, panic arose. Within a day Kane was released again. But damage had been done. Kane had been stamped the Bathtub Killer. His name was spread out in the press. He lost his regular job and everything on the side. Everyone knew he got released on a technicality. But everyone also knew he was not released because his name was cleared. Commissioner Simon stated that Kane was their guy and they would not rest until they caught him again. And the FBI reprimanded the police and told them this should not have happened. Simon spoke to Mulder shortly after the case. The profiler had been very morose because of the events. He knew Kane was the one. It couldn't have been anyone else. But they had to let him go. Two days later, Simon heard that the FBI had no option but to close the case for now and move on. He heard that Mulder was on another case, investigating another series of murders. Even though the whole thing bugged Simon, he, too, had no other option but to let go. They could not afford any more mistakes right now. And the ironic thing was that it would take another murder for them to start the investigation anew. It was the only way they could go after Kane once again. Strangely enough, Kane had provided them with exactly that. 10 "To be honest," Agent Scully concluded, "I'm not so sure that these murders are done by the same killer. In the first seven cases, the killer forced the victims underwater until they drowned. Here, we are dealing with a person who drugs them before killing them." "So he changed his MO a bit," Skinner suggested. "But don't you think the coincidences are a bit too close?" "With all due respec,t sir," Scully continued, "all details of the previous murders have been spread out in the newspapers for weeks. We might as well have a copycat on our hands." Scully glared at her partner for support, only to find him leaning back in his seat, staring at the white wall behind Skinner, whom he faced. Commissioner Simon sat next to him and looked aside, as did the four police officers that were assigned to the case. Mulder did not seem to notice that they were waiting for him to speak. His hands were crossed over one another. There was a look in his eyes that betrayed his thoughts were far away from the room. "Agent Mulder, what are your findings?" assistant director Davis finally said, trying to get his former pupil's attention. Mulder blinked his eyelids and looked up, finally coming to realize he was in a room filled with people who were counting on him. "Sorry, what?" "Your findings, Agent Mulder?" Mulder cleared his throat and shifted so that he sat up straight. He looked too tired, Scully thought, worried. It didn't take an expert to know that working three weeks straight, without allowing a mental or physical break, was finally taking its toll. "It's Kane, no doubt about it. I felt it the moment I heard about the new case. The facts are there. No one else would take these risks. He wants to relive his old glories and so he does what he did before." "But isn't it odd that he is still able to get kids to go with him?" one of the detectives suggested. "His name has been all over the news. Everyone branded him the Bathtub Killer. Everyone knows he's a danger. So why would any kid still go with him?" "Believe it or not, but there are kids out there who are not aware of this sort of danger," Mulder said. "Kids these days grow up thinking nothing can happen to them. It happens to someone else, but not them. Paul Kane had a good reputation amongst kids. We found that out when we investigated him. No one thought he was capable of doing such a thing." "He's the devil in disguise," Simon said. "Probably. We all spoke and saw him. He's a small, skinny man. He doesn't have much strength in him. Yet he manages to kill healthy young boys who can struggle and fight for their lives. He held them down and killed them as if they were 3-year-olds. He used his bare hands to do so. We cannot underestimate him." "And what if we were wrong?" the first detective spoke slowly. "What if it was someone else all along? Kane never pleaded guilty. He never admitted he was the one. A lot of serial killers admit because they want the credit for their deeds. This man looked frightened and upset, and he claimed his innocence. Shouldn't we work down that alley too?" Mulder focused on the detective and opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. It was true that Kane appeared a very frightened, innocent man when they arrested him. It was true that he pretended not to know anything about it. But deep down, Mulder knew he was involved. It was written in his eyes, and the eyes never lied. "We can go down that alley," the agent finally spoke, "but I believe it would be a waste of time." "What do you suggest then?" "The profile still stands. But I suggest that we go over the details again, and find the missing piece we need to nail him once again. I suggest that we put agents on him day and night, and make sure he doesn't leave our sight. If he makes one wrong move, we'll have him. We have no fingerprints, DNA or other physical evidence to go on. He's been very careful so far. He knows exactly what he can do. If we are right, his cover of an innocent, not-so-bright janitor has been very elaborate and carefully put together. That cover we need to break." "What about potential victims?" Davis asked. "Shouldn't we put out a warning again? The press is going to want to know if he's the one." Mulder nodded. "I'd say that we put out an underlying warning that our murderer might be back. But I would keep his name out of it for now. We don't want to scare him off forever. If he stops now, we'll never get him. Make it so that he's being challenged." Scully put her hand on her partner's arm. "Do you know what you're saying? You're challenging him to murder again. That might backfire." Mulder smiled. "Don't worry, Scully. I'm not putting anyone's life at risk. I'm just making a small man feel big. We have experience in that matter, remember?" "This is not Robert Modell we're dealing with, Mulder. This is a serial killer. He kills for the thrill, not to challenge us." "Of course it's a challenge. It always has been. Why else would he kill the night after I encounter him at the hospital? He wants to let me know he's back in the game and waiting for my move." "This is not about you," Scully insisted, painfully aware that the others were listening to their argument. "This is about his desires." Mulder looked tiredly at her. "Scully, once the killer knows who he's up against, he lives for the challenge. It has never been any other way. It will stay that way forever. No matter what he does or how he does it, at the end it always comes down to one thing: The challenge." Mulder shoved his chair backwards and put his hands on the table as if he wanted to say something else. Then he winced painfully as his chest reminded him that he was still mending from the previous case, and he turned and mumbled an apology as he walked out of the room. Commissioner Simon looked at Skinner and said, "Are you sure your boy's up for this? He looks like he's been to hell and back." "He has, and he is," Skinner said. "Knowing my agent, he won't rest until Kane is put behind bars. This is an old pain that he needs to cope with. Once this is over, I'll send him on obligatory sick leave." Skinner met Scully's gaze and looked away. He knew his female agent was angry and upset with him for allowing Mulder to work on the case. But he had his reasons. And he had convinced Davis of those reasons as well. 11 The war room as it had been baptized for now, had four walls and a large window that looked down on the city below. It had three paintings on the walls, replica's of a Van Gogh, a Monet and a Magritte. Especially the Magritte appealed to Terence Davis, who had studied art as a pastime during his college years. He loved this office. He had given it a personal touch because he spent most of his time here. During the eighteen years as an assistant director, Davis had practically lived in this room. He knew that he was up for deputy director soon, since Lex was about to retire and had named him as a possible runner up. But Davis didn't know he was ready to move up just yet. He stood in the doorway and looked at the busy VCS- headquarters. He liked being in the center of the things. He wanted to know what happened with his people. He wanted to be informed on the cases they worked at, and the way things were going. He liked to intervene when things became weary or difficult. But for now he would let all of his agents be and concentrate on the Paul Kane case. He knew that this required his utmost attention right now. Before that though, he called his wife and asked her how she was doing. She had been feeling a bit under the weather lately. The heat that hummed in the city and threw a blanket over it that could not be shaken off, had immobilized her. Even walking out the door to work a bit in the garden was too much. Another six years, Davis had sworn the year before, when his Ellen became sick and needed a lot of bed rest. He had not been by her side when the stroke hit her. He was working. He was always working. But at night, at her hospital bed, he had vowed that he did it all for her. If he did not work, she would not have led such a comfortable life. If he had not given it all during his FBI years, she would not be as cozy