FADE TO MIDNIGHT
by TexxasRose
anythingisfi@animail.net
November 20, 1999


Classification: Mulder/Scully married, EXTREME Muldertorture
in this one, folks, so if you don't care for that, bail out
now--I don't want to hear later that you thought it was too
violent.

Disclaimer: If I owned Fox Mulder I'd keep him much too busy
to solve cases. If I owned Dana Scully she'd be my shopping
buddy. I don't own Skinner either, obviously. They all
belong to Chris Carter, and 1013, and Fox Broadcasting, and
all those other lucky entities.  Jess, Dulexy and Sylvia are
all mine.

Spoilers: No major ones that I can think of, a minor one for
Pine Bluff Variant.

MAJOR thanks to my long-suffering beta-reader, Julie, who
makes the stories intelligible.

Rating: R for language and graphic violence.

Author's note: This is a sequel to my novel Ahead of
Twilight, and while it isn't absolutely necessary that you
read it to know what's going on in this story, it will make
more sense to you if you do. 



*******************************************************


FADE TO MIDNIGHT
TexxasRose

-------------------------
TUESDAY 2:47 a.m.
-------------------------

Mulder jumped as the heavy door slammed shut behind him.
He'd known it would turn out this way, had tried to warn
them but they had refused to listen to him, stupidly
insisting that the police would never arrest him for Zachary
Morrow's murder after Mulder had shot the man. Shot him in
cold blood, his mind insisted, but Mulder refused to allow
his conscience to go that far; the man had been about to
rape his wife, after all, and then probably dispense with
them both.  On the other hand, if they'd been able to hold
Zach off for a few more minutes, Walter would have arrived
and there was a possibility nobody would have had to die.
Just a possibility.

They'd continued to insist, all the way to the police
station, that Mulder wouldn't be taken into custody, but
Mulder had known the truth. He knew how justice worked,
having already been falsely convicted of the murder of one
man.  This was different.  This time there actually was a
dead man in Mulder's bedroom with Mulder's bullet in him.
They would ask Scully for her statement, and what could she
do but tell the truth?  He had shot her ex-husband in the
head.  It didn't look good.  No matter the circumstances, it
just didn't look good.

Mulder turned and saw Scully's sorrowful eyes watching him
before he was led, handcuffed, down a long corridor filled
with individual cells.   He got one last glimpse of her
before they rounded a corner, and knew he had seen that look
on her lovely face before--on the day, all those years ago,
when he had received his first guilty verdict.  Oh
yeah--he'd been here before, all right.

Now he was being escorted, hands cuffed behind his back,
farther and farther away from his very soul.  A man would
have to be crazy to willingly abandon his soul, and whatever
else he may be, Mulder was most assuredly still in his right
mind.  With a sudden wrenching motion, yanking free of the
guard who had been firmly grasping his upper arm, Mulder
turned to race back toward her, toward the face, the
comfort, the life that had sustained him for as long as he
could remember.  He simply could not be parted from her
again.  He saw her waiting for him, holding out her arms
with a welcoming smile, and felt his feet begin to move
faster as he approached her.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, he was set upon by more
guards--five? six? seven?--he couldn't count them.  They
dragged him to the floor and flipped him over onto his back.
Mulder yelled and fought against them, but was unable to
elude their hands grasping him, holding him, pinning him
down.  He ceased his struggles abruptly when he looked up
into a pair of sadistic eyes, and realized with a jolt that
it was the guard who had beaten him nearly to death when
he'd been in prison.  Cold shock invaded him and all the
fight left his body at once.

Even as he opened his mouth and began screaming, some small
part of him felt relief, for at that moment he knew it was
only a dream.

"Mulder!"

His eyes flew open and he stared at her face, bathed in the
moonlight that streamed in through the open curtains.

"Huh?" he managed, feeling the trembling in his body and
realizing he was breathing heavily.  "What?  Oh, shit."  He
remembered all in a rush, swiping his hands over his face as
if to banish the last remnants of the nightmare.

"You okay?" she asked, brushing hair away from his sweaty
brow.  "You were thrashing around in the bed and mumbling
something in your sleep."

"I'm fine, Scully," he answered, sitting on the side of the
bed and reaching for his boxers, which had quickly been
ripped from his body and discarded on the floor soon after
they'd gone to bed the night before. "Just the standard bad
dreams.  Nothing to worry about."

"I'd have thought after the workout you had earlier, you'd
have slept like a baby," she teased as she watched him pull
them on.

He grinned.  The 'workout' had consisted of relieving too
many days worth of pent-up frustration.  Emmie had had
several of her girlfriends over to spend the last long
weekend before school started, and after dealing with four
fifteen-year-old girls for three days, Scully had been
exhausted.  Mulder, on the other hand, had been working just
as hard to get his office and his notes ready for the first
day of school, and between the two of them they'd only had
energy to look hungrily at one another for over a week.  The
scene that had ensued in their bedroom once they'd finally
retired there had been quick, savage and immensely
satisfying for them both.

"I think I'll get a glass of water," he told her.  "I seem
to have lost a lot of fluids somehow and I'm just going to
replenish.  You go on back to sleep."

Instead, she snickered at his remark and followed him to the
kitchen, pulling her robe on as she made her way down the
darkened hall.  She watched Mulder put ice in a glass with
hands that still trembled, and shook her head ruefully.  It
had been ten years.  Would he be tormented forever?

Scully waited while he filled the glass and took a seat
beside her at the kitchen table, then reached out to grasp
his fingers tightly.

"This one was bad," she commented, and he said nothing,
draining half the glass in one swallow.  "Want to talk about
it?"

"Not likely," he muttered, then gave her a small smile to
erase the sting from his words.  "It was nothing, Scully.
Just one of my old standards. It was about...that day."

Scully sighed.  Even after all these years, Mulder still
found it hard to trust anyone in uniform, and his fear of
law enforcement personnel had become almost a joke among
their friends and family.  Almost a joke until something
like this happened, she thought with a flash of irritation,
and then she was the only one around to pick up the pieces.

"Mulder, you haven't had one in such a long time.  If you're
going to start having nightmares again, I really think
Jess--"

"I don't need Jess, Scully.  I know exactly what caused
this."  Jess Coslow Skinner had been Mulder's therapist
after he'd been released from prison, and Scully's too for a
while.  For the last nine years, she had been Mrs. Walter
Skinner, and a close family friend.  Mulder knew Jess was
always a phone call away, and for that he was eternally
grateful, but this particular dream had a definite catalyst,
one which Mulder had no trouble identifying.

At Scully's quizzical look he went on sheepishly, "I got
pulled over for speeding today.  I didn't want to tell you,
but I guess I can't keep a secret very well."

She smiled in exasperation.  "Speeding!  Mulder, you're
fifty-one years old. When will you learn?"

"I may be fifty-one, but I still manage to keep you happy,"
he smirked, and she nearly laughed out loud, stifling the
sound to avoid waking Emmie.

"Yeah, but I'm getting old too," she pointed out teasingly.
"Maybe it takes less to keep me satisfied these days."

Scully didn't realize she'd thrown down a challenge until it
was accepted.

"I'll show you who's getting old," he announced, rising from
his chair and pulling her against his warm, bare chest in
one swift motion.

Before Scully knew what had happened, she was backed against
the nearest wall with his large frame almost covering her.

Scully stared, eyes wide and luminous, as he threaded his
fingers through her hair purposefully and pulled her closer.
She knew he was going to kiss her, she wanted him to kiss
her, and after one nervous glance toward the hall where the
bedrooms lay, she allowed herself to melt against him. He
came closer and closer, but instead of claiming her lips
with his as she wanted him to, he teased her, planting tiny
kiss after tiny kiss on her mouth until she was ready to
scream with frustration.  She wanted more, and she ground
her lower body against his as he maneuvered her more firmly
against the wall. She was trapped between the hardness of
the cool wall and the hardness of Mulder, long and lean and
obviously wanting her as well.

She moaned, and tried to capture his bottom lip between her
teeth, but Mulder was in a playful mood tonight and evaded
her with a chuckle.

"Patience, Scully," he teased, beginning to torture her neck
now, an activity which experience had taught him would have
her whimpering in passion within seconds. "You have...to
wait...for the...good stuff."

Two could definitely play this game, she decided, and her
hands circled his waist slowly, then roamed downward to slip
beneath the waistband of his boxers, the only garment he
wore.  Scully knew just how to get to her husband.  She
traced a fingernail lightly over the skin at the curve of
his behind and he yelped.

"Damn it, woman, no fair tickling me!" he insisted in the
low, seductive voice that always gave her chills.  Swiftly
he grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the wall above her
head.  She struggled lightly against him, almost helpless
with silent laughter, but she had never been a match for his
size and strength.  He slipped his free hand tantalizingly
through the folds of her robe and cupped first one breast,
then the other while his mouth continued to do illegal
things to her throat, lapping here, nipping there, placing
first a gentle kiss and then sucking furiously, leaving his
mark on her skin.

Mulder in what she thought of as his "masterful mode" could
always bring her to the verge of total meltdown, and by the
time he relented and allowed a real kiss, her laughter had
turned to moans of need, and Scully was writhing under his
assault, abandoning resistance and straining toward him
urgently.  His thumb teased her nipple while his tongue
explored her mouth, desperately seeking the sweetness he
always found there.

"Mulder!" she gasped when he drew back to let her to catch
her breath.

"Yes?" he purred sweetly, grinding her further against the
wall until Scully thought she would scream if he didn't take
her right then. "You want something from this old man?"

"Mulder, we are *not* going to have sex here in the
kitchen!"

He grinned against her neck.  "I think we are, Scully," he
contradicted, beginning to nibble again at her collarbone.

"Emmie--"

"Would sleep through a nuclear blast, and you know it," he
finished, quickly unbelting her robe and beginning to slide
it down her shoulders.

Her only answer was another moan.  He carefully lowered them
to the floor, hastily spreading out the terrycloth robe.

"Mulder," Scully interrupted, regaining some of her senses
while he fooled with the robe.  "If we're going to do this
here, *you* get to lie on the cold floor."

She gave him a gentle push backwards, and he caught himself,
grinning in good-natured defeat and letting her settle him,
with the bathrobe beneath his head and naked back.  He
winced a little as the coolness seeped through the fabric,
and Scully immediately set herself to warming him up.

He raised his hips in order to allow her to slip his boxers
down his legs, revealing his desire for her in the darkened
room.  Scully began to explore him with her fingers,
reminding herself of every plane and contour of his body
while he took up where he'd previously left off, continuing
to push her toward the brink of insanity.  Her lips teased
his flesh, her tongue lapped at his throat and with
satisfaction she heard him draw a sharp breath.

"Now!" she commanded, and Mulder, having been trained in the
art of pleasing his wife for just over ten years, obeyed
immediately. He positioned her above himself and soon they
forgot time, forgot space, forgot that they had a teenage
daughter sleeping down the hall.

"Come on with me, Scully, now!" he commanded softly. Scully,
with her last bit of sanity, said a brief prayer that they
wouldn't be discovered in this compromising position, and
then the sanity was gone and he took her over the edge with
him.

Knowing her habits, Mulder muffled her cry with his mouth as
she convulsed against him; he had discovered years ago, to
his immense delight, that Scully was quite vocal in the
throes of passion.  Nothing gave him more satisfaction than
wrenching those noises from his usually calm, sedate wife.

Now she stared blissfully down at him, satisfied and
lethargic. Reluctantly, he nudged her aside, rose and helped
her to her feet, shaking the kinks out of his back and
grinning as she did the same.  They were both older, but
they still had it, he reflected smugly.

"Damn, Scully," he whispered, unaffected in no small way
himself.  "You sure know how to drive the nightmares away!"

Scully smiled a self-satisfied smile as she belted her robe
securely around her body.  How many fifty-one year old men
could do that twice in one night, she thought proudly.  Of
course, she had given him several hours to recover after the
first time.  Maybe tomorrow night she'd see if he was up to
the task again.


-----------------
TUESDAY 7:23 a.m.
-----------------

Emmie stumbled sleepily into the kitchen, giving a mock
glare at her parents, who looked entirely too chipper today.
She sighed as she opened the refrigerator, reaching for her
usual carton of yogurt and the low-fat milk to pour on her
cereal.  A girl had to keep her figure in mind, she always
told Fox when he chided her for not eating enough, and took
great delight in pointing out how badly his own eating
habits compared to hers.

She stepped back and turned toward the kitchen table.  A
puzzled look crossed her face and she picked up her foot,
examining the bottom of her sneaker.

"What?" Scully asked, seeing her daughter's odd behavior.

"There's something sticky on the floor," Emmie replied as
she started to set down her breakfast and reach for a paper
towel.  "Didn't Mrs. Hankins clean yesterday?"

"I'll get it," Scully said quickly, rising to take the paper
towel from Emmie's hand.  When Emmie gave her a strange
look, Scully explained, "You need to eat breakfast so you
don't miss the bus."

Emmie sat down and stared suspiciously at Fox, who was
working hard to stifle his laughter.

"What's up with you two?" she asked as she popped the top
from the yogurt container.

"Nothing," Scully told her brightly, rising from the floor
where she'd mopped up the 'sticky stuff'.  She didn't dare
look at Mulder, for she knew he realized, as did she, that
the 'sticky stuff' was in the exact spot where they'd made
love the night before while their daughter slept.

"What are you laughing at?" Emmie demanded, staring at
Mulder over the cereal box.

"Comics," he managed, trying desperately to get himself
under control.

Emmie sighed.  "You haven't even opened the paper, Fox," she
pointed out patiently.

Mulder gave her a dazzling smile and a wink.  "I'm just
remembering the ones I read yesterday," he lied as he
reached for the morning paper.

Emmie rolled her eyes in typical teenage-girl fashion and
continued eating in silence while Scully sat down to finish
her coffee.

"Mom, can I have a pool party Friday night?" she asked
suddenly, after she had scooped the last bite of raisin bran
from her bowl.

Scully looked up in surprise.  "Don't you think this is kind
of sudden?" she asked.

Emmie, seeing her mother about to refuse, turned to the man
who had been her personal slave for most of her life.
"Please, Fox?" she cajoled. "It won't be much trouble.  I'll
just invite a few friends, and we'll grill hamburgers or
something.  You won't even have to do anything."

Mulder looked at his step-daughter's pleading brown eyes and
melted immediately, exactly as she'd hoped he would.
"Scully," he said, turning to his wife, "it wouldn't a
problem, would it?"

Scully looked from her husband to her daughter and knew
she'd been had.

"How many friends are we talking about?" she questioned.

"Um...ten?" Emmie asked hopefully.

"Make it five and you've got a deal."

Emmie pouted for a moment, and Scully found herself
wondering if she'd been practicing in the mirror--the pout
looked so similar to Mulder's that it was almost funny.

"Well...but is it all right if Ellery spends the night?" the
girl pressed.

Scully smiled.  She had known that would be the next
request.  Emmie and her best friend, Ellery Monroe, had been
almost inseparable since the third grade.  With such similar
names, teachers had often sat them together in alphabetical
order, and the girls also shared a striking resemblance to
one another.  Both had dark brown eyes and brown, wavy hair
which they wore in identical styles.  They often dressed
alike and had taken to calling themselves 'almost twins'.
Both girls were around so often that she and Mulder had
practically begun to think of themselves as having two
daughters instead of one.

"All right, Ellery can spend the night, but everyone else is
out of here by ten, got that?" Scully stated as she rose to
put her empty cup in the sink.

"Got it.  Thanks, Mom," Emmie beamed as she jumped up.  "I
think I hear the bus."

She gave her mother a kiss on the cheek and returned the
bear hug Fox bestowed upon her.

"Have a good first day at school," he said as she left 
the room.

"You too," she called over her shoulder.

"I'll try not to embarrass you in front of your friends,"
Mulder yelled after her, laughing again at the muffled, "Oh,
Fox!" that drifted through the front door before it closed.

"She is a treasure," Scully murmured quietly, her fingers
rubbing the spot where Emmie's lips had touched her.  "How
many fifteen year old girls still kiss their mothers?"

"Maybe she lost so much when she was younger that she
learned to appreciate what she has," he commented, folding
the newspaper and laying it aside.  "But the real question
of the morning is, do we need to fire Mrs. Hankins and hire
a better housekeeper?"

She ignored his laughter, silently shaking with her own as
she started for the shower.  Mrs. Hankins had been coming in
once a week to clean for them for three years now, and her
work was always stellar.

"It's not Mrs. Hankins' fault that you're an animal," she
replied when he entered the bathroom.  "She can't be
expected to follow us around and clean up after us every
time you're overcome with passion."

Mulder snorted.  "*I'm* an animal?" he retorted.  "I seem to
recall you were rather insistent that we do the wild thing
then and there."

"Nonsense."  The words came around the closed shower door,
and seconds later Mulder heard the water start.  "I was
simply trying to take your mind off your nightmare.  And
your speeding ticket," she reminded him, poking her head out
the door of the shower stall to give him a wicked smile.

"Careful, woman, or you'll find yourself up against the wall
of that shower stall," he threatened, putting the stopper in
the tub drain and beginning to run his own bath.

"You're all talk, Mulder!"

"And don't hog all the hot water!" he continued, ignoring
her jibe.

"I got here first!"

It was a race they engaged in every morning.  Mulder still
refused to take showers on a regular basis, although he had
shared one with Scully on occasion, preferring the dubious
psychological comfort of a bath. Scully, on the other hand,
thought that baths should involve candles, scented bubbles,
a good book and lots of relaxation time.  In the morning,
she whipped through a shower in fifteen minutes flat.
Several years ago they had remodeled the bathroom, adding a
separate shower stall and a larger water heater, in order to
alleviate the arguments about who would go first in the
morning.  Now they could both be content.

"Do you think she knew what that stuff on the floor was?"
Mulder called as he slid into the steaming tub of water and
reached for the shampoo.

"God, I hope not," Scully answered.  "She's only fifteen."

"I'm amazed at how early kids become sexually active these
days," he told her.  "It's scary."

"Not our daughter," Scully said with mock severity, peeking
around the curtain at him once more.  "I won't consider the
possibility, do you hear me? We've dealt with enough trouble
in our lives--this is one thing I refuse to endure."

He stared at her for a moment, then shouted with laughter.
"I'll tell the fates you have so decreed," he informed her
before slipping beneath the water.

"You do that," she replied grimly.


----------------
FRIDAY 4:02 p.m.
----------------

"What's wrong?"

The question rang through the silent car, his tentative
attempt to broach the wall Emmie seemed to have erected
between them since the night before.  She'd spoken to her
grandparents on the telephone the previous evening, and ever
since that conversation Emmie had been quiet and withdrawn
around him.  It was obvious something was bothering her, and
although Mulder had initially resolved to let her bring it
up in her own time, the continued silent treatment was
beginning to bother him.

"Nothing," she muttered.  "I'm fine."

As a verbal jab, it was promising.  She had been privy to
more than one argument between Fox and her mother over the
years concerning that very phrase, and knew how it irritated
him.  If she saw his wince, she ignored it.

He reached across the seat for her hand, but she pulled
away, and after a moment he quietly returned his to the
steering wheel.

"I can't apologize if I don't know what I've done wrong," he
told her quietly.

She remained in her sullen silence for another few minutes,
then turned to him and said deliberately, "Game, Fox."

He felt his heart begin to race.  Game.  It was his own
invention--well, not really; the concept was old, but
putting it into the form of a game was his idea.  You got to
ask the other person anything you wanted, and they had to
answer perfectly honestly.  The catch was that, in return,
they got to subject you to the same scrutiny.  He'd found it
a useful tool to use with his students, and had also
discovered that the revelations he made about himself,
things he normally wouldn't have revealed to anyone,
actually helped strengthen his bond with them.  It had
helped him get to know Emmie far better than most parents
knew their teenagers.

All it took was for one of them to speak the word 'Game'--
it meant difficult secrets would be revealed.

He swallowed hard, wondering what rack she was about to
place him on, and then said, "All right."

"Remember the rule."

He nodded.  The only rule to the Game was that of honesty.
Everything spoken must be completely truthful.

Emmie turned her eyes out the window, unwilling to face him
now. "Grandma told me last night that today would have been
my dad's birthday."

Mulder was stunned by her remark.  Of all the things he
thought she might say, bringing up Zach hadn't even been on
the list.  Zachary Morrow was almost never spoken of in
their household, and he hoped by now that Emmie had come to
think of him as her dad.  Apparently he'd underestimated her
devotion to her biological father.

"Okay," he answered, hands tightening imperceptibly on the
wheel.  "What do you want from me?"

She took a deep breath, gathering her courage, then bravely
turned to look at him, fixing him squarely with her dark
gaze.

"I want to know about my father's death.  I want to know
what happened."

He stopped breathing for a moment, hoping the car would
crash, killing him but leaving Emmie miraculously unscathed,
or that he might suffer a sudden, fatal heart attack, hoped,
in fact, for an entire host of things, none of which
occurred.  She waited, still silent, for him to answer.

"No, Emmie, please," he begged softly.  "Don't ask me to
tell you about that."

"Game, Fox," she reminded him coldly.  "It's *your* game,
remember?  Did you think it could only work to your
advantage?  You and Mom have always avoided the questions
I've asked about my dad.  I'm fifteen now.  I'm not a kid
any longer.  I want you to tell me."

And in the end, he really had no choice.


----------------
FRIDAY 5:50 p.m.
----------------

Justin Dulexy drove slowly down the quiet neighborhood
street, casting his eyes about for anything out of the
ordinary.  He'd been down this street four times in the last
hour, trying to determine the best course of action to carry
out his plan.  He'd already decided to grab the Mulder kid,
now all he needed was an opportunity.  He knew where he
would take her, when he would make the call to her parents,
and how much money he would demand for her return.  The only
unpredictable thing in his entire plan was just exactly when
the snatch would be carried out.

As he turned the corner, circling the block one more time,
he saw her. She must have walked home from school, because
she was carrying a backpack over one shoulder and walking
quickly toward the Mulder house. As he drew closer he saw
her initials in green fabric on the blue denim backpack:
E.M.  He smiled.  Most people in this neighborhood weren't
home from work yet, and the street was quiet.  He could make
the grab without being seen if he was even remotely lucky.

Ellery strode quickly toward Emmie's house, her swimsuit and
towel in her backpack.  She'd gotten home and done her
homework in record time, but then her mother had made her
eat supper and wash the dishes afterwards, so she was
running late.  Finally, her parents had left for their
weekend away, and Ellery had escaped.  The party was
supposed to start in half an hour, and she wanted to be
wearing her new one-piece suit by the time Mark arrived.
Then, later tonight, she and Emmie would spend hours talking
and giggling about the boy they both had a bit of a crush
on.  She was looking forward to seeing him in his swimsuit.

Her thoughts interrupted by the sound of an automobile
engine, she glanced up at the truck coming toward her.  As
she watched, it slowed and then stopped.  Ellery kept
walking, feeling slightly uneasy when the passenger side
window was lowered.

She intended to continue walking without giving the driver
even a glance, but he called to her.

"Hey, little girl, can you help me out?"

His voice sounded friendly, and unsure, and Ellery thought
maybe he just wanted directions or something.  Her mother
had always warned her about climbing into cars with
strangers, but surely if she just stood here on the sidewalk
and talked to him, it would be all right, wouldn't it?

She gazed in at the driver.  He was a large man, bigger than
her father, and something about him bothered her, something
she couldn't pinpoint.  She shook off the feeling.  It was
silly, and no doubt stemmed from her mother's horror
stories.

