TITLE: Insight - WakeUp Call RATING: R (language, off-screen violence, child victims) CLASSIFICATION: X A DATE: March 2004 SPOILERS: Starts during FaD and takes a new direction ARCHIVE: Gossamer, Ephemeral - yes. Others please ask. AUTHOR: jowrites - joannhere@gmail.com LEGALLY: Legally these characters belong to some combination of 1013, Chris Carter and Fox. SUMMARY: Suppose Scully arrived at the hospital two minutes late in Folie a Deux. Two years on, Scully has returned to the X-Files. Mulder is running the ISU. Alex Krycek is hired to find out why. Sometimes being the good guys isn't easy. My thanks to Ann and Sana for their beta help and for putting up with me while I was whining about having too many stories! BACKGROUND: Previous Insights are at - http://www.cbcasa.com/apb.htm Following an assault in FaD, Mulder can see dead people as if they were alive. Scully and Mulder have been working apart for two years but are now both working at Quantico. NOTE: Though there is no graphic violence in the story, the story deals with child victims and distressing subject matter. Joann ---------- They were waiting for him when he woke up. Carefully, brick by brick, he blanked out the ones he couldn't face. Apologizing to the victims as he did. His breathing tight as he forced the killers out of his line of sight. Shivered at the thought of his defenses slumping so low that even vanquished foes could come back to fight another round. Wiped the sleep from his eyes with the backs of his hands. Maybe, now Scully was here, he could go home more often? Force some kind of division between work and sleep? Perhaps he could move closer to Quantico, and make the whole thing a little easier? He tried to visualize hunting for an apartment, furnishing it so that it wasn't just another hotel room, decorating it so it felt like his. Came up blank. The office wasn't so bad. His couch, his choice of lighting, his pictures on the walls. The Bureau had been kind. Scrub that. Skinner had been kind. Skinner had done what he could to make amends when really he had no idea what it was he was making amends for. Perhaps a fish tank would help. Or not. More lives to lose. Frowning, he glanced at the clock. Four a.m. was way to early to be getting maudlin. Might as well go to work. Back into his daytime clothes, he turned to the Inbox and ignored the insistent voices and disappointed faces of the people still waiting. ------ AN OFFICE Stale cigarette smoke made him sick. He was already regretting allowing himself to be found. The Smoker's lips tugged into a welcoming sneer. "Good to see you again." Krycek moved to stand, slumped back in his seat as the muscle man at his side placed a solid, restraining hand on his shoulder. As if that was necessary. As if he was going anywhere. "I believe you've been to Tunisia again?" Krycek watched him carefully, but didn't respond. "I hear from the artificial limbs people you're handling things remarkably well." "Ask him." Krycek glanced up at the heavy watching over him, pleased to note the way the skin round the man's eye was already darkening from angry red to mottled purple. "Yet you're the one cuffed to the furniture." Quite. What was it with these people? Were they planning on talking him to death? Well, he'd survived months in a missile silo, sharing his body with an extraterrestrial. He'd made it back from impromptu surgery in the Siberian wilderness. He'd evaded capture after playing nanite games with Skinner. And if they were planning on doing anything quite so mundane as killing him he'd be dead by now. "I've got a proposition for you, Alex." Krycek nodded, determined to maintain some semblance of control. The point was to live to fight another day. "Dana Scully has returned to the X-Files. Mulder appears to have relinquished control. We want to know why. We need to know what he's up to." "And you think I might be able to find out? How?" "Just get the job done. You will of course be rewarded for your efforts." He smiled, unable to resist the temptation of Krycek's weakness, even as he recruited him back to his team. "Free medical cover, too." ------------- Lunch at Quantico wasn't really so bad if you looked on it as a kind of behavioral therapy. A bit like taking a quick gulp of really unpleasant medicine, knowing that it would keep everyone off your back. Mulder stole a look at the gadget resting in his left hand and chose his route. Skinner already had his meal and was heading for a table. The line at the other counter was shorter but the threat of salad was far more disturbing than the danger of a couple of extra minutes alone in the FBI cafeteria. Scully hadn't arrived yet. The One Month Anniversary of her return to the X-Files. Maybe he should buy her a cake? The over-bright lights in the serving area only served to enhance its mysteries. He studied the cylinders of alleged meat products and tried to guess which part of an animal they might represent. A voice from behind him broke into his deliberations, a "Help me," delivered quietly, as a heavy hand came to rest on his shoulder. He turned, "What?" Caught himself just in time as the cluster of agents a couple of yards back in line stared at him, puzzled. He glanced at the thermometer in his hand, which confirmed what he already knew. Perfect. He looked quickly around the cafeteria, relieved to see that Skinner was preoccupied with his own food and that Scully wasn't yet anywhere in sight. He shook his head, mumbled a "later" to the man who wasn't there and headed for the cash register. Skinner had that same tired, concerned expression on his face that he'd worn whenever Mulder approached him for the past two years. Mulder settled for a non-committal, "Hi," as he took his place at the table. Scully arrived a moment later. The man who'd asked for help crouched silently on the floor, staring at the wall. A mystery girl, maybe as young as ten maybe as old as twelve, sat nearby, casting the occasional anguished glance at the mystery man, and stealing nervous looks at Mulder. He tried to focus on the people who were alive. "How's the apartment?" Scully stared at him as if he was speaking some foreign language before answering with a, "Good." Skinner prompted for more and she continued with a description of location and room size as Mulder's thoughts drifted away again. She forced him back to attention. "I'd appreciate your input on a couple of X-Files." Mulder nodded. "Sure. Send them over. I'll take a look." Skinner snorted in a lungful of air and then tried to act as if the reply had been perfectly normal - one FBI agent doing a favor for another Suddenly claustrophobic, Mulder bolted his food down fast, made a vague excuse about expecting a phone call and vanished. Scully was still watching his back when he disappeared from view. It had been this way for the past month, she realized. He'd avoided her, not just physically but it in every other way. Avoidance so successful that she found herself hunting for hidden depth in even the most trivial of remarks. The agents assigned to the X-Files were good, and in their own fields they were excellent. But the volume of information was enormous. Whatever the source, Dana Scully sat at the center, looking for the patterns. Alone. She'd insisted on breathing space. Mulder had handed her the people and the files and walked away. Input was all he'd asked for and, to her amazement, that was all that he'd offered. Brief to the point of perfunctory, unintrusive. Restrained in a way that Scully had thought he would find impossible. Why