as she was now. And when she complained about the hours he put in, he promised her that it would be over soon. More than 30 years had he put in at the FBI now, and he had loved every minute of it. Even when the going got tough, or when his agents quit the Bureau to pursue other things, he had not given up. He had tried to provide his agents with a safe haven. They knew they could come to him, and they usually did. Only one thing Davis regretted, even after so many years. He regretted the day Fox Mulder discovered The X-Files. Had it not been for that basement office with its secretive files, Davis would have molded him into a new assistant director, running the VCS. But it wasn't just that. Davis missed having Mulder around. He missed the brilliant mind that worked so hard on getting his man. He missed the way his agent gave everything to stop the murderers. He had watched how Mulder caught John Lee Roche. He had seen how Luther Lee Boggs had been nailed. And he watched how Mulder had caught so many others during the years. But he did it on the side, not as a full-time profession. In his heart, he still wanted to work on those paranormal cases. He still wanted to convince the world there was paranormal activity and aliens out there. Davis shook his head and looked outside the window. For years, he had denied the reasons why Mulder had quit the VCS. He had not wanted to know about the X-Files. Yet when he talked to Mulder about it, he had slowly started to believe that there might be something more out there. Patterson was the ultimate proof of that. He had never believed one of his best men would become a killer himself, but it happened. Mulder had claimed he was possessed by evil, and somehow that seemed to be the best explanation for it. But it was hard to believe. It was difficult to accept. Davis sighed and stuck his hands in the pockets of his pants. The talk with Skinner had upset him. Skinner had been blunt with him, explaining Mulder's terms on working on the case. Then his friend had expressed his concern about his agent, stating that the agent was on the way to a breakdown and it was up to them to stop that from happening. After that talk, Davis had wanted to take the case away from Mulder, but they couldn't afford that right now. If Kane was back on his murderous path, Mulder was the only one who knew him well enough to stop him. No matter how many good cops they had, there was only one Mulder. Davis frowned and rubbed his eyes. Picking up the phone to dial his home number, he realized he felt an urge to call his daughter as well, and to hear his grandson's voice. Somehow he felt he had to warn them about the danger at hand, and he wanted to make his daughter vow not to leave her son alone. 12 The apartment seemed too bleak and dark. She knew he loved living here, but she hated it, especially in times like this. Somehow it added to the mood her partner was already in. "Are you sure you don't want to have dinner with me?" she asked, trying to break the tension that lay between them for hours. "No, I'm fine," he said and he walked in and put his keys on the table. She didn't wait for his invitation but came in after him. There she stood still until he finally seemed to realize she was still in the room. He turned and looked at her. "What is it?" she asked. "You're looking at me as if you don't want me here." He slowly shook his head. "No. It's not that. I'm just tired." "I know." Again a silence. Then she turned and said, "Well, I'll leave you to it, then." He lifted his face. "Scully -" "Yeah?" "Don't go." She looked at him in surprise and then smiled as the tension broke. Her face seemed to relax. She wanted to crack a joke and tell him that she wasn't planning on covering him up that night, but when she saw the sadness in his eyes, she stopped and swallowed whatever she was going to say. "What do you want me to do, Mulder?" she asked in concern. "I don't know." He raised his hands in despair, and to her anguish, she saw tears in his eyes. He was extremely tired. She knew that. And he was hurting, both physically and mentally. She moved forward and wrapped her arms around his body, pulling him closer to her. He accepted the invitation and embraced her, snuggling his face between her shoulder and neck. She had hugged him like this before, but usually he had not been the one asking for it. They stood together for a couple of minutes. Scully knew she was not going to go home that night. She knew she was going to get the overnight bag out of the car and shower and change in his bathroom. She knew she was going to bunk out on his waterbed while he slept on the couch. She knew they were going to talk a lot that night, but not about the case. She knew that she would be his mental sleeping pill and that he would try to find rest before the day started again in the morning, and they would be thrown back into the hell of a serial killer case. She knew that this was his way to say he was sorry. And she knew he was going to explain to her what he had discussed with Skinner, and why their boss had finally allowed Mulder to proceed on the case, even though he wasn't up to do it. And she knew that by her staying, Mulder would be able to catch a bit of sleep. God knows he could use it. 13 Paul Kane was a very scared man. As a child, he used to be teased by everyone, including his friends, because he feared mice and spiders and just about anything that happened on the way to adultery. "You're like a girl, Kane," they shouted at him. "You're pathetic. You're chicken. You belong in a girl's school!" He grew up believing this was the way things went. In every school, in every class, there was always someone that was the scapegoat. The one that nobody wanted to play with. The one that always remained behind when teams had be formed at gym. The one that could do nothing and didn't have any talents. He grew up without a spine, as his father would say. He grew up knowing he was worth nothing. He couldn't write or paint, he couldn't study or become good at sports. He just went through life living. Period. No one really knew him. When the press got hold of his name and started looking up his former classmates, everyone would say the same thing. "Paul Kane? The name doesn't ring a bell." But somehow, some day, Kane started to realize that by being unknown, he could walk about just about everywhere. No one stopped him. No one seemed to notice him. He was just a small man living in his own small world. No wonder his Marybeth thought so low of him. The only reason she ever married him was because his father would probably leave him a huge inheritance. She married him at the age of 20, when he was struggling through his second year of college, because she wanted to make damn sure no one else got to him first. She was five years older than he was, and already at work. She had no idea no one wanted to have him. She met him, knew who his father was, and realized she needed to attach his name to hers in order to become renowned. Indeed, his father made sure she got the job at Weinstein&Nobles, but that was it. Then, when he dropped out of college during his third year and his father disinherited him, she knew she had just lost out on the big prize. Sure, she had the job she wanted, but she got stuck with an unemployed man who wasn't going to inherit a dime. And her father-in-law pulled back on her too. From now on she had to make it on her own, and she hated him for it ever since. Paul didn't care, though. The marriage became a standard part of life, just like breathing and living. There was no sex involved; no benefits that could help improve his lifestyle. He had to work to earn a living, even though she earned enough for the two of them. He was a disgrace; a thorn in her side. She never took him to parties. When work became busier, he hardly ever saw her. She neglected to tell people that she was married. She had affairs. But yet he still loved her. He was addicted to her. When things went right for her -- and they usually did -- he stood in the shadows and watched. She didn't know he was watching, but he was. He always was. She woke up the morning after the new murder, glanced at the reporters standing outside, and said, "Well, I'm going to have to look my best, aren't I?" He sat and just stared at her. "You don't care they're here to screw up our lives again?" "The only one who screwed up his life, is you, darling," she said, eating the daily bagel which would serve as breakfast and lunch. She was worried to death about gaining weight. "You shouldn't have been so stupid as to draw attention to yourself." "I didn't mean to." Her ice-cold eyes rested on him. "God, look at you. You're a mess. If you don't find another job soon, I'm going to have to throw you out. I'm tired of having you live off my back." He knew she didn't mean that. She needed him in her own, twisted way. He put his head down and refused to look at her while eating a third bagel. