TITLE: Our Ladies of Sorrow NAME: Paige Caldwell and frogdoggie E-MAIL: paigecaldwell@hotmail.com, frogdoggie@hotmail.com CATEGORY: XRA, MSR, M/SK, M/SC/SK RATING: NC-17, and we mean it. Warning! This story contains graphic sex, including Slash, violence and scenes that deal with religion, the occult and demonology. Muldertorture, Scullytorture and Skinnertorture, including male rape. Forewarned is forearmed. If you don't care for any of those things, stop here! SUMMARY: Mulder, Scully and Skinner join forces to face a deadly supernatural foe in Wisconsin. FEEDBACK? We love it. Feel free to e-mail the authors. Comments, suggestions and healthy debate are always welcome. Flames? Flames are for roasting 'weenies'. ARCHIVE: Sure. Anywhere - as long as our names and e-mail addys stay on it. TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Some of you may say this story is set in an AU...but we've set it during season 5 after Pine Bluff Variant and before Folie A Deux. So, anything up to and including PBV. KEYWORDS: x-file adventure romance angst Mulder Scully Skinner NC-17 DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner and all other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use. The various musical lyrics referenced in the story are also copyrighted...yadda, yadda, yadda. The concept of "Our Ladies of Sorrow" belongs to filmmaker Dario Argento. Once again, we don't mean to tread on his copyright toes either. Author's notes: For our purposes, Mulder's broken fingers from Pine Bluff Variant are healed before this story takes place. More author's notes at the end. Also...We'd like to thank Truthygirl, Kimberly, Toniann and Susan for feedback and beta. Their help was invaluable in polishing this story. Our Ladies of Sorrow by Paige Caldwell and frogdoggie MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN. Alvin Sparrow woke, intensely afraid. His arms and legs ached from the weight of his shackles. He was hot, even stripped to his boxers. His eyes strained in the dim light and his ears were assaulted by loud rock music. It had pummeled them for hours on end; over a night, a day, and a night. He had lost track of time. His bladder was full and he desperately needed to take a piss. "Jesus, help me," he prayed, sweat running down his brow and into his eyes. If only the music would stop. He had no trouble making out the words: Words of power are killing me while the sun displays its teeth. All mockery is laughing all violence is cheap. She said.. "these are my guns these are my furs this is my living room." "you can play with me there sometimes if you catch me in the mood." Savage savage savage You savage... Alvin rolled his eyes searching the room in another vain attempt to determine where in the hell he was. There was no clue unless you counted the mad and frightening graffiti that festooned every wall of the tiny room. Mixed in with arcane symbols he didn't recognize and astronomical symbols he thought he knew and crosses he had prayed to time and again over the last hours - there was poetry. One particular verse stuck in his mind. It had become the center of his thoughts and finally his whole world. It petrified his senses: Yes, close your eyes, lie still...as death... My lips hold yet the memory of your breath... The feverish yellow moon is on the wane; Closer it comes, silent, and mad, and vast, With blackness round and dead shapes stealing past, And splashed with one wild blood-red line of pain. The poem was written in heavy, viscous black charcoal mixed with a brownish-red stain - Alvin's logical as well as his intuitive mind told him was dried blood. "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want," he began to pray but again the rock music drowned all thought. Suddenly the music faded and then cut off abruptly. Alvin sighed; perhaps this was an answer to his prayers? A low atonal sound began. It started quietly and built and built until Alvin's eyes bulged out of their sockets in fright. He recognized the opening notes of a piece of classical music. He had heard it before - he had heard it - My God, at the.. . It was *The Hall of the Mountain King* from the Peer Gynt Suite. Alvin suddenly knew exactly where he was and a small flame of hope grew in his chest. And yes, someone was coming and he thought he knew who. He had always been able to talk himself out of trouble; his chance was at hand. None of this could be serious, none of it real. 'God, I know my abductor', he thought. The person holding him had seemed so intelligent, so reasonable. That person would surely listen to reason. He strained to look up over his stomach and his crotch at the door he knew was somewhere toward his feet. Sure enough, there it was; as he peered over his toes, it swung open amplifying the thundering crescendo of Gynt's Nordic Mountain King. Alvin stared as he watched a tall figure clad in coveralls and wearing a welding helmet enter the room. The individual approached the table to which Alvin was shackled and looked down at him through the helmet's visor. The figure had a torch in one hand and a Bic Lighter in the other. One flick and the lighter was lit. One more flick and the welding torch glowed white hot. The figure bent close. "Good evening, little bird," it whispered very close to his ear. The torch came close and then closer. Alvin groaned in terror, his bladder emptied, and he opened his mouth wide and screamed in agony as the figure touched the torch to his left arm and he could smell his own burning flesh. "Time to fly, Sparrow!" the figure shouted over *The Mountain King* right into Alvin's shrieking, horrified face. xXx MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN. 6 AM Todd Farrell walked along the shore of Lake Michigan near Milwaukee's Bradford Beach. His black Labrador retriever, Mr. Inky, ran ahead of him. It was early on a Wednesday morning and a gorgeous spring day. Mr. Inky was feeling his oats and barking like hell. Todd laughed and slapped his leash against his legs. "Hey, boy, come, heel, shut up for God's sake. You're going to wake the dead!" But Mr. Inky had his nose to the sand way up ahead and he was baying at something he had found there. Todd hurried ahead to corral the dog before the park cops cruised by and cited them both for being a public nuisance. Todd approached the canine and asked, "Hey, fella, what's that you've dug up?" The dog continued to worry his newfound treasure. Todd drew near. Then he grabbed the dog's collar and pulled him back violently, his gorge rising in his throat. As Mr. Inky's gore stained jaws snapped, Todd Farrell stared in horror at the remains of the late, unfortunate Mr. Alvin Sparrow. xXx WASHINGTON, DC. "Good morning," Dana Scully greeted her partner as she stepped through the basement office door early on Wednesday. "Depends on your definition of 'good'," Mulder grumbled, staring at the phone on his desk. He didn't bother to glance up. "What's wrong?" Scully asked. She was carrying two cups of coffee. She placed one cup directly in front of him and flipped open the plastic lid. When he didn't answer her she continued, "How about I buy you a cup of coffee and we can talk about it." Only then did Mulder notice the cup she had placed in front of him. "Oh, yeah. Thanks, Scully." He took a tentative sip and stared at the phone. "Are you waiting for it to ring or regretting that it did?" she asked, sitting down in the chair in front of his desk. Mulder pursed his lips but still didn't answer. Scully cleared her throat and her partner's head snapped up, breaking his silent reverie. "What? I'm sorry, what did you say?" he asked. "The phone, Mulder," Scully said patiently. "What's going on?" Mulder sagged back in his chair slightly and studied the Starbucks coffee in his hand. "I'm not sure what to make of it," he said, fingering the rim of his cup. "I just received a call from VCU about a serial killer I once profiled. Apparently, she's escaped." "She?" Mulder looked up and gave her an amused grin. "I think I'm supposed to focus on the 'escaped' part." "And are you?" "No," he stated, his lips settling into a thin, stubborn line; a scowl. It reminded her of Skinner. Curious, Scully leaned forward in her chair to take a better look. Even Mulder's posture was suddenly similar, ramrod straight instead of his previous slouch. His arms were folded across his chest. Closed off... Inaccessible... Intriguing. The idea of baiting him was too tantalizing to pass up. "Of course, it's not an X-file and you wouldn't want to waste those profiler skills when you could be solving a case," she teased. His left eyebrow shot up, piqued at her remark. "Since when do we solve cases, Scully?" Now it was like looking into a mirror. "Exactly," she smiled. He began rocking in his chair, his restless energy returning with his trademark smirk. "Okay, Scully, I'll play. Have you ever heard of Barbara Sutcliffe?" "Sutcliffe?" she paused, searching her memory. "The name sounds familiar." He clucked his tongue to annoy her. Typical... "Mulder, is that the sound of a time clock or a chicken?" "It's the sound of disapproval, Agent." Scully gave him a look of mixed amusement and annoyance as she continued her recollection. Finally the connection came to her. "Wait a minute - wasn't Barbara Sutcliffe called 'The Artist'? I seem to recall..." "Slow on the draw, but deadly accurate," Mulder snorted. Scully's response to his comment was an elegant wave of dismissal. "Which can be an asset in certain situations as I'm sure you can confirm," she quipped giving him a penetrating look. Mulder smiled and tilted his head in acknowledgment and continued with his explanation. "Well in this case you hit the bulls-eye, Scully. Barbara 'The Artist' Sutcliffe; the most rare of a rare breed - a female serial killer. She operated out of New York City. Her MO consisted of pouring Plaster of Paris over her victims - all men in their 30s ? whom she had kidnapped, incidentally. She would adorn them with all manner of animal masks and other delightful zoological accessories. Fin, fur and feather were Ms. Sutcliffe's artistic 'special effects'. She passed her *plaster casters* off as modern art installations to gallery owners; she even had a private showing of her work at a prestigious smaller gallery. Barbara would have gone on exhibiting for a long time if one of her creations hadn't, uh...cracked and sprung a leak." "Well, I imagine that got her a bad review in the art critics columns," Scully replied wryly. "Yeah, and it finally got her arrested," Mulder nodded. "I interviewed Barbara after her apprehension. I'd done a profile on her, submitted it to the NYPD and my report had them hot on her trail. Her statue doing an 'Old Faithful' was just a lucky break. The locals would have collared her soon enough using the information I'd given them. So, I guess letting me have some time with her was a professional courtesy...their way of saying thanks, good job, Spooky. I remember Reggie was really pissed because he had Redskins tickets and we missed the game." "Is this a good time for me to mention that I have two tickets to the Opera next week?" Mulder glanced at her suspiciously. "Are you asking me out on a date, Agent Scully?" "Did you ask Reggie the same thing?" "Point taken." He picked up a pencil and chewed it thoughtfully. "I was just teasing, Mulder," she remarked. "Too bad," he teased in returned. For a moment she thought she saw a flash of interest, a look of longing. But then it was gone, replaced by a smirk and his flippant attitude. He tossed the pencil aside. "At any rate.... Sutcliffe insisted she had an accomplice and the accomplice really committed all the murders. Barbara just took care of pouring the plaster." "Maybe the other person was the product of a multiple personality disorder, Mulder?" "Reggie thought that was the case," Mulder replied quietly. "But Barbara insisted the person was real and that the whole gestalt of the crimes was really this person's total responsibility. The accomplice was still at large according to her and it was only a matter of time before the real killer murdered again." "And what did you think?" Scully watched Mulder's face become even more serious. His earlier playful tone, which had been fading, now extinguished itself like a guttering candle flame. He considered her a moment before asking, "Have you ever heard the voice of Evil, Scully?" Scully studied his face, staring into his somber, hazel eyes. "You're not talking about..." "Possession," he dipped his head in confirmation. "Oh...Mulder," Scully began to protest. "Hang on, Scully.... Before you go all Catholic on me, let me tell you something. I was pretty sure of myself back when all this happened...pretty impressed with myself and cocksure of my abilities..." "And you're not now?" Scully gently teased to lighten the mood. Mulder gave her a terse scowl 'a' la Skinner' again and Scully raised her hand as a flag of truce. "Sorry...go on." "What I'm trying to say is, I pride myself on not letting much phase me. I'd seen some strange shit back in the day when I interviewed serial killers. Disgusting stuff. But up until Barbara Sutcliffe I'd never seen anything...paranormal." "Something indicative of possession?" "Yeah, exactly. Possession with a capital 'P'," Mulder replied with a nervous chuckle. Then he leaned forward and pinned Scully's eye. His voice was intense, driving his point home. "At one point during that interview I got the strong impression that Barbara's alleged accomplice was inside old Babs...inside her and trying to communicate. Scully, I could hear her voice right - in - here," he said emphasizing each word with a tap to his temple. "She whispered to me...a sibilant hissing inside my brain like, like the sound you hear when you put a seashell to your ear. But that sound didn't invoke sunshine and the beach. It was dark, taunting?even seductive." "Evil was a she?" Scully's tone was decidedly skeptical. Mulder rolled his eyes in exasperation. "She...it.... Whatever it was scared the hell out of me." Scully studied Mulder's face. She saw the lingering fear below the exasperation; the fact that he admitted his fear was an additional incentive to Scully to take him seriously. "Okay, Mulder, let's look at this from a different perspective. Granted, I'm no profiler, but I'm willing to bet my next paycheck that the voice you heard was Barbara's. A voice that you found dangerously attractive, as you did her." "No, it couldn't have been Barbara," he persisted. "Why not?" "Because she had to use pen and paper during my interview," Mulder replied. "Before she was apprehended she cut out her own tongue with a palette knife." The room was silent as a stunned Scully absorbed her partner's words. Before she could answer, the phone on Mulder's desk rang loudly in the quiet office. Both agents jumped, startled at the sound. Mulder quickly reached for the receiver. "Mulder," he said to whoever it was on the other end of the line. Walter Skinner's authoritative voice reached Mulder's ears. "Agent Mulder, I need to see you and Agent Scully in my office immediately." XxX ROME, ITALY. "Yes, close your eyes," the voice whispered. "Lie still...as death." He woke with a start, his skin clammy as sweat