Title: Drought Author: Vickie Moseley Posted first at After the Fact, post-episode list Summary: Drought, n., a long period of abnormally low rainfall, especially one that adversely affects growing and living conditions. (American Heritage Dictionary) Rating: R for subject matter Category: UST (sorry, no resolution this time out), A, MT Disclaimer: They belong to the ages now. OK, Carter still gets residuals. But I'm not making money so it's all good. Archives: yes Note on subject matter: I have dealt with a very dark subject here. We go many places in fan fiction and some are more acceptable than others. I think this subject is pretty unacceptable. I do not mean to trivialize it or make light of it in any way. Read notes at end, too. Thank you to everyone on After The Fact for all their help and comments! You guys are the greatest!! Special BIG thank you and 'credit' to dtg, who's tireless nagging and ever-helpful suggestions kept this story going long after I would have given up and moved to another. (And she even wrote a line or two in the middle!) It turned out much better than I'd hoped and I owe all of that to her. The story will be posted in parts, probably Sunday and Thursday each week until it's finished. If you miss a part, it's available on my site http://vickiemoseley.freeservers.com Drought By Vickie Moseley Tallula Blacktop Cass County, Illinois June 11, 1997 2:43 pm CDT 98 degrees Fahrenheit Dana Scully stood beside the ditch and stared out at an endless sea of corn. The leaves swayed in the wind and from her vantage point, it did indeed look like waves of surf on a large green sea. But on the edges of the leaves, the color brown was clearly visible and the leaves looked more like tubes than leaves open to the sun. "Drought. It makes the leaves curl. We haven't had rain since the Sunday after Easter," commented the tall man in the brown uniform walking from a distance of 40 yards where three sheriff's department squad cars littered the two-lane country road. "Um, your partner . . ." The man trailed off, looking over to a spot just to Scully's left, where her partner, Fox Mulder, was crouched in a thatch of cattails. "He's still looking over the crime scene," Scully said confidently, or at least she hoped that was how she sounded. In all honesty, she didn't know if Mulder was indeed still looking for clues or had recently joined a cult of ladybugs. The tall man huffed his frustration and wiped his forehead with a large red and black handkerchief, the kind farmers usually carried. "Well, he's gonna fry his brain if he stays out much longer without a hat." He adjusted his own trooper's hat to accommodate the sweat streaming down his sideburns and clicked his tongue as he stomped off toward the vehicles. Scully didn't have any words of comfort to give Sheriff Dosmer. She looked up at the sun in the bright blue summer sky. Who'd have thought that June in Illinois could be so hot? She remembered a short stint her father had pulled at Great Lakes Naval Station north of Chicago. They'd swum in Lake Michigan every day that summer, the temperature of the water never rising past 70 degrees. She remembered warm days, but not driving heat of 90 degrees or better. Suddenly, getting Mulder in the shade seemed imperative. She picked her way down the bank of the ditch, mindful of the snake holes and mole holes pocking the side. The cattails and dried rushes brushed and tugged against her slacks and she grimaced at what snags they would produce. Her shoes, not the best suited for cross-country hiking, slipped on the loose dirt and rocks. Once, her left foot lost its purchase and she almost landed on her ass in the middle of the moss blanketed creek bed at the bottom. Angrily, she righted herself and with renewed determination, made her way to where Mulder was completely oblivious of her efforts. "Mulder," she called out. She didn't want to startle him, he'd been so edgy lately. The loudest noise went unnoticed, but the slightest raised voice made him jump like a scalded cat. After a minute, she was standing beside him. His eyes were locked on a patch of dried mud. The impression in the dirt was the only evidence left of the body dumped in the spot some three days before. "Mulder, the ME took the body to the State Police morgue in Springfield. I need to get there so we can start the autopsy," she said, keeping her voice level. Act normal, it's just Mulder. Mulder whose office, his life, was burned to a cinder three nights past. Mulder who got out of a psychiatric hospital a week and a half ago. Mulder who three weeks ago was held hostage and almost executed by a group of anti- government terrorists. Mulder who once told her that if he ever agreed to take another profiling case from VCS she could just shoot him in the head and save himself the bother. Yeah, just Mulder. Minutes passed. The sun beat down harder, if possible. A crow flew overhead, its shadow darkening the sky for a split second, not enough to cool the air. Still he made no acknowledgement of her presence. It was time to bring out the big guns. "Mulder, I'm really hot. I need some water. C'mon. We have the photos, you have this place down. Let's go while we can still find a motel with working A/C." Maybe he heard, but he didn't look at her. He just rose slowly and started toward their rental car. She hurried to keep up with his longer legs. Without warning he started talking. "The body was dumped here, but I don't think the kill was here. I want you to check some things. Look for semen, but if none is found, check for signs of irritation in the mouth and rectum." "Rape?" she asked. For the first time in hours, he looked at her, but only for a second before glancing away. "No. It's, well, I guess you would call it consensual." "On a 13 year old boy?" she countered, disbelief coloring her tone. "Dosmer said he had money in his pocket, Scully. Two twenties and a five. I really doubt he got that shooting pennies down at the pool hall." He reached the driver's door first, pulled it open and then stumbled back at the wall of heat that overpowered him. "Turn on the A/C, let it run a minute before you try getting in," Sheriff Dosmer said as he walked up to the car. "You done there, Agent Mulder? My office just called, we got a three car pile up with a grain truck over on Route 97." Mulder looked over at the two cars with GS plates just pulling up. "Our guys just got here, Sheriff. I'll brief them. You go on ahead." Scully didn't recognize any of the men getting out of the two cars. One, a man about Mulder's height, broad shoulders of a middle line backer but pre- maturely gray, headed over to the two agents with an air of authority. He stuck out his hand in greeting to Mulder. "Spook, it's been a few." Scully noticed that Mulder immediately bristled at his old nickname but quickly plastered on a false smile. "Allerton. I thought I'd heard you'd been arrested for selling secrets to the Soviets," Mulder said in perfect deadpan. "Haven't changed a bit, have you?" the man shot back with a quirk of an eye. He then turned his attention to Scully. "Agent Scully, Steve Allerton. I'm the SAC for the Springfield Regional office. I'm pleased to meet you, I've heard a lot about you." He pumped Scully's hand briefly, then ran his thumb across her palm as their hands separated. Scully looked up at him, startled and flushed when she realized that had been a test, and she'd failed. At least that was the look in Allerton's eyes, gleeful. "So, solved this thing yet, Spook?" he said, turning his attention back to Mulder without missing a beat. Mulder had apparently not missed the little display Allerton had put on and was not looking pleased. "Yeah. Professional hit, perp is a male in his late thirties, used to play college ball but didn't have the arm to make it when picked in the draft for the Chicago Bears. Washed out and made a career of the FBI. I say we pick up everyone meeting that description and bring out the rubber hoses." Allerton frowned, glaring back at Mulder. "Funny. Just keep it up, Spook. I've heard stories, too. The guys in Chicago had a million of them a few weeks ago. Guess you made quite the impression." Scully had had enough of the little display of macho posturing and definitely did not want to bring the events in Chicago into the discussion. "If you'll excuse us SAC Allerton, Mulder and I need to get to the morgue. I want to get started on that autopsy." She put her hand on his arm and Mulder's eyes dropped down to where it rested on his suit coat. He brought his eyes back up to meet hers, silently getting the message. "Yeah, Scully. I'll drop you over there." Allerton reached out and grabbed the edge of the sleeve to Scully's jacket. "Nonsense. I'll have one of my guys drive you over to the lab, Agent Scully. Dana, isn't it?" He looked over at Mulder, challenging him to object. "That's all right with you, isn't it, Fox?" The sudden switch to first names made all the hairs on her neck stand up and Scully was even more worried about leaving her partner, but he seemed to have no problem with it. "Sure, Steve. I'll stay behind, bring your 'boys' up to speed." Scully winced at the way he sneered the word 'boys'. Allerton turned away and called to one of the other men, who came running. The two talked briefly while Scully tried to catch Mulder's eye. "I'll call you with the results of the initial exam," Scully said, giving Mulder's sleeve a tug. She didn't turn away until he'd met her gaze. She tilted her head and finally he gave her a smile. "Get out of this sun," she said pointedly. "I'll take good care of him, Dana," Allerton said with an oily smile. "Wouldn't want to have the Bureau's best profiler pass out from heat stroke. But then, it's been a while since you've been called that, hasn't it, Spook?" Mulder blinked, expressionless, and Scully glared at Allerton. "Just make sure someone gets him some water. If he does end up with heat stroke, I'll be looking for someone to hold responsible and you're top on my list," she growled. "He'll be fine. Just like the old days," Allerton assured her, but Scully was anything but assured. She turned reluctantly to the Bureau car and got in it, leaving Mulder standing in the intense heat. She didn't take her eyes off him until the agent had turned the car around and they were headed down the road. Illinois State Police Crime Lab Morgue Springfield, IL 9:45 pm Scully stretched her back, dropping her latex gloves in the biohazard receptacle. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the safety glasses onto a nearby table with one hand and pulled the scrub cap covering her hair off with the other. Her back was killing her, her feet hurt and she wasn't entirely convinced she'd found anything that would bring about the swift resolution of their case. She pulled out her cell phone and started to dial a number, but the sound of the double doors opening startled her and she spun around. "Gonna drill me with that cell phone, copper?" Mulder asked in his very own 'Cagney sneer'. Scully looked down at her hand and realized she was holding her phone in firing position. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling and pocketed the phone. "Mulder, you scared me." "You should be scared, Scully. I just came from the parking lot. Do you know there's a cow pasture just on the other side of the hurricane fence? And I hear there's a bull over there." She sighed inwardly. He was wired and that always meant trouble. Especially since she was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to grab a quick bite to eat, douse herself with a fast shower and collapse into another nondescript motel room bed. Mulder had already hoisted himself on the nearest empty metal table. "I'm all ears. Whaddya find?" "Mulder, I'm tired, I'm starved and I want to leave this room before they lock the doors for the night. Can I give my report over dinner?" "Well, if you don't rat me out to the Dept. of Labor because you had to 'sing for your supper', sure, I guess we could do that." She shook her head and pushed into the dressing room. In a few minutes she was back, catching her partner standing in front of the sliding drawer holding the victim. She sighed audibly this time and walked up beside him. "John Doe. We've run his picture on the Missing and Exploited Children's database, but they don't expect an answer until tomorrow. You were right, he did have some irritation in the mouth and rectum . . ." Mulder nodded but didn't look directly at her. Something about that part of the report, even though he expected it, still bothered him. She determined that at some point, she'd have to find out what it was. "He was strangled. No prints. Gloves, I suspect. Nothing spectacular. But I did find this." She lifted the arm and stood so that Mulder could see the skin on the side of the body. Mulder leaned closer, running his finger just above the skin, not touching, just seeking reference. "Is that ink? Maybe a permanent marker?" "I had a sample sent to our lab in Chicago. They could have done it here, but . . ." "No, I'd rather we kept it in house. What do you think it says?" He was biting him lip, staring at the markings on the body. "Well, I think it says 'Ps 91 8'. But I have no idea what it means." Mulder chewed on his lip, then sucked it into his mouth. Scully had seen him do that a thousand times and she never tired of it. But it usually meant he wasn't going to give her his thoughts, at least not immediately. He slid the drawer back into place and closed the door, locking it. "Probably a code," he said, standing up straight. "Hey, I thought you were hungry?" She had to run to catch up with him as he headed out the door. They stopped at a Steak and Shake on the way into town. Scully turned up her nose at the burgers and fries and opted for chicken salad and a glass of water. Mulder ordered a cup of coffee. She raised an eyebrow at him. "Ate earlier. They brought some sandwiches in from a deli up the street. And I got us rooms for the night. Lincoln Plaza, it's right across from the State Capitol." She switched eyebrows and unwrapped the silverware from her napkin. "No roaches, Scully. I checked. And according to one of the agents, many members of the State General Assembly stay there when the legislature's in session." "Government rates," Scully muttered. "So, what else do we have to go on besides one unnamed young boy with black marker code written under his arm?" He stirred sugar into his coffee and shook his head. "This is the third body found in Central Illinois since the first of the year. The other two bodies were too decayed for much evidence." "I saw the autopsy reports," Scully said with a nod. "The team is pretty much at a standstill. So far all we have is three boys, as close as we can tell the ages range from 11 to 14 and we're still trying to identify any of them." "Are you thinking runaways?" she asked. He nodded. "Nobody's looking locally for these kids, Scully. And I truly doubt they were kidnapped and brought here from somewhere else. I think they just took off from home, probably hitchhiking along one of Illinois' many interstate highways and got picked up by the wrong guy." Scully sighed. "Not much to go on for a profile," she said with a frown. "I've had less," he grinned back at her. "Most of it is pretty standard stuff. From the strangulation it's obvious the perp is a male, I would say fairly young and strong. Probably involved in construction or some other manual labor. Or he could just work out--lift weights. I'll live with what we have tonight and what I picked up from the dump site this afternoon. Tomorrow I'd like to spend at the other dump sites." "I suppose sleeping isn't on your agenda?" she asked, taking interest in the napkin holder on the table to avoid meeting his eyes. "Suddenly keeping tabs on my sleep patterns, Scully? Planning on using the information for something more than just ensuring my rest?" His leer was well- placed, but ignored. "I just remember . . ." He reached across the table and took her hand in both of his. "Contrary to what you've seen only one time before, I do not go off the deep end every time I profile." His thumb traced the inside of her palm and she experienced a much different reaction than the one invoked by SAC Allerton. She did everything to keep herself from purring. "Mulder," she said, stilling his thumb by grasping his hand. She pulled away reluctantly when her food came. "You've been through hell recently," she told him around bites of chicken salad. "Literally," he said with a puff of air. "I just think you need to be careful. I don't want you to . . ." "Give them any more excuses?" he asked, waiting for her nod. "I know, Scully. But they took the X files away from us, in a manner that even we would be hard pressed to circumvent. If I want to get them back, I have to at least attempt to jump through their hoops. VCS has been screaming for me to give them a hand. Maybe I can stumble on another Monty Props." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Just make sure not to fall on your face," she said, and returned to eating her salad. "I'll be good, Scully. Scouts honor," he said, holding up two fingers in the well-known salute. "You were an Indian Guide," she said pointedly. "It's all transferable," he shrugged. "C'mon, finish your supper. You're exhausted and I have some work to do, so let's head over to our luxury accommodations." As was frequently the case with their hotel rooms, luxury was a relative term. If the place had been used by state legislators, they used it years ago and hadn't made any recent trips. It was old and the paint was peeling off the wall and ceiling above Scully's bed. It did manage to have enough hot water to allow her a good shower, the greasy bathtub ring dispelled any thoughts of a hot soak in the tub. And, surprisingly enough, the sheets were clean, the blanket not that thread bare. In half an hour, Scully was in her pajamas and turning off the lights. She punched the pillow to the right level of fluffiness and settled in to the sound of her partner's pencil scratching against yellow legal paper in the adjoining room beyond a half closed door. The alarm went off and she heard a door slam at the exact moment, causing her to almost jump straight out of bed. A light tap on the connecting door and before she could answer, a cup of coffee appeared around the door. "It's not Starbucks, but it will have to do. And it comes with a sesame seed bagel with lite cream cheese." "I'll forgive you for scaring the crap out of me," she said, grabbing the cup and the bag dangling from his other hand. She took a moment to give him a once over. He'd obviously showered and dressed already, he looked awake enough. She tried to determine if it was the shadows of the drapes being closed or if the faint beginning of dark circles were under his eyes. Still, for someone who probably hadn't slept all night, he looked damn good. "The fried Danish is mine," he warned her as put his cup of coffee on the low dresser and pulled up a chair from the desk. "I wouldn't think of touching it. Mind if I get showered and dressed first?" she asked dryly. "Hey, make yourself at home, Scully. Want me to leave?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows. She shot him a glare, plucked her suit out of the closet and retreated into the bathroom, leaving him to his own devices. When she came back out, he was shifting through some yellow sheets with the fried Danish stuck in his mouth. "You're going to get those pages sticky," she pointed out. He looked up at her and seemed to be apprising her outfit. She was wearing her black suit, the one she'd purchased just a couple of weeks before. She looked down at it. "What, is there a spot?" she asked, frowning. He removed the Danish and stared down at the pages in his hand. "No, I just . . . never mind." "Mulder, what is it? Is there something wrong with this suit?" He flushed in embarrassment. "No, nothing. I just noticed you seem to be wearing a lot of black lately," he commented with a quick glance to her eyes and then went back to staring at his papers. "Go to a women's dress store, Mulder. Black is about all you can find." She started to comb her hair and then stopped. "Don't you like me in black?" she challenged. He looked up at her and his eyes lit with a smile. "Don't go there, Scully. We have work to do." He hurried through the connecting door and she didn't see him again for ten minutes. Mulder insisted on seeing the other dump sites and that took all of the morning and most of the afternoon. The first body had been found two months before in a drainage ditch one county to the east. The second body had been found a month before and was about 40 miles to the north of the last site. All in all, it was a day spent in the driving hot sun, with no breeze, and Scully was sweating all the way down to the tops of her panties by the time Mulder called it a day. Scully had followed behind him the entire time, staying out of his way most of the time, noting places when he called and pointed them out. Two cornfields with two almost identical culverts and drainage ditches later, not to mention an additional 75 miles on their rental car, they were headed back to Springfield and the Bureau office. Scully had taken over driving duties, Mulder was going over the autopsy reports from the first two victims. It almost felt like they were on one of their own investigations rather than being called in to consult on a serial killer. She drove in silence, listening to the sound of Mulder's teeth cracking sunflower seeds and stiff pages being flipped back and forth. "It's a shame the first bodies were in such a state of decay," Mulder said, closing the folder. "Are you certain all three kids were killed by the same person, Mulder?" she asked. He nodded, digging out another seed and popping it in his mouth. "The dump sites are identical, Scully. I'd definitely say we're dealing with the same guy. I'd even say that until I see evidence to the contrary, he hasn't strayed too far from home." Scully nodded, trying not to let the waves of heat coming off the pavement obstruct her vision of what the road had ahead of them. Mulder was shaking his head, as if arguing with himself. "A month between findings, but I don't think it was a month between each murder. I think the first two were pretty close together and this one just recently." "The bodies' decay would suggest that," Scully commented. He nodded in agreement. "Which could mean nothing." By his furrowed expression, Scully doubted that was what he really thought. "It could have been an accident," he continued, but she wasn't sure if she was still included in the conversation. "The first time. He just got a little rough. There would have been prints, but with the decay of the body we'd never find them. Probably dumped it when there was still snow on the ground. Dosmer said there was a mild winter this year. If it had been deep cold all the way to spring, we might have more evidence." "Want to stop and get something to eat?" Scully interjected his private discussion. Her stomach was growling and she was afraid he would comment if it got any louder. He looked surprised when she spoke, almost as if he'd forgotten she was in the car. "Oh yeah, sure. What did we have for lunch?" "We didn't have lunch, Mulder," she said without taking her eyes off the road. "That's why my stomach is cramping," he said absently. "Water," she warned him and reached down to hand him a bottle of water from between the seats. He caught it and cracked it open. She looked over at him while he chugged the bottle dry. "So, you said before that the first two were committed close together, but it meant nothing. What do you really think, Mulder?" He shot her a smile, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Now, Scully, it's all speculation at this point," he said smugly. "And I know your speculations are often dead on the money, Mulder. So spill." She was smiling now, too. He chuckled silently and then grew somber. "I think he's killing in pairs. Which means . . ." "There's another body waiting to be found," Scully finished for him. Much to Scully's disgust, Mulder talked her into going through the drive up window at the McDonald's just a few blocks from their motel. At least she was able to see him tear into a Big Mac and large fries. It was more than she'd seen him eat during their run in with Bill Patterson. Silently, she berated herself. Mulder was right, she'd only had that one experience with him and suddenly she assumed all the rumors were true. Not one for gossip, Scully generally stayed away from the most extensive grapevine in the Hoover Building, the women's restroom on the fifth floor. The fifth floor seemed to be the 'watering hole' for the entire clerical staff, including women who worked in other parts of the building. During a long wait for a chewing out by Skinner, she'd wandered down there rather than risk running into anyone from the sixth floor bullpen. That was her first mistake. Her second mistake was hiding out in the stall while the gossip started. She was ready to come out and wash her hands when she heard her partner's name. "Did you hear Spooky Mulder almost went off the deep end again?" It was a voice she recognized, one of the assistants in VCS. "It was Bill Patterson who went all the way off the cliff!" came another voice Scully didn't know. "He killed Greg Nemhauser!" "Yeah, Mulder caught the bastard. I always knew that old fart was a wacko," came a third voice. "I'm just saying it was same old same old with Spooky. He didn't eat, didn't sleep. Even had Mrs. Spooky freaked. Jerry down in the stacks said she came down looking for him there. I tell ya, one of these days, it's gonna be Mulder they're bringing in for offing that little red head!" said the woman from VCS. "You're still jealous because he'd asked you out and then went running off to some wild goose chase," said the third voice. "Nah, I subbed a day for Skinner's assistant when Agent Scully was missing. I tell ya, the guy was one short step from suicide. He's a nut case! I can't believe they keep him around." A tug at her sleeve brought her back from her memories. "Scully? Finally figure out the way to get rid of the designated hitter in professional baseball?" Mulder asked with a smug smile. "Huh?" she responded, confused. "You were a million miles away. We're here. According to my watch the team meeting started five minutes ago. Perfect timing for our 'grand' entrance," he said, wiggling his eyebrows for effect. The team meeting was in full swing when they entered the conference room. Steve Allerton looked up from his place at the head of the table, sparing Mulder a quick and pointed glare. "Glad you could make it, Agents," he said tersely. Mulder nodded then made a show of pulling out Scully's chair so he could lean into her ear. "He can try to sound like Skinner, but he doesn't have the hairline for it. Or that jugular." "Something to share with the class, Agent Mulder," Allerton asked, head cocked, obviously enjoying his role as taskmaster. "Not at this time, no," Mulder said evenly and sat down. "Well, we've been waiting for your profile, Agent. That is if you and your partner are through with your 'Route 66 tour' of central Illinois." That earned Allerton a couple of chuckles from the other agents. About that time there was a slight knock on the door and one of the clerical staff came in with a set of papers. She looked around the room until she spotted Mulder, then smiled and walked around the table to hand the papers to him. "Thanks, Janice. I owe you," Mulder accepted the papers with a smile. "Yes, I think you do," Janice said with a wink and sauntered out the door. Scully's eyes were as round as saucers, but she quickly brought her emotions under control. How much of this case was going on around her while she kept her focus on her partner, and apparently was missing some of that action, too? Mulder was busy handing out papers. "I did the preliminary profile last night, Janice was kind enough to make copies for me this morning. As you can see, it's still pretty sketchy and I'm waiting for some toxicological reports from the last body for a couple of things." Scully looked down at the pages now in her possession. It was a profile, in good order. Two pages went into detail on the dump sites, the condition of the bodies, including the markings under the arm. Then the next three pages were a psychological evaluation of the motives of the killer, his actions during the crime and after, and possible occupations to investigate. No mention was made of the murders occurring in pairs. She looked up and Mulder was writing on a white board. "So I think it's possible that another body will be found in the next day or so. And I think we need to start looking into who would travel those back roads on a daily or weekly basis. I'm thinking a truck driver of some sort, not a long haul driver but a local deliveryman. He would have access to seclusion in the back of the truck, he could murder the child there and then drive up the road a little and dump the body in a culvert." "You don't think there is rape involved?" one of the agents asked. Mulder shook his head. "No, I think prostitution is the catalyst for the encounter. He could be picking the kids up in town or along the road hitching. But there was no indication there was a struggle when the intercourse took place." One of the agents at the end of the table hissed 'cold as ice' under his breath. A fellow agent stared at Mulder and nodded. "We still don't know this guy's base and that's what I'd like to look into. I think we should assemble a list of all the local deliveries made in the three counties where bodies have been found," Mulder said in conclusion. Allerton was still sitting at the head of the table, staring at Mulder. Slowly he rose. Taking the profile in his hand, he flipped through the pages and then tossed it on the table. "Well, it's like having a trained gorilla as your butler, but at least you get the job done, Agent Mulder. Good work. Now, I suggest we break into two groups. One group is going to look around at the many farm culverts in these fair counties and see if another body turns up. The other group will look into who makes local deliveries." Mulder sat down heavily and sighed in relief before looking over and winking at Scully. She wondered how often he overlooked the ridicule, as long as the work was acceptable. How many times had he withstood the insults and then had to struggle to get his profile accepted on top of it? Allerton was an ass, but at least he'd validated the work. "I think we can call it a night for tonight, get a fresh start in the morning. Everyone be back here at 8 am sharp. We'll meet up at 6 tomorrow. And this time, Agent Mulder, if it's not too much trouble, could you and your partner join the party before we lock the doors," Allerton said with an attempt at a good natured chuckle, but it only made Scully wince. "Mulder, I would like a word with you," he said as the two agents started to leave the room. "Scully, go on. I'll be a minute," Mulder assured her with a gentle nudge on her back. She looked up at him, hesitant to leave but finally turned and walked slowly out into the hallway. The raised voices weren't hard to pick up, but she couldn't tell what was being said. She recognized Allerton's voice, gruff and demanding and then could hear Mulder's voice, calm at first but gradually losing patience. She started to inch toward the door in hopes of hearing some of the words, but the door flew open with such force it almost knocked her down and bounced loudly against the wall. Mulder stormed out of the office, not even noticing that she was still standing to the side of the hallway. She spared one look to Allerton, a warning shot, she hoped and hurried after Mulder. "What did he say to you?" she asked as she finally caught up with him at the car. Mulder had gotten in the driver's side and was adjusting the seat, not with much success. He stopped trying and just sat there, knees crunched up against the steering wheel and she could see the effort he was making to calm himself down. "Mulder, what did that bastard say?" she asked again. For some reason, that got a smile. He turned to her and chuckled. "How do you know you wouldn't have agreed with him, Scully?" he asked, eyes dancing. She flushed slightly. "Because he's been a total prick since we got here," she shot back in defense. Mulder nodded. "He laid into me because I didn't come to him before I handed out the profile. He expected to see it first. If I had it finished, I should have come to him this morning. But I wanted to check out those other scenes, make sure I was on the right track." "He just wanted to yank your chain, Mulder," she pointed out. "It's procedure, Scully. Patterson would have strung me up by my balls if I'd handed out a profile to a team without clearing it with him first." "Patterson was prick, too," Scully said, crossing her arms for no reason she could think of. Mulder still hadn't put the car into gear. He just sat there, smiling at her. It was making her uncomfortable. But in a good way. Still, they couldn't sit there all night. "What?" she demanded. "I just get a kick seeing the 'Xena' side of your personality," Mulder said, finally getting the seat at the right distance from the steering wheel and putting the car in reverse at seemingly the same time. "Mulder. Drive. Now." Her teeth would hurt for all the gritting she was doing, but it was worth it by the contrite look on his face. "Yes sir, ma'am." She caught him still smiling in the glass of the windshield but refused to give him the satisfaction of meeting his gaze. By the time they arrived at the hotel Mulder's mood was much lighter, but he was starting to fidget. Scully knew he hadn't slept at all the night before, the profile was too extensive and Mulder's typing was not known for breaking any land speed records. More than anything she hoped he would just go in his room, turn on something decidedly not for general audiences and fall asleep. That was not to be. "Hey, Scully. I saw a park not that far from here. Think I'll go for a run," he announced not more than 10 minutes after they got to the hotel. "Mulder," she started, but then she looked at him. He wasn't a caged tiger, he could be trusted on a run. All her objections vanished from her mind. Her mother's sage advice on the care and feeding of three year olds came to her instead. 