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "You should be. I'll see you tonight." She left the house dressed in a burgundy Armani business suit, carrying her black leather briefcase. She looked the businesswoman she was. The press stopped her. Reporters flashed their microphones at her and she stopped and spoke with them. She smiled. Her face didn't show she might be worried. He watched it happen through the curtains and then stared in awe as he noticed the reporters were splitting up and taking off. She had probably threatened to sue them to the last dime. And somehow they listened. Within 10 minutes they were all gone. And she was, too. She had gotten into her company car and taken off. He was alone in the house he dreaded. And all he had to live for was her return that night. It was all he had and he hated himself for it. 14 They had no physical evidence, nothing to tie Adam's death to Paul Kane. Several police officers went to the school to speak with potential witnesses. No one had seen anything. No one had spotted the boy getting into a truck, Jeep or car. They used pictures of Kane's 4x4 to get someone to recognize it, knowing how thin the line was they walked. Any lawyer would have called it manipulation of witnesses. They called it survival of the fittest. If they screwed up now, they would never get Kane. And the heat was on. The Kane house was being monitored twenty-four and seven now. Kane could not make a move without anyone knowing about it. When Kane left to do grocery shopping, which happened only once a week, there were several agents walking nearby. Kane knew it. He could spot a cop or Fed a mile away. But to their surprise, he didn't really bother avoiding them. He passed by them and said, "Excuse me" when picking up a jar of jam that happened to be sitting on a shelf near one of the agents. Kane didn't smile or act self-confident. He kept his eyes down and didn't give an answer when one of the cops asked him if he was looking out for any boys today. He drove home from the store and stayed inside for the rest of the day. There were no secret passageways allowing him to flee the house. There were no signs he was about to kill another child. For a while it felt like there was a strange era of waiting as all the parties tried to make an end to the situation that shouldn't have happened. Inside the house, Paul Kane looked up, startled, switching off the television set automatically. He had not seen what happened on the small screen. His thoughts were far gone. And he whispered, "No." 15 The boy walked out of the school building toward the bike his dad had bought him six years ago. Even though he had outgrown the thing, he had refused to give it up for another one. It was his dad's last gift to him, after all. "Stephen?" He turned and watched as a figure stepped out of shadows of the trees planted just before the gates. "Yeah?" he asked suspicious, holding the keys to the lock in his hand. "You're Stephen Jones, right? I'm afraid I have some bad news for you. Your mother was in an accident. I've come to take you to the hospital." The one who spoke to him flashed a badge. "Accident?" he asked shocked, immediately remembering how a cop had come to tell him his father was in an accident. By the time he got to the hospital, his dad was already dead. No, he didn't want that to happen again. "It's all right. She's suffered minor injuries. She's fine. But she couldn't notify you herself." "She was supposed to pick me up," Stephen said, pointing at the flat tire his bike suffered. "I was to meet her across the street." "That's why I'm here. Come on, I'll put your bike in the back." "No, that's okay. I'll leave it here and come back for it." "As you wish. Hop on in." He slid onto the passenger seat and closed the door. The car moved. Stephen watched the other cars on the street, not really seeing them. His thoughts were with his mother. What if she was more seriously hurt than this officer was letting on? What if she was to die too, just like his dad? What if it was his fault? He shouldn't have called to let her know about the bike. He could have hitched a ride with his best friend Tom. But his mom had been very worried with the rumors of a killer going about. She had warned him not to go with anyone but her. With anyone but her? He looked aside at his driver. No, he shouldn't be afraid. This was a police officer, someone who knew about him and his mom. Then a car passed them. For one very long moment his eyes met his mother's. Then the car passed them. And stopped. Stephen looked behind him and saw that the car turned and went after them. It was his mother! He saw the driver's eyes and knew that he was in deep trouble. "You're not a cop!" he said. "You're right," the driver said. "I'm not." The next moment a unexpectedly very strong hand grabbed him by the throat and pushed his head hard against the glass, so that his temple hit full impact with the glass on the passenger's side. Stephen groaned and then passed out, sliding on the seat until he rested in a strange pose. The driver of the Jeep then pushed in the gas pedal and took off until the boy's mother could no longer follow. 16 A very hysterical Stephanie Jones waited while the police officers did their job. Her description of the license plate and the Jeep had been called in during the few moments she had tried to follow the Jeep, which had abducted her son. Stephanie could not even start to explain how she felt when she realized her son was in that Jeep. Their eyes met only a few moments and she had known instinctively. Her son was in danger and she could do nothing about it. She had not seen the driver. "It's okay," the FBI agents that spoke with her assured her, "we'll find him. You gave us the license plate and a description of the vehicle. It's more than we had so far." "Is it?" she spoke with a voice that didn't resemble her natural tones at all. "You let that bastard go and now my son is going to die!" Fox Mulder accepted her tirade and waited until she calmed down before touching her arm. He leaned forward and made her look in his eyes. "We'll get him, I swear," he whispered hoarsely. There was something in the man's eyes that calmed Stephanie down. She wanted things to okay. She had to believe that they would be. If they would not, she didn't know how to go on living. Her son Stephen was all she had in the world. Without him, there was nothing else. "Why?" she asked finally as her tears dried and her body shook of dry hiccups. "Why what, Mrs. Jones?" Scully asked quietly. "Why did you let that monster walk free?" "We had to." "Explain that to me. You know Paul Kane is the one. Why aren't you watching him?" "We are," Scully said, glancing at Mulder. When the call came in of the new abduction, police and FBI immediately burst into Kane's house, supported by a federal search warrant. Kane was not there. No one knew how it could have happened, but he was gone. The front and back doors had been constantly guarded. Kane had just gone grocery shopping but had returned and closed the door, knowing perfectly well the FBI was on the lookout for him. Yet somehow he had escaped the imprisonment of his home. The agents left a police officer at Mrs. Jones' side and left the small office. Davis and Skinner stood outside waiting for them. "How is she?" Skinner asked. "How do you think?" Mulder answered sharply. "Kane is killing her son as we speak." "You don't know that, Agent Mulder," Skinner responded just as blunt. "I would not start making accusations if I were you. Let's concentrate on getting and questioning Kane, and finding that boy, before we jump to conclusions." "Is there still doubt in your mind that Kane did not do this?" Mulder asked angrily, ready to take out his anger on the first person that got in his way. "You know what it's about. You know what it's like, sir. We've been there before. I don't want Kane to walk out and kill this boy while we run around like headless chickens, trying to find him." "Then why the hell are you still standing here for?" Skinner blurted out. "Go out and find him. But how are you going to do that, Agent Mulder? By driving around town, looking for that Jeep? Do you really think that that will bring the solution to our problems? If so, I urge you to do just that and come back when you've calmed down." Scully watched as her partner struggled with his anger. His shoulders sagged for a second as if he wanted to let it all pass and give up. But then he turned and glared furiously at Skinner, making his hands into fists as if he was about to hit his boss once again. But he stayed still. "I need to do something," he blurted out desperately. "We have our guy. We know that he's the one. And we just let him go. Mrs. Jones is right when she questions our motives." "You know we need hard evidence this time, related to these last few cases. Without it, we have nothing," Skinner said, calmer. "That's the way it works, Mulder." "Maybe we should just track down Kane and kill him too," Mulder mumbled. "He's a coward, just like Luther was." "Hey!" Skinner grabbed his agent's arm roughly, stopping him, as he wanted to leave the room. "Don't you ever say that again out loud, you hear? We are a law enforcement agency. We obey the rules someone else has set for us. If we don't, there's no point, is there? We become Kane. Is that what you want, Agent Mulder?" Frustrated the agent shook loose. "What I want is Kane's head on a platter." "We all do. But your anger is not going to help anyone." "It sure feels good." "I'm glad it does," Skinner said, "now use that anger to find Kane. You're the only one who can get inside that man's head and think like him. You're the only hope that we have right now of tracking him before he kills that boy. Let others worry about finding that Jeep. Worry about his reasoning and help