trickled down his back. It may have been midnight, perhaps earlier, for Archpriest Dimitri Yvashko had retired to his chambers soon after dinner. Sleep overtook him quickly as it often did. His duties as liaison between the Holy Synod and Moscow's law enforcement agencies exhausted him, but never enough to allow a dreamless slumber. For the same gift that brought Dimitri's ascent to power within the Russian Orthodox Church also triggered his descent into the darkness of unholy terror. He was a visionary: Both Church and State considered him useful, a profiler of criminal intent and modern day revelator of souls. Sometimes he heard the cry of the great agonies?But not tonight. This whisperer of death was the celebrant of torment. It was her?The Mother of Darkness. He had heard her voice before and had seen her many faces. For years he had been tracking her only to have the vision dim outside an obscure art gallery in Rome. His sense of failure was her artistic delight. In his dreams, she taunted him, styling him in animalistic incarnations... dog, pig, bull...each castrated to symbolize the mockery of his vows and his impotence as a man. "Closer it comes, silent, and mad, and vast..." Dimitri closed his eyes again, willing the vision to come. He pushed back his fear and loathing to study her latest exhibit with a critical eye. Canvases splattered with blood, layers of burnt flesh molded into figured casts... a hot, blinding light wielded as a sculptor's knife. She had expanded her portfolio. The usual subjects had bored her, as did he. She had moved on, far beyond his reach yet close enough to punish him for his ineffectiveness. She would show him a man who was worthy of her talents, a true profiler of intent who wasn't afraid to see past his own discontent. With him she would mold a new savagery; a masterpiece of lust and greed to span the ages. He peered closer, hoping to permeate the darkness to see the man's face. The vision was fading and all that he could see was a badge smeared with blood, tears and another substance he couldn't identify. His fingers traced each letter. His memory gave the initials meaning. "My lips hold yet the memory of your breath..." The archpriest gasped as she spewed her final words. He opened his eyes to find his cheek covered with semen. XxX WASHINGTON, DC. Walter Skinner stood behind his desk, his phone receiver to his ear and his back to the windows. He could feel the heat of the sunny May day frying his back, making beads of sweat well up between his shoulder blades in spite of the Hoover's air conditioning. "Wrapping up what, Mulder?" He listened while Mulder spun some delaying tactic disguised as a discussion he needed to finish with Scully. Skinner didn't wait for him to get to the end of the explanation. "Now, Agent Mulder," he rumbled into the phone, concluding the conversation. He disconnected that line, hanging up on Mulder, and stabbed a second button. "Kim...I've asked Agents Mulder and Scully to attend this meeting. They'll be out there momentarily," he informed his executive assistant, Kimberly Cook. She confirmed his statement and then asked if anyone else was attending. "No, no one else," Skinner replied. After Kim assured her boss that she'd call him when the agents appeared, Skinner thanked her, hung up and turned to face the quiet man at his conference table. "I should kick your ass for going around me, Henry," he growled at the head of VCS. From his chair Section Chief Henry Alvarez studied the AD, the expression on his face wholly unrepentant. Skinner moved away from the greenhouse effect of his office window. His T-shirt rubbed against his damp skin and he flexed his muscular shoulders and lats, using the movement to sop up a trickle of perspiration. Henry Alvarez shrugged a little. "Well, Walter...I figured since you already kicked my ass but good in that poker game Saturday night you'd make allowances," he retorted in his light Spanish accent. "Besides...you're always expounding on how you want your section chiefs to show some initiative; how you like to delegate authority and know when you do, the job will get done," he added, dark eyebrows raised. Skinner gave Alvarez a sharp look but then offered a brief but not unfriendly smile. "All right, I see your point," he replied, walking to the table. His eyes caught one of the photographs on it. He inclined his head to examine the photo with brow furrowed and his mouth curved down in a frown. Christ...even his battle hardened guts turned over pictures like these. He could understand Mulder's reluctance to revisit the Barbara Sutcliffe case. He silently studied the photograph. Alvarez replied and his serious tone drew Skinner's attention away from the photograph and back to his subordinate's face. "Sir...you know my department caseload. If my agents weren't up to their eyeballs in cases like this one..." He sighed, extending his hand to encompass the photos, and burgeoning file folders spread before them. "...I wouldn't have even approached Mulder. Believe me, I've gotten the message that he's not keen on profiling any longer. And *I* wouldn't be keen on profiling this case either to be honest." Skinner made an understanding sound in his throat. "Yeah, I know...you're swamped. Henry...we're all swamped right now," he replied quietly. "We're overextended and understaffed with this fiscal hiring freeze. I know you need help...and Mulder's the best man for the job," he replied. The photo distracted him again and his eyes were drawn to it in spite of himself. "Exactly. I didn't have any other choice and I thought I'd save you the trouble of bulldogging him, by sweet-talking Mulder a little to see if I could get him to request assignment." Alvarez sat back in his chair, put his hands behind his head and twisted his neck. The audible crack from it was punctuated by Skinner's snort. He looked into Henry's dark eyes. "Sweet-talking Mulder seldom works," he observed, shoving away the photo with a sour expression. "He can be...stubborn." Skinner's jaw clenched as he thought about just how infuriating Mulder could be when it came to complaining about work he thought would take time away from the X-Files, especially if the work involved doing a profile for VCS. Still...Skinner started to form another thought in his mind but it didn't have a chance to fully take shape before Alvarez spoke again. "I guess I was a little slow on the uptake." Alvarez replied. He lowered his arms and placed his hands on the arms of his chair. "That's why I've taken this up the ladder...to you. I figured you could make Mulder see reason. Because listen, Walter...I gotta say this and I apologize for probably shoving my nose in where it doesn't belong...but Mulder was really unreasonable. I mean the guy can piss and moan when he's being dragged off that weird shit he's doing down there in the basement..." "The X-Files," Skinner corrected, giving Alvarez a look that told him to show a little respect, that familiarity between them should not breed contempt when it came to another agent's work. The Hispanic section chief inclined his head in deference to Skinner's unspoken rebuke and passed it off with a good-natured tilt of his chin. "Right. But what I was trying to say, sir is that in the past, Mulder's always been pretty damn cooperative after his initial protests. I gotta give him credit there. This time though...this time he wouldn't even listen. He stonewalled me but good...cut me right off," Alvarez replied, making a cutting gesture across his throat. "It...It didn't seem like him, Walter. Even with all that *spooky* bullshit half the Hoover flings on him." "Half the Bureau," Skinner conceded. "Right," Alvarez nodded, picking at some lint on his pants leg as he watched Skinner's face. Skinner pushed his glasses up a bit and rubbed at the bridge of his nose as he stared down at the photographs again. He could understand Mulder's reluctance to take the case. It was a highly unpleasant one and working with VCS always took a lot out of Mulder. But, the agent had never shirked his responsibility if the case was important. If Alvarez had explained the circumstances regarding the case and he had done the earlier profile, Mulder would be their best chance at finding the escaped serial killer. The agent was sage enough to realize that, and conscientious enough to accept the obligation. The AD was puzzled that Mulder had refused to even listen to Alvarez. It wasn't like his subordinate to so vehemently refuse to assist in this kind of situation ? to simply blow Alvarez off... He finally looked up, catching Alvarez's questioning gaze. The VCS head expected an answer, some input from Skinner. It wasn't Skinner's policy to discuss a subordinates status or attitude with another subordinate except on the infrequent occasions he discussed it with the subordinate's partner. He set his face and prepared to give Alvarez a noncommittal answer when his phone rang loudly from across the room. Skinner glanced at it and then proceeded to walk to his desk. "That's probably Mulder and Scully," he commented. "Show time," Alvarez commented under his breath. Skinner nodded but kept his face neutral as he picked up the call. "Yes?" Kimberly Cook's efficient reply came over the line. "Agents Mulder and Scully are here to see you, sir." "Thank you, Kimberly. I'll admit them," he replied. Skinner glanced in Alvarez's direction and tilted his chin. "Better stack those up. No sense in rubbing his nose in things right off the bat," the AD suggested. He figured Mulder would go on the defensive immediately but maybe this would at least forestall an immediate and acrimonious outburst. Alvarez made a sound of agreement and began stacking the photographs back in a coherent order of presentation. He left the typewritten reports spread out in their file folders but each photo got laid neatly aside. After he was done making a neat pile of pictures with a folder on the top to conceal the lot, the section chief sat back and concentrated his attention on Skinner's closed office door. The AD strode over and pulled it open. Mulder and Scully were standing in front of the couch next to Kimberly's desk in a position that reminded Skinner suddenly of that Grant Wood painting...the one titled 'American Gothic'. Both agents stood stiffly and formally, almost at attention like the farmer and his wife. All Mulder needed was a pitch fork. Skinner smothered a sigh. This wasn't going to be easy, he thought. "Agents," he said, doing his best to look congenial. He knew he was probably failing because he felt his jaw tightening. He flexed the taut muscles, gesturing with his hand for his subordinates to step through his door. Scully moved forward first and Skinner stepped inside and back, ushering Scully past him. Mulder followed Scully, his hand hovering over the small of her back, his fingers finally just touching there. Skinner wondered whether Mulder's familiar gesture was done to politely guide Scully ahead of him or whether it was meant to reassure them both as the agents stepped into the lion's den. As soon as Mulder and Scully breached the doorframe their eyes swept the room, Scully's more covertly than Mulder's. Both agents spotted Henry Alvarez. A quick flick of Mulder's eyes to Skinner's told the AD Mulder had anticipated the reason for the meeting, but his eyes shifted away before Skinner could gauge any further reaction. Scully glanced back at Mulder and when their eyes met Skinner observed Mulder give a half-hearted grin and mouth the words 'Oh, oh'. Skinner squared his shoulders and gathered himself for war. No sense beating around the bush, he thought. Everyone was obviously on the same page. "Please sit down," he requested, waving Mulder and Scully over to the conference table. "You both know Section Chief Alvarez." Alvarez stood as Scully approached the table. "Yes, sir," Scully replied giving Skinner a wary glance. She extended her hand to Alvarez and he took it, shaking it firmly. "Good morning," Alvarez replied genially, smiling at her. Scully gave a brief smile and quick nod in return. Then she released his hand and sat down across from him. Mulder tilted his chin down once and extended his hand toward the section chief. He liked Henry Alvarez. Mulder had always gotten a square deal from him, which was more than he could say for his predecessor. He was still pondering the feeling of dread he got when the Section Chief had contacted him earlier that morning. The rawness of that fear had surprised him...it had been so long and he'd seen much that was frightening. Nevertheless, the memory of Barbara Sutcliffe was somehow different, more...visceral. It suddenly seemed very fresh and his trepidation very powerful. Mulder didn't want to do this consult...but he'd been unable to explain why to Scully in terms she'd understand much less believe. What was worse...he'd been unable to reason out his feelings and explain them to himself. How the hell was he going to explain them to Alvarez and Skinner? He felt his lips curling up in an ironic smile and for a moment he cursed his propensity for being a smartass even in the most personally troubling situations. "I'd like to say good morning but I did that earlier. And I have a suspicion that 'a good morning' isn't on the agenda for any of us," he said, shaking Alvarez's hand. Scully's mouth turned down just slightly in disapproval at what she perceived as Mulder's lack of tact, but Alvarez passed off the comment with an understanding chuckle and a brisk handshake. "You may have a point, Agent," he replied, dropping Mulder's hand. Skinner gave Mulder a frown which the agent saw but pointedly ignored as he took a seat next to Scully at the conference table. "All right, I'm going to cut to the chase here," Skinner rumbled as Alvarez took his seat across from the agents. Skinner sat down at the head of the conference table and swept his hands over the paperwork assembled on it. He captured Mulder's eyes. "I'm aware that Section Chief Alvarez took the liberty of informing you that Barbara Sutcliffe escaped from Mid-Hudson Psychiatric Hospital..." Mulder interrupted him. "And I assume he told you I didn't think I would be of much..." Skinner halted Mulder's protest by sitting back slightly and giving him a hard look. "I'm aware that you had an objection regarding voluntary assignment to the case. So, I'm now going to make it an order...a direct assignment from this office. Section Chief Alvarez is short-handed and he needs help in this investigation. I believe he needs the best resource we can offer to solve the case quickly. In view of the fact that you did the previous profile on the UNSUB and are intimately familiar with the Barbara Sutcliffe case, I'm assigning you to act as SAC for Section Chief Alvarez on this one, Mulder. You'll be interfacing with the local field offices in the affected jurisdictions." Skinner saw anger flare in Mulder's eyes. Scully looked from Skinner to Mulder clearly troubled as she anticipated Mulder's reaction. Alvarez just sat back and waited for the shit to hit the fan. Mulder stared at Skinner for a moment His ass was stuck in the wringer, he realized with annoyance. He tried to keep his expression neutral as he shifted in his