wasn't it impossible? There was a conspiracy, at the heart of the military, siphoning off billions of dollars, to do God knows what to people who'd neither volunteered nor been consulted. That their objective might be to evade an alien threat seemed improbable and yet, it was not impossible. The projects needed to be brought under control, the managers made accountable, the ethics discussed. And if such efforts were necessary to save the world? She sighed, simultaneously amused and horrified at the idea of saving the planet. So why wasn't Mulder there? At her side? In her place? Dragging her along? Arguing every step of the way? The ISU was worthy work, but why was it Mulder's work? It had functioned without him before. It could surely do so again. "You're worried about him, aren't you?" Skinner's words were a statement, not a question. Scully sat up a little straighter. "He's much better now you're back." So she kept hearing. Which bothered her far more than the jibes she'd heard about Mulder's role in those sudden retirements from the ISU, or the water cooler gossip about impossibly accurate profiles. "I'm told that the ISU has lost half its staff." Skinner frowned, but at least did her the courtesy of acknowledging the statistic. "And has no shortage of talented recruits." "They've lost some of their most experienced people." "And their solve rate is better than ever. I know the rumors. But if there's something you want to know, maybe you should ask Mulder." If he ever stayed still for long enough, perhaps she would. ------- A 13-year-old boy goes missing and is returned after a few hours with no story to tell. A neighbor's 12-year-old girl goes missing only 48 hours later, but does not come back. What does it mean? She'd presented Mulder with the conundrum and he'd responded by email within minutes of her sending down the file. "Poltergeists? Cross-reference poltergeists and missing persons reports." Plus a link to a website reporting the destruction of a house, apparently by hailstones, and a brief note that the teenage daughter had run away a day later. Poltergeists? Though commonsense told her the question was redundant, she fed it to both the local police and the families. "We've had some incidents, breakages," replied the boy's mother, but they had stopped when the girl next door went missing. She turned to the rest of Mulder's cryptic note. Poltergeists didn't take children, not so far as she knew. But was poltergeist activity a predictor of sudden disappearances, including those identified as false alarms, and those categorized as runaways? She handed the problem to Cathy Bridges, the statistical wizard of the X-Files team. A few hours later and according to Cathy the answer was simple. After allowing for the correlations between poltergeist activity and other signs of psychological distress, there hadn't been a link, but as of a few months ago - now there was. "Could it just be better reporting?" Scully asked. "Maybe no one even mentioned poltergeists until Carrie did the prom?" "It could be anything," Bridges agreed. "But the slope on the graph suggests a change taking place right across the country, very suddenly, in March of this year. That's unlikely to be a methodology or statistical blip." "How did you know?" Scully asked Mulder, cornering him in his office and ignoring the way he tensed as she made herself at home on his couch. "About the poltergeists?" "The age of the kids. I saw that newspaper report last month. I've been wondering about it." "You've still got time to read tabloids?" He smiled. "Where do you think I get my ideas?" -------- The only words Mulder had managed to get out of Jeff Thomas so far had been, "I killed her," repeated frequently and inconveniently throughout the past few days and a, "Help me," stammered out in the Quantico cafeteria almost a week before. Katie Dodds, his young victim, had been a little more forthcoming, telling Mulder not only that Thomas had killed her but supplying him with a description of the assault that had left Mulder in no doubt that the man had deserved to die. And yet, something in the man's tortured expression and frantic words kept stopping Mulder from turning away. What was he supposed to do? Dust off his psych books and gently wheedle Jeff Thomas back to sanity so he could come up with more details? Not possible, there were too many other files waiting for him. Besides which, the case was closed and the killer was dead. The end. And then the next body arrived and Mulder remembered that hindsight was a wonderfully precise and unforgiving science as the photographs of another dead girl spilled out across his desk. So he backtracked and found that the sheriff at Kelford was relieved to talk about the nightmare that had hit his perfect town a month before. "People were frantic. We were talking about getting DNA samples from every man in the county. I called a friend at the Bureau for advice. Then Jeff Thomas..." Jeff Thomas committed suicide two days after the murder. DNA tests confirmed him as the rapist. Her blood on his shirt confirmed him as her killer. Mulder already knew all that, and yet, "You sound doubtful." "I know what you're thinking. This is Hicksville - what the hell would I know? But I worked homicide in LA for seven years, came back here five years ago. The man who did this. He's got to have hurt kids before. Or women. Something. There would be something and there isn't. I've known Jeff since we were kids. I knew him. And I'd know. Something happened to him - and I don't know what it was." Mulder took a slow deep breath, buying a little time to think. Would the sheriff know? People seldom wanted to believe truths that hit too close to home. Even so, Mulder's instincts were to agree. He forced his brain to override them. "I'm investigating a copycat. I need to know who had access to the information. I also need as much background as you can give me on Thomas and on the victim." "Yeah, yeah, understood. Where do you want to start?" The disappointment in the Sheriff's voice was obvious and Mulder had to stop himself from apologizing for questions that had to be asked. Not being trusted was hard. ---------- As he set up the slideshow for Scully it almost felt like old times. "Kelford is the middle of nowhere. Crime doesn't happen there." The lifeless body of the girl on the screen told a different story. The photo was not unexpected and yet, displayed life-size in Mulder's eclectically furnished office with the victim sitting in the corner safely out of the line of sight of the screen it was still enough to make him wince. "The sheriff was so freaked out he asked an agent in the Chicago office if we could run it against our databases." Scully nodded. "They didn't want it to be a local." "Right. But they didn't see a match to anything on the active files." "Until?" "Until I saw the picture from Kelford a few days ago and remembered this." Mulder pushed the button to reveal a different little girl but just as dead. "The photo's ten years old - I profiled the case. Clyde Bennett - he's still in jail." Mulder pressed the button again. "Then I got this one, twenty miles outside in Denver, two days ago." "Copycats?" "They aren't the type." "Who?" "The men." Scully glanced at the files. "I don't understand. The Kelford killer - Jeff Thomas. There's a DNA match. A mountain of trace evidence. He committed suicide right after the murder. Bennett's still in jail. The file says you've already contacted Denver PD with the name of a suspect. What do you need me for?" And