us see through him." Mulder's anger left his body the way a soul left a dying human being. He could feel it drift away from him. He looked from Skinner to Davis to Scully to the other agents who had listened to the conversation. "Where would he take that boy?" Scully asked. "He knows we have guarded Stephanie Jones' house. He would not be stupid enough to repeat this. Adam's murder struck us by surprise, but now he is forced to change his MO. What would he do?" "I don't know." "Yes, you do. Go back to your first profile. You described Kane as a very private person taking major chances killing his victims in their homes, as if he wanted to get caught. Do you think he still wants to get caught?" "Yes. He's out of control. He's repulsed by his own actions and wants us to stop him." "So what would he do?" "He would find a spot where he would get caught killing the boy so that we would be forced to stop him. But that could be anywhere." "Do you think he would go back into his past and use a place he's familiar with, like one of the murder sites?" Terence asked, still standing on the spot he was while watching fascinated as Mulder's weary mind went over the details of the previous murders, remembering everything he had read and seen. "No, he would want to use a place that is significant to the victim, like a place he used to spend a lot of time at. Excuse me." To everyone's surprise Mulder returned to the small room where Stephanie Jones was seated and opened the door. She looked up as he asked, "Your son, does he take up a lot of sports? You said he was carrying a backpack and a sports bag." "Yes, he does," she responded. "What kind of sports?" "He likes to play basketball and swim. He's a very good swimmer. In fact, he was supposed to be at swim practice tonight." "Where?" "About a mile from my house there's a private swimming pool." Mulder turned without thanking her and left the room, closing the door. "I've got a lead," he said as they headed outdoors. 17 The entire area around Paul Kane's house was secluded. No one could get in or out. Yet at the same time that the FBI rummaged through the house for the second time in a few weeks time, using a search warrant granted by a prominent judge less than an hour before, Paul Kane himself proved that he could not be stopped, by simply returning to his home as if nothing ever happened. He didn't use the same way in as he had used to get out. He simply walked down the lane to his front door. When they spotted him, one of the agents kept a gun on his head while another one forced his hands behind his back and cuffed him. "What's wrong?" Kane asked with a high-pitched voice. "What did I do?" "Where's the boy, Kane?" the agent in charge of the search demanded to know. "Where did you dump the body?" "What boy? I don't know what you're talking about. I just went out for a walk." Cuffed, Kane was pushed in the back of an anonymous police car and taken downtown for questioning. A few moments later his wife came home and demanded to know what was going on. As a lawyer she insisted to know if her husband's rights were violated again. "You can see your husband downtown," the agent in charge said. "After we find out what he did with the boy." She watched as they drove off with her husband. Then she sighed and stared at the mess the FBI had left in her home. Then she walked into the kitchen and prepared a cup of coffee, sipping the hot fluid calmly while trying to figure out where to go from here. 18 The boy was not at the swimming pool. He was not drifting in the water face down. He was not there. They searched through the entire area but could not find him. The swimming pool was as dark as empty as it had been when they got there. The guard finally appeared; telling them that the only class for that evening had been cancelled after the coach had called in sick. The coach had supposedly left messages on all the answering machines of the boys he was supposed to train that evening. Indeed, a message had been left on Mrs. Jones' machine as well, reported by the agents who were assigned to stay at the house should Kane unexpectedly show up. But Paul Kane wasn't there. He was downtown facing his nemesis, Fox Mulder. The supposed serial killer and the FBI profiler sat in the small interrogation room with see-through window Kane recognized from his previous visit to the police station. Before, his wife had been there to protect him, claiming they had to right to keep him. She had used sloppy police work and screw-ups from the men that took him in as an excuse to get her husband out. This time he knew she would not be able to get him out that easily. He blinked his eyelids and looked up, realizing at long last he could not keep on ignoring the FBI agent who sat still, watching him. The agent looked very tired. Kane wondered about the man. He seemed to be disinterested in discussing the case with Kane. He just sat there and watched. It made Kane uncomfortable. Before, at the hospital, the agent had tried to challenge him. This time he seemed to be using psychological warfare. "Can I have some water please?" Kane finally said, realizing his voice sounded hoarse and tired too. The agent didn't move but a few moments later a police officer came in with a can of water and a plastic cup that she put on the table. Mulder moved and poured water in the cup. "Thank you." Kane moved forward, using both hands to lift up the cup. His wrists were still cuffed. He drank the cup empty and asked for another one. Mulder repeated his actions and then shifted the can aside as if to state Kane was not allowed to drink again. Kane licked his lips, wondering why it was so warm in the room. Were they trying to frighten him? If so, they were succeeding. "I'm sorry," Kane finally said. "I don't understand this at all. I went out for a walk and you arrest me for it? I thought I was a free man?" "You are. But you didn't go out for a walk. You went out to kill a boy. Where did you dump the body this time, Paul?" "I didn't kill anyone. Do you really think I would be that stupid? I got tired with you Feds and the cops sitting before my house. I wanted to get some fresh air without you guys following me like puppies. So I snuck out. I slid out of the window and hid between the trees until I saw my chance fit to walk away. I walked five blocks. I was gone for an hour. Do you think I would have the time to kill in meantime?" "Ted Bundy killed two and hurt three in less than forty- five minutes. If he could do it, so can you." "I'm not Ted Bundy. I'm not a killer. How many times do I have to tell you?" "You got out on a technicality, Paul. No one believes in your innocence. You lost your job; your friends and you're losing your life. You're a sick man. You need to kill. It's in your blood. We can end that for you. Just tell us where the boy is. If he's still alive, you have to say. If he dies while you are arguing with us, they'll come down on you like a ton of bricks. You'll die. This country comes down hard on killers like you. You prey on innocent children and take their lives before they have a chance to defend themselves. You do understand that we can never let you go? You can make it easy on yourself and us and confess." "I'm not confessing to something I did not do." "You're the only one who believes your lies, Paul. No one else does." "I'm not lying!" "We have the evidence. We have the license plate of the Jeep. It's registered in your father's name, Paul. Why would a Jeep with your father's license plates drive around town taking young boys? It couldn't have been your old man, could it Paul? He's been dead for ten years. The Jeep belonged to you, now, didn't it? Where do you keep it? Do you only use it for the killing, Paul?" The man paled. "You're making this up. You're guessing!" "We have a witness who saw Stephen Jones in your vehicle, Paul. All we have to do now is track down the Jeep, get the fingerprints and book you for double kidnapping and murder. We may not be able to link you to the other kills anymore, but we sure as hell can get your for these last two. You can make it easier on yourself and tell us where Stephen is. If he's already dead, we're too late. But if he's still alive, you might get some redemption." Paul Kane's head sunk on his chin as he shook his head. "I can't. I can't!" "You have to. Where is he, Paul?" "I don't know!" "Yes, you do. Tell me!" "I can't. I can't! I didn't do this. I can't help you!" "You're a liar." "I'm not!" "You are!" "I swear to you that I did not kill those boys! I never have and I never will!" "You had the opportunities, Paul. You were there. You knew those boys. They trusted you. They had faith in you! As the janitor you could do whatever you wanted to do. They liked you because you walked about their schools. They would go with you. You made a run for it when we found you. And now we have got you. How long are you going to keep this up?" Paul Kane slumped forward and hid his eyes with his cuffed hands. Then he started shaking his head and whispered, "No. No. No." He whispered it over and over again. And he cried. Mulder leaned forward, raising himself from the chair he was sitting in all the time, while his voice raised and the accusations began. "I know you, Paul," the agent's voice said hoarsely. "You like to kill, don't you? I thought you were better than the rest of them; that you would feel an ounce of remorse for