'Wear them out, they sleep better.' Yeah, that just might work, she mused silently. "OK, but take some form of ID with you. We aren't in DC, the cops don't know you didn't just knock over a convenience store," she said with a twinkle in her eye. He chose to ignore that comment. "I'm kind of hungry, too. I might bring back a pizza," he said through the crack in their door as he changed into his running clothes. "Oh, that should give the town a show, you in running shoes delivering a pizza on foot," she grinned, pulling out her own comfortable 'lying around the motel' clothes. "I may start a trend," he said over his shoulder and he was out the door, headed for his run. Scully jerked awake. The television was playing, some movie with Brad Pitt and Juliette Lewis. The other actor looked vaguely familiar but she couldn't place him. Rolling over and rubbing her eyes, she searched out the clock on the nightstand. It read 2:15. The connecting doors were still open. No smell of pizza. She grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. No sound from the other room. No television on. "Son of a . . . ." she muttered as she jumped out of bed and raced into the next room. The bed was still made, not slept in. Mulder's suit jacket hung from the desk chair, his pants were laid carefully across the bottom of the bed. "That rat bast . . ." Her cellphone interrupted her curse and she ran back into her room to pick it up before the third ring. "Scully," she answered through gritted teeth. She had a pretty good idea who was on the other end and she was ready to tear him limb for limb. A brief flash told her that she'd be sorry if it was a doctor calling her to the emergency room, or her brother Charlie, who also had a habit of calling at all hours. But the voice on the line brushed all those ideas out of her head. "Scully, listen. Get dressed. One of the Springfield guys will be there to pick you up in about . . . oh, ten minutes. Meet him in the lobby." "Mulder, where the hell are you?" she demanded, rifling through the small closet as she tore clothes off the hangers and started dressing, the phone slipping in between her ear and shoulder. "We found the fourth body. Look, I can't talk right now, I'm sort of busy. Just get out here as fast as you can, OK. I'll see you in half an hour." She thumbed off the phone and threw it on the bed, a little harder than she intended. Sliding her bare feet into clunky heels, she headed out the door for the lobby. ***End of part 1*** Drought By Vickie Moseley Disclaimed in part one Newman Blacktop, 3 miles east of Site M Cass County 2:45 am 74 degrees Mulder was wiping sweat off his face and neck. It had cooled off, but exertion was not helping the humid air. How could it be so humid and not a cloud in the sky? It made no sense. The body lying just off the road, stuck in the metal irrigation culvert, at least that made sense. Sense to Mulder. He'd commandeered a flashlight and was doing his best to examine the body before the coroner bagged it and loaded it in the morgue wagon. He was relieved when he saw the headlights that would mean Scully's arrival. That relief was short lived. Scully was in a mood and not afraid to show it. "So where's the pizza, Mulder?" It wasn't as much question as accusation and he winced at the cold steel in her eyes. "Um, yeah. I didn't get one," he muttered, suddenly aware of that sick feeling in his stomach he always got the few times he forgot to do his homework and the teacher called on him in class. "Do you want to tell me how you came to be in the middle of a cornfield in the middle of the night when most sane people are sleeping?" The last came out through teeth clenched so tight Mulder was certain he heard one of her back molars crack under the strain. "Scully, I was almost back at the hotel when I remembered I hadn't gotten the pizza. I got in the car, fully intent on getting one, when something hit me. I had to check it out." She narrowed her eyes and glared at him full on. "So you just happened to come directly to this cornfield and found the body?" He was very glad it was a dark night and she couldn't see the red flush he could feel creeping up his neck. "Not exactly. Not directly to this cornfield." She pursed her lips, looked up toward the moonless night and nodded. "How many cornfields, Mulder?" This was getting them nowhere, and he needed her to look at the body before the coroner bagged it and took it away. "About 15, but Scully, you have to see this!" He grabbed her arm and pulled her over to where they were just starting to pull the black plastic covering over the body. "Hold up a minute. She's a Bureau pathologist," he said to the men who stopped immediately. "She'll only take a minute." Mulder reached down with one gloved hand and lifted the left arm of the body, shining his flashlight on the mud-streaked and bloated skin. Scully shook her head at him, but stooped to get a closer look. Her eyes widened when she saw the markings. "Just like the last one," she said in a low voice, just for her partner who was now crouched next to her. "But different. I can't make it out. What's that last number?" he asked nervously. She stared at the dark markings, taking Mulder's flashlight so she could shine it directly where she needed. "It's an 8, I think." "Are you sure?" he asked, as if everything in their lives depended on it. She chewed her lip. "I'm pretty sure. It's an 8. But I can't read . . . is that an H . . ." "Hb 10 28," he quoted, helping her to her feet. "Scully, I know you're tired but . . ." He trailed off, looking at her helplessly. She blew out a breath, causing the hair on her forehead to float for a second before falling down into her eyes. "Let's just get in the car and follow the morgue wagon, Mulder. And you are picking up breakfast!" His gleaming teeth were a perfect imitation of the Cheshire cat has he led her by the elbow to their rental car. Illinois State Police Morgue 6:03 am Scalding hot coffee trickled down his hand between his thumb and forefinger as he maneuvered the two paper cups and the door leading to the morgue. Not to mention the waxed bakery bag slipping from his front teeth. She was standing back from the table, facing away from him. Her hands were on the small of her back as she arched and he could hear the crack of her spine from 15 feet away. He winced at the sound, but at the same time, something warm hit him right in the pit of his stomach. He shook the thought from his mind and grunted loud enough to be heard. "Mulder! About time! Where did you go for this? Chicago?" she chided as she grabbed the bag just before it slipped completely from his mouth and divested him of one of the coffees. "Where's the creamer?" "In the bag. And the only place open was the Steak and Shake we ate at the other night." She dug in the bag and was soon unwrapping a greasy wax paper bundle. "Egg and cheese sandwich?" she groaned. "Sorry, they were out of yogurt," he said with little sympathy. "It's on whole wheat," he pointed out helpfully. She shot him a glare. "My arteries are jumping for joy." She looked down in the bag, noticing that there was only the one bundle. She looked up at him in accusation. "Where's yours?" He wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. "Couldn't wait. I ate it on the way here. So, what did you find?" She stood there and chewed for a moment, he could see her trying to decide if she wanted to press the issue of his appetite. He was hoping fervently that she would just let it drop. Finally, she took another big bite of the sandwich and turned toward the body on the table. "I think we got something this time, Mulder. Stomach contents. I'm pretty sure it's semen in there." He bit his lip to keep from wincing. "Hey, great," he said, trying for more enthusiasm than he felt. It was good news. It put them a step closer to the killer. Or a step further away if this kid had a busy night. Just that thought was having a definitely unsettling effect on his stomach at that early hour. "And you're right about the writing, too. HB 10 28. I was able to blot it this time." "Any idea of time of death?" he asked, sipping his coffee and not spending a lot of time looking at the body with fancy stitching on the chest. She pulled the scrub cap off her head one-handed as she reached for her coffee. "Forty-eight to 72 hours. It's hard to determine in this heat." "That's since the last one," Mulder mused, staring in the direction of the body, but not seeing it. Suddenly, a long yawn broke out on his face. "Mulder, you need to sleep. You've been going constantly since we got here." "I need to get this report to Allerton. Then I promise I'll get some sleep," he nodded wearily. "If you need something, I'm sure I could get a prescription filled," she said, making sure she wasn't looking directly at him. It was always awkward for her, gauging how he would react to such offers of assistance. "Nah, Scully, I should be fine. I just got caught up last night. I forgot to sleep," he answered with a loopy grin. "Like you forget to eat sometimes," she replied with a raised eyebrow. "Hey, let's head back to the hotel, I'll hammer out this report and fax it over to Allerton. Then, it's lights out, scout's honor." He hoped she wouldn't notice the obvious change in subject. "After which, we have a real lunch, with real food, sitting down," she retorted. "And you were never a boy scout." "Boy Scout, Indian Guide, like you're an expert on the differences," he mumbled as he headed out to wait in the lobby while she changed her clothes. Scully had dropped Mulder off at the hotel and then headed over to the Bureau office. She was interested to see if there was any progress on the lists of local trucking firms in the area. Allerton caught up with her a couple of hours after she'd arrived. "I got the fax from Mulder. What the hell was he doing going out in the middle of the night like that?" he asked without greeting or preamble. "He had a hunch, decided to check it out," Scully said evenly. The question, along with Allerton's close proximity was making her uncomfortable. She searched the hallway for any other individuals and then wasn't sure she wanted anyone to see them. "Look, your job, as I understand it, is to keep Mulder under control. If that's too much of a hassle for you, I'm more than willing to put a call into DC and find someone else who can fit the bill," he said. Scully stood there in shock as he turned and started to walk down the hall. Her fists were balled and she was ready to storm off after him when a hand reached out and tugged at her sleeve. "Leave it, Scully," Mulder said, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going to get some sleep," she hissed, her anger finally finding a focus, if an inappropriate one. "I did, too. I faxed the report, but Allerton called a team meeting to go over the new information. His secretary called the room, said I had to be here by 10," he looked at his watch. "That's in fifteen minutes," he sighed. "I want to call Skinner," Scully huffed. "Skinner isn't returning our phone calls, Scully," Mulder reminded her in a weary voice. "It's OK. We'll go to the meeting. Besides, since I'm up, I wanted to get to work on that code we found." She put her hand on his arm. "No, Mulder. Not until after you get a nap. A couple of hours, at the very least." A tired smile made its way across his face. "Is that a tug on the reins, Agent Scully?" he asked innocently. He was certain the raised eyebrow was all the response he was going to get. The meeting room was filling up as they made their way to their seats. The table seats were taken, so Mulder steered Scully toward a pair of chairs near the front of the room, over to the side of a big whiteboard. Allerton cocked his head toward Scully, but didn't acknowledge Mulder at all. When he looked away, Mulder gave Scully a grin. "I think he likes you," he said in a hoarse whisper. Without giving him the satisfaction of looking at him, she spiked his ankle with her heel. After allowing his own agents to give their reports on the morning's activities, Allerton turned to Mulder. "Our profiler seems to find all sorts of nighttime activities here on the prairie. As all of you know, he stumbled onto our latest victim early this morning. His report, which he managed to give me ahead of this meeting, points to the theory that these murders are occurring in pairs. Thoughts, anyone?" The room exploded with objections. In a matter of minutes, the assembled agents had ripped several holes in Mulder's report. "And what's this crap about writings on the bodies? Are you sure the kids weren't into tattooing? That could have been some kind of gang marking," an agent sitting near Allerton said, tossing his copy of the report across the table. "This is crap and even if it's right, it gets us no closer to finding this sicko." It was a set up and Mulder knew it. He remembered this agent as being one of Allerton's lap dogs, but it didn't make the accusation any less valid. "The markings are important. They've been on every one of the bodies so far," Mulder tried to sound calm, but fatigue and guilt were warring for position in his psyche. He was so tired, but he was still so far away from catching this bastard. "Then figure out what the hell they mean," Allerton growled from the head of the table. "We need something more to go on than a list of truck drivers," he spat out. "I don't want to start interviewing anyone until we narrow the field and Spooky, that's up to you." Mulder felt Scully bristle beside him, but moved his knee over to touch hers, hoping that would ward her off. The last thing they needed was for Scully and Allerton to get into a pissing contest over him. "I'll get right on it," Mulder said with a curt nod of the head. "I want something, anything, by tomorrow morning. Got that. You get paid for being a profiler, start earning your keep!" Mulder didn't respond to that, only nodded again. The meeting broke up shortly afterward and Mulder waited until the room was almost empty before attempting to get out of his seat. Scully was sitting, stone silent beside him. They were finally the last in the room. "Why did you let him do that to you?" He hung his head without answering her. How could he explain it was all part and parcel of the deal? Allerton wasn't any worse and certainly not any better than a dozen team leaders who had yelled at him in just the same fashion. Sometimes he could walk into a case and know the killer before he'd even seen the file. Other times, like this one, it took time and patience and those were two things usually in short supply. He'd grown used to the ridicule, the pressure, the constant nagging guilt. But with only one brief outing into this particular madness, Scully was still learning the ropes. He wished he didn't have to teach them to her at all. "Mulder, I want you to file a complaint. He had no right to say those things to you. You found the last body, for god's sakes! What does he think . . ." He put up his hand to stop her tirade. "He was right, Scully. I need to be giving the team leads, not out crawling around cornfields. If I had spent the time figuring out that code . . ." "If you had spent the time sleeping," she hissed in return. "Mulder, you are dead on your feet. Why are you fighting this? You told me you don't go off the deep end that often and now you're doing exactly that! Is this why you quit profiling? You don't eat, you don't sleep. You're going to get sick, Mulder." He shook his head, but knew it was futile. She didn't understand and he had to admit it wasn't the first time, or likely, the last. "It's not like that. I'm not haring out. I get caught up because the work is important and time is of the essence. Even if he doesn't get another kid, the longer it takes to catch this sick bastard the greater his chances to fade into the woodwork. That's all it is, Scully, I swear, that's all it is. I just want this case over and done with. That's all." The last comment wasn't even a veiled plea, it was right out in the open. She stood in the hallway just steps from Allerton's office. Mulder knew she was itching to go in and give the asshole a piece of her mind. But it wouldn't win them any favors and they were woefully short on good will among the hierarchy. He could almost see the wheels turning in that red head of hers. "OK," she said finally, in resignation. "But promise me, Mulder, that you'll rest. You've gone over 36 hours without a break and you are not 18 years old anymore." He feigned a shocked expression. "I'm not? When did that happen?" She fought her grin until he nudged it forward with one of his own. "C'mon, Scully. I'll let you drive. Maybe I can sleep on the way to the hotel." "It's not even 10 blocks to the hotel, Mulder." "OK, I'll power nap," he said and with his left hand squarely in the small of her back, ushered her out of the building. Scully was amazed that the lights actually worked in her favor. She hit every red on the short ride back to the hotel, giving Mulder a good 10 minutes of rest. He woke with a start as she cut off the engine. "We're here," she said, though he seemed alert enough to know their location. "Yeah," he replied, scrubbing his face with his hands. "Great nap. Thanks, Scully." "Maybe I should have driven around a little," she said as they exited the car and headed into the building. The heat off the asphalt parking lot was sweltering and their shoes stuck to the tar that was used to patch cracks in the pavement. "Nah, no use. The sooner I get at it, the sooner it's done," he said with an abrupt yawn. "Mulder, is there anything I can help you with?" He smiled sadly at her offer. "Nope. I'm good, Scully. Feel free to pound on the door when it's dinnertime. Otherwise, I'll just need the time alone." Scully felt pretty useless, but decided to go back over the autopsies and check to see if anything had turned up on the Missing and Exploited Children Database at the office. Within minutes of her taking her leave, Mulder was seated at the small writing desk in his room, legal pad and pencils at the ready. It had only been 6 short years since the last time he'd sat in a non-descript hotel room, trying to find the psychic link that would connect him with a killer. Six short years, but a lifetime, in many respects. The last time he'd profiled anyone, not counting Bill Patterson, he'd come out of it with an ulcer. It took a little over 6 weeks to heal the hole in his stomach, a little over a year to stop smoking the two and a half packs a day and the X files to keep him from going completely insane. He sighed. The X files. The last time, they'd taken Scully and the X files from him. At least this time they'd left him with Scully. But he couldn't help wondering if that was a good thing for her. It obviously meant that she was in it up to her neck, whatever the hell 'it' was. It had him by the balls and he knew that, too. He couldn't afford any trips down memory lane. Taking the yellow legal pad, he started scribbling the few facts he knew. He had to start somewhere and that seemed the most likely place to start. Lincoln Plaza Hotel 7:15 pm Scully was in a quandary. He'd told her to get him for dinner. If she hadn't been caught up at the office, she would have knocked on his door around six. It was an hour and more past that so she was pounding on his door, waiting for him to open it. He hadn't answered his phone when she'd tried it earlier, the room phone or his cell. Just when she was about to get the manager, she remembered the connecting doors between their rooms and prayed he'd left his side open. Luck was on her side. His door slid open silently and she looked around the darkening room. She was about to call his name when she spotted him. He was curled on the bed, a yellow legal pad and pencil still clutched in his hands. He was sound asleep. Allerton can suck eggs, she thought to herself and tiptoed back into her room, closing the door behind her. She could run out to a take out place, bring some food back. That way she could let him get a little rest before she woke him up to eat. 8:35 pm It was dark, always dark. He walked down the street, watching the people, looking over his shoulder. Cold, he was so very cold. And hungry. His stomach had stopped growling at him sometime that morning and had turned instead to simple cramping, feeling as if the sides were rubbing against each other for warmth. He shoved his hands into his empty pockets and watched a couple as they walked into an all night diner. He could smell the food, it brought on another round of the cramps in his middle. He thought about going around to the alley. Sometimes it wasn't so bad, digging through the dumpster. Sometimes, if you watched closely, you could get out there right after the night guy had taken out a load of garbage and you managed to get a meal before the rats chased you off. Tears burned in his eyes, but he wasn't going to cry again. It got him nothing, just like his father had always told him. You get nothing when you cry. The thought of his father turned his anguish into anger. He was going to make it. This had not been a mistake. He was better off alone. He was smart, he could make do. He'd find a way. And then a hand on his shoulder caused him to jump. He turned his head and saw a silhouette of a man, but couldn't see his face. "Hey, kid. You need money?" He nodded, not quite sure of himself. He'd seen others, kids like himself with cash. Maybe this guy knew how they got it. "Come with me." The faceless man took him to an alleyway where a beat up old panel truck was sitting. The man opened up the back of the truck and motioned for the boy to get inside. It was pitch black inside the truck, the street light struggling to make it through the grime of the front windshield and failing miserably. Pitch black. The man took him by the shoulders again and turned him around. The boy still couldn't see anything, was having a hard time breathing. He was panicking, he wanted to run. "Relax. It'll only take a minute. And then you'll get money. You're hungry, ain't ya? You need money to eat. I won't hurt you. You'll feel real good. I promise." At the sound of the man's pants zipper, he wondered if he'd made a mistake. Mulder bolted upright in bed, sweat pouring off him in buckets. Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god oh god. In a flash he was kneeling in front of the toilet, choking on the bile that kept coming from his mouth and nose. Oh god, oh god, oh god. He heard a sound in the other room, but couldn't react to it. He was dirty and freezing cold and he had to get clean. He stripped off his shirt and pants, leaving on his undershirt and boxers and stepped into the shower, turning on only the hot water knob. It was cold at first, but got warmer. Finally, it was scalding and that's just what he wanted, what he needed. He stripped off the remaining articles of clothing, dropping them to the floor of the tub. He could hear something coming into the room and he crouched down, instinctively making a smaller target. "Mulder?" Scully, his terrified mind told him. Just Scully. But slowly, he was coming back to himself. He didn't want Scully to see him like this, it would ruin everything. She would see how dirty he was. How damaged. That there was bad inside of him. He crouched even smaller, hoping she would go away. The curtain on the tub drew back slowly. "Mulder, oh god, Mulder, you're going to boil your skin!" She reached over and quickly adjusted the temperature of the water, cooling it down a good 30 degrees. "My God, Mulder, what's the matter?" He didn't move. Now that the water was colder, the shivers had started to take over. He just sat there, knees tucked to his chest, chin wedged between chest and knees, arms wrapped around his legs. He wouldn't move. Couldn't move if he had to. "You've been sick," he heard her say. Her voice sounded sad and tired. I'm sorry, Scully. I'm sorry I'm such a sick bastard. I'm sorry. But no words came from his mouth. She walked out of the room and for a brief moment he was relieved. Maybe she'd get smart and keep walking. Walk out the door, walk out of his life. Leave him alone in the darkness. It would make it easier, if he had at least gotten her out of the darkness. Even if he was forced to stay there for all eternity, he could do that if he'd managed to save her. But then she was back. She reached over and turned off the water completely. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the handful of white towels she had lowered to the closed seat of the toilet. One by one, she shook them out and draped them over his body, tucking them around him. "Can you get up?" The question was so tender, so gentle, he didn't want to refuse. But his legs gave him no options. They were frozen. He was frozen in the tub and would stay there until the rest of hell froze over with him. "Let me help you." Her small arms were under him and around his chest, making him move his knees. "On three," she whispered in his ear and he wondered what the hell she thought would happen when she got to the number three. But miraculously, as she tugged on his upper body, his lower body uncoiled and followed. He staggered a bit, a towel slipped dangerously close to falling off, but together they made it to the bed, which Scully had already drawn down. Before he could think, she had the covers pulled up around him. He lay there, waiting for the shivers to recognize that was he was finally someplace warm. "Mulder, can you talk about it?" She was stroking his hair, letting her hand's gentle movements bring him off the ledge he was teetering on. It took him a moment to realize that he was required to answer. He didn't even bother to find his voice, just shook his head a jerky 'no'. "Was it a nightmare?" she asked. A sharp dip of his chin was all the affirmation he could offer her. "About the case?" Ah, the sixty-four thousand dollar question. Was his nightmare about the case? In many ways it was, in many others . . . but he couldn't allow his mind to travel those paths. It was about the case. The case had brought it all up and he was channeling the killer. Yes, that was something he could deal with, something familiar, if nonetheless frightening. She was still waiting for his answer. This time he managed two nods in succession and heard her accepting sigh. "Has it always been like this? Was it always this bad?" she continued to ask, more of herself or the walls than of him. He didn't feel compelled to answer those questions, the answers were pretty obvious. "Mulder, I can get a script for a sedative." He immediately started to shake his head. No, the last thing he wanted or needed was drugs. "Hear me out. It's mild, it's going to be over the counter in a few months. It would just take the edge off, make it easier for you to sleep." He found the strength to roll over, curling up and facing away from her. That way she couldn't see the tears fall. "It's not a sign of failure, Mulder. For god's sakes, you do things no one else can! If you need a little help to sleep, to rest, it's no different than someone who needs coffee first thing in the morning." Now that was hysterical! Comparing downers to coffee! So like Scully, trying to convince him that it wasn't a problem. Only difference was coffee addiction wasn't a reason for dismissal from the Bureau. Addiction to sedatives was another matter entirely. He took a deep breath and rolled back over to face her. His body seemed to be acknowledging his commands at last, so he took a chance and grabbed her hand as it continued to stroke his forehead. "No drugs," he rasped out in a hoarse voice, probably from the recent bout of vomiting. "Promise me, Scully. You won't drug me. I hate that. I can't take that. Not from you. Please. Promise me." She bit her lip and he could see tears starting to form in the corners of her eyes. Shit, he'd made her cry. But this was important. He squeezed her hand to make sure she remembered to answer him. "I won't do anything without your full knowledge, Mulder," she finally said, sadness tingeing her voice. He had to get her to understand what he needed. He was dealing with a killer and something more, something he never wanted out in the open. He couldn't tell her everything, but he could at least tell her what to expect, what she might be dealing with on a purely physical level. He knew she would hate the idea he was going to propose, but it was important, vital, to the case and to him. He straightened out as much as possible and took her hand in his. "Scully, you have to promise me something," he started. She was shaking her head. "Mulder I already said . . ." He put one finger to her lips to stop her. "No, Scully, it's not just that. You have to promise me that you'll help me on this." Her eyes grew wide. How could he think she wouldn't help him? But he knew more than she did and he knew others before with good intentions had failed miserably. "No, it's not as easy as you think. I need . . . what I need from you, ah, shit, I just need you to keep them off me." At her confused expression, he shook his head. "I don't need drugs, I need someone to watch my back. Someone to keep the outside world at bay while I go . . . into inner space," he smiled sadly and tapped his head. She was shaking her head again. He wasn't getting through to her. "Mulder, you were close to dissociative tonight. You've calmed down finally, but you were as close to the edge as I ever hope to see you. What do you expect me to do? Sit here and watch you circle down the drain? Because if that's what you're thinking . . ." "No, Scully, no. I would never expect you to do that," he sighed. "OK, here's how it's going to go. I may not be able to keep food down all the time, so any help in that area would be appreciated. Coffee is not the best for me, for obvious reasons, but my stomach seems to tolerate it more than food, so if you can suggest a better alternative, I'm all for it. No drugs, positively no drugs, but I know what happens when a person dehydrates, and I know I don't want that." They were silent for a moment. Scully was hoping he would lull back to sleep, but just as his eyes closed, they would pop back open. She sighed in resignation. Maybe she could get something down him. She could work on that. "Mulder, I found a soup place while I was out." "It's 89 degrees, Scully. Unless it's vichyssoise, I'm not interested," he grinned. Humor mode was firmly in place again, she noticed. "OK, how about this. I brought back a six pack of iced tea while I was out." "Now, you're talking. But will that keep me going? I'm mean, can man live by iced tea alone?" he let his eyes grin for him that time. She fought the answering grin she refused to give him. "I saw a pharmacy just around the corner. Have you ever had Pedialyte?" His immediate grimace prompted her to try again. "They're not as effective, but we can try sports drinks. I think they have a vending machine with sports drinks at the office. You just have to start pushing electrolytes. We'll see how you do. But Mulder, there are medications to stop nausea," she said pointedly. "All of them make me loopy. I've been this route before. Unless there was some miracle discovery in the last 6 years, there isn't anything out there, over the counter or behind it, that hasn't been shot up my arm or stuck in my ass and none of them did the trick. I might stop tossing my cookies, but I'm transported to the asteroid formerly known as the planet Pluto." "They haven't proven that it's an asteroid yet, Mulder. It's just a theory." He poked her in the side and she gave him a smile. "OK, I get it. No drugs, find stuff you can tolerate. But what about the nightmares? Mulder you can't possibly sleep with those hanging over you! And you have to sleep. Sleep deprivation is as damaging as dehydration." He nodded sadly. "I know. Been there, done that, transferred out of that department, remember?" He looked down at the blankets covering him, suddenly finding the pattern in the material fascinating. "I sleep a little better if someone is in the room." There, he'd said it. Let her take it from there. Or walk out the door, never to return. She sat there and stared at him for a full minute. "Mulder, if this is one of your jokes," she warned, but when he lifted his eyes to her face, she realized it wasn't. "The bad part is, I need them to be awake," he admitted with a one-shoulder shrug. Her eyebrow rose at that one, just as he expected. "Awake and doing what?" "Nothing," he told her hastily. "Nothing, anything, doesn't matter. Um, what you did just now, the umm, the thing with your hand," he sputtered, totally embarrassed to have to admit any of this to her. "This?" she asked gently, taking her hand out of his and stroking his hair back. He flushed but nodded. "Yeah. That was real good. It's probably the fastest thing I could think of to calm me down. If you don't want to do that, Scully, I understand, really I do . . ." "Mulder, at least you aren't telling me I have to do your laundry," she smirked at him. "Basically, you just need someone around who lets you know you aren't alone, isn't that it?" He let out a breath, a huge weight lifted from his soul. "Yes," he said in relief. "Yes, that is exactly what I need. Just let me do my thing and if I fall asleep and have a nightmare, just let me know someone is there. That's it exactly." She took his hand in hers and placed a light kiss on the knuckles, a perfect imitation of what he'd done every time he'd visited her in the hospital just before her remission. Had it really been a year already, he wondered idly, losing himself in the feeling of having her close, of their connection. Scully broke the spell by laying his hand back on the blankets. "Mulder, I'm willing to do all this as long as I think it's normal operating procedure. If you become a danger to yourself or anyone else . . ." He nodded firmly, his eyes locked with hers. "I understand, Scully. I do. And I wouldn't expect anything less. If I go completely off the deep end, if you can't reach me, I understand. I not only understand, I give my full permission for you to do whatever you think needs to be done. I trust you, Scully. I trust you with my life and my mind." "So, I'll go get one of the iced teas, you can try some of that, and then maybe try to get a little more sleep?" She was still feeling her way, it was his life, his rules. She was just an observer. He stretched under the covers and started to throw off the covers, until he realized his clothes were in a sopping heap somewhere in the bathroom. "Uh, Scully, take a few minutes getting that tea. And knock on the door before you come in, OK?" She almost laughed at the flush on his cheeks, but decided his embarrassment was endearing and she didn't want to tease him about it. "Sure thing, Mulder. I'll run to that pharmacy, grab some sports drinks. That should give you enough time to get 'GQ'." "Funny, Scully, very funny. But thanks." 