really, he wasn't sure he had an answer for her, and suddenly he was coming to his senses, and feeling ashamed of dragging her into this. She wasn't his Scully any more. She belonged to the X-Files. The world. "Sorry," he finally said, not sure if he was talking to Scully or to Jeff Thomas who was leaning against the wall, or to the blonde girl who'd died in Denver two days ago, or to the dark-haired girl who'd died in Kelford a month before. "Mulder? I just need to know what you're looking for." OK. It would only take a minute, then he would let her go. He launched himself into an explanation, ignoring the kids who were listening to every word he said. "The killers have copied signature elements. The girls were raped, we found semen inside them. That in itself is rare in this type of case, it speaks to an organized killer. Yet the use of weapons found at the site implies a lack of preparation. The post-mortem mutilation is disorganized and he's not that worried about the minutiae of the wounds." "So not even very good copycats?" "No, excellent copycats. They didn't just copy the appearance of the murder, they copied its heart." "There's no mystery." She paced as she spoke, and dead little girls jumped out her path at the last moment as if it was some new game they were playing. "Like it or not, someone on one of the investigating teams talked out of turn or Bennett himself coached them. For all we know, some sicko group on the internet might be swapping his memoirs." "But these men aren't sickos. I've profiled the killer and Jeff Thomas comes nowhere close, and I'm willing to bet that the same thing will go for the Denver case." Actually it was a safe bet. As soon as Jackie gave Mulder the killer's name, he'd gone looking for the man's history and found nothing. "And that doesn't mean that there's a problem with your profile?" Fuck no - of course there wasn't a problem with the profile. Though he could see how Scully might reach that conclusion. "No. In any case, copying implies planning. A copycat wouldn't plan to leave physical evidence. He'd use a condom, wear gloves, destroy bloodstained clothing. Jeff Thomas did none of those things." "And then he killed himself. He didn't care how much evidence he left." "And now this one in Denver does the same thing?" She frowned and Mulder sighed, remembering again. He'd got her in here under false pretences. He could just have sent those X-Files back to her, comments in the margins. Same as always. But she'd sounded so determined to come down to see him in person. To talk, she'd said. Yes, but not to talk about this. "Forget it." "I just don't understand why you're doing this. The Kelford case is closed. The Denver case - you're telling me it's as good as over." "And your point is?" Her mouth drifted open and for a second her shoulders shuddered and Mulder wondered if she was going to laugh or simply storm out. Neither happened. And Mulder realized that he wanted her to react, wanted to push the boundaries of her self-control and see the fire in her eyes. Why the whispering, why couldn't she scream? He wanted to scream, had done since Skinner pinned him to the floor of Pincus' office and called 911. She shook her head. "My point is that this is a waste of time and I've got better things to do with my time. So do you." Success! He'd managed to make her angry. And boy did she know how to hit where it would hurt. Now he remembered the other reasons for waiting for two years before talking to her again, the reasons too shameful to acknowledge even to himself. He looked up at Jeff Thomas, at Katie the girl Jeff killed, and at Jackie with the long blonde hair. "I can't let it happen again," he finally replied. "There's a common factor driving these deaths. Kids will keep on dying unless I stop it. Innocent men will keep on killing." "Innocent? Listen to yourself, Mulder. You don't know these men." She was right, but then so was he. "But I do know the kind of man who killed those girls. I wrote the profile ten years ago and these men do not fit the profile. We've been here before. Franklin, Pennsylvania - five years ago. Ordinary people turning into murderers." She looked down at the toxicology report on Jeff Thomas. "Chemicals? There's no indication." "Maryland - four years ago - signals on the TV. You experienced it yourself." And even as he said the words, revelation dawned. No copycat. No cult. No waste of her time, or his. "I don't get it. I don't see where these theories are coming from." So? She didn't wait for an explanation. "I've been looking at some of the cases you've dealt with in the past couple of years - X-Files, ISU cases, things that weren't even Bureau jurisdiction. Your record - it's extraordinary." Which might have been a compliment but didn't feel like one to Mulder. "What - you want to open an X-File on me?" "Should I?" She plowed on, looking determined, sounding fierce. "I guess I just don't understand how you could leave the X-Files." "You did." He knew it was a low blow even as he said it. He wasn't surprised when she threw back one of her own. "Is this because your mom committed suicide?" So she'd been reading up on him. He shook his head. "No. And no, it's got nothing to do with Samantha either." "It's just that you've driven off anyone with any experience in the ISU and now you're feeling guilty about it?" "Driven them off? I let them go." "You let them go? Twenty-year veterans? Why did Section Chief Michaels resign as soon as you showed up? Why didn't either of his replacements make it through their first month?" Water cooler gossip. Great. He didn't know Scully played that game. She didn't used to. "Ask them." "I'm asking you. You told me that you wanted me to save your soul." "Maybe that's what I did for them." He heard the anger in his voice and stopped talking, forced himself to think. It was fair, it was right. She deserved more than third hand rumors. Maybe she was only listening to the gossip because that was all she had. OK, he could do this. "This job," he finally began, determined to tell the truth even if he had to draw a line about how much. "You look for the worst. You look for the things the cops can't see -- and they think they've seen it all. But if all you see is the worst, you can't do it anymore, shouldn't do it anymore. You've got to see the victims - it keeps you sane." "So what are you saying? That the agents who left were mad?" "No, though that's what happened to Patterson. It's what happens when the ones you can't solve become so big in your mind that you can't see straight. I helped them crack their jinx cases. I set them free." Arrogance? Bravado? Perhaps. But true for all that. Scully didn't challenge him on it, simply played his words back to him. "Free?" "They don't have to be here anymore." "They don't have to be here? But you do?" "I can see the victims now. I can see them all." ========== As soon as Scully left, Mulder called Tom Gibbs into his office. "I'm looking for old cases. Rape/murder/mutilation. Girls. Pre-teens, early teens." "Same MO as the ones in Denver and Kelford?" "I don't know how many years we'll need to go back." "Just the unsolved ones?" "Everything. If they're solved I need to know what happened to the killers and where they are now." "You're thinking of some kind of cult thing?" "Something like that." ----------- SKINNER'S APARTMENT "Don't do anything stupid, Skinner." The silence stretched and for an instant it looked as if he might actually be considering going for his gun. Krycek tensed in anticipation. The danger zone