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 -