10:36 pm The blue stuff had a horrible aftertaste, but the Arctic Ice soothed his throat. In just a couple of hours, Mulder was wide-awake, scribbling feverishly on his yellow legal pad. Scully had taken the opportunity grab some sleep, he'd promised to wake her if he got tired himself. He had the codes, as he still considered them, on separate sheets of paper. Just two sheets, and he was trying every form of word game and numerology to work out what it meant. PS 91 8 HB 10 28 He wished he'd remembered his Tony the Tiger Decoder Ring that he was sure was in one of the boxes in his mother's basement. He put the letters to one side, the numbers on the other. Maybe he had it wrong. Maybe it was supposed to be 9, 1 and 8. Math had never been his forte in school, he got good grades but had difficulty thinking outside the box with numbers. A locker combination? That seemed totally unlikely and definitely not something a killer would mark on a victim's body. He wondered if there was some way Scully could determine if the marking had been done before death or after. He shook his head, neither way made much sense. He was starting to write a note to remember to ask her about that when his pencil broke. He searched his pockets, but to no avail. With a sigh he started searching through the single desk drawer, looking for the usual hotel pen. All he found was a Gideon's Bible. He picked it up, placing it on the desktop so he could better search the drawer. No pen. He was getting frustrated when he spotted the pen lying next to the phone on the nightstand. He reached over to get the pen and ended up knocking the Bible to the floor. It fell face up, open. With a muttered curse, he leaned over to pick it up. The printing on the page wavered before his eyes, some letters becoming darker, as if in bold print. He picked up the book and placed it carefully on the desk. Under the heading "Help in Time of Need" it jumped out at him. Psalm 91. Psalm 91 . . . PS 91? He ran his finger over to the writing to the left of the reference. "Protection in Time of DANGER." Oh shit, he thought. Could it be something that simple? Quickly thumbing to the requisite page, he read the text. "Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the reward of the wicked." Mulder drew in a deep breath. With his bottom lip firmly between his teeth, he flipped back to the first page, running his eyes down the page again. There it was, almost at the bottom, Hebrews 10:26-31. Warning in Time of INDIFFERENCE. He wasn't sparing the energy to breathe as he flipped the pages and came to page 1250, Hebrews 10:28. "He that despised Moses' law died without mercy under two or three witnesses:" ***end part 2*** Drought part 3 Rated R (please don't forget that) Disclaimed in part 1 By Vickie Moseley Lincoln Plaza Hotel Saturday, 6:20 am Scully moaned as she was pulled from a sound sleep. Cobwebs still clogged her brain as grit clogged her eyes, but there was no denying the call of nature. She hated it when her bladder woke her 10 minutes before the alarm clock. Sighing she rolled out of bed, only to stub her toe on something soft and . . . moving? In the dim light that just peeked around the corners of the heavy drapes, she could see her partner, curled up and sleeping on the floor next to her bed. "Mulder," she called softly, nudging him with her foot again. "Mulder, wake up." He groaned, rolled over, but made no move to open his eyes. "Mulder, you can take the bed, if you want it," she offered. He mumbled something totally incoherent and curled himself into a tighter ball. She watched him for a moment, waiting for any sign that his dreams were disturbing his rest rather than contributing to it. When he gave her no indication that he was troubled or restless, she shrugged her shoulders and stepped lightly over him on the way to the bathroom. When she returned, he was on the bed, under the covers, and looked like he intended to stay there quite some time. "Playing possum?" she asked as she ruffled his hair. "What if I wanted to lie down until the alarm went off?" He still hadn't opened his eyes, but one arm came up and held back the covers as invitation. She was shocked for a moment until she noticed his sly grin that was turning up the corners of his mouth. As she was about to slide in next to him and see what reaction that would invoke, the phone rang loudly. "I think they call that 'saved by the bell', partner," she told him as she picked up the receiver and listened to the front desk clerk inform her that it was 6:30 and time for her wake-up call. "Playing Chicken with you is fun, Scully. I'm never sure which one of us is going to blink," he teased as he sat up straight and moved to get off the bed. "Mulder, go back to sleep. I'm just going to shower, you can get a few more minutes. What time did you finish last night, or this morning, anyway?" "It was about 2:30 when I stopped typing. I went for a quick run." At her narrow-eyed glare he held up his hands in defense. "Just around the statehouse, Scully. Armed guards all over the place, well, a couple of them at least. I bet it wasn't more than a mile or so. I just needed to work the kinks out of my back. Then I came in here and crashed on your floor." She was about to mention that crashing on the floor probably undid any good the run had accomplished. Then she looked at him intently. He appeared rested, better rested than she'd seen him in a couple of days. "Did it work? I mean the sleeping on the floor part?" "I didn't wake you up screaming or throwing up, did I?" he asked with a wink. He rubbed his stomach as it started to growl. "I think I'm gonna need something more than a Gatorade to tame this wild thing in my stomach." "Eggs and toast should go down pretty easy, Mulder. Especially if you don't order the eggs hard fried and with a double side order of sausage links," she said, crossing her arms. He nodded once and stood up. "You grab your shower, I'll grab mine and the last one to the elevator picks up the tab for breakfast." "You're on," she called to his retreating form and hurried into her bathroom, vowing silently that this time, she was not going to lose the race. Breakfast was in the little restaurant in the hotel and surprisingly enough, they had a breakfast buffet. Mulder loaded his plate with scrambled eggs, fried potatoes and waffles. When he sat down, Scully was scowling at him. "Mulder, I distinctly remember telling you that you needed to keep it light. Are you just asking for trouble?" He looked down at his plate, totally perplexed. "Scully, I didn't get any bacon or sausage. This," he waved a hand over his plate, "this is light, by my standards." She shook her head and sipped her coffee. "I'm just saying that if you want me to help on this little dietary problem you're having, you either have to abide by my rules, or don't complain when the worst happens." "Why do I get this image of you in a classroom scribbling that down after some professor wrote it out on the chalkboard?" he asked around the forkful of eggs he'd shoveled into his mouth. "I take it your stomach is settled down this morning," she said dryly as she stirred her cup of yogurt. "I had a breakthrough. I figured out the code," he mumbled around another mouthful of food. "You're kidding," she said, setting down her spoon. "You're not kidding," she answered herself on his responding grin. "Bible citations, Scully. The Ninety-first Psalm and Hebrews, Chapter 10, paragraph 28. 'Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the reward of the wicked.' Hebrews reads 'He that despised Moses' law died without mercy under two or three witnesses.' I wish to hell we could have seen what he wrote on the first two bodies, but I'm fairly certain it was more of the same." "Mulder, that is incredible! How did you figure it out?" she asked, shoving her plate aside. "My pencil broke," he answered and proceeded to wipe the last of his eggs on to the toast and gobble it down. She looked at him, ready to ask, but she knew it wouldn't really give her any information. "Oh," she replied. Scully ended up with the tab, simply because Mulder never bothered with a hair dryer. As they headed out to the car, the heat once again overcame them. "I thought this was supposed to be a mild summer," Scully muttered almost under her breath. "Some of the guys at the office were saying they had record-breaking cold all the way through March. April and May were dry, and the heat hit about a week ago. Craziest weather they've seen around here," Mulder commented as he unlocked her door and went around to get in the driver's side. "At least everyone seems to have their air conditioning in good repair," she sighed. "So, what are you thinking, now that you've cracked the code?" "I revised my profile, somewhat. I think we're dealing with a religious zealot, not necessarily someone who vocally rages against the evils of the flesh, but someone who definitely has his own ideas about Divine Retribution for sins." "That's not going to narrow the scope of the interviews much. Have you noticed the bumper stickers in this town?" She pointed to the beat up Chevy Citation idling at the stoplight in front of them proudly displaying a 'God is my co-pilot' and 'Honk if you know Jesus' on its rusted bumper. He chuckled silently. "Nah, Scully, I don't think this guy is that high profile. I think he keeps it hidden, away from his peers, maybe even hidden from himself. I think he actively seeks the pleasures of the flesh only to be repulsed by them when he finds them." "So he's picking up runaways who are prostituting for cash and then after they 'perform', he kills them?" she asked. She looked over at her partner, awaiting his answer and just caught the shiver that ran down his body. "Mulder? Are you all right?" He turned his head sharply toward her. "I'm fine, Scully. Trickle of sweat down my back, that's all," he assured her, but she wasn't really that assured. "I'd still like to know how you figured out that these kids were prostitutes. You knew that after seeing the first body," she mused absently. He jerked the wheel to the right and hit the curb as he made his way into the parking lot for the office. She glared at him, expecting some kind of explanation, but he was already out of the car and halfway to the doors of the building. "Mulder, we are going to talk about this. Soon, very soon," she promised herself. The team meeting was at 9 am, they had just enough time to make copies of the revised profile and get to the conference room. Mulder assured Scully that he'd faxed Allerton a copy of the new profile as soon as he'd finished it. They were the first ones in the room this time, but Mulder still took the chairs against the wall. Scully raised an eyebrow at his choice. "They can't shoot us in the back this way," he told her with a grin. Mulder watched each agent enter the room. A few of them were talking among themselves but stopped when they saw the two agents already seated. Some looked around and then dropped their gaze, as if afraid to meet Mulder's eyes. The last seats to be filled were the ones at the table directly in front of the agents from DC. "Guess we forgot to check for 'cooties' this morning," Mulder said in a low voice. Scully did her best to ignore him. He could tell she was upset, and getting madder by the moment. If only he could make her understand it was all part of the game. Allerton entered last for a change. He took his seat at the head of the table. He looked over at Mulder. "I got your new profile, Agent Mulder. I must say, it was more of what I've been expecting." Mulder nodded at the left-handed compliment. Allerton nodded back and Mulder started handing out the copies of the profile to the other agents. Everyone was silent as they read through the three- page profile. "So this wacko is a religious nutcase? Sheez, what next?" It was the same agent who'd taunted Mulder the day before. "Agent Mulder, are we still working on the assumption this guy kills twice and then sits back a while?" Mulder's eyes glanced to Allerton, who gave a slight nod to allow him to proceed. "At the moment, yes. But it might not be a real pattern. Something might have occurred recently that prevented him from committing a murder. Thirty days in lock up for drunk and disorderly, a job that took him out of the area for a period of time. One thing is certain, given the last two murders and now the markings--he's not finished. This is a compulsion, he'll do it again, and as soon as he's able." "How soon?" Allerton shot back. Mulder licked his lips. Psychopaths rarely handed out timetables. "I can't tell you. It could be another month before he does anything. It's just too soon to see the pattern." Allerton looked at the assembled agents for a moment. "Well, it's Saturday, people. I think we're safe for the time being in getting some R&R tomorrow. I expect everyone in their places and ready to roll at 8 am sharp Monday morning." Mulder was about to object when there was a knock on the door and Allerton's assistant poked her head into the room. "Sir, this just came over the fax. It's from the Center for Missing and Exploited Children." Allerton motioned her into the room and she walked over to hand him the pages. "Thanks, Sheri," he said as he skimmed the paper. "Well, we have a possible ID on one of the bodies. Jeremy Winston Talbot, aged 13. Home address is in Ohio, a little town not far from Cleveland if I remember my time there correctly. His parents, or rather his mother and stepfather are flying out this afternoon to do a visual identification." Allerton looked over to Mulder. "I assume you want to talk to them?" Mulder nodded quickly. "If it's all right with you," he said in an even voice. "It's not, but I remember how you just couldn't keep away from those gut-tearing scenes, Mulder," Allerton said with a humorless smile. "Just don't do anything to embarrass the Bureau. You can meet them at the airport." Capitol Airport Springfield, Illinois 11:35 am "They were told to expect someone, Mulder. I'm sure they won't grab a cab," Scully said as she hurried to catch up to her partner and his longer stride. "I know, I know, but I just don't want to have them waiting, Scully. They've been through enough and they're about to go through more." Scully said nothing. She could only imagine the pain these people were going through. She'd only had a brief glimpse of that pain in her own life, but she never wanted to go through it again. "I think that's them," she said, spying a couple just coming through the gate. A woman about her height but a little heavier, mousy brown hair cut short. The man with her was not as tall as Mulder and he was much heavier. He looked like he was barely containing himself, but it wasn't grief on his face. It was rage. "You the cops?" he blurted out. Mulder nodded. "We're with the FBI, Mr. Davidson. I'm Agent Mulder and this is my partner, Agent Scully. I'm sorry to bring you all the way for this, Mrs. Davidson," he said, directing his attention to the small woman who remained silent, tears staining her cheeks. "Can we . . . I just want to see . . . I want to get this over as quickly as possible," Mrs. Davidson said in a trembling voice. "Of course. We'll take you to the morgue immediately," Scully said, taking the woman's arm and leading her toward the sliding double doors and the outside. Mr. Davidson didn't follow, but snatched at Mulder's sleeve and held him to the spot. "Look, that rotten brat's been nothin' but trouble for the last 5 years. If he's dead, well, how much is it gonna cost to just have the remains cremated? I'm not spending another plug nickel on that little bastard." Mulder's stomach did a slow roll at the man's words, but also at the faint stench of alcohol on his breath. His suspicions were confirmed when Mr. Davidson made a quick survey of the one-hall airport terminal. "So where's the bar? What the hell kind of shithole is this that they don't have a bar or a lounge at the airport? How's a guy gonna get any fluids in this heat?" he demanded. Then, giving Mulder the once over, his face broke into an evil grin. "Bet you're one of those tight asses who never drinks on the job, aren't ya?" Mulder turned on his heel without answering the man. Under his breath, he muttered, "Now might be a good time to start." The ride to the State Police lab was thankfully silent, save for Mrs. Davidson hiccupping sobs in the backseat. Scully had dug through her purse and found a packet of tissues. The woman had used all of them by the time they arrived in the parking lot. Once again, Mr. Davidson caught up to Mulder. "Look, I'm not gonna go in there. I'm not that good around, well, you know, dead bodies. I'll just hang around in the lobby." Mulder glared at him. "I would think you'd want to be inside, if nothing else to give your wife some support," he said through clenched teeth. Davidson looked at the agent like he'd spouted a third eye. "What the hell good'll that do? It's the little shit-for-brains or it ain't. My being there won't make a tinker's dam bit of difference. Besides, if it is him, she's better off getting all that wailin' outta her system. I can't stand that damned caterwauling! Been putting up with that shit since the little bastard took off. I'm done with it, I tell ya, I'm all done." Mulder stepped into the morgue just in time to catch Mrs. Davidson as she collapsed in Scully's arms. Scully was doing a passable job of keeping the woman off the floor, but her weight was pulling them both down. Mulder took the burden, only to find himself wrapped in Mrs. Davidson's arms as she sobbed against his chest. "Positive ID?" he mouthed over the stricken woman's head. Scully nodded sadly. "Mrs. Davidson, is there someone we can call, some other family member who might be able to come be with you right now. The boy's father, maybe?" Mulder asked. He had no idea who the child's father was or what he was like, but it was a sure bet the guy couldn't be worse than the asshole he'd just left in the lobby. It took her a few minutes, but the woman seemed to gather all her strength and pushed away from Mulder, wiping her face. Scully escorted her into the office off the morgue, helped her to sit down while Mulder got her a glass of water. Finally, she spoke. "My first husband, Jerry, died six years ago. Jeremy was never the same. He'd been so close to his dad. He didn't want me to remarry, he didn't like Tom. He started talking back, doing bad in school. I know he was just missing his dad, his real dad, but Tom hasn't seen it that way. They fight all the time." "When did Jeremy go missing, Mrs. Davidson?" Scully asked. Mulder was just silent observing it all. "About two weeks ago. Right after school let out. He had finally made some friends at his new school, we moved a year ago and he'd left all his friends behind. But with school out, none of the boys lived that close to us. We're out in the country. And Tom expected Jeremy to take on his share of the chores. Tom has 500 acres in corn and a few head of cattle. Nothing much, but with Jeremy helping, that meant Tom didn't have to hire help this year. Jeremy worked hard the first day and then that night asked to go to town to the movies with his buddies. Tom told him no, he had to get up early the next morning and help mend a fence. Jeremy got real mad, but he didn't say anything, he just went straight to bed. The next morning, when Tom went in to wake him up to work, he was gone. His bed was never slept in." She crumbled as she remembered. "I called all his friends' parents, I called a teacher I remembered Jeremy being close to, I called everyone I could think of. No one had seen him. He'd just vanished," she sobbed. "Tom didn't want me to call the police, he said it would look bad. But I called anyway and they came and took Jeremy's school picture and put it on some computer list. They told me that if anyone saw him, they'd call us. I was going to go down to the Walmart and see if they would put his picture on their bulletin board. There's a lot of Walmarts in Ohio and Indiana," she reasoned as the sobs overtook her again. Mulder finally stepped forward. "Mrs. Davidson, is there someone, anyone we could call for you? Someone who might help you make arrangements for Jeremy?" She sniffed loudly and nodded. "My sister. She lives in Evansville, Indiana, that isn't that far. She could come up and help me. She came to help me . . . when Jeremy was b-b-born," she gasped through her tears. "You can use this phone, ma'am. Just dial 9 then 1 and the number. Agent Scully, can I have a word with you outside?" "Mulder, I don't want to leave her alone for very long. And where is her husband?" Scully asked as soon as the door was closed and they were out of earshot. "That's what I want to talk to you about, Scully. Was there any sign of abuse on Jeremy. Not recent, I mean old injuries, broken bones, scars from burns or anything like that?" His anger was just barely held in check, Scully could feel him seething from just a couple of feet away. She drew in a deep breath and thought for a moment. "No, I really don't think so. There was a break, his left femur, but it was old, Mulder. It probably happened more than six years ago. Aside from that, I didn't notice any old scars or recent ones. I don't think the boy was physically abused." "But he sure as hell was emotionally abused, if that bastard out there was around him," Mulder hissed through gritted teeth. "I want something, Scully. I want to put that bastard right in a holding cell and let a judge figure it out. But I need something to go on." Her hand fell on his upper arm and she could feel his muscles in tight knots. "Mulder, we have no physical evidence. And at this point, I really doubt Mrs. Davidson would corroborate any suspicions in that area. She just lost her only child, Mulder. Please, don't make it harder for her than it already is." She could tell her pleas were having little effect. "Mulder, the one person we _can_ catch, the one we _can_ put behind bars is the person who killed Jeremy. That's what we need to focus on right now." Mulder had closed his eyes as she spoke, a trait she equated to closing her out when he knew she was right. Slowly he opened his eyes and she'd never seen such pain in them. "So Davidson gets away. Scot free." It was almost a moan. "We have to choose our battles, Mulder. We need to work on the ones we can win." The door to the office opened and Mrs. Davidson stepped out. "My sister's driving up. Is there a motel nearby where we can get a room?" "There's a motel just up the highway, Mrs. Davidson. We'll take you and your husband there now, if you want," Scully said kindly. "May I . . . I just want to . . . to tell him goodbye," she choked out. "Would you like me to leave?" Scully asked. Mrs. Davidson shook her head. "Mulder, why don't you get the car cooled down. We'll be right out." As he turned she shot him a look. Was he going to cause a scene with Davidson? He shook his head in the negative. She nodded and went back to Mrs. Davidson's side as she leaned over to kiss the small body goodbye. FBI Office 3:30 pm Mulder pulled off his jacket and threw it at the nearest empty chair. It missed, slipping to the floor. He pointedly ignored it and kicked at the wastebasket as he stormed over to the narrow window, hands on his hips, staring out at nothing. Scully sighed and picked up the jacket, hanging it on the back of the chair. "Mulder . . ." He held up his hand to stop her. "I know, Scully. Pick my battles. I'm picking them, believe me, I'm picking them." Scully pulled another chair over to the desk and sat down. "Well, we got a positive ID, but it really didn't give us much to go on," she said, toeing off her shoe and rubbing her foot. "On the contrary, Scully, we did get something. We know for a fact that Jeremy wasn't a perennial runaway. And I'm willing to bet that he wasn't prostituting when he was home, either. Not in a small town, probably." "So how does that help us?" Scully asked, slipping her shoe back on. "We need to figure out where these kids are hanging out. You don't just stand on a street corner if you're one of these kids. The town regulars will run you off, if their pimps don't mess you up first. There's somewhere, somewhere near here, that these boys are picking up their tricks for the night." A sly grin came to Scully's face. "Mulder, I refuse to go undercover. No matter how many ace bandages I'd use, I'm just not built like a 12 year old boy." The twinkle in his eyes told her she had scored points for her gallows humor. "Actually, I thought it would be _me_ who would go undercover," he told her. He'd confused her. "You aren't built like a 12 year old anymore, either, Mulder. Not even a very tall 12 year old." He toed the carpet, where it was buckled and wearing thin. "I'm not looking to fit the victim's profile, Scully," he said quietly. She started shaking her head before she opened her mouth. "No, Mulder. No. You are not going to go traipsing off looking for a good time with some child! Mulder, you've had enough trouble with this case already, do you have any idea what doing what you're suggesting would do to you?" "Scully, I'm not going to actually _do_ anything. I just need to find out where these kids are. Because I guarantee you, Scully, the killer knows. And where they are, he'll be. Maybe not tonight, but sooner or later." He was staring at her. He knew he was right and he knew that she realized that as well. To his advantage, he didn't gloat when she conceded, reluctantly. "How will we work back-up?" she demanded. "I'll have my cell and you can be nearby. I refuse to get taped up with a wire for this, Scully. I'll have my ankle holster if there's trouble, but to be honest, I don't expect any." "You never do," she huffed. Augie's Front Burner 5th and Washington Springfield, Illinois 5:30 pm Over an early dinner, Mulder's concession because they'd missed lunch, Scully was still reluctant. "So how are you even going to look for these places," she asked, spearing a piece of grilled salmon and bringing it to her mouth. Mulder stared at her for the entire time it took to chew the bite of fish. "Mulder?" He shook his head and concentrated to remember her question. "I have my sources, Scully. By 10 tonight I'll know where to be." He cut a piece off his ribeye steak, but just swirled it around the A-1 Sauce without attempting to consume it. Everything in her wanted to stop him. But she realized that nothing she could say would change his mind. "So, this will probably take all night, right?" she sighed. She didn't want to seem bitchy, but that's exactly how she felt. She had missed almost as much sleep as Mulder and she was definitely feeling it. How he was still conscious after only having 4 hours of sleep the night before was beyond her. He shrugged. "Maybe not. You don't have to go, Scully. I know I'll be fine. This part isn't dangerous." She pursed her lips. "Sure." It was the least sincere comment he'd ever heard come from her lips. They ate in silence for a little while longer. "At least try to eat the baked potato, Mulder. It will help keep the cramps away." He frowned. He thought he was hiding his discomfort pretty well. After the initial euphoria of his breakthrough, he found himself caught up in the little drama that was family life with the Davidsons. Or lack of family life, more like it. It only served to bolster his determination to find this creep and take him out of society. But that left an awful lot of kids still in harm's way. Maybe not from this guy, but from a million more people who were out there willing to exploit them, hurt them, destroy them, and some of those people were members of the kids own families. "There are still two bottles of Gatorade back in my room," she added, when he didn't seem to react to her suggestion. "So, are you planning on telling SAC Allerton of your plans tonight?" "It's Saturday, Scully. He gave us tomorrow off, remember? Allerton and all his little friends are tucked in and boffing their wives," he said with a sigh and pushed his plate toward the center of the table, potato untouched. "I'll put it in the report that I'll file on Monday." "What happened to 'we have to do this right so we can get the X files back'?" She was staring at him now, and he didn't like the scrutiny. "If I catch this bastard, it will go a long way toward doing just that," he said evenly, matching her gaze. She couldn't respond to that. Her fear for him wouldn't let go, but her respect for him wouldn't allow her to voice her objections. The two agents went back to the hotel, Mulder veering off to go into his room alone. In a minute, he was back, but only to borrow her laptop. This time, he closed the connecting door, effectively shutting her out. She stared at the door for several minutes and then threw up her hands in disgust. Finally she threw her shoe at the connecting door and stormed off to soak in the tub until her big toes resembled prunes. At 11:30, he tapped at the door. She'd fallen asleep watching Saturday Night Live, dressed in jeans shorts and a tee shirt. The show was a rerun but the guest was the cute guy who was the narrator for Red Shoes Diary. She would never admit it to Mulder, but she rented one of the videos of that series and had found the rich baritone too seductive for words. She jumped and reached for her gun when he opened the door. "Sorry, Scully. I didn't know you were asleep." "Most sane people are asleep at midnight, Mulder," she growled as she holstered her gun. "Half hour to midnight," he corrected. "I'm heading out. You don't have to come, I'm sure I'll be fine. If anything happens, I'll call you on my cell phone." She wasn't listening as she rolled off the bed and pulled on her shoes. She grabbed the holstered weapon off the nightstand and attached it to her belt at her back. "Guess we're ready," he said. "Ready as we'll ever be," she told him and pushed past him through the door to the hall. "So, where are we going?" she asked, as he pulled the car out of the parking lot. "A little place on the edge of town called Zoo Babies," he said, his eyebrows wiggled in the light of the dashboard. "Sounds like someplace I'm not likely to find in Fydor's," she mused. "Depends on what index you're using," he grinned at her. "Um, and do you think you could, uh, sort of . . ." "Where do you want me, Mulder?" she asked, feeling totally out of sorts and put upon. "In the car. Maybe in the backseat, if possible. Out of sight. Your kind aren't exactly regular customers at a place like this," he admitted. "My kind?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "Female. Straight." He sighed and waited for her to explode. She didn't disappoint him. "This is a male gay bar, Mulder!" she exclaimed. "And you expect me to wait in the car?" "I can't exactly introduce you as my sister, Scully," he pointed out, trying for his best 'reasonable' tone of voice. "I need to scope something out. I'm pretty certain I'll find what I'm looking for." Her arms were crossed and she was definitely not happy. "And what, exactly, are you looking for? No, strike that, I'm pretty sure what it is. But I do want to know one thing, Mulder. How do you expect to get this information, walking in as a total stranger?" He stared straight ahead through the windshield, not daring to look over at her. "There are . . . places on the internet. You can find all kinds of information. Passwords, what phrases to use to get the right information. All kinds of stuff." "I'm assuming these 'places' are probably all on some Congressional Blacklist somewhere," she said with a sigh. "Actually, I think some of them are run by Hill Staffers, but yeah, they would most definitely outlaw them by the light of day." "Your ankle holster is loaded?" she asked. "Full and on safety," he assured her. "I know I'm going to regret this," she said, shaking her head. Zoo Babies Business 55 Springfield 12:03 am Mulder surveyed the crowd and was immediately sure he was in the right place. Knots of young men and some not-so-young men lounged against an old wooden bar, some at tables, some dancing in pairs to the shiny new jukebox at the back of the room. One young man in his twenties gave Mulder an appreciative look, licked his lips and sauntered over. He put his arm about Mulder's waist and nodded toward his just vacated table. "You're new. Let me buy you a beer?" the young man said with a sultry smile. He'd obviously had a few beers, but he wasn't a complete drunk. Mulder knew he had to handle this with care. "I just got dumped by a guy who could be your twin," Mulder told him with a pained expression. "Give me a little time to deal with that." The young man pursed his lips in sympathy and moved to head back to the table alone, but not before grabbing a handful of Mulder's ass. "He must have been a slut," he told the agent sincerely. "C'mon, just a beer. You look lonely." Mutely, Mulder nodded. Maybe this guy could give him some of the information he was seeking. Beers on the table, Mulder looked around. "I'm surprised I was able to find a place like this," he commented. The young man, who had introduced himself as 'Sly' gave him a smile. "Well, it's sort of out of the way. Keeps the burning crosses out of the parking lot, if you know what I mean." "You've lived here long?" Mulder asked, drawing a long sip off the beer. Sly snorted. "Does conception count? My old man bought the house four houses down from his old man. My mom's folks live two blocks over." The young man's eyes had turned hard and black. "I take it they aren't approving of your life choices," Mulder commented. Another snort, this time followed by a bitter laugh. "Approving? Hell no. But they deal with it. They don't tell their friends, my grandparents don't have a clue." "Why don't you move? Go to Chicago, St. Louis. There has to be more of a gay community in those places?" Sly shook his head. "You don't get it. Nobody from the outside gets it. You _don't_ leave this place. You never escape it. Sure, it was rough in school, and it's not exactly easy to get dates. But where would I go? I have a job with the State my old man set up for me. In 27.5 years I can retire with a pension. That's enough for me. And if Mr. Right walks through that door," he gave Mulder an approving wink. "Well, it must be Kismet, right?" "So what happens if someone's taste runs more toward . . . veal?" Mulder asked, taking another long, slow drink of the beer. Sly's face dropped and his eyes narrowed. "Ah, shit. Why is it always the cute ones?" he asked himself out loud. Giving Mulder a disgusted glance, he continued. "Look, I don't go in for that shit, but Jamal, over at the bar, he knows things." Mulder finished his beer in one gulp and dropped a five on the tabletop. Taking in a deep breath, he headed toward the bar, grateful to avoid any more offers of companionship. The bartender was busy with a customer, but finally made his way down to Mulder. "What are you having?" asked the bartender, a handsome black man with dreadlocks past his shoulders. Mulder chewed his lip for a minute and then looked the bartender in the eye. "A Shirley Temple," he said evenly, praying that he hit the right website and knew the right code word. Dark chocolate eyes widened and the bartender's expression turned to one of slight disgust. "We're not serving those tonight." Mulder swallowed heavily. He could be wrong, but something about the bartender's demeanor told him he was right on the mark. "Know any place I can find one?" he persisted. The bartender stared at him, sizing him up. Then he pulled a cocktail napkin off a stack and scribbled something on it. "Don't give this out to nobody, got it?" Jamal growled. "It's pretty much off the radar and I don't want any of this coming back to roost here. And don't come back. You bitches make me sick," he hissed. Mulder nodded, pocketed the napkin and left as quickly as he could. Scully had been dozing, slumped down out of view in the passenger seat. She straightened immediately when Mulder opened the driver's door. "Did you find out anything?" she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Yeah. Just what I was looking for," he told her, patting his front jeans pocket. "So, what now?" she asked, punctuated by a long yawn. He smiled at her affectionately. "Now, we go tuck you in, Agent Scully." She glared at him in the darkness of the speeding car. "And I assume you have somewhere better to go?" she asked through gritted teeth. "Sorry, Scully, but where I'm going it would be _more_ dangerous to bring a girl with me, no offense intended," he retorted, not daring to look over and meet her glare. "Then wait till Monday and bring proper back-up, Agent Mulder," she seethed. He sighed. He really hated these arguments. It was a lose-lose proposition for him. If the ditched her and went without telling her, she'd be furious with him and rightly so. If he told her and she objected but he went anyway, which she knew he would, she would still be furious with him. No matter what he did, she would be furious. But he was between a rock and a hard place. He chose the hard place. "Scully, I say this with the utmost respect and admiration. I'm going. I'm going alone. I promise to let you know the minute I return, but if you follow me, I will lose you and you know I can. So just do us both a big favor and go back to the hotel and go to bed. At least one of us will be rested in the morning." She fumed in total silence for the rest of the ride back. Her arms were crossed and her jaw was clenched so tight he was certain she'd end up with an incredible headache. But then, he usually gave her an incredible headache, so it wasn't exactly something new. He wanted to break through the glacier that had formed between them, but he knew nothing short of his total submission would result in a positive outcome with her. And he wasn't ready to submit. Yet. He pulled her up to the front lobby doors. She sat there, and for a minute he was afraid she might just sit there all night, forcing him to drag her from the car. He almost let out a hysterical giggle at the image of her kneeing him fiercely in the groin when he tried to get her out of the car without her consent. He would probably deserve it. She opened the car door and startled him from his reverie. She turned to him and her eyes were chips of black flint in the harsh lights of the parking lot. "So help me God, Mulder, if we end this night in a hospital, I will so kick your ass . . ." "Fully accepted. Believe me, Scully, I will do nothing. I'm just observing, that's all. You know I'm right or you wouldn't have gone with me tonight. You know this is our only possible way of finding this sick bastard before he kills another kid. I won't drive another mother to the morgue to identify her 12 year old, Scully. I can't. I'll end up . . ." He stopped short of finishing that sentence, knowing that if he ended it the way he felt she would be more frightened for him than she already was. Her expression softened just a touch. She looked off toward the lights of the Statehouse, shining just a block away. When she turned back toward him he winced at the tears in her eyes. "Just. Be. Careful." He nodded. She gave him one last look and then slammed the door and headed into the hotel. He watched through the glass doors until she turned the corner to go to the elevators. Then he put the car in drive and headed out into the night. ***end of part 3*** Drought part 4 By Vickie Moseley Rated R Disclaimer in part one Sinclair Gas Station Exit 92, I-55 The price tipped him off to how long the station had been abandoned. A rusty sign that hung from only one of its two fasteners proclaimed unleaded gas for 89.9 cents. Mulder shook his head and pulled the car around to the back of the station, where a couple of junkyard cars were scattered. It didn't take him long to find the only open door to the garage portion of the station. Inside, a single mantle Coleman lantern burned. On the back wall were some blankets and old overcoats. The place was deserted. Mulder chewed his bottom lip in frustration. At least he didn't need to call Scully for backup. There was no one here. The longer he stood there, the more convinced he became that he had been set up by the bartender. He wondered idly who had left the lantern burning and went over to blow it out, just to avoid a fire. The door creaking open stopped him in his tracks. A boy, no more than 13, inched his way into the room. His face was marked with the early signs of adulthood, pimples that gave him a garish appearance in the dim light of the Coleman. He had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his too baggy jeans. The pants hung close to his hips, pooling around his feet. His tee shirt was worn and dirty. His blond hair was stringy and fell in his eyes. He was the first to speak. "Ya got money?" His question startled Mulder. It took the agent a minute to understand what the youth had asked. Dumbly, he nodded, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing his wallet. He pulled a twenty out and showed it to the boy. "I don't do nuthin' for twenty. Fifty bucks or no dice," the boy sneered. Mulder drew in a breath and withdrew another two bills, a