what you have done. But you're not better, are you? You kill because it gets you off, because your personal life has been hell. You don't sleep with your wife anymore, do you? You can't, because you are attracted to those boys, even though you don't assault them sexually. You like to see them struggle, and that's what makes you tick. You live for those few thrilling moments, don't you?" Paul raised his head as the tears slowly stopped. His voice sounded bitter as he whispered, "You think you got me all figured out, don't you? You think I'm just any old killer who does things to get off. But you don't know anything about me. You have no idea who I am." "Then why don't you tell us?" "You're not interested in the truth. You just want to find the boy, and then you'll hang me." "I won't. I'm interested in you. I want to know why." "But you don't believe I'm innocent." "No, I don't. Because you have guilt written all over your face. You know that you're responsible for these boys, and so do I. I want to help that boy, yes. But if you want to talk about it, I'll listen." Paul rubbed his face. "I want to think about it." "I'll give you five minutes. That's all I can allow you before they come in here and take you. I'm a nice guy, Paul. But the others aren't. They'll come down on you like a ton of bricks. The Jeep connects you to the murders. It's easy for them to connect the dots. You have to make the choice. Do you want to make this easy on everyone, or do you want to play hard to get?" Paul closed his eyes. "Leave me alone." The agent lifted his hands from the table and turned towards the door. "I'll be right back." Paul Kane waited until the agent had left before he got up and stared at the white wall before him. He cried bitter tears as he let his head sink against the wall. Behind the glass, the investigators did not know if he was crying for his deeds, or merely for himself. 19 He didn't speak up. When Mulder got back in the room, Kane seemed a changed man. His eyes were more confident and blunt now, staring straight into the agent's as he said, "I wish to see my lawyer now. I'm sure you have her number. If she's not already waiting to see me, can you please give her a call?" "If that's what you want," Mulder said, disappointed that Kane was not budging. He was tired of trying to get through to the man. If Kane didn't want to cooperate, they would go down hard on him. This time nothing could change that. But late that night the boy was not found; neither was the Jeep. The boy was gone. Several traces leading to possible hideouts for the Jeep faltered. The press cooperated in asking the public if they had seen a vehicle matching the description. In the meantime, the world knew Paul Kane was under arrest again. Everyone assumed he was the one. The FBI and police were being under public scrutiny for letting the man go in the first place. They were blamed for the last two disappearances. If they had not screwed up, the boys would still be alive. Finally, around two in the morning, Scully decided it was time to call it a night. Her partner had been sitting by himself in a small office all night, going through all the evidence for the thousandth time. She knew he was trying to figure out what Kane could have done, but his one and only lead had not brought them anywhere. The boy was gone. "Take him home, Agent Scully," Skinner said as he too got on his coat and called it a night. "If he's not coming, get me. I'll be here for another 10 minutes." She nodded, wondering how in the world one could feel this tired. She walked inside the small office and knocked on the glass door. Her partner didn't startle or look up. He was far out there, with his thoughts in another world. "Mulder," she said, "let's get you home." He looked at her in wonder. "I thought you left hours ago." "I've been here all the time. Come on, let's go." "No, I think I'd like to give it another shot with Kane." "He's locked in his cell and asleep. Everyone's gone. It's no use tonight. You're tired." "No, I'm okay." She wanted to give up and just leave him there, but she knew she couldn't. He winced slightly as he moved away from her, suddenly reminding her of the fact that he had just been through hell and back, and was not about to give himself a break. The one person he blamed was himself. "Please, Mulder." He looked up in surprise at the tone of her voice. It sounded pleading. Then she just turned around and left. He got up and walked after her, stopping her before she could get in the elevator. She turned. To his surprise she had tears in her eyes. "You're tired," he said, "I'll drive you home." "No. I don't want to go home." He took her in his arms and let her face rest against his shoulder. His hand automatically caressed her hair, comforting her as he had done many times before. It felt natural. "Let's go," he whispered, for a few moments finding the strength that he needed to project on her to make her feel better. >From his temporarily dark office, Skinner watched. 20 The door was unlocked. He noticed it the moment he entered the dark hallway. He could sense it. It was like a warning sign for things to come. He glanced at Scully. Both of them pulled out their guns as the male agent pushed against the door, carefully opening it. With aimed guns both agents made their way through Mulder's apartment. "Stay here," he said, stopping her in her tracks when she wanted to move through the living room. He was used to the darkness. He hardly turned on any of the lights. She glared at the kitchen and in the bedroom. Nothing seemed to be turned upside down. Everything seemed to be in place. Then she heard a door slam. Somehow the sound entered her head as if it were an alarm bell ringing. She stared at Mulder's features as he leaned heavily against the doorpost, staring into his bathroom. "Mulder?" Her partner stood before the bathroom door and looked inside. He seemed frozen. The expression on his face was blank. His gun had dropped to the floor. "Mulder? Are you okay?" He didn't even hear her. He just stood there. She moved towards him and put her hand on his arm. Then her face instinctively turned towards the very spot he was staring at, and she felt as if her world had just collapsed. "Oh, my God." The cry escaped her throat before she could stop it. Within two seconds she stood in the bathroom and reached for the boy floating in the bathtub. His entire body was under water. There were no air bubbles to prove he was breathing. There was nothing left of his life. He floated under water, fully dressed. In Mulder's bathtub. "Help me," she cried out to her partner. Her hand reached for the boy, pulling his face above water. But she knew it was too late. His body was cold and stiff. He had died hours ago. And that bastard had taken him here and put him in her partner's bathtub, while they were looking for him somewhere else. She let go of the body. The coldness felt horrible on her skin. She worked on dead people every single week, but this time it felt as if the boy's cold, dead skin burned on her fingertips. She was projected back to the autopsy bay where the other body had been examined for forensic evidence. She wanted to throw up. But she couldn't. She had to keep control. She turned around and looked at her partner. There was mere blankness in his eyes. "Come on," she said, practically forcing him to turn around. He didn't respond at first, but when she closed the door and shut out the sight of the boy, he looked up for the first time. There were no emotions on his face, which scared her the most. Just a few minutes ago she had thought they would be able to keep their professional minds and personal opinions apart. She had sworn that her partner would not go that tricky path again. But that was before they had known about the boy in the bathtub. "Sit down," she ordered, picking up the phone. He did as she said and stared straight ahead. Then she caught him staring at his hands. And then a strange sound escaped his throat and she saw how he struggled with his emotions. The rasping sound could have come from an animal in mortal danger. It cut through skin and bone. She shivered. And then she couldn't help but wonder how in the world this man had brought the boy here without anybody seeing it. Without a single person in the world doing something to save that kid's life. 21 "What did you tell them?" Paul Kane did not fear his wife a lot, but this time he was petrified. Her wrath seemed to loom over him. She knew it when he lied. She could sense it. And he didn't want to lie to her. She had woken him up in the middle of the night to punish him. He wasn't about to make her angrier than she already was. "Nothing. Yet. I want to make a deal." "You're stupid. They don't have anything on you. Any half- decent lawyer can get you out of this mess. I'm going to do just that. You'll be out of here tonight." His voice sounded tired. He slumped backwards until he sat with his back against the cold bricks. "I'm not so sure that I want to be free." Her cold eyes turned towards him. "You'd better be. I need you." "That's what I fear the most," he blurted out. "You are afraid?" "Yeah." She laughed. "You should be." 22 Skinner's anger was apparent when he arrived at the apartment right after the forensic's team. The night had already gone to hell. In a few hours morning would arrive, bringing them a new day with new questions. "How