"Yes?" she asked in a voice that trembled only slightly.

"I wonder if you could tell me how to find this street," the
driver said, pointing to a map that lay on the seat.

"What street is it?" she asked nervously, taking one
tentative step toward the truck.

"I'm not sure how to pronounce it."

Ellery bit her lip in indecision.

"Hey, I understand.  You're not supposed to talk to
strangers, and that's very smart.  I shouldn't have asked
you."  The guy waved his hand carelessly, with a friendly
smile.  "I'll just find a grown-up--"

At that Ellery bristled inwardly.  Grown-ups.  Adults
thought they knew everything.  This man wasn't going to hurt
her, he was nice.  He just needed a little help, and she
could give it to him.  Ellery had spent her whole life in
this neighborhood and knew every street in a half-mile
radius intimately.

"Let me see," she interrupted, stepping up to the truck and
peering in the window, caution forgotten.  A split second
later she knew why her parents had taught her not to talk to
strangers.

The gun glinted, silver steel, against his jeans as he
pointed it at her, keeping it in his lap so any passersby
would be unaware of its presence.  She sucked in her breath
and felt her body go weak with fear.

"Get in.  If you scream, or try to run, I'll kill you.  Just
open the door and quietly get in."  She hesitated for a
moment, until he made a motion toward her with the firearm,
and then obeyed him, climbing in to sit beside him on the
seat, her face completely white.

"Good girl," he told her, his grin not quite so friendly
now.  "Put your hands right here on the dash, right where I
can see them."  He gestured with the gun and she obeyed,
clutching at the vinyl with hands that trembled.

He drove with one hand, keeping an eye on her at all times,
for several miles until they reached a less-populated
neighborhood.  The houses here were widely spaced, and he
stopped the truck on the side of the road at a safe distance
from the closest one.

"Turn around," he ordered, and she did, her entire body
shaking now.

"Please," she said as she felt him pull her arms behind her
back, "please don't hurt me."

He quickly tied her hands behind her back, then made her
scrunch down so she was sitting on the floor.  She was
crammed into the small space so tightly that she couldn't
make any sudden moves even if she had the courage to try.
When he had her settled, he started the truck again and
drove off.

"Don't worry, Emmie," he told her reassuringly.  "If you
behave yourself, I promise I won't hurt you, and in a couple
of days you'll be safe at home again."

Ellery's eyes widened when she heard him call her by her
friend's name. He'd goofed!  He hadn't wanted her at all, it
had been Emmie he was after!  She wondered if she should
correct him--it might make him mad enough to hurt her.  If
he found out he had the wrong girl, would he let her go?  Or
would he kill her so she couldn't identify him, and then go
back for Emmie?  Still shivering, Ellery closed her eyes and
began to pray for answers, and for safety.

----------------
FRIDAY 7:13 p.m.
----------------

Mulder sat in the shadows cast by the house, watching from a
distance as Emmie and her friends dove and swam in the pool.
Ellery hadn't yet arrived, but all the other kids were there
and the party was in full swing.  Scully periodically
brought out more food and sodas from the kitchen, but true
to her word, Emmie and the kids had done most of the work.

His heart ached as he watched the dark-haired beauty he and
Scully used to refer to as 'Nymph'.  She meant more to him
than anything else in the world, she and Scully, and if he
were to lose her love, her respect, Mulder knew it would
just about kill him.  Nothing else mattered to him if he
didn't have the two of them in his life.

Scully plopped down into the chair beside him, interrupting
his scattered thoughts, and handed him a paper plate loaded
with hot dogs, chips and dip.  She popped the top on a can
of diet soda, took a swig, and sighed deeply.  Snitching a
chip from the plate he was now balancing on one knee, she
surveyed his face carefully.

"All right, Mulder, spill it," she commanded, and he turned
to her, startled.

"What are you talking about, Scully?" he tried, even knowing
she wouldn't be fooled.  He was correct.

Scully sighed again, and only barely restrained herself from
rolling her eyes as Emmie often did.  He was trying to be
difficult, but Scully was in a 'no bullshit' mood tonight,
and wasn't going to play his game.

"Look, Mulder," she said curtly.  "I've had a long day,
capping a very long week, and I'm tired.  Something is
obviously bothering you, and I don't have the time or the
patience to try and coax it out of you.  Tell me what I want
to know, or I'm going to have to inflict pain.  What's
wrong?"

Her words were softened a bit by the concern in her eyes,
and after a second of shaking his head in denial, Mulder
gave in.  There was no use fighting her anyway; he'd never
won in all the ten years they'd been married.

"Emmie asked me about Zach today," he said at last.

Scully's eyes widened as she took another chip.  "What did
you tell her?" she questioned.

He made a small noise of disgust.  "Everything, sanitized
for the consumption of a fairly innocent fifteen-year-old
girl.  I had to, Scully.  She hit me with the Game."

"And you were caught in your own trap."  Scully shook her
head ruefully. "I told you not to give her that kind of
power," she commented mildly, "but you're the Child
Psychologist, and you refused to listen."

"And I told you, Scully, kids have to feel they have some
control in this world where, really, they don't."  He gave a
short, bitter laugh.  "A lot of good that Psychology degree
is doing me now, though.  She won't even talk to me."

"Mulder."  She put her hand comfortingly on his arm.  "You
know she's just upset, and you know she'll get over it.  If
you told her that you're the one who killed Zach, you gave
her a great shock.  She's a level-headed girl, though, and
eventually she'll realize that you had no choice.  Did you
tell her what Zach was trying to do?  That he wanted to kill
us both?"

He nodded, handing her back the plate and standing.  "I did,
and I know you're right, Scully, but still..."

"I know," she sympathized.  "It's hard.  But Emmie still
loves you, Mulder.  This isn't going to destroy her feelings
for you.  Deep inside, you know that."

"I know.  Intellectually, I know.  But it's different when
it's your own relationships in question."

"I've known about that difference since the first time you
were injured and I had to care for you as a doctor, instead
of your partner and friend.  It's always hard to look at the
situation objectively when it's one of your own that's
hurting."

He opened his mouth but his answer was cut off by the
ringing of the telephone inside the house.

"I'll get it," he muttered, hurrying away before she could
lecture him further.  "Maybe it's Ellery."  The last thing
he needed right now was to be reminded of the basics of
human behavior.  He knew all that, knew it as surely as he
knew his own name.  It was the living it that was difficult.

Mulder managed to catch the phone on the fourth ring, before
the answering machine picked up.

"Hello?" he said, expecting to hear Ellery's breathless
voice explaining why she was late--Ellery, in his
experience, was always late and always breathless, a quality
he found both annoying and endearing.

"I have your daughter, and if you want her back you'd better
cooperate."

Mulder stared at the phone, hearing the silence of a broken
connection. What the hell had that been all about?  Quickly
he checked the Caller ID box, but it yielded no information
other than that the call had been from someone wishing to
remain anonymous.  No surprise there.

"Was that Ellery?" a cold voice behind him asked, and he
turned to see Emmie waiting, her face a mask of indifference
that mirrored his own.

"No, I think it was a wrong number," he told her, and she
was out the door before he even finished his sentence.  He
sighed again, biting his tongue to keep in the angry words
that wanted to form, and stuck his head out the kitchen
door.  "Scully, could you come here a minute please?"

She joined him in the kitchen moments later, her face
changing from curious to concerned when she saw his
confusion.

"What is it, Mulder?  What happened?"

"I'm not sure," he replied slowly.  "That was a...very weird
phone call."

She checked the box herself.  "Anonymous?  What did they
say?"

He repeated the single sentence the caller had spoken, and
they stared at each other.  Almost simultaneously,
realization dawned on their faces and they both spoke at
once.

"Ellery!"

Mulder snatched up the phone and called the Murray
household, receiving no answer at all, which worried him
even more.  "Her parents should be home, shouldn't they?" he
groused, and Scully gasped.

"I forgot to tell you--they received a sudden invitation to
spend the weekend with Adam's brother.  They asked if they
could leave Ellery here until Sunday and I told them that
was fine.  She was supposed to walk over after she finished
her homework--Mulder, she should be here by now!"

"Damn!" he ground out.  "Scully, you stay with the kids.
I'm going to walk toward Ellery's house and see if I can
find her, or...anything."

"Shouldn't we call the police, Mulder?" she demanded as he
disappeared down the hall.

"Not yet," he called back. "They can't do anything yet, and
we don't really know what's going on, do we?"

She hurried after him, catching up with him at the front
door.  "We have a phone call from a possible kidnapper," she
argued.  "Do you really think that's a coincidence?"

He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her.  "Just give
me half an hour, Scully.  Let me look for her.  If we call
the police now, we could be endangering her even more.
And," he went on, nodding toward the back of the house, "we
can't let these kids know anything's wrong until we're
sure."

Reluctantly, she nodded and watched him start down the
street toward the Murray house.  Closing the door, Scully
silently whispered a prayer that Ellery would be found safe
and sound, and that the phone call had been a horrible
mistake or a bad joke.  Then she headed purposefully back to
the poolside.  She needed to see Emmie, make sure she was
all right.


Mulder walked the entire way to the Murray house, and
knocked on the door but received no answer.  He tried the
front door and found it locked.  There was no trace of
Ellery.


-----------------
FRIDAY 10:02 p.m.
-----------------

This time when the phone rang, Mulder lunged for it.

"Yes?" he said tersely, trying hard to keep his voice in
check.  He couldn't explain why he felt guilty that Ellery
had been kidnapped instead of Emmie, but he did.

"I have your daughter, Rich Man."

The voice on the other end caused a sudden yanking at his
memory, and Mulder's face paled slightly as he listened. He
knew he recognized the voice, but from where?  His memory
refused to cough up the answer just then, but it did supply
him with a feeling, an absolute certainty that Ellery was in
grave danger.

"You have the wrong girl," he said slowly, forcing himself
to stay calm. If they were to get Ellery back unharmed, he
would have to remain cool throughout this ordeal.  "Why
don't you just let her go, and we can forget all about
this?"

The voice turned to gruff laughter.  "I don't think so, Rich
Man.  Not without a little cash incentive."

"Look," Mulder explained patiently, "the girl you kidnapped
is not my daughter.  Her parents aren't wealthy, they can't
give you what you want.  If you let her go now, you can
still walk away from this."

The voice was silent for a few seconds.  Finally, it
growled, "You know this kid, don't you?  If you lie, I'll
hurt her."

"She's my daughter's friend," Mulder answered quickly,
clenching his fists in helplessness.  He saw Scully grab for
her cell phone and lunged to stop her.  Shaking his head
violently from side to side, he ignored her look of angry
bewilderment.

"Then you pay."

"What?"  It wasn't what Mulder had expected.

"You pay to get her back, Rich Man.  I want two million
dollars for the kid."

"You're not getting a dime from me, you bastard."

The voice laughed again, a sound that sent chills down
Mulder's spine.  "I'll give you a little while to think
about it," the kidnapper answered.  "When I call back, you'd
better be prepared to pay up, or the little lady bites it."

"Don't--"  He grimaced when he heard the click of the
disconnection. Mulder stood still, think hard for a second
before Scully interrupted him.

"Why didn't you let me call the police?" she demanded. "They
might have been able to trace the call!"

Mulder shook his head grimly.  "He wouldn't have stayed on
the line long enough for that.  If he knew we were involving
the police, Ellery might be hurt."  Or killed, his mind
nudged, but he refused to voice that thought with Emmie
present.

She wasn't fooled, however.  "Fox, what did the man want?"

Mulder sighed.  "He wanted ransom.  Two million dollars."

"And you said no?" she asked incredulously, disbelief all
over her face.

"Emmie--"

"It's just money, Fox!  How many times have I heard you say
that?"

"Emmie, we can't negotiate with kidnappers, we have to call
in the experts," Scully interjected gently.

"You *are* the experts!" she yelled.  "You're both always
telling me those hotshot FBI stories, surely you know what
to do!  You could have just agreed to pay him the money.  If
Ellery dies, it will be your fault, Fox.  Are you going to
kill every who's important to me?"

Emmie ran from the room, tears of anger streaming from her
eyes, and didn't see the look of intense pain that crossed
Mulder's face at her words.

"It'll be all right, Mulder," Scully said, putting a
detaining hand on his arm when he tried to follow the girl.
"She's just upset.  She'll calm down later, after she has a
chance to think about it."

Mulder sighed again, heavily, and reached his fingers
beneath the lenses of his glasses to rub his eyes.

"We should call Walter," he said, and Scully agreed.  She
placed the call while Mulder paced the den, gnawing on his
lower lip.

"They're on their way," she told him, hanging up the phone
and standing in front of her husband so that he was forced
to stop his trail. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she
made him look her in the eye.

"It will be all right, Mulder," she insisted.  "Between the
four of us, we'll figure something out.  Walter can make
sure that everything is handled quietly, and with a little
luck the guy won't even know we've called in the FBI."

"I sure hope he doesn't," Mulder confessed, pulling her
close so she could wrap her arms around him comfortingly.
"It's just..."

Scully pulled back to look up into his face.  "What?"

He shook his head quickly, biting down on his lip again,
deep in thought. "I can't place it," he told her, "but I
know that voice."

*****

It didn't take long for Walter and Jess Skinner to arrive,
and soon all four adults were gathered in the Mulders' den.
Emmie's guests had been sent home, and she had locked
herself in her bedroom.  Occasionally, sounds of sobbing
could be heard from that direction, and Mulder's face would
whiten a little more. None of this was lost on Skinner, who
knew that Mulder's women had him tied up in knots at the
best of times.

"Mulder," he said sternly, using his best AD voice, "settle
down.  Emmie will survive.  Our job now is to make sure that
Ellery does."

"I know that, Walter.  I just feel so helpless."

"Tell me everything the caller said," Skinner ordered.

Mulder swallowed, moistening his dry throat, and thought
back to the call.

"Well, obviously he thought he'd kidnapped Emmie.  He must
have been watching us, planning this for a while."

Skinner nodded.

"Once I convinced him he didn't have my daughter, he asked
if I knew Ellery.  When I said I did, he told me he wanted
me to pay two million dollars to get her back.  I'd already
told him her parents weren't wealthy."

"Anything else?"

"He kept calling me 'Rich Man'.  And Walter, I know that
voice."

Skinner perked up.  "From where?"

Mulder shook his head slowly.  "I don't remember, but I know
it wasn't good."

"From prison?" Jess asked quietly from across the room, and
Mulder started.  He'd forgotten she was there.

"I'm not sure," he answered tentatively.  "Maybe.  He
sounded as if he was trying to disguise his voice, and not
doing a very good job of it."

"Think back," Skinner said.  "Try to hear in your mind the
voices of people you knew there."

"Walter--"

"Jess, it may be the only way to identify this person,"
Skinner argued. "Our first thought has to be for Ellery's
safety."

Mulder closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, forcing
himself to allow voices of the past to invade his memory.
He'd worked through a lot of his troubles with Jess years
ago, but some things simply didn't bear remembering, and he
knew this would be both painful and frightening.  Mulder
felt a hand cover his and looked up to see Jess sitting
beside him, an encouraging expression on her face.

"Good, Mulder, go ahead and shut your eyes again," she said
gently, and he did, hiding the despair that showed in them.
He didn't want to have to travel this road again.  "I'm
right here with you," she went on, and he grasped at her
fingers, a known, trusted lifeline.

Deliberately, Mulder called up as many people as he could
recall, trying to hear their voices in his head.  Cellmates
had come and gone, and there were those men who had cornered
him in the exercise yard--refusing to go there, not even for
Ellery, Mulder backed quickly away from that memory.  He
hadn't known their names anyway.

Scully watched, concerned, as her husband's torment played
out over his face, until finally he opened his eyes and
looked up at Jess.

"I just don't remember," he said helplessly.

"Mulder, could it have been someone from before?  Someone
you once sent to prison perhaps?" Skinner asked.

"Maybe," Mulder agreed.  "I'm sorry, Walter, I know I've
heard that voice before, but it's just not coming to me."

Skinner sat back, disappointed.  "It's okay, Mulder.  Maybe
it will come to you later."

Mulder shuddered inwardly.  He didn't want it to come to him
later.  He knew that voice meant something horrible, and he
didn't want to dredge it up again.  On the other hand, he
really had no choice.  It might be Ellery's only hope.

Before he could send himself into a maelstrom of memories
again, the phone rang.  Skinner whipped out his cell phone
immediately, motioning for Mulder to answer.

"I want two million dollars in cash, left under the gazebo
in Soldier Park at midnight tomorrow," the voice said
without preamble.  "I want you to leave it, Rich Man.  If I
see anyone else around, or if anyone but you tries to make
the drop, the little girl dies.  I know you're trying to
trace this call, so I'll make this quick.  Two million.
Midnight tomorrow.  Soldier Park.  You. Alone."

The kidnapper hung up before Mulder was even able to
respond.

"Damn!" Skinner swore, stabbing the button on his cell phone
viciously.

"He knew we were trying to trace," Mulder said.

"That means either he knows we've involved the police, or
he's been watching our family for some time and knows we're
friends with the Skinners," Scully observed.  "If that's the
case, he'd realize the FBI would be involved from the
beginning."

"But in that case, why would he grab the wrong girl?" argued
Skinner.

Scully shrugged.  "You've seen Ellery, Walter.  You know how
much alike she and Emmie are.  If he was spying on our
family from a distance, it would be an easy mistake to
make."

"He wants me, and only me, to leave two million dollars
beneath the gazebo in Soldier Park tomorrow at midnight,"
Mulder told them.  "He said if he sees anyone else around,
or if anyone else brings the money, he'll kill her."

His words hung like a chill in the air.

"What do you intend to do?" Skinner asked at last.

Mulder ran his fingers restlessly through his hair.  He knew
Scully wouldn't be happy with his decision, but in the
interest of Ellery, not to mention his future relationship
with Emmie, he felt he had to follow his instincts on this
one.

"I think we should do as he asks."

All three of them stared at him, stunned.  Scully was the
first to speak.

"Mulder," she said gently, moving closer to him and sliding
her arm around his waist, "I know how you feel about the 
police, but--"

"This has nothing to do with that," he interrupted.  He
wanted to be angry at her for believing he could be that
shallow, that he'd put his own fears ahead of a little
girl's life, but he knew that his past actions had made it a
valid suspicion.

"Scully, this guy knows who we are.  And I know him,
although I can't remember how just yet.  It's very likely
that he knows we're both former FBI, it's very likely that
he knows one of our closest friends holds a high position
with the FBI.  He's going to be on the lookout for any sign
that we've tried to entrap him."

She stared into his face, knowing he was right but unwilling
to allow him to place himself in the path of a kidnapper,
especially one that might be holding a grudge against him.
Her inward attempt to find a way to dissuade him from this
course was rendered unnecessary by Skinner's next words.

"I can't let you do that, Mulder."

Skinner spoke in the stern, authoritative voice that he used
on his subordinates, the one that could still rattle Mulder
after all these years.  Tonight, however, Mulder was not
deterred.

"Walter, I called you because you're my friend.  I haven't
officially called in the FBI.  You don't have the right to
make that decision."

"Neither do you, Mulder," Jess interjected softly.  "It's
for Ellery's parents to decide."

Mulder dropped his eyes to the floor and sighed.  "They
don't know yet," he confessed, and Skinner stared at him in
disbelief.

"You haven't told them?" he demanded.  "Mulder, what the
hell--"

"They're out of town, Walter!" Scully said sharply.  "They
called earlier this evening and asked if Emmie could spend
the weekend here while they were away.  We've called the
place where they're supposed to be staying, but as of an
hour ago they hadn't yet arrived."

"Try them again," Skinner said gruffly.  "This is their
decision."

Mulder obediently dialed the number, and was at last
connected with Ellery's father.

"Adam, it's Fox Mulder.  I've been trying to reach you."

"Oh, hello Mulder.  We were a little late arriving.  Is
everything all right?  Nothing's happened to Ellery, has
it?"

The concern in his voice made Mulder feel two inches tall.
How was he supposed to tell this man that his daughter had
been kidnapped by mistake, that once again the Mulder family
past was hurting those around him?

"I think--I think you and your wife had better get back here
as quickly as you can," he said gently.  "There's
been...something's happened."


------------------
SATURDAY 2:13 p.m.
------------------

"Mulder, I'm going, whether you like it or not, so stop
arguing," Skinner insisted, a note of finality in his voice.
"I'll keep the backup unit well away as you've asked, but
I'm not letting you go in there alone."

Mulder sighed heavily and, removing his glasses, ran his
hands over his haggard face.  He hadn't slept at all the
night before--indeed, none of them had.  Adam and Carolyn
Monroe had arrived at their house in the wee hours of
Saturday morning, and the six of them had argued all the
rest of the night, attempting to hash out a plan on which
Mulder and Skinner could agree.

"Let me do it his way, Walter," Mulder had argued.  "It's
more important to get Ellery back safe and sound.  I don't
want to lose two million dollars, but it certainly won't
break me.  If they catch the guy, I'll get it back.  If
not..." he shrugged.

"But what's to stop him from taking your money and then
killing her anyway," Skinner countered, at which Carolyn had
broken into soft weeping.

Adam put his arm around his wife, comforting her silently
while they both watched Mulder and Skinner.  They'd known
the Mulder family for six years, ever since their daughters
had become fast friends, and Adam knew that Mulder would
figure out the best approach to take.  They were less
acquainted with the Skinners, but still knew them to be
trustworthy. Right now he didn't give a damn about Skinner's
procedure or Mulder's money--he just wanted his daughter
back alive.  He was trusting Mulder to take the lead,
because in the past, the man had shown himself to be
extremely competent in an emergency.  Mulder was ex-FBI,
Dana was ex-FBI, Skinner was *still* FBI.  This was their
world; Adam knew when he was in over his head.

"Your backup unit will be there to assure that doesn't
happen.  They should move in and catch this guy as soon as
he tries to retrieve the money."

"And about that money," Skinner went on.  "Can you even lay
your hands on that much cash at this hour on a Saturday?"

Mulder's jaw tightened almost unnoticeably.  "I can if I
have to," he said positively, but Skinner had his doubts.

"If you're not going to let him get away with the money
anyway, why not give him something else?" Scully suggested.
"Stuff a suitcase with blank paper or something so it looks
about the right weight.  Our squad should grab him before he
gets a chance to see it."

When Skinner had suggested hiding his unit in the trees and
bushes surrounding the gazebo, Mulder had flatly refused.
"If he sees them, he's liable to follow through on his
threat," he argued.  "We can't take any chances. I'm going
in alone."

It was finally agreed, although Mulder still had
reservations, that a backup squad would be concealed at
some distance from the drop point, unfortunately out of
sight of the gazebo, but the layout of the park made that
obstacle impossible to overcome.  As soon as Mulder left the
suitcase and got out of there, the professionals would move
in quickly and silently, lying in wait for the kidnapper to
make his move.

Skinner was finally able to arrange things to Mulder's
satisfaction, but when Mulder saw Skinner readying himself
he protested.

"Just me, Walter."

"Mulder," Skinner said obstinately, checking his weapon, "I
refuse to let you go in there completely alone.  Too many
things could go wrong. I'll head over to the park now and
conceal myself in a position where I can keep an eye on you.
I'm just one man.  He'll never know I'm there."

At last, seeing that Skinner would not be persuaded to
change his mind, Mulder had reluctantly consented, and
Skinner had taken his leave.  Jess had watched her husband
go with a mixture of pride and fear; normally he worked at a
perfectly safe desk job, which suited her just fine.  She
wasn't accustomed to seeing him endanger himself.