twenty and a ten. He fanned the money out to show the boy. Just as the boy reached for it, Mulder pulled it out of his grasp. The boy immediately reached for Mulder's belt buckle, but the agent backed up as if stung. "No, I want information," Mulder said with a shake of his head. "You're a cop," the boy accused and started toward the door in a run. Mulder was just able to grab his arm before he escaped out the door into the night. "No! No, I'm not. I'm . . . I'm looking for someone. My son. I'm looking for my son." The boy jerked his arm away from Mulder. "Go to hell," the boy spat out. "Please, you have to believe me," Mulder lied. "I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong. He's been living with his mother and her new husband. He ran away three weeks ago." The boy seemed to be fighting within himself over whether to believe Mulder's story. For a brief, sad moment, Mulder wondered if this boy was secretly waiting for his own father to come looking for him. Finally, the boy crossed his arms. "Same price whether I do you or not. Fifty bucks. Information ain't free, ya know." Mulder nodded and tried not to smile. If the kid survived his current situation, he'd make a damned fine businessman. Not without a lot of counseling, but he could make it. The money was handed over and pocketed before Mulder could blink. "What's his name?" the boy asked as he shoved the money in his front pocket. "Huh?" Mulder asked. He'd been so caught up he'd forgotten his own spiel. "Oh, Walter. His name is Walter. We call him Walt for short." Chances were fairly good that there wouldn't be a youth named Walter near the place. The boy shook his head. "Sorry. Maybe he's not using his real name. What's he look like?" Mulder took a chance. "About 5'5", 150 pounds. Light brown hair, green eyes. There's a dark mole on his left hand." Silently he did an inventory as he rattled off Jeremy Talbot's distinguishing features. The boy's eyes narrowed. "I seen a kid like that. Couple o' nights ago. But he said his dad was dead," he said warily. Mulder shook his head. "That's him. He was pretty steamed at me because I couldn't get custody away from his mother. He's been telling everyone I'm dead. But have you seen him? Is he here tonight?" The boy shook his head slowly. "He moved on," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "Did you see him go with anyone? You saw him a couple of nights ago. Do you remember if he," Mulder swallowed hard, he hadn't realized how difficult this would be. "Did you get a look at anyone he might have talked to?" "Mighta. But it's gonna cost more." Mulder dug out another twenty, his last, and handed it over to the boy. "The dumpy guy took him for a ride. Ain't seen him since then. He probably had enough money to catch a bus to St. Louis. Ticket's only 20 bucks. There's more money to be made near the River." Mulder had to remind himself to breathe. "The dumpy guy? Do you know his name?" The kid barked out a laugh. "Nobody tells ya their names, Mister. He's just this dumpy old fart." His blood was running cold, but he had to continue. "Can you describe him? Have you ever . . . been with him?" A quick shake of the head from the kid. "He's a picky old bastard. Says he wants 'em taller'n me. Wants 'em tall enough so he don't have to bend over as much." Mulder's stomach almost lurched out his mouth at that point. "But you've seen him, seen the car he drives?" The boy shrugged. "How the fuck should I know? It's a big old black car. It's got a bad muffler. That's all I know." He wanted more than anything to press the kid for details, but knew he'd probably reached the limit of the kid's knowledge. He turned to go, but couldn't leave until he gave it one try. "You know you should call your dad," Mulder told him. The boy glared. "Why? He don't give a shit about me. He wouldn't let me stay with him, said I was better off with her," he growled. Mulder's gut clenched. "Maybe he had to say that. Maybe he tried but the law was on her side." He pointed to the money in the kid's front pocket. "Buy a ticket to his place. Try to figure out a way. Hell, just call him collect if you have to. Just don't stay out here like this. It's too dangerous and it's no way to live." "Like you know all about it," the boy sniffed. Mulder looked the kid in the eyes. "I know more than you think," he said and quietly left the way he'd come in. Mulder was deep in thought as he pulled the car keys out of his front pocket. Should he have forced the kid to go back with him, turned him over to whatever amounted to Social Services? He closed his eyes. That never seemed to work, either. The kid would run away again and this time . . . No, he couldn't think about that. He was almost to his car when he heard it. Off in the distance, coming closer, the sound of a car muffler with a hole in it the size of Wyoming. Mulder's breathing sped up, he knew his car would tip the guy off. He unlocked the car and without turning on the lights, eased it around to the far side of the building. He got out and crept toward the back, where he could see the other car turning off the highway and into the station lot. Reaching down, he withdrew his weapon from his ankle holster. He chewed on his lip, his breath tight in his chest, waiting. The car thundered to a stop not more than fifteen feet from where Mulder was hiding. A big man, burly, a dark blotch in the pitch-black night, got out of the car and headed toward the door. Mulder could hear his own heart beating in his chest and was certain the other man could, too. But the man didn't seem to notice. He opened the door to the station, and Mulder's heart stopped when he remembered the kid who was still inside. Around the corner from him was a window, not large, but enough to see into the garage. Mulder inched his way forward, then placed his hands on the sill and looked inside. He searched the room for the boy, but couldn't find him. Instead, the burly man turned, his face in shadows, but his eyes bore into Mulder. Sparing no thought, Mulder moved through the still open door and came up behind the man. "Federal agent . . ." was all he managed to get out before a tire iron made contact with his outstretched gun hand and his gun skittered across the garage floor. In the next instant, the iron made its back swing and connected a glancing blow off Mulder's right temple. Stunned, he dropped to the concrete. A sudden, swift kick to his ribs by the burly guy and all air left his lungs. Before Mulder could react, a rope encircled his neck and he had just enough time to grab it before it was drawn tight, his fingers keeping it from strangling him. He was dragged back out the door and into the dark night. He could hear the car engine start somewhere in the distance while he was busy fighting the rope for his next breath. Without warning, the rope was pulled taut and he was being dragged behind the car. He held tight to the rope, keeping pressure off his larynx. He could breathe, somewhat, but was being scraped unmercifully by the gravel parking lot of the old station. Just when he was sure he was going to pass out, the rope came loose from its moorings and he rolled to a stop. He laid panting and bleeding on the sharp gravel for a few minutes. The car thundered down the road, leaving him behind. After a moment, he was able to pull the rope from his throat, rubbing the burns it had caused on his neck. He ached, deep in his sides where he was first kicked and then dragged over the rocks. All of it was saturated in a white noise of pain coming from his temple, where blood was trickling down and into his eye. He gingerly wiped at the blood on his cheek, then put his hand to his left side to find his tee shirt in tatters and blood seeping through the tears. It hurt to move, but he pulled himself to his feet. He staggered over to the building, holding himself up against the wall as he moved toward his car. He looked into the garage through the window, trying to find any sign of the boy, but even the light was out. With effort, he pushed off the wall and made it to the driver's side door. With vision wavering, he lowered himself into the seat and started the ignition. Lincoln Plaza Hotel 3:15 am Mulder wasn't sure how he managed to make it back to the hotel before he passed out. His fingers were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that it took concentration for him to move them. His sides had continued to bleed during the 20-minute ride and as he moved to open the door, tender flesh was ripped even further as the blood had dried and stuck to the seat. He bit his tongue to keep from crying out in pain. Fortunately for him, the desk clerk was in the back room, so he was spared any comments or strange looks because of his condition. Slowly he made his way to the elevator, using the brief respite of the three- floor ride to gather to strength to limp to his room. His card key was still intact and in his back pocket. He withdrew it and slid it into the slot, smiling dryly when the light glowed green. He pushed open the door and stumbled toward the bed where his partner was sitting, arms crossed and fire in her eyes. "Scully, this is my room," he slurred and moved past her, aiming for the bed and almost missing. He grabbed both pillows and tucked them under his sides, hoping to keep some of the pressure off his scrapes and cuts. She'd been sitting there with just the television on, but now both lamps on either side of the bed were snapped on, brightness causing him to attempt to roll over and bury his face in the comforter. "God damn it, Mulder, where the hell . . . Ohmigod, what have you done to yourself?" She went from righteous indignation to concern and slingshot back to righteous indignation all the course of one sentence. "I ran into a little trouble," he mumbled. She pulled him to a sitting position, noting how he went from pale to trembling white in just that one movement. "We're going to the hospital." "No," he replied, trying to sound forceful. He was pretty sure it wasn't working, but it was always worth a try. Her eyes narrowed and she dropped his hands. "Fine. You leave me no choice." She leaned over and picked up the phone. "Desk, could you call an ambulance, my partner . . ." He didn't think he could move that fast, especially in that much pain, but panic often allowed men to perform great feats. Of course, no one ever told how much they paid for those feats of greatness later. He almost screamed with the agony in his side as he slammed his hand down on the plunger, disconnecting the call to the front desk. She dropped the phone, just missing his fingers as they slid from the plunger and wrapped themselves around his chest in a one-man bear hug. She glared at him, totally unsympathetic. "If I don't call him back, the ambulance . . ." "No ambulance," Mulder panted. He nodded to the phone. "Call him off. I'll go to the hospital. Just help me up," he said with a weary sigh. Springfield Memorial Medical Center Emergency Department 6:35 am Scully was furious and it was only the thought of having to drag her half-conscious partner out to the car that stopped her from leaving this Emergency Room for the one at the other hospital, three blocks up the road. What a town of just over 100,000 people needed with three major hospitals was beyond her, but it was obvious that competition did not ensure higher quality of service. It had been quite eventful, getting Mulder all the way out to the car. She remembered to grab a couple of towels from the bathroom, shoved one in Mulder's hands to hold against his torn skin while she pressed the other against the driver's seat of the rental to keep the still sticky blood Mulder had left behind from getting on her own clothing. In short order, they pulled up to the nearest hospital, having gotten directions from the scared-out-of-his-wits night clerk at the hotel. They had arrived just a little after 3:30. The triage nurse took one look at Mulder and then called for a gurney and had him taken back to a treatment cubicle. There, another nurse helped divest him of his torn shirt, a resident came in, did a two-minute exam and ordered a series of x rays, full chest, side view and head series and decided to call in a neurologist to look at the wound on Mulder's head. The x rays had been completed and Mulder returned to the white curtain cubicle, but aside from the initial excitement, all activity had ceased. No specialist had arrived, no one had come in to tell them the results of the x rays and Mulder was still complaining of pain in his head and both sides of his chest. Scully was ready to pull her gun. After all the x rays, Mulder finally got around to telling Scully what had transpired at the old gas station. She sat there, glowering, during his entire story but her expression quickly turned to horror as he described being roped and dragged by the neck. "My God, Mulder, you should be dead!" she cried. "Well, thanks for that information, but if it's all the same to you, I'll keep my current state of simply really banged up," he replied dryly. "Should we get a sketch artist over here, see if you can do a composite on this guy? Even if he isn't our serial, he assaulted a federal officer. You said you'd identified yourself right before he hit you with the tire iron." Mulder shook his head. "I didn't get a good look at the guy. He was in shadow most of the time. I can give height and weight . . ." He turned his head and Scully thought he'd fallen asleep, but he started speaking again. "His eyes. I remember his eyes like I'm seeing them right now." A shiver ran through Mulder's body that had nothing to do with his injuries. "I've seen those eyes before, Scully. Not his, but ones just like them. That was our guy last night, I know it as well as I know my own name." "Well, that answers my first question." The curtain shifted aside and a new person braved the cubicle. He was about Mulder's height, thin and had the look of someone who would rather be anywhere else but where he was at that moment. He introduced himself quickly to Mulder as Dr. Harriman, ignored Scully and proceeded to prod and poke Mulder's tender head and shine lights in his eyes. "Ow!" Mulder exclaimed after the tenth poke. "Hey, that's still attached." "I can see that it is," said Harriman. "You're not responding to the light as fast as I'd like to see. You took quite a blow to the temple. I'd like to keep you here under observation." As Mulder started to object, Harriman held up his hand. "Look, our wonder resident, Dr. Marks, has to clean out those cuts on your chest and several of them look like they'll need sutures. You might as well sleep all that off here." Mulder closed his eyes and suppressed an internal moan. "I really don't like the sounds of all that," he said evenly. The resident popped his head through the curtain. "Did I hear my name?" he asked and nodded to Harriman who told him that he wanted Mulder admitted. "You handle that and I'll get him cleaned up." Harriman left, leaving only Marks, who looked at Mulder finally. "We'll give you a local, but with your head, I really can't give you anything else. Sorry." He walked over to the curtain and said something to one of the nurses in the main area. He was back in a minute. "They'll set everything up and we'll get at it. For now, why don't you just relax." He left the two agents alone. "Scully?" The whine was back and in full force. "Mulder, I think Harriman's right. You've had more than your share of trauma lately. Just stay here today and rest. I'll be able to spring you in the morning." "Right in time for Allerton's meeting," Mulder groused. "I'll bring your gray suit," Scully smiled. "And I'll even close my eyes and pick your tie so you can't complain." "Well, at least this postpones that ass-kicking you promised me," he huffed back and regretted it immediately. "Ow!" he moaned and put a hand to his temple. "Scully, go on. Just because I'm stuck here doesn't mean you have to be. It's Sunday morning, there has to be a Catholic Church in this town somewhere." She looked dubious, but relented. "I'm sure there is, 'somewhere'," she said with a smirk. "OK, I'm going to grab something to eat right now. But I'm coming back to observe the suturing," she told him. "Then, when you're settled in a room, I'll ask around and see where the closest church is. But I will be back up to check on you this afternoon, Mulder, so you better be good or I'll kick your ass in your hospital bed." "Like anyone but the Second Marines could stop you," he muttered and closed his eyes. Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception 9:55 am As per her usual habit, Scully knelt after Mass and said a rosary for her partner. She was pretty certain he had no idea that she did this, but deep in her heart she also knew he wouldn't object. She was on her third decade when her cell phone started to vibrate in her pocket. Glancing around the church and realizing she was alone, she pulled it out and answered it. "Scully," she spoke in a whisper. "Agent Scully, would you like to tell me exactly what the hell is going on? And why am I in the office on a Sunday morning?" For a brief moment, she thought it was Skinner but the voice was wrong. Then she recognized the voice. It was Allerton. "Sir, I'm not sure I know the answers to your questions," she stalled for time as she put her rosary back in her purse and headed for the exit. "Well, let me run down my morning for you and maybe you'll be able to shed some light on things," Allerton sneered. "First, I was awakened at 7:45 by a nurse at Memorial Medical Center informing me that someone who claims to be Agent Mulder is now a patient there. When I tried to confirm that, I called your room and his at the Lincoln Plaza to find that you were both missing. Agent Mulder's cell phone rings but no one answers and I apparently had the wrong number for you in my book. I had to come into the office to find your number. Now, what the hell is Mulder doing in the hospital and what the hell are you doing, period!" Scully drew in a deep breath. "Sir, I just got out of Mass," she told him evenly. "That doesn't explain Mulder," he shot back. She winced and sighed. Damn, she didn't want to do it, but she had no choice. "Sir, I'll be at the office in five minutes," she told him and disconnected the line. On the drive over to the office, Scully fumed. Mulder was always putting her in this position. She wondered sometimes if he didn't keep her around just as a shield, a force field, to fend off the attacks by others in the Bureau. But then, she took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. Wasn't that exactly what he'd asked of her just a day before? Wasn't it exactly what she'd agreed to do? "Keep them off my back," he begged her. She'd readily agreed to help him. To be honest with herself, after talking to him about his experiences at the gas station, she was almost certain, in her heart, that he was on the right path. But her heart and her head didn't always come together on these matters. Mulder had brought back no proof and one very shaky physical description. She didn't want to put too much emphasis on the idea that he had come into contact with the killer. He needed more time, they needed more evidence and to let Allerton in on any of it would be to cast suspicion on whatever else she and Mulder might have to offer to the case. By the time she'd managed to work her way past the lone security guard and up to Allerton's office, she was pretty firm on what she would and would not reveal to the SAC. "So, what the hell happened?" Allerton demanded before bothering with a greeting. Scully pursed her lips and decided to handle the SAC just as she handled others before him. "I'm not sure what you mean, SAC Allerton," she said calmly, still standing a few feet from his desk. "Mulder! You know Mulder is in the hospital! Now, what the hell happened?" Allerton stormed. "Last night, Agent Mulder was working on the case, sir. He returned to the hotel and had been injured. I took him to the hospital for stitches and to have a head wound examined. Agent Mulder is working on a report of the incident . . ." "Where the hell was he that he was hit in the head?" Allerton howled. "And why weren't you with him?" he added, eyes narrowed. Scully's stomach moved closer to her mouth, but she swallowed thickly and pulled on her calm exterior. "I was investigating other paths, SAC Allerton. We had agreed to split up for a short time. It will all be in the report," she added. "You're stonewalling me," Allerton growled. Scully was so very proud of her ability to look stunned by the accusation. "Sir, I am giving you my full cooperation, just as you have given your full cooperation to us during this investigation." Allerton looked like he was going to explode, but settled for slamming his fist down on his desk. "Damn it, Scully, this isn't DC. And I'm not Walter Skinner. You two might have one AD tied up in knots, but not here. I want that report on this desk by 8 am tomorrow morning or you will find both your asses on the next available flight back home and Mulder will be up on disciplinary charges. Got that?" Scully clenched her teeth. "Yes, sir." Allerton forced a smile. "Good, now don't forget to relay that message to Agent Mulder for me. Oh, and tell him I hope he's feeling better, real soon." Scully fully doubted the sincerity of the last comment because it was said in such a sarcastic tone of voice. It was almost 11 when she made her way back to the hospital, after stopping at the hotel to change clothes. She had no intention of sitting around a hospital room all day in the suit she'd worn to Mass and she wanted desperately to distance herself from the run-in with Allerton. Mulder had been moved to a room on the fourth floor and was asleep when she entered. The nurse came in a few minutes later, to take vitals and wake him, per the doctor's instruction. He was pretty grumpy when he was shaken awake, but came to quickly and rubbed his eyes. "Mass was fast today," he yawned when he saw her. "And I bet the pastor loved your outfit," he added with a grin. She looked down at her Old Navy tee shirt and shorts. "Mulder, Mass was over an hour ago and I've changed. Apparently, you've been sleeping, which is a good thing." He nodded and closed his eyes. "I crashed big time after we finally got here. Imitating a pin cushion really wears on a guy." "Do you want to go back to sleep?" she asked, settling in the high backed padded chair opposite the foot of the bed. "Nah. They'll be filling the food troughs soon. I can stay awake that long. So, you went to church, changed clothes . . ." "Got reamed out by Allerton," she interrupted. He winced and it wasn't from physical pain. "Ouch. Sorry. What did he want, besides my ass in a sling?" "He wanted to know what happened last night. He got a call from the hospital. They must have standing orders to alert him if any agents become injured on or off duty. When he couldn't get either of us on our cell phones, he hit the roof. He had the wrong number for me, which made him come into the office on a Sunday. There must be 'blue laws' against that around here, he was really steamed." "But you handled him, right?" Mulder asked, trying to hide his anxiousness. She nodded confidently. "I handled him . . . for today. But he's expecting a report on his desk by 8 am, Mulder. You have to tell me what you want me to put in it." Mulder rubbed his forehead. "What I told you this morning, I guess," he said with a sigh. "Mulder, you can't be serious? I'm not going to report how you went, without backup, to a gay bar . . ." "You were in the parking lot, Scully. You were my backup," he interjected. She shot him a look and he shut up. "Be that as it may, you then proceeded to drop me off and go _alone_ to an abandoned gas station where you were attacked and injured sufficiently to merit a 24 hour stay in a hospital bed," she ended with her arms crossed. "You don't think that's going to cause him to blow a gasket?" "Scully, I asked you to keep them off my back," he reminded her. "Yes, I remember, but you have to help me out here!" she exclaimed. Taking a deep breath, she calmed down. "Mulder, we have to have proof. You know that. And the description you gave me of the assailant is not much help. You can't seriously think Allerton is going to buy the theory that you had this guy within reach and he got away. He's going to use that simple fact to hang you out to dry!" "It was him," Mulder said, locking her out and slumping deeper into his pillow. "It was him, Scully, and you're right, I let him get away." Now she was really angry. "Mulder, he got away because one agent should never have gone out to that site without backup! If someone had been nearby, they could have apprehended him on the simple basis that he assaulted you. That would have been enough to get him 48 hours in jail. He would have been off the streets that long, and we could have gathered the evidence we need to convict him of the murders!" Her chest was heaving by the time she finished. Mulder was suitably contrite. "I screwed up. But Scully, it was too dangerous to take you out there." When he saw her reaction to that comment, he immediately held up his hand so she wouldn't kill him on the spot. "Not dangerous for you, per se, but for the undercover aspects of the investigation! Scully, a guy on the prowl for young boys and sex does not bring a date! It would have blown everything!" His tirade started the pounding in his head and he put both hands to his temple. "Shit," he moaned. She sighed deeply and got up to perch on the edge of his bed. She pulled his hands down and replaced them with hers, tenderly rubbing circles right at the point where the pressure seemed unbearable. He wondered how the hell she knew exactly where to do that, but it was probably something they taught in medical school. Or not. Whatever, it worked and he was eternally grateful. Just as he was about to drift off to sleep, the nurse arrived. "Doctor ordered a liquid diet for now, he wanted to make sure you handled that. That little episode earlier this morning made him stop and think." "Little episode?" Scully asked with a raised eyebrow in Mulder's direction. He chewed his lip and studied the blanket under his hand. "I sort of got sick," he admitted. "All over the clean bed, right after we tucked him in," the nurse corrected cheerfully. "So, it's orange jello and chicken broth for lunch. If that stays down, we'll see if there isn't something yummy for dinner." She uncovered the tray, patted his arm and left with a smile. "Spring me and I'll do the next _15_ expense reports," he begged. "No way, Mulder. I'm immune to your offers. When you do the expense reports there are so many errors I end up having to do twice as much work on the corrected version. If you were sick earlier, the doctor is right to keep you under observation." "It was a dream," Mulder said in small voice. She softened immediately. "I'm sorry you had another nightmare. But Mulder, we can't be sure that it wasn't the head injury. I want you here, where there are people who can deal with you." "The straightjacket ward is four floors up, I'm told," he groused. "Well, that's nice to know, but I don't think we need to bother with it. Just eat up. And then try to sleep." "You going back to the hotel?" he asked around tiny bites of jello, each met with a grimace. "For a while. I'll be back up later. If you need me for anything, just call, OK?" "Scully, I can do that report. Just bring me the laptop," Mulder objected. She shook her head. "I'll let you 'embellish the fiction' after I've had a crack at it. I'll be back before supper. And if you've kept down the jello, I might sneak up something better." "You spoil me," he said with a tired smile. "Don't get used to it," she advised and left him to drift off to sleep. ***end of part 4*** Drought part 5 Rated R (this is a rough part) By Vickie Moseley Disclaimed in part one Memorial Hospital 2:45 pm Mulder was more bored than tired, but the lidocaine the surgeon had used to numb the area of the stitches was working its way into his system, making him lethargic and drowsy. Sunday afternoon baseball was a blow out--the Chicago Cubs vs. the St. Louis Cardinals and the boys in red had the boys in blue down by 8 runs in the bottom of the seventh. Even the baseball nut that he was had begun to grow bored as McGwire was on the bench and Sosa was off his game. He didn't want to fall asleep again. Waking up with a nurse holding his head up while he tossed his few cookies all over the bed was not his idea of fun. Add to that the fact that he was pretty sure he had been screaming in the throes of his nightmare. He remembered the dream clearly, he could imagine what he'd been yelling. So far no one had noticed or mentioned anything and he hoped the nurse had chalked it up to his encounter the night before. He yawned and flipped the channel, idly scratching a bandage on the left side of his ribs. Damn, it was going to be torture putting on a suit and tie tomorrow. He would much prefer sitting around the hotel in a nice soft tee shirt and chopped off sweats. But Allerton was expecting him to jump through his hoops and a little thing like a concussion sure wouldn't change matters. The History Channel suddenly appeared on the screen. Ancient Aztecs and their religious rituals. He'd started to watch the show once on a lazy afternoon, but he'd been called into the office by Skinner. He settled back and decided to finish watching the show. He closed his eyes for only a moment. When he opened them, he was in the 'lair'. He could smell the dumpster just out in the alley. He could feel the dampness and looked up to see the hole in the roof, several yards above him. If he didn't move, he was going to get soaked as the rainwater dripped through the opening. "It's easy as pie. I'm tellin' ya, you'll be a natural," said the voice he hadn't heard in just over 24 years. He saw himself, toeing at the mud created by the rainwater. The place was always wet, always muddy. The mud sucked at his tennis shoes every time he took a step. That's where his gaze was focused, on his muddy shoes. Anything rather than look at the man before him. "I can't do that." He could barely hear his own frightened whisper. His remark was met with chilling laughter. "Yeah, well, you can make a hunnerd bucks a night. For that, I think you *can* do that and a lot more. C'mon, you need money. I know you do. I'm givin' ya a chance to make all the money you need an' more. You won't never have to go back! That's what ya want, ain't it?" Looking on as he was, he could see the indecision in his own eyes. He could see his adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Slowly, he could see his own 14 year old face harden and nod almost imperceptibly. The smile on his companion's face grew feral. "Then let's get to it." Leo's hands reached for him and the images became sensations that clawed at his deepest memories, dredging up all the shock and horror, bringing it all back to the surface with such clarity that he could feel the screams tearing through his chest, muffled by the dirty fingers clamped across his mouth... hands on his body... hands-- Hands were holding him down and he was gasping for breath. "Does he need O2?" "No, just the mask. He's hyperventilating." Scully's voice. He could hear her, but couldn't break the dream enough to open his eyes. "Mulder, I want you to breathe, OK? Just try to take a breath. Breathe into the mask. C'mon, you can do it." Her words, sounding so much like that time long before, almost put him back in that place, the place of the dream. But her hand was stroking his head and it connected him to this place, this hospital bed, this time. He struggled to draw air into his lungs, to stop the panting he'd been reduced to under his dream. Finally, he got a deep enough breath and the next one came easier still. One after another, he got his breathing under control. Slowly, he was able to open his eyes. After the murky darkness of his dream, the room light made him want to close them again but he squinted instead, terrified that the dream would return to drag him back. He recognized the plastic mask over his face, but couldn't feel the rush of air that usually accompanied it. He was getting hot in the mask and pushed half-heartedly to get it off his face. Scully was holding the mask to his face with one hand and pressing him back against the pillows with the other, centered on his chest over his heart. She was wearing her 'doctor' face, professional and detached, but her eyes told him just how frightened she was. Any hope that he might keep her from this vanished. "M' OK," he gasped out, and she released the oxygen mask, letting it drop to the bed. Scully turned to look at the woman standing beside her. "I think he'll be all right now. I'll be staying for the rest of the evening." "Should I call the doctor? Does he need a sedative?" the nurse asked, still looking at Mulder like he would 'go code' at any moment. He managed a hoarse, "NO!", his voice cracking with panic. The last thing he needed was to be put to sleep again. Scully studied his face for a moment, then nodded to tell him she understood. She turned back to the nurse. "No, I think it was just a nightmare. He had a rather bad time of it last night. He'll be fine as long as someone is in the room with him." The nurse looked at them uncertainly. "I will have to put this in my notes. If you need anything, I'll be at the desk." She turned on her heel and left them alone. Mulder worked on calming himself down, getting his breathing back under control. He was acutely aware of the scrutiny he was receiving from his partner. "Mulder, you've got to tell me what's going on." The hand that had been pressing against his heart was now stroking his chest in soft circles, soothing him. The tenderness in her voice tightened his throat and he clamped his lips together to hide the tremble. "I can't." It was the same whispered plea from his dream, and he felt his stomach roll with nausea at the memory. "Scully, I have to--" He tossed the sheet aside and pulled away from her restraining hand. She knew what was happening so she grabbed the IV bag and untangled the line as he leaped from the bed. He made it to the toilet as the dry heaves began, cramping his stomach and filling his eyes with tears. Scully knelt beside him, gently rubbing his back. "You can't go on like this, Mulder. Why won't you let me help you?" The spasms were easing off. He accepted the handful of toilet paper she handed him, wiping his mouth and nose. He leaned back against the cool tile wall while Scully flushed the toilet and stood up. "Let me help you back to bed. I'm going to get you something for the vomiting." She took his hands and tugged him upright. He draped one arm over her strong shoulders, and together they got him back in his bed. He sagged back against the pillows, his head swimming. She hooked the IV solution bag back on the pole and sat down, her eyes not leaving him. "You can't stay here all night, Scully. Go back to the room. I'll be all right now." She gave him a look that told him what she thought of his lie. "I'm going to talk to the doctor and get you some Compazine. Just lie quietly until I get back." Mulder watched her stride purposefully from the room, his heart sinking with the knowledge that it was only a matter of time now. She would find out the truth, and nothing between them would ever be the same. Scully was standing at the nurses station, waiting for Mulder's doctor to answer his page, when Mulder's nurse approached her. The woman looked like someone with bad news to deliver, and Scully automatically looked down the hall to Mulder's door, half expecting to see the crash team. The nurse followed her gaze and began to apologize immediately. "He's fine. I'm sorry, but I need to talk to you. Do you have a moment?" There was something about her manner that multiplied Scully's already-growing alarm. "Of course." She followed the woman down the hall to a consultation room. They took seats on opposite sides of the desk, and Scully waited while the woman seemed to gather her nerve. "I don't know if I should be telling you this..." Scully stifled the urge to shake her by the shoulders. "Please. If you know something that can help Mulder, you need to tell me." The nurse nodded, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap. "He started crying in his sleep while I was taking his vitals. It was maybe five minutes before you came in. I tried to comfort him, but my touch seemed to upset him even more. He started begging me to stop, but I wasn't doing anything. Then, I listened more closely to what he was saying. I used to work in the Psych unit. Pediatric cases, mostly. And I'm familiar with the signs." She took a deep breath and looked up at Scully. "He sounded like a little boy, and he was pleading with someone to stop hurting him. I--I think your friend is reliving an episode of sexual abuse." 