could he do this?" Skinner asked out loud, surprised when someone actually answered. "Because he likes it." It was Davis speaking as he entered Mulder's apartment. The assistant director had never been there and looked around at the dark environment. Somehow he pictured Mulder living in such an area, with nothing to keep him company but his fish. It seemed fitting and very typical for a profiling FBI agent. Most of his people were single or divorced. Most profilers just couldn't handle the pressure of the job and didn't even bother trying to combine it with a personal life. Good marriages happened seldom. "No, I mean: How could he get the boy in this apartment without being noticed?" Mulder rose from his seat and turned, stretching his body a bit. He felt beyond fatigued now, living on the adrenaline of what had just happened. "You would be surprised how easy it can be when no one really cares. It's obvious he wanted his little revenge on me. He knew he was going to get caught, and so he wanted to go out with a bang. I guess he succeeded." "I guess so," Skinner muttered, looking at the body bag the coroner's office was removing from the bathroom. He wondered how in the world his agent was ever going to lead a regular life in this apartment again, when death lurked all over. "I have to go," Mulder said. "Can't stay here." It didn't take an expert to see both agents were in shock. Even though Scully seemed the stronger one right now, at least mentally, she too seemed pale and shocked. But her attention was on her partner, and his actions and moves. "I'll take you wherever you want to go," Skinner said friendly. "He's coming with me. To my place." Scully's voice betrayed her insistence. "I think neither of you should be alone right now," Skinner said. "I'll stay with you. In the morning you're going to see a counselor about this." "A counselor?" Mulder started to laugh. His laughter sounded hard in the room, making people look up. "Is he going to bring that boy back, sir?" "You kicking yourself won't do the trick either, Agent Mulder," his boss said harder. "My concern is you two. We can't do anything for that boy anymore, but I don't want Paul Kane to make any more victims, you hear? We need to concentrate on how to keep him. That's our priority. This case is finished for you, Agent Mulder. It's over. You did your job. Now let the others proceed from here on." "You're not going to allow me to see him?" "That's right. You are not allowed to speak with Kane anymore. You're too far in as it is. I'm sending you on time off in a few days." Mulder nodded slowly. "Fine." "Good. Now get some things together. I'll take you two to Scully's apartment. I don't want to see you at the office until noon. Got it? You are going to rest. I'll call you to get details on the counselor. I don't want any objections on that. You knew I was going to do this anyhow. We've got Kane in custody and he's not going anywhere. No more children will get killed." "We don't have the evidence, sir. We might say that we have, but we don't! The connection to the Jeep is not enough to arrest him for these murders. We don't have anything!" "We'll find it. It will be all right." Skinner placed his hand on his agent's shoulder as if to calm him down. Then the agent's shoulders sagged as he lost the battle of words. The agent frowned, and said tired, "Just give me a couple of minutes." "Okay." Skinner turned his back on Mulder and glanced at Scully who stood lost in the room. She too needed his attention and she looked like she was ready to drop on the spot. "You okay?" her boss asked frowning. "Yeah. I'm fine." "I know this was quite a shock, Scully, but it'll be fine. You've been through worse." "I know." She smiled faintly. "I just wish -" "I know." Scully nodded and turned away from Skinner, not knowing what to do with her feelings. All she could remember was the face of that dead boy in that tub. His hair dancing on the water; his entire body under water. And the reflection of innocence that still rested on his face when he was killed. Mulder got out a small bag filled with clothes. He had not grabbed his toothbrush. He glanced at the bathroom door and then passed it by, as if not interested. Scully followed him as they left. Skinner looked the two agents over and said, "Let's go." Outside, in the cold air, Mulder took a very deep breath and looked up to the skies. "What is it?" his partner asked before she got in. He looked at her. "I don't know. I just feel like something's about to happen." "Let's get some rest first then." 23 Scully had never expected it to happen but it did. She got to catch some sleep unexpectedly in the safety net of her apartment. She turned on her side when sunlight found its way inside her bedroom and blinked at the light. It took her a while to come to realize where she was and why she was there. She glanced at the alarm, noticing it was merely after seven. Yet she felt like she had slept all night. Most of the fatigue was gone. It had helped to recover from last night's emotions. Then all the memories came back, and the knowledge Mulder was sleeping in the other room. Reluctantly she slipped out of bed and walked into the living room. The couch was empty. A blanket she had given her partner lay in a heap on the side. His clothes were gone too, as were his shoes. "Mulder?" she asked out loud, knowing perfectly well he was long gone. She remembered how he had hugged her when she retreated in the bedroom, telling her it would all be fine. And then he had waited until she fell asleep before taking off. He took off because he feared that Paul Kane would get out soon and start the killing spree again. Instinctively she had known that was Mulder's biggest fear. They had no evidence to link him. They just had the Jeep. It wasn't enough. Just like in most killer-cases, they needed hard, solid evidence. Then she spotted the note on the desk and picked it up. Her name was written on the folded piece of paper in her partner's handwriting. "Dear Scully, I know that you're going be pissed. You have every right to be so, but not because of what I'm doing here: taking off like this. You should be pissed because of the things I've overlooked. You see, I did sleep a bit last night. But then I had this dream about the boy in my bathtub. I dreamt that he was being drowned by strong hands; hands that were much stronger than Kane's. Paul Kane is not a very physical man. Most killers thrive on adrenaline; they live for the kill. Kane is not a typical killer. Once a killer gets caught, he wants to manipulate the audience. We are his audience. Remember Roche? I'm going to talk to Kane before the DA releases him this morning. I know that's going to happen. I can feel it in my guts. Don't worry; I won't screw up this time. I've got the upper hand, and Kane doesn't have a gun. Does he? If you're awake, give me a call . Mulder" Scully cursed silently when she grabbed her phone and dialed her partner's cell phone number. She cursed even more when she got his voicemail. She hung up and flipped through her programmed telephone numbers until she reached the police station, and asked if she could speak with Agent Mulder. The officer on call left her hanging on the phone for a while, before returning to say that there was a problem. Before she could ask what the problem was, he hung up. She cursed a second time and got on the phone with Skinner, waking him up. Five minutes later she was on her way to the police station where Kane was being held for questioning. It was only 10 minutes away, but those were the longest minutes of her life. 24 It happened all the time. Prisoners panicked and started going amok while being held in jail. But usually the ones making a mess were the drunks or drug addicts that had been brought in to sober up. No one had expected it to happen with a 14-year-old runaway found on the streets. Paul Kane yawned when one of the officers brought him in the room. When he spotted Mulder, his fatigue was over. "You're up early," Kane remarked, sitting down. "I guess you know why." "No. Why?" "We found the boy, Paul." Kane blinked. "Where?" "In my apartment. In my bathroom. In my bathtub, where you left him for dead." "Is he--?" "Of course he is. You drowned him just before you went home." "How could I do that?" Kane blurted out, "Your apartment is miles from--" "How would you know that, when you never went there, Paul?" Paul stretched his shoulders and arms, trying to get the handcuffs to move away from his painful wrists. The metal seemed to scratch the skin. "Can you please get these off me?" "Sorry. Policies are policies." "My wrists are hurting. I'm not running, you know." "Tough. Now then, how did you know about my apartment?" "I've--" he stopped and looked past the agent at the mirror. "I was curious, okay? I found out about you, about where you lived. I drove past the building, but I never walked in. Besides, then you know that I couldn't have been there. I wasn't gone that long. Your own agents and the police will confirm that." "That's right," Mulder said. "In theory it would be impossible for you to make the distances." "So why are you keeping me here then? It's obvious there's someone else you need to find." "Yes, there is." Mulder shook his head and rested on the side of the table, pouring water in the plastic cup from the fresh can of water that had been provided. He placed