Scully, who had quite a lot of experience seeing her own
husband place his life in peril for the good of others,
merely hugged Mulder tightly, praying that by this time
tomorrow Ellery would be home, the kidnapper would be locked
up, and they could all get back to their nice, normal,
boring lives.

------------------
SATURDAY 5:30 p.m.
------------------

Dulexy entered the room where the little girl was tied,
huddled in a corner, frightened out of her wits.  She gazed
up at him with huge, scared eyes as he approached, and he
tried to smile in order to let her know she needn't fear
him.  It came out more as a grimace.

In one hand he held a glass of water, and in another, a
small white tablet.  She watched as he knelt beside her, but
drew back when he tried to place the pill on her tongue.

"Don't worry, little girl, it won't hurt you.  It's just a
sleeping pill.  I need you to take a nice, long nap."

When Ellery kept her lips clamped shut, Dulexy sighed
patiently, put down the glass, and pried her mouth apart
with both hands.  He tossed the pill down her throat,
shaking his head a little when she choked on it.  Holding
the glass up to her lips, he waited while she drank about
half the water.  He noted with relief that after a short
bout of coughing, she seemed to swallow the pill without
further mishap.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said gently.  "If your
friend's dad does as he's told, you'll be back home tonight.
Just go to sleep and don't worry."

"What if he doesn't do as he's told?" she whispered.

He smiled, a real smile this time, and tucked a strand of
her hair behind her ear.  "He will," Dulexy promised.

She nodded, confused at his kindness toward her when he
clearly didn't have her best interests at heart.  He wasn't
a good guy, she reminded herself as he left the room, no
matter how nice he seemed now.  He'd kidnapped her, and he'd
wanted Emmie so he could get money for her. He'd pulled a
gun on her and tied her up, and he hadn't given her anything
to eat.  Tears beginning to slip down her face again, Ellery
closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall.  Unused to
drugs of any kind, she soon fell into a deep sleep.

-----------------
SATURDAY 7:32 p.m.
-----------------

Dulexy watched in amusement as the man crept around the
shrubs bordering one side of the area, looking for a good
hiding place.  From his vantage point, hidden in a heavy
copse of trees, he'd seen the man arrive on foot, dressed
all in black, a suspicious bulge beneath the arm of the
jacket he wore even though the weather was still comfortably
warm.

He'd been angry when he first saw the spy, and had carefully
and quietly scoped out the area, believing there might be
more, but as far as he could tell, there weren't.  He knew
the identity of the man, of course. It was Walter Skinner,
Assistant Director of the FBI and close friend of Fox
Mulder.  At first, he'd wondered if the FBI was officially
involved--if he was going to be forced to kill his
hostage--but careful snooping had revealed no other
interlopers.  Skinner was apparently here alone, sent to
watch Mulder's back.  That was fine.  He'd simply make
certain Skinner and Mulder never had an opportunity to take
him.  That shouldn't be too hard, since he was forewarned.

He glanced over at the girl sleeping in the seat next to
him.  Just a few more hours and he'd be on his way, he
thought.  But the arrival of the interloper had forced a
slight change in plans.  Now, instead of waiting until
Mulder left and simply picking up the money, he was going to
have to confront Mulder.  He'd make sure the man in the
bushes never had a chance at him, but one way or another he
was getting away with his money.

-----------------------
SATURDAY 12:00 midnight
-----------------------

Ellery had been awake for half an hour, sitting quietly, as
the man with the gun had ordered.  He'd wrapped duct tape
around her wrists, and she sat with her hands in her lap.
He told her she'd get to go home soon, and while part of her
was afraid he was lying, she made herself believe in his
words. She wanted to see her mom and dad again.  She wanted
to see Emmie.  She wanted to sleep in her own bedroom, with
the stuffed animals on the bed and the pictures of Ricky
Martin on the wall.  And she never wanted to be on the wrong
end of a gun again for as long as she lived.

The kidnapper, who had been keeping one eye on her while he
also carefully and constantly surveyed the area, suddenly
stirred.

"Time to go," he said, pulling her by the arm across the
bench seat and helping her climb out onto the ground.  "Be
perfectly quiet," he growled in her ear, and she nodded.  He
made her stand in front of him, keeping one arm around her
waist, and guided her out of the trees toward the gazebo.

*****

"He's putting the suitcase in place now."  Skinner spoke
quietly to Scully, who was in the car with the squad
leader, on his cell phone.  "Just a few more minutes and
he'll be out of the way, and you can tell the men to move
in."

"Almost time," Scully said to Frank Rockway, the officer in
charge, and he nodded, motioning to his men to get ready.

*****

Mulder approached the gazebo cautiously, keeping a sharp eye
on his surroundings in case the kidnapper happened to be
nearby, watching him.

He slid the suitcase all the way beneath the gazebo, holding
the loosened wood out of the way, then drew back, letting
the cover fall into place.  Mulder glanced around, saw no
one, and rose from his crouched position.  Still brushing
dirt from the legs of his jeans, he turned and froze.  Of
all the faces he'd never expected to see again, this one was
at the top of the list.

"Dulexy," he said, just a hint of sarcasm coloring his
voice.  "Did you escape, or did some poor idiot actually let
you out?"

Dulexy ignored his needling comment.  When Mulder took a
step toward him, Dulexy jammed the gun into Ellery's temple
and hissed, "Stop right there."  Ellery stiffened, and tears
began to roll down her cheeks.

Mulder stopped immediately, his eyes on Ellery's frightened
face.

"Glad to see you can follow orders so well, Rich Man,"
Dulexy grinned. He held Ellery in front of him, shielding
his body with hers.  She stood right between Skinner and a
clear shot.  The gun Dulexy held to Ellery's head glinted in
the bright moonlight.  "Put your hands up where I can see
them."

SHIT! Mulder screamed inwardly.  The addition of Justin
Dulexy to the mix had made an awful situation suddenly turn
unthinkable.  Mulder remembered Dulexy well, still
remembered how helpless he'd felt as he'd struggled in the
big man's grasp, held by arms as strong as banded steel
while he was beaten nearly senseless.  This man would kill
him, and Ellery too if he felt the urge, with no compunction
whatsoever.  Right now his best option was to cooperate, and
hope to hell the cavalry arrived soon. He forced himself not
to glance toward the bushes where Walter was hidden.

"Why not let the girl go?" asked Mulder steadily as he
raised his hands. "You never wanted to hurt her anyway, did
you?"

Dulexy studied him carefully for a moment, searching for
signs of a trap.

"Sure," he agreed, approaching Mulder from the side until
his gun was at the other man's temple.  "She can go.  In
exchange for you.  Because if there's not two million
dollars in that suitcase, someone's going to suffer.  Will
it be her, or you?"  Mulder nodded his assent, and Dulexy
let Ellery go, keeping Mulder carefully between himself and
Skinner's gun.

Mulder, moving slowly so as not to provoke an attack, took
Ellery by the shoulders.  "You have to go now," he told her
gently, wiping the tear streaks from her cheek.  "It'll be
all right."

"But Dr. Mulder--"

Mulder ignored her, pointing her casually toward Skinner's
hiding place, praying she would run in that direction.  "Go,
Ellery," he commanded, and with only a slight hesitation she
obeyed.  He saw with relief that she was running directly to
Skinner.

"All right, *Dr.* Mulder," Dulexy sneered.  "Show me the
money."

Mulder's jaw clenched, the only outward sign of his
nervousness.  He hoped Skinner could find a way to take
Dulexy out before Dulexy discovered the fact that the
suitcase under the gazebo held nothing but blank paper.

"You can still walk away from this," Mulder said in what he
hoped was an encouraging voice. "The police haven't been
called.  If you get in your car and drive away, nothing more
will come of this."

In answer, Dulexy jammed the gun harder against Mulder's
temple and, jerking a little on the arm he held behind
Mulder's back, gave Mulder a slight shove.

"Get the money, Rich Man," Dulexy growled, and with another
hard swallow, Mulder began slowly approaching the gazebo,
Dulexy still holding him in front protectively.

Mulder hoped to bend down at the gazebo in order to give
Skinner a clear shot, but realized Dulexy must be on to them
when the other man crouched with him as he pulled the
suitcase from its hiding place.

"Open it!" Dulexy ordered gruffly when he hesitated, and
with a barely audible sigh, Mulder obeyed.

Dulexy's eyes, which had grown wide and sparkling with
anticipation, suddenly turned hard.

"You fucking bastard!" he hissed, and before Mulder could
react, the world went completely black for him as Dulexy
struck him full-force on the side of the head with his
firearm.

Skinner fired immediately but he was unaware that he'd been
spotted. Dulexy dropped to the ground as quickly as Mulder's
limp form, and Skinner's shot went high.  Skinner raised his
gun to take aim again, and dropped it in the next second
when Dulexy's shot tore through his middle.

With a loud groan of pain, Skinner was knocked to the
ground.

*****

"Go!" Scully yelled when she heard the first gunshot shatter
the stillness of the park.  Almost simultaneously, a second
shot rang out and a loud groan erupted through the cell
phone.  "Walter? Walter, what the hell happened?" she
demanded into the phone, but there was no answer.

Seconds later, sirens split the night air with their
screaming as the backup units raced to the rescue.

"Shut off the sirens!" Scully screamed, and they were
immediately silenced, but she knew the game had already gone
all to hell.

*****

Hearing the sirens, Dulexy swore once again and hoisted the
unconscious Mulder to his shoulders.  Moving with incredible
speed, considering his burden, he threw Mulder into the
truck and climbed behind the wheel. The tires spun for a
moment before gaining traction as Dulexy put the pedal to
the metal, and seconds later they were gone, disappearing
down the small utility road Dulexy had taken before the
backup unit ever got in sight.

*****

Skinner opened his eyes to see Ellery standing over him, his
gun in her hand, pointed in Dulexy's general direction.

"Ellery, no!"

His weak cry was drowned out by the deafening roar as Ellery
pulled the trigger.  She jerked at the unexpected recoil and
gave a little scream at the noise.

When she seemed about to fire again, Skinner ground out,
"Ellery!"  He jerked in pain as the effort sent a lightning
bolt throughout his body.

Dreamily, Ellery turned to face Skinner.

"Have you ever fired a gun before?" he asked, softly now,
unable to yell again even if he'd thought it necessary.

She shook her head slowly from side to side, as if just
beginning to realize the horror of the situation.

"Then don't.  Just put it down.  They're gone, you can't
help him now, and you might hurt someone."  His gentle tones
reached her consciousness, and in a trancelike state, she
bent and placed the gun beside him on the dirt.

"That's good.  You're doing good.  You're a brave young
woman."  He winced again, and asked, "Are you all right?"

Ellery suddenly seemed to snap out of her trance, becoming a
scared teenager again right before his eyes.  She heaved a
shuddering sigh and wiped her face with her grimy hands. Her
wrists were still bound with the duct tape, and Skinner
tried to reach a hand up to help her, but his limbs wouldn't
obey his commands.

"I'll be ok, Mr. Skinner."  Noticing for the first time his
condition, she looked guilty.  "We need to get you to a
hospital."

He managed a weak smile, clinging furiously to
consciousness.  "Scully will come," he whispered.

Ellery looked around worriedly, wondering where Mrs. Mulder
was and why Mr. Skinner thought she would come.  All she
could see was police cars with their lights flashing, but
she wasn't certain the police had noticed them yet.  She
pushed aside the torn bit of shirt that covered his wound
and examined his injury with an almost critical eye.  Her
face whitened slightly, but she continued, clumsily bunching
up the ragged pieces of fabric and attempting to cover the
bleeding hole in his abdomen.

"Uh," Skinner grunted when she pressed down, feeling the
pain renewed.

"Sorry," she muttered, readjusting the cloth in a vain
attempt to make him more comfortable.  "You're really
bleeding a lot."

"Where'd you learn to do that?" he asked, trying not to gasp
for breath.

She gave a slight smile, meeting his eyes only briefly.  "My
mom's a nurse."

*****

"Another shot!  Where are they?" Scully screamed frantically
as they rounded the corner.  The shot had resonated through
the phone in her hand, and she wondered exactly who had been
firing.  She could make out Ellery's form in the bright
moonlight, kneeling over a man on the ground.  Realizing as
she drew closer that the man Ellery was hunched over was
Skinner and not her husband, Scully scrambled from the
police car to approach them.

"Where's Mulder?" she asked, kneeling beside Ellery.  "Are
you all right, Ellery? Where's Dr. Mulder?"

"The--the man took him," Ellery stammered, and Scully could
tell the girl was going into shock.  Ellery shivered
lightly, and Scully put her arms around the young woman in
an attempt to warm her.

Scully looked up, her eyes racing over the landscape, but
she could see no trace of Dulexy, or the vehicle in which he
must have escaped with her husband. Some of the backup
officers were combing the area on foot while others were
trying to determine which of the several roads out of the
park Dulexy might have taken.

Shaking her head partly in anger at Mulder for getting
himself in trouble yet again, and partly in wonder at the
capacity things had for going wrong in her husband's orbit,
Scully pulled out her cell phone and dialed for an
ambulance.


----------------
SUNDAY 7:27 a.m.
----------------

Sylvia Stiles looked up from her coffee when the back door
of her farmhouse opened.  The house and adjoining acreage
had been left to her after her mother died, and she'd lived
here first with her husband, Alfred, and alone in the six
years since Alfred had gone.  The property had been in their
family for over a hundred years, and Sylvia swore to die in
the same house in which she'd lived her entire life.

Her brother, Justin, approached and wordlessly poured
himself a cup from the pot on the counter.  Since Justin's
release from prison several months earlier, they'd had
nothing more than stilted conversation in their infrequent
meetings.  They'd never been close as children, Sylvia being
eight years older than Justin, and now they had nothing in
common and nothing to talk about.  This morning, though,
Justin seemed different.

"Where'd you come from?" she asked, lifting her cup to her
lips for another sip.

"Sylvie, how'd you like to leave this place?" he asked, the
excitement barely discernable in his voice but his eyes
sparkling.

She shrugged.  "Been living here my whole life," she
commented to the coffee in her cup.  "Put down roots.  Have
lots of memories.  Don't see any reason to go."

Dulexy took the chair next to her and turned it around,
straddling it and resting his arms across the back.

"What if I said I knew a place where we could get lots of
money?" he demanded, and noticed with satisfaction that his
sister showed a bit more interest.  Money had been tight for
her, he knew, after that bastard of a husband had walked out
on her to take up with the slutty sales clerk down at the
hardware store.

"Money?" she questioned tentatively.  "Where?  And how
much?"

"Three million dollars," he said pointedly.

Sylvia coughed on her sip of coffee and set the cup down
quickly.  She folded her hands in her lap and stared at him,
waiting.

"I have something that could bring us three million
dollars," he confirmed, watching as her face took on a
thoughtful expression.  "And all I need from you is a little
help."

"What do you need me to do?" she asked after a moment.  The
things that Justin asked were never easy.  He'd been a
demanding little boy, and over the years she had watched him
grow into something more, something utterly frightening as
he approached adulthood.  He was a tall kid, solidly built,
and when Justin was seventeen, he'd beaten a man to death
with nothing but his fists.  After thirty years in prison
her brother had been released, and as far as Sylvia could
tell, the only changes in him had been for the worse.

Dulexy stood, holding out his hand to her.

"Come with me," he said, and she found herself following him
in spite of her better judgement.

They climbed into Justin's truck, a sixteen year old Ford
that he'd picked up from God-knew-where after he'd been
released from prison. Sylvia was surprised when, after
driving down the dirt road that led to her house for half a
mile, he turned back onto her property, taking a seldom used
trail barely wide enough for the truck to clear.

"Where are we going?" she asked, clutching at the door
handle as the pickup navigated the bumpy path.

"Grandma and Grandpa's old house," he said slyly, giving her
a sidelong glance.  He wasn't sure how Sylvia would react to
his news that he was hold a kidnap victim for ransom on her
property, but he'd already decided if the old bitch gave him
any trouble, he'd just cap her.  She hadn't done him any
good lately that he could recall.  When he'd arrived on her
doorstep after being freed from prison, she'd given him some
money and essentially told him to get the hell out of her
life.  It had only been in the last month that she'd allowed
any beginnings of contact with him.  But for all her high
and mighty ways, he reflected, she was far from a saint
herself.  He knew for a fact that she hadn't filed an income
tax return since Alfred had walked.  Stupid old bitch
probably didn't know how.

Dulexy stopped the car in front of the small, dilapidated
farm house that had once been the pride of this property.
His great-grandfather had had the house built before the
turn of the century, and for all of Dulexy's childhood it
had been the place his mother's parents had resided.  When
his mother and father had married, old grandpa had built his
baby girl a house half a mile away, partly as a wedding gift
and partly as a way of keeping an eye on his little girl.
Anne Conklin Dulexy had been very much her father's
daughter, more so than most realized.  So much so that at
times, Justin Dulexy wondered just who his biological father
had been.  Anne and her daddy were *that* close.  Of course,
that was a carefully guarded family secret, one which was
never discussed and would have been met with a stony silence
had any member of the community dared put it into words, but
Justin knew.  It didn't take much, once he reached his
teens, to figure out just what those looks his grandpa gave
his mom really meant.  After Justin's father, James Dulexy,
had died in a farming accident, (one which the fourteen year
old Justin had often wondered, especially as he grew older
and more jaded, if his grandfather had had a hand in), Anne
and her father grew even closer.

Unfortunately, the old man found that his years of alcoholic
excesses finally caught up with him, and he was found dead
one morning in the barn, crashed on a pile of hay, an empty
whiskey bottle still held loosely in his lifeless fingers.
Not long after, Anne had been forced to put her mother in a
nursing home, and the drain on the family finances had been
great.  Justin had been twenty-three and already in prison
when his mother died of lung cancer, and by then the farm
had gone to hell.  Sylvia lived on in the house her mother
had left her, and 'Grandma and Grandpa's place' had been
abandoned, left to decay at the nonexistent mercies of
nature.

"What are we doing here, Justin?" Sylvia asked suspiciously
as she made her way up the front steps with caution.  She
hadn't been here in years, and it was evident that the house
was beginning to collapse in several places.  The front
porch sagged dangerously, and one of the five steps leading
up to it was completely disintegrated.

"I want to show you something," he replied, grabbing her arm
to keep her from tumbling down the stairs when her foot
slipped.  "Come on.  The floor's sturdier inside."

Sylvia followed him into the room that had been her
grandparents' bedroom, just down the hall from the living
room through which they'd entered the house.  Most of the
furniture and personal belongings had been removed from the
house over the years, but there was still the odd piece here
and there.  Her grandfather's large easy chair still stood,
alone, in the main room, and Sylvia shuddered when she saw
it, a half-remembered image of herself as a young girl
sitting on Grandpa's lap while he slipped his hand beneath
her dress flitting through her mind. Anne hadn't been the
only Conklin descendent with whom Grandpa had been
intimately acquainted.

When she entered the bedroom she stopped, shocked into
stillness at the sight that greeted her.  A man, slightly
older than Justin from the looks of him, yet smaller in
stature than her brother, sat bound with ropes on the floor
in front of her.  His arms were pulled tightly behind him
and his feet were tied together. His head slumped forward
over his chest, and Sylvia could see blood matting the
unconscious man's greying hair.  It had trickled down his
face to his mouth and dried there, giving him an almost
circus-clown-like appearance.  She turned wide eyes to her
brother.

"Who is that?" she asked in awe.

Dulexy grinned.  "An old buddy of mine from prison," he told
her, watching to gauge her reaction.

"He don't look like no ex-con to me."

He snorted.  "He wouldn't, Sylvia.  He's been out for ten
years."

"And he kept in touch with you?"

Now Dulexy laughed outright.  "Not quite.  Let's just say we
had a chance meeting and leave it at that.  The point is,
Sylvie, he's loaded.  Worth millions.  And if we play our
cards right, some of those millions can be ours."

Mulder, hearing the laughter through the cloud in his brain,
stirred and moaned softly.

"Justin--kidnapping?"  She turned fearful eyes to him.
"You'll go back to jail!"

Dulexy held to his patience by a thread.  If he was going to
pull this off, he'd need her help.

"Sylvia, as long as you keep your head together, I won't be
going anywhere, except to California after I collect the
money for Mr. Millionaire here."

"What exactly do you want me to do, Justin?"

"Keep quiet," he answered promptly.  "All you have to do,
Sylvie, is keep your mouth shut.  If the police come to
question you, be cooperative, but remember--you don't know
anything.  And I need you to be convincing; don't give them
a reason to search the property."

She nodded, wondering if she was a good enough actress to
pull all that off, when her attention was drawn to the man
on the floor.

Mulder moaned again, and tried to raise his head.  When
Dulexy saw the look of concern that crossed his sister's
face, he decided he'd better think fast.  Having Sylvie
spoil the bastard wasn't in his plans, but given the
opportunity, she'd want to dress his wound, and feed him and
take care of him. Dulexy had other ideas.

"He's the reason I spent so much time in isolation that one
year, Sylvie," he said in his best little-brother voice.  He
knew Sylvia had been told about the weeks he'd spent in
solitary after helping a guard beat Mulder.  He'd held the
smaller man, helpless in his iron grip, while a guard had
taken to him with a steel pipe. If all had gone according to
plan, Mulder would be dead now and Dulexy $500 richer, but
they'd been interrupted before the job could be completed.

Sylvia stared at Justin, then back at Mulder.  Then she
walked deliberately over to where Mulder sat helpless, tied
to the bed, and raised her foot.  She delivered one sharp
kick to his ribs, watching as he whimpered once and fell
back into unconsciousness.  Regardless of how nice the man
looked now, family was family, and if their prisoner had
been responsible for Justin's long stretch in isolation,
then he was her enemy as well.


-----------------
SUNDAY 11:03 a.m.
-----------------

Mulder opened his eyes slowly, aware that something was
wrong but unable to quite pinpoint the difficulty.  He
swallowed, lubricating a throat that felt as rough as
sandpaper, and turned his head to look around.  A sudden
rush of pain and nausea convinced him further movement was a
bad idea, so he cast his eyes about instead, taking in his
surroundings.

He was in a sparsely furnished bedroom, one which smelled of
must and decay, and guessed the room had not been used in a
good long while. An enormous bedframe stood in the center of
the room, its fine wood long since ruined by the rain that
would doubtless blow in through the broken windows during
bad weather. The bed still held a mattress and box springs,
and Mulder wondered idly whether mice nested there.  It
seemed a good place for mice to nest.

Shaking his head to clear it of the fog surrounding him,
Mulder had to bite his lip to keep back a groan.  Someone
had inserted a cannonball in his skull while he was out, he
noted carefully, and any future movement must be slow and
careful if he was to avoid puking his guts up.  Also, it was
apparent that he'd either been hit or kicked in the ribs,
since his entire left side felt bruised, and breathing was
painful.  Willing the feeling of nausea to diminish, he took
slow, deep breaths until he felt confident the meager
contents of his stomach were going to remain in place, at
least for now.

Taking stock of his situation, he discovered that the pains
in his head and ribs were not the only misery his body
faced--they were merely the most apparent. His arms were
drawn behind him painfully, tied around one heavy leg of the
bed frame.  He sat on the chilly floor, his legs tied
together at the ankles.  He wasn't gagged, he realized
suddenly, and wondered if that meant there was nobody close
enough to hear him if he yelled for help.