passed and Skinner turned to face him. "Back for another round?" Krycek glanced down at the gun in his own hand, relaxing his grip. "Insurance - nothing more. I don't think you're foolish enough to make me use it. I just need a couple of answers." Skinner said nothing, waited, angry and impassive. "Mulder. Why is he off the X-Files?" "Why? I'd have thought your employers would just be pleased that he was." Krycek's employers maybe. Krycek on the other hand was less happy to hear the idea confirmed. "My employers are worried he's pushed Scully into the spotlight simply as cover for his own activities." "You think I'd tell you if he had?" But Skinner's bravado left Krycek unconvinced; he kept pushing for more. "But he hasn't, has he? He's actually quit. And you don't know why." A muscle in Skinner's jaw twitched but he made no move to confirm or deny. "He's running the Behavioral Unit now?" Skinner nodded and Krycek saw the fleeting guilty look in the other man's eyes. Guilt? And another piece of the jigsaw puzzle slid into place. Guilt over what? Two years earlier, it had been Skinner who'd asked that Mulder be admitted to hospital for psychiatric evaluation. Within days both Mulder and Scully had almost died at the hands of some mystery attacker. Scully had left the X-Files, and moved to New York. Mulder had stayed behind, but he'd changed, become less predictable and more dangerous. "What happened to him in Chicago, in that hospital? Come on, Skinner. You put him there. I don't have all night. I'm sure you'd sooner I got it from you rather than Scully?" The AD mumbled a, "Bastard," which Alex chose to take as fair comment. Skinner took his time before replying. "I don't have an answer. Nor does she. He tried to leave Behavioral - he couldn't do it. He thinks, now Scully's there, he can leave the X-Files." Fine. Maybe what Mulder needed was another wake-up call. -------------- Mulder flexed his fingers and turned back to the photographs on his desk. The images told him more than he wanted to know. A ten-year old and a twelve-year old. But from the perspective of Mulder's UNSUB they would be the same age, not completely child, but still far from woman. Innocents, defiled and destroyed. He re-ordered the photos, studying the wounds a little more closely and ignoring the faces, trying to see the evidence instead of the death. Reviewing and re-classifying until he'd submerged himself in the sequence of cuts made and the pattern of wounds left. The case was problematic. Not because of the absence of evidence, rather because there was too much. Too much for a copycat. He didn't have a choice. He needed help. Specialized help. He needed to see Bill Patterson. ---------- THE GARDENS OF THE LORTON SECURE PSYCHIATRIC UNIT Patterson was amused. "You were hoping for something a little more Hannibal Lector?" Mulder shook his head. "Do I look like Jodie Foster?" "You look like you're going to run away." No kidding! "I keep expecting the nice young doctor with the butterfly net to show up." It was true. He'd always had an aversion to psychiatric hospitals, which might have been a disadvantage for someone who'd trained in abnormal psych, but had perhaps helped him to take evasive action when it counted. Except for that one time. He sighed. It was beautiful here. Peaceful. Nicely trimmed lawns and immaculate flowerbeds. Birds dancing in the shadows. And, unlike Quantico, not even the thunder of a firing range to spoil the illusion. "Behavioral therapy," noted Patterson. A little too well attuned to Mulder's thoughts. "The inmates take care of the grounds. The trusted ones." "Like you?" "Of course." "I need your help." Mulder ignored Patterson's raised eyebrows. "Do you remember the Clyde Bennett case - rape/murder/post-mortem mutilation - the victim, Carla Davies, she was eleven?" "Sure. You said he'd stalked her for weeks, planned it all in advance, written it down." Visions of the diary they'd found later in Bennett's house made Mulder shiver. Patterson shook his head. "I always wondered how you knew. You said there was a pattern in the knife wounds." Mulder swallowed, remembering. "And you said I probably saw faces in the clouds as well. There's been a copycat. Two copycats. One's dead, the other should be arrested this morning." "So what's the problem?" "I'm worried about there being a third." "Why have you come to me?" "Who else?" "Yes. Of course you would. I hear you're running the ISU yourself these days? That they had to give you the job because none of your bosses could handle you. What did you do to Section Chief Michaels?" "What? You think Michaels was ever my boss?" Patterson smiled, a cynical appraisal in his eyes. "Probably not. So answer the damned question - why ask me?" "The men, the copycats. They don't fit the profile. In their right minds, they wouldn't, couldn't do it." "You want to know how it feels to be mad?" Mulder nodded, ashamed but resolute. "And to kill without knowing why." --------- DENVER The team investigating the murder were already waiting for him. The FBI's interest seemed to have thrown all of them off balance. "Don't get me wrong, we're grateful for your help, Agent Mulder. We picked up the man you identified and it looks like you were right. I'm just surprised you came in person. The forensics alone should close this for us." Mulder nodded. "You haven't interviewed him yet?" "No, we held off, like you asked. He's been read his rights. He's got a lawyer. But other than that." "I'd like to sit in on the questioning. I'd like your permission to take over if it goes the way I'm expecting." "And what way would that be?" "There's a powerful copycat element to the killing." He handed over photos of the girls killed by Clyde Bennett and Jeff Thomas. "I need to know if it's more than just coincidence." "You're saying this may be your jurisdiction?" "I'm saying that I don't want to see the same killing again next month." ------- INTERVIEW ROOM Detective Cairns was leading the interrogation. "Let's get this straight. You arrived home and there was blood and mud on your clothing?" "I told you that." "And you don't recall how it got there?" Dave Taylor shook his head. Exhaustion tinged his eyes with pink, almost the only color in his face. "I must have fallen down a ditch or something, then scrambled back to the car." "You say you woke up in the car, what then?" "I told you." "Tell me again." The lawyer intervened. "He has told you this before." Cairns continued. "So you fell over and then forgot about it? Had you been drinking?" "I'd taken one of those cold-cure things. The sort that's not supposed to make you sleepy." "But which made you lose your memory?" "I thought maybe the fall." "What fall?" "I don't know. I'm assuming, I must have fallen and banged my head or something." "Have you seen a doctor?" For the first time in nearly an hour, Mulder intervened. "Dave. Why was Jackie in your car?" The lawyer cut in. "You don't need to answer that." But Taylor was still looking at the evidence bag that Mulder was now holding at eye-level for his inspection. Those were long blond hairs and his own daughter's hair was dark. "She wasn't." Mulder pushed a photo of the girl's body across the table and the man shook his head. "I don't know. But I didn't. I couldn't. I've got kids of my own. I...." The man licked his lips. Mulder poured him a glass of water and waited. Taylor's words came out shaky. "I've had a couple of nightmares." ----- Krycek was waiting in the lounge when Mulder returned to Denver Airport. He'd spent the day there, taking