chair but he knew Skinner saw his anger. He took a few seconds to compose himself and consider a response...any argument that might have a glimmer of a chance of getting him off the hook. Finally he inhaled, exhaled slowly and said the only thing that came to mind. "You said resource...as in singular?" he asked carefully, his eyebrows raising slightly. He caught sight of Scully in his peripheral vision. His partner was looking down at her hands folded in her lap. Her face was pensive but Mulder could see his thoughts mirrored there; Scully had realized as he had that they weren't being assigned to this case as a team. This whole thing was really going down the crapper fast. Skinner's head dipped slightly as his words confirmed Mulder and Scully's supposition. His head swiveled and he focused on Scully as he spoke. "Agent Scully...you're welcome to stay and give us your forensic input during this meeting but we do have forensic support on the case. It won't be necessary to assign you with Agent Mulder. I would however like you to help me prepare my budget report for the GAO audit by...clarifying some X-Files expenses during Agent Mulder's reassignment." "Yes, sir," Scully replied. There wasn't anything else she could say. Scully could tell from the expression on Mulder's face that he was trying to conceal his chagrin. His face had taken on that bland 'I'm not phased a bit' expression that he cultivated when he didn't want anyone to read him. Scully saw it as Mulder's version of Skinner's poker face. It fascinated her to think that two men who were so dissimilar in temperament could both mask their emotions so similarly in stony silence. Once again Scully felt worried about her partner. It wasn't like Mulder to be this recalcitrant when he realized his aid was essential. Scully could only think that the reason he was balking was because the fear he'd expressed to her down in the basement had to be very strong. That idea worried Scully even more because she still wasn't sure she could understand or believe what Mulder had told her about Barbara Sutcliffe. She watched as Skinner and Alvarez observed Mulder. They were clearly waiting for him to make some comment. Mulder caught her eye and she gave him a sympathetic look, one that said 'I'm here for you partner, if you need me'. She thought she saw a flicker of thanks in Mulder's eyes but she wasn't sure as he turned away. Mulder looked from Skinner to Alvarez and finally spoke, his voice subdued and absent of any sarcasm. "I don't suppose you'd buy the excuse that I have tickets for the Opera tomorrow night?" Scully ducked her head as she caught Mulder's quick, gentle smile at her. His question, delivered totally deadpan and alluding to their earlier conversation was was his expression of regret that she wasn't going to be there watching his back. Her reaction told him she understood and was sorry too. This non-verbal way they had of communicating, a tilt of the head, a small smile, and a raised eyebrow...all were full of meaning for both partners. Scully saw Mulder's face fall into lines of resignation and she knew he wasn't going to put up any further fight in regards to the VCS assignment. Skinner watched the exchange with a mixture of amazement, respect and not a small amount of envy. No matter how many times he saw this between Mulder and Scully he thought it was remarkable. He knew it took a smoothly operating team to have that level of communication and he respected that their partnership was so solid. On occasion he wondered if they were even closer, perhaps involved in a romantic relationship. He got that vibe every once in a while. It didn't matter to him. As long as it didn't affect their casework, it was their business. In fact, Skinner envied whatever relationship they had because he wished he were capable of being that close to anyone, in tune on that level with another. And sometimes he confessed to himself, he wanted to be part of that silent sharing that Mulder and Scully had and he knew that wasn't possible under the circumstances. The best he figured he could do was support that closeness, nurture it, and support them in his own way as best he could. 'I'm not nurturing much today, am I,' he thought as Mulder delivered his statement. 'I'm probably knocking Mulder's pillar of support right out from under him by not assigning Scully.' Skinner was about to reply when Henry Alvarez beat him to the punch. "Look, Agent Mulder...I know we're dragging you into this case kicking and screaming, and believe me, if there was any other way, I wouldn't have asked you to participate. But there isn't any other way. My back's up against the wall and..." Mulder held up both hands in surrender and Alvarez fell silent. The agent passed his hand through his unruly hair, brushing it back. When he lowered his hand he replied with no further preamble, "I understand. Show me what you have here." Mulder leaned forward and Skinner, Scully and Alvarez relaxed in their seats. "Start with how she got out." Skinner sat back and prepared to let Henry Alvarez hold the floor. Scully leaned forward next to Mulder to get a better look at the evidence as Alvarez uncovered the stack of photographs and began to spread them out. xXx TOWNSHIP OF CONCORD, WISCONSIN She there again, in the room, in the place of power. She could feel it...the energy roiled, cracked and popped around her. It crawled over her skin, prickling insistently, making the fine hair on her body spring to attention, like so many miniature erections. Auras upon auras danced electrically across her retinas. The colors rippled through the air like an obscene indoor Aurora Borealis. "Luci magnifiche," her partner yelled. "Fantastico! Meraviglioso!" Beautiful lights? Beautiful and terrible she thought fleetingly as the other woman's exclamations of *fantastic* and *marvelous* were drowned out by the almost deafening classical music. She detected a coppery smell; the odor of metals--of bronze and copper--but also the coppery scent of blood. The blood that consecrated this place, that helped pry open the door between this world and the other just a sliver; the blood that prepared the way for ripping that door off its hinges. "Faccia i simboli" her partner, her lover, shouted over the thunder of sound and the flashing of lights. There was a brighter flash...and then a glow and she looked down and saw her left hand gesturing, drawing arcane symbols in the air. She knew the power was coming from her and she feared and rejoiced in that knowledge. There was a buzzing in her ears. The scene shifted, blurred...and then snapped back to crystal clarity. She looked before her and saw the man--bound and laid out before her--almost naked and surrounded by symbols of power drawn by her and the other. Her hands held the flame and she looked again at her lover...and then walked forward. She stalked closer, closer to the man. She smelled his terror--his piss as his bladder emptied--saw his eyes open wide with shock and horror and saw his mouth open wide as he started to moan and then scream. Her hand moved forward and she smelled the tang of burning flesh--his burning flesh--and the man screamed, he yowled in torment...and she screamed too. And she heard a voice shout and gurgle with laughter. "Time to fly, Sparrow!" And the other, her lover screamed and then shrieked as well--with pleasure. But she screamed with the man, in shared suffering, panic and pain.... And woke, crying and shaking. Morning light poured through the studio windows, illuminating the bed and warming it in a gentle glow. "Shhhh," her lover said. "It was just a bad dream, mio piccolo." Anger at the other woman's comment seized her, overcoming the confusion and fear brought on by her nightmare. "I'm not your little one," she sniffed, giving the other woman a scowl as she tried to roll out from under the sheets. Her lover laughed and drew her back before she could leave the bed. "True. But you are la mia bellezza...my beauty." She looked closely at the other woman, struggling with her anger, distress and defiance. Her lover continued to chuckle and the air seemed to grow a bit warmer, the heat massaging its way into her body, into her sleep and dream-fogged mind, into her bones. It felt so good...so soothing and then the truth of the Italian woman's statement washed over her...and she suddenly felt much better. "True?" her lover prompted, grinning. "True...I'm your...la mia b..b...belezza," she replied, laboring with the unfamiliar Italian language. She smiled and the Italian grinned wider...a huge grin, like the barred teeth of a wolf...a death's head grin...and she felt arousal boil up in her...hot and lusciously sweet. A dampness between her legs prepared the way for the other. "You're il mio amore," her lover whispered, drawing her close. "Yes...I'm your love," she answered as the other woman claimed her. xXx WASHINGTON, DC As the section chief's graceful hands laid the photographs carefully in front of her, Scully bit her lip slightly in thought. She wasn't assigned to the case, but by God she was certainly going to give her forensic opinion if that would assist Mulder and lend him support. "How she got out is the operative question," Alvarez answered with a sigh. "Right now no one is sure. She wasn't in lockdown or anything so she was out for an exercise period. They think she scaled the fence at some point and made her way through the adjacent woods to the highway. Someone might have picked her up. They don't wear uniforms at Mid-Hudson so some motorist probably thought they were giving a ride to a hitchhiker." "She has no tongue," Skinner replied. "She'd have to sign her request for a ride or write it down somehow." "She's very resourceful," Mulder interjected as he watched Alvarez's hands moving in front of them. Scully gave him a raised eyebrow but remained silent. "She'd have to be," Skinner acknowledged. He ran his fingers up under his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "Christ. I thought Mid-Hudson had cleaned up their act." Alvarez shrugged. "They had according to all reports...hadn't had an escape in years. Evidently this was just bad luck," the VCS head replied, watching for Mulder's reaction. The agent gave a brief nod. Scully and Skinner continued to listen attentively. "Ok...now. I'm sure you recognize these," the section chief stated, addressing Mulder. He lay the last of the photographs in front of Mulder and Scully. "Barbara Sutcliffe's handiwork," Mulder replied, leaning forward for a closer look. "Agent Scully, are you familiar with the case?" Alvarez replied. "Somewhat. Agent Mulder has spoken about it," Scully replied. "Give us a quick recap," Skinner said. Alvarez tilted his head in agreement and continued speaking. "1989...New York City. 'The Plaster Caster Killer' the press called her," Alvarez elucidated as the agents studied the grisly pictures. "The nickname was a morbid take-off on those 60s rock groupies who went around casting the stars...genitals in plaster." "'The Artist'," Scully added, looking up at Alvarez. "Yeah, they called her that too," Alvarez replied. "In either case she was a busy woman," Skinner observed as Alvarez set out the last of the 24 photographs. "An even baker's dozen on the sculptures...with a second photo to show the actual contents inside each plaster cast," Alvarez informed them. Mulder fingered the glossy color print in front of him. "We were never really sure she only killed 12 men to be honest," he said, his voice thoughtful. "When we broke into her loft studio in 'Little Italy' there were a lot of sketches and photos of installations that were never seen in a gallery. I always thought she practiced her art, perfecting her technique for exhibition." "Or before it would pass a gallery's critical muster," Skinner surmised. "Or that," Mulder agreed, giving Skinner a glance that said 'point for you, sir', crediting him for being perceptive. "These are...incredible," Scully breathed, taking the nearest photo and holding it up for closer examination. "Pathological and despicable but..." "Oddly ornate...even attractive?" Mulder asked, causing Scully to turn in his direction. He captured her eyes but this time she couldn't read precisely what he was thinking. "Certainly imaginative," she answered carefully. Twelve of the photos showed male victims covered in plaster, their penises flaccid in most cases, but three were still sporting erections. The plaster figures were arranged singly and grouped in what could be sexually suggestive poses. They were either having sexual contact or they were wrestling; in some cases one figure looked as if the contact was unwelcome. A couple of the figures appeared to be running, or fleeing...something. One was even mounted from the ceiling as though in flight. And all the figures were adorned to various degrees with fur, feathers-- even animal masks. Scully looked closely at the photo she was holding. The figure's head was fixed with horns. A plaque on the gallery wall said 'Hern by Barbara Sutcliffe'. "The Celtic God of the hunt," Mulder whispered in her ear and Scully felt goose flesh on the back of her neck. "Yes," Scully agreed, putting the photo down. "Mulder theorized that at the time she was using Hern...and the wild hunt of Celtic myth as some kind of metaphor for her killing spree," Alvarez informed Scully. Skinner put pen to the paper of a yellow pad he'd put on the conference table earlier and neatly printed a notation. Scully glanced at Mulder but he seemed lost in thought. She directed her attention to Alvarez. "And the rest of these photographs were taken after the sculptures were cut open?" Scully asked, pulling one of the 8 by 10s in question toward her. The Section Chief sat back and unbuttoned his suit coat, his brow furrowing as he looked at the photo. "Right. One of Sutcliffe's installations..." "A series of three sculptures at the Crosstix Gallery," Mulder interjected, pulling a photo that hadn't been removed from the stack and showing it to Scully. Scully glanced at it and then looked closer. Mulder stood in front of the sculpture in the picture. 'God, he looks so young', she thought as Alvarez continued his account. "One of those sculptures cracked and the resulting smell and...leaking fluid resulted in a 911 call. After that it was only a short period of time until we apprehended the UNSUB. All her sculptures were taken to the morgue, sawed open and photographed in detail. You're looking at the remains of Roger Horvath." "Mr. Horvath is dressed as a dog, a Great Dane I believe," Mulder commented, leaning back and studying Scully's profile. Skinner leaned forward. He hadn't gotten a good look at all the photos so he wasn't sure about some of the corpse's adornment. "What's that...binding his penis?" he asked. His voice showed his offense at the treatment the victim had undergone. "A studded cock ring and ball spreader," Mulder replied matter-of-factly. "Like a dog halter," Scully whispered. "With pointed studs inside as well as outside so they pierce the skin. The pathologist said it was applied before death." Skinner pulled a sheet of paper off the top of one of the file folders. It was summary of the file contents prepared for him by VCS. "Which would explain the amount of blood on his thighs and legs," Scully mused, turning from that photograph to examine one of the others. Her words were met with silence for a few moments and then Skinner spoke up. "All the victims were similarly assaulted," he noted, glancing at the summary. "Jesus...this woman is very disturbed and very dangerous," he pronounced, tossing the paper down in disgust. "Why the hell the New York office sat on this for two weeks..." Mulder had been re-examining one of the photos but now his head came up and his eyebrows raised. The short hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. 