Straining again to raise his head, very slowly this time so
as to avoid another wave of illness, he tried to peer out
the nearest window. The window was too high from his awkward
position on the floor, so nothing was visible to him except
an empty field, and the tops of trees that looked to be
about two hundred yards away. There was no sign of life, and
listening carefully, Mulder heard no sound other than
occasional birdsong.

He settled himself carefully back against the bed, trying to
loosen some of the tension in his shoulders, and set his
befuddled mind to figuring out his predicament.

They'd tried to fool the kidnapper, who had turned out to be
Justin Dulexy, of all people.  With a sigh, Mulder wondered
if his past would ever let him be.  Skinner had been there;
had he escaped?  And more importantly, was Ellery safe?  If
Skinner had apprehended the suspect according to plan,
Mulder guessed he wouldn't be in this position now, so it
was a safe bet to figure that Skinner might have been hurt.
Or worse.  Mulder refused to allow that thought to even form
completely before shoving it away.  If Walter had been
killed and he somehow managed to survive, Jess Skinner would
take him apart bit by bit until there was nothing left worth
saving, he knew that without a doubt.  Jess would probably
be furious with him anyway, for leading Walter into this
mess. If Skinner had managed to get away there was a chance
that he might be rescued as well, but if not--Dulexy had
said someone would suffer if he didn't get his money. How
much suffering was Dulexy willing to put him through?  And
would he eventually release Mulder if Scully paid up, or was
this finally the end of the line?  As the pounding in his
side and head continued, Mulder wondered which, given the
choice, he would go for.

Mulder didn't know how long he had been there, stretched
uncomfortably on the floor, before he heard the footsteps
approaching.  Turning his head carefully toward the bedroom
door, he waited to face his captor.

Dulexy had spent several hours considering his good fortune.
All in all, he thought himself an okay guy; he'd never
intended to hurt the little girl, even when she turned out
to be the wrong one.  All he'd wanted was his payoff and
he'd have let her go, unharmed.  Finding himself in
possession of his old prison buddy, however, was an entirely
different matter.  Fox Mulder had always irritated Dulexy,
with his smart college-boy's mouth, his Fed background and
his ratting ways, and now Dulexy saw his chance to even the
score a bit.  He still wanted money, and he'd damn well get
it, but the chance to have a little fun with his prize was
too good to pass up.

Now he approached the bedroom, knowing Mulder was probably
awake and wondering what was to become of him.  Dulexy heard
a slight groan coming from the room where his prisoner lay,
and smiled to himself.  Mr. Rich, Oh-So-Fine Mulder had no
idea the turn his life was about to take.

"Dulexy," Mulder rasped when the larger man appeared in the
doorway. "How nice to see you after all these years.  We
should get together sometime, do lunch."

Dulexy smiled even more broadly and walked to the window.
Without a word he yanked down the metal curtain rod that
hung there, stripping off the decaying fabric that still
clung to it in places.  He turned back to Mulder and,
without warning, struck him hard with the rod across his
abdomen.

It might not have hurt so badly if his ribs hadn't already
been aching, but as it was, the impact felt like fire.
Mulder made an 'oof' sound and sucked in his breath, waiting
for the next blow, but it didn't fall.

"I always wanted to wipe up the floor with your smartass
self, Mulder," Dulexy told him.  "Looks like I'll get my
chance."

"I thought it was money you wanted."  Mulder tried to keep
his voice steady, but he was rapidly growing more afraid.
If Skinner and Scully didn't arrive soon to get him out of
this one, there was no telling what Dulexy might do to him.
//I am too old for this// his subconscious whispered. //Too
old to be at the mercy of a lunatic.//

Dulexy laughed.  "Oh, I do want money.  Lots of it.  In
fact, the asking price has gone up.  I figure the little
woman will be willing to pay more to help you avoid getting
hurt."  He placed the end of the hollow metal rod at
Mulder's throat and caressed it slowly down his body.  "I
think she'll come up with the cash to get you back...what do
you think?"

Mulder grimaced inwardly as the rod approached his groin,
but kept his face impassive.  Suddenly he was wracked by
pain as Dulexy pressed it into his crotch, hard.

"I said, what do you think?" Dulexy flared, and Mulder
fought to remain in control.

"I think you'd better return me to her undamaged, you son of
a bitch, or she'll cut your balls off and stuff them up your
ass," he managed before Dulexy raised the rod and struck him
so hard across the stomach it drove the breath from his
body.

"Before I'm through with you, you'll lose that smart mouth,
asshole," he heard his captor growl through a haze of pain.

Mulder didn't respond; he was too busy gasping desperately
for air. Dulexy tossed the metal rod into a corner and left
the room.  As soon as he was gone, Mulder began frantically
working the knots that held him tied, twisting his wrists
this way and that in an attempt to loosen them enough to
free himself.  For it was becoming increasingly clear to him
that he might not survive this encounter with this
particular slice of his past.


----------------
SUNDAY 2:52 p.m.
----------------

Scully stuck her head quietly in the door of Skinner's
hospital room. Jess was dozing, sprawled out in the room's
only chair, her dark head thrown back against the vinyl
upholstery.

"Jess?" Scully said quietly, touching her friend's arm, and
waited while Jess roused herself.

"Hi, Dana," Jess said sleepily, rubbing her eyes and
yawning.

"I'm sorry to wake you."

Jess shook her head to clear it.  "It's okay, I've been
asleep for a while."

Scully inclined her head toward the man in the bed.  "How is
he doing?"

A tiny smile flickered over Jess' face, then disappeared,
replaced with lines of worry.  "Not bad," she replied.  "The
doctors say he's going to pull through, but I'm a little
worried that he hasn't come out of it yet."

"That's normal, Jess.  He took quite a lot of damage, and
with the drugs they gave him during surgery coupled with the
painkillers--he probably won't wake up for hours yet."

Jess did smile this time.  "I know, Dana.  It's
just...really hard to wait."

Scully hugged the woman briefly, and felt Jess' arms tighten
around her waist, seeking support.

"I do have some news," Scully said when they'd pulled back.
"Ellery was able to identify the man who kidnapped her from
photographs."

Jess' eyebrows shot up questioningly.

"It was someone Mulder knew in prison, someone he shared a
cell with for a short time."

Jess shook her head wonderingly.  "What do you suppose he's
going to do?" she asked.  "Will Mulder be...?"

Scully's face was grim.  "I have to find him, Jess, and
soon.  This man--Justin Dulexy is his name--he's not just a
former cell mate of Mulder's."  She paused for a moment,
fighting the horror of the words. "It's the man who held him
while that guard beat him.  This man tried to help murder
Mulder once before.  I'm afraid..."  She bit her lip.  "The
police want to handle it their way, but I'm afraid they'll
just make him more angry, and that Mulder will pay for it."

Jess glanced at her husband's sleeping form.  "Is there
anyone at the FBI that you could call on, Dana?" she
questioned slowly.  "Someone who might help you?"

Scully sighed.  "I don't know, Jess.  Maybe I can do a
little snooping on my own and find out something useful, but
without the Bureau's resources at my disposal...at any rate,
I'm going to explore that possibility right now.  I just
wanted to check on the two of you first."

Jess smiled again her face tired and worn.  "We're fine,"
she assured her friend.  "I still have my husband, thanks
be.  Now, you go and find yours before it's too late."

Scully nodded, and giving Jess another friendly hug, left
the hospital. Her first destination was a local library to
dig up copies of old newspapers.

Two hours later, Scully sat back and yawned, stretching her
sore muscles.  Sylvia Styles.  Justin Dulexy, whose release
from prison had garnered a small article in his local
newspaper, had a sister named Sylvia Styles who still lived
in the area.  It took Scully only a matter of minutes to
find a phone book and track down the woman's address.

It took a little longer to actually locate the Styles
property, nestled in an isolated, rural area twenty miles
from the nearest town.  When she did arrive at what she was
fairly sure was the right house, she stopped the car and
looked around cautiously before emerging.  The house was old
and unkempt, but the yard was mowed, and someone had planted
a bed of fall flowers beside the sagging front steps.  It
looked as if the residents at least tried to keep the place
looking nice, and Scully wondered if Ms. Styles had a
husband around to help with the work.

She was greeted before she reached the top of the porch
steps by a woman in a faded house dress and white sandals.
She appeared neat and clean, if poor, and again Scully was
taken by the baffling paradox between the rundown property
and the apparently unavailing efforts to counteract the
appearance of shabbiness.

"Ms. Styles?" she said tentatively, wondering if the woman
would receive her graciously or run her off the property.

"Yeah?"

"My name is Dana Mulder.  Would you mind if I spoke to you
for a few minutes?"

"Mulder?"  The name apparently drew the woman's attention,
and Scully felt her heart leap in her chest.  It sank a
moment later when Sylvia continued, "The police was already
out here this morning about a Mulder. Said they thought my
brother might have taken him."

"Did you talk to the police, ma'am?" Scully asked politely,
all the while screaming inside for this woman to just tell
her where she could find Mulder.

"Yeah, I talked to them.  Couldn't tell them nothing,
though."

"Have you seen your brother since he was released from
prison?"

Sylvia shrugged.  "He comes and goes.  Mostly he's gone.  I
haven't seen him in a while."  She crept a little closer to
Scully and studied her face carefully, taking note of the
deep shadows under the younger woman's eyes and the lines of
worry around her mouth.  "That Mulder person--he your man?"

Scully nodded sadly.  "Yes, he's my husband.  We have reason
to believe that your brother kidnapped him last night.  I
was hoping..."

Sylvia nodded sagely.  "I know, you were hoping I could help
you find him.  Well I'm sorry about your man, and I'm sorry
I can't be of no help."

Scully turned her head briefly, fighting back the tears that
tried to come.  She'd had such high hopes for this visit.
With a sigh that shuddered only slightly, she responded,
"Thank you, Ms. Styles.  I appreciate you talking to me."

As Scully spoke, her eyes roamed the landscape, and when
they lit upon an old barn not far from the house, hope
blossomed on her face.

"Is it possible that your brother might be hiding here on
your property without your knowledge?" she ventured
cautiously.

Sylvia followed Scully's gaze and grinned, revealing a set
of teeth yellowed and crooked, but intact.  "You think
Justin might be hiding your man in my barn?"

Scully said nothing, but held the woman's gaze, a look of
almost pleading in her eyes.

Sylvia shrugged again.  "Well, come on then, let's go have a
look around that barn," she said, beginning to walk in that
direction.  "Funny you should mention that, you know," she
confided as they made their way toward the ramshackle
structure.  "The police never even asked to look around when
they came out this morning.  They just asked me if I knew
where Justin was, and then took their leave."

Scully's mouth tightened at what she considered inept
investigative techniques, but reminded herself sternly that
she no longer had any authority to be doing what she was
doing.  With Walter laid up, they were at the mercy of local
law enforcement.

The two women reached the barn, and Sylvia lifted the heavy
wooden latch that kept the doors closed.  One door hung
slightly askew, and hinges creaked as the doors were pulled
open.

"I just use this for storage now," Sylvia told her.  "I
haven't had any livestock on the property in years."

Scully stared at the stacks of boxes and pieces of broken
furniture that littered the barn.  "Do you mind if I just
take a look around?" she asked, and Sylvia nodded for her to
go ahead.

Scully peered into every possible nook and cranny of the
building, climbing carefully up the ladder to the hayloft,
avoiding the missing rungs and mindful of a couple of weaker
ones.  A thick layer of dust lay over everything in the
loft, and it was obvious that no human had been there for a
very long time.  Disappointed, she made her way back down to
the ground.

"Satisfied?" Sylvia asked, not unkindly, and Scully nodded.

"Thank you for letting me look around," she said, extending
her hand in a friendly gesture, and after an odd look the
other woman clasped it briefly.

"You're husband--he knew Justin in prison?" she asked
curiously.

"Yes."

"That's funny.  You don't look like the wife of an ex-con."

Scully's shoulders straightened a bit at that.  "My husband
was wrongfully accused of murder," she said tightly.  "He
was released when the real killer was brought to justice."
//But not before your brother nearly killed him!// her mind
screamed, but she clamped her lips tightly shut to keep that
thought inside.  She couldn't afford to alienate this woman.

Scully stopped beside the porch and before Sylvia could
climb the steps, pulled a card from her purse.  "If you
don't mind, ma'am, this is my cell phone number.  Could you
just...give me a call if you see or hear anything?"

Sylvia took the card and examined it closely, then tucked it
in the pocket of her dress.  "I'll do that," she affirmed,
and watched as Scully crossed the yard to the driveway.

"I sure hope you find your man safe and sound," Sylvia
called to her as she climbed into her car, and Scully gave a
short nod of thanks before backing out of the driveway and
heading for home.  She had to find another avenue of
exploration, and soon.


Sylvia looked at the card again when she got inside.  The
woman seemed nice enough, and few people called her 'ma'am'
these days without a tone of sarcasm in their voices.  In
fact, Sylvia thought, she had actually liked the wife of
Justin's hostage. Liked her very much.  With a thoughtful
look, she opened a kitchen drawer and tucked the card
beneath the silverware tray inside.  She didn't plan to
betray Justin, but couldn't bring herself to throw it away.
Justin had asked her to keep quiet about the man he was
holding, and about the fact that there was another house on
the property, invisible from the road and forgotten by many
of the locals, and Sylvia had done that.  It didn't do to
eliminate your options, she decided as she went back to her
television program. Especially when you were dealing with
the likes of Justin Dulexy.

 
----------------
SUNDAY 3:07 p.m.
----------------

Mulder shifted his uncomfortable body as much as he could,
trying to ignore the way his bladder was yelling at him to
empty it.  His hunger was raging and his thirst was worse.
He must have been here for over twelve hours now, and there
was still no sign of rescue.  He'd worked the ropes binding
his wrists until blood from his torn skin stained the
fibers, but to no avail so far.  Once, he'd thought he felt
the knots beginning to give a little, but finally decided it
had been wishful thinking.

Dulexy had returned to his prisoner just once more during
the day.  He'd been drinking from a beer can, and Mulder had
gazed at it longingly as he licked his dry lips.  Water was
preferred, of course, but at this point any fluid at all
would be welcome.  On the other hand, he reflected,
remembering his tortured bladder, perhaps liquid wasn't a
good thing right now.

He'd even gone so far as to ask Dulexy to release him to
allow him to use the bathroom, but Dulexy had only smiled
coldly.

"Piss yourself," he'd said succinctly before leaving the
room, and Mulder wondered miserably if it would come to that
after all.

Now his muscles were screaming, his abdomen still ached
where Dulexy had struck him--which didn't exactly help the
bladder situation any--and Mulder began to wonder how long
he could last if Scully and Skinner didn't arrive soon.  He
wasn't as young as he used to be, he reminded himself, and
even though he was still in good shape, a fifty-one year old
body simply can't tolerate the things a thirty-five year old
one can endure.

He closed his eyes, praying inwardly that he would be
discovered before too much longer, and eventually fell into
a restless sleep.


----------------
SUNDAY 6:00 p.m.
----------------

She snatched up the phone on the first ring.

"Yes?" she barked.

Dulexy laughed.  Apparently his delay had had the desired
effect--the bitch was anxious.

"I have him."

He heard her breathing heavily for a few seconds.

"Is he hurt?"

Dulexy smiled to himself.  "Oh, he's not in the greatest
shape, but he'll live.  If you cooperate."

"What do you want?" she demanded, and he was pleased at her
courage.

"Three million dollars."

"Three?"  Her voice was cool.  "I thought it was two."

"Price went up while I waited."  He tapped his finger on the
table, awaiting her response.

"How do I know he's alive?  I want to talk to him."

His eyebrows shot up at her answer.  It wasn't what he'd
expected.  He'd thought she would be so frantic with worry
over her husband by now that she'd promise anything he asked
just to get Mulder back.  No, not what he expected at all.
She hadn't appeared to be the 'tough as nails' type when
he'd surveilled them from a distance.  Apparently he had
been mistaken.

"Look, lady, I make the rules here.  Now either you pay up
or he dies. And it ain't gonna be no quick, easy death
either.  Is that really what you want your pretty rich man
to go through?"

Scully's hand tightened painfully around the phone.  She
watched Officer Allen's face, waiting for the sign that the
call had been successfully traced.  It hadn't come yet.

"I don't think you'll go through with it," she said calmly,
desperate to keep him talking.  "I don't think you want to
be found guilty of murder again.  You'll get the death
penalty this time, you know."

He laughed again, a deep, guttural sound.

"I know what you're doing, lady, and it won't work.  If you
care about him, you'll leave the police and FBI out of it
from now on.  I'll call back again, but I warn you, he's
going to pay for this."

The click in her ear sounded so final.

----------------
SUNDAY 6:15 p.m.
----------------

Dulexy paced back and forth across the room, tossing furious
glances at Mulder.  Mulder watched him warily, the agony in
his beaten body almost enough to make him pass out, but
afraid to give up consciousness while his captor was nearby.

"That bitch wife of yours is going to learn not to fuck with
me," Dulexy growled, and Mulder suppressed a shudder.  He'd
surmised from his kidnapper's behavior that Dulexy had
demanded money, and Scully had probably been less than
cooperative.  While a part of him realized that Scully was
afraid Dulexy would kill him as soon as the money was
secured, another part wished she'd just pay the damn ransom
so he could get the fuck out of here. One way or another.
He couldn't fault her planning though--she was trying to buy
time, which Mulder knew meant she was searching furiously
for him.

"You must not mean a whole lot to her, Rich Man," Dulexy
taunted. "Married you for your big bank account, didn't she?
I'll bet you can't even keep a woman like her satisfied.
Maybe after I'm done with you, I'll give her a taste of what
a real man feels like."

Mulder's lips compressed with his rage, but he was
determined not to be taken in by Dulexy's obvious
psychological tricks. He tried not to whimper as Dulexy
approached him again with the curtain rod, but the look in
the other man's eyes was terrifying.  He squeezed his own
eyes shut and waited for the first blow to fall. When it did
Mulder was unable to suppress a scream of pain. Before long,
his entire mid-section was bruised and battered, one mass of
tortured nerve endings, and he didn't know how much more he
could take.  His crotch still throbbed with the memory of
the blow that had fallen there earlier in the day, but
mercifully, Dulexy seemed content to avoid that area now.

"Let's hear you beg me, Mulder." Dulexy grinned as the metal
rod fell relentlessly, again and again in the same spot
until Mulder thought surely he would die from the agony.  He
was certain his insides must be useless mush by now, as
often as Dulexy had attacked his gut, and he found himself
wondering why the man didn't hit him somewhere else. "You're
not so high and mighty now, are you, Mr. Rich Motherfucker,
layin' here in your own piss?  Beg me to stop and I'll
consider it."

"I'll die--before I'll beg--you for anything, you sadistic
bastard!" Mulder managed to gasp between blows.  His wrists
jerked at the ropes that held them captive, and his hands
itched to ball into fists and ram directly into Dulexy's
ugly face, but all he could do was squirm in a fruitless
attempt to elude the rod that kept raining torture down upon
his mid-section.

Finally, Dulexy seemed to grow tired of his game, and
tossing the curtain rod aside once again, he grabbed Mulder
by both sides of his head and raised him up painfully, until
they were nose-to-nose.  Mulder felt the muscles in his arms
screaming in protest at the position, but he said nothing,
staring into Dulexy's black eyes with all the courage he had
left.

"Before I'm finished, you'll beg," Dulexy said confidently,
the touch of a cold smile curving his mouth.  "You'll do
anything I say before I'm done with you."

He let go and Mulder's head dropped back against the wooden
bed frame. Breathing heavily, Mulder stared up at him,
refusing to answer.

"Maybe your bitch would be more convinced if I started
cutting pieces off you and sending them to her.  A finger,
maybe, or a toe to start with," he mused, and this time
Mulder was unable to hide his shudder of fear.  Dulexy
smiled wider.

"I think I've hit upon a plan," he gloated.  "Just the thing
to convince her that I am not playing games."

"If she pays you, and doesn't get me back alive, she'll hunt
you down and kill you."  Mulder managed to grind out the
words in spite of the burning pain that consumed most of his
body.

"She'll get you back alive," Dulexy replied, starting for
the door. "It's up to her how much of you is left, though."

He disappeared down the hall, chuckling to himself.

Mulder felt the wetness on his bloodied wrists and hands,
wincing at the pain there, and then resolutely began to
twist against the ropes once more. He had to escape.  Even
if Scully and Skinner were looking for him, they might not
find him until it was too late. Dulexy was a lot meaner than
he'd been in prison, and he'd been frightening even then.

At least his bladder was happy, even if his clothing wasn't,
and a flush of shame colored his cheeks as he remembered
finally letting go, the mixture of relief and disgust he'd
felt.  Dulexy had found the entire situation humorous, of
course, but what worried Mulder more than the humiliation of
having wet himself like an infant was the hunger and most of
all, the incredible thirst plaguing him. He hadn't had
anything to eat or drink in over twenty-four hours, and by
now his inner voice was ruthlessly reminding the rest of his
body of that fact.

He was also well aware of the numerous bruises Dulexy had
inflicted on him with that damned curtain rod.  Mulder was
amazed that such a flimsy-looking instrument was capable of
causing so much pain.  On the other hand, the rod wasn't
strong enough to cause any serious damage--at least he
didn't think it was...his abdomen was still very tender but
Mulder hoped it was merely from external bruising and not
something worse.  He was pretty sure a rib had been broken
from whatever had happened to him before he'd awakened.  It
felt as if someone had kicked him in the side, and he was
pretty sure that was exactly what had occurred.

Ignoring the pain from his torn wrists, Mulder again grimly
set about attempting to free himself.  He had to get away
before Dulexy followed through on his latest threat.


-----------------
SUNDAY 11:32 p.m.
-----------------

He heard footsteps approaching again.  Lighter ones than
Dulexy's this time, and for a moment he almost allowed
himself to believe that Scully had come for him, but these
weren't her footsteps--he'd know them anywhere.  Scully
walked lightly, quickly, and purposefully.  This person had
a heavier tread than Scully (although not as heavy as
Dulexy's plodding gait) and was moving slowly and carefully.
This person, Mulder realized, was sneaking.

It was a full two minutes before he saw the face at the
door, illuminated in the bright moonlight.  It was a woman,
somewhere in her mid-fifties, her long silver hair captured
in a ponytail at her neck. Mulder stared, unspeaking, as she
approached him quietly.  She put her fingers to her lips,
and he nodded slightly to show he understood.  Very
slightly.  The pain in his head had receded, but it was far
from gone, and he didn't want to awaken it again.

His body was still but his heart swelled; salvation at last!
All his hours of working at his bonds had only served to
turn his wrists to ground round.  Tugging futilely at the
ropes now, he silently begged her to release him. She knelt
beside him, slowly lowering her body until they were
eye-to-eye.  Before his lips could form the pleading words,
he caught sight of heaven in her hand.  A glass of water.

"Justin's passed out," she whispered grimly.  "I just
brought this over to you.  If he finds out, there'll be hell
to pay."

"Please," he whispered back weakly, his eyes still pinned to
the glass, "If you could just untie me--"

His heart sank when her head began to shake furiously from
side to side.  "I can't do that!" she answered, her barely
audible voice still managing to sound fearful.  "Justin'd
kill me!"

"Please, ma'am," he begged, his eyes beginning to fill with
the hot tears of frustration.  "Please, he's going to kill
*me*."

She guided the glass to his mouth, holding the back of his
head gently with her other hand, while he slurped anxiously
at the water.  When the glass was half-empty, she pulled it
away.