a gamble on Mulder returning to DC tonight. Arriving in position early had given him plenty of time to select the ideal location for inconspicuous people watching. He'd heard that Mulder seldom left Quantico except in the company of some big ex-marine, and that when he did it was generally as part of a late night raid on some shadow government facility. Another puzzle piece to play with. He'd thought at first it was some kind of security thing, a mix of paranoia and commonsense. But seeing Mulder traveling alone to check out a case, that was not only routine police work but which was already practically closed, seemed to challenge that. Which left the question open. What the hell was wrong with him? Watching Mulder in action added extra layers to the problem. Krycek hadn't seen him other than through surveillance images in over a year, and hadn't really seen that much of him since Tunguska. Mulder looked almost hesitant as he walked toward the check-in desk. As if he was expecting to be jumped by an invisible foe at any moment. Krycek smiled, wondering if intuition had clued him into the fact that he was being watched. The exhausted haunted expression came as no surprise. The tension in his movements was disturbing - was he ill? Why did he keep looking at his hand - was he injured? No, he was carrying something. Phone? Game? Tracking device? Something. Krycek really needed a closer look. It was risky of course. Or at least it would be normally. Mulder, for all his faults, was neither slow nor unobservant. Usually. But watching him now it was clear that something had changed. In fact Mulder looked so harassed and so deliberate in his movements that Krycek briefly wondered if he was drunk. So much nervous energy being expended and yet all the agent was doing was picking up a boarding card. Just watching him was tiring. What was the worst thing that could happen? Fox boyscout Mulder wasn't going to draw his Sig Sauer and open fire in the middle of a busy airport. Certainly not to stop an unarmed man from running off with a toy. No chance. Which meant that all Alex had to do was make sure that he didn't see him coming. Two minutes later, Mulder was standing by an airport phone responding to an urgent call over the public address system. A minute after that, Alex Krycek was the proud owner of a bunch of keys belonging to a Federal Agent and an Infra-Red Thermometer neatly packaged in a discreet black plastic pack. --------- Mulder saved the worst of his brooding for when he was finally back at Quantico. Apart from the indignity of having to ask Tom Gibbs to leave a key with security so he could get back into his office, there was really no harm done. Fucking Alex Krycek. What the hell was he doing in Denver? Dumb, grumbled Mulder as he answered his own question - following me. So now Krycek had his keys? So what - he could get the locks changed tomorrow. In any case since when did rats need doors? Losing the thermometer was an inconvenience rather than a blow, he kept spares at the office, but it had made navigating the airports and selecting a seat on the plane more fraught that usual. Why though? Why would Krycek take it? The answer was depressingly clear. Krycek had been watching him, had spotted the navigation aid, and been curious enough to risk capture. Not that the risk had been great, but still it had been a risk. The second cup of coffee eased his spirits a little and a tingle of laughter built low in his belly, tickling him out of his dark mood. Now what? It wasn't as if he could do anything about it. In any case - what the hell was Krycek going to do with a point and shoot thermometer? ------- A lot of the mutilation was post-mortem. Which was something to be grateful for, Mulder supposed. His instincts said that it was because the killer didn't like having to deal with too much blood while he was cutting them, rather than any sympathy for his victims. Best not to have a beating heart to contend with. Alive when he burned them though. Alive when he made the first slices into their skin. Alive when he raped them. The meeting that Scully suggested as a way to update him on the investigation into the disappearance of kids who'd recently been at the center of poltergeist incidents was important, but his concentration kept failing. The X-Files crew had done their magic and identified a "center of neurological research" where the kids might be being held. They were already planning their campaign. Mick Saunders would pick his own team to make sure that the kids weren't ushered out of the back door as soon as the official FBI crew led by Scully went in by the front one. Mulder tried to say something useful. "You're going to try to return the kids to their parents?" "What else would we do?" He shook his head, feeling somewhere worse than useless as visions of a plate-spinning, cup-smashing, furniture-throwing, poltergeist-powered teenage army ran though his brain. Still, there was the question of after-care. Would the kids need guards? There was no way to offer that kind of long-term security. Witness protection scheme? Lock them away until the puberty poltergeist danger zone had passed? Somebody thought those abilities were worth studying. Somebody could imagine gaining an advantage by using them. Why was it always the good guys who had to play by the rules? Because we're the good guys he reminded himself, wishing he had some of the moral certainty that he could see in Scully's eyes, before letting himself off the hook again. It was, after all, one of the reasons why he'd asked her to come back. She caught the lack of focus. "You're still obsessing over that case - the copycats - aren't you?" "Not copycats. Something happened to those men. Something that turned them into killers and I've got to know what it was." "You're reaching for something that isn't there. I've been through the tox screens. We've looked for common environmental factors. You've had half the ISU looking for links between the men and they've found zip. The profile just didn't cover all the bases." "I don't believe it." "What - that men kill?" He knew what she was thinking and her words had a strength far beyond this room or this case. "Thanks for helping me." She heard it for what it was - a dismissal. "Mulder?" she said, but the rest of her words were lost as another face joined the girls huddled together at the back of the office. There were seven of them now, talking in low whispers. Jeff Thomas was sitting on the floor, rocking slowly, crying into his clenched fists. Scully shook her head but remained silent. He studied her and saw only tired resignation and something that he didn't want to be pity. Because really, the anger had been far easier to take. Mulder was pretty sure he knew the new girl's name already and that she would confirm what the other victims had said. Their killers were exactly who the forensic evidence had identified and one of those files that Tom Gibbs had supplied would tell him that her murderer was already safely locked away. That was, after all, why these cases hadn't shown up in his inbox before. All solved by the local police, always within days, sometimes in hours. And usually with a killer who was now either dead at his own hands or drugged to the gills in some psychiatric unit. A father killing a daughter. A neighbor. A friend. A sports coach. A dentist. And all of them - open and shut cases. No doubts about any of it. Except for Mulder's doubts. He'd put the obvious next move off as long as he could, hoping that maybe he could get more