30 minutes later Mulder looked at the clock. Scully had been gone a very long time, and he was beginning to worry. She could keep him awake. He knew he should make her go back to the hotel to get some sleep, but he was afraid to be alone. Afraid of what he would see if he closed his eyes. He was about to ring for the nurse to find out where Scully was when the door opened. He was relieved, until he saw her face. "Scully, what's wrong?" She came slowly toward him and sat on the edge of his bed. "Mulder, I need to ask you something. I know it will be hard for you, but it's important that you tell me the truth." Her voice was very soft, and something about the way she was avoiding his eyes made his heart turn over. "Your nurse stopped me in the hall. She had something she wanted to tell me about what happened during your nightmare." She still wasn't looking at him. "What did she say?" He was horribly certain that he already knew. Scully finally looked up, meeting his eyes directly. "What she told me explains a great deal about the way you're reacting to this case, Mulder. You-- you were talking in your sleep. Crying out for someone to stop hurting you. It was obvious that what was being done to you..." Tears welled in her eyes, and she looked away. Mulder could feel the burn of shame in his face. So, she knew now. Everyone would know soon, but Scully knowing... The shame and the pain of what happened were nothing compared to what he was feeling now. She knows, and she will always see me differently, the thought kept circling in his head. Always. He tried to swallow around the boulder in his throat. "Scully, I... I can't talk about it. Please don't ask me to." It was a hoarse whisper, his voice strangled by the grief and humiliation. "Mulder, why didn't you tell Skinner you couldn't take a case like this? Why put yourself through it when you knew what would happen?" "Because there's no one else who can understand what these kids went through. Who better to find this animal than someone who's been there?" Her expression was odd. "What are you saying?" Mulder turned toward the window, staring out into the darkness. "I knew what was happening out here when I read the case, and I knew no one else would pick up on it. I knew it would take the kind of inside information only another--" "Oh my God." It was a whisper, but it might as well have been a shriek. He looked up at her face and saw shock. And pity. "Scully?" He couldn't fathom what he'd said that could have been any more shocking than what she'd already heard from the nurse. She was looking at him with such sadness in her eyes that he wanted to murder whoever had done this to her. But of course, that would be himself. "Mulder..." She reached for his hand, tears brimming in her eyes. And with gut-twisting suddenness, it dawned on him. Whatever she had deduced from the nurse's words, it wasn't the horror that he had just inadvertently confirmed. No matter what happened for the rest of his miserable life, nothing would ever hurt as much as the pity in her eyes. He struggled to find his voice. "Please go back to the room." He couldn't look at her. He was certain he would never be able to meet her eyes again. Her grip on his hand tightened as he tried to pull away. Her voice was soft but insistent. "I am not leaving you alone, Mulder. Not now. Not ever, do you understand me?" He kept his eyes downcast, shaking his head. "Please go." "No, Mulder. I won't. Yes, I'm shocked, but not in the way you seem to think. The nurse thought you were exhibiting signs of childhood sexual abuse, and that's what I thought, too. And, Mulder, that's exactly what it was. No matter what you think, you did not have the maturity or the understanding to consent to what happened. You are a victim, and I refuse to let you do this to yourself." She cupped his chin, refusing to let him avoid her eyes any longer. "You have nothing to be ashamed of." He finally let himself look into her eyes, and what he saw there took his breath away. Unconditional love, unquestioning acceptance. Salvation. A horrible weight lifted from his heart. "I guess you won't be doubting my theories on this case quite so readily." He tried for a smile. It felt pretty wobbly, but it brought an immediate response from his partner. "I think you deserve the benefit of the doubt this time." Her smile was as watery as his, but a corner had been turned. A disaster averted. An abyss sidestepped. "I want to tell you the rest." He swallowed, trying to moisten his parched throat. "I need to tell you." Scully rubbed his arm and nodded. "It was a long time ago," he started quietly, picking at the tape holding down the IV on his left wrist. "It was after Sam had been gone a year. I waited a year and when there was still no sign . . . I had to get out." "You ran away." He nodded. "One night, after Dad had drunk himself into a stupor and Mom had popped the evening's worth of valium, I snuck out the door with the clothes on my back and $267 I had from mowing lawns and raking leaves in our neighborhood. I didn't even bother with a note. I figured no one would notice I was gone for at least a couple of days. "I just took off. Tuesday before Thanksgiving, 1994. Nobody realized I wasn't where I was supposed to be until the next Tuesday when the school called to see if we were back from our 'vacation'. Then, well, I wasn't there but I guess all hell broke loose. It was during that time my mother decided to file for divorce." He was silent for a moment. "I ended up in Detroit, of all places. Hitchhiking back then was pretty easy. Since it was the holidays, I was on the road with plenty of other people, college kids, mostly, trying to get home on the cheap. I was tall for my age so I blended right in. I had $106 and some change when I hit the Michigan border. That's also when I got rolled." He grinned at her intake of breath. "I wasn't hurt, Scully. They saw me with the money at a rest stop and grabbed it. I got a bruise, that's all. But the money was gone and that was worse than if they'd killed me because I had no idea how to get more. It was near the bus station in downtown Motor City that I met Leo." His stomach rolled again at the memory, and Scully must have seen it in his face. She squeezed his hand, and he plowed ahead. "I don't think that was his name. I think that was his zodiac sign. Anyway, he, uh, he taught me how to, uh . . ." He had to clench his jaw and close his eyes to stop from losing his meager lunch all over his partner. With determination he didn't know he had, he continued. "I hadn't eaten in a couple of days. That's when I first noticed that my stomach cramps up when I'm really hungry. Great lesson, huh," he said with a bitter laugh. "Anyway, Leo saw me hanging around the bus station. I guess I thought someone would give me a ticket or something. I don't know. Seemed like there weren't that many cops around the place. Anyway, he brought me to this old factory building not far from there. I think they've made it into a shopping mall and loft apartments now." "Mulder," she said, squeezing his hand. "You don't have to do this." His eyes moved to their entwined hands and then up to her face. "Yeah, I do. I think it will explain a lot." His gaze returned to the dark window, as if looking at its surface was a way to see the past. "He taught me to turn tricks, sex for money. I was scared to do it but I wasn't going back. I couldn't face the . . . loneliness, the waiting. We were all just waiting. Like any minute, Sam was going to walk through the front door like nothing ever happened. I couldn't take that." He closed his eyes and one tear broke free. "How did you . . . get out?" she asked in a small voice. He grinned again, but it didn't reach his eyes. "One night a trick tried to make me do something I didn't want to do. He hit me a few times but I got away from him. When I got back to the place, that old factory, and told Leo I didn't have the money, he roughed me up pretty bad." He looked at her, and for the first time, a genuine smile came to his lips. "You'll like this next part, Scully. I ran, from Leo, from all of it and I ended up, about midnight, at this little church that's tucked in the middle of the city. It had lots of doorways and I'd seen people sleeping in doorways so I thought I'd be safe there. The temperature dropped to 10 above that night. The old priest found me the next morning, when he went in the church to say morning Mass. I was half frozen through, I think. He got me to a hospital." He nodded again, looking away, but his eyes weren't as tortured. "Father Daly. What a character. I could barely understand him through his brogue. He was there at the hospital when I came to, convinced me to call my parents. My Mom's brother came and got me and took me home." "That's how you knew, the other day. That's how you've known all along." He nodded, just letting the warmth of her hand chase away the chill of the memories. "I never told anybody. Not my parents, not my uncle. I never even really told Father Daly. He just guessed." He was feeling tired all of a sudden. Drained. When his eyes began to slip shut, he panicked for a moment. Scully's hands tightened on his, giving him her strength. "Go to sleep now." She brushed the damp hair back from his forehead with tender fingers. "I'll be right here." And for the first time since this nightmare began, he closed his eyes and smiled. Monday, June 16 8:25 am "Good job, Dr. Scully," Mulder grinned up at her. They were in the car and on the way to the Bureau office, having narrowly escaped the extra day of observation Mulder's doctor had wanted to impose. Scully wasn't quite as enthused about her partner's quick recovery as she had let the doctor think. In fact, she was watching Mulder with all the intensity she would confer upon a science experiment. A science experiment she fully expected to turn very wrong at any moment. "I think you should turn in your report and go straight back to the room, Mulder," she said. She knew he'd been up before 5 am working on the report because the night nurse had ratted him out. "Better still, we could go back to the room and send him the report email." "Allerton would love that," he huffed. "Scully, I'm doing much better this morning. I'm a little stiff and sore, and these damned stitches itch like a muther," he stopped at the jerk of her head and grinned broadly. "But I'll be fine. I slept like a baby last night!" "You slept for approximately 9 hours. That's hardly a world's record," she intoned. "For you, maybe. But for me, and on a profiling case, hey, I should mark today down on my calendar," he said with a wink. "Besides, we're here," he pointed out, gingerly getting out of the car, but still beating her to the building doors by a good three steps. Scully sighed. She knew it was going to be a very long day. Mulder was right about one thing, Allerton was not in any mood to mess with. They arrived at the Bureau office a little after 8:30 and no fewer than two agents and a secretary informed them that the SAC was looking for them. Mulder handed Scully her laptop to find a printer while he headed up to Allerton's office. Allerton was on the phone when Mulder knocked, so he motioned the agent to sit down. "I can understand your concern, Congressman Wellman, but we already have two agents from Headquarters out here working on the case. Yes, a profiler and a pathologist. They're partners, and they have a rather impressive solved case ratio." Allerton tossed a folded newspaper across the desk for Mulder to see. Picking the paper up, Mulder unfolded it and read the headline blazed across the top. Four boys dead, are more to come? Mulder's stomach dropped a few feet, but he kept his breathing steady. The article contained a rather lengthy interview with Tom Davidson. Mr. Davidson was quite the talker, especially when a newspaper exclusive was involved. He told the sordid story of his dearly departed stepson, how he'd run away from home only to find death on the prairie. How there were probably more bodies hidden in culverts along the cornfields. Mulder swallowed his disgust and tossed the paper back on the desk. "Well, sir, it's really not Bureau policy to do a press conference at this point in the investigation," Allerton said into the phone. "We have no real leads. No, sir, that's not what I'm saying. We have leads, just not the kind that lead to arrest. If we play our hand too soon, it could jeopardize the investigation and possibly the trial of anyone we might indict. Yes, Congressman, I understand that this is an election year, but you have to realize . . ." Mulder let his head fall back, working the stiffness out of his neck. Shit, a vote grabbing Congressman. Just what they needed. He closed his eyes and willed himself not to listen. He was unsuccessful. "No, sir. No, it's not necessary to contact Ms. Reno or the Chairman of the Oversight Committee. No, I'm sure we can come up with something that won't jeopardize our efforts. Just let me know the time and place. Yes, sir. I appreciate that, Congressman. Thank you." Allerton hung up the phone with exaggerated slowness, obviously wanting to break the instrument in two, but not daring to do so. Finally he looked up at Mulder. "We are well and truly fucked, Spooky, my friend," he said with a rueful smile. "We have nothing to give the press. Can't we just call in the Public Information Officer out of Chicago? They can tap dance with the best of them," Mulder suggested. He'd had actual personal experience with the Chicago PIO just weeks ago. Allerton's smile turned bitter. "Chicago might as well be in another galaxy to these folks, Mulder. They want the men on the front line, the locals. Better yet, they want the pros from Dover who are here to solve this. And in this case, that happens to be you." Mulder's eyes widened. "Steve, c'mon. You know you can't put me in front of the cameras," he said, shaking his head. "You've done it before," Allerton reminded him. "Patterson used to drag you out all the time." "That was different," Mulder reasoned. "You can't do this. We're close but . . ." Allerton held up his hand, ended that part of the discussion. "What did you find on your snipe hunt the other night?" The SAC crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. Mulder bit his lip. "You found the guy, but he got away, is that it?" It sounded like an accusation and it rubbed Mulder the wrong way. "I got a good look at the car," Mulder said. "Plate number?" "Too blurry. One of those old plastic covers." Allerton chewed on his bottom lip. "So you didn't see the guy's face?" Mulder shook his head slowly. He wanted so much to say he'd seen the guy's eyes, he would know those eyes anywhere, but he knew Allerton didn't want to hear that. "No, I didn't." "Well, it's going to take a few hours for the Congressman to put a press conference together. I'll go over your report, send someone out to the scene. Maybe they can pick up some prints. Besides yours," he added sourly. "I'd like to go out there," Mulder said warily. Allerton gave him a good hard stare. "Did the doctor release you for duty?" Mulder nodded. It wasn't really a lie. The doctor hadn't said one way or the other about releasing him for duty. Scully might have expressed a differing opinion, but she wasn't in the room. Allerton pulled the newspaper over toward him and then tossed it in the trash. "Mulder, so help me God, if you screw this up, there isn't an outpost remote enough to hide you, you understand what I'm saying?" Allerton growled. "Yeah, I do," Mulder said with a nod. "Stay in touch. And don't mess yourself up any more. Damned media vultures will accuse us of beating the help," Allerton said, waving him out of the room. Scully caught up with him about three seconds later. Breathlessly, she handed him his report, freshly printed. "The first printer I found was out of ink, the second one had a paper jam. Third time was a charm. What did Allerton say to you?" Mulder had turned on his heel and headed back to Allerton's assistant's desk, where he gave the report to the woman who had helped him their first day. With a charming smile and a wink, he'd ensured the report would make it to Allerton's desk without Mulder getting in the line of fire again. Then he ushered Scully back down the hall. "The circus is in town, Scully," he said with a humorless smile. "Some 'on the edge of his seat' Congressman wants to use this case as a way to keep his condo in Annapolis. He's calling a press conference for later." Scully's face expressed her shocked dismay. "Mulder, can't the Public Information Officer handle that?" Mulder shook his head. "Allerton was trying to get the guy to see reason, but he inadvertently let it slip that we're here from DC. Now, I get to see if I can scrounge up an equity card before my big debut." He was walking and talking, dodging other agents and clerical staff as they headed back to the elevator and the lower floor. "He wants _you_ at the press conference. That . . . that's insane!" she shouted. He feigned a hurt expression. "Gee, Scully, kill a guy's ego, why don't ya?" "Mulder, you know what I mean! If you're right and you did encounter the killer the other night, you become a sitting duck. He'll know where you are but we won't know where he is," she hissed angrily. "Maybe it's a good thing I carry a loaded gun, then, huh?" he said with a wink. She grabbed his arm, accidentally scraping his side in the process. He winced and she was more careful as she slid her hand down to clasp his hand. "You aren't taking this seriously. Mulder, you're in no condition to play bait right now." They caught an elevator and he leaned heavily back against the wall. "I don't intend to play bait, Scully. I just want to catch this guy. If smoking him out a little makes that happen sooner rather than later, I'm all for it." "No more going off alone, Mulder," she said through gritted teeth. "No more 'undercover' crap. Either I'm with you or you are handcuffed to the nearest radiator." Mulder rolled his eyes. "Everybody's trying to give me stuff," he said with exasperation. "Allerton's going to send me on vacation to Greenland and you wanna get kinky on me. Sheez, it's just so hard to choose!" She stood there, arms crossed, her expression, stone. "I get it, Scully," he said with a sigh. "I'm not going anywhere without you. But don't you think you're a little short to play Kevin Costner's part?" "OK, Mulder. Now you have to watch your _back_, too," she growled, but it turned into a grin because she knew he was agreeing with her. "So, where are we going?" He had his hand to her back and was walking her toward the exit. "Out to the scene," he said and wiggled his eyebrows. "At least it's daylight," she said with a tired sigh. ***end of part 5*** Sinclair Gas Station Divernon Blacktop 9:45 am It was much brighter than he'd expected, or hoped. The glare off the once white metal-sided building, coupled with the old white gravel of the parking lot were conspiring to make Mulder's head explode. The three cars full of Bureau agents swarming the place, and none too quietly, weren't helping matters. He jerked when Scully touched his elbow. "Do you need to sit down?" she asked. He shook his head and immediately regretted it. Checking himself back into the hospital sounded really good, but sitting down was not an option. "Agent Mulder, is this your gun?" a young agent asked, holding out Mulder's Smith and Wesson. Mulder licked his lips and nodded. "Yeah. It's mine." "We dusted it for prints, sir. Only found one set. Probably yours. Should we bag it?" He started to shake his head again, but remembered the last time and just voiced his opinion. "Nah, I'll take it." The young agent looked dubious, but relented. Mulder holstered the weapon and turned to Scully. "Look, one less form to file," he tried for a grin but it missed by a considerable distance. The men were starting to search the cornfield surrounding the station. Mulder headed into the building, in part to get away from the relentless sun beating on his head, and to see what they might have missed inside. It was cooler in the building, but the sunlight through the windows promised blinding heat in just a few hours. Mulder started to the left of the door and worked his way around the room. He could picture his struggle with the assailant, almost every step of it. He kept trying to get the guy to freeze in his mind, to get a good look at that face, but his memory was not in a mood to cooperate. He scratched at a stitch through his dress shirt and sighed. Scully had started at the other side of the room and was making her way toward him. "They took a pile of blankets they found over there. Maybe they can get some fibers or hair," she said hopefully. Mulder didn't bother to shake his head at her. She already knew he thought that was a long shot. "He was here, Scully. That kid. If we could find him, he could give us a better description." His eyes fell on a hole in the wallboard dividing the garage section from the 'convenience store' section of the station. "Maybe he took off through there," he mused, leaning down to inspect the hole better. It was about 2 feet in diameter, just big enough for the boy to wiggle through. "Maybe he left a trail," he said aloud and went over to the door between the rooms. It was locked. "There has to be a way in." Mulder went back out the outside door, searching the building for another entrance to the convenience store. He kicked at the siding where it might have been loose, jiggled the glass front door to find it locked from the inside. He was peering through a small window that allowed the station manager to take money without leaving the protection of the station when one of the agents in the cornfield started shouting. "I found another one!" Mulder was still on the other side of the building and was the last to arrive at the cluster of agents, staring at an irrigation ditch that ran through the field. He was grateful that Scully had somehow wiggled her way into the center of the crowd and he could just see her crouched down next to what looked like a pile of old clothes. "Call the ME," she called out to anyone with a cell phone handy. "Careful, get forensics over here, pronto. The ground is muddy here, we might be able to get some castings." He had to smile to himself, she sounded so in charge, in control. He knew that if it weren't for him, she'd be on the fast track. But then, he remembered that as a woman, she'd have a much harder time getting up the ladder past that invisible glass ceiling. Maybe she was all right where she was. "Mulder, c'mere. I want you to see this," she called up to him on the bank. "Step there, on those rushes. You won't disturb the mud that way," she directed him. It was awkward and he had to hold his body stiffly as he angled down the bank, which pulled every stitch on the left side of his body, but finally he was near her and lowered himself painfully to a crouch. "It's smeared. Can you make it out?" She was pointing to a spot just under the arm of the body lying half in the water. Mulder squinted against the rising sun and chewed his lip. "I. I think that might be a G? No, it's an S. IS. Damn, where's a Bible when you need one?" he asked to no one in particular. "IS is Isaiah," Scully said quietly. "I thought Catholics never read the Bible," he said with a twinkle in his eye. She gave him a look, but not a verbal response. "I'm pretty sure that's a 1. And the next numbers appear to be 10. Isaiah 1: 10," she said, standing up and looking toward the road. "I don't want to move the body until forensics gets here, but I'd like . . ." She looked down at her partner, who had all but fallen in the water near her feet. "Mulder, are you OK?" "Oh God," he whispered. "Oh, god, goddamn it, no, no, no . . ." He had crouched down in the water near the head of the body where he could see the face of the dead boy. "Oh, please, god, no," he was saying, his voice dry and cracked as tears coursed down his face. "NO!" he yelled and tore up the bank of the ditch, pushing past confused agents and running as fast as he could. Scully was shocked at his behavior, but covered well. She directed the agents to keep back, and watch for the forensics team and the ME. Then she took off after her partner. She caught up with him near the road, where he was kneeling on the ground, arms wrapped around himself, rocking and sobbing. She wrapped her own arms around him, rocking with his movements. "Mulder," she spoke softly, trying to break through his anguish. "Mulder, what is it?" "It was him, Scully. The kid. The kid I met the other night. Oh god, that bastard came back and found him and killed him. I could have saved him, Scully. I should have looked for him, brought him back with me. I should have gone after that son of a bitch. I let this happen, Scully. I killed that boy," he rambled and rambled until he was too tired to go on. "I killed him," he sobbed into her shoulder. She was confused, but right now it was her partner who needed her attention. "Mulder, you were hurt. And you said he wasn't there when you went in the garage after the killer. The boy wasn't there. You couldn't possibly have known the killer would double back. It's not your fault." Her words were falling on deaf ears. Suddenly, Scully was aware that some of the agents had gathered a few yards away and were observing their actions closely. She realized how it looked, and where it could lead if she didn't do something quickly. "Agent Mulder has taken ill. Could one of you bring our car around," she asked in a loud voice. One of the younger agents stepped forward and she tossed him the keys to the rental. He ran off in the direction of the car. She could turn her attention to her partner. "Mulder, they're bringing the car around. We need to get back to the hotel. All right?" She was talking slowly, in hushed tones, crossing her fingers that he was even listening to her. Almost imperceptively, he nodded. She sighed in relief. The crunch of tires on gravel alerted her to the proximity of their car. "OK, can you stand up?" she asked. This time the nod was more pronounced. She rose to her feet and then reached down to take his hands and help him stand. He was wobbly on his feet, again giving credence to his 'illness'. She put her arm around his back and helped him to the passenger seat of the car. "Do you need help getting him back, Agent Scully?" the young agent asked worriedly. She smiled at him and wished she could remember his name. "No, thank you, agent. I just need to get him back to his room. He just got out of the hospital this morning, he probably shouldn't have been out here this long. I'll head on over to the morgue as soon as he's settled." Once on the road, Mulder just stared out the window. Scully kept her attention to driving, but her partner's silence was eating at her. They were at the city limits when she finally could stand it no more. "Mulder, do you need me to stay with you?" she asked, licking her lips. He appeared not to have heard her. "Mulder, I need to know. I should get over to the morgue. There might have been some evidence this time. I need to get started on the autopsy," she continued, as if he was an active participant in the conversation. "I want you to do the autopsy, Scully," he said in a voice just loud enough to be heard over the car's air conditioner. "But will you be all right, Mulder?" she asked anxiously. "I don't want to leave you alone . . ." "I'm not suicidal, Scully," he said with a tired sigh. "I just . . . I just feel so . . ." "It's perfectly understandable that you feel responsible, but you have to understand. There was no way you could have stopped this. He took you out of the equation, Mulder, the minute he tried to kill you behind that car. If he came back later and killed that boy, there was nothing you could have done about it. If you'd still been there, you'd be dead right now, too. I'm sure of it." "I'll look up the passage when I get back to the room," he said neatly side stepping the subject. "If he's running true to form, there'll be another murder and soon." "I think you should get some rest, Mulder," she offered. He gave her a look and went back to staring out the window. "I'll rest when it's over." They arrived at the hotel and Scully rushed around the car to open the passenger side door for Mulder, but he'd beat her to it. She reached for his arm, but he shook her off, then gave her a sad smile to smooth her ruffled feathers. "I'm OK, Scully. I just need to get something." She was following his steps doggedly, watching him closely for any misstep. He was taking slow strides, but he was steady on his feet. He looked over at her and could see the confusion in her eyes. "I'm not gonna keel over, I promise. I just want to get something out of the room. Then we better get over to the morgue." Her eyes grew wide. "We? Is there a mouse in my pocket?" "Cute," he replied with an appreciative nod. "No, I'm going with you." At her answering sputter, he shook his head. "I hared out back there. I'm sorry. I'll apologize to the team, whatever. But it just came as a shock and I know what I have to do now. This bastard is going to kill another kid and another and more and more and when he runs out of them around here he's going to move to someplace bigger, like St. Louis or Chicago and I have to stop him while I still can." She did not like the sound of that last comment at all. She bit her lip. He smiled that sad smile again and brought his finger up to touch her mouth, running it over the place she'd just bitten. "It'll be OK, Scully. I swear." He opened the door to his room and went straight for the nightstand and pulled out the Gideons' Bible, then turned and headed out into the hallway. She shrugged and followed him back out to the car. He had his glasses on, looking for the right page. "Isaiah," he muttered. "Old Testament, right after Song of Solomon," she directed him. He gave her a raised eyebrow. "What?" "I'm just trying to picture you in a nun habit," he grinned. "Keep it up, Mulder and I'll turn your other cheek," she growled. "Promises, promises," he shot back but quickly turned his attention to the book in his hands. He was quiet for several minutes. "What does it say?" she asked. "I think we have problems," he said quietly. "It says that?" she asked. "Mulder, what does it say?" "'Hear the word of the Lord, ye rulers of Sodom; give ear unto the law of our God, ye people of Gomor'rah.'" He looked up at her, and cleared his throat. "We've got big problems, Scully." "Sodom and Gomorrah?" Scully quoted back to him. "I vaguely remember something about Mrs. Lot being turned to stone," Mulder nodded pensively. "Mulder, that goes way beyond just killing runaways. What do you think it means?" "That's a question I better have an answer for and soon, I'm afraid," he said, staring out the window. They were silent the rest of the ride. He waited for her to finish the autopsy, sitting on a metal gurney, but far enough away not to witness much of the actual procedure. She wished he wouldn't stare at her, but she was certain he was doing so to avoid staring at the body she was working over. "This doesn't make sense," she said aloud, apart from the steady droning into the microphone as she recorded the statistical information for later transcription. "Hmm," he offered, squirming a bit. On other occasions he might have jumped off the table and come closer, but this time he wanted the distance. "What?" he asked when his grunt didn't get a response. "It doesn't add up. The time of death . . ." "It's hot outside, Scully. You said that could screw with the time of death," Mulder said helpfully. "But not to this extent. Of course, the body was in running water, but it seems inconsistent . . ." Mulder decided he had to move closer. "What's the problem?" he asked, standing right beside her. No matter how many times he looked over her shoulder during an autopsy he could never get used to it. All he could do was wonder at her fortitude and curse his own sensitivity to such things. "Mulder, this body has been dead more than 24 hours. Even given the heat, given the water, it looks more like decomposition I would expect in a 60 to 72 hour corpse. Are you certain you saw this boy the other night?" A chill ran straight down Mulder's spine. "Scully, he's wearing the exact same clothes," he said solemnly. "Cut off jeans and a gray tee shirt are pretty much standard issue on kids today, Mulder." "It's a Jurassic Park tee shirt, Scully. A t-rex stomping through some underbrush. Pretty old tee shirt, since that movie came out a few years back. I'm guessing he got it in a dumpster or secondhand store somewhere," Mulder mused. He walked over absently and picked up the remains of the clothing that Scully had cut off the body. T-rex growled up at him. More than that, 3 twenties and a ten were stuffed in the front pocket. One of the twenties was a new version, Mulder remembered getting it from the ATM machine at Dulles Airport. She saw him examining the money and tee shirt. "Maybe I'm mistaken," she said hesitantly. "If you hadn't known that I saw that kid, Scully, what would you put down in your report?" He was standing just over her now, he could smell her perfume and the faint odor of sweat. She licked her lips slowly. "I'd put down time of death at between 60 and 72 hours," she said evenly. "But Mulder, we know . . ." "Put it down, Scully. Trust your eyes," he told her. "Then you think this might not be the same boy?" she asked. He shook his head. "It's the same kid. I'm sure of it. I just don't know if he was still on the same plain of existence we're currently inhabiting," he said with a thoughtful expression. "A ghost? Mulder, you can't be serious . . ." "Scully, I talked to him. I gave him fifty bucks, two twenties and a ten. It's all there in his pocket. Besides, there is no way he could have escaped that garage without either me or the killer seeing him. The killer didn't say a word, didn't act like anyone was in that room with him. He was coming there for something. I don't know what, but it wasn't that boy." "You found that hole in the wall," she reminded him. "Which led to a locked room," he countered. "The exit was padlocked." "He could have hidden in there until you both left," Scully shot back. "Or maybe he didn't need to hide," Mulder responded. "Mulder, I just think this is . . . it's reaching. Even for you." She touched his sleeve, and ran her hand up his arm. "I know you are trying to distance yourself from his death, but Mulder . . ." "Is there any way that body could be in its current state of decomposition if death occurred 30 hours ago, Scully?" he said tersely. She bit her lip and slowly shook her head. Mulder sighed in relief. "But he was trying to tell me something," he said more to himself than to his partner. "Could you . . . have . . . imagined talking to him," she stumbled, not wanting to upset him. "I talked to him _before_ the guy conked me on the head, Scully. I'm pretty sure I was lucid at the time," he spat out through clenched teeth. He drew in a breath and softened his expression. "I know what you're trying to do and I understand it, believe me. But don't try to reconcile the time of death to my encounter. Please. Put down exactly what the evidence is showing you." She nodded. His phone started ringing and startled them both. Mulder walked away from his partner and her work as he talked into the phone. "Mulder. Yes sir." He glanced at his watch. "In an hour. Where?" His notebook was retrieved from an inside jacket pocket and he scribbled a note. "Yes, sir, I'll be there." He punched off the phone and smiled tiredly at Scully. "Show time, one hour. Care to take a scenic tour of the Illinois Statehouse, Scully? Our press conference is there and we've just enough time to make it." The drive over was hot and tiring, made worse by a sudden surge of traffic. Mulder looked at his watch and noted it was just a little past 1. People were hurrying back to work after the lunch hour. He sighed, leaned his head against the seat and tried not to think about the pounding in his head or the itch at his sides. "What are you going to say?" Scully asked when they hit their fourth red light in as many blocks. He shrugged. "I'll answer the questions. They never give me time for a prepared statement anyway." She chewed on her lip. "What?" he asked, noting her discomfort. "I really wish you'd worn a different tie," she covered her real worry with a wink. He looked down at the work of modern art splashed between the lapels of his fairly conservative gray suit. "What's wrong with this one? They can use it for the test pattern." She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the traffic. The guard at the state parking lot seemed unperturbed