"No..." he moaned, leaning toward it.

"Shh!" she whispered fiercely.  "If you wake him..."

Mulder bit his lip in frustration, but then the glass was
back and he was allowed to finish the water.  When he'd
drained every drop he could from the glass, she pulled it
away again, wiping his mouth with her hand.

"Thanks," he muttered quietly.

"I'm only doing this because your wife was decent to me this
afternoon."

Mulder almost gasped in shock.  "Scully was here?"

She cocked her head.  "I never heard that name.  She was a
little-bitty redhead and she said her name was Mulder.  Same
as yours."

He nodded frantically once, then clenched his eyes tightly
against the pain in his head.

"Please...please tell her where to find me."

There was no answer. When he opened his eyes, he saw that the
woman had risen.  She had begun to stealthily make her way
out of the room when his voice stopped her.

"Ma'am?"

She turned.

"Could I please have something to eat?"  He kept his voice
low, terrified that Dulexy would awaken and discover his
benefactress.

She regarded him for a moment, then shook her head
regretfully.  "I can't risk it," she told him, and in the
next instant she had disappeared down the hall.


----------------
MONDAY 8:04 a.m.
----------------

"Agree to whatever he demands," Officer Allen ordered,
handing her the phone.  "We'll be there to intercept."

Scully nodded, unsure of the plan but unable to come up with
a better one on her own.  Walter was still unconscious and
these men were not impressed with the fact that ten years
earlier she had been a noted FBI agent.  To them, she was
merely the wife of a kidnap victim, less hysterical than
some, but still a civilian.

"Hello?" she said cautiously into the phone, and waited
while the sound of heavy breathing filled her ears.  She
needed to try and keep Dulexy on the line longer this time
in order for them to trace the call.

"You want to see him again?"  The voice was harsh, somewhat
slurred, and it occurred to Scully that Dulexy had been
drinking.  That could make her job easier--for the first
time, she felt hope.

"Yes.  Is he all right?"  She tried to let just the right
amount of concern slip into her voice, hiding from Dulexy
the fact that she was hanging on by a thread.  She simply
wasn't conditioned for this type of stress any longer.
There was a time she'd have taken it in stride, considering
it part of the hazards of day-to-day living, but in the last
ten years Scully had grown used to normalcy.

"Well...he's not very happy, but he's alive."

"What have you done to him?" she demanded.

He ignored her.  "If you want him back, you'll have to
follow my orders. No games this time.  I still want three
million."

She hesitated for a long moment, as long as she dared.
"Okay," she breathed, "three million it is."

"Leave it the same place as before--under the gazebo in
Soldier Park at noon today. There shouldn't be anybody
around in this rain.  If I see any cops around, your pretty
boy is going to pay dearly."

He hung up before she could respond, and Officer Allen shook
his head regretfully at her inquiring look.  Scully bit back
the obscenity that wanted to cross her lips.  Losing her
temper wouldn't help Mulder now.

"Same place.  Noon," she said shortly.

"Noon?" Allen asked with a bark of laughter.  "What is this
guy, an idiot?"

Scully glared at him.  "Whatever he is, he still has my
husband," she reminded him coldly.  "Let's not screw it up
this time."

Allen nodded, and immediately began issuing directions for
his people to position themselves in the general area of
Soldier Park.

Watching from a distance as the undercover cops began to
unobtrusively take their places, Dulexy, who had been there
already when he made the call, shook his head in amazement
at the stupidity of some people,  He quietly crept back to
the place he'd concealed his truck.  This fucking bitch was
either going to learn to play it his way, or he was going to
have even more fun with Mulder than he'd originally planned.


----------------
MONDAY 1:05 p.m.
----------------

Dulexy was returning.

Mulder heard the front door slam, rattling the entire house,
and he shuddered.  Slowly running his fingers along the
ropes that still held his mangled wrists captive, he gave
one half-hearted tug.  It was no use. He no longer had the
strength to try and free himself anyway.  He found himself
hoping that, whatever Dulexy was angry about, he was angry
enough to kill his prisoner.

He closed his eyes, unwilling to watch as Dulexy stormed
into the room, but they flew open again when his hair was
grabbed and twisted painfully in Dulexy's fist.

"That bitch!" The cold black eyes glittered as they stared
down at Mulder, helpless and exhausted.

Mulder simply watched him, certain that whatever he said
would only bring him more suffering.

"That *bitch*!"  He said it again, this time eliciting a
yelp from Mulder as he emphasized the word 'bitch' with a
sharp slap to the side of Mulder's bruised ribcage.

Dulexy gazed at his captive, a thoughtful smile creeping
over his face. Mulder stared dully back at Dulexy, fighting
for breath, and grew cold, wondering what the smile could
mean.  No good for him, he was sure of that.

"I think," Dulexy said after a moment, his head cocked to
one side, "it's time to give her something to remember you
by."

He left the room quickly, and Mulder suddenly found renewed
strength to begin working on his bonds.  This did not sound
good.  No, not at all. With growing strength fueled by a
sudden rush of fear, Mulder realized that he wasn't quite
ready to die.  Not yet.

Dulexy returned too soon, before Mulder even had a chance to
bloody his wrists again, which was probably a good thing,
Mulder thought in retrospect.  If Dulexy had seen that he
was trying to escape, he might have plunged the scissors
into his heart instead of merely cutting off his hair.

The ex-con held Mulder's head steady by placing one big hand
on his captive's chin and pressing him hard against the bed.
Mulder could barely breathe, so great was the pressure, but
his biggest concern was the sharp scissors in Dulexy's hand,
drawing nearer and nearer to his head.  For one horrifying
moment, Mulder actually thought Dulexy was going to cut out
an eye, but Dulexy just gave him that chilling grin again
and began unevenly lopping off his hair.

Mulder held perfectly still as he received his impromptu
haircut, knowing that if he moved, and Dulexy cut his scalp,
medical attention would not be forthcoming.  The last thing
he needed to add to his list of injuries was a bleeding head
wound.  Dulexy turned his head this way and that, cutting
off as much of the hair as he could, sometimes right up
against the scalp, sometimes leaving half an inch on
Mulder's head. Mulder sighed inwardly.  The small part of
him that still thought he might emerge from this ordeal
alive knew how pissed off Scully was going to be over this.
She'd gone ballistic a few months ago when he'd had his hair
cut in a buzz, and it was only now growing back to her
satisfaction.  He'd only done it in order to be cooler
during the hot summer months, he had defended, but she had
pointed out that she liked to be able to run her fingers
through his hair while they were making love (an observation
that had gone straight to his groin), and when he heard that
he'd vowed never to cut it so short again.

Now he sat quietly as Dulexy gathered the locks of
gray-tinged dark brown silk that littered the floor.  Dulexy
left the room briefly and returned with a small cardboard
box.

//A Church's Fried Chicken box, Mulder.  Your hair is going
to smell like stale, greasy chicken the last time Scully
sees it.//

Dulexy carefully placed all the hair in the box and, with
another of those coldly evil smiles, started for the door.

Dulexy paused in the doorway and turned back to look at his
shorn prisoner.  He shook the box in his hand lightly, and
Mulder could almost hear the hair fibers moving against the
cardboard.

"If this doesn't convince her to give me the money, I think
I'll chop off a finger next," he said casually.  He watched
for a reaction, but the impassive face of his prisoner gave
him no satisfaction in that regard. With another shake of
the box, he left the bedroom. He had to prepare his gift for
mailing.

Mulder kept his eyes carefully on Dulexy until the man
disappeared, and then allowed himself to glance at the floor
beside him.

Dulexy had forgotten the shears.

They lay taunting him, their chrome glinting in the
sunlight.  Quickly, Mulder considered what he should do. If
he hid them beneath the bed, Dulexy would spot them easily.
The bed was old-fashioned, standing at least a foot off the
floor, and there were no blankets or sheets to shield hidden
contraband.  If Mulder managed to get the scissors near his
hands or behind his body, Dulexy would probably also see
them.  The only thing to do, he finally decided, was to try
and get them underneath himself so that he was sitting on
them.  With a little luck (and his luck simply had to kick
in sometime, didn't it?) he would be able to effectively
conceal them from Dulexy's often-drunken gaze.

First up, though, was the problem of exactly how he was
going to get his hands, or feet, or whatever, on the shears.
Dulexy was right-handed, and he'd knelt on the floor to
Mulder's left in order to cut off his hair.  When Dulexy had
finished, he'd placed the scissors on the floor to his own
right, which meant that now they were a good two feet away
from Mulder.  Twenty-four little inches that seemed
insurmountable. Discouraged for a moment, he almost
considered giving up before reality slammed home.

//You are going to die here, Mulder// his subconscious
insisted. //You'll never see Scully again, never see Emmie
again, never get out of this filthy, nasty, lonely place.
Unless, my friend, you take this opportunity to do something
about your situation.//


Swallowing hard, Mulder realized his subconscious was right;
Dulexy had no intention of letting him go, even if Scully
paid the ransom.  The man had killed before, and he'd kill
again, and Mulder suspected Dulexy would take great delight
in killing *him*.  It was now or never.

Since his hands were useless, and his shoulders had long
since fallen numb from being yanked into such a taut
stretch, Mulder decided his legs were his only hope.  His
feet were tied together, but other than that his legs were
not secured.  He could still move them.  Experimentally, he
shifted a bit, and bit back a gasp at the sharpness of the
pain in his side.  The rest of his injuries were somewhat
superficial, he knew, although still agonizing, but there
was no question in his mind now that a rib was broken.  He
felt it every time he moved.

Slowly, taking deep, steady breaths and keeping one eye on
the door, Mulder worked on twisting his body to the side in
an effort to get at the scissors.  He finally decided the
only way was to gradually move his bound legs toward the
shears. He could only manage it in short jerks, so weakened
was he from hunger, thirst and his injuries, but
little-by-little the prize became more accessible.

Finally, after many tiny gains, he had reached the scissors
with his feet, stretching his body until he was practically
lying on his side. His exultation died a quick death,
however, when he heard the footsteps. Dulexy was approaching
the bedroom where he lay in this incriminating pose, his
legs barely concealing the shears.  Swallowing a whimper,
Mulder froze, knowing he didn't have enough time to return
to his previous spot.  If Dulexy found him now, he would pay
dearly.

The footsteps drew closer, and Mulder held his breath, eyes
clamped shut against certain death, until he realized the
sound had ceased.  He peeked from beneath his lashes, fully
expecting to see Dulexy standing in the doorway, breathing
fire, but he was still alone.  Then the footsteps sounded
again, receding this time, and Mulder gave a *whoosh* of
relief.  Safe again for a few moments.

Renewing his efforts, he managed, little-by-little, to drag
the shears toward himself with his feet, wincing at the
slight sound they made as they slid across the wood floor.
He paused again, listening, but apparently Dulexy hadn't
heard. Another good pull and they were almost beneath him.
He couldn't draw his legs any closer to his body, so after
painstakingly working himself back around to his original
position, Mulder tried reaching for the scissors with his
fingers.

Too far away.  He needed another inch.

He tried to wiggle his butt over toward the scissors and
this time the gasp did escape.  His efforts had exacerbated
the ache of his broken rib, and now he leaned back against
the bed frame, sweat pouring down his face, hungrily sucking
in air.  Glancing down at the scissors that were still
visible to anyone standing at the bedroom door, Mulder made
a conscious effort to sublimate the pain.  Biting down on
his lower lip hard, hoping the hurt there would distract him
from the greater one in his side, he forced his body to give
a tiny hop toward the shears.

He was able to suppress his yelp when he impacted with the
hard floor, but tears formed in his eyes, falling this time
before he could stop them.  He'd made progress, though.  He
was closer to his goal than he had been before.  Mulder
allowed himself another few seconds, then hopped again,
almost crying out when his bottom landed square on top of
the metal scissors.  The sudden rush of adrenalin from his
victory gave him the strength to maneuver himself back into
the position in which Dulexy had left him, and then he
collapsed, thoroughly exhausted.

He felt wetness trickling down his fingers and realized,
just before losing consciousness, that he'd started his
wrists bleeding again.

----------------
MONDAY 8:57 p.m.
----------------

Mulder raised his head weakly as Dulexy entered the room.
He wondered what had happened now, and how Dulexy would make
him pay.  His drink of water the night before had been too
little, not nearly enough, and his thirst and hunger were
now raging again.  His eyes widened in fear when he realized
that Dulexy was in a deep, drunken fury.  He'd apparently
abandoned the curtain rod as well, for in his hand was
clutched a heavy steel pipe, about two feet long.  It was
nearly identical to the one--

As Dulexy approached him with the weapon, Mulder suddenly
flashed back to his prison days.  Dulexy was a big man, much
bigger than he, and he'd been helpless in Dulexy's grasp.
The guard, also a pretty huge guy, had approached him with a
look of almost glee in his eyes.  Dulexy had covered his
mouth with one enormous hand and Mulder had watched in
horror as the pipe had risen and fallen again and again on
his defenseless body, until finally he had slumped against
Dulexy, sinking into oblivion, certain it was the end of the
line.

He felt that way now as he swallowed hard with the bit of
saliva his dry mouth generated from the fear.  He couldn't
go through that again, he just couldn't.

Dulexy towered over him, his eyes glittering with rage.  His
mouth twisted in a sneer as he hefted the pipe.

"Looks like we're back to square one, old friend," he said
softly, and raised the pipe high above his head.

Mulder winced and tried desperately to squirm out of the way
as the steel began to fall, but moving was strictly
prohibited, and he was a perfect target for Dulexy's anger.

The first blow struck him across his already pain-wracked
abdomen, and the scream that should have erupted was
silenced when all the breath was knocked from his body.
Before Mulder could inhale, the pipe fell again, this time
across both thighs.  He threw his head back reflexively and
banged it against the bed.  Tears came to his eyes, falling
easily as Dulexy concentrated on his stomach again, bringing
the pipe down over and over on his inflamed belly.

The last blow before Mulder lost consciousness was straight
to his groin, and again there was no sound, only a silent
scream of agony as he slipped into the welcoming chasm.


-----------------
TUESDAY 7:33 a.m.
-----------------

Slowly, wincing at the light, Skinner opened his eyes.  He
moaned lightly and immediately felt a cool hand smooth his
brow.

"Walter?"

Forcing his eyelids up further, he was confronted with the
smiling face of his wife.

"Jess?" he managed weakly through his parched throat.

"Shh," she whispered.  "It's good to see you again."

He gave a brief smile, then grimaced as his body began to
register the pain it was experiencing.

He felt Jess squeeze his hand, her fingers stroking his
lightly.  All he wanted was to sink back into the well of
blackness he'd been in, the one where he couldn't feel the
fire in his belly, but first he needed information.

"Ellery?"

"She's safe at home with her family," Jess assured him.

He forced his eyes to open once again.  "Mulder?"

Skinner knew something had gone wrong when he saw Jess'
expression go bland, but then, something had gone horribly
wrong anyway, hadn't it, he reminded himself, or he wouldn't
be here now.

"Mulder?" he asked again, insistently.

"The kidnapper took him," Jess confessed.  "He hasn't been
found yet."

"How long?"

"Walter--"

"How long?" he demanded, and she sighed at his harsh tone.
She knew Walter--he wouldn't go back to sleep until she'd
told him everything.

"Three days."

"Damn him," Skinner muttered.  "Damn him for doing it, and
damn me for letting him. I should have known--"

"Walter, don't.  Don't blame yourself for this.  We all know
how stubborn Mulder can be.  If you hadn't agreed to help
him, he'd have just gone off and done it alone, and then
where would he be?  You couldn't have stopped him in any
case."

"I should have told Scully to drug him and tie him to their
bed," he groused.

"That might have worked," she agreed, pushing the call
button for the nurse.  "We'll try that next time."

"Who was he?"

Jess stared at him, puzzled, until she realized he was
talking about Mulder's kidnapper.

"You were right, Walter, it was someone Mulder knew from
prison.  A Justin Dulexy.  Apparently he and Mulder shared a
cell for a time."

Skinner winced.  He recognized that name, but through the
fog of drugs and pain was unable to dredge up its meaning.

The nurse entered, a syringe of pain medication already
prepared.

"I thought you might be ready for this soon, Mr. Skinner,"
she smiled. "Are you doing all right except for that hole in
your gut?"

He almost grinned.  Nodded once.  Watched while she prepared
his IV port to receive the drug, and then remembered.  He
had to warn Scully.

"Wait," he commanded, and the nurse froze.  Skinner looked
up at his wife's concerned face.  "Scully," he said weakly.
"Dulexy.  I know that name.  He's the one."

Jess Skinner's face registered her shock as she grasped his
meaning, then softened.  She nodded and brushed her fingers
lightly over his cheek.  "I'll tell Dana," she promised.
"She'll find him, Walter."  Her lips replaced her fingers,
bestowing a soft kiss. "Now please, let her give you the
medication so you can rest."

Unable to resist his wife's pleading eyes, he muttered,
"'kay," and seconds later the world went black.

------------------
TUESDAY 12:00 noon
------------------

Her ears were waiting for trouble, and she heard the
scuffling at the front door before the bell rang.  Scully
had spent the night tossing fitfully on the couch--that old
leather couch that had been part of Mulder's surroundings
ever since she had known him.  She had nestled herself into
its thick cushions sometime after midnight, after finally
getting Emmie settled down, and had lost herself in thoughts
of Mulder.

Emmie had gone through a rough time the previous
evening--guilt had settled on her young shoulders like a
boulder, and she'd suddenly been overwhelmed.  She had
buried her head in Scully's shoulder, just as she'd done
when she was a very small child, and cried her heart out.

"Shh," Scully had soothed.  "None of this is your fault,
Emmie."

"Yes it is," Emmie had argued.  "If I hadn't accused
him--Mom, I said such horrible things to him!"

"Emmie Mulder, you know Fox, you know what he's like.  He
didn't try to save Ellery because of what you said to him.
He knew you were just upset and angry.  He did it because it
was the only thing he could do. In all the years I've known
him, I've never seen him sit back and do nothing when
somebody needed help--not even if it meant sacrificing
himself in the process.  He's a very special man, and he
loves you very much."

"Tell me about you and him, Mom," Emmie said after a bit,
her crying beginning to slow to occasional sniffles.  She
still held tightly to her mother's waist, her face against
Scully's shirt which she'd soaked with her tears.

Scully smiled sadly.  "What do you want to know?"

"I want to know about when you fell in love with each
other."

Scully was silent for a long time.  "I never really knew
when I fell in love with Mulder," she said at last.  "It
just snuck up on me, and one day I realized that there was
nobody else in the world for me, and that there never could
be."

"But you married my dad."

Her arms tightened around Emmie briefly.  "I did.  And I
probably shouldn't have, but if I hadn't married him, you
wouldn't be with me today, now would you?"

"What about Fox?  When did he decide he loved you?"

Scully clenched her eyes tightly shut against the sudden
wave of pain that hit her heart.  "I don't know," she
managed.  "You'll have to ask him about that."

The child breathed against her for a few minutes more, and
Scully thought at last that she'd fallen asleep, but then
she spoke again.

"You two aren't very romantic, are you?"

"What do you mean?" Scully asked, surprised.  She'd never
really thought about it.

"Well," Emmie said carefully, "Jessica's mom and dad are
always doing romantic things together, like going off on
dates.  He brings her flowers a lot, and he always buys her
really nice presents.  But most of the time, they just
fight.  You and Fox both forget your anniversary if I don't
remind you of it."

Scully smiled again; it was true.

"He would never think to bring you flowers, and the two of
you don't do all that sappy talking to each other that some
couples do."

"I guess you're right, we're not very romantic.  But we do
love each other, you know that, don't you?"

"Yeah," Emmie said, stifling a yawn.  "That's pretty
obvious."

"I don't need flowers from Mulder, I just need him to be
here."

Emmie squeezed her tightly.  "He'll be back, Mom.  I know
he'll be all right."

"You're right," Scully answered, trying to sound positive in
the face of her growing despair.  "He'll be home again soon,
safe with us."

And she'd turned out the light and left Emmie, already half
asleep. That was when she'd made her way to Mulder's couch
and let the tears come--not many, for Scully wasn't a woman
given to shedding tears, but a few drops, evidence of her
fear and frustration, made their way from beneath her
eyelids.

She'd let Emmie stay home from school the day before, but
today the girl had insisted on going.  Emmie had said she
couldn't afford to miss another day of classes, but Scully
suspected the atmosphere around the house, coupled with
boredom, had driven her back to the comfort and dubious
safety of her friends.

It was just as well Emmie wasn't here now, she thought as
she held the brown-paper-wrapped parcel in her hands.  The
young boy who had delivered it had been questioned by
Officer Allen, who had practically taken up residence there,
but had yielded no useful information.  A man had paid him
twenty dollars to deliver a package to this house.  He'd
stopped the boy outside a local mall (he'd ditched school)
and given him this address, then driven away in a large
black pickup truck.  It was Dulexy, of course, they had no
doubt of that, but they still had no clue as to his
whereabouts, or Mulder's.

They'd found no fingerprints on the packaging, and although
Officer Allen said there could be some inside, Scully
doubted it--and what good could it do anyway?  They knew who
they were looking for.  Scully had been holding the parcel
for the last ten minutes, afraid to open it. She had no idea
what would be inside, but it was clear that the kidnapper
was trying to terrorize her into meeting his demands.
Whatever was contained in this package, Scully was sure it
had been obtained at some cost to Mulder.

Finally, able to stand the suspense no longer, she carefully
slit the tape with a knife held in trembling fingers, and
withdrew the small yellow box.  She gripped it by the edges,
pulling it from its wrapping and discovering the fried
chicken logo written on it with a sort of detached
attention.  Church's Fried Chicken.  Their suspect ate at
Church's Fried Chicken.

"Officer Allen?" she called.

He came from the corner, where he'd been talking on his cell
phone, to see what she wanted.

"We should find out how many Church's Fried Chicken
restaurants are in this general area.  Maybe someone who
works there will remember Dulexy as a customer in the past
few days."  It was a slim clue, barely a clue at all, but
for now it was all they had.

Taking a deep breath, recognizing that she was stalling,
Scully finally slipped her fingernail beneath the lid of the
box and revealed its contents.

She stared at the locks of hair nestled at the bottom of the
box, feeling her eyes beginning to tear up again, and closed
the lid quickly. Mulder's hair.  His beautiful hair, hair
that she loved to touch, that she longed to be able to run
her fingers through right this minute--defiled by a madman.
Forcing herself to get a grip on her emotions, she opened
the box again.  Examining the hair closely, Scully bit her
lip hard when she saw the blood matting some of the strands.

"That could be from when Dulexy hit him," Allen offered, and
she nodded. "It's possible that he's not too badly hurt."

She nodded again, and rose quickly to get herself a drink of
ice water. It was true--Mulder could be relatively unharmed
at this point, but somehow she doubted that was the case.
This was a warning, and a very clear one.

She had just downed the last of her water when she heard
Officer Allen call to her from the other room.

"Yes?" she asked, going back to him, averting her eyes so
she didn't have to see her husbands locks spread out on the
paper where Allen had dumped them.

"There's something else here," he informed her reluctantly.
"A note."

"A note?  What does it say?"

He held up a small piece of paper, carefully gripping its
corner with a pair of tweezers.  Scully leaned closer to
make out the small, spidery handwriting on the note.  It
contained one sentence.

'Next I'll start sending you pieces of him.'