out of Jeff Thomas than the occasional, "I killed her," mixed in with the increasingly anguished cry of, "Help me." He'd delayed again, hoping that Dave Taylor might be able to clue him into the events leading up to the nightmare that even Taylor now admitted must be a horrifying reality. But Taylor was on suicide watch and no more comprehensible alive than Thomas was dead. He couldn't put it off any longer. It was time to talk to Clyde Bennett. ------------ CENTRAL PRISON; RALEIGH "You've aged." "Prison obviously agrees with you, Clyde. I'm glad you've made yourself at home." Bennett flicked up a single finger reply. "So what's your problem, Mulder?" There was no point in going for the subtle approach, Mulder knew the prisoner too well. He weighed straight in. "The problem's you. Killing kids. Again. And I'm still left wondering where the satisfaction is." "The fuck you are. I know you. I remember you - playing with your pretty pictures, drooling over my diaries. You got hard just listening to me talk about it. Jealous?" "Were you jealous of Jeff Thomas?" Bennett teeth showed briefly in the barest twist of a smile. "He was a pussy." "All the men you've used - they're all pussies, aren't they? But what's in it for you? Where's the satisfaction? You can't smell the blood. You can't taste the fear. You can't hear the screams." Bennett laughed, ugly and terrifying. "You wish! I'm there. You want to know how good it feels to get inside one of those pieces of meat? It's the ride of a lifetime. You should try it sometime. Yeah. Sometime soon. Don't worry - I'll show you the ropes." "How do you do it, Clyde?" Bennett shook his head, losing the smile, leaning forward in his seat. "But you know what the best bit is?" "Go on." "Seeing those pussies the day after, when they realize what they've done. When they start washing off the blood - like they're ever gonna' get clean." The Prison Governor was as accommodating as he could be. "You think he's orchestrating the killings in some way?" Mulder opted to keep the explanation simple. "I need to know who else he may be working with. If I could check his cell. I may be able to identify the men he's in contact with." "I blame the internet." "Sir?" "Bennett. As if anyone would want to copy Bennett if they'd met him. You think he's got some kind of cult thing going?" Mulder didn't bother to argue. "I wonder if you could help me prepare him for further questioning?" "I'll do what I can. But you know my hands are tied, I've got a prison to run. I can give you assistance. But he's got legal rights and I've got codes to follow." After a little negotiation Mulder had the best deal he could. ------- A little bribery, some false credentials and some real permits later and Alex Krycek was reliving as much of Fox Mulder's meeting with Clyde Bennett as he could tolerate without putting a gun to the bastard's head and killing him there and then. He swallowed it, just as he knew Mulder would have had to swallow it the day before. A mask of professional indifference carefully in place, he put a proposition to the prisoner. "Mr. Bennett. You have certain talents that have come to my employer's attention. We would like to give you an opportunity to develop those abilities further." It was an offer that Bennett had no intention of refusing. ----- A soft mist hung over the woods. A shimmer of dew in the pale light. Dawn soon. Mulder glanced down at the body at his feet. He cast a profiler's eye across the scarred flesh. No attempt to cover her nakedness - no remorse, no personal connection. Red marks on her neck that would darken into a rich necklace of fingertip bruises. The fear sweat glistening on her face would soon merge with the morning dew. What a pretty picture she would make. He took out his knife and started to cut. With dawn came clarity and a frantic scramble to vomit it all away. And he ran, panicked, into the woods, ran until his mind emptied and his body failed. Crashed and burned as birds sang and gunfire thundered and exhaustion wrenched his legs from under him and sent him tumbling. ============ Jeff Thomas was still crying when Mulder woke up. White walls and antiseptic smells and for one terrifying moment he could feel the restraints on his wrists and ankles, and he could smell the blood. "Don't try and move yet. Just relax." He ignored Scully's gentle words and sat up fast, testing the limits of freedom at the expense of an explosion of dizziness. "Aw, fuck," he grumbled, before slumping back down. "You fell while you were out running this afternoon. You banged your head on a branch." "That's all?" he asked, almost confident, but needing to hear it confirmed. She misinterpreted the question, which was answer enough for Mulder. "What? Are you hurt somewhere else? The doctor checked you over. Did he miss something? I'll call him back." "No, no. I need to get moving. Where are my clothes?" "You can't. You were out cold." "Get Skinner. My office. We need to talk." She took a deep breath, offered him a glass of water, and put a hand on his wrist in an attempt to stop him gulping it down in one hit. As soon as the glass was empty she started checking for signs of concussion. Sensing the invasion of his territory, one of the Quantico doctors arrived about sixty seconds later. Without any preamble or words of greeting, he moved to the head of the bed and started repeating all the tests that Scully had done. Mulder wondered briefly if the duo were going to fight it out, but Scully merely scowled and took a half-step back to give the man just barely enough room to work. Mulder's eyes were still on the doctor when Scully's fingers found his. He swallowed, felt his mouth go dry and his throat constrict. Then the doctor started asking him about light sensitivity. Yeah, that was all it was, it was just too bright in here, and Scully squeezed his hand a little tighter. On balance, Scully's advice not to move was probably sound, and if he could have postponed this meeting or avoided getting out of bed, then he would have done. But there was no way he could delay, and he certainly wasn't going to let them keep him in here. Where the hell was his keyring? He rummaged through his pockets and found nothing. Krycek already had his spare. He tried not to laugh at the way his brain had framed the statement. Krycek had stolen his keys. Had he told them about seeing Krycek? Did he tell anyone, anything? Scully pretended to ignore the way Mulder leaned on Skinner as they navigated their way back to the ISU offices. Skinner pretended to ignore Mulder's weight, even as he carefully supplied the balance and sense of direction that was absent from the agent's own movements. Mulder pretended to ignore them both. Safely in the office, Skinner paced as Mulder stumbled heavily onto his couch and propped himself up with cushions. Scully arrived soon after, bearing gifts of decaffeinated cola and un-carbonated isotonic drinks. "Thanks, I guess." Scully smiled, apparently unashamed of being the sensible one. Skinner brought them both back to business. "You insisted on coming back down here to talk. Talk." Mulder thought about nodding, but decided it wasn't worth the pain. "I'm in trouble." Looking singularly unsurprised, the AD stopped pacing and pulled a chair up to look directly at Mulder. "Go on." "Clyde Bennett." Mulder pointed vaguely towards the folder on the table and Scully automatically moved to pick it up and pass round the photos. "In the past twelve months, we've had at least seven murders, and seven different killers. Bennett