by their appearance and their badges. He waved them casually over to a vacant space and pointed them in the general direction of the closest entrance to the statehouse. Once inside Allerton met them. "Don't mention the quotations, we don't want to start a rash of copycats," he warned, without bothering with a greeting. "And for God's sakes, tap dance around what happened the other night. If it gets out that you went alone to that gas station, we'll both end up fry cooks in a Denny's somewhere." Mulder nodded without a word. Scully tried to keep up as the two men all but sprinted toward a set of elevators in one corner of the spacious rotunda. She glanced up and several yards above her saw the inside stained glass of the dome of the building. A perfect depiction of the state seal glittered in the early afternoon sunlight filtering through the high windows. Below that, bronze panels showed the history of the state up to Lincoln's Presidency, from what she could tell. Orange marble, buffed to a brilliance covered every surface she could see. "It's a pretty capitol," she noted as they entered the elevator, the walls of which were covered in mahogany. "It's gaudy, but it's home," said a woman standing by the buttons. "I bet you're going to M, the press conference," she said with a nod to Allerton. "Hello, SAC Allerton," she said with a bright smile. "Ms. Greenburg, nice to see you again," Allerton said tersely. He didn't like this woman, or was he just afraid of her, Scully wondered. "You must be the DC agents mentioned in Wellman's statement," Greenburg said, warmly shaking first Scully's hand and then Mulder's. "Welcome to Springfield. Hope you get to do some sightseeing before you head back." "They're here on business," Allerton chided. "Hey, sales taxes, SAC Allerton," she smiled lightly. "The least you feds can do is help the state economy." Thankfully, the doors to the elevator opened. As the woman stepped out of hearing range, Allerton leaned over to Mulder. "She's the political reporter for the local rag. Watch her like a hawk. If she's here, that means we're in for a rough ride." "Why would the political reporter be interested in a serial killer?" Scully asked, dumbfounded. "In this town, politics supercedes everything, even murder," Allerton answered. "The fact the Congressman is holding this press conference means we're just window dressing. Let's keep it that way." Allerton led Mulder up to the front of a low- ceilinged room with a blue velvet curtain covering the back wall from top to bottom. Blue chairs similar, ten across, lined up in 8 or 9 rows deep. In the back of the room, where they had entered, a raised platform covered in blue carpet held at least half a dozen television cameras and their attendant cameramen. "You must be the pathologist, since they've already dragged the profiler up there," said a voice beside her. Scully turned and stared into Ms. Greenburg's light blue eyes. "SAC Allerton has the worst manners. I'm Bett Greenburg, with the J-R." She held her hand out to Scully who took it reluctantly. "I'm Agent Dana Scully and I really shouldn't be talking to you," she said, starting to pull away. "Hey, don't run off. My notebook is firmly in my pocket," Bett said with a grin. "I won't get to work until Max is here anyway." "Max?" Scully asked, hating herself for still engaging in a potentially dangerous conversation with a reporter. "Maximilian Wellman, M.C.," Bett dropped her voice conspiratorially. "Congressman Wellman. Max. He's been around a while. Anyway, I guess you just get to watch from the back, huh?" "Unless someone asks a question about one of the autopsies," Scully noted, feeling a little safer. "Your partner's cute. Where'd he get that bandage on his temple?" Scully caught her breath and Bett rushed to explain herself. "Sorry, my hubby's a doc. It's in the family. Wasn't Agent Mulder admitted to the hospital early yesterday?" At Scully's raised eyebrow, the woman looked contrite. "I _am_ a reporter, Agent Scully. I was just curious. And as I mentioned, you aren't the story here. Congressman Wellman is." "I'm really not . . ." " . . . at liberty to say, yeah, I get that a lot from people in this building," Bet said with a chuckle. Then she looked up to the front of the room, which was fast filling up with people. "Show will start soon. Your partner looks a little pale, but then, it could just be the lights." She looked back at Scully and stuck out her hand again. "Well, agent, good luck." Scully took the woman's hand again, though with little enthusiasm. As the reporter walked away to find a seat in the front row, one presumably saved for her from the looks of the others moving out of her way, Scully breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone was taking seats except for Allerton, Mulder and a few people near the podium. Scully found a seat on the aisle on the left side of the room. A bank of window tops were at floor level, giving the room an odd look. She realized the room was actually the top half of a much bigger room, since the windows extended way below the floor level. She was pondering that situation when a commotion started in the back of the room. A tall gentleman with wavy salt and pepper hair and a hounds-tooth patterned suit coat was making his way to the front of the room, broadly shaking hands as he passed the people in the seats. Congressman, Scully thought to herself. Wellman finally made it up to the front of the room where he shook hands with both Allerton and Mulder before turning his attention to the front row of reporters. He shook hands with each of them, exchanging a word or two. Bett Greenburg apparently merited more than just a comment, the Congressman stood with her long enough to tell her a brief joke, which brought a round of laughs from those around them. Scully let her eyes drift back to her partner. He did look pale, and it wasn't just the lights. From the looks of it, the lights at the front, for the sake of the camera, had the intensity and brightness of a noonday sun. Sweat was appearing on Allerton's upper lip and she could see a drop slide down Mulder's cheek from his hairline. He was squinting at the brightness, and his lips were a tight line across his face. He had to be hurting big time and she wished she'd forced another Tylenol down him before they got on the elevator. A young man in a black suit called the press conference to order. He introduced the people assembled at the front of the room. That's when Scully saw him. Tom Davidson, looking as 'sorrowful' as possible in a new suit just a size too tight for his considerable girth. Scully saw that the suit was new because the price tag was still attached to the sleeve under the man's arm. Mulder must have realized Davidson was there about the same time as Scully because his eyes sought hers and rolled in frustration. It was bad enough that he was up there, to have to share the humiliation with a child beater was too much. She saw his hands bunch into fists and saw him fight to keep his breathing steady. Great. He was going to pass out from the lights or hyperventilate before this whole thing was over. Wellman opened the conference by reading a prepared statement, calling the deaths 'tragedies of the most heinous nature' and calling upon the combined efforts of the local, state and federal officials to find the person responsible immediately. Then he turned the podium over to Davidson. To the person sitting in the audience, Davidson appeared sincere and truly broken. Scully wondered if that was how the man got through life, lying through his teeth. He was very much at ease with it. He spoke fondly of Jeremy, talked of how they used to play touch football on the church youth league team. He spoke of his wife, who was so overcome with grief that she couldn't leave the motel room. He spoke of how they were making arrangements to take Jeremy back home to be buried next to his birth father, how they would never leave his grave unattended, through holidays and birthdays. How Jeremy would always be with them in their hearts. Even Scully's stomach was beginning to turn by the time Wellman called upon the FBI agents to answer questions from the press. Allerton was first up and made a point of saying that the FBI had been called in after the third body had been found, that they were working 'around the clock' on the case and felt confident that the perpetrator would be apprehended soon. A hand went up in the front and Scully could just make out that it was Bett, who rose to ask her question. "Can you confirm a report that your profiler has actually seen the killer, SAC Allerton? Seen him and was even attacked by him, but the killer got away?" Scully could see Allerton grow instantly pale and the sweat seemed to sparkle as it traced a path around his ear and down to his jaw where it hung for dear life. "I'm not sure where you got this report, Ms. Greenburg, but believe me, it's unsubstantiated," Allerton insisted. Bett nodded her head. "Then maybe I can ask the source. Agent Mulder, could you tell us if that bandage on your head is in any way related to this case?" Wellman's eyes grew to the size of saucers and it was obvious he was furious at being kept out of the loop. Even Davidson was looking miffed that he hadn't heard this 'unsubstantiated rumor'. Mulder calmly stepped out of Allerton's shadow and addressed Bett. "As SAC Allerton has already informed you, there is nothing to substantiate the rumor that I was attacked by the killer." He said it more calmly than Scully could imagine him being, but she also noticed that his clenched fist was trembling as it rested against his pants leg. "But you were attacked, correct? You were admitted to Memorial Medical Center at a little before 3 in the morning, Sunday. You weren't attacked in your hotel room, were you, Agent Mulder?" The room was silent for a heartbeat and then all the press started raising their hands and shouting questions. Wellman, sensing a need to end the session, nodded to the young man in the black suit, who came forward and announced that the conference was concluded and the Congressman was late for a plane. He then ushered Wellman through the blue curtain and out an unseen door. Mulder stood there for a moment, searching for Scully in the melee. She stood up and tried to get past the crush of reporters, now descending on Mulder and Allerton. She hoped to get him out the same door Wellman had escaped through. It came to her mind that her mother's old advice to always find the exits was good for more emergencies than just fire. She was just a few feet and about five people from Mulder when suddenly his head jerked up and he looked wild-eyed toward the back of the room. He found her face and locked his gaze on her. "Scully, it's him," he shouted before he started shoving past the crowd of people and pushed his way toward the exit at the back of the room. When people realized what was happening, a few of the jumped out of the way, but more started in the same direction as Mulder. Mulder hit the door to the pressroom at full speed and found the hallway that ran the length of the room. He could hear footsteps as he turned the corner and then saw just the smallest bit of someone's back as they ran through a door and out onto the huge marble stairway leading to the third floor of the building where the legislative chambers were located. Mulder ran through the same door and was met with a flood of Japanese tourists and their guide. He pushed several aside, looking first up to the third floor and then down the staircase to the second floor. He thought he saw the back of the man on the second floor. Racing down the stairs at full speed to catch up with the man, Mulder's foot caught on the worn marble about halfway down the stairs. He felt himself falling, but could do nothing to stop himself. He rolled, the wind knocked out of him and landed in a heap at on the second floor near the rotunda railing. Scully had to push through several reporters and quite a few tourists to reach the bottom of the stairs. Allerton was hot on her heels. Mulder was trying to push himself up off the floor, but before he got very far a tiny woman in a white dress and her salt and pepper hair in an old style bun was holding him to the floor. "Not yet. Let's see the damage," she told him, grabbing a penlight out of her pocket and shining it in his eyes. "Did you hit your head at any time?" she asked, peering at the bandage on his forehead. He shook his head no. "This looks recent," she muttered. She started checking him for broken bones and discovered spots of blood dotting his white dress shirt. "Jim, call 911 please," she asked of a man in a blue guard uniform standing behind her. "Sure thing, Dot," he replied and pulled out his walkie-talkie, speaking briskly into the microphone. Scully finally decided to make her presence known. "I'm Special Agent Dana Scully and this man is my partner, Fox Mulder." Dot nodded and smiled up at her. "Dorothy Ferguson, RN. I'm the nurse here at the capitol. Nice to meet you." Dot then shouted over her shoulder again. "Jim, tell Steve to bring a pillow and a blanket from my office. And that box of gauze on the cabinet by the door. No sense in letting him get cold here on the marble." Jim made another call on his walkie-talkie and Dot carefully pulled off Mulder's tie and opened his shirt revealing several bleeding stitches. "Oh my. You did do a number on yourself," she said with a click of her tongue. She looked around at the gathered crowd. "All right, we've got it under control now. All of you, move along. Jenni, take 'em down one of the other stairs, please," she waved to the tour guide. "Jim, better tell Harry that an ambulance is coming and let him know it's not Representative Black this time," she added with a grin. Mulder seemed to find his breath, finally. He reached for Scully's hand beside him. "I'm fine, Scully," he rasped, eyeing Nurse Ferguson with a little trepidation. "I don't need an ambulance." "You popped at least a dozen stitches, Mr. Mulder. I don't want you trying to walk out of here, get dizzy and pass out. We have everyone from grade school kids to United States Senators in this building on any given day, but when somebody gets hurt or sick, _I'm_ the boss," she said, her tough words softened by her grandmotherly looks and gentle smile. "Mulder, you really do need to get those stitches taken care of. You're bleeding pretty badly from a couple of them. It will be a quick trip to the ER and I promise, I won't let them keep you this time," Scully assured him. Another guard appeared with a blanket and a pillow and Dorothy went about making Mulder as comfortable as possible on the highly polished marble floor. She rolled up some gauze and taped it over the bleeding sutures. Scully stayed close to his head, so he could see her at all times. "Mulder, why did you run out like that?" she asked quietly, hoping their conversation wasn't being overheard. Dorothy had bandaged him as best she could and was giving the guards directions for the ambulance crew. "I saw him, Scully," he said and winced. All of the pain he'd held at bay seemed to descend on him now that he was a little warmer. How had it gotten so cold all of a sudden, he wondered to himself. "Saw who?" she asked, tucking the blanket in around him. He was starting to shiver and she didn't like the looks of that. "The killer," he whispered roughly, pulling the blanket up around his chin. "He was there, in the back of the room. He took off out the door the minute I spotted him." "The killer was in the press room? With all those witnesses? Mulder, are you sure?" Scully asked, confusion coloring her tone and her eyes. Mulder gritted his teeth and not just against the cold of the floor. "It was him, Scully. I saw his eyes. It was him." "Then you got a better look at him? Can you give a full description?" she asked in a similar whisper. He nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure I can." He tried again to sit up but this time a pulled stitch caused him too much pain and he was down again. "I know I can, Scully. Just get me the hell back to the office," he pleaded. She considered this a moment but by the time she was ready to answer him, the ambulance crew had arrived. Allerton appeared at about the same time. "Well, if he doesn't pull the funding for the Bureau, we're at least looking at a nasty letter from Wellman to the Director over this. Mulder, you are hereby ordered to get cleaned up, get fixed up and be in my office immediately following release by a doctor. And this time, I want a signed release!" Scully bit her lip, but when Allerton left, she let a twinkle appear in her eye. "You heard the man. Sounded like he meant it." The ambulance crew was lifting Mulder onto the gurney and not gently enough from the grimace on his face. "You're just saying that because you win," he pouted. "I'm leaving you to their tender mercies, Mulder. I have to drive the car over to the hospital or we'll have to walk to the office. I'll meet you there." And then she really shocked him by glancing around her before placing a quick kiss on his forehead, right at the bandage. ***end of part 6*** Drought 7 of 9 disclaimed in part one FBI Regional Office 6:15 pm Mulder was sporting a few more bandages, but his clean dress shirt covered them. The doctor had given him a shot, sutured the bad spots and butterflied the remaining, then signed his papers and sent him on the way with the admonishment to get some sleep and a prescription for pain pills. He was wondering if downing all the pain pills would mean he didn't have to face Allerton. But Scully had picked up the prescription at the pharmacy down from the hotel and had the bottle in her purse. No, he'd have to find another way. Allerton's assistant had gone home for the day and the outer office was empty. Scully tapped on the windowed door to the inner office and Allerton looked up from his phone conversation to wave them both in. "Yes, Assistant Director, I understand fully what this means. No, I had no intention of pissing off a US Congressman. I will do everything in my power to bring this to a quick resolution, sir, you have my word on that. Yes sir." "Skinner?" Mulder mouthed at Allerton. The SAC put his hand over the receiver and mouthed back "Kersh." His glare would have cut glass. Mulder felt his stomach dropped to the floor. "Absolutely, sir. Immediately. Yes sir." Allerton winced at the phone, the AD had hung up rather soundly from the looks of it. Finally, he turned his attention to the partners in front of him. "That was quite a show, Mulder. I can't wait to see what Bett Greenburg puts in the paper tomorrow," he said with false enthusiasm. "Oh, by the way, the local rag is part of the Copley network of papers. We'll also probably appear on a page of the San Francisco Chronicle and a few dozen other major papers. Of course, it went out on the wire, too, I'm sure." He glared even harder at Scully. "Where's the release?" Scully reached into her purse and pulled the yellow sheet out, handing it over to Allerton. He scanned the page and then looked up in mock surprise. "What, no psych evaluation?" Mulder held his tongue but his left hand was making wrinkles in the fabric of his pants leg. "The doctor feels he just needs a good night's rest," Scully explained, glossing over Allerton's last question. "At this point, we all do," Allerton shot back. "Mulder, so help me . . ." Then he shoved his chair back from his desk and stood up, coming around to the front to perch on the edge. "What happened there today, Mulder? The attention just too much? Or was there not enough attention . . . on you?" Mulder almost bit through his bottom lip, but drew in a deep breath and looked Allerton in the eye. "I saw the killer. He was in the back of the room, watching the press conference." Allerton's tongue found a spot on the inside of his cheek and he worried it a second. "You saw the killer," he restated. "But you told me you didn't get a good look at the guy the other night. That you couldn't make a positive ID," he reminded Mulder tersely. Mulder didn't waver his gaze. Eyes still locked on Allerton, like a mongoose on a cobra, he nodded slowly. "But I saw his eyes. I couldn't see his whole face, couldn't give facial features, but I saw his eyes. And I saw them again, today. In the back of the room," he said slowly, as if explaining something to a child. "You're identifying someone on the basis of seeing their eyes?" If Mulder was treating him like a child, Allerton was up for the part, because the look on his face could only be described as childlike wonder. Until it hardened into cold steel. "I want you to go back to that hospital and this time, I want a psych consult," he spat out. "Steve, listen to me. I got a look at his eyes the other night. You know what I'm talking about, you've seen it before, back in VCS," Mulder implored. "I know it's the guy. And if that wasn't the killer at the press conference, why did the guy run?" he added, crossing his arms defiantly. Allerton glared and pressed his lips into a thin sneer. "He ran because some nutcase with a gun took after him," he shot back. "No one else ran," Scully interjected evenly. Allerton's head jerked and his eyes lit on Scully. He'd probably forgotten she was even in the room. "No wonder we have this problem. The caretaker is as looney as the inmate," he growled. "I can give a description of the man at the back of the room today, Steve," Mulder said calmly. "A full description." Allerton shook his head. "The place was crawling with guards. Now, admittedly, they're Secretary of State guards, more used to the occasional animal rights protester or AARP rally, but they are still observant enough to find a man running through the halls, trying to allude a pursuer. They report noting," his voice was terse and low. "I think you were imagining this guy, Mulder." The SAC rose and went back to sit behind the desk. He looked at Mulder, and for a brief moment, compassion appeared in his eyes. "Mulder, we go back. You were always the hot shot, but I saw the work you did, I respected you. When Kersh told me you were assigned to this case, I knew you'd be a monumental pain in the ass, but I also felt you were the best man for the job. But lately, I think you're losing it, man." Allerton looked over at Scully. "And you're not helping him at all," he ground out angrily. "I'm calling Kersh back. I'm asking that you be removed from this case, immediately. And I'm suggesting a full medical and psychological assessment be made. I feel you've become a danger in the field." Mulder sat there and slowly closed his eyes, his head falling back slightly as if the blow had been physical. Scully, however, exploded. "You can't do that! You know he's right. You know he found the killer. If you send him back right now, what have you got? If he's crazy, you certainly can't use his description of the suspect! You have nothing, less than nothing. Everything you have on this case _he's_ given you," she shouted, pointing to Mulder before slamming her fist on the desk. "Agent Scully, you are out of line," Allerton spat out, glaring at her. "No, you are out of line, Allerton. This is jealousy, pure and simple. What are you jealous of? You're the one with the promotion, Special Agent In Charge. Mulder is so deep at the bottom of the shit pile, he can't see daylight, what is there to be jealous of? Except he's better at his job than you ever were, will ever be. And right now, you need him. You hate him, you're jealous of him, but you need him. And you'll figure out a way to use him, even if it gets him killed!" She was shaking so hard she could barely stand. Mulder's hand on her arm was the only reason she could keep on her feet. "Scully, calm down," he whispered, guiding her back to her seat. Then he turned his attention to Allerton. "You take me off this case, who are you going to get as a profiler?" Mulder asked evenly. When there was no answer, he continued. "Give me two days, Steve. If I don't have this guy in two days, call Kersh, call Skinner, hell call Reno. I'll dial the number. Just give me two days." Allerton's eyes looked up at him, wary. Mulder gave him a smile. "For old times sake," he said with a twist of his head. Allerton closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm crazier than you are, Mulder," he said with a deep sigh. "Two days. No more press conferences, no more hospitals, got that. Two days." Mulder had Scully's elbow and was pushing her out the door before she fully realized what had just happened. They were on the elevator when it hit her that Mulder had just given himself a rather hefty deadline. "Mulder, two days? What in gods name were you thinking?" He didn't look at her, only looked fondly at her reflection in the elevator doors. "If I don't find him in two days, Scully, he'll have found me." Lincoln Plaza Hotel 8:30 pm He gave his description to the Bureau sketch artist and it had drained the last ounce of strength he had in him. He was sore and tired and just wanted to sleep. Scully had managed to convince him to eat. He wasn't really hungry. How in the world she'd found a restaurant that served California Cuisine was beyond him, but he watched her tear into her avocado and sprouts salad with a relish and felt about two feet tall. He had to start taking better care of his caretaker. It hadn't been that long ago that her health was all the concerned to him, no matter how hard he tried to hide that fact from her. He'd picked at his food. Salmon was never one of his favorites but the fact he choose it made Scully smile. If he wasn't going to eat something it might as well be something she approved of, or so he figured. When he'd shoved the contents of his plate around enough times she finally found the mercy to call for the checks. They each paid in silence and walked to the car. In minutes they were back at the hotel. "Do you . . . do you want me to . . ." She was having a hard time formulating a question and he knew it had to be about sleeping arrangements. Did he need her in his room? Did he need her awake beside the bed? Hell, he didn't know himself what he needed. He hurt all over, his muscles, the stitches, his head, his heart. He just wanted to go into a nice long coma and come out of it in about four years. Maybe then the Bureau assholes he always managed to piss off would be dead and gone. Hell, it had worked with Blevins, why not the rest of them? His mind was wandering while she was standing there with her hand on her door. He had to say something, something that would ease her mind and maybe get him some rest. He smiled at her. "Didn't the doctor prescribe something, a sleeping pill or sedative?" he asked, knowing her reaction would be one of shock. She didn't disappoint him. "Mulder," she asked, her eyebrows forming a question mark on her forehead before she even spoke the words. "I thought . . ." He nodded, breaking into her scrambled words. "I really hurt tonight, Scully. I'm so damned tired I can't see straight and I itch like . . ." He refrained from the profanity he felt like invoking. "I just really need to sleep." She nodded back in understanding. "You've only been taking half the prescribed dosage on the pain medication. How about if we up that to the full dose and see what happens? You should be drowsy enough to fall asleep for sure, and if you aren't hurting, I bet you'll stay asleep for a while. You did last night," she reminded him. "You're too good to me," he said softly, reaching up to brush a lock of hair off her cheek. "Now you're delirious," she smiled back at him, but instead of turning away, she cupped his hand and held it to her face. "C'mon," she said, breaking the moment. "You should get ready for bed before you take the pills." He was pulling on his sleeping shorts when she came through the door with his pills and glass of water. He saw her eyes widen at the looks of him and then drop to the carpet as she handed him the pills. "Mulder . . ." He knew what she wanted, what she needed. He shook his head and smiled at her affectionately. "Get your bag. How many guys can say their female partner just loves to play doctor?" he teased her and got his usual reply, a raised eyebrow and an unspoken threat. She was in doctor mode, but her face couldn't hide her concern. "God, Mulder, you are amazing," she sighed. "Is that a good thing?" he asked, wincing a couple of times as she moved bandages to check the sutures underneath. "At this point, not really. I can't see how you managed to do all this damage and basically none of it is that serious," she huffed. "Oh, so the fact that I'm not in ICU is a bad thing," he growled, annoyed at her damned clinical side when she was poking and prodding him. He wanted sympathy. Doctors he could get anywhere. "No, what I mean is, you really did a number, as Nurse Ferguson pointed out earlier," she told him, finally handing him a tee shirt so he could finish getting ready for bed. "You are going to hurt for a few more days." She returned his gesture of just minutes before and brushed the hair off his forehead. "Does your head hurt?" "Just here," he motioned to the bandage. "It's not a 'whole head' headache at the moment." "Thank heavens for small favors," she said with a shake of her head. She handed him the pills and the glass of water. "I'm setting my travel alarm to wake me at 1 so I can give you another dose." "Scully," he whined. "Then you don't get any sleep." "I'll go right back to sleep, Mulder. _I_ can do that. I can wake up, get a drink and go back to sleep. It happens all the time," she teased. "I don't believe you for a minute," he shot back, slamming back the pills and even finishing the glass of water. She pulled back the covers and helped him lower himself down to the bed. He groaned and lying down pulled his stitches but once settled, lethargy hit him like a high-speed train. "One day, maybe I'll show you," she grinned at him. At his questioning look, she continued. "How I can get up, get water, and go back to sleep," she answered and gave him the most enigmatic smile. "Now, you're just being mean," he called out as she left the room, but the smile on his face didn't want to leave. Sleep did come faster than he expected. It reached up from under the covers and dragged him down with it. He could hear Scully, in the next room but with both connecting doors all the way open. She was moving around, doing what Scully did when they were on the road. He could hear her internet connection, and heard her fingers clacking on her keyboard and then it all drifted away. He rolled over when he felt a presence in the room. At first he thought it was Scully with his meds. But when his eyes adjusted to the dim light coming in around the curtains, he made out a shape not like Scully's at all. It was the boy. "He wouldn't answer," the boy said in a flat voice. Mulder sat up in bed, leaning back against the headboard. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and looked again, but the boy remained standing just in front of the windows, no more than four feet away. "Who wouldn't answer?" Mulder asked shakily. The boy shrugged one shoulder in defeat. "My dad. I tried to call him, like you said. He picked up the phone and I started talkin', told him to come get me, but he didn't answer. It was like he couldn't hear me." Mulder's gut froze and his heart skipped a beat. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that . . . he didn't answer you." He wanted to tell the boy he was sorry that he hadn't saved him, but for some reason he held back. He wasn't sure the boy understood he was now dead. "I lied the other night. I was with that old fart. He was really slimey, but I never had to do him. It was his boss, the guy he works for. He's the one who likes it. He likes being sucked real good. I did him a couple of times. He paid good, a hundred bucks, both times. But then the old fart was takin' me back to that place, the gas station, and I don't remember what happened after that." Now Mulder's whole body was shaking. "Can you describe either of the men for me? Did either of them say anything or call each other by a name that you remember?" "The old fart was pretty fat and not that much taller 'n me. He had black hair and his eyes were really dark. His eyes scared the shit out of me. He had a watch, he kept checkin' it. It wasn't like watches you see in the stores. It was in his pocket." "A pocket watch? Can you tell me what it looked like?" "It was gold, looked real expensive. And the numbers were the stupid ones, the ones they used a long time ago. The ones like you see at the end of an old movie." "Roman numerals," Mulder answered and had to smile at the boy's recitation. "Yeah, them. But the cover was weird. It had a cover with a hole in the middle so you could still see the hands of the clock, ya know? The Roman numbers were on the outside of the cover and inside too. It was weird. I remember thinking my dad would like a watch like that. He had a pocket watch once but it got sand in it and it stopped working." "That's a good description. Can you tell me what the boss looked like?" Mulder prodded. "He was tall and had a big nose. He had white hair and his nails were all fancy, like somebody trimmed 'em. He would dig his nails into my shoulders just before he'd . . . ya know," the boy said with a shrug. "He smelled good. He was cleaner 'n most of my tricks." "Do you remember any jewelry he might have worn? Did he have a watch?" The boy thought for a moment. Then he looked back at Mulder. "He had a ring. On his left hand. I guess it was his wedding ring. It was gold and it had three little diamonds in a row across the middle. It was expensive, too. That's how he could throw away a hundred bucks just to get sucked." Mulder was almost breathless at this point, but he didn't dare move or call out to Scully. He still had one very important question. "What's your name? You're real name?" he asked. The boy looked like he was going to refuse to answer, but finally looked Mulder in the eye. "My name's Tyler. Tyler Barnes. Could you call him? Could you call my dad? His name is James Barnes and he lives in Coral Beach, Florida. Maybe if he hears a grown up, he'll answer," the boy pleaded. Mulder nodded. "I'll do that, Tyler. I'll call him." Mulder rolled over to reach for the phone on the nightstand, but a hand was shaking his shoulder. "Mulder, wake up. Mulder, it's a little after one. Let's get these down you and I can go back to bed." Mulder sat up instantly and regretted it the next second. He groaned in pain, but his eyes searched the room. Scully flipped on the small lamp on the nightstand. "Mulder, are you all right?" "The boy. He was here," he said, eyes still scanning for any sign of the child. Scully sighed. "You dreamed about the boy from the gas station," she said sadly. Mulder's head jerked up and he met her eyes. "No, Scully, it wasn't a dream. He was here. Right here. In this room." Mulder blinked twice because the room seemed more blurry than he remembered. For that matter, the boy's words were leaving him almost as fast as he tried to grasp and remember them. "He gave me . . . a . . . description," Mulder said haltingly. "He told me something, something important . . ." Mulder grimaced and Scully was touching his head, trying to get him to look in her eyes. When he looked up, she could see his pupils were still dilated, even in the dim light. He was still under the influence of the painkiller. "Mulder, it was a dream. And I'm not surprised you can't remember all of it. Didn't you tell me you hated drugs because they made you fuzzy? I think this is a perfect example." "No!" Mulder objected. "I remember. Not all of it, but I do remember some of it. I'll remember the rest, I will. He told me things. I can still hear his voice." Suddenly, Mulder looked up. "He told me his name," he said triumphantly, starting to get out of bed, trying to move past her. The pain hit him the minute he was on his feet and the dizziness slammed next, making him sway precariously toward the edge of the nightstand. Scully grabbed his arms and lowered him to the bed. "Mulder, you can't go anywhere. Where would you go? You have a small drug store in your veins and you just had another nightmare. You need to lie back down, take this medicine, and we'll sort all this out in the morning." She was forcing him to recline, pulling the covers up over him as she did so. "Scully, at least let me call his dad. Please. Let me call the kid's dad and tell him we found his son," he begged. The pain in his side and head was nothing compared to the ache in his heart as he remembered the boy's desolate request. Tears were forming in Scully's eyes and she wiped at them furiously. "How do you know who to call?" she gritted out. "I just told you, Scully. He told me his name. His name is Tyler. Tyler Barnes and his dad's name is James Barnes and he lives in Coral Beach, Florida. Please, Scully, let me call him. Let me give him some closure. I know what it's like, Scully, please, please let me do this." Tears were running down Mulder's cheeks now and he didn't bother to try and stop them. "Please," he pleaded one last time. "What if you're wrong," she whispered hoarsely, through her tears, one sob causing her to hiccup. His eyes grew wide and he bit his lip. "I'm not. I'm not wrong. And I'll prove it." He sat up, a little more gingerly this time, and used her shoulder to give him the leverage to stand. "Where are you going?" she asked. "Your laptop. Is it still plugged in?" "Yeah," she said, following him into her room. He found the laptop on the desk next to the bed. Sitting down, he waited for the screen saver to disengage and the machine to come to life. Then he called up her internet connection and waited impatiently as it purred through it's procedures. Finally, he started typing. When he reached the website he was looking for, he added a few strokes and sat there. He looked at the image on the screen for several minutes before leaning back and allowing her to see as well. On the screen below the banner of the Center for Missing and Exploited Children was the picture of the boy whose body they'd discovered the previous morning. Tyler Andrew Barnes, born March 6, 1985 in Redbud, Nebraska. He'd been missing since his last birthday. Parents listed as Jane and Stephen Harper of Red Bud and James Barnes of Coral Beach, Florida. "How else would I know that, Scully?" Mulder inquired with a tired voice. "How the hell would I know the kid's name and his father's name and where he lived? He was here, Scully. Just as he was there the other night. His soul can't rest, he hasn't moved on." Scully was standing there in shock, her hand over her mouth. Slowly she shook her head in disbelief. "He can't rest until his dad comes to take him home, Scully," Mulder said softly. "The sooner we can help him move on, the better," he added, his voice overflowing with compassion. Scully nodded finally. "We have to call Allerton," she said quietly. Mulder started to protest, but realized she was right. They had to take this information up through the chain of command or risk losing its credibility. "OK, but can we call him now?" he asked, closing the lid of the laptop and turning so he could look at her. He was practically bouncing in his seat from the pent up adrenaline. Scully glanced over at the bedside clock. It was 1:30 am. She chewed on her lip and made a decision. "Mulder, I know this isn't what you want to hear . . ." His chin dropped to his chest in defeat. "You think we should wait," he said with a tired groan. "I do. I think we should wait till morning, at least. Mulder, how are you going to explain this to Allerton? To Skinner or Kersh or anybody else? We can wait until morning and maybe by then we'll have heard from CMEC and we will still call his dad. I promise you, if we don't have something substantial by tomorrow afternoon, we'll say we stumbled on the picture ourselves and contact the father, regardless. Can we try it that way? Besides, maybe in the morning you'll remember more of the dream." The pain in his eyes had nothing to do with his physical injuries. He felt like his heart was tearing in two. But he nodded, not daring to speak. He shoved himself up from the chair, wincing the whole way, and started his feeble path back to his room. She caught his hand before he made it a foot from her side. "Are you going to be able to sleep?" she asked tenderly. He shook his head slowly back and forth, his eyes locked with hers. She nodded in understanding. "Then stay here," she said quietly, leading him over to her bed. At his questioning look she smiled. "I'm not really concerned about propriety, Mulder. I could tie you up with dental floss at this point. I know you'll be on your best behavior. But I'd feel better if you were in here. And I think you might even be able to get some sleep." She helped him sit down and then ran back to his room to get his meds and the glass of water. After he'd downed all of it, she helped him to lie back on the pillows. She pulled the covers up over him again. He was beginning to like that gesture just a little too much, he decided. But he sure as hell wasn't going to call her on it. As she made her way around both rooms, turning off lights, he watched her. He knew she was struggling with her own demons. She had seen things, too, things she couldn't explain and that always bothered her. But at least she wasn't fighting him on this. And somehow, having her put in her two cents worth of reason actually warmed his heart. If she'd just blindly believed him, held his hand as he jumped off each cliff, he didn't want to think what would happen. It was better this way, with her being grounded and tethering him to the earth. He could count on her, always. He knew she'd help him remember, help him figure out what was going on. She finally crawled into bed, turning off the light on the nightstand. As she settled into the bedding, she reached across the two feet that separated them and grasped his hand on top of the covers. It almost brought him to tears. He squeezed it gently, and then burrowed his face into his own pillow, never letting go of her hand. Just before he fell asleep, he had to ask. "So, how long have you had these fantasies about me and dental floss?" At least she only hit him with her pillow. He woke up with sunlight streaming in the window. It was later than he ever remembered waking, at least the sun looked higher in the sky. He turned his head and noticed the pillow next to him was empty. Some idiot on the radio was gleefully announcing that it was already 82 degrees outside and the temperature would probably break another record high. He squinted and just made out the clock on the nightstand. 8:15 am. How could she let him sleep that late? The door to the room opened and the smell of fresh coffee assaulted his nostrils. OK, he could forgive her letting him sleep the day away if she brought breakfast. He sat up, finding he was still sore, but nowhere near as achy as he had been the night before. He decided to crawl out on a very slim limb and tease her a little. "Breakfast in bed. I've trained you well, grasshopper," he grinned as he reached for the just offered cup of coffee. "Watch it, Master, or you'll be wearing this coffee," she shot back. "I brought you something easy on the stomach. Don't think you fooled me with that little art project you made out of the salmon last night." "It better not be oatmeal," he warned, but his stomach growled loudly in betrayal. "Not oatmeal. I value my life. Here, try some of this." She handed him a clear plastic cup with something white and fruit clearly visible. The omnipresent McDonald's logo tipped him off. "Real men don't eat 'parfait'," he replied dryly, not taking the offering from her hands. "Try it. If you hate it, I'll eat it myself." "Some punishment," he groused, but opened the container and spooned a bit into his mouth. Somehow he'd managed to get a blueberry and part of strawberry in one tiny spoonful. Even the amount of white stuff was relatively unoffending. The crunchy stuff on the top wasn't really that bad. He dug out another spoonful to see if he'd been mistaken. It went down just as easily. "See, not bad, huh?" she smiled at him brightly. "As long as you disguise the taste, yeah, it's not that bad," he grudgingly admitted. She had one for herself and curled up on the end of the bed, finishing it with a flourish and watching him get to the bottom of his own cup. "Here, I'll even do the dishes," she grinned and took both cups to the small trashcan by the door. He stretched and scratched and she caught him. At her raised eyebrow he grinned sheepishly. "Do they hurt?" she asked. "Not that bad, really. Hey, can I take a shower?" It was a long shot, but he had to try. She wasn't fazed by his soulful look. "With those stitches, no way! Sponge bath, Mulder." "Are you offering?" he shot back and amazed himself at his forwardness. But it was morning, the day looked a lot brighter than the night before and his stomach was full and happy. Why not play? "You're pushing it now, G-man," she warned. "You can wash your hair if you're careful. Just keep the stitches out of the spray. I'll put on clean bandages when you're cleaned up." Party over, he decided. He rolled out of bed, grumbling about the impossible task of getting clean with just a washcloth in 100-degree heat. He heard her stifled giggle as he entered his room through the connecting door. He had to admit, even just washing off felt better. He couldn't wait to get the stitches out of his side, one in particular seemed to pull every time he moved his right arm, which meant it was pulled constantly. He adjusted his tie and was about to lean over and tie his shoes when the phone rang. It was Allerton. "We think we have an ID on the last kid," the SAC said without greeting. "And?" Mulder replied, holding his breath. "Tyler Barnes. His folks are in Nebraska, no, wait, the father is in Florida." Mulder let out the breath and took in a lungful of air. The boy had not been a dream. Now, he just needed to remember the rest of what he'd been told. "Are the parents flying in?" Mulder asked. "Yeah. One of my guys will pick them up. I suppose you want to talk to them?" The request had a sarcastic ring. "Just the father, actually," Mulder said, chewing his lip. "Whatever. We ran the sketch of your guy on the wire last night. We haven't come up with anything, at least among the known sex offenders." "I don't think he'll be on that list," Mulder said. By this time, Scully had come into the room through the connecting room door. "I'd like to poke around a few places . . ." "Not by yourself, you aren't!" Allerton practically shouted into the phone and Scully's reaction was pretty much the same, just using 'eyebrow expression'. Mulder allowed himself a brief chuckle. "Wouldn't think of it. I need a witness," he replied. "Scully will be with me, and for the record, I'm only going to the library." "Well, keep your phone on, I'll call when the father gets here. And Mulder, so help me God . . ." "I understand, sir." It was the first sign of subordination he'd given his former colleague and it must have had the desired effect. "See that you do," Allerton shot back, but with less animosity. As he put the phone down, he looked up at Scully and smiled. "Bingo. CMEC came up with a match." "Tyler Barnes," Scully sighed. Mulder put his finger on his nose, then grew serious. "At least that's one battle we don't have to wage," he added with a sad expression. "Why are we going to the library?" she asked as he sat back down on the bed and leaned over with a grunt to attempt to tie his shoes. He wasn't having much luck and she grew tired of seeing the pain in his features so she knelt down and tied them for him. He wiggled his eyebrows and leered down at her. "You know Scully, seeing you on your knees," he started, but she gave him a warning glare. "Feeling suicidal today, are we?" she asked sweetly, but the message was delivered and received. He swallowed and shut up. When she was finished she stood up and pulled him into a standing position. "Mulder? Library?" "Oh, I just thought I'd see what's on the summer reading list," he said lightly, pulling on his suit coat. "Seriously," she said, crossing her arms. "I want to do some digging on who is rich and famous around these parts." "We're in Springfield, middle of the cornfield, Illinois," she reminded him. "The state most known for graft and political corruption," he shot back. "My only fear is that we'll end up with too many possible suspects." The Lincoln Library had all the back issues of the Springfield State Journal-Register on microfiche. Mulder had groaned in response to the librarian's cheerful directions, Scully had expressed their thanks and followed him to the reading machines. He fished his glasses out of his inside jacket pocket and caught Scully smiling at him. "You'll be sorry when I toss that parfait in your direction," he chided. Her smile just got brighter as she sat down at the reader next to his. "Tell me what we're looking for." His forehead furrowed as he tried to come up with a suitable explanation. "Pictures. Events with lots of people in them. Store openings, rallies, fundraisers, State Fair Queen crownings," he ticked off randomly. "Oh, good, as long as we're narrowing the field," she interjected with notable sarcasm. "Just pictures with faces, Scully," he said with a resigned sigh. "Couldn't we get farther going over to the Springfield Police Department and looking through mugshots?" Mulder shook his head. "This guy isn't a crook, he's a killer. I'd be surprised if he's ever been picked up for anything. And with a patron like the one he works for, even if he was picked up the charges were dropped before he ever saw a camera. No, we have to look at pictures that people with money and power are in. He should be there, in the background." Scully blew out a breath and he sensed her frustration. "I know it seems like a long shot, but . . ." "No, Mulder," she objected. "It just seems like I better run out now and get that Dramamine. You're gonna need it." It took her fifteen minutes to run out for the motion sickness pills and five minutes after that for Mulder to ask for one. The rest of the morning and early afternoon passed without event. Mulder printed out several pictures. Scully caught on that political rallies were the ones he seemed to focus on, so she started printing those out as she found them. At least they were only going back a year, unlike the time they'd spent days in the library searching the birth, marriage and death records for Eugene Victor Tooms. Even so, they were only up to the past July when Mulder's phone trilled in his pocket. The librarian shot him a sharp glare and he silenced it immediately, going to a corner of the library to talk. When he came back he scooped up the printouts and waved Scully to follow him. State Police Morgue 2:35 pm The juxtaposition was not lost on Mulder. After seeing the disdain and then fake sorrow for the cameras of Tom Davidson over the death of his stepson, the grief and outrage from Mr. and Mrs. Welton was almost a relief. But it was the bone deep agony in the eyes of James Barnes that almost shattered Mulder's thin veneer of professionalism. "I wanted to come get him," the man said in a broken sob. "I wanted to come get him, bring him back to Florida with me. But I lost my job, I wasn't able to make the child support payments for a few months. The judge laughed at my petition," he said, anger flashing in his gray-blue eyes. "Out right laughed in my face." "I'm very sorry to have to put you through this, Mr. Barnes," Mulder said sincerely. Barnes raised his eyes to the agent. "Did you have any questions to ask me? Is there anything, anything at all that I can tell you to help you find this bastard? I want to help, just tell me what to do," he begged. Mulder bit his lip. He didn't know how this would work out but he had to go with his gut. "No, Mr. Barnes, we're doing everything we can to find the person responsible for your son's murder. I just . . . I just wanted you to know that Tyler . . . There was a knock on the door and Mulder's head jerked up, seeing Scully standing in the doorway. "Mr. Barnes, your ex-wife was looking for you. She'd like to make arrangements to have Tyler's body taken home for the funeral." Barnes nodded sadly. "Of course. I'll be right there." He stood up and looked down at Mulder who was still worrying his bottom lip. "Agent Mulder, you were about to tell me something?" Time stood still for Mulder and he could hear his own heart beating. He let his eyes stray upward and met Scully's eyes, so full of compassion and mercy. He made his decision. "No, Mr. Barnes. I just wanted to assure you that the FBI will do everything in our power to bring about the resolution of this case. We will find this monster and we will make him pay." Scully's eyes closed for a brief moment and he heard her sigh in relief. Barnes didn't notice, just nodded his head in appreciation and shook Mulder's hand before leaving the room. Scully came up behind him, putting her hands on his shoulders and giving them a squeeze. "He's going home, Mulder. He can move on now. He's going home." Mulder stepped out into the glaring sunlight, squinting against the brightness and the unbearable heat. A car at the left side of the parking lot pulled past him, gold wire wheel rims slicing a razor through his eyes. Watch. Gold watch. He winced in pain and slammed his eyes shut, desperately trying to grab on to the memory that was dancing just out of his reach. Gold watch. Gold pocket watch. He didn't hear Scully call his name and didn't hear her approach until her hand was on his arm. "Mulder?" she asked, obviously concerned. She moved in front of him, pulling his hands down from his face. "Mulder, what's wrong." "Roman numerals," he gasped, his eyelids still pinched closed. "Roman numerals with a hole in the cover." Scully went from concern to near panic. "Mulder, I'm taking you to the car. I want you to sit down, get out of this heat," she told him as she tugged at his arm and led him to where she'd parked under one of the few trees lining the parking lot. The car wasn't quite as unbearable as if it had been in the direct sun, but she still hurried around to start the engine and soon cooler air was flowing over him. "The killer has a pocket watch, Scully. It's gold, with Roman numerals. The cover has Roman numerals, too, with a hole in the center so you can still see the hands," Mulder said, tipping his head back to lean against the seat, letting the cool air wash the flush from his face. Scully looked at him, confused. "Mulder, how . . ." "Tyler told me last night. It's one of the things he told me that I couldn't remember." He kept his eyes shut and rubbed at his temple, right over the bandage. "Do you have a headache?" When he didn't answer right away she shook his arm to get him to look at her. "Mulder, this is important, do you have a headache?" "The sun caused it, Scully. I'm OK, really. It's a dull throb now," he assured her. She was quiet for a moment, watching him. "Recite the Pledge of Allegiance," she demanded. That got his attention. He looked at her and wondered if the heat had adversely affected her as well. "Do it, Mulder. Please." He shook his head in disgust, but did as requested. "I pledge allegiance, to the flag of the United States of America. And to the Republic for which . . ." "That's enough," she interrupted, holding up her hand. "Your speech isn't slurred," she told him. "No, it's not," he shot back. "Scully, the light just caught my eye and jogged a memory. I'm not bleeding out in my head," he huffed. "So, what do we do now? Put out an APB for a man with scary eyes and a gold pocket watch?" she asked, still a little shaken by his odd behavior. "We could check out the jewelers in town, see if that's a common model," he suggested. "Oh good. Shopping," she said with feigned enthusiasm. "But first, we're getting something in your stomach." "Don't think I'm not seeing the pattern here, Scully. You keep trying to feed me. Is this a repressed genetic trait I should know about?" She just shot him a look and started the car. ***the end of part 7*** Drought 8 of 9 disclaimer in part one Giganti and Giganti Jewelers 5:35 pm Three jewelers and a stop at Hardees later, they were beginning to sense defeat. "Never seen one like that," seemed to be the phrase of the day. At the third location they had been able to pin down the manufacturer as the Elgin Watch Company, which went out of the pocket watch business somewhere following the war. "All those Swiss watches comin' back from Europe just did 'em in," confided the jeweler with a sad shake of his head. "Mulder, I don't think we're going to be able to find the owner, short of getting a subpoena for the records of the Elgin Watch Company," Scully said with a defeated sigh. He was ready to agree with her when he saw the sign. Underneath a painted but peeling grandfather clock read the words 'Watch repair'. He pointed to the drive and she obediently, if somewhat reluctantly pulled in. Mulder smiled as the small bell tinkled over the door, announcing their arrival. "Just like Mayberry," he whispered to her with a grin. "More like 'the Aadam's Family'," she shot back in the same low voice. The shop was a treasure trove of clocks of all shapes and sizes. Mulder wondered what it would be like to be standing in the room exactly on the hour. The noise had to be deafening. "Can I help you?" Mulder was a little taken back to see the young woman with a thick brown braid and a ready smile stand up from behind the counter. Scully introduced them and got to the point. "We're trying to find out the owner of a watch, a rather unusual watch." The young woman, who introduced herself as Ellie shrugged. "We get a lot of watches. The shop belonged to my father, I've worked here after school since I was old enough to hold a screwdriver," she grinned. "Can you describe the watch?" Mulder went so far as to draw a rough sketch. Ellie looked at it closely, then screwed up her face in thought. She went back to the desk behind the counter and started rummaging through a small notecard file box. "Did you say Elgin was the manufacturer?" she asked, thumbing through one section of the cards. "Yes," Scully responded. Mulder was too busy holding his breath. Ellie smiled and pulled up a card. "Elgin, model 4562, manufactured 1939 to 1942," she said with a triumphant flourish of the card as she handed it to Mulder. "Only one person in the county has one, that I know of." Mulder looked down at the card, with a stapled eceipt for repair just a year ago. The name, scribbled in sloppy handwriting across the bottom of the card caused him to catch his breath again. "Max Wellman," he read aloud. He heard Scully's deep intake of air and met her astonished look with one of his own. "It's a pretty rare watch," Ellie said casually. "Why are you looking for the owner?" "It has to do with an investigation. We really can't say," Scully said evenly but with an apologetic smile. Ellie nodded. "Well, hope this helps," she said with an answering smile. "It does, believe me," Mulder said, shaking the young woman's hand. "Thank you." They left the store in silence, Scully opening the car door for Mulder and then getting in the driver's seat again. She pulled out on to the main road and headed toward the hotel. Finally, she had to know what he was thinking. "Mulder, a Congressman . . ." "Look at the guy, Scully. He's not what I would describe as a 'slimey old fart'. Wellman is well- groomed, impeccably dressed. Not to mention I could take him in a minute," he said casually. She gave him a look and a shake of her head. "No, I think it's worth asking the Congressman some questions." "It's someone who works for him?" Scully asked. "More than likely. I wouldn't even be surprised. That would also explain how the guy has avoided capture for so long. He's probably been bailed out of any trouble he's ever been in." Scully looked at the clock on the dashboard. "It's a little after 6. I doubt the Congressman's office is open," she suggested. "And it wouldn't sit well to track him down at his home, I suppose," Mulder mused. "No," Scully said firmly. "It would not. He's not under suspicion here, Mulder. For all we know, the watch was stolen." Mulder turned to look at her. "You could be right," he nodded. Then he shook his head. "But it doesn't feel that way. I don't know why, Scully, but I think Wellman knows more about this than he's letting on." "You think the press conference and all this attention are just smoke screens?" Mulder nodded. "But why is he hiding a killer?" "Maybe it's a family member," Scully offered. "Still, he seems to be calling attention to it. Most politicians run for the hills when something like this falls on their doorstep." "Maybe he's seen what happens when you try to outrun it. Maybe he's trying a different tactic." Mulder shook his head. "I can't figure it out." He leaned his head against the seat and closed his eyes. "Maybe it will come to me." Scully drove them back to the hotel and immediately changed into more comfortable shorts and a tee shirt before setting up her computer. In minutes she was happily surfing the net for more information on the Congressman from the 20th District of Illinois. Mulder changed as well and then took the several printouts from the library and set up his own investigation on the desk in his room. The pictures were slightly grainy, as most pictures in small town papers tended to be. He shifted through them until he found half a dozen that featured Wellman. He grabbed a magnifying glass out of his briefcase and started examining the photos more closely. The first four were complete busts, or more to the point seemed to have only busts in them. Wellman apparently liked to surround himself with well- endowed women, usually blond and always just a touch shorter than he, which made them fairly leggy. A few of them were identified as county board members or presidents of various civic organizations or charities. Mulder snorted and continued his search. On the fifth picture, he hit pay dirt. In the background, behind and partially hidden by Wellman, was a face Mulder could now see with his eyes closed. The eyes were cast in shadow, but he could see the shape of the face and the bulk of the man. Unfortunately, the picture was a group shot and only Wellman and the mayor of Springfield were identified by name. The rest of those pictured were relegated to the status 'numerous volunteers'. Mulder snatched up the page and sprinted into Scully's room. "There. Third asshole from the right, back row," Mulder announced as he slapped the photo down on the desk next to her laptop. "Right behind Wellman," he added, poking at the picture with his index finger. Scully squinted and Mulder helpfully handed her his magnifier. She looked intently at the photo and then down at the caption. "It doesn't give his name," she noted. "No, it doesn't. But this is another indication that he knows Wellman. Which is probably why no one cared that he was at the press conference yesterday. He's not a stranger, Scully. He can hide in plain sight." "So what do we do? Grill a Congressman? That should go over real well with Allerton, and the rest of the higher ups, for that matter," she said dryly, putting the magnifier down on the page. "We're just asking questions, Scully. I've interviewed victims families before and I hardly call it 'grilling'," Mulder pouted. "Well, the good Congressman might see it differently. Besides, I've found a thing or two on him, too," Scully said, pointing toward the screen of her computer. Mulder sat on the bed so he could see the screen better. "Such as . . ." "Such as this might be Wellman's last election to Congress, or one of the last." "I thought he was running unopposed," Mulder frowned. "He is, but his popularity isn't the real problem. Illinois' population isn't keeping pace with other parts of the country. It has been losing Congressional districts with each of the last 3 censuses. It stands to lose at least one, maybe as many as two in 2002." Mulder's eyes were beginning to glaze over. "So who says he'll be the one to get the boot?" Scully smiled. "Because the downstate region, which Wellman represents, has lost the largest amount of population. The collar counties, up near Chicago, have gained population, though not enough to offset the loss. Wellman's popularity never translated into Congressional power, either. He's on the oversight committee for the Bureau, but he's only a Vice Chairman. That puts him pretty far down the food chain." "I still down understand . . ." "Mulder, the man is looking at a run for Governor," Scully said flatly. "In four years, right about the time his district is absorbed into another, there will be an election for Governor in Illinois. Wellman is in the perfect position to begin that campaign as early as now." "Because he's unopposed." "Exactly," she smiled at him as he finally caught on to her line of reasoning. "And he won't want any scandals breaking out around him," Mulder mused further. "I would think not." Mulder fell back on the bed with a sigh. "So, you think we won't be welcome if we go around asking questions." "I just think we need to be very careful, Mulder. Just because Wellman doesn't have a lot of power doesn't mean he has no friends. And some of those friends . . ." "He did threaten to call Reno," Mulder remembered "They're of the same political party," Scully nodded. "Shit. So he's probably connected to the White House." "Gee, and we both thought we were miles away from DC," she added with a grin. "I don't think I can think about this anymore tonight," he said with a tired sigh. Mulder rubbed his temple and felt the headache that had started to build without his notice. Scully watched him for a moment and got up from her chair, returning a few minutes later with a couple of pills and some water. "It's not that bad, Scully," he objected. "It's Tylenol, Mulder. It's not that strong. You'll sleep better if you aren't hurting. And you really need to sleep. You're still on the mend," she reminded him. He nodded, pulled himself up to a sitting position and downed the pills and water in one gulp. She pulled him the rest of the way to his feet. "Let me pull down the covers," she offered but he stopped her hand. Smiling tenderly down at her he shook his head. "I'll be OK tonight. I'm a big boy now, Mom. I can sleep in my own bed." She looked at him dubiously. "Are you sure?" He smiled again, placed a kiss on the top of her head and nodded. "Yeah. We're getting close, Scully. I'll be fine. I may watch a little TV before I turn in. If I do have any trouble, I know where to find you," he said as he cupped her cheek. "Sleep well," she told him and squeezed his hand before he left the room, closing the two doors behind him. He was dreaming. That was all it could be. There was a pounding and at first he thought it was coming from a hammer in his head. It wouldn't stop, even when he pulled the spare pillow over his face. He tossed the pillow aside and glared at the clock by the bed. 12:05. Hell, he'd even been asleep. Gingerly he rolled out of bed and grabbed his tee shirt, pulling it on as he headed to the door. He glanced at the connecting door, seeing it still closed as he'd left it earlier. After a second's hesitation, he pulled his gun out of the holster on the dresser and opened the door a fraction. The Congressman's aide from the press conference looked nervously at him from the hallway. "Agent Mulder, if you would accompany me?" he asked, his voice wavering. Mulder blinked at the guy. He was young and more than a little timid. Mulder could just as easily slam the door in his face. But what would that get him? If Wellman was coming to get him, he must want to talk. "Let me get dressed," Mulder said, putting a finger to his lips and motioning toward the connecting door. The aide nodded and stood just inside the door as Mulder grabbed his dress pants and dress shirt and headed into the bathroom to change. "Wait a minute," Mulder said. The aide was shifting from foot to foot, anxious to leave. Mulder walked over to the desk and picked up the printout from the library, folding it and putting it in his pocket. He then pulled out a sheet of hotel stationary and his pencil. Quickly he scribbled a note and folded it so it sat in front of the nightstand next to the bed. "OK, I'm ready," he told the younger man and they left the room together. "It's nice to see this isn't just a Senatorial thing," Mulder remarked dryly as the aide led him out to a black Lincoln Continental parked in the handicapped space in the hotel parking lot. "Excuse me?" the aide asked, apparently shaken that Mulder wanted to strike up a conversation. "Pulling people out of their warm beds in the middle of the night for a little chat," Mulder explained, getting in the passenger seat. "Nice wheels." "Thanks. They aren't mine," the still nameless aide confided. He was silent for the rest of the trip and Mulder wasn't in much of a mood for small talk. They arrived at an office building not far from the Capitol complex. The aide had a card key for the entrance and waved Mulder in, pointing toward the elevators. When they arrived at the sixteenth floor, the aide led him down the hall to a door, knocked twice and then shot Mulder a weak smile before heading back toward the elevator. "What, this isn't a party? Hey, at least tell me there's an open bar," Mulder called to the retreating form. The door opened suddenly, and Congressman Wellman stood in the doorway, dressed casually in a polo shirt and slacks. He had a glass of amber liquid on ice in his hand. Motioning Mulder in, he headed for the bar set up on near a picture window. "May I offer you a drink, Agent Mulder. And no nonsense about being on duty. It's well after work hours," Wellman said affably. "I'm still on pain medication, I'm afraid," Mulder lied neatly. He took a seat on the brocade covered sofa that dominated the opulent room. "I see that you're moving around better than the other day. Although the way you took off down the stairs, it looked like the hounds of hell were after you. Or maybe you were after the hounds of hell," Wellman smiled at his own turn of phrase. "Congressman, exactly why am I here?" Mulder asked impatiently. Wellman sat comfortably on a wing chair across from the sofa. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees in a collegial manner. "Agent Mulder. Fox. You don't mind if I call you Fox, do you?" Mulder just stared at the man, not even blinking. "I've had several conversations with your mentor, Senator Mattheson. He speaks quite highly of you and your work with the FBI." "The Senator hasn't been returning my calls lately," Mulder ground out through clenched teeth. Wellman nodded. "Nasty business, that Praise boy's disappearance. But from all indications, you were faultless in the matter. Still, there is always a price to be paid. I'm sure you would appreciate an opportunity to return to your previous endeavors." Wellman smiled as Mulder perked up and leaned forward. "I would welcome that opportunity very much, Congressman Wellman." The Congressman's smile grew to encompass his whole demeanor. He stood up and walked over to the bar, pouring more amber fluid into his glass. "You've found out about my watch, I understand." Mulder chewed on the inside of his lip. "I'm not at liberty . . ." Wellman's smile turned slightly feral. "No need to hide behind FBI procedures, Fox. We're on the same side. You can even say we're about to share information. I don't care what brought you to the information about that pocket watch. I just wanted to make sure you pursue the right path." "And just which would be the right path, sir," Mulder asked, folding his arms over his chest. "Let me explain," Wellman began, taking his seat again. "There was a man when I was growing up. He was a precinct captain. I used to drop lit for him," he gave Mulder an indulgent look. "Distribute political material," he explained. "Anyway, this man taught me everything I know about politics. He was like a father to me. I owe him my career. In fact, I owe him my life." "I came from a poor family, my father even went through a bankruptcy forcing us to sell our farm. The man I just mentioned got me a job with the county. Anyway, as I climbed the political ladder, he was always there for me." Wellman rose again and this time stood in front of the picture window, looking out on the lights of the city. "He had a son. The boy was born . . . he wasn't right, right from birth. He was slow in school, never finished high school. Basically little more than, well, I think he would be termed 'special' now. When his father, my patron, was dying, he asked me to care for his son, who was actually just a few years younger than me." Wellman turned for the window to search out Mulder's eyes. "His name is Richard Means. He's always been a gentle soul, really, but well, in recent years he's become restless. I think he may be suffering from a degenerative malady of the brain, but I can't make him go to a doctor for a diagnosis." The heave of the man's chest indicated the depth of his dispair. "I'm afraid the man you are seeking is Richard." "Is this Richard Means?" Mulder asked, withdrawing the picture from his pocket and unfolding it to hand to Wellman. Wellman took the picture and brought it over closer to the only lamp in the room. After looking at it just a moment, he nodded. "That's Richard. Right behind me." "Did he steal the watch?" Mulder continued, taking the paper back from Wellman. Wellman shook his head sadly. "No. I gave him that watch. He'd always admired it. It belonged to my father, a wedding present from my mother after the war. I was very fond of it, but not nearly as fond as Richard was. I finally got tired of him asking to borrow it and just gave it to him for Christmas a few years back." "Congressman, you realize that the killer had sex with these boys. Are you quite sure Richard Means . . ." "There is something you should know about people like Richard, Fox. Often times sexual gratification is all they have," Wellman said evenly. "I didn't know Richard was 'indulging' in this distasteful practice, but I do know he's had problems before." "Problems of a criminal nature?" Mulder pressed. Wellman looked down to the carpet before speaking. "He was accused of rape. The young woman was paid handsomely and the charges were dropped. I made Richard promise me he would never attempt to force himself on anyone again. Richard has always kept his word to me." At Mulder's disapproving glare, Wellman hastened to add. "I thought it was a mistake on his part. I thought he didn't understand what he was doing. If I'd known it would progress to this . . ." He held his hands out in supplication. "Agent Mulder, you have to believe me. I truly want to resolve this matter as quickly as possible." "Yesterday, at the press conference," Mulder hissed, "Did you know the perpetrator was Richard?" "No," Wellman said with an emphatic shake of his head. "I had no idea. When he ran, I assumed it was, well . . . as I said Richard has been acting odd for some time. But when I got the call tonight that you had been to the repair shop and were asking questions about the watch, I knew I had to come forward with what I knew." Mulder nodded, thinking. Wellman continued to look genuinely concerned about the case and his ability to affect a resolution. "We could bring Richard in for questioning. I'm assuming you won't try to protect him," Mulder said evenly. Wellman sighed and shook his head, looking out the window. "If his father were alive, maybe none of this would have happened," he said and wiped a tear away from his eye. Looking back at Mulder, he straightened his shoulders. "But this can not go on. And Richard has to pay his debt to society. I will not attempt to stop the interrogation and I will not attempt to stop any indictment or arrest. Of course, I will get him the best defense lawyer I can, that's the least I can do. I don't want Richard to face the death penalty. In many ways, what has happened isn't his fault, either. It's just that Richard was too fragile for this world." He drew in a breath and walked toward a small desk in the corner of the room. "Here's Richard's address. I can't tell you if he's there or not, I've tried calling him several times tonight and there is no answer." "He capable of living alone?" Mulder asked with a raised eyebrow. "Oh, Richard is capable of caring for himself. He's not a vegetable. He can drive. He has his father's old Caddie that he keeps in good condition. He's just very slow, Fox. Once you meet him, you'll understand." Mulder touched the bandage on his temple. "I think we've already met," he said dryly. "Richard is strong, I will give him that. And his reflexes are quick. I suggest you don't go after him alone." Wellman motioned to the door. "I won't keep you any longer. Andrew will drive you back to the Lincoln Plaza." He smiled fondly at some memory. "I had many a pleasant evening in their dining room, talking politics." Before Mulder was out the door, Wellman offered his hand to the younger man. Mulder took it to shake it firmly but the older man clasped his left hand over the top. A gold ring with three diamonds across the middle glistened in the light of the hallway. Mulder swallowed hard and it seemed like an eternity as he dragged his eyes up from the ring to the face of the man before him. Tyler had told him about the ring and the man who wore it. 'He liked to be sucked real good.' Mulder's stomach did a slow roll and he thought anxiously that he might lose its contents all right there on Wellman's expensive slacks. "I think we both want the same thing, Fox," Wellman was speaking but it sounded to Mulder like he was a million miles away. "For this all to be over and to all get on with our work, our lives." Andrew was there by the elevators. Mulder gave no thought to the fact that the man had not been summoned in any way, had probably been standing there the entire time he was talking to the Congressman. Mulder as too busy trying to process what had just happened. He had to get back to the hotel, talk to Scully. ***end of part 8*** Drought 9 of 9 disclaimed in part one Lincoln Plaza Hotel Wednesday morning, 3 am Scully yawned, but sipped at her 'hotel bathroom' coffee cup and tried desperately to understand her partner's frantic rantings. The fact that he wouldn't sit still and just talk to her, but insisted on pacing the small distance allowed in her room was about to drive her to go for her gun. "Mulder, will you just sit down here next to me and tell me what happened?" she pleaded. Mulder jerked his head toward her. He'd been pulling on his bottom lip and his hair was mussed in a dozen directions from where he'd run nervous fingers through it. Finally, he sighed and sat down next to her on the bed. He reached for her coffee, but she shook her head and held the Styrofoam cup out of reach. "No way. You have enough adrenaline. It would be like tossing gasoline on a bonfire," she told him. She got up and pulled a sports drink out of the tiny refrigerator supplied with the room. She tossed it to him as she sat down. "Now, tell me what happened." "I just had a Member of Congress finger a person with a mental handicap," he said, chugging half the bottle. "And I'm pretty sure he's doing it to avoid having his own indiscretions come to light." He'd told her what Wellman had said about Richard Means, including the rape accusation. Then he'd told her about seeing Wellman's ring and remembering what Tyler had told him. "You're saying that you believe Richard Means collects these boys to perform sexual acts with Congressman Wellman?" she asked calmly. "Yes. I believe Means was just the go between. Tyler called him 'an old fart'. But he wasn't the trick. That was Wellman. And Wellman could afford a C note to have some kid go down on him." Mulder bit his own lip as the words tumbled out and the images made his stomach flip a couple of times. He sat the drink bottle on the nightstand and clenched his eyes shut to try and block his own thoughts. Scully's hand was on his shoulder, rubbing his back in small circles. "Do you think Wellman was involved in the actual killings?" The question allowed him to focus on the investigation and he smiled at her. How did she do that? "I'm not sure. But that is a strong possibility. We won't know for sure until we find Means. He's the only one who can tell us." "Do you think Means is even involved? Maybe, because of his mental status, Wellman is expecting him to be declared unfit for trial," she suggested. "I'm certain the guy who attacked me was Means. And I'm equally certain that guy killed those kids. Whether it was his idea to kill them or he was given an order that he was following, I don't know. I'm willing to believe that he was ordered to kill them, clean up the mess, so that Wellman's sick games would never come back to haunt him." "Didn't he think someone would investigate?" "He probably thought no one would bother. They were runaways, for God's sakes, Scully. Everybody knows how dangerous that is. He didn't think there would be a connection." "So what now? We find Means and interrogate him? Will Wellman stand for that?" Mulder shrugged. "He said he'd go along with it. He said he'd get Means a defense attorney, but wouldn't block an indictment. That's all we can go on. As far as Wellman is concerned, I'm not the enemy. He thinks I believe his story and I'm willing to work with him." Scully glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. "Mulder, I really think we'd be risking our lives to call Allerton at this hour." Mulder looked over to see the time. He closed his eyes but opened them a minute later. He looked at her with a hopeful expression. "We could always just go past the address, see if anyone's there," he suggested. She glared at him. "Scully, if he's there, we just sit outside until a reasonable hour," he prodded. "Like a stake out." "Like an unauthorized stake out. And who's to say he'll be there?" "OK, if he's not there, we still hang around in case he shows up," Mulder countered. "We have phones and guns. What more do we need?" She gave him 'the look', her head tilted just so that her eyes flashed with a light he could never describe, but would never forget. "What do we need? Au-thor-i-zation," she enunciated for him. "Scully, we're just . . ." "Loitering," she finished. "Sc-ully," he whined. "I suppose if I were to tell you that I wanted to sleep a few more hours, you'd just go over there without me," she accused. "I would never . . ." "Save it, Mulder, before you perjure yourself," she said with a put upon sigh. She reached around him on the bed and grabbed one of the pillows, shoving it at his stomach. "At least, I'm gonna be comfortable," she told him and left him to sit there while she went into the bathroom to change. 1254 Brandon Court 4:35 am If there was an 'other side of the tracks' in Springfield, they had found it. Or rather, Richard Means had found it. His house was at the end of a cul de sac, surrounded by bungalows with worn out shingles and derelict cars in various states of cannibalization rusting in the driveways and on the sides of the streets. Here and there, windows were boarded up with plywood and gang signs were painted on every flat surface. "I guess we could say the Congressman doesn't exactly pay his staff well," Scully had commented when they'd arrived an hour earlier. Since then she'd been dozing in the driver's seat while Mulder sat staring at the dark windows of the house. Means' car was in the driveway, which led Mulder to assume that he was indeed inside. Scully had agreed to call Allerton at 6 and have the police come with a search warrant as soon as possible. In the meantime, they just sat and waited. Mulder was getting bored. Out of deference to Scully, he had turned off the radio. There wasn't anything on to listen to, anyway. The all sports station had an idiot as their morning man and he'd quickly grown tired of listening to the man's ego. So it was just sit there and let his mind work. Why was Wellman so quick to turn over Means? Surely the Congressman realized that Means would implicate him in the boys' murders. Even if he was only an accessory, it would ruin his chances for the governorship. It didn't really add up. At 5:30, a light went on. It was close to dawn but the trees around the house left it in shadows. Mulder assumed it was the bathroom light and waited for it to extinguish. It stayed on. At a few minutes to six, Richard Means came out of his house. Almost immediately, his eyes landed on Mulder and Scully's rental car, sitting just a few houses down the street. Realization transformed his features and Means took off around the back of the house at a dead run. "Shit!" Mulder shouted and fumbled for the door. "Scully, wake up and call for backup," he said before sprinting after the suspect. Scully woke up startled and took some time to find her phone, but soon she was dialing and running after Mulder. She managed to hit 911 and called in the need for police back up. Right after she connected with Allerton's home, apparently pulling the SAC out of the shower. "This better be good," Allerton growled into the phone. "Sir, we have the man Mulder spotted at the press conference. He's trying to allude capture as we speak," she panted into the phone. "Have you called the SPD?" His tone lost almost its entire rancor. "They're on their way," Scully assured him. "Give me the address," Allerton ordered. Scully complied and Allerton cursed loudly. "Scully, you'll be lucky if anyone shows up in the next hour. That's the most crime-ridden part of the city. They'll have to pull a team together before they head over there." "What?" Scully cried in disbelief. "Sir, Mulder is right on this guy's tail, but we need help!" "I'll call a couple of my men, they can probably be there in half an hour. Just try to keep him in sight and for god's sakes, don't lose him near the dam. We'll never find him in those woods. And keep this line open!" "Dam?" Scully asked, but discovered that Allerton had already disconnected. Mulder remembered Wellman's warning about Means' strength, but it was probably a little late. The man had endurance, too. Mulder was starting to tire but Means was still running dead out and not about to slow down. Mulder thought about firing his gun, but they were in a residential area and he was afraid of the consequences. He chose instead to shout. "Richard Means, stop! I'm a Federal Officer!" Means looked over his shoulder and ran all the harder. "Goddamn it to hell," Mulder muttered, not having the breath to spare on more. He ignored the burn in his lungs and the pain in his legs and kept going. Means took off across a road and started through a cornfield. The stalks weren't high, he was still clearly visible over the tops, but going was a little harder. Mulder felt the leaves grab and tear at his pant legs and snag on his unprotected hands and wrists. Means seemed at home in the corn and ran freely, without thought to the damage he was inflicting on himself or the crop. After a few hundred yards, Means veered off into a stand of trees. Mulder was losing him, not able to keep up. Lack of sleep and not enough food was taking its toll on his body. He was a good 150 yards away when Means tossed one last look over his shoulder and disappeared into the woods. A side stitch ended the chase. It caught Mulder on the right side and in a split second he was down on his knees, panting for air and feeling confident he'd just ripped something internal. Scully was next to him before he could get his breath. "Mulder, are you . . ." "Go," he gasped. "Means. Woods." Scully nodded, but hesitated. At his insistent wave, she trotted off to the edge of the woods and disappeared into the underbrush. Mulder's phone rang and he took a few deep breaths before attempting to answer. It was one of the Springfield Bureau agents. Mulder brokenly gave their location, and then dropped the phone back into his pocket. He looked up to see Scully coming back toward him through the corn. "I lost him, Mulder. I'm sorry," she said, dropping next to him and checking him over with concern. "What happened? Are you OK?" "Side stitch," he ground out, angry at himself for letting Means escape. "Allerton warned me about some woods. Those must be the ones he told me about," she said with a tired sigh. Four Springfield agents arrived in two cars and met up with the DC agents, who were just coming out of the field. Scully pointed out the direction Means was headed when last seen and the agents took off into the woods. She got Mulder to sit down in one of the Bureau cars and called Allerton to give him an update. An hour later, Springfield's finest arrived, seven men to help the search in the woods. Scully was able to get one of the Springfield agents to drive them back to their car and they headed to the office to meet with Allerton. FBI Regional Office 9:30 am "Will Wellman give a statement?" Allerton asked, taking his perch on the edge of this desk as Mulder and Scully sat in the chairs before him. "I doubt it. Maybe. He seemed interested in bringing Means to justice. Making a statement might be a little more public than he wanted to go," Mulder said thoughtfully. "I'll call his office. With his statement, we can put out an APB." "Sir, all we really know is that Means has a history of sexual assault. It really doesn't equate into an indictment for murder," Scully reminded him. "Are you backing down from your report that Means is the same man who attacked Mulder the other night?" Allerton growled. "No sir," Scully said, flustered. "I'm just saying . . ." "Last time I looked, assault on a Federal Officer is still enough reason to bring some one in for questioning," Allerton said, dismissing her concern. "If you give me a positive ID, Mulder, I can even forgo getting Wellman's statement." Mulder looked over at his partner, who shrugged. He looked back at Allerton and nodded. Allerton smiled and turned to pick up the phone. As he dialed, he nodded to the door. "Go get some shut eye. We'll call you when we pick him up." Mulder dragged himself out of the chair. He was exhausted. Two hours of sleep a night just wasn't doing it anymore, he decided. Allerton stopped him at the door and called him back into the office. "So, where's the paperwork?" the SAC asked expectantly. Mulder was confused and showed it. "Paperwork?" "I assume you had proper authorization for that stake out this morning," Allerton said, adopting a benign expression. Mulder chewed on his lip. He was too damned tired for this. "No sir. We did not. I did not," he clarified. He'd take the ass-chewing, but he wasn't about to drag Scully in for one. Allerton shook his head. "Mulder, we barely have enough to hold the guy for questioning. If he's a mental case, some defense attorney will say we're harassing him. Get the paperwork next time, got it?" "Yes sir," Mulder answered evenly. He stood in the doorway, mostly because he was too exhausted to get his body to move into the hall. Scully came up behind him and touched his sleeve. "Don't say it," he warned as he started down the hallway. "I screwed up. I'm sorry." She shook her head at him. "Now I know you're running on empty," she said with a grin. "I can't eat, Scully. I'm too tired," he admitted. "Let's get you back to the room. I got a little more sleep than you did. I'll type up our report of this morning's adventure and then run out and get us both some lunch." "It's a deal, if it's a late lunch. A very late lunch." They walked out onto the asphalt parking lot and immediately looked up at the sky. Clouds, dark and menacing, hung low enough to brush the tops of trees. "Storm brewing," Mulder said as the wind whipped Scully's hair into her face and she swiped at it impatiently. "And about time. Hope it does rain, it'll break the drought," she said. "Not to mention the heatwave." Mulder nodded, but not as easily. He eyed the sky with wary anticipation. Scully tugged on his sleeve. "Let's go." She tugged again and he allowed himself to be pulled to the passenger side of the car. "Mulder, it's just a storm," she said lightly, while he kept staring up at the sky. "Yeah," he answered absently. "Just a storm." He didn't sound convinced. "If it rains, maybe you'll sleep better," she offered. "I always love taking a nap when it rains." "I don't think it's just going to rain, Scully. Not for a while." She glanced up at the clouds as she pulled out of the parking lot and on to the street. "There you go again, Mulder. Always looking on the bright side," she sighed. It was a short drive to the hotel and they were just getting out of the car when Mulder's cell phone rang. "Agent Mulder, this is Max Wellman. I believe I can tell you where to find Richard. But I'm afraid something bad might happen if everyone charges in on him. Could you come alone?" The Congressman was talking quickly and Mulder heard a noise on the line, like a cellphone being used with the car window down. "Congressman, I really should get the team together. If you think Means is dangerous, it would be a very bad idea to go after him alone," Mulder warned, motioning Scully back into the car. "We can call the Bureau office and get men on the road in just a matter of minutes." "Could you come immediately?" Wellman asked. "I mean, if you think you have to call in more troops, that's fine. But I'm afraid he might take off again. He was acting very odd when he called me." "He called you?" Mulder didn't bother to hide his surprise. "When?" "About a half hour ago. He wanted my help. I told him it was over, he had to turn himself in. But he kept saying things, quoting the Bible. I didn't understand most of his ranting. It was gibberish. I'm very worried, Agent Mulder." "Do you know where he was when he called you?" Mulder asked as Scully started the car and headed out onto the street. "He didn't tell me, but I'm pretty sure I know where he was going. There's a payphone at the trailhead in Carpenter's Park. It's along the Sangamon River. He likes it there because it isn't flat, doesn't look like the rest of Illinois. You can get to the park by taking Business 55 north toward the town of Sherman. It's just over the river. I'm going there now, to try and talk him into giving himself up." "Sir, I believe that is very unwise," Mulder said through gritted teeth. "Sir, this man is unstable. You need to let law enforcement handle this." "Agent Mulder, this man is like a brother to me. I can't just leave him out there like this. If I can talk some sense in to him, I have to try. I owe his father that much!" Mulder flinched when Wellman disconnected the line without allowing a reply. "He's going over after him," Mulder repeated. At her questioning glance he pointed to a road sign. Follow Business 55, cross the bridge over the Sangamon River. There's a park on the other side." Scully nodded, negotiating a turn and heading toward the street that served as the Business section of Interstate 55 through town. "I'm calling Allerton," Mulder said, dialing the phone as quickly as possible. Mulder had to give Allerton some credit. The man took charge when it was necessary. For the second time in one day, Allerton prepared to call out the troops and send them to Carpenter's Park. Mulder just hoped they would arrive before any action took place. Scully made all the green lights, a first since they'd arrived in Springfield. They pulled into the parking area for Carpenter's Park and found both Means' old Cadillac and Wellmans' Lincoln parked near the trailhead. "Wellman must have called us on his way over here," Scully noted as they got out of the car. Mulder was looking up at the sky. The air around them was almost completely still and the sky had taken on an ominous green tinge. The clouds looked angry and swirling. Mulder cringed and looked down at the trailhead. "Are you going to be OK?" Scully asked, watching him intently. "I'm fine. Scully, I don't think we have time to stand around and wait for the cavalry. I suggest we head up the trail, see what's going on." "Mulder, the other agents should be here in just a few minutes," Scully pleaded. "Look up, Scully. That storm is gonna break any minute. I don't know about you, but I don't want to be standing in an open parking lot when it does. C'mon, the others will follow." She chewed on her lip, but finally gave him a reluctant nod. He took off at a run down the trail and she was fast on his heels. The path was well marked and clear and the going was easy. Mulder broke some branches to show their path, but soon decided it was unnecessary. There was only one path and the agents were sure to follow them. Until they hit the river. The path had been going steadily uphill, but at a gentle slope. So it was a fairly big surprise when the trail broke into a tee and the Sangamon River was a good 30 feet below the rock-faced cliff where they were standing. "Shit!" Mulder cursed, looking both ways down the path. Scully caught up to him and looked in dismay at their predicament and the threatening sky. "What now?" she asked. To the left, the trail wound down hill toward the riverbank. To the right it was rockier and uphill. Mulder looked down at Scully's inappropriate footwear and made his decision. "You go left, I go right," he said and took off at a trot. She hesitated an instant and then took off in the opposite direction. Mulder had a little harder time now that the path was right on the edge of a cliff. Rocks came loose under his feet and a few times he slipped and had to steady himself. He looked over the side once or twice, noticing that the water was pretty low from the lack of rainfall. The trail veered back onto the land away from the cliff and into an open meadow. Mulder crouched down to survey the situation. Means and Wellman were squared off across from each other in the middle of a field of tall brown grass. "Richard, give me the gun," Wellman was saying, his hand reaching out to Means. Mulder looked over at Means. The man's back was to the agent, and Mulder couldn't see a gun, but it was possible it was just out of his line of sight. He pulled his own weapon and started to stand when Wellman shouted out. "Be careful, Agent Mulder! He has a gun!" Means twirled around and looked shocked to see Mulder at the edge of the field. He raised his hand for an instant and then turned back and started after Wellman. "God will have revenge on you!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "He will avenge me and all you have defiled!" "Agent Mulder, shoot him! He has a gun!" Wellman shouted to Mulder, but Mulder was searching Means and still could see no weapon. Means was charging Wellman now, running the dozen or so yards that separated the two men. Mulder took off, too, in an effort to determine if he should be firing at Means. "Federal Officer, I order you to stop!" he shouted at Means' back. The man kept running. "He's got a gun!" Wellman screamed frantically. "He's going to kill me!" "Richard Means, put the weapon down!" Mulder shouted again, and raised his own weapon to firing level. "God will avenge!" Richard shouted and grabbed hold of Wellman's outstretched arm. At that exact moment the clouds roared and the entire meadow was engulfed in a bright light. Mulder felt himself being knocked back, felt his feet lift from the ground and his body tossed backward. A roar unlike any he had every experienced deafened him even as a bright white light washed over him completely. He was unconscious when he hit the ground. Scully soon discovered that her trail petered out, literally. The rock wall that was the cliff ended abruptly with a four-lane highway, the one they'd used to cross the river. She huffed in disgust and turned around, in the hopes of finding her partner. Like Mulder, she found the upward trail trickier than the one she'd taken. The rocks were a big problem and her two and a half inch heels were not helping at all. She found herself on her knees a couple of times, almost tipping over the side of the cliff and into the muddy water of the Sangamon River at one point, which caused her heart rate to start pumping double time. It seemed like forever when she finally came upon the meadow. Right as she looked up, an incredible stench of ozone filled the air and choked her. She was down the path, just a few yards, and could see Mulder running toward Wellman and another man, who was almost on top of Wellman. At that instant, hell broke loose. Scully was knocked to the ground by the clap of thunder alone. It was so close, she could feel the air around her suck in to feed the explosion. When she looked up, Mulder was lying closest to her, sprawled out on his back. Her heart stopped. She couldn't remember starting to run, but she found herself sliding to his side just as the heavens opened and a cooling rain washed over the scene. His foot was twitching. But from her experience she knew dead bodies twitched all the times. Raindrops and tears ran down her face as she checked at his neck for a pulse. She found one and muttered a prayer of thanks to the sky. She made quick work of his tie and shirt, unconsciously tossing the splash of colored silk behind her as if it burned her touch. He was breathing. Again, she sighed a prayer of thanks. But the skin on his shoulders was covered with a red tattoo of feathered streaks. Her mind flashed on an article she'd read in a science magazine about lightning strikes. In some cases, the flesh conducted the strike, rather than the electricity surging through the body and causing permanent damage. He was still injured, would still require medical treatment, mostly in part to his run down physical condition. But he would recover, and that was all that mattered. She heard a noise and saw three agents following up the same path she'd just taken. "Over here! We need medical help! Officer Down!" But the call didn't sound quite as frantic to her ears this time when she shouted it. An agent brought an umbrella and knelt down next to Mulder, shielding him from the rain that was coming down in buckets. It was as if the sky had been holding back for so many weeks and was finally making up for lost time. Scully nodded to the agent and then trotted over to the other bodies. Means, she assumed because he was the only unidentified person on the meadow, was lying on his back, eyes open to the rain. She touched his neck and found no pulse, no breath sounds in his chest. She called to one of the agents to start CPR and moved to Wellman. The Congressman was in a similar state. No pulse, no respirations. But Scully felt it was her duty to at least try. Glancing over to make sure Mulder was still being cared for, she leaned over the older man's body and attempted to resuscitate him. In the background she heard an agent call for a medical team. Several minutes later, she heard the sounds of a helicopter that landed just a few yards from her in the field. No attempts to revive the two men at the scene were successful. Since one man was a high-ranking official, the paramedics decided to transport them all back to the hospital, just in case. Mulder, who was still unconscious, was carefully tucked onto a gurney and whisked off to the hospital. With three gurneys on the chopper, there was no room for extra passengers and Scully was forced to stand by and watch as the rain continued to soak her to the bone. Her mind wandered to the conversation she'd had with Mulder in the car going to speak with Tyler Barnes family. She remembered the Bible passage and it came back to her in a rush. 'Hear the word of the Lord, ye rulers of Sodom; give ear unto the law of our God, ye people of Gomor'rah.' When the helicopter had become a tiny speck on the horizon, and everything around her was just gentle rain, she turned from the scene and took the trail back to their car. Memorial Medical Center Wednesday 4:15 pm Muffled noises came to him from a fog. It sounded and felt like his ears were stuffed with cotton. No, not cotton. Concrete. And his hand was numb. For that matter, his feet felt numb as well. He cracked an eye open and saw his partner, sitting right in her usual spot next to his bed. She mouthed something to him and he shook his head. Why didn't she just speak up? He glanced around and could see he was the only occupant of the small cubicle. "What, Scully? I can't hear you," he said, not realizing that he was shouting at her. She shook her head impatiently at him, and removed her notepad from her jacket pocket. She scribbled down a few words and showed them to him. 'How are you feeling, besides deaf?' His eyes grew to the size of saucers and she immediately grabbed his hand to get him to look at her. 'Temporary,' she mouthed at him. He sighed in relief. "My hands are numb," he yelled. "And my feet." She took the notepad again and scribbled some more. 'You were struck by lightning.' He blinked, then lifted his eyes to hers and asked several silent questions. She wrote again. 'You got a flash burn, across your shoulders and arms. You have some Lichtenberg's figures across your back.' He must have looked concerned and confused because she started writing faster. 'It's a sort of rash from the lightning strike. They will disappear in a few days. Your hearing should return before then. Other than that, you faired pretty well. No permanent damage.' She smiled as she handed him the note to read. "Wellman and Means?" he asked, trying to adjust his voice to a level that didn't cause her to cringe. 'Dead,' she mouthed. Mulder sighed. "Did anyone find a gun?" Scully looked confused at that question. She took the pad back. 'Your gun was knocked from your hands, but we found it.' He shook his head. "No, Wellman kept saying that Means had a gun. Did you find another gun, besides mine?" Scully shook her head slowly. She wrote again. 'Means was holding a small Bible, that's all.' "Wellman wanted me to shoot him. I think Means was going to confess and implicate Wellman. That's why Wellman wanted me to shoot him before anyone else arrived." Suddenly, he felt very tired, so he leaned back and let his eyelids drop. A hand landed on his shoulder and caused him to jump. A tall man with brown hair was standing over him, speaking to both him and Scully, but Mulder couldn't make out a word. He closed his eyes, certain that Scully would tell him if anything important transpired. Finally, the man left. Scully handed him another note. 'You're here for the night.' Mulder decided it was a very good opportunity to take that nap he kept missing. Memorial Medical Center 10:05 pm When he woke up the second time, he could hear a buzzing sound, but some other sounds filtered through as well. Scully had the television on and was watching the late news. He tapped her hand where it rested on his leg to get her attention. She turned and smiled at him, taking the remote and adding closed captioning to the TV screen. Mulder wiggled his eyebrows in appreciation of her thoughtfulness. On the screen, a reporter was holding an umbrella and standing not far from the trailhead. Behind her, agents in full rain apparel swarmed the scene. The reporter was telling of the death of Congressman Wellman and a member of his staff and the hospitalization of an unnamed FBI agent. "At least I'm unnamed," Mulder said, wincing at the way his voice echoed back to him from a far distance. "I'm not so sure it will remain that way," Scully said in a slightly raised voice. She was speaking slowly and he could make out most of the words. He still must have looked confused by her comment. "Your attending physician in the ER was Bett Greenburg's husband." "What ever happened to patient confidentiality?" he demanded, crossing his arms. "Are you going to file a complaint?" she asked, with a raised eyebrow. He shook his head no. "So, no mention of the murders of those boys," Mulder said dryly as the reporter signed off and the news program turned to the storm that had broken the drought. Scully shook her head. "The official report is that Means was the perpetrator and Wellman was just trying to bring him in," she said quietly. At Mulder's disgusted snort, she continued. "Allerton decided it would serve no purpose to bring in to light your suspicions on the matter. There was no real evidence that Wellman was using these boys to service his sexual desires. Of course, that was decided after he received a call from the Attorney General. Both Attorneys General, actually, US and Illinois." She played with the blanket covering his legs, catching a thread and pulling it before breaking it off. "And we got new orders. As soon as you're released tomorrow, we're to fly back and report to Domestic Terrorism. No more VCS. No more profiling." Mulder bit his lip. She reached over and took his hand. "It's over Mulder. Neither Means nor Wellman would have stood trial. But, in a very real sense, both of them received justice," she added gently. "But what about those boys?" he asked, his voice breaking. She sat in silence, holding his hand. Outside, the rain drummed against the window. The end. Technical note: The information on lightning strikes and the human body comes from _Discover_ Magazine, August 2002 "When Lightning Strikes", pp 46 - 51. It's a GREAT read and the picture will knock your socks off! End notes: Whew! Well, this was a long one, but definitely a labor of love. In case you are wondering, yes, I know all these places all too well. I know several people who have various attributes of Max Wellman, but not the most glaring character flaw he has in this story. Some of the people are very real, I just used different names (with one happy exception--the nurse in the Capitol Building for years and years really is Dorothy Ferguson--now retired--and I hope I've captured her appropriately here because she is a terrific lady and a good friend.) All the political situations are as real as I could make them, and I've lived through many like these. The press conference is as close to the real thing as I could make it, and I've been too many. All in all, I tried to inject as much realism as possible in this story. I hope those parts didn't bore you to tears. And if you ever come to Springfield, please, spend some money. We need the sales tax revenues. (Note to international readers: we are NOT really the Springfield on the Simpsons--we just act like it ;) Many thanks, Vickie vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com