-----------------
TUESDAY 9:30 p.m.
-----------------

"How long has it been now, Mulder?" Dulexy asked casually as
he sipped at the glass of ice water in his hand.  "How long
since you had a good, cold drink of water?"

It had been two days (two fucking *days*, you sonofabitch!),
but Mulder wasn't about to give Dulexy the satisfaction of a
response.  Instead, he closed his eyes and turned his head
away weakly, but opened them again when the pipe battered
his flaming stomach.  Dulexy didn't like it when Mulder
didn't pay attention to his taunts.  Closing his eyes was
likely to bring on another assault, and Mulder knew he now
had more than one broken rib--one from whatever had happened
to him before he regained consciousness and at least one
more from Dulexy's drunken assault on him with the pipe the
night before.  He'd heard the distinct *crack* and had felt
the instant pain.  It was familiar; he'd had broken ribs
before.
                                   
Ignoring Mulder's discomfort, Dulexy took another long
swallow from the glass, seeing the way his prisoner's eyes
were fixated on the water. "Want some?" he asked, with what
could almost have been mistaken for kindness, holding the
glass above Mulder's sandpaper-dry mouth, just out of reach.

Involuntarily, Mulder found himself raising his head, even
while he knew that Dulexy would just pull the glass away,
unable to resist reaching for the life-giving sustenance
that tortured him.  A bead of condensation pooled at the
bottom of the glass, hanging there forever before it looked
like it would finally let go.  Mulder stared at it,
mesmerized, feeling every second tick by as he silently
begged the drop of water to fall on his cracked lips.

"Oops," Dulexy said, swiping at Mulder's precious drop just
before it descended.  "Wouldn't want you to get wet."

Mulder's head fell back weakly, and he fought hard to keep
back the tears of frustration that wanted to flow.  It had
almost been his...one more second...

"Please..." he heard himself whisper, forcing the word past
his aching throat.

Dulexy's face took on a look of concern and he leaned
closer.

"Is that--is that *begging* I hear?" he asked with mock
sympathy.

Mulder lay silently, willing the tears not to course down
his face until Dulexy was gone.

"You know, Mulder," Dulexy commented, taking another sip
from the glass, "your stubbornness won't get you anything.
You, my friend, are completely at my mercy--or haven't you
figured that out yet?"

He grinned, and Mulder turned his head away.  Angrily,
Dulexy grabbed Mulder's chin and forced him to look up into
his face.

"You give me what I want, or you get nothing," he snarled.
"And right now, Mulder, what I want is to hear you beg me
for a drink of water."

Mulder's eyes locked with Dulexy's for a long moment.  He
wanted the water, oh yes he did, so badly he'd be willing to
do almost anything to get it--but not if it would only be
drawn away at the last second like before.  At least, he
beseeched his inner self, let me keep my pride intact.

//*Pride!*// his inner self screeched in response.  //My
friend, you have lost your hair and pissed yourself like a
baby.  How much pride do you think you have left?  And what
the hell good is it doing you anyway? If the man wants to
hear a few harmless words from you before he gives you a
drink, go ahead and say them.  Words mean nothing.//

He attempted to swallow, to lubricate his voice, but there
simply wasn't enough spit to go around and his mouth wasn't
willing to share with his parched throat.

"Please," he said again, hearing his voice crack.  "Please
...water."

Dulexy lowered the glass again toward Mulder's lips, and
again pulled it back at the last second, smiling gleefully
at his prisoner's expression.

"I don't think that was enough," he said mildly.  "I want to
hear you use the 'b' word, Mulder."

"I--I'm--begging," (you motherfucking bastard), but he added
the last silently, knowing that to voice that thought would
end any hope he had of getting a precious sip of water.

Dulexy smiled again.  "That's better."

And then, miraculously, he kept his promise, allowing Mulder
to drink from the glass pressed to the trembling lips.

Mulder sucked frantically at the coveted water, feeling it
dribbling down his chin from his clumsy efforts in this
position.  He'd barely gotten his throat wet when Dulexy
pulled it away again.

"No, please..." Mulder whispered as Dulexy withdrew his
supporting hand. This time the tears did come, regardless of
his efforts to suppress them; he simply couldn't bear the
disappointment. Dulexy hadn't played fair.  He'd only barely
given Mulder a tiny sip.

"If you drink more, you'll just upchuck," Dulexy told him,
and Mulder watched through his tears of rage and
disappointment as Dulexy poured the remainder of the
precious liquid out on the floor.  "You don't want to be
covered with piss *and* puke, do you?"

----------------
Wednesday 8 p.m.
----------------


"Do you believe now that I'll hurt him?"

The voice on the phone sounded coldly cruel, and Scully
closed her eyes against the mental image of Mulder in pain.
It had taken Dulexy a long time to contact her again, and
she had no idea what Mulder had been forced to endure in the
interim.

"Yes."

She heard his breathing, heavy and labored, and the sound of
footsteps. She guessed he was pacing, wherever he was.

"I don't think you do," he said at last.

"No, I--I believe you."  She tried not to sound frantic, but
Dulexy didn't even hear her; he had put the phone down.  She
heard his voice in the background.

"Want to talk to your wife, Mulder?  Convince her I mean
business?"

Instead of Dulexy putting the phone up to Mulder's ear, as
she'd expected, Scully heard scuffling, followed by a
muffled scream that she recognized as her husband's voice,
hoarse and weak, but still definitely Mulder.

"Dulexy!" She yelled into the phone, gripping it so tightly
it was in danger of snapping in her hand.

More scuffling, and Dulexy was back.

"Would you like to know what I did to him?"  The calm
amusement in his voice was Scully's undoing.

"What did you do, you sonofabitch?" she gasped, fighting
herself furiously for control.  She couldn't lose it now, if
she did, she'd never be able to find Mulder.

"I broke your pretty rich man's finger."

Tears spilled down her cheeks.  She wondered vaguely if it
had been the same finger those terrorists had broken all
those years ago.  This time, she wasn't available to ice the
break and provide comfort, and she felt the loss like a
knife through her heart.

"I'm going to kill you, you bastard."  She whispered the
words fiercely into the phone, but Dulexy just laughed.

"Tell you what, little lady.  Let's try this again.  Are you
willing to play the game *my* way yet?"

Scully bit down hard on her lip, almost hard enough to draw
blood.  She could hear soft moaning in the background and
imagined Mulder, alone and in pain, waiting for her to
rescue him.  It was only money, after all. She'd lived
without money before but Scully knew she could never, never
live without Mulder again.

"I'll give you the money," she answered, more control in her
voice than she'd expected.  "When and where?"

"Meet me at the intersection of Bogoda Drive and Eastern
Lake Road."

The location he'd chosen was isolated and desolate, she
knew.  No chance for backup assistance to hide nearby and
come to her rescue if necessary.  It would truly be just she
and Dulexy, come what may.

"I'll be there.  When?"

"Midnight.  Oh, and Dana?  For every hour that I don't have
my money, I'm going to break another bone in your sugar
daddy's body. Don't be late."

"Wait!  You can't--"  But he was gone.

Scully sank to a chair, shaking with nervous energy now that
the call had ended.  Four more hours until the
meeting--three more broken bones Mulder would have to
suffer.  Would it be more fingers?  She hoped it would be
that and nothing worse.  Fingers, at least, were relatively
easy to set and usually healed rapidly.  And who knew what
Dulexy had done to Mulder already?  At least she knew he was
still alive.  Biting back a sob, Scully began her
preparations.

*****

"You can't do this alone, Scully, don't you dare!"
Skinner's gruff voice, dampened only a bit by his weakness,
rolled off her like water.

"I have to, Walter," she insisted stubbornly.  "Every time
we've disobeyed this man's orders, Mulder has suffered for
it.  This time I'm going to give him what he wants.  I don't
care about the money, I don't care if they catch him, and at
this point I don't give a damn about justice!  I just want
Mulder back alive."

He swore weakly as Scully disconnected, and Jess took the
phone from his hands and placed it on the bedside table.

"Don't worry about her, Walter.  If anyone knows what she's
doing in this situation, it's Dana.  You just concentrate on
your recovery."

"How the hell can I do that, Jess?" he demanded angrily.
"We're going to lose them both if she's not careful."

Jess took his face in her hands and forced him to look at
her.  "We are not going to lose them--either of them.  Now
you relax, or I'll have the nurse in here pumping your ass
so full of Morphine you won't wake up for a week, do you
understand me, Walter Skinner?"

He met her stony stare for a minute, then gave in.  There
was really nothing else he could do.  Not when he was being
watched this closely.


*****

Mulder stared warily at Dulexy as he entered the bedroom.
His broken finger throbbed, adding a tympani cadence to the
symphony in the rest of his body.  His capacity for ignoring
the pain had long since abandoned him; his entire world was
now comprised of hurt, hunger and thirst.

Dulexy was carrying something, and as he set it on the floor
near the bedroom entrance, Mulder saw that it was a large
clock.  The hands revealed that the current time was 8:07
p.m.

"You have until nine o'clock to keep the rest of your body
intact, Mulder.  Then I get to break another piece of it.  I
wonder which piece it will be this time?"

Mulder stared at the clock, mesmerized, as Dulexy whistled
his way down the hall, back to his chair and his beer.  Less
than an hour to go before Dulexy would hurt him again.
Trying to disregard the pain in his left hand--(it had been
the thumb this time, and Mulder could report with some
accuracy that having your thumb broken by a pissed-off
ex-con hurt a hell of a lot worse than having your pinkie
broken by a pissed-off terrorist)--Mulder felt around for
the scissors. He could actually feel the spot on the rope
where he'd been making progress. Carefully working the blade
into the proper position, mouth set in grim determination,
he began sawing at the ropes again.

*****

Nine o'clock came, and Dulexy sauntered into the room
carrying his pipe. Mulder had hidden his scissors again, and
now he waited, body taut with expectation, for Dulexy to
hurt him.  He expected taunts and jeers before it happened,
but Dulexy surprised him.  He knelt down at Mulder's feet
and removed both shoes and socks from his prisoner.  Then he
stood, and without hesitation, swung the pipe with all his
force directly at the top of Mulder's right foot.  Mulder
heard the bones crack, felt them give, at the same time he
screamed.  Then the world went blissfully gray.

Nine o'clock, and Scully stared at the clock on the mantle,
her hands tightly clenched in her lap, and prayed that
Mulder would survive. Tears streamed down her face as she
imagined his torment.  She had sent Emmie to her mother's to
spend a few days, and as soon as she'd kissed the girl
goodbye and locked the front door, Scully had begun to
formulate a plan of action.  Now, she considered the weapon
in her purse and wondered if she would really carry it out.

*****

Ten o'clock arrived, and Mulder awakened suddenly when he
heard Dulexy's footsteps approach.  Smelled the liquor on
Dulexy's breath when his captor knelt beside him.  Inwardly
cursing himself for losing consciousness, wasting the
precious hour he could have been working on his escape,
Mulder tried hard to return Dulexy's stare, but felt his
questionable composure slipping when Dulexy produced the
pipe.  He clenched his eyes shut, not willing to watch as
Dulexy attacked again, and was thus completely unprepared
when the steel bar came crashing into the right side of his
ribcage.  This time, a rib punctured his right lung, and
Mulder, who had suffered this once before as well, felt a
familiar sharp pain invade his side and back, and the
accompanying loss of air capacity.  He realized instantly,
in some dim part of his mind that still cared about such
things, what must have happened.

Mulder's mouth opened and a scream tried and failed to
emerge.  Just taking in enough air to survive at that point
became the most important thing in his life.

*****

Ten o'clock arrived, and Scully knew for a certainty that
she would kill Dulexy for what he was surely doing to Mulder
at that moment.  Her tears were gone; a white-hot anger had
replaced them.  Dulexy was a dead man.

*****

The clock showed eleven, and Mulder began to feel tears of
pain and helpless rage slipping down his cheeks.  When
Dulexy entered the room this time, he stood with his hands
on his hips and surveyed his prisoner.  Mulder looked like
shit.  There was still blood on his face from days ago, that
face which now held a sickly grey pallor.  The head wound
was no longer hidden by the dark hair, which now clung to
Mulder's head only in occasional tufts.  He breathed through
his mouth in an effort to stay alive for one more hour.  His
abdomen, visible through his torn shirt, was dark and
swollen with the bruising.  His right foot was also swollen,
hugely so, and behind his back Dulexy knew his left thumb
was in the same condition.

"Time for one more, Mulder," Dulexy said pleasantly, tapping
his chin with one finger.  "I wonder where it should be this
time?"

"Please...no more..." Mulder tried to form the words but his
lungs wouldn't let him put enough air behind them to make a
sound.  He shook his head slowly from side to side, no
longer feeling shame at his condition, or at his tears,
feeling nothing but the familiar suffering, coupled with a
burning desire to do or say anything--absolutely
anything--Dulexy wanted in order to avoid further damage.

Dulexy knelt beside Mulder and gently brushed a bead of
sweat from his victim's brow.  "You look bad, buddy," he
said sympathetically.  "And unfortunately for you, it's time
again."

"...please...beg...don't..."  The words finally forced
themselves past his lips with some volume, barely there but
still discernable, and Dulexy gave a satisfied grin.

"Well if you're going to put it that way," he began, and
watched Mulder's face take on an almost grateful look of
relief.  Then watched it disappear into despair as he
finished his sentence.  "...I think I'll go easy on you and
just break another finger.  The right hand this time."

Then, to his amazement, Dulexy pulled a pocket knife from
his jeans and sliced the ropes holding him to the bed.

Mulder immediately slumped over to his left side, the
feeling completely absent from his newly freed limbs, and
instantly realized what a horrible mistake it had been.

The scissors now lay in full view.

Mulder watched out of the corner of his eye as Dulexy picked
them up, turning them this way and that with a crafty look
on his face.  Then, to Mulder's surprise, Dulexy burst out
in a rich, deep laughter.

He picked up the ropes and examined them, noting the spots
where the fibers were partially sliced, and realized what
had been happening.

"I have to give it to you, Mulder, you are one tough
bastard," he said, almost admiringly.  "Anyone else would
have given up by now, but you just keep taking every chance,
don't you?"

Mulder lay quietly on the floor, wishing he could move,
wishing he could take this chance to wrest the scissors from
Dulexy and plunge the sharp blades into the man's heart.  He
still had no sensation in his arms, and the position in
which he was slumped made breathing still more difficult.
He concentrated on staying alive, grateful that Dulexy
hadn't flown into a rage when he'd discovered Mulder's
secret.

In the fear caused by the discovery of his escape plans,
Mulder had forgotten what was on the agenda.  Until Dulexy
picked up his right hand.

Mulder whimpered and tried to pull away, but hadn't the
strength left to make a serious attempt.  He felt Dulexy
separate his index finger from the others, pulling it into
an unnatural angle, and before he could even plead with
Dulexy not to hurt him again, he heard the distinct *snap*
sound as the fragile bone was broken.  He tried to scream
and again was cut off by lack of oxygen.  Tears streamed
steadily down his face now, and Mulder didn't care if Dulexy
thought he was weak, didn't care what anybody thought.  All
he wanted was for the endless torment in his battered body
to stop.

"Well," Dulexy said, picking up the scissors that still lay
on the floor and tossing them aside, "time to go meet up
with your bitch."  He stood, regarded the man on the floor
for a moment, and then deliberately kicked the scissors into
a far corner.  Moments later, Dulexy disappeared down the
corridor, laughing to himself again.

Mulder stared at the scissors.  They were a good eight feet
away, and in his current condition it might as well have
been eight miles.  He tried to reach out a hand toward the
instrument that could help him gain his escape, and wept in
despair when his arms refused to obey his commands. The
chance for freedom from this monster was so close, but he
knew for certain now that he was going to die here.  Scully
hadn't been able to find him, and even though Dulexy had
left his hands untied, escape in his condition was
impossible.  Dulexy would meet Scully, rape and kill her,
take the money, and then return to finish him off.  His
whole body shuddered at the prospect.

With a plea for her forgiveness on his lips, Mulder slipped
away.

*****

Eleven o'clock arrived and Scully left the house, suitcase
full of money in one hand and her purse over one shoulder,
prepared to kill Dulexy. She would never let him walk away
from this alive.

All her intentions came to nothing when her car skidded off
the road, made slick with the rain, as she tried to avoid
hitting the car that had suddenly swerved in front of her.
She ran headlong into a telephone pole, and if she'd been
driving faster she would have been killed.  As it was, she
was knocked unconscious, and never even knew when the other
driver called for an ambulance and she was transported to
the nearest hospital.

--------------------
WEDNESDAY 11:31 p.m.
--------------------

The sting in his arms was what woke him.  The blood
returning to his numb limbs felt like tiny needle pricks
over every inch of skin, and it forced Mulder to leave that
dark, comfortable place where he'd retreated and face
reality again.

Reality sucked.

With a groan, Mulder opened his eyes and took in his current
situation. He was sprawled on the floor, his all-but-useless
arms tormenting him, his legs still bound at the ankles.
Broken foot, broken ribs, broken left thumb, broken right
index finger, an abdomen that was inflamed and
excruciatingly painful.  And eight feet away, barely visible
in the shadows, lay the scissors Dulexy had left behind.  If
he could get to them...

Mulder tried to lift himself up by his hands and gasped at
the pain in his fingers.  Both hands were swollen to twice
their normal size, and the left one was a dark color,
appearing almost black in the dim light cast by the moon.
He was able, with a good deal of hurt, to prop himself on
his elbows, but he was too weak to hold himself up like that
for long, and soon collapsed back to the floor, tears of
despair once again streaking his cheeks.

Dulexy would be coming back soon, either with or without the
money, and all Mulder had to do was wait.  One way or
another, Dulexy was surely planning to finish him off before
long.  He could simply lay here, maybe slip into blissful
oblivion again, and Dulexy would eventually remove the
burden that his life had become from him forever.  Scully
would grieve, of course, but she had lived without him
before.  Emmie would miss him--she'd already lost one
father--and for that, Mulder was truly sorry, but he
couldn't, no more strength, no more courage, no more--

But maybe, just maybe he could pull himself over to the
corner if he worked it slowly.  He'd be able to get the
shears, cut the ropes binding his feet, and perhaps crawl
out of the house and hide before Dulexy returned.  Did he
have enough time?

//Not if you lie here feeling sorry for yourself, asshole//
that pesky inner voice stated firmly.  //Get moving.//

Taking a deep breath, but drawing it in very slowly, mindful
of his punctured lung, Mulder raised up commando-style on
his elbows.  Ignoring the screaming in his ribs, he dug his
right elbow into the floor, grateful that the wood was old
and rough and gave decent traction, and pulled himself
forward.  He managed to move three or four inches before he
had to stop and rest, gasping for breath that didn't ever
seem sufficient, unable to decide which throbbing piece of
his body hurt the worst.

When he'd recovered from the effort, he gritted his teeth,
raised up again, and made his left arm do its share of the
work.  Another few inches gained.  Determinedly, focusing
only on the glinting silver shape that lay ahead of him, he
ordered his arms to do their part in the rescue effort.
They were the only thing he could rely on at this point.
Sweat broke out all over his body, and the swelling in his
hands and foot made him want to cry out in agony, but he
moved forward yet again. At least his tears were gone.

*****

Dulexy, for his part, waited until Scully was an hour late,
and then left their rendezvous point in the blackest of
moods.  Mulder was going to pay the ultimate price for this,
he decided.  He was tired of fucking around with this
family.  He might not get the money he'd been after, but he
was going to have a good time exacting revenge for his
trouble. Oh yes, Mulder, he thought gleefully as he drove
toward home, you and I are going to play all night long.

------------------
THURSDAY 2:26 a.m.
------------------

Mulder's eyes flew open at the sound of the slamming
door.  Again it shook the house, and Mulder trembled when he
remembered how badly he'd been hurt the last time Dulexy was
this angry.  "Shit," he whispered, biting back a sob.
"Shitshitshit!"

He'd only closed his eyes for a moment to rest, but now he
began sawing frantically at the ropes again.  It had taken
him almost two hours to reach the scissors, and once he'd
obtained his treasure he'd been exhausted and steadily
weeping with the pain.  He'd managed to sit up and prop
himself in the corner, and had begun working on the ropes in
earnest.

Using a pair of shears when you had broken fingers on each
hand was nearly impossible, and Mulder's clumsy efforts had
already resulted in one deep gouge in his left foot which
was bleeding enthusiastically. He'd tried to staunch the
flow with a piece ripped from his shirt, but hadn't had much
luck.  He'd only managed to cut through about half of the
thick rope when he heard Dulexy's angry footsteps stalking
down the hall toward his prison.

A soft moan of desperation escaped him as he renewed his
efforts, keeping an eye on the door, already knowing it was
a useless endeavor but unwilling to abandon the victory for
which he'd worked so hard and which was so close.

Mulder stopped when Dulexy entered the room, glancing around
furiously for a second before spotting him huddled in the
corner.  The man came over and knelt beside him, eyes
glittering in the moonlight.

"So, you thought you could get away from me," Dulexy stated,
and Mulder smelled the familiar drunken odor on Dulexy's
breath.

He stared back silently at Dulexy.  There was nothing to
say; denying the obvious was silly.  He wondered what had
gone wrong this time, but it didn't really matter, did it?
Dulexy was drunk, and angry, and surely this time Dulexy
would finish him off.

Instead, to his amazement, Dulexy gently took the scissors
from his ruined hands and, being careful not to cut Mulder's
skin, released him from the ropes.  Mulder's mouth dropped
open in surprise, but before he could utter a word Dulexy
stood and, grabbing him by his broken foot, dragged him
roughly back to the center of the room.  Mulder screamed.

"I'll be right back," Dulexy said with a wink, "and then
we'll discuss your behavior.  Don't go nowhere."

Mulder scrabbled to crawl back to his corner, foolishly
thinking it might afford him some protection, but before he
could even turn over onto his stomach, Dulexy had
reappeared, this time bearing the steel pipe.

Mulder whimpered deep in his throat, his swollen hands
grabbing at the floor for purchase, instinctively trying to
back away but unable to move even an inch.

"I've been fucked around by her for the last time," Dulexy
announced, beginning to swing the pipe back and forth.  "Now
I'm going to kill you. And then I'm going to kill her.  And
then maybe I'll have some fun with that pretty little girl
of yours before I slit her throat."

He felt his bile rising at Dulexy's words.  The idea of this
sonofabitch laying a finger on either Scully or Emmie sent a
surge of adrenalin throughout his body, but unfortunately,
his body was too broken to make use of it.  He watched
wordlessly as Dulexy swung the pipe around his head a few
more times, and so was not totally unprepared when Dulexy
smashed the steel rod into his right leg with such force
that the bones below the knee were snapped.

He heard the now-familiar sound before slipping into the
darkness.

A few minutes later he was brought back to the surface of
the suffering when Dulexy threw a pan of icy cold water
directly into his face.

"You're not getting away from me that easy," Dulexy informed
him.  "I want you to die with the image of what I'm going to
do to your wife and daughter on your mind.  Maybe you can
watch from hell while I torture them."

Sputtering, Mulder licked the water from his lips, wishing
Dulexy had managed to get more of it into his mouth and less
on his clothes.  He tried to focus on Dulexy's words, but
they didn't make sense in his jumbled mind.  They were
merely nonsensical sounds strung together, forming into
incoherent batches that were only recognizable as sentences
by the punctuating pauses.  Then the sentences stopped, and
Mulder gasped for breath, unable to speak or even scream out
his pain and fear when he saw Dulexy raise the pipe again.