is responsible." "He's in jail." "He is, but he's making those men kill." "How?" "I don't know exactly, but I spoke with Bennett and I'm sure of it. It's as if the need to kill was so intense that he found a way to make it happen. He's gloating about it. All the men he's used had been in their local newspapers for one reason or another. That's how he found them. A twentieth wedding anniversary, a new job, an award from a local business organization - nice things. Respected, successful, good people. When he made them kill the kids, he killed them as well." "How?" repeated Skinner. "He connects to them when they're asleep. That's the only common factor. So far as I can tell based on the timings he's asleep too, or appears to be. His brain reaches out and he takes them over." Skinner shook his head, his voice measured and conciliatory, and Mulder tried not to be offended by the soothing tone or the carefully non-judgmental phrasing. "I see your concern, but how do you propose we prosecute him?" "You know we can't. And even if we could, it wouldn't be quick enough." "Go on." "By visiting him, I've shown him my cards. I've made myself into the perfect target." "You think he can force you to kill a child? It'd never happen, you'd kill yourself first." It sounded good, it sounded reassuring, but after what Mulder had gone through with Jeff Thomas this morning in that reconstruction of Katie's death, it also sounded unrealistic. If the way out was suicide, then I'd better do it now, he thought. "You can't guarantee that," was what he said. Scully took over. "I don't know why those men killed, but I know you." "No, you don't." They just didn't get it. "You don't know where I've been, Scully." She didn't know and he was glad she didn't. "If I - when I go back there, I can't have a child's blood on my hands. I can't let that happen." He knew he was ranting now, but couldn't change the frantic tone in his voice nor stop the tumble of words from his lips. "You've got to promise to stop me - kill me, if you have to." Skinner ignored the rhetoric and tried to make it sound like a matter of fact request that any sane pragmatist in a position of authority in the FBI could handle. "Sleep's the dangerous time?" "Yeah. I've asked the Prison Governor to make sure that Bennett only sleeps at night. I can sleep during the day. But all that does is buy me a little time. As soon as he realizes what I'm doing he'll go after somebody else, which doesn't help me much. And then, sometime, some prison doctor will let him sleep during the day or I'll fall asleep at night." Scully's patience failed her. "Mulder - this is fantasy. This isn't about Bennett taking control - this is about you handing control to him." She turned her attention to Skinner, blaming him with her eyes. "I can't believe that you're playing along with this." "I'm not playing along with anything," insisted Skinner. "But if the only way for Mulder to get some rest is for me to cuff him to the furniture, then I'll do it." And Mulder smiled, because it wasn't a solution, but at least he might be able to go to sleep now. -------- The US Marshals were doing all the right things. Mulder rubbed his eyes under his sunglasses as he squinted against the glare of the midday sun. The briefing was simple. "The van was moving him between prisons. Routine transfer. Armed guards in the cab. Someone intercepted them, made them crash. All over in seconds. Professional job." A routine transfer? So routine that the Prison Governor knew nothing about it until an hour before it happened. No matter. The paperwork would be perfect and no amount of chasing would identify the man who'd pressed the button to set the move in motion. "They're checking everyone who's visited him at the jail, the people he knew before his arrest, but so far there are no leads on who got him out or where he might have gone." Mulder thanked the team leader and asked to be kept updated. Skinner looked almost as tired as Mulder felt. Mulder caught his eye. "We need to talk." This time he didn't need Skinner's shoulder to lean on as he led the way towards the car, only once glancing down at the sensor in his hand. Safely out of earshot of the marshals, Mulder launched into a confession. "I know who's got him." He took a deep breath as his boss caught up with his words. "Alex Krycek. He saw me in Denver. He's obviously been following my trail." "Why would he be interested in Bennett?" "Bennett can control people and he doesn't even need to be in the same room as them, not even the same State. Imagine the power." Skinner sighed and Mulder waited for confirmation that the consortium's involvement would suddenly make his theory credible. He saw it in the briefest acknowledging movement of Skinner's head. "There's something I haven't told you. Krycek visited me a couple of weeks ago. He came to my apartment. He wanted to know why you'd left the X-Files." "What did you tell him?" "That Scully could handle them." "How did he react?" "He seemed - disappointed." That settled it then. "He's trying to get my attention." Mulder headed to the prison and got all the confirmation he needed as he watched the security video of Bennett's last visitor. Alex Krycek, his dark hair neatly trimmed, was wearing his best charcoal gray suit, looking every inch a Federal Agent and bouncing Mulder's keys on the back of his left hand. "The bastard's taunting me." "You know him, sir?" questioned the marshal watching the images with him. "I know Bennett." The truth and only some of the truth and that would have to be enough for the honest cops from the Marshal's service. --------- Scully cornered Mulder as soon as he returned to his office. "Anything?" "He hasn't been recaptured. But that's not surprising - Krycek got him out." "Krycek? Why?" "Bennett has talent - the kind some people will take a gamble on." She shook her head but didn't argue. Krycek's reappearance seemed to have boosted his credibility with everybody. "A talent he could use against you?" "He could use it against anyone. But, right now, I'd be the star prize." "What do we do?" We - it sounded good. He rolled the word around in his head and wished that he could live up to it. "If we find him, we'll need a place to put him. Secure. Somewhere he can be monitored - there'll be something - his brain activity may clue us in - his sleep patterns for certain." "It's going to be tough." "I know. But there are places. Researchers, doctors who've helped with X-Files in the past." She nodded. "I've read the files. I'll make some calls. I've got some ideas about where we could place him. But we'll need Skinner's help to get approval." "Skinner's. Anybody's. We can go as high as we need to." "I keep forgetting. You've got some powerful allies these days." The smile she offered was forced, and Mulder saw only discomfort and apology in her eyes. He knew what that meant; there was something more that she wanted to say. Maybe it was time to let her ask another question. He gave permission with a tilt of his head. She cleared her throat and kept her voice mild. "What did you mean, before - that I don't know where you've been?" Too hard to answer. And bad timing for sure. Was there any such thing as good timing? His hesitation forced her to try again. "You said that you're going back." We all are. He didn't say it, hunted for some easier to handle message behind her worried frown. Did she think he was suicidal? "Not today," he said, hoping it was true. "This goes back to the Pincus case, doesn't it? This is why you screamed every time