'If Barbara Sutcliffe has been at large for only a week,' Mulder thought, 'we're in deep shit.' "She's been out two weeks?" "Yes," Alvarez confirmed. "And to answer your question, sir...I expect they thought they could handle the investigation since they had several concrete leads to Ms. Sutcliffe's whereabouts. Unfortunately she slipped through their dragnet and when they received new leads they didn't pan out." Mulder looked from Skinner to Alvarez. "You didn't tell me this," he complained to the Section Chief. He couldn't keep the annoyance out of his voice. Skinner started to reprimand his subordinate for his tone, but Henry Alvarez was answering before he could. "You didn't give me a chance, mi amigo. Maybe you should be a little more cooperative next time, entienda?" Scully observed Mulder's jaw tense. Alvarez had a point and Mulder knew it but Scully could tell he didn't like being called on the carpet for it. Mulder shifted slightly and Scully was relieved to see him shake off his aggravation. Mulder smiled ruefully before he replied. "Ok, I guess it's my turn to say 'point taken'." Alvarez inclined his head politely. Mulder turned his head to Skinner. "And yes...Barbara Sutcliffe is extremely disturbed and tremendously dangerous...if she's been out two weeks we're in deep shit." Alvarez sighed. "Deeper than you think," he remarked, opening the file sitting closest to him on the table. Mulder's gut tensed. He glanced at Scully; she looked grim. A quick look at Skinner told him the AD hadn't heard this bit and was none too happy about it and worried about what he was going to hear. Before Skinner could protest at being left in the dark however, Alvarez was opening the file and explaining its contents. "We got this in via e-mail from the Milwaukee field office just before I came up to see AD Skinner," he said, pushing two digital photos and some sheets of paper across the table toward Mulder and Scully. Skinner stood and walked to stand behind his agents so he could read over their shoulders. "I've barely had a chance to read the report myself and I apologize for not briefing any of you on it until now." Mulder flattened the material out and began to read. Scully and Skinner's eyes tracked over the pages and then the photos. Skinner noted the name on the report. Alvin Sparrow. The late Mr. Sparrow had certainly come to a bad end. He shook his head in disgust as he read the details of the stock broker's death. Scully gathered the other autopsy reports together and quickly went over them to compare them with the Milwaukee coroner's report. When Mulder finished reading he sat back shaking his head. 'It's started,' he thought. 'It's started and now someone has to stop it and evidently that someone is going to be me.' "Damn," he cursed. 'Damn, indeed,' Skinner thought. Barbara Sutcliffe was wasting no time resuming her murderous ways. "As I recall, Barbara Sutcliffe had relatives in Milwaukee," Skinner commented, stepping away from Mulder and Scully's chairs. He returned to his seat and sat down, a look of resolute determination on his face. He didn't envy Mulder this job at all and he conceded he was even sorrier he had to assign him to it. He consoled himself by silently reaffirming that Mulder was the best weapon the Bureau had to stop this woman from committing these atrocities. Alvarez spoke, confirming Skinner's observation. "An aunt, since deceased. But Barbara did spend some summer vacations there right up to her incarceration. The New York office checked into the Milwaukee angle of course. They drew a blank." "The MO seems similar," Scully commented as she studied the latest two photographs. "I agree," Alvarez replied, running his hand through his salt and pepper hair. "But this killing is much more elaborate, much more brutal," Mulder offered, touching one of the photographs with an index finger. "And the victim, although turned into an art installation never made it to any gallery. He was dumped where anyone could find him...a departure from the earlier murders." Skinner looked at the photos of Alvin Sparrow again and frowned. "Are you trying to make a case for this not being Barbara Sutcliffe's work?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at Mulder. "Even though the New York office didn't find anything there, Milwaukee is probably a place she's familiar with and comfortable in. We can theorize she might go there. It merits rechecking. And as for the artwork...it's way too similar to ignore." Alvarez nodded. "The...decoration *is* awfully similar. The elaborate metal bird headpiece that's nailed into the victim's skull, the metal wing armature with real seagull feathers bolted to his back and attached to his arms..." "But this victim is castrated. Even the flying figure in her previous installation was tricked out in genital adornment. It's..." Mulder interrupted. He knew he was really only playing devil's advocate. Mulder was convinced this was Barbara Sutcliffe's work. That special sense that rose up in him when he was profiling assured him that "The Artist" was creating more mayhem. It was like an early warning system and right now the siren was blaring and Mulder knew better than to ignore it. Scully wrinkled her brow and interrupted both men. "She must have gone to Milwaukee immediately after her escape to have killed this man and adorned him in such a complicated manner so quickly. Even two weeks strikes me as too short a time to accomplish something like this." Scully gestured at the photographs. Mulder pursed his lips. "Agent Scully has a point...but I do tend to think this is Barbara Sutcliffe's work despite the tight timeframe and the departure from her previous patterns. The way she's adorned the body really is too similar to say otherwise." Scully studied her partner for a moment and then slowly nodded. "You're going to suggest she already had the resources in Milwaukee." "Exactly," Mulder replied giving her a brief smile of approval. "Let's say she had a well hidden storage space or even a studio in Milwaukee that never turned up in previous investigations. She could have set that up and gone back into business relatively quickly. As far as the brutality of this current murder...if she's escalating it's completely within the bounds of possibility. And besides...she's still sticking to her unique personal symbolism in a macabre kind of way. After all, if Mr. Sparrow is supposed to be a bird...birds don't have penises. They have a cloaca...which very much resembles this wound between his legs." "Mi Dios," Alvarez whispered. "I can understand what you're saying in regards to escalation. But wouldn't she have been receiving treatment in..." Skinner glanced at the summary in front of him. "...Mid-Hudson Psychiatric that would have mitigated her tendencies somewhat?" "Ostensibly," Mulder replied, searching over the table. He hadn't seen a recent psychiatric report on Sutcliffe in the assembled documentation. He moved a few files aside but he still didn't see it. "If you're looking for the status report from Mid-Hudson there was some miscommunication there. New York should have it from the hospital this afternoon and they'll fax it to us as soon as they do," Alvarez stated. "You will have complete access to it then, of course." Mulder returned Alvarez's reply with a meditative inclination of his head. The group sat in silence, lost in their own deliberations for another few seconds and then Skinner broke the silence. "Agent Scully...do you have anything of a forensic nature to add?" Scully straightened in her seat and gave the photographs one more cursory glance. Despite her initial doubts about Barbara Sutcliffe having enough time to accomplish her grisly task in Milwaukee she was now as confident as Mulder that all the killings were done by the same person. There wasn't much else to say. She just hoped the local forensic resources were capable of aiding Mulder and whoever else was on this case in a speedy apprehension of Barbara Sutcliffe. Her brow creased again with thoughts of Mulder heading off in pursuit of this woman. Something kept nagging at the back of her mind, an amorphous prickling of danger and it was making her edgy and anxious. "I believe as Agent Mulder indicated that it's very likely that Barbara Sutcliffe is the UNSUB in the Milwaukee case. Although the timeframe between her escape and the murder is tight the forensic evidence and photos make a strong argument for it. And as Agent Mulder points out, she seems to be escalating...with a heedlessness toward getting caught indicated by dumping the body in plain sight," Scully concluded, her voice steadier than her nerves felt. "As if she's taunting us," Skinner rumbled, looking from Scully to Mulder. Scully felt that prickle of danger ratchet up a notch. "I'd count on that, sir," Mulder replied. "It's within her psychological make-up..." Alvarez interrupted. "She's been doing that all along with her gallery exhibits, right? This is just a more extreme version of taunting the authorities." "Yes. She considers herself above us all...a talented genius amongst what amounts to the beasts of the field for her. The more discord and terror she can spread in the animal herd and the longer she remains free, the more she confirms her superiority." "She sounds like a prime example for the sin of pride," Scully quietly mused, starring again at the tortured figure of Alvin Sparrow. "Then let's see if we can show that pride cometh before the fall," Skinner growled, turning toward Alvarez. "We need to move on this ASAP." Alvarez squared his jaw taking on a determined expression which mirrored Skinner's. He turned his attention to Mulder. "I can have you on a flight to Milwaukee first thing in the morning. We'll arrange for the plane tickets and the accommodations on the other end as well. The Milwaukee police and the Bureau field office should be able to handle things until you get there. You'll be working with Agent Ross Lyon. He's SAC on the Sparrow case." "Yeah, ok...good," Mulder replied, slightly distracted. He was going into battle against Barbara Sutcliffe again and trying to tamp down the dread that would make him less effective as a warrior in that battle. He had to keep his cool. No matter what had transpired in the past it was vital that he didn't let it affect his performance now. He shook off his reservations and steeled himself to be the good soldier. "Uh...I'll go over all this again this afternoon. Can you send me the psychiatric report when you get it?" Alvarez made a note on the pad of paper sitting in front of him. "Sure. It'll be in the basement as soon as it comes in." Skinner looked around the room decisively. "Anything else then?" The shaking of heads told him the meeting had reached a conclusion. "All right," Skinner said, rising from his chair. He walked over to his desk. "Agent Scully, you're dismissed to wrap up whatever you need to finish this afternoon on your own casework. But..." Skinner reached his desk and picked up a piece of paper from his in basket. "...I have a list that Kimberly prepared of the specific expense reports I'd like you to bring to my office tomorrow at 9 AM. These are the ones we need to review for that GAO audit." Skinner strode back and handed Scully the sheet of paper. "Yes sir," she replied, taking it from him. She tried not to let the distaste she had for the budget grappling that she and Skinner would have to accomplish show on her face as she folded the paper up and tucked it into her jacket pocket. "Are we all dismissed?" Mulder asked, looking up at Skinner. He was more than ready to get the hell out of the office if for no other reason than to just have a few more moments to shake off his anxiety. Skinner's eyes played over Mulder's face for a few seconds. He could tell Mulder was trying to master whatever was bothering him on this case. It bothered Skinner that Mulder was having such a problem with the situation. He wanted to offer Mulder some additional support, maybe try to discover his concerns and help to reassure him. He couldn't very well tell Mulder he was sorry to assign him but he could let him know that he was available for advice or back-up. The AD straightened his shoulders and spoke: "Section Chief Alvarez and Scully are dismissed. I'd like you to stay for a moment, Agent Mulder." Mulder's lips pressed together to hold back the curse that threatened to slip out. 'Shit,' he thought. 'I don't need Skinner trying to be my buddy right now.' Skinner ignored Mulder's strained expression as inevitable and observed Scully's glance at her partner. It was easy to see that she didn't like leaving him alone to face the lion in his den. But her professionalism wouldn't allow her to defy or even protest Skinner's order in front of Mulder and Section Chief Alvarez. Skinner might hear her concerns tomorrow but he wouldn't hear them now in public. For one short moment Skinner set the gravity of the situation in his office aside and considered how much he admired Dana Scully. How much he approved of her trying to balance her loyalty to Mulder with her professionalism when the two came into conflict. Sometimes she could be aggravating when she failed in that balance but hell, Skinner admired her for bucking the system as much as Mulder to get results...even if he was part of the system she was bucking. He just wished...well sometimes he wished he had Scully's and Mulder's guts and the ability to tell the system to screw it too. Over the years Skinner had really grown to like Scully; she was a first rate agent as well as a strong, intelligent and compassionate woman. He hoped she at least respected him. He knew that given their past dealings it was a lot to ask. For her to call him a friend was probably an impossibility for many reasons. But she seemed to treat him with respect, even understanding at times, so he let himself think she did in truth see him as someone she could rely on when she or Mulder needed help. Mulder's brief glance at Scully and the slight shrug of his shoulders distracted Skinner from his reverie "Yes, sir," Mulder said, his voice a combination of resignation and frustration. Skinner snapped his focus back and turned to Alvarez and Scully. "Dismissed," the AD reiterated. They rose and headed toward the door leaving a poker-faced Mulder sitting before him. Skinner sat back down at the conference table as soon as the office door shut, folded his hands in front of him and fixed Mulder with a benign gaze. Mulder stared back, his expression neutral. Skinner noticed his eyes were greener in the reflected light from the window; green flecked with gold--and a tinge of irritation. 