It was his other leg this time, in roughly the same
location, and Mulder did manage to scream, punctured lung be
damned.  Actually, it was more of a loud groan, and he felt
his ribs protest when it emerged.

"Maybe I'll tie your wife up and force her to watch while I
play with your daughter a little bit.  Is she a virgin,
Mulder?  Has any boy ever touched that hot, wet part of her?
Have *you*, Mulder?"

Again the words made no sense, which Mulder was currently
unable to appreciate as the blessing it was.  Had he
understood Dulexy's taunts, it would only have served to
increase his helpless rage.

Dulexy raised the pipe once more, and Mulder found himself
begging, with no thought to the humiliation, or even the
probable outcome of such an action.  His mind was focused on
nothing but the agony he was experiencing, and he was
willing to do whatever was required to make it stop.

"Please...no more...," he cried weakly.  "Please just shoot
me...Dulexy...ohgodpleasenomore!"

He was cut off when Dulexy brought the pipe down hard on his
right arm, shattering it below the elbow.  His scream this
time was high-pitched and girlish, and he barely heard it
before he passed out.  Dulexy brought him back with the cold
water again and, ignoring Mulder's pleading whimpers,
repeated his task on his victim's other arm.  Then he stood
back and surveyed his work.

The battered, broken man on the floor lay there moaning
softly.  A long, pathetic sound of distress broke the night
that had otherwise fallen silent, interspersed with panting
breaths that didn't bring in enough oxygen.  Mulder wasn't
long for this world, it was apparent, and for a moment
Dulexy considered bashing his head in and putting the man
out of his misery.  Then, with a wicked smile, he decided
otherwise.  It might be interesting to see just how long it
took Mulder to finally die.  He thought he might just watch.

-------------------
THURSDAY, 2:53 a.m.
-------------------

Sylvia Stiles sat huddled in her bed, trying hard to ignore
the pathetic wailing that made its way through the clear
night, in past the curtains blowing at her bedroom window
and lodging in her brain without mercy. Justin had said he
wouldn't hurt the man too badly, but it was apparent that
Justin had lied once again.

She wanted so badly to go to him, help him, pull Justin away
from him, but she didn't dare.  If Justin found her
tampering with his plans, he'd kill her in an instant--she
had no doubt of that.  It was bad enough she'd given the
prisoner a drink of water, but to actually try helping him
escape...well, she was just lucky Justin hadn't discovered
that drink, or it might be she who was wailing and moaning
in pain now.

At last, the awful noises stopped, and Sylvia wondered if
the hostage had finally given up life.  She sniffed
angrily--Justin hadn't needed to kill him.  He looked like a
nice man, even if he had been in prison once, and his wife
was one of the few people who had treated her with respect
for as long as she could remember.  She hated to think of
that sweet little woman without her husband.

A thought struck her, and she crept from her bed, feeling
her way purposefully to the kitchen without turning on any
lights.  It wouldn't do for Justin to discover she was
awake.  When she reached the kitchen, she opened the top
drawer beside the refrigerator and felt near the back until
her fingers closed over the small white card the man's wife
had given her.  It had a cell phone number printed on it,
she remembered. First thing in the morning, she was going to
call that number.  She didn't care if Justin went back to
prison.  She didn't even care if she got in trouble for
hiding him.  She didn't want to live with that poor man's
death on her head...she couldn't take that again.  Mama and
Justin had always thought Grandpa died of the alcohol, and
Sylvia had never told a soul that she knew more--quite a bit
more than she'd ever let on. Grandpa had just hurt her once
too often.

She padded slowly back to her bedroom, and as she climbed
under the covers, the wailing started again.  Sylvia covered
her ears with her hands, and buried her head beneath the
pillow.

------------------
THURSDAY 3:47 a.m.
------------------

Mulder was pulled from his blissful oblivion when Dulexy
again doused him with water.  Again, Mulder lapped hungrily
at the droplets that fell on his lips.  Through the haze of
pain and fear that surrounded him, he was dimly aware that
Dulexy had perched himself on the bare mattress of the bed
and was watching him.  Dulexy continued to taunt him with
meaningless words and phrases, but they were lost on Mulder.
The only thing he could focus on was the unbelievable level
of agony he was experiencing, and the fact that whenever his
body would give up and slip into the darkness, Dulexy
brought him back with the water.

Eventually, Mulder came to terms with the hurting enough to
produce coherent thought, and when he did, it was to marvel
at the persistence of life.  If he'd been watching the scene
from the outside, Mulder would have bet the farm that the
man on the floor wouldn't have lasted the night, but as the
light of dawn slowly began to seep in through the broken
window, he realized he was still alive, against all odds.

The water that Dulexy had continued to douse him with had
actually improved his situation somewhat, although in
bringing him back from the brink of death by dehydration,
Dulexy had only managed to fully awaken the nerve endings in
his extremities.  Mulder had suffered broken bones before
and hadn't thought it all that bad, once he made it past the
initial pain, but this...he was fascinated to note that the
pain increased exponentially with each additional break.

His mind tried to focus on that math problem, to add up all
his broken bones and increase the total by a factor of, oh
say ten, but he found himself unable to concentrate long
enough to come up with the initial tally.  Each individual
break was screaming for attention, and once he focused on it
long enough to add it to the count, Mulder found he couldn't
wrench his thoughts away from the pain.  After a while he
gave up on the task and absorbed himself in simply staying
alive a little while longer.  Maybe if Dulexy left...maybe
if he could move a little...maybe...

-------------------
THURSDAY, 6:14 a.m.
-------------------

The persistent ringing of her cell phone brought Scully back
to consciousness.  She opened her eyes, gazing around
herself in confusion for a moment before realizing she was
in a hospital bed.

Her mother sat beside her--had obviously been there all
night.  She was just beginning to stir toward wakefulness at
the sound of ringing.

"Mom," Scully croaked, and tried again.  "Mom."

Maggie opened her eyes and looked, tired but happy, into her
daughter's face.

"You're awake," she observed in a soft, pleased voice.

Scully struggled for reason through the fog in her brain.
What had happened to her?  Her mind tried to piece together
the puzzle when memory hit her like a sledgehammer.  Mulder.
Dulexy.  Her car, skidding off the road.  Dulexy, waiting,
surely growing more angry every minute that she did not
arrive for their rendezvous.  And Mulder, at his mercy...

"Mom, could you please grab my phone out of my bag?  It
could be about Mulder."  Scully tried not to sound frantic,
but she was afraid of what the consequences to Mulder would
be after she'd been unable to keep her meeting with Dulexy.
What if he'd hurt Mulder...or worse?

Her mother finally located the ringing phone, but by the
time she handed it to Scully, the ringing had ceased.  A
moment later, to her relief, the flashing symbol indicating
a voice-mail message began flickering. Hastily, Scully
pushed in the numbers to access her messages.

"Mrs. Mulder, this is Sylvia Stiles," the tremulous voice
announced when she'd connected.  "It's about your husband.
I think--maybe you'd better come over and talk to me.  I
think maybe Justin has him--well, I can't talk on the phone.
You come see me today, as quick as you can."

Scully's face paled when she heard the message, and it took
all her self-control not to fling the phone angrily across
the room.  She'd been sure Sylvia was lying when she said
she knew nothing about Mulder, of course, but there had been
no way to prove it at the time, and Scully hadn't wanted to
alienate the woman by voicing her suspicion.  Upon
reflection, she decided as she pulled her bruised self from
the bed, it was better she hadn't alienated her.  Unless
Mulder was already dead.

"Dana, what are you doing?" Mrs. Scully demanded, horrified
to see her daughter removing the IV from her left hand.
"You can't do that!"

"I have to go, Mom," Scully said patiently, holding a
washcloth over the wound to staunch the bleeding.  She made
her way slowly toward the closet, pleased to find her
clothing hanging neatly there.  "It may already be too
late."

"Too late for what?" her mother asked, confusion in her
voice.

"For Mulder."  Seeing her mother's frightened expression,
Scully added gently, "I'm all right, Mom.  I just got a
little bruised up is all. I'll be fine.  I have to find my
husband."

She steadied herself by leaning against the bed as she
pulled her jeans on, ignoring the nurse who had been
summoned by the beeping IV monitor. In the background, she
was dimly aware of her mother attempting to explain the
situation to the nurse, but she was already inside herself,
pulling on all her strength to help her cope with what she
was afraid she would find.

Taking her personal possessions, Scully started for the
elevator. Hearing a familiar shout, she held the door as her
mother came racing down the corridor.

"You can't drive anywhere, your car was totaled," her
mother informed her.  "Wherever you're going, you'll have to
let me take you there."

"Just let me borrow your car, Mom.  I'm fine," Scully
answered impatiently, reaching for the keys, but Maggie
deliberately held them behind her back.

"I am not letting you drive in this condition," she insisted
with that note of steel that Scully remembered from her
childhood.  "You still have narcotics in your system.  The
last thing you need is to have another accident, and maybe
finish yourself off.  Now--where are we going?"

"We have to go to Walter," Scully told her as she followed
her mother into the parking garage.  "I'm not going off
alone without at least letting him know."

"Good idea," her mother agreed, and helped Dana into the
car.  She carefully but swiftly drove them to the nearby
hospital where Skinner had been incarcerated for the better
part of a week.  Scully was silent and tense on the ride
over, poring over Sylvia's message in her mind. Did this
mean the woman knew where Mulder was being held?  Or did she
only suspect?  Either way, it was more than they'd had to go
on previously.

She tried not to get her hopes up as they rode the elevator
up to Skinner's room, but it was impossible not to grasp
onto the belief that she'd find Mulder, safe and sound.
Except for the broken bones, she reminded herself fiercely.
Dulexy still needed to die for that.

*****

When Mulder opened his eyes again, Dulexy was gone.  He
glanced carefully around the room, half-afraid his tormentor
was hiding in some darkened corner, but he was alone.
Slowly, he took stock of his situation.  He was completely
helpless, he told himself.  He couldn't walk, he couldn't
even move without excruciating pain.  Nobody knew where he
was, he was practically starved and nearly dead from
dehydration, although Dulexy's perceived torture of
continually soaking him to bring him back to consciousness
had had one positive side-effect--he'd managed to get enough
water into his mouth to revive himself a little.

He was helpless, and yet, he reminded himself, if he didn't
do something, Dulexy was going to kill him, then go after
Emmie and Scully. He no longer dreaded his own
death--welcomed it, in fact--but his women must be
protected.  It was all he had left to give them.  They must
not suffer because of him and his past.

With an effort borne of sheer will, Mulder managed, after
several agonizing tries, to roll over onto his stomach.  His
broken, swollen limbs screamed mercilessly at him, and the
pressure of landing on his ribs drove what little breath he
had out of his body.  He lay there, flailing weakly for a
few minutes, until he recovered enough stamina to raise his
head and survey his goal.  The bedroom exit lay three feet
in front of him.

Dulexy had been gone for only a few minutes, but Mulder knew
he could return at any time.  If he was halfway down the
hall when his captor came back, Mulder knew he would
probably be killed--maybe this time Dulexy would bash his
head in with the steel pipe, or break his spine in two.  At
any rate, he had nothing to lose.  He was going to die
anyway. If he could only get to a phone, possibly warn
Scully, then he could at least die in peace.

Forcing himself up onto his elbows as he'd done before,
groaning at the sharp ache of moving his arms at all, he
began to inch forward.

*****

Dulexy had watched Mulder drift in and out of consciousness
until he grew bored with the activity.  He'd brought his
hapless victim back from oblivion four or five times,
sputtering each time with the water Dulexy had thrown in his
face.  Dulexy had grinned with glee when he saw the look in
Mulder's eyes as the beaten man realized once again that he
was still alive.  Finally, he'd gotten tired of his game,
and decided to cruise on over to the main house to see
Sylvia.  He'd need money--after he disposed of Mulder's
body, he'd do better to leave town for a while, he reasoned.
Surely the bitch had some cash stored away somewhere in that
big old house.  She'd give it to him, or he'd kill her.

He left the truck in the driveway and took the shortcut,
walking through the trees toward the house where he'd grown
up.  Justin had known these lands like the back of his hand
when he'd been a kid, and not much had changed since then.
He approached the house from the north, around the corner
from the kitchen door, and was about to change course for
the sidewalk when he heard his sister's voice drifting from
her open bedroom window.

"I think--maybe you'd better come over and talk to me.  I
think maybe Justin has him--well, I can't talk on the phone.
You come see me today, as quick as you can."

A bolt of fury shot through him, quicker than lightning.
Instantly his mood changed from lighthearted glee to
murderous rage.  She was trying to double-cross him.  His
own sister!

He looked around for something to use as a weapon, but saw
nothing suitable.  Instead, Dulexy slipped quietly inside
the kitchen and crept softly through to the adjoining den.
There, in front of the fireplace. An iron poker.  That would
do the trick.  Gripping his prize tightly, he made his way
down the hall toward Sylvia's room.

Sylvia heard the footsteps on the creaky wood floor, and
immediately shoved the phone and the card beneath the
pillow.  It had to be Justin. Maybe if she offered him a cup
of coffee, acted cheerful, she could get rid of him.

"Hello, Justin," she said quickly when he entered the room.
"Would you like--"

She never got to finish her sentence, barely had time to
notice the fireplace poker in his hand before he raised it
high in the air and brought it down hard on her skull.  The
cracking, squishing sound it made was the last noise she
heard.

Dulexy hit her twice more, just to be sure, before throwing
the poker aside.  He wrapped the bloody mass that had once
been his sister's skull in the bathrobe that lay on the end
of the bed, then picked up her body in his arms and carried
her down the hall and out of the house.  Setting her
none-too-gently on the ground, he pulled open the door of a
root cellar that lay a few feet from the kitchen.  He picked
up Sylvia's lifeless body again and watched dispassionately
as she tumbled down the stairs.  Then he slammed the door
shut and strode toward the other house.  He'd get in his
truck and go take care of the Mulder women, he thought with
satisfaction as he trod through the woods.  Maybe he'd even
bring them back here and make Mulder watch while he played
with them, if the sonofabitch was still breathing when he
got back.  He laughed out loud at the prospect.  The day was
just getting better and better.

*****


"What are you doing here so early--and what the hell
happened to you?" Skinner demanded from his hospital bed
when Scully entered the room. Her face was pale, with dark
circles forming under her eyes, and there was a nasty bruise
covering her left cheekbone.

"There's no time for explanations.  I need your help."

He raised his bed to a sitting position, cocking an eyebrow
at her curiously.

"I thought you were meeting with Dulexy last night--what
about Mulder?"

Scully bit her lip firmly, refusing to give in to the
despair that wanted to sweep over her.

"I had a car accident on my way to see him.  I ended up
being taken to the hospital, unconscious.  I woke up this
morning, to the ringing of my cell phone.  Dulexy's sister
left me a message to come out there immediately--she seems
ready to talk."

"Did she tell you where to find Mulder?" he demanded
anxiously.

She shook her head.  "I'm betting she knows where he is,
though.  I'm on my way there now.  I just hope I'm not too
late."

"Then why are you here?  There isn't time to--"

"I need backup," she interrupted.  "FBI backup.  No more
dealing with these locals."

He stared at her for a moment, then his head started to
shake back and forth slowly, thoughtfully.  "No backup,
Scully," he said firmly, pushing back the covers and
unsteadily attempting to stand.  "Every time backup's gotten
involved, Mulder's situation has worsened.  We'll go alone."

"Walter, you can't--"

"Yes I can.  I'm a lot stronger than you think.  My wound
wasn't nearly as bad as yours that time you got
gut-shot...they've already had me up and walking around.
And we're probably Mulder's last hope."

He then proceeded to do exactly as Scully had done, removing
his IV and, ignoring the protesting monitor and the
accompanying protesting nurse, donning his clothes as
quickly as possible.  He was just finishing tying his shoes
when Jess entered the room, holding a cup of coffee in one
hand.

"What the *hell* do you think you're doing?" she demanded,
setting the cup down quickly and going to stand over him.

He ignored her anger as he calmly finished tying his shoes.
Then he looked up into her face, touched by the concern and
love he saw there.

"Scully and I have to go get Mulder," he explained, standing
up and placing his hands on her shoulders.  "We're the only
ones who can help him now."

"Why?" she asked softly, wanting to rail against him, order
him back into the bed, plead with the nurses for enough pain
medication to knock him out if it would keep him out of
danger.  "You're in no condition to leave here, Walter.  Why
can't you send the police?"

"She's right, Walter, you're not in any condition.  Just
call me in a couple of agents and let us handle this.  We
have to hurry, and you don't look like you can do anything
close to hurrying right now." Scully was practically dancing
from one foot to the other in her anxiety.  They were
wasting time here, while Mulder--heaven knew what was
happening to Mulder.  "Besides, you could lose your job over
this," she reminded him.

"We'll handle this alone, Scully," he insisted as he started
for the door, ignoring any and all pleas from Jess, Mrs.
Scully and the two nurses who were busily trying to convince
him to get back into bed. "I'm less than a year from
retirement. If they want to fire me over this, I'll gladly
forfeit my pension if it means we get Mulder back alive."

Scully nodded agreement, unwilling to waste any more time
arguing. Recognizing defeat, Mrs. Scully handed her daughter
the keys to her car.

"You *will* come back alive," she ordered, fixing first Dana
and then Walter with her special glare.  "Both of you.  And
bring Fox back home, too."

"Yes, Mom," Scully flung over her shoulder as they left,
making their way to the car as quickly as two injured people
possibly could.

*****

Mulder stopped again to rest, finally giving in to the
exhaustion that enveloped him.  He had no strength, no
ability...but he'd discovered hope.  It had taken him almost
an hour, but he was halfway down the hall leading to the
kitchen, and there, hanging on the wall above him, ten feet
ahead, was his goal.  A telephone.

He'd almost wept with relief when he'd seen it.  He'd been
ready to give up, his broken limbs relentlessly protesting
every movement.  His vision would gray out occasionally, and
he'd be forced to stop, but as soon as it would clear, aided
by the deepest breaths he was able to take--not deep enough,
but adequate--he'd begin his quest anew.

He'd found he could do little more with his legs than
wriggle them at the hips, trying to push with his knees but
unable to lift his shins to give the knees the purchase they
needed.  Most of the work was still being done by his
elbows, and his shattered forearms screamed at him with
every movement.  He was moving slowly, inching forward, but
making noticeable progress.  Luckily, the floors of the old
house were wood instead of carpet, so he slid more easily,
although he did have some splinters in his stomach and arms
from the long-neglected surface. Right now they were the
least of his worries.

He'd just raised his head from his latest forced rest period
when he heard a noise that made him shiver with terror.  He
froze, listening to the footsteps approaching, treading on
the creaky surface of the porch outside the kitchen door.

Tears of frustration and fear tried to leak out of his eyes
once again, but he held them back with a will, reminding
himself that he was a dead man anyway.  It didn't matter if
Dulexy found him here or where he'd left him.  Either way
this was going to be his last day on earth. Gritting his
teeth against the agony, more obvious now, less ignorable
since he wasn't concentrating on moving, he waited for the
worst.

He heard the kitchen door open, and Dulexy's heavy gait
treading across the floor, but couldn't bring himself to
watch as his captor approached. He lay his cheek against the
cool floor and closed his eyes, anticipating the first blow.

It never came.

Instead, the footsteps moved off the kitchen into another
room, and then quickly back toward the door, leaving the
house.  Moments later, Mulder heard a vehicle start, and the
unmistakable sound of Dulexy's truck driving away.  He
couldn't believe his good fortune.  Dulexy had gone.

In the next second he realized exactly *where* Dulexy was
probably headed--toward Scully and Emmie--and stared at the
telephone on the wall with new determination.  He had to
reach that phone before Dulexy reached his women.

It took almost another hour for him to make it to the phone,
grab the cord, manage to yank the receiver down from where
he lay on the floor, and scream out his frustration when,
instead of a dial tone, his ear met silence.

The phone had been disconnected.

*****

Scully glanced worriedly over at Skinner as she drove.  He
didn't look good at all--his face was pale and drawn.  He
leaned against the headrest, his eyes closed, and she could
see the sheen of sweat on his skin.  Every time the car hit
a slight bump, he winced.

"Damn well should have stayed in the hospital," she muttered
angrily.

"I told you, Scully, you need me.  I'll be fine."

She said nothing more, but drove more carefully, trying to
avoid bumps. Eventually, she turned off the road onto a dirt
driveway.  She drove slowly, biting her lip in concentration
as she tried to avoid the ruts so as not to further jostle
Skinner.

When at last she pulled the car to a stop in front of the
house, Skinner opened his eyes wearily.

"Looks deserted," he commented.

"It didn't have a lot of life the last time I was here,"
Scully replied as she unfastened her seatbelt.

She half-expected Sylvia Stiles to come running out to meet
them, but was greeted by nothing but silence as she
approached the front door.

"Miss Stiles?" she called through the screen, knocking
loudly.  "Is anyone home?"

There was no answer.  Finally, after several more attempts
at knocking brought no satisfaction, Scully pulled the
screen door open and stepped into a large entrance hall.
She blinked her eyes a few times to accustom them to the
dimness, and made for a doorway she assumed would lead to
the main portion of the house.  Skinner followed, and they
stepped into a small den, cozy and with a lived-in feeling,
but still deserted.

"Sylvia?" Scully called again.  She motioned to the corridor
leading off the den.  Down the corridor to their right lay a
large kitchen, and to the left appeared to be several
bedrooms.  They turned left, and had only gone a few feet
when she stopped suddenly.

"Oh my God," she moaned softly, staring at her feet.

Skinner's eyes lowered to where she was looking, and he
discovered what had caught her attention.  Small droplets,
random and few in number, but unmistakably blood, spattered
the floor.  The droplets became fewer and farther between
leading toward the kitchen, and larger and greater in number
as they continued to approach what turned out to be a
comfortably-sized bedroom.

Skinner steadied her as she swayed on her feet, staring
fixedly at the large bloodstain on the bed.

"What did that bastard do to him?" she ground out, unable to
look away from what she was certain now must have been the
place Mulder had taken his last breath.

*****

"Of course it's disconnected, you idiot--this house hasn't
been lived in for years!" he reprimanded himself, once he'd
gotten his silent screams of frustration under control.
"You just have to find another way."

The sound of his own voice calmed Mulder considerably,
scratchy and hoarse though it was.  It somehow managed to
remind him that he was, in fact, still alive, and as such,
should be doing whatever he could to remain in that
condition for as long as possible.

Notifying Scully of Dulexy's approach seemed impossible
now--she'd have to rely on her own wits to save her and
Emmie.  On the other hand, nobody was going to save him
except himself, he realized.  He'd made it down the hall to
the kitchen.  Maybe if he gathered all his strength he could
make it out of the house and find someplace to hide.

His muscles screamed in protest when he informed them they
were going to have to get to work again, but he ignored
their complaints.  "Let 'em form a union," he muttered, his
eyes on the kitchen door which, he thankfully noted, was
unlatched.  There was no way in hell he could stand up at
this point.  It was all up to the elbows, knees and hips.

Slowly, with a stubbornness Mulder would have previously
sworn he no longer possessed, he began to inch his way
toward the door.  After another twenty minutes of effort, he
reached it, and almost wept with relief when the door swung
open easily from his spot on the floor.  He pulled the front
part of his body over the threshold and bit down hard on his
lip to keep from crying out when he dragged his shattered
legs across the hump.  Another couple of feet and he was at
the edge of the steps.  This time, Mulder did put his cheek
down on the hard, cool wood and allow the tears to course
down his cheeks.