I went near you in the hospital ICU, why you couldn't talk to me for two years?" Because it was too bewildering then and it was too frightening now? "What do you want me to say? That I died there? You know I did. You saved me. You made them bring me back." "You didn't want to come back?" What now? Tell her he hadn't actually made it all the way back but that was fine because victims, killers and consortium members found him a convenient conduit back to the world? And then what? Let her organize an exorcism? Just tell her the truth. Just answer the question. "I wanted to come back." The first instant of relief gave way a moment later to horrified recognition. Her eyes darkened, something close to dread washing over her face as her skin lost its color. "You saw hell?" They used to call it purgatory. He shook his head. "I saw my life." -------- THE SAME NIGHT - MULDER'S APARTMENT "Hi, Alex. I'm home." Krycek's Glock was unwavering in its aim on Mulder's chest. "Just in case you decide to do something stupid, Mulder." Stupid was a given but, "You don't need the gun." Krycek smiled, rising to his feet. "Coffee?" "Shouldn't I be asking you that?" "Don't make me laugh. You never offered me coffee. In any case, it's mine. When were you last in this place?" "Six weeks ago. Where's Bennett?" "No - you kept me waiting, so I get first shot. What's with the thermometer?" "I'm really scared of people running fevers?" "Cute doesn't suit you." Krycek was navigating the kitchen like a pro and it suddenly occurred to Mulder that he had no idea how long the man had been here. He certainly seemed to have laid in supplies. Krycek opened the fridge door and Mulder wasn't surprised to see the beer and the juice that was waiting alongside the milk. Maybe he should be offended? "Come on," prompted Krycek, handling the coffee making process with admirable grace for a man with only one fully functional arm. "The thermometer - what have you found? Do clones run hot? Do shapeshifters have ice in their veins?" And Mulder laughed, because there really didn't seem to be much else he could do to respond to the incongruity of the situation, or the edge of unreality it gave to the discussion. X shook his head and walked out, apparently content with the knowledge that Mulder had decided to take his advice seriously and listen to what Krycek had to say. "Where's Bennett?" Krycek handed Mulder the mug. "Persistent, aren't you? Why, what are you going to do with him?" "Federal custody. Scully's getting something arranged. A place where we can examine him, monitor his behavior." Krycek almost choked on his coffee. "Jesus, Mulder. He hates you! You want to be his next killer robot? He'd love that. You think some honest, ethical doctor on the Federal payroll is going to keep him awake and out of your head for the next fifty years?" "I've got to try. I can't let them have him." "Them?" Krycek shook his head, softening the passion in his voice, but leaving the mockery intact. "Oh right. Them. OK. Then we'd better go and get him." ---------- The research lab could have been a private hospital if it hadn't been for the multipoint locks on the armored doors of every room, the machine gun toting guards, and the electric fence that ringed the perimeter. Krycek's fake passes got them inside the building. Still, the lack of real disguise was disturbing. If anyone looked at the security footage, they'd know. Mulder's status as pain in the ass wouldn't change, but Krycek's? "They'll kill you if they find out you helped me." "No. Bennett's small fry. I didn't tell them what they were getting. So they won't know what they've lost. You, on the other hand." And Mulder's blood started to freeze as he realized that despite X's convictions, he might have walked into a trap. "Stop it, Mulder - it's too late for you to start thinking. You - are someone they'd like to have an inside track on. And what could be better than for me to win your trust by helping you?" Nodding, Mulder started to breathe again and they headed out onto the corridor that housed Bennett's room. "Our route out's through fire door three, and on to gate D1, those alarms are disabled. You don't need that, the corridor's empty," observed Krycek as he walked past Mulder and on towards room 27. Mulder took his word for it and resisted the temptation to check the device on the back of his hand. Krycek entered the room first, announcing his arrival with, "Open your mouth and you're dead," as soon as he stepped over the threshold. Bennett wisely remained silent as Mulder joined them. "You're coming with us." Bennett found the nerve to debate the point. "I'm not going anywhere with him." He glared at Mulder. Krycek didn't let it turn into a discussion. "This isn't kindergarten. You come with us, or I shoot you where you stand." The trio left together a moment later. -------- Krycek was still flying on the adrenaline buzz, talking louder than Mulder needed and, with an admittedly heavily sedated Bennett drooling in the back seat, he was talking louder than Mulder liked. "I thought maybe you were going blind, some kind of brain damage," Krycek suggested, as if it were nothing, like he was musing over the day's weather. "The way you were jumping at shadows in Denver. But it's not that, is it?" Mulder shook his head and whatever the question was, he knew that wasn't an answer. "It's the opposite way round, isn't it? You're seeing things." Good catch, decided Mulder, but made no move to confirm or deny. "What did Pincus do to you?" It wasn't just that Mulder wouldn't answer. He didn't have an answer. Krycek tried again. "What the hell's wrong?" "Not hell. I didn't get as far as hell." They were about thirty miles from the research station when Krycek stopped the car. "You - Bennett. Get up." He leaned over the driver's seat to shake a little life back into the prisoner. "Time you took a piss." Mulder's move to open the passenger door was met by a brisk and non-negotiable, "Stay in here, Mulder. We'll only be a minute." When he heard the gunshots, Mulder was surprised only by the fact that, for some reason, he hadn't seen them coming. Krycek tumbled back into the car a few seconds later. Mulder almost folded then, temporarily forgetting how to breathe, grateful to have forgotten how to think. He tried to focus on the white lines as they sped away, but still couldn't see the connection between the car and the world outside. Lost the power of speech and didn't care. Had to dig deep to find the energy even to slump against the window. Let the night race past his eyes as his brain burrowed down in search of someplace to hide. Krycek didn't break the silence for another twenty miles. "He hated you, Mulder. Put him in a hospital and he'd be spending 24/7 looking for a way to destroy you. I can't always be around." Tiredness had been a constant companion for the past two years, but the last week had been one long nightmare of sleepless nights and of days when every catnap was paid for in panic when he woke up. He hadn't dared even sit down on a comfortable chair without an alarm clock set and handcuffs in place. But it was hard, too hard to admit how easy this had been, too frightening to acknowledge that a shadow had already gone and a burden had been lifted. And yet the conclusion was inescapable. Because here he was, drifting inexorably into sleep. Almost out of it already, he closed his eyes and waited for the rhythm of the miles to take him under. Krycek kept his eyes on the road. "Welcome to hell." THE END Return to X-Files Index Page EMail Me