it before Kane who didn't look at it. There was noise coming from outside the interrogation room. The agent turned a bit, disturbed by the sounds so early in the morning. He glanced at his watch. It was a little after 7. Paul raised his eyebrows as the noise started to become louder. Mulder turned and opened the door, staring in surprise into the barrel of a gun, held by a young girl who seemed too small for a weapon of this size. She was walking backwards down the hall, making her way to the exit. Her hands were cuffed. There was a female officer lying face down on the floor. It was the officer's gun. In a flash Mulder knew she was going to kill him. It was his instincts, which saved him. The second before the gun went off, shot by the panicking runaway, Mulder let himself slide to the right, out of gunpoint. The bullet struck the far wall of the interrogation room. >From the corner of his eye Mulder saw Kane duck underneath the table. The girl's hands shivered as the heavy weapon went off. She cried out but kept a hold on the gun, screaming at everyone who could hear, that she would shoot again. The girl moved even more backwards, her eyes focused on the interrogation room. "Stay put," Mulder hissed towards Kane as he reached for his gun. He hesitated before he carefully made his way out of the room. There were several police officers present, despite the early hour. Everyone had an eye on the girl, but no one wanted to shoot and kill a panicking teenager. Finally, the girl went through the doors leading to the reception area. Without thinking about it, Mulder rushed through the doors, followed by three other police officers. And there he stood eye to eye with the girl for the second time, immediately realizing his mistake. The girl stood in the reception area, holding her gun at his chest. This time her hands didn't shake anymore. She held the gun up as if she had done it several times before. There was no more fear in her eyes. There was hatred and resentment against the law. For the first time in his life, Mulder actually believed he was about to die. When facing death, it usually came too fast, too swift to consider it. But now it was there, in the cover of a runaway who wanted to kill. He was back on the field, with Luther aiming a gun at him. And this time he wasn't wearing a safety vest. There was a single gunshot, followed by another one. Mulder felt sharp pain in his upper arm, followed by a strange numbing feeling as his legs shivered and seemed to give in. He could barely stand up straight as his right hand reached for his left arm, holding it instinctively. He blinked his eyelids as he realized that it wasn't him that went down for the count, but the girl. She slumped forward as a single bullet hit her in the back of the right shoulder, sending her into oblivion instantly. Behind her -- before Mulder -- stood Scully. And the interrogation room where Paul Kane was left behind was empty. 25 A very pale Mulder listened to Skinner's tirade; reluctantly admitting the AD was right. But he couldn't care right now. His thoughts went swiftly over Kane's potential hideouts. They all knew Kane would not get too far. He wasn't bright enough to do so. An EMT was bandaging the flesh wound caused by the teenager, who had been taken to the hospital under strict guard. Mulder's injury was superficial enough not to be considered serious, but still Scully wished they had taken her partner in for a checkup as well. She had never seen him so pale. "I don't understand why he ran," Scully said. "He must have known there wasn't enough evidence to support this case. He should have taken the risk." "I don't know what his reasons are," Skinner responded, "and I really don't care. We need to find him." "He couldn't have gone home, sir," she continued. "He wouldn't do that. He proved his own guilt by taking off. So where would he go?" Mulder looked at her. "That Jeep was registered under his father's name. Are there are properties under his name as well?" "No. We checked them out." "What about his wife?" "Not that we could find." "And her relatives?" "I don't know. It's worth a look, I suppose." "Look for a house nearby where you could harbor a Jeep," Mulder said, sliding off the chair as the EMT finished up. The agent ignored Skinner's frown and left the room. Kane escaped under his supervision. Now it was time to get the man back and find out what he was hiding. 26 The house that had belonged to Marybeth Jones' mother was only five miles from Mulder's residence. It seemed fitting in a way that the conclusion should occur there, Mulder thought bitterly as they drove up to the house where Paul Kane might be. A police officer already on the scene reported seeing movement inside the house. A woman had glanced outside but had seemingly not spotted the unmarked police vehicle. "It must be Marybeth Jones," Scully said. "He called his wife." "Do you think she's in on it?" "It happens." The agents slid out of the car and proceeded towards the house. Skinner drove on. He would come after parking the car a few yards away, where it would not stand out. It was a suburban area and strangers would be picked up instantly. Two other agents were already at the house, waiting for instructions. Mulder nodded but didn't say a word as they explored the house. The garage door was half open. Inside stood a Jeep matching the description and license plate. Mulder pointed silently at it, made a movement with his hand and spread the agents about the house. Mulder selected the backdoor to try and get in. Scully was right after him, determined not to get away from him. Blood was coming through the bandage, which was supposed to protect the gunshot wound. Scully stared fascinated at it. Her partner didn't even notice it. She listened to the sounds coming from inside the house. Voices were arguing. Mulder opened the backdoor with raised gun and moved inside the house. The voices came from the living room. Paul Kane and his wife Marybeth stood in the middle of the room arguing. Kane's voice sounded soft and hurt, as if he had just admitted to several crimes. His wife stood opposite him, dressed in business suit. How could two people who seemed such opposites be attracted like that? Scully thought. "Paul." Mulder's voice spoke soft but persistent as the agent stepped forward, holding the man at gunpoint. Paul didn't seem surprised that they were there. In fact, a smile played on his face. Mulder knew he had lured the agents to this house. He had known they would soon find him. The slim, small man did not move. He just stood there. He did not attempt to justify himself. He did not defend what he did. He just held his hands up and waited for the agents to move. "It's over," Mulder's rasping voice said. The agent blinked his eyelids furiously, concentrating on Paul as his arm hurt like a bitch and stress took over. Marybeth did not move. Her cold eyes stared at her husband. She seemed to despise him. "I'm glad it's over," Paul said with the voice of a child. "I truly am." He allowed Scully to grab his wrists. The other cuffs lay on the floor with a key stuck in them. He had stolen a key chain on his way out, using one of the emergency exits of the police station, while everyone was concentrating on the runaway girl. "Then why did you run?" Scully asked in contempt. Paul shook his head. "You wouldn't understand, Agent Scully." The supposed killer looked at Mulder. "But he does." Kane's calm voice made Mulder tremble. He had seen cold- blooded killers before, but they never seized to amaze and scare the wits out of him. He hated being around them. He disliked them. They disgusted him. But there was something about this little man that made him doubt this very moment. Something was very wrong. Right here, right now, in the environment created in this abandoned house, something just didn't feel right. Scully put the first cuff around his wrist. He offered his second wrist to her. Mulder let his weapon slide down as she placed the second cuff and pushed his shoulder slightly to get him to move, turning her back on Marybeth Kane. Mulder put the gun away in the holster underneath his vest and took over as Kane started walking, glancing at Marybeth. "You will have to come with us," he said. "Did you help him flee?" "No. He called me. I've got nothing to do with this." Marybeth glared at her husband. "It's over, Paul. I'm no longer supporting you. I'm tired of this." Her husband did not respond as the other agents who had come in took over and grabbed his shoulders. "Please come with us." "We'll take Mrs. Kane downtown," Mulder said. The agents nodded and left. "Let me just close up the house again," Marybeth said, not waiting for a response. She left for the back of the house. They heard the clicking as the doors were shut. Then her footsteps returned to the hallway. "You okay?" Scully asked relieved. "It's over, Mulder. Now it really is. He cannot talk his way out of this one." "Is it really over?" her partner asked, frowning as he remembered Kane's manners. Something just didn't feel right. "Yeah, it is. Come on, let's go." Mulder turned as he spotted Marybeth. "I'm ready," the woman said. "Good." Mulder opened the door. The next second Scully felt something hard hit the back of her head. Splinters of a vase entered her skull as the object crashed on her head. Without giving a kick, her body sunk to the ground in the