Five steps.  Five steep steps to the ground and it looked
like a mile. How was he ever going to make it?  It had taken
him too long to get this far--Dulexy had probably already
done away with his family and was on his way back here.
Even if he managed to get to the bottom of this flight of
stairs without breaking his neck, there was nothing there
but dirt and tall weeds.  He wouldn't be able to drag
himself across the ground as easily as he'd managed the
hardwood floors.  Dulexy would likely return to find him
five feet across the yard in his escape attempt.  At that
point, he would no doubt be beaten the rest of the way
toward that death that seemed so near.

At the same time the despair washed over him, Mulder felt
hope on its heels.  For the first time in days, he was
outside, and just the feeling of freedom helped perk him up
a little.  The sun was shining, it was a crisp autumn day,
the birds were singing...  "And you're lying here soaking up
the sunshine instead of trying to save your life, dipshit,"
he groused to himself.

Taking another survey of the steps beneath him, he pushed
back the discouragement that wanted to overwhelm him.

"One step at a time, Mulder," he panted to himself as he
carefully lowered his right arm to let the elbow rest on the
first step.  "One at a time."

He'd just placed his second elbow on the step when he heard
a sound and felt his heart nearly stop.

A car swished past on a road somewhere beyond the treeline
ahead of him. He heard it plain as day.  Not too far
distant, either, if he guessed correctly.  For a few minutes
he feared Dulexy's return, but after gazing intently at the
road leading toward the house for several minutes, he
decided it had been someone else, merely passing by.

On the other hand, he reminded himself, if there was a road
that close, maybe he could manage to crawl to it.  Maybe he
could find someone to help him.

"Four more steps," he muttered, leaning downwards to move
toward step number two.

Mulder made it to the ground in record time when his elbow
slipped on step number two, and his entire body slid quickly
down, meeting the hard, packed earth at the foot with an
agonizing collision.  The remainder of the breath in his
body was knocked clean out of him, and he welcomed the
blackness as he slipped into its comforting embrace.

*****

"Don't panic just yet, Scully," he ordered, his hand on her
arm holding her steady.  "You don't know it's Mulder's
blood."

She turned to him, hopelessness in her blue eyes.  "Whose
else would it be?" she asked in a voice that sounded almost
broken, and he realized with sudden clarity just how
difficult all this had been for her.  Of course he'd known
it wasn't easy--having a family member kidnapped and
tortured was one of the worst things that could happen--but
he was able to see the situation clearly through her eyes
now.  She'd done so much and tried so hard to get Mulder
back safely, and everything she had done had resulted in
more suffering for the one she wanted to save.  His voice
took on a new softness.

"I think it's probably Sylvia Stiles' blood," he told her,
and the way her eyes widened told him she hadn't even
considered that possibility.

Together, they followed the droplets of blood down the hall
to the kitchen, but by the time they reached that room the
trail had disappeared completely. They searched the entire
house, finding nothing of any use.

"The barn," Scully said suddenly.  "I'll bet Dulexy killed
her and hid her body in the barn.  If that's the case, he
could have taken Mulder anywhere."

Skinner thought they would most certainly find both Sylvia's
body and Mulder's in the barn, but he didn't voice the idea.
No need to upset Scully any more if he happened to be wrong.
As they made their way slowly toward the barn doors, he
prayed to be wrong.

Scully pulled open the heavy doors while he leaned, panting,
against the side of the barn.  The rush of adrenalin that
had gotten him through his initial exit from the hospital
had long since dissipated, and now all Skinner wanted to do
was collapse in his wife's arms and have her take sweet care
of him.  But Mulder, if he was still alive, probably wanted
the same thing, he told himself, and pushed himself away
from the supporting wall with an effort.  He followed her
inside, blinking to accustom his eyes to the darkness.

Scully, who seemed to have gained energy where he'd lost his
own, scurried as quickly as she could from pile of boxes to
pile, peering behind and around every obstruction.  She
climbed up to the hayloft again, her heart beating with
excitement as she peeked over the edge, and bit back her
exasperation when it was just as deserted and untouched as
it had been the last time she was here.

Finally, after she'd searched every possible nook and cranny
of the old barn, Scully gave up.

"I think we should go ahead and call the locals out,
Walter," she said dejectedly, seating herself on a nearby
box.  "They can search the entire property a lot better than
we can."

He nodded his agreement, knowing how hard it was for her to
give up the control in this situation.

"I left my cell phone in the car, and so did you," he
pointed out, so, with her supporting him this time, they
made their way even more slowly back to the car.

He opened the passenger door and reached in for his phone,
then lay it gently back on the seat as he watched her.  She
was crouching, half-seated in the car, and had frozen,
staring straight ahead.  He followed her gaze and saw what
she was staring at.  A door, near the kitchen entrance on
the side of the house, leading down into the ground--what
appeared to be a root cellar or storm shelter of some sort.

"The trail of blood led toward the kitchen," she said, still
staring.

He looked from the door back to her and jerked his head
toward the cellar.

"Watch yourself," he ordered, and she nodded.  Slowly, she
climbed from the car and walked toward the door in the
ground, wondering if this was something she really wanted to
do.  If she found Mulder's body inside...but maybe he was
alive down there, hurting, waiting for her to find him.

That thought spurred her onward, and reaching the door, she
flung it wide open.  Daylight streamed down the stairs,
illuminating what were obviously a woman's legs at the
bottom.

"Someone's down here," she called back to Skinner.  "I think
it might be Sylvia."

She cautiously made her way down the stairs, and was able to
see before reaching the bottom that it was definitely
Sylvia's body sprawled on the dirt floor.  From the bloody
gash in her skull and the way she lay, it was obvious the
woman was dead.  Glancing around the small room, Scully was
relieved to find no other corpses in residence.  Mulder
wasn't down here alive, but he wasn't dead here either,
which at this point, Scully viewed as a positive
development.

*****

He opened his eyes and cursed.  There was just nothing like
sliding head-first down a flight of stairs when you were
already nearly dead, he decided.  The broken rib that had
been making his breathing difficult had shifted.  Breathing
was almost impossible now, at least on the side where the
rib dug into his lung.  He was barely able to take in enough
air to remain conscious, and he lay there on his stomach,
taking air in short, harsh gasps.

It was over.  He was beaten.  There was nothing else he
could do.  He certainly couldn't get up and walk to the
road, there was no way to call for help, and sooner or
later, Dulexy would return.  He could only hope that Scully
and Emmie had gotten away from the man before he was able to
do them any harm.  He wished fervently that he could know
for sure; if he knew they were safe, he could close his eyes
and die in peace.  That was his biggest regret--that he
would never know.

*****

"He's not here," she announced, reaching the surface and
coming face to face with Skinner.  "But Sylvia's dead.  Her
head's bashed in--apparently that was her blood we saw
inside."

Skinner barely heard her; he was staring thoughtfully at the
trees that lay to the south of the house.

"Walter?  Did you hear me?"

"What's beyond those trees?" he asked, nodding toward them
with his head.

She looked that way.  "I saw a road about half a mile back,"
she commented after a few moments.

"Let's check it out."

"The police..."

"I already called them.  They're on their way.  Let's go
explore that road, then we'll come back here and give them
our statements."

She nodded and gave him her arm to lean on as they made
their way back to the car.  Skinner was weakening, she could
tell; he didn't have much left.

She drove slowly down the paved road, searching for the
turnoff she'd seen before.  Just as she was about to decide
she had either missed it or imagined it, she spotted the
road...hardly a road, really, more of a wide trail.
Carefully, Scully guided her mother's Chevy over the edge of
the pavement, trying not to hear the slight gasps of pain
Walter was emitting.  The old road was deeply rutted and
overgrown, but upon closer inspection, she decided it looked
as if it might have been used recently.

*****

Again, the sound of the car approaching woke him.  This
time, though, it didn't drive on past.  This time, he could
tell it turned off and was coming toward the house.  The
house where he lay, fully exposed, in the back yard.  Dulexy
had been parking his truck on the side of the house--Mulder
had been able to discern that from the sounds of Dulexy's
comings and goings.  If he pulled into his usual parking
spot, what were the odds of him failing to notice Mulder
lying here?

Nil, he decided.  He was dead meat.  Of course, he thought
with a little giggle, he was almost dead meat already.  Just
about ready to be bled and popped in the freezer--one side
of Mulder, enough to get a family of four through the long
winter.

The madness of his thoughts seeped through, and he realized
how utterly insane it was to lie here laughing at morbid
jokes while Dulexy drew ever nearer.  He had to hide, or at
least...well...die trying.

Pushing back another crazed giggle that wanted to emerge,
Mulder eyed a group of shrubs not far from where he lay.
Apparently this house had had quite a well-landscaped yard
at one time, and after years of neglect, was thickly
overgrown in places and sparse in others.  If he could hide
in the bushes, maybe he could wait until Dulexy fell into
his nightly drunken sleep and then make for the road.

Gritting his teeth, he once again raised himself on his
elbows.  His hands and forearms were badly swollen by now,
and it was obvious to him that this mode of transportation
wouldn't work for much longer.  For a moment he considered
trying to body-roll toward the shrubs, but quickly abandoned
that idea.  The constant impact of his chest against the
hard ground would probably succeed in driving his broken
ribs right into his heart.  If he was going to die, it sure
as hell wasn't going to be by his own hand, he thought
determinedly.  Clenching his jaw hard to keep from
screaming, he made himself begin to move forward.

*****

Scully stopped the car in front of the dilapidated house.
It was obviously unused--part of the front porch was falling
in, and several windows were broken--and yet...it had a
feeling about it, a feeling of *aliveness* that shouldn't be
present in a structure so long abandoned.

Her eyes lit up as she emerged from the car.  Mulder was
here, or at least, had been here at one time.  She could
just feel it.  Shaking her head a little, she forced the
thought away as errant nonsense.  There was no such thing as
psychic power, and even if there was, she certainly didn't
possess it.

"Why don't you stay in the car?" she suggested to Skinner,
seeing how pale he was, but she knew before the words left
her mouth what his reaction would be.

He glared at her and flung open the car door, gripping it
tightly as he hauled himself to his feet.

//Lord deliver me from Manly Men// she thought with a flash
of anger, but held her tongue.  There was no point in
discouraging Walter when he was like this.  He was a bull.

She started for the front door of the house, ignoring his
slower pace, and by the time he caught up to her she had
already knocked, received no answer, and gone inside.  She
stood staring around herself, taking in the fact that the
floor plan of this house was remarkably similar to the one
where Sylvia Stiles had lived and died.  She'd been
uncertain whether or not this house was part of the other
woman's property, but was fairly convinced now that it was.

There was nothing amiss in the living room in which they
stood, so with a look of agreement to one another, the
started for the hall which must lead to bedrooms, Scully
again walking ahead.  Again she stopped short, again her
face paled, again she stared at blood on the floor.  This
wasn't delicate droplets of blood, though.  Instead, long
streaks of crimson stained the rough wood beneath their
feet.  Again, it led toward the kitchen, growing thinner and
fainter as it drew closer to that room. The Dulexy family
must certainly have a thing about kitchens, she thought
suddenly, and put her hand over her mouth to stifle a
nervous laugh.

She ignored the trail leading to the kitchen for the time
being, instead forging on toward the room where the blood
had apparently originated. An enormous wooden bed stood in
the middle of the room, and scattered on the floor were
various fragments of rope, and one other thing that caught
her eye.

Lying next to a dark pool of blood was a pair of sharp,
silver scissors. Bloodstained scissors.

"Walter...you don't suppose he--killed Mulder with these and
then dragged his body..." she asked haltingly, forcing the
difficult words past her lips.

He examined the scene with a critical eye and then shook his
head.  "I don't think there's enough blood, Scully.  Seems
to me that if Mulder had been murdered with a pair of
shears, there'd be blood everywhere. It looks as though he
must have stabbed Mulder with them, though."  He glanced
around.  "We should search the entire house.  Mulder might
still be here."

Together they prowled through every room, but all the
others, while in various states of decay, seemed untouched.
The living room contained a reclining chair with a large
pile of empty Budweiser cans beside it, but other than that,
there was no sign the house had been used at all in the past
decade.  Whatever Dulexy had done to Mulder, he'd done it in
the room with the blood.

"If he didn't put any more effort into hiding Mulder's--into
hiding Mulder than he did in concealing Sylvia's body, we
ought to find him easily," Skinner reminded her smoothly,
and with a nod and another dark glance around the room that
had been Mulder's prison, she turned on her heel and stalked
toward the kitchen.  Skinner recognized her rigid
posture--she was close to breaking down.

*****

Mulder lay concealed beneath the thick shrubbery, breathing
in short, shallow gasps.  Getting into this hiding place had
taken it all out of him, he knew.  He had nothing left to
fight with.  If Dulexy found him now, it was all over.  He
almost wished Dulexy would find him, and put him out of the
miserable hell his life had become over the past week, but
Mulder knew things never worked out that easily for him.
He'd lost his sister, his father, his job, his passion, and
the woman he loved, had spent four years inside a federal
prison, and then gone through hell all over again to gain
the happiness he'd finally ended up with.  What in the world
would make him think the gods would stop playing with him
now?  These last ten years of peace had obviously been their
way of lulling him into a false sense of security, making
him drop his guard, in order to pull him into this last,
most horrible game of cat and mouse before he died.

He heard the kitchen screen door bang open and then closed,
and clenched his eyes tightly shut, stifling the whimper of
fear that tried to escape.  Either way, he told himself
desperately, his ordeal would be over soon.  He tried to
make himself view his imminent death as a positive thing.
He could feel himself weakening to the point of collapse,
coming closer and closer to the edge of that cliff every
second, and knew that the starvation, dehydration, beatings,
trauma and blood loss were going to result in his death.
Soon.  Today.  This would be his last day on earth, and for
a brief moment he forgot where he was and who was nearby,
and allowed himself to be grateful it was a nice day.  Above
the sound of Dulexy's footsteps in the yard, he could hear
the twitter of birds in the trees.  It was a soothing sound.

Then, miraculously, he heard a car door slam.  Once again,
it seemed, Dulexy was leaving, giving him yet another chance
to live a little longer.  Only he didn't have the strength
to live any longer.  He opened his eyes and watched as an
ant crawled across his mangled thumb. Normally it would have
tickled his skin, but today, on this last day on earth, he
had no feeling left in his hands.

Suddenly it became overwhelmingly important to Mulder that
he not die here in the bushes.  He wanted to be out in the
open, with the sunlight warming his body before it grew cold
one last time.

Silently, he offered those gods that toyed with him a
bargain: he would let them take him, willingly, if he could
only reach the sunshine first. He measured the distance
between where he lay and where the sunlight touched the
grass. Not more than six feet.  One time the length of his
body.  Surely he could do that, couldn't he, if his body
knew it was the last thing he would ever require of it?
Surely he could do this one more, brief time.

He barely heard the car start and the tires crunching over
the dirt path as, with the single-mindedness that had always
been a trademark of his personality, Mulder began to make
for the sun.

A line from an old children's song popped into his head, and
without realizing it he began to mouth the words, singing
them to himself almost as a chant of encouragement, as he
inched himself from beneath the protective branches.

"Put one...foot...in front...of...the other...," he mumbled
as his elbows, ground almost to hamburger by his previous
trip across the yard, dragged him toward his final resting
place.  "Soon...be walkin'...'cross the...floooooor...."  He
stopped, dropping his face to the ground for a few quick
breaths, as deep as he could make them, gathering strength
for his final advancement.  His place to die lay just a
couple of feet away now, and he knew as soon as he reached
it, he could allow himself to finally rest.

"One...footinfront...of...the oth...other..."  His fingers
touched the warm grass, and he wanted to grasp it but was
unable to make them move on command.  His face, though--he
needed to feel the sunshine on his face before he stopped.
Just another foot.  "Soon...you'll
be...walkin'...out...the...d...d-door," he finished
triumphantly just as his face fell gratefully across the
line that separated light from shadow.

He closed his eyes, basking in the warmth that beat down
upon his broken self, and gave up.  They could take him any
time now.  He was ready to go.

He gradually realized that a sound was intruding upon his
reverie, and with another whimper, understood that it was
Dulexy's vehicle returning. Mulder refused to open his eyes.
The bargain had been that if he made it to the sunshine, the
gods could take him.  If they chose to do that by delivering
him back into Dulexy's hands, so be it--but nothing said he
had to watch.

He heard a car door slam, and from a distance, a voice
called his name. It wasn't Dulexy's voice, not at all.  It
was a soft, feminine voice, one that filled him with wonder
even after all these years, wonder that this woman truly
wanted him and loved him and stayed with him in spite of all
the many ways he was totally fucked up.  It was at that
moment he realized he must have already died.  Scully was
here to greet him, which meant Dulexy had gotten to her
after all, but maybe all the hurting was over now.  Maybe
they could be together now, and be left alone.

He felt a small hand grip his shoulder, and bit back a sob.
He hurt everywhere.  He'd thought death meant the hurting
would stop, but perhaps it took a little time. He turned his
head to look up, opened his eyes, saw her face, and smiled
before his worn out nerve endings registered the pain of the
movement.

Then he tried to scream, but there was no air, there was
nothing but blackness and darkness, and him falling into the
darkness and welcoming it like a long lost lover.

The clock had finally struck midnight.


---------------------
Journal of Fox Mulder
December 24
---------------------

It feels so good to finally be able to sit at the computer
again, although if Scully catches me here this late, she'll
probably start re-breaking limbs.  That woman has no
tolerance for bullshit at all, and I'm supposed to be in
bed.

It's been almost four months since Dulexy tried to rearrange
my bone structure, and at this point, just being able to
walk is a miracle. Even though I still can't go far on my
own, the doctors assure me a full recovery is certain.  I
just have to continue with the all-too-frequent torture
sessions they call Physical Therapy, and by next summer I'll
be close to my old self again. They said I'd even be able to
play basketball, although I probably won't be able to do the
running I used to do.  That's ok, I can still swim, and play
ball, and do any number of things I enjoy.

I can still hold my wife and daughter in my arms.  I'd
gladly sit in a wheelchair the rest of my life just to be
able to do that.

Dulexy never even made it to our house that morning,
although if he had he'd have been greeted by silence.  Emmie
was with Scully's mother, and Scully, of course, was engaged
in the most important rescue mission of my life.  How many
times has that woman pulled my ass back from the edge of
death?  I don't think I want to count that up right now. I'd
rather bask in the glow of the Christmas tree that Emmie
decorated last week, and revel in the knowledge that we beat
the gods again...one more time.

It seems that Justin Dulexy had been driving a car with no
license plates for the duration of his freedom from prison,
and of all the times the police spotted him and let him get
away, nobody noticed.  It took a twenty-four year old
highway patrolman to notice, pull him over, and arrest him.
He spilled his guts as soon as they began questioning him
about my disappearance, but Scully and Walter had already
found me.

Poor Walter, I wasn't sure if Jess was going to hug him or
kill him during his first few days back.  After leaving the
hospital AMA, he found himself right back there, with pulled
stitches and internal bleeding that required another minor
surgery to correct.  I'd have felt downright guilty if I
hadn't been facing several major surgeries of my own, but on
the whole, I thought Walter had the easier time of it.  I
kept that thought to myself around Jess, though.  I'm not
stupid.

Scully, on the other hand, nearly had a nervous breakdown
once she had me safely at the hospital.  At least that's
what they tell me--I wasn't exactly in top form at the time,
and all I remember is a blur of people and activity through
a red haze of pain.  A nervous breakdown doesn't sound at
all like my Scully, but considering all she'd been through,
I believe it.  She was carrying her own huge load of guilt,
blaming herself for Dulexy's hurting me.  I tried to tell
her Dulexy was a psycho, and that he'd have hurt me
regardless of what she did, but she wouldn't hear of it.
Finally I gave in and let her pamper me to her heart's
content.  As I said, I'm not stupid.

By the time she'd gotten me home, after the second of my
surgeries, dealing with a grouchy, bedridden husband had
worn thin and the pampering had ended.  I was at her mercy,
she informed me on one of my particularly pissy days, and
I'd better shape up or she'd take Emmie and go stay with her
mother, and I could lie there and rot.  Realizing that I
*was* at her mercy, although I knew her threats were empty
ones, I clamped down on my temper and tried to behave more
politely.  It was a good thing I did or she might have
starved me to death, because my legs and arms were thickly
casted and I was truly helpless.  I couldn't even take a
leak without her assistance.

Emmie felt so bad about the things she'd said to me before I
was kidnapped that she spent all her free time trying to
entertain me. She'd read to me, or tell me stories of
school, which I miss terribly, or just engage in
conversation until I finally had to order her to leave me
and do her homework or visit her friends.  I growled my best
growl at her, and lowered my eyebrows threateningly, but she
just smiled and kissed my cheek before she left.  Her eyes
told me she was only humoring me, since if she refused to
obey, what could I do about it?  I can see that I'll have a
hell of a time regaining my place as the head of this family
once I'm back to normal.  At least, Scully has always let me
pretend I was the head of the family, to assuage my male
ego, I suppose.

I had to bribe the guys with a promise to supply all the
beer for their upcoming Super Bowl party just to get them to
bring me something decent to eat--Scully's been giving me so
much healthy stuff for the past few months that it's about
to kill me.  It was worth the cost though--they came to stay
with me last week while Scully and Emmie went Christmas
shopping, and were able to smuggle in a huge, greasy burger,
complete with fries and a shake, with my warden being none
the wiser.  At least I don't think she knew--although she
did sniff the air and give me an odd look when she returned.
She didn't mention it, so I'm going to insist to my inner
self-- (the one that reminds me Scully instinctively knows
*everything* I ever do)--that I managed to fool her.

Ellery came to me when I was in the hospital, tearful and
sweet, to thank me for saving her life.  The poor child was
carrying around a load of guilt over my kidnapping, as was
Emmie, even though neither of them were at fault.  I did my
best to reassure her, but it's going to take some time for
her to accept that she was merely a victim. I'll do what I
can to help her, though, in both a professional and a
private capacity--I simply will not allow these two teenage
girls to have their lives destroyed by this incident the way
mine almost was over Sam's disappearance.  They deserve
better, and I'm going to see that they get it or die trying.

Later

Damn, that woman is good!  She heard me up and about, even
though I tried to be as quiet as possible, and came looking
for me.  She tried to order me back to bed, but I guess my
pathetic look worked on her this time--I finally was able to
get her to agree to sit on the couch with me for the rest of
the night.  We cuddled together in the dark, watching the
fire in the fireplace and the lights on the Christmas tree,
and just enjoyed being together.  Such a simple, precious
thing.  Now she's making breakfast and I'm finishing this
journal entry (Jess' orders!) so I can wake Emmie up for our
Christmas morning celebration.

I can't wait to see how she likes her gift from me--she
wanted a puppy when she was just a kid, but the first one we
got her died soon after of a disease we hadn't even known he
carried, and then her beloved Ginger, who she had for six
years, was killed by a car.  After that Emmie seemed
reluctant to commit to a relationship with a pet, so I
finally convinced Scully to let me get her something a
little quieter, a little calmer, something she could keep
safely in the house.

Maybe I'll put the kitten in her bed and let it wake her up.
Who can resist a kitten's purr?  Not me, and not Emmie
either.  I've seen her with Ellery's cats--she's just a born
lover of all kinds of animals. And I've had this kitten
thoroughly checked.  It's as healthy as--well, it's a hell
of a lot healthier than I am.

Hope Scully remembered to buy cat litter...

The End