'Christ,' Skinner thought. 'Can't this guy ever make it easy on me? Probably not,' he told himself and admitted he wouldn't want Mulder to act any other way. Mulder's bullheadedness, his stubborn adherence to anarchy was what kept Skinner honest and what kept Mulder on his quest. Cockiness was a necessity for the agent's well-being and work. That Mulder seemed less confident about Barbara Sutcliffe worried Skinner and made him determined to find out what was wrong. "Is there anything about this case you'd like to discuss with me in private, Agent Mulder?" he inquired carefully, his voice soft. "Is this a pep talk?" Mulder asked with an ironic twist of his lips. The smartass challenge made Skinner's ears heat up and he struggled to control the growl that grew in his throat. "I'd like to think it's a chance for you to express your concerns to me. If you consider that...supportive then let's just say I've done my job," he replied tightly. Mulder cocked his head and gave Skinner a quizzical look. Then he relaxed slightly and made a placating gesture. "I'm sorry. I can see you mean well," he conceded. "You know I never like to be yanked off the X-Files and assigned to a VCS case. You know my feelings on profiling..." Mulder's voice trailed off and he shrugged again. Skinner's gaze captured Mulder's eyes and probed deeply. He sensed the agent was lying though he covered it well. Skinner set his jaw and told Mulder with a skeptical expression that he knew the agent was being evasive. "Are you sure that's all?" Skinner asked, giving Mulder one more opportunity to be forthright. "Yes, sir. It's the usual deal...I'm just happier when I'm down in the basement as one of the FBI's most unwanted." Skinner sighed. It was obvious and unfortunate that Mulder was going to persist in holding his feelings close to his vest. 'Fuck it,' Skinner cursed inwardly. He'd be the first person to tell the agent that was a miscalculation. He'd done it enough to know how much trouble it could bring down on your head. He hoped Mulder would unburden to Scully so he wouldn't make the same mistakes in that area Skinner had in the past. "Agent Mulder...don't ever feel you're not considered a valued person here...that I don't value what you do.... Because that isn't true," Skinner insisted quietly in a last attempt to connect with his subordinate. For one second Mulder's face dropped its wry expression and softened into something resembling understanding and even gratitude. Then the ironic smile returned and Skinner knew he'd lost the game...Mulder wasn't going to let him in. The depth of Skinner's sadness at the realization surprised him as Mulder spoke. "I appreciate that, sir. But really...I'll be fine. I just need to finish up a few odds and ends here with Scully and then I'll hit the ground running in Milwaukee." Skinner wanted to grab Mulder, shake him and tell him not to be such a macho prick. He wanted to yell. But instead he resigned himself to the idea that Mulder was going to spurn his offer of aid and would just do what he had to do. Skinner devoutly hoped Mulder knew what he was doing. "Very well," Skinner replied, unfolding his hands. He pushed his chair back with his legs and stood. Mulder did the same. Skinner extended his hand and Mulder took it. "Good luck, Mulder. And just remember...I'm here if you need to discuss the case for any reason." "Thanks, sir," Mulder replied with a firm shake. "I'll remember." Skinner released his hand and watched Mulder's back beat a hasty retreat. "The hell you will," Skinner murmured as his office door shut. xXx Scully struggled not to pace the hallway outside Skinner's reception area as she waited for Mulder. She stared at her reflection from the glassed-in enclosure and caught herself tapping her toe. The staccato sound accented her skittering nerves and the jumbled questions in her mind. What was going on inside Skinner's office? Was Skinner grilling Mulder about his objections to the assignment? Was Mulder finally making his feelings about taking the case known? Why tell Skinner and not her? Was her partner ever going to reveal his true feelings or anything else to her? And if not, why not? By the end of the day Mulder would be leaving for Milwaukee and Scully feared she'd be left in the dark and thus incapable of lending him support when he needed it. The prospect of reviewing expense reports with Skinner while Mulder was facing a serial killer made Scully both worried and angry. She couldn't help but ask herself, as she looked down the hallway...what had gone wrong in their partnership? She would have said relationship, but she wasn't sure she could call what they had a relationship at this point. Things had been so tense between them lately. They argued more often than not and even the acerbic asides, sexual innuendo and gallows humor fell flat or were just plain absent. Her loyalty was undiminished. She wanted to be Mulder's partner and realized there were professional concerns that belonged solely to him. But they'd had so much more...something that Scully had to admit revolved around her unrequited feelings for Mulder. She still had hopes he'd return those feelings some day, that they'd both gain the courage to even discuss them. Now she pondered whether time had worn off the gilded edge of those hopes. She shook her head, unwilling to mentally tread that path any longer. She couldn't dwell over a flagging relationship that might not even be a relationship when the immediate problems of this case loomed. "Jesus, Skinner...come on," she whispered. Skinner? She'd meant Mulder and said Skinner. God, that man intruded into her thoughts even when he wasn't calling her or Mulder on the carpet. She asked herself why he insinuated himself into her head. That line of inquiry was another place she was reluctant to consider. She could not understand her growing interest in a man who deserved nothing more than a begrudging respect--her boss. That Skinner figured into her most private thoughts was ludicrous. Mulder had earned her trust; Skinner had compromised it several times. The only thing he offered was the challenge of an occasional acknowledgment and she'd be damned if she would play into such a compromising hand. No, she would deal with the cards already on the table. A strained relationship with Mulder was easier to tolerate than the introduction of a wild card. Scully's thoughts veered away from Walter Skinner as she glimpsed Mulder striding out of Kimberly's fish bowl of a reception area. She scanned his face; his expression was inscrutable. He was closing her out. Annoyance seized her but she successfully kept it out of her voice as she spoke to him. "I was getting worried about you, Mulder. What happened?" "Not much," he said, walking past her toward the elevator. She followed him dutifully, hating her puppyish response. "We have some case files to review before I leave. Ready to get started?" Not exactly, she thought. But her answer was mechanical because she realized they couldn't discuss anything in full view of half a dozen other agents going about their business in the Hoover hallway. "Back to the basement?" Mulder nodded and gave her a half-hearted smile. The quick click of her hurrying heels accompanied the clack of the heels of Mulder's Cole Haan shoes. They entered the basement office and Mulder sat down at his desk. Scully confronted him, planting herself firmly in front of his desk. Her brow was furrowed and her lips set in a line of disapproval. Mulder blinked up at her, perplexed. "Mulder...I don't want to get started on case files. The only thing I want to 'review' is what Skinner said to you." "Why?" The jerk of his head was almost as irritating as the sudden, sharp look in his eyes. "It doesn't affect you, Scully." For a moment, she wondered if she misunderstood somehow. "If it affects you, it affects me," she deflected. "We're partners, remember?" "Partners also know when to allow a respectable distance. Stop hovering, Scully. You're not my mother." A swift stab of outrage pierced her. The comparison to Teena Mulder added insult to injury. It took all of Scully's willpower not to turn and walk away. Instead, she sat down on a chair and hoped that silence would convey her umbrage. She watched Mulder go over to the filing cabinet. He pulled open the drawer then slammed it shut. "I can't do this," he mumbled. "Do what?" Scully put aside her feelings and stretched a hand across his desk. "Mulder, sit down and talk to me. Tell me what happened in Skinner's office after I left. Did he say something to upset you?" "No," Mulder replied as he returned to his chair and sat down. His posture crumbled into a defeated slump. "He just doesn't get it, Scully. He never will." "Does this have to do with being assigned to find Barbara Sutcliffe?" she asked. "Or Skinner's not understanding your feelings about it?" "Are my feelings that obvious?" His icy stare prompted Scully to withdraw her hand. His sudden mood swings alarmed her. "We're partners, remember?" she repeated weakly. 'Damn it,' she thought. 'Once again we're headed into an argument and apparently neither one of us is capable of stopping it.' "I can't discuss this with you, Scully," he said shortly. "In fact, it's probably better that we end this conversation right now." "Why?" "Because if you can spot the chink in the armor, so will she." Mulder analogized. "You're not going off to fight the crusades, Mulder," she asserted. "You're helping to apprehend a serial killer." "Either way I need to prepare myself," he said. "If that includes closing myself off to you, then I'm sorry." Scully didn't know what to say. Never had she witnessed such aloofness in Mulder. She tried to rationalize it but that part of her that was still insecure rebelled. "Fine," she retorted. "Have it your own way. Close yourself off to the people who care about you. Call it self-protection if you like. But the truth is you're scared. And not just of Barbara Sutcliffe." His eyes flashed a dangerous citrine. "What exactly are you implying?" "That you're doing this against your better judgment," she retorted. "That you're more interested in regaining your 'golden boy' reputation as a profiler than accepting the nickname 'Spooky Mulder'." For the second time that day Mulder picked up a pencil and chewed on the eraser. What was ordinarily a cute, nervous habit only irritated her now. "Nice try," he said, pausing to inspect her reaction. "But you're way off the mark." "So humor me," she suggested. "Pick up from where you describe Sutcliffe's artwork as oddly ornate...even attractive." "Getting warmer," he taunted. His attitude was suddenly obnoxious. She didn't care if he was setting out to capture Atilla the Hun. She would not be treated this way. "This isn't a game, Mulder." "Exactly," he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air and the pencil with it. "You're absolutely right, Scully. This isn't a game. But to Barbara Sutcliffe, it is. You heard what was said in the meeting. She's baiting us. More importantly, I think she's baiting me." "Why you?" "Because I think I'm one of only a few people who have seen the face of evil for what it truly is," Mulder advised. It was Scully's turn; as much as she hated arguing with Mulder it was a known, effective way to get to the truth. She contemplated his words and attitude, separating his stubbornness from his fear. "You need to tell Skinner what you just told me," she suggested. "If you're in danger, he may re-evaluate his decision about this assignment." "No!" Mulder growled. "I will not... repeat, will not... go from being a disappointment to a coward." Scully sighed, reaching across the desk again. This time, her hand caught his in what she hoped was a firm, reassuring grip. "Mulder, listen to me. It takes great strength to admit that you're susceptible. Skinner won't view you as weak." "Right," Mulder sneered. "Skinner is the type of man who defines his whole life by duty. I don't think he'll appreciate that an evil spirit scared me from doing mine, especially when he doesn't believe in the paranormal in the first place." "Would you like me to talk to him?" she asked. "Thanks, but no thanks," he said. "I don't need an excuse from Mom." "You know, Mulder, if you don't stop comparing me to your mother Barbara Sutcliffe is going to be the least of your worries." Her words prompted a grin. "Now that's a threat I can live with," he joked. "I'm serious," she said, dropping her eyes to their clasped hands when Mulder started stroking the inside of her palm. "Stop that...." "Why?" He leaned closer to whisper. "Does it bother you?" In more ways than one, she thought. The tips of his fingers were tracing circles of seduction, erasing the imaginary line he had drawn. "Of course not," she countered, hoping that her voice sounded convincing. "I just want you to focus on what's important right now." "What's important?" he asked as his thumb massaged her knuckles. "You are...," she murmured, floundering. His touch was light, but dangerously tantalizing. "I mean, your safety..." He released her hand; leaving her bereft of sensations that both confused and aroused her. The contradiction did not sit well. Instead of answers, he was leaving her with more questions; questions that suddenly shifted the focus from his feelings to her own. She decided to end their argument if only to stop this uncomfortable line of inquiry. "Let's do this," she suggested. "If you promise to keep me posted on this investigation, I'll make sure that Skinner never knows that you're afraid to disappoint him. And I'll be there for you, Mulder. Every step of the way..." "Deal," he acknowledged, getting up from his desk. He turned back to the filing cabinet so she couldn't see his face. "It's not as if I could ask for anything more, right Scully?" She wasn't sure how to answer him. So she didn't. xXx A UNITED AIRLINES FLIGHT FROM DC TO MILWAUKEE Mulder stared down at the seat back tray. Barbara Sutcliffe stared back. Alvarez, true to his word, delivered the psychiatric report from Mid-Hudson to the basement office. A recent photo of Sutcliffe had been included with the report. The picture had already gone out over the wire so the Milwaukee Field Office received it along with local law enforcement. Mulder shook his head; he still couldn't get over the change in her. In 1989 Barbara Sutcliffe had been 34 years old. That made her 43 now. Mulder thought she looked at least 63 and not a youthful 63 like for example, Margaret Scully. No, Barbara Sutcliffe had aged dramatically in the intervening years. Alvarez said it best...and bluntly..."She looks like hell". Incarceration hadn't been kind to her. Her eyes look the same though, Mulder mused; crazy eyes, even in the photograph. A knee-jerk expression and not clinically correct...but it was descriptive enough and apt. He wondered why the psychiatrists at Mid-Hudson hadn't deduced she was as crazy as a shithouse rat just from looking in her eyes. Because maybe they didn't hear hissing seashell voices when they looked in them? 'Fuck that idea,' he told himself. 