hallway. Mulder reached for his gun as Marybeth swung her body with full force into his back, throwing the two of them against the wall. Mulder cried out as his injured arm hit the bricks and his temple smashed into the bricks. For a second, he saw stars. He turned, holding the side of his head as blood poured down his temple. He had to fought the nausea as he reached for his gun, only to realize there was another gun pointed at his chest. He looked up, and stared into the barrel of it, held by her. It was the second time in a day's time he was facing death, and he knew he could not beat the odds again. He had not listened to his instincts and now it was too late. Marybeth smiled. "It was me," she whispered. "Don't you get that? I was the one!" "We can talk about this, Marybeth," he groaned. "Put the gun down. It has no use." "Isn't it?" she laughed wildly. "I think it is." His gun went off. One single bullet knocked him backwards against the door. He fell beside Scully's unconscious form and stayed down for the count, face up. Marybeth Kane moved forward and looked down at the agents. The man was bleeding from the side of the head, but there was no blood on his chest. She couldn't tell if he was dead. His gun lay by his side. She moved it with her foot. A noise could be heard from the outside. There was a knock on the door. Then a voice, calling out Mulder's name. Then Scully's. She looked at the door, aiming the gun at it as it opened when someone busted it in. She would kill whoever came in. Her trigger finger was ready to shoot. Then a second shot rang through the room, knocking the woman backwards as the bullet hit her in the chest. Even before she landed on the floor, she was dead. In the doorway stood a bald man with glasses. But the one that shot her was Scully. The agent's eyes were open; her left hand clutched the back of her head. She shivered and dropped the gun on the floor. With two steps Skinner was by her side, after checking if the woman was dead. "Call for backup and paramedics!" the assistant director shouted to the police officer who had warned him the agents had not come outside yet, alarming the AD instantly. "Careful, Scully." The AD caringly helped her on her feet as she kept on holding the back of her head. "You'll be fine." "Mulder." She brought her boss' attention to her partner lying face up on the floor. Swiftly Skinner tore up the agent's white shirt underneath the jacket, only to see the bulletproof jacket underneath it. The bullet that was meant to end his life stuck in the Kevlar on its way to his heart. Her partner coughed and opened his eyes, blinking his eyelids as he stared at her for a long time, trying to realize where and when he was. Her strength finally crumbled, and her eyes filled with tears as she placed her head on her partner's chest and sobbed as he placed his arms around her and comforted her. 27 What makes a murderer tick? Why did Ted Bundy kill those women? Why did Marybeth Kane kill young boys who could have been her sons? Did something inside of her break when her brother, age 12, killed himself, leaving her behind? Did she go looking for her brother in those boys only to end up frustrated that none of them lived up to the perfect image she had of him? Or had her brother's death nothing to do with the murders, and had she merely started to kill because she liked it? They would never know. Paul Kane finally spoke up, explaining as he lifted the cloak under which his family had lived so long. "I knew," he started. "The first boy died and I knew it was her. I came home that night when it was all over the news and she was fixated on the television screen. She placed her fingers on the screen and touched that boy's image. I watched her and asked her if she knew anything about it. She laughed of course, saying that was ridiculous. Women did not kill the way men did. But she did. By the second murder -- again a boy from the school I worked at -- I knew that she was using me. In the past, I told her a lot about the school and the boys I got friendly with. Kids tell a lot of things, you know. They tell you when their parents are divorced, or dead, or working, or whatever. And coincidence or not, she took the boys I befriended; the ones that at times talk to me when I'm at work. They were boys she too had seen a few times, when she still came to pick me up from school. After the murders started, she didn't do that anymore." "And you confronted her?" the interrogator asked. "Yes, I did. She started talking nasty. She said I was the killer and she was forced to watch it happen. If I told anyone she was the one, she would say the same about me. And whom would they believe? After all, she was a lawyer and a woman. I was a janitor at those schools. They would track me down. I tried to tell her that but she wouldn't hear of it." "What happened next, Paul?" "She wanted me to 'provide' her with information on the kids. I had to figure out who was the son of a single mom; who had parents who worked late; who was a potential victim. I was terrified of her by then. Yet I loved her. I wanted it to stop but didn't know how. I thought that it would pass. I thought that we would go back to the way things were. But we couldn't. Not anymore. I did what she said. I gave her information. I made sure she was safe enough to kill. And when she asked me to snatch one of the boys myself, I did. I became her accomplice." "Did you kill boys yourself?" "No." "Are you certain?" "Yes. She killed all the boys. All seven of them." "There were nine boys, Paul." A silence followed. "No, there were seven." "The first time there was seven. The second time there was two. Don't you remember, Paul?" The man shook his head. "No. I was certain--" he stopped as he stared at his hands. "She started again, the second time. She did. It wasn't me anymore." "What do you mean, Paul?" Paul Kane stopped and then shook his head, staring at the mirror. "Sometimes I don't know where I am. It all just blacks out. It fades away. I don't know..." He looked up, his eyes desperate. "Just kill me," he begged. "Please, kill me." As his mind began to realize that he had become the person he so despised. And loved so much that he would kill to keep her secret safe. 28 "Two killers," Scully whispered as she sat on the side of her partner's desk. "It explains everything, doesn't it?" Mulder nodded slowly. "Kane was first his wife's little slave. And then he took over her part." "I wonder why." "Perhaps he wanted to protect her. He knew that sooner or later she would start killing again. If he started the killing spree, everyone would be focusing on him. No one would suspect her. He might have pulled it off, had he not cracked under the pressure she herself put on him. In her own twisted mind, she never realized or drew the conclusion she was the killer. She, too, lived in her own world, blacking out the murders after she committed them. Kane said she could not remember, as if she had two personalities. I suspect that Kane took this over too." "What's going to happen to him?" Mulder raised his shoulders, wincing as the cracked rib, result of Marybeth's attack played up. "I doubt that he'll be declared insane and unfit to go to trial. He will have a hard time explaining he wasn't the first killer." "Will you testify?" "If I have to." He looked at her and smiled. "Right now I just want to cherish life and remember I survived three bullets in a week's time." She couldn't help but grin, despite the situation they had both been put in. A knock on the door startled them both. Skinner walked in and said, "I'm sorry, am I interrupting anything?" "No, come in sir," Mulder said, moving up as he placed a hand over his hurt chest. Skinner seemed uncomfortable as he shifted inside the basement office and looked at his agents. "I hope you two are doing okay?" "As good as can be expected," Scully said, remembering the huge bump on the back of her head. "We're doing okay." "Good." "Are you here to give us some time off, sir?" Mulder asked. "Or are you going to start on that counselor again?" Skinner looked at his agent. "Do you want me to?" "I guess not." "Good." "I made an appointment myself," Mulder said, to Skinner's surprise. "You were right, sir." "About what?" "I did make this personal. It could have ended the wrong way. I don't like staring down the barrel of a gun so many times. The way it happened proves me that I crossed the boundary between my personal and professional feelings. That scares me." "It should." Skinner fished something out of his pocket and put it on the table. It was the twisted bullet he had gotten out of Mulder's Kevlar vest after the paramedics had taken the agents to the hospital. "When I got shot in 'Nam, I kept the bullet they dug out of my body," Skinner said. "I look at it every single day and realize what I would have missed had that bullet killed me. It reminded me back then that I had someone waiting for me at home; someone that was more important than what I was doing back there. I think you should make that conclusion as well." Skinner's glance stopped at Scully. He smiled awkwardly. Then he turned and left the agents alone. Mulder picked the bullet up from the table and rubbed it between his fingers. Then he put it down again and looked at Scully, whose eyes rested on his face. She smiled. He got up and put his arms around her as their lips touched. - The End -