'I know what I felt. I need to keep that in mind no matter what happens. This woman is more than just a dangerous and skilled sociopath. She's got something else going on behind those burning eyes. I need to not let it affect me and I need to stay one step ahead of her.' He turned her photo over and focused his attention on the report underneath it again. He re-read it but it was clear to him that it held no real clue to what Barbara Sutcliffe had been about over the last 9 years or anything of therapeutic value in her treatment. It wasn't that Barbara had been uncooperative with treatment...she'd simply been unable to participate. Sometime after Mulder interviewed her she descended into a catatonic-like fugue state and ceased even to write notes. So her care became largely custodial with periodic uncommunicative visits to the staff therapists. She wasn't aggressive; she fed herself, dressed herself, used the toilet, and took showers when instructed to do so. She'd done it all in a mechanical fashion much like the somnambulist in that silent film, 'Dr. Caligari'. She even shuffled around the grounds for exercise as mentioned by Alvarez. She was quiet, orderly, and clean, in weight and in condition...there just didn't appear to be anyone home so to speak. He could see what happened in the upstate New York hospital. They'd let their guard down and Barbara had flown the coop. Barbara was very resourceful...and evidently she was also very patient. Scully surmised Sutcliffe had planned her escape for years...and somehow feigned her catatonia successfully enough to wait for just the right opportunity to do it. Mulder's thoughts trailed off as he considered his partner's words. His eyes moved away from the folder to gaze out the window at the passing clouds. The plane's engines rumbled in his ears. 'Why in God's name did we argue about Skinner?' Mulder blinked in surprise. He'd been thinking about his argument with Scully in more general terms, so what in the hell made that question pop into his head? The back of his neck grew hot at the sudden memory of Skinner looking disappointed with him during their conversation in the AD's office. His whole body grew warm and he ran his hand through his hair to dispel the feeling. Was that it...was he ashamed of Skinner's displeasure? Oh come on...he and Scully argued about a lot of stuff yesterday afternoon. But for some reason their exchange about Skinner suddenly came to the forefront of his mind and lodged there. Why had he gone ballistic over the idea Skinner might be disappointed in him or think him a coward? Why did he care what Skinner thought of him? Well...hey. Even if psychologists were usually their own worst doctors he could make a stab at guessing why. He could theorize that he saw the AD as a father substitute. Bill Mulder hadn't exactly lived up to the 'Father Knows Best' image. He'd been remote and indifferent before Samantha's disappearance; afterward his father distanced himself even further. It didn't take much of a mental jump to realize that as Skinner started to show more support for Mulder that Mulder tried to gain even more approval from him; since approval and support were precisely what he felt he'd never gotten from his father it was only natural. So while in one respect Skinner reminded him directly of his father with the trust or mistrust issues between them, he also represented something Bill Mulder didn't; stability, a supportive masculine influence. He was an older man in authority, who although a taskmaster was also fair and sometimes compassionate. Mulder sensed he still needed that. He sure as hell wished that his father had done half as much for him. He had to admit logically that the 'Daddy Skinner' theory was probably partly responsible for his defensiveness with Scully. No one likes to admit they still need Daddy when they're afraid or in doubt, much less that they see their boss as a father figure. But why such a strong reaction if he understood that? And why were his thoughts stuck on Skinner when he started out thinking about Scully? Yeah, he should be thinking about Scully; lately it seemed like they were at odds about everything. It wasn't bad enough yet to endanger their partnership but the atmosphere was tense. They were both questioning their faith; Scully's religious faith, and his faith in the quest...and their work on the X-Files. Maybe they were even questioning their faith in each other. Did they wonder if the work was still worth it? They argued for the sake of arguing rather than to keep each other on their deductive toes. Both were battle weary, frustrated and in doubt. He just wished he didn't act like such a prick at times. He knew he'd hurt Scully yesterday. He regretted it. He knew it was stupid to let his fear of Barbara Sutcliffe override his reason, affect his ability to function on the job, and alienate Scully in the bargain. He wanted to protect her...yet he knew that was the very thing that Scully would resent. He knew it and proceeded to go about being overprotective anyway. Damn...his approach to Scully right now was...for lack of any better words...'really fucked up'. He realized his feelings for her were all over the map. She made him angry one minute and feel like a 16-year-old with his first crush the next. He knew he thought of her as more than a just a partner. He wondered why he was afraid to say the "L" word or the word 'relationship' in connection with her when he obviously wanted them to be closer. Was he that afraid of making a deeper commitment to her? Why not come out and admit that he loved her instead of trying to convey his feelings through banter and sexual innuendo? And what about Scully? Had he been misguided in thinking she had feelings for him? She concealed her emotions at the beginning of their partnership, but they'd been through so much. She didn't seem as intent at remaining closed off any longer. He had to think she was showing him what was in her heart sometimes. He pondered why the hell neither one of them had the balls to talk about the situation. He sighed and shook his head. This wasn't getting him anywhere. He needed to concentrate on the case. Maybe the way to accomplish that would be to stop carrying around the guilt over acting like a jackass. He'd just call Scully tonight and apologize for being a dickhead. He'd tell her his fear was probably unreasonable and he'd speak to Skinner about getting her assigned to the case. Yes, that would work. He felt his confidence rise as he felt better about Scully, sighed in relief and went back to perusing Barbara Sutcliffe's file. By the time the plane made the approach to Mitchell Field in Milwaukee Mulder had even convinced himself everything would go fine in Milwaukee. Later he would think back and realize he couldn't have been more wrong. xXx MILWAUKEE FBI FIELD OFFICE. THE PLAZA EAST BUILDING. Agent Ross Lyon sat back with feet propped up on his desk and lips pursed in thought. His eyes moved over the sheet of paper he held in front of him, speed reading the e-mail printed on it. 'Well...Tom didn't mince words,' he thought. "Colton, I'm glad I never did anything to piss you off," Lyon muttered. He glanced around; no one in the busy office noticed as he voiced his thoughts. Good. He wasn't eager to have anyone hear him mention Tom's name. He had to admit his association with Tom Colton was a mixed blessing. Tom was good at digging the dirt up on fellow agents and passing it on to his old buddies from the Academy at their request. But Colton had a shitty reputation at the Bureau. He bore grudges and wasn't above resting on other people's laurels. Lyon pumped him for information on occasion but he always felt slimy afterwards. He also felt more than a little nervous because shit sticks. But this time around it looked like even though Colton bore a grudge, his assessment of the agent coming out from DC was correct. Ross Lyon had heard the Bureau scuttlebutt on Fox Mulder. Colton's information only confirmed his own judgment; whether he was an ace profiler or not, Mulder was certifiable. Nuts. End of story. Lyons sighed and stuck the e-mail in the shredder beneath his desk. Ok, so he was stuck with Spooky Mulder; well, he'd do the best he could under the circumstances. Shit, he was feeling too good to do otherwise. Lyon's mind flashed back to the reason he felt particularly good this morning and thoughts of Spooky Mulder receded into the background. Yeah, meeting a spectacular woman and getting her in bed on the first date wasn't something that happened to him very often. It usually took him at least a couple of months of wining and dining to get laid. But he'd been the lucky dog last night. And man...the bitch had been dynamite in the sack. Hot, ready to go and eager to take it wherever he wanted to put it. Great tits, legs that went on forever and a nice, tight cunt. Brother...he could still feel that cunt squeezing his cock. He smiled to himself. He must have been pretty good himself because she asked to see him again. Hell yes, he'd see her again he'd said. If he could get some of that on a regular basis he'd be a happy Fibbie. He absentmindedly scratched at his balls. A voice interrupted his remembrance of last night's sexual conquest. "Hey, Lyon...get your mind out of the gutter you horny bastard. DC's gonna be here in 5. He looked up to see his partner Max Fowler grinning at him. He glanced at his watch. Shit, yeah...it was almost 8 o'clock. Mulder had phoned from the airport at 7 when he got in. He'd probably be here any minute. Lyon sat up and straightened his tie. 'Time to get my big head off my little head and get down to business,' he thought. As he smoothed down his dress shirt, his phone rang. He picked up the receiver. "Agent Ross Lyon." "Agent Lyon, Agent Mulder is here." "Tell him I'll be right out." xXx Agent Ross Lyon reminded Mulder of Alex Krycek when Krycek was trying to play FBI agent. Actually, Mulder had to admit Krycek had been a very convincing agent. He was still chagrined that he had let his guard down, but Alex was like a chameleon so the fact he blended in convincingly helped Mulder to feel fractionally less of an idiot. Yes, Lyon with his regulation 'every hair slicked perfectly into place' haircut, off the rack suit and earnest demeanor reminded him of Krycek back in the day. He was probably close to Krycek's age back then too. But where Krycek was skillful at making Mulder believe that he liked and respected him...well, Ross Lyon wasn't coming nearly as close as Alex had in that regard. Lack of respect was par for the course and old news for Mulder, but it still rankled on a case this important. Sometimes he just got so tired of seeing the smothered sneer and fake jocularity that came with the inevitable question, "They call you 'Spooky Mulder', don't they?" The Milwaukee agent obviously didn't like Mulder's retort to that predictable question. "Only my friends. You can call me Agent Mulder." Even delivered with a smile that said, 'See...I'm only making a joke', Lyon wasn't buying it. So he and Lyon got off to a bad start. Now he was sitting with Lyon and his partner Fowler in an under air-conditioned conference room ostensibly sharing information. In reality Lyon and Fowler were sizing him up further and it was ratcheting Mulder's annoyance level up even more. Lyon was summing things up while keeping an eye on Mulder's reaction. "New York faxed us all the background material they had on Barbara Sutcliffe, but we don't have a lot to go on locally. It's too bad the Milwaukee connection wasn't explored in more depth in 1989, but we've got what we've got...an affidavit from her aunt, a few interviews with associates, some school history...we'll have to fill in the gaps. Anything you want to add, Mulder?" Mulder shook his head. "No, that about sums it up. New York was more concerned with what Barbara had done out there. There's a bit more in the psychiatric report but even that's not going to give you a lot of detail about her life in Milwaukee." "Fine. Fowler will continue to act as liaison with the Milwaukee Police; hopefully information will continue to move smoothly between them and the Bureau. Public relations departments for both agencies are ready to help with the media so thankfully we don't have to go before any cameras...at least not yet." Fowler cleared his throat. "Ok, so we agree to focus on this last time Barbara visited Milwaukee. After that Sutcliffe went to Rome and then to New York," he said. Mulder tapped his pencil on the pad in front of him, lost in thought for a second, then focused on the file in front of him. "Where she immediately started her career as a serial killer," he interjected, finally looking up at Lyon. "Right. So I think we need to re-interview her associates from that time period to see if they have any new ideas about a possible secret studio, stash of supplies or whatever," Lyon replied. "She took some classes at the Milwaukee Institute of Art and Design; one of her professors, John Borden, is still on the faculty." "Yeah, he was in charge of the Rome study trip, wasn't he? Sutcliffe and three other students went to Italy with him," Fowler said. "You think there was anything going on between the two of them? Maybe she'd try to contact this Borden guy? I mean his background check makes him out to be on the up and up but..." Fowler shrugged as his voice trailed off. Mulder resumed his pencil tapping on the table and stared off into the distance. "I think we can follow up on that question with Borden himself," he replied thoughtfully. "Maybe he screwed her over, made her hate men and she snapped," Fowler surmised. Lyon looked at Mulder in expectation of a comment but Mulder was still lost in thought. Noting Mulder's distracted expression Lyon and Fowler glanced at each other. Fowler mouthed the word "spooky" and Lyon didn't even bother to smother his shit-eating grin. "Something else you'd like to share with the class...Agent Mulder?" he said. Mulder blinked and looked back at Lyon. "Sorry...I was just thinking." Mulder didn't speak but continued to mull over what he wanted to say. "And?" Lyon prompted. "Well...doesn't it strike you as odd that from what little we know about Barbara Sutcliffe's life, from the conversations the police had with her only remaining relative before her death and from neighbor's depositions here in Milwaukee, she had a normal childhood, adolescence and early adulthood? There was no evidence of abuse in the family of any kind." "Yeah, so?" Lyon asked. Mulder was beginning to realize the reason why Barbara Sutcliffe had disturbed him so much was because what he knew of her past had seemed so normal. As he voiced his thoughts he wondered why he hadn't considered that idea before. He wondered if his fear had blotted the issue from his mind. "Do her subsequent actions in New York and here in Milwaukee square with that kind of earlier life?" he replied. "Like Fowler said...maybe she just snapped." "People just don't...snap," Mulder answered. "They've been on a short fuse for a long time and something sets them off." Fowler sat back and absently smoothed the front of his shirt down. "So...Like I said...Borden..." "Borden could have been a catalyst for her final extreme behavior I suppose. But, female serial killers are extremely rare, gentlemen. I just can't help thinking there should have been some evidence from her childhood that indicated a problem. Her aunt should have noticed unusual behavior of some kind. Someone who exhibits the kind of extreme behavior that Barbara Sutcliffe displays must have been giving off signals of things to come. Serial killers, especially female ones, don't just spring up over night and suddenly start killing people." Lyon gave Mulder a peeved look. "So...we don't have all the information. That's why we have to investigate further. Maybe someone out there will remember she used to set fire to kittens or something. Look...the important thing here is that we catch this bitch before she kills anyone else. I don't care if she went to church on Sunday, woke up on Monday and said, 'Today I think I'll become a serial killer'. Fowler tried to be a bit more conciliatory. "Mulder...we don't have much to go on so leg work is going to have to be where we start." Mulder took a deep breath to tamp down his anger. Ok, fine. Obviously Lyon and Fowler were from the school of thought that serial killers were like any other escaped felon and you could use standard FBI procedure to bring one in. Well, that was partly right, of course. But you also had to think beyond the box when you were working this kind of case. "I'm not saying leg work isn't a good approach. I'm just saying that I think part of our investigation should entail giving some thought as to why Barbara Sutcliffe was a seemingly normal art student before she left on a trip to Rome with John Borden's group, and why she was a sociopath when she came back." Lyon stared at Mulder for a few seconds and then gave him a begrudging nod of approval. "Ok. We can give that angle some thought while we start our interviews. I want to start with John Borden anyway. Mulder, you can come with me on the interview. Max..." Lyon picked up some stapled together papers from the file in front of him. "Max, these are the names, addresses, and background checks for the three other students from the Rome trip. See if you can contact them and pick their brains. I realize the woman is in Green Bay. If you have to drive up there, go ahead." "Can I take a tour through the Packer Hall of Fame?" "Get outta here," Lyon chuckled shoving the paper at him. Fowler took the paper with a laugh. Mulder watched as Lyon got a very self satisfied and self-confident expression on his face. Oh brother, he thought...this guy really does think he's hot shit. He was going to show how magnanimous he could be toward old Spooky. 'Yup, here it comes,' Mulder thought as they all stood and Lyon approached him; the slap on the back nearly rattled Mulder's teeth. "'When in Rome' as they say--is that what you were getting at?" Lyon chuckled. 'Har, har har,' Mulder thought. 'Please don't try to make me think you're my buddy now, you patronizing "SOB".' He gave Lyon a "thanks, asshole" smile in return. "Sorry--I'm just yanking your chain. No offense." "None taken," Mulder replied smoothly. Fowler chuckled and gave Mulder a "thumbs up". "Ignore him, Mulder. He's just jealous because you're partnered with a gorgeous redhead and he's stuck with me." Lyon laughed and slapped Mulder's back again. "Yeah, and I guess Mulder's stuck with us both. Come on, let's hit the street and catch this crazy UNSUB." Mulder winced a little. Why did he feel like he was in a bad episode of 'Dragnet'? "Sounds like a plan," he said. Fowler and Lyon proceeded him out of the conference room and as Mulder followed, his mind again turned to contemplating 'Roman Holiday', starring Barbara Sutcliffe. xXx AIR ITALIA FROM ROME TO WASHINGTON D.C. "Closer it comes, silent, and mad and vast..." Archpriest Dimitri Yvashko woke to the sound of her voice as the jet dipped towards the setting sun. She had chosen the hour of his awakening. As he glanced out the plane window he felt his body spin to the madness of the earth. Below, the Washington Monument greeted him like an obscene phallic symbol. "Just as you are," she mocked him. She had colored the marble a hideous red. She was as timelessly creative and evil as the Serpent. He wouldn't be surprised if the Tree of Life was desecrated with her graffiti. "Taste it, Priest," she taunted him, spreading her legs so her juices dripped down his forehead. "The apple falls close to the tree...." Dmitri mopped his brow with a handkerchief, not surprised that his sweat was the color of cider. So was his urine. She was the worm inside the apple, gnawing away at his decision to fly to the United States. But a phone call wouldn't adequately explain his vision or warn a lifelong friend. It didn't matter that years had passed since Sergei had desired an FBI badge; what mattered was that desire had been smeared with blood, tears and semen... He had left Moscow on the first available flight using his credentials with the Holy Synod to obtain an immediate travel visa. He stopped in Rome to pick up her scent and familiarize himself with the details of her last incarnation. The journey was long and he spent most of it in a troubled sleep. Dreams of his youth plagued him. He had spent years disciplining himself against the temptation of the flesh; of all his vows, chastity was the hardest. "Your lips hold yet the memory of his breath..." she whispered. Dimitri reached into his pocket for a vial of holy water. He sprinkled it liberally on the handkerchief to bless his shame. She discovered his piece of forbidden fruit, but he would not allow the passion of his past to be her foreplay. More than his soul depended upon it. A sudden lurch of the plane caused the bottle to slip from his fingers. "Beati possidentes..." Blessed are those who possess. As the jet engines roared to stabilize its descent he heard her laughter. xXx THE HOOVER BUILDING. WASHINGTON, DC. Scully glanced at her watch as she stepped off the elevator in the Hoover Building. She was fifteen minutes late for her meeting with Skinner. She considered blaming traffic, but the lie would be as transparent as the make-up on her face. There was no disguising a poor night?s sleep. The shadows beneath her eyes were as noticeable as the run in her hose. So much for using the rear view mirror of her car to apply foundation. The results were snagged nylon and a blotched complexion. Not that the AD would notice; his attention span was limited to numbers--the digits on a clock and the figures on an expense report. She might not be able to balance her budget, but she could certainly calculate his response. A scowl, maybe even a reprimand. She couldn?t blame him. Once again, she had fallen short. What irritated her was the reason. Mulder. When it came to her partner, Scully had lost more hours of sleep than she cared to count. It was yet another lopsided equation. He moved on to face his demons. She was left behind to toss and turn over his attitude. Had he called her the night before, she might be more forgiving. Instead, she felt stung by his silent disregard. "Good morning, Agent Scully." Kimberly greeted her with a sympathetic smile, confirming what she already suspected. She looked as bad as she felt. "The Assistant Director is waiting for you." "Has he had his coffee yet?" Scully glanced at the closed door. "He?s on his second cup." 'Not a good sign,' Scully thought as she knocked on his door. A caffeine infused Skinner meant an overly charged meeting. She wouldn?t be able to keep up, much less compete on an empty stomach. She should have stopped for a bagel instead of applying mascara. "Come in." "I?m sorry to be late, sir." "Are you?" Skinner looked up from the paperwork on his desk. His question confused her. "Sorry or late, sir?" "Late..." Scully glanced at the clock on the wall. It was twenty minutes past nine, although she wasn?t going to call his attention to it. "I have the expense report you requested," she said, patting the folder tucked beneath her arm. "Are you changing the subject, Agent Scully?" "Sir, I thought the expense report was the subject," she deflected. "Then take a seat at the conference table and we?ll get started," he growled, getting up from his chair. Scully closed the door, anxious to get out of his path. But his panther-like gait quickly overtook her small, tentative steps. Both of them stopped, waiting for the other to pass. "After you..." Skinner?s politeness incited more embarrassment. She scurried to the conference table, grateful that it would, at least, hide the tear in her stockings. As she sat down she remembered not to cross her legs. Taking a deep breath she said, "The budget is incomplete, sir." "Incomplete?" The Assistant Director?s tone held a noticeable edge. He sat down next to her, his close proximity unnerving her more than the sound of his voice. "Incomplete as in lack of data?" "Incomplete as in I didn?t finish it." Scully stared at the wall, steeling herself for his reprimand. When he didn?t speak, she gave him a sideways glance. His glasses were off and he was rubbing his eyes. Only then did she notice how tired he looked. She forgot her own anxiety and reached out to touch his arm. "Sir?" "Did Agent Mulder call you last night?" he asked. Scully withdrew her fingers. Her hand fell heavily onto her lap. "No, sir." She wasn?t sure if she should be relieved or disappointed. Her unbalanced budget was not the focal point of his interest. Mulder was. "Not that I expected him to," she lied. "I wish he had," Skinner replied. He turned around in his chair to face her. Absent his glasses, she had a clear view of his eyes. Their color wasn?t really a swarthy black but more a puppyish brown. The comparison led her to realize that the Assistant Director?s bark was worse than his bite. "You?re worried about him," she said, unable to restrain her own startled response. "It comes with the territory." Skinner replaced his glasses, preventing her from deeper scrutiny. "I worry about every agent I supervise." Except me, she thought. "Especially you," he added. For a second, Scully panicked. Had she spoken her thoughts out loud or was he more intuitive than she thought? Before she could respond Skinner answered the question for her. "Forget it Scully, it?s just fatigue talking. You?re a competent agent, one of my best. I just don?t want Mulder to run you down to the point of exhaustion." "May I speak candidly, sir?" "Of course..." "Look at me, sir, I am exhausted. Can?t you see that?" Scully held his gaze, willing him to notice her pinched lips and the dark smudges under her eyes. She wanted him to recognize her for what she was, a live, human being not a Bureau automation. An occasional nod over her job performance wasn?t enough. For once she wanted him to acknowledge her as a woman, not just another agent. "I see a great deal, Scully," Skinner told her gruffly. "More than you realize." Scully released a sigh that resembled a scoff. She tried to disguise it by shuffling the papers in front of her. Looking down, she said, "Should we get back to work, sir?" "Scully..." It was Skinner?s turn to lay a comforting hand on her arm. She winced, unprepared for the solid warmth of his touch. It was more intimidating than she had ever imagined. It was more personal than she had ever hoped for. "Sir..." "You asked me to look at you," Skinner murmured. "But you?re not willing to extend me the same courtesy?" "I can?t," she whispered. "Why not?" "Because I?m afraid of what I?ll see." Skinner instantly released her arm and picked up her report. "Maybe you'll find a solution to the problem that keeps you up at night," he said curtly. When she didn't answer, he cleared his throat. The sound signaled a return to work, but his preceding statement posed a new problem. Was she interested in adding or subtracting to the equation? Was Skinner the common denominator for both she and Mulder? xXx THE MILWAUKEE INSTITUTE OF ART AND DESIGN (MIAD). She stood in the otherwise empty restroom and let the waves of pleasure stream over her. Buon, she thought. Cosi buon. Definitely good...oh yes. After all these years...he had come to her! She had tried to attract his attention, never being sure if he would take the bait or if someone else would be sent in his stead. But he came...It was preordained after all. Now she could waltz with him...Watch and when she was ready, pull him into her embrace. And yes--as she had divined after all these years--he was indeed the key. She only needed a whiff of his essence--a mere touch of her mind to his mind again--to know he was the opener of the way. The sacrifice that would finally rip wide the door. Only two more to go...and he would be the second and last. It made her wet to think about it. Oh, how he was ripe for the taking; so driven, so lonely and so full of sadness. His mind dwelled on the father and mother who he thought cared little for him, the lost sister and the men responsible for her disappearance...colleagues that belittled his abilities, his work...and even more wonderful...all that unrequited lust. If he was the key to the door, the lust was the key to his temptation, torture and glorious death. He couldn't even admit his appetites to himself and pierce that loneliness with his cock. She thought him a fool...that made him more than adequate prey. His unfulfilled desires made him prime meat. And what of the love she saw in him? Oh that was there too, of course, but it was the hidden sexual desire that she was more interested in. He couldn't admit the love either, but the lust was what she fed on...depended on and reveled in. She let her mind reach out and stabbed the tendril into his subconscious. She was close enough to him to do it...and it was so easy to just slide in deep and savor the hot, moist, thick heat of his rutting impulse. Easy to see the woman...red hair like flame, naked, writhing under him. She watched him plunge his cock into her again and again and moan her name as she cried out in pleasure. She breathed in and out, her own excitement building and then she looked closer...deeper and saw...a shadow behind the man. She could almost smell...ah...this was something different and...Delizioso...delightful! She could smell...another man's musk. Someone...large, with a broad chest...muscular. A man...a man behind him, thrusting his cock up his ass while the redhead twisted in ecstasy below them both.... Her probing psychic tendril snapped back suddenly causing her to gasp as the bathroom door slammed shut and voices brought her crashing back to reality. "Lucy, I told you. O'Neil's a pervert. If he told you your portfolio was weak and wanted to offer you extra help yeah, that means he wants you to sleep with him for a better grade." "Well what do I do? File a complaint in the dean's office? I can't afford to fail this course. I graduate this semester remember? No one's going to hire me if I fail 'Graphic Design for the Internet'." "I told you to stick with fine arts and skip the commercial art bullshit, didn't I...oh, excuse us." She stared at the two art students and pulled her hand out from under her skirt; her fingers were sticky and shining from her own juices. Both young women looked at her in combined surprised disgust and amusement. As she walked through the restroom door with the memory of the smell and shadow of that muscular man in her head she heard the art students giggling. "Squisito," she murmured. Delicious. And she wasn't referring to the two young women laughing behind her. xXx MIAD. OUTSIDE JOHN BORDEN'S OFFICE. Mulder rubbed at his temples with his fingers. He could feel a headache coming on. His body was warm all over again too. A spasm flashed in his groin; almost pleasure but closer to pain. Christ, he hoped he wasn't coming down with that stomach flu. It had been going around the Hoover. First you got the headache and then you were worshipping the porcelain god...with both ends. 'That's all I need,' he thought as he listened to Lyon drone on about the Green Bay Packers. They were standing in the hallway outside John Borden's office in the Milwaukee Institute of Art and Design. Borden was seeing a student at the moment and after answering their knock at the door had asked them to wait until he was done. He'd be happy to talk to them, he said, but his priority was understandably his student's review. So the two agents were cooling their heels. Mulder removed his hand and glanced around. Students walked up and down the hallway, talking, laughing even arguing in the lively way of students everywhere. They all looked so young. He tried to imagine a younger Barbara Sutcliffe passing through the corridor, but he couldn't do it. All he could picture was the face in the file photo, haggard, framed by nearly white uncombed hair...and those insane eyes staring back. "Earth to Mulder," Lyon said. Mulder blinked and focused on the other man. "Off somewhere putting two and two together?" Mulder shook his head. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking about the case. I?I was thinking about my days in college, I guess." Lyon chuckled a little. "Yeah, I heard you went to Oxford. Must have been a little different compared to colleges here." Mulder gave him a brief smile. Might as well at least attempt to be convivial he thought. Maybe greasing the wheel will make it squeak less. "I did go to Oxford. And it was definitely different. Where did you go?" "Southern Mississippi, believe it or not. Same college as Brett Favre. As a matter-of-fact...we were classmates," Lyon announced. "That must have been different for you after growing up in Milwaukee." Lyon nodded. "Oh yeah...there was some culture shock. I couldn't get a decent brat anywhere and I had to get used to gumbo and grits. But ya know...the weather in summer was almost the same. Hot and humid." Mulder gave him a slight nod in return but before he could answer, the door to Borden's office swung open. Both agents stepped out of the way as a young male student made his exit. "Thanks, Dr. Borden. I appreciate it." Standing in the doorway, John Borden appeared to be about 50 years old; tall and thin, with long salt and pepper hair tied in a ponytail at the back of his head, he was dressed casually in jeans, a beige Henley and cowboy boots. His smile was genuine and traveled all the way up to his eyes where they looked out through round frame eyeglasses. "You're welcome Brian. I think we can talk about you mounting an exhibit next month in the student gallery. You certainly have the body of work to do that now." The young man smiled and straightened his slouching posture, puffing out his chest in the process. "Outstanding. Thanks again," he said, extending his hand. Borden shook it and then the student was off down the hallway, loping toward a young female student sitting on a bench along the wall. Borden turned toward Mulder and Lyon and raised an eyebrow. "May I see your IDs again, please?" The agents pulled their IDs out of their coat pockets simultaneously. "Special Agent Ross Lyon and this is Special Agent Fox Mulder," Lyon murmured studying the older man. "So you said. All right...what does the FBI want with me?" he asked. "I gave up smoking dope when Sid Vicious died in the Chelsea." Borden's face was quizzically amused and Mulder relaxed a little, his headache starting to subside. He got a good vibe off this guy...he liked him. Now he'd just have to confirm...hope...Borden wasn't involved with Sutcliffe somehow. Lyon's face looked blank--Either he was stunned by the comment about dope or he missed the reference to the late member of the punk rock band, 'Sex Pistols', or both. Mulder refrained from smirking and placed his ID back in his pocket. "It's not you that we're concerned with, Dr. Borden," he said. "We'd like to ask you some questions about Barbara Sutcliffe." "It's not in the papers here yet, so you may not be aware of it...but Ms. Sutcliffe escaped from a psychiatric hospital in New York State. We believe she may have returned to Milwaukee and murdered the man who was found on Bradford beach," Lyon added. "Good Lord," Borden replied, running his hand across his mouth. "I read that story about the murder in The Journal Sentinel. The article didn't say anything about a connection with Barbara Sutcliffe?." "That's because they don't have all the facts," Lyon said. "God...what a horrible situation." "Then you can understand our concern and the urgency of this matter," Lyon replied. Borden gave an absentminded inclination of his head. "I knew she was hospitalized after...well after what happened, but I'd lost track of her years ago. I had no idea..." he mused. Mulder was about to interrupt when Borden's far away expression disappeared and his face focused in concern. "Are you telling me I'm in some kind of danger?" Borden asked "Could we go into your office and discuss this, sir?" Mulder replied. "I don't think that's the case but your answers to our questions might tell us for sure." "Oh...yeah. By all means...come on in," Borden said. xXx THE HOOVER BUILDING. WASHINGTON, DC. Once Scully left his office Skinner returned to the sanctuary of his desk. Resting his elbows on the blotter like a prayer rail, he bowed his face into his hands. The budget meeting had turned into an awkward confessional. By admitting his feelings he had committed the worst professional sin. He had expressed a sexual attraction toward a subordinate thinly guising his proposition as concern for her health. It didn?t matter that he spent the rest of the meeting sermonizing about budget cuts. What mattered is that she knew the truth: He wanted her. Hell, he?d shatter every FBI commandment for the chance to have her. Dana Scully. Not the agent who gradually earned his respect, but the woman who sat next to him with torn pantyhose and smudged mascara. He noticed her disarray the minute she stepped into his office; it was the first time she ever appeared in his office as less than meticulous. For the first time he saw her as a woman he could love instead of a forbidden fantasy. Or was love the forbidden fantasy? And Mulder? Ironically, Mulder was the catalyst which had launched a dangerous chain reaction. Mutual concern had led to foreplay by innuendo, a strategy Mulder used effectively on them both. With Scully it was an intellectual tease. With him, it was more basic.. repetitive acts of defiance followed by long periods of silent brooding. No wonder Scully was exhausted. He was too. But rather than suggest a sexual sleep aid he could have just reduced her workload. Instead he sent her back to the basement with his desktop calculator. Strangely enough, she seemed grateful for the challenge. Maybe it was easier for her to contemplate a spreadsheet than imagine herself spread naked across his conference table. Unfortunately, it was now easy for him to imagine them both. Not together, but together with him. xXx MIAD. JOHN BORDEN'S OFFICE. "I never noticed anything...abnormal about Barbara. She was a very talented printmaker who decided to pursue sculpture and enrolled in our adult continuing education program to do so," Borden said. "She proved to be equally as talented at sculpture and it was very rewarding to be her advisor." Mulder glanced around the cluttered office as Borden answered Lyon's question. He preferred to let the other agent take the lead for a few moments in order to observe the surroundings. You could tell a lot about a person by studying their body language and possessions. It was a very 'Sherlock Holmes' way of thinking, but it was the hallmark of a good criminologist and profiler nonetheless. This office told Mulder that Borden was pretty much your typical art professor. He had a collection of eclectic belongings from prints to small bronzes and armatures scattered about; piles of paperwork, student portfolios, books and personal photographs. The man himself, although understandably shocked and worried about the murder and Barbara's escape, didn't act suspiciously or strangely. Mulder got the impression that Borden was harmless and whatever information he shared would be his innocent best recollections and entirely accurate. "Nothing at all?" Borden shrugged. "I don't know what you want me to say--I can give you copies of her reviews and transcripts if you like. They're still on file in the registrar's office and I kept copies as well. Those would give you an idea of her academic progress and her demeanor at the time. But I have to tell you...she seemed as sane as you or Agent Mulder." "We'd like to see those reviews and transcripts," Lyon said. Mulder had straightened at the sound of his name and refocused on Borden. "Sir...Barbara Sutcliffe accompanied you on a trip to Italy just before she left MIAD and moved to New York, is that correct?" Lyon gave Mulder an annoyed glance for interrupting him, but to his credit settled in to listen. "Barbara and three of my other students. It was a special trip to study the sculpture of the great masters." "I understand you went to Rome," Mulder continued. "We visited Venice, Florence and Rome." "Did anything unusual happen on the trip?" Mulder asked. "Unusual? What do you mean?" Mulder studied his hands for a second. "Any unpleasant occurrences or...illness for example," he said, looking up. "Well Marjorie Smith had her purse stolen in Florence but luckily she had her passport and wallet in a tote bag at the time." "No...I meant with Barbara Sutcliffe in particular." "Did Barbara seem...unusually quiet or...distressed for some reason?" Lyon prompted. "No," Borden replied, shaking his head. "She seemed like her usual vivacious self. Look, I can show you slides from that trip if you'd like. You can examine them and maybe they'll show you something I didn't see. But honestly, I...." Mulder watched as a sudden realization crept over Borden's face. He glanced at Lyon and the other man raised an eyebrow. "What?" Lyon asked. Borden returned his attention to the Milwaukee agent. "Now that I think of it...I do recall one odd thing that happened on the trip," the art teacher said. "Well...at least it might fit Agent Mulder's earlier query about an illness." "Go on," Mulder said. "In Rome we were visiting a ballet school. The 'Varelli Academy di Ballet'. It was well known for a small collection of bronzes by Benvenuto Cellini which we wanted to see." "And Barbara Sutcliffe became ill there?" "Yes...she fainted actually. She had wandered upstairs into the dancer's dormitory area for some reason and a student found her lying on the floor in a bathroom and raised the alarm." Lyon was making notes in a small pad as Borden had been speaking. Now he looked up from his writing and addressed the teacher. "Was she hospitalized?" "No... The ballet company physician did see her on the spot, however. She was coming around when the student found her, but he gave her a whiff of smelling salts and pronounced her fit. He passed off the fainting spell as the effects of the heat...and the fact she was menstruating at the time and had cramps. It was blasted hot in that building. There wasn't any air conditioning." "Did she seem ok afterwards?" Mulder asked. "Yes, I think she did. She was embarrassed about it, but I didn't see anything that indicated she was still ill. She seemed in fact to really enjoy the rest of the trip. We went to Florence next and she was very enthused about seeing Michaelangelo's David." Mulder steepled his fingers in front of him and considered what Borden had divulged. Before he could speak again Lyon cleared his throat. "Would you have known if she was still feeling ill or not? Did you check up on her later, say back at the hotel?" "Yes, actually I did...that evening. Barbara and Marjorie and the other woman...Suzanne Hardaway were in the room across the hall from the male student and me. Keith Mitchell was bunking with me. After dinner I went over to see how Barbara was doing." "In her room?" "What?" "Did you go into her room to ask her that evening? Were Marjorie and Suzanne there?" Borden gave Lyon a raised eyebrow and Mulder smothered a sigh. He knew Lyon was going to bring up the student/teacher affair angle but he had a bad feeling his line of questioning was going to end up being offensive. That wasn't the way to go about gleaning information. "What are you implying?" Borden asked. Lyon had the good grace to at least feign embarrassment. "Well...in situations involving a serial murderer, something can set off the perpetrator--a flashpoint if you will--that starts them on their murderous way. Many of Barbara Sutcliffe's crimes show a distinct...hatred for men. I have to cover all the possibilities and ask if there's a reason for that particular hatred. If say, one man made her angry enough that it pushed her over the edge to murder other men." "You mean me? I'm the one man you're referring to?" Mulder glanced at Lyon and decided it was no sense beating around the bush any longer. Borden was smart enough to know what Lyon was getting at. "What Agent Lyon is implying is that if you were involved with Barbara Sutcliffe and the affair ended in Italy?" Borden's laughter interrupted Mulder's explanation. Lyon looked put off by the unexpected outburst and glanced at Mulder, puzzled. Mulder gave a slight shrug. "You can't be serious?" Borden asked, catching his breath. "We're deadly serious, sir," Lyon said. Borden grew sober then and shook his head. "I'm sorry it's just that...well, let me show you something." Borden swiveled in his chair and took down one of the framed personal photographs that sat on the shelf above his desk; Mulder had noticed it earlier. The photograph was of Borden and a slightly younger, shorter man. Borden's arm was draped over his companion's shoulder and the other man's arm circled Borden's waist. Both of them were smiling. "This is Keith Mitchell," Borden explained, turning back around and pointing at the man in the photo. "We've been partners since he enrolled in the adult continuing education course here in 1987." "You mean...you're gay," Lyon stated flatly. "My whole life. And believe me gentleman...Keith and I were an item before this trip was ever planned. I was more intent on getting into Keith on that trip than any woman...much less Barbara Sutcliffe." Mulder smothered a smile at the dumbfounded expression on Lyon's face. What kind of fucking background check had the agent done on Borden that he hadn't found out he was gay? Lyon recovered quickly, and although he was clearly barking up the wrong tree Mulder had to give him credit for the recovery. "Could Barbara have been jealous of your relationship with Keith?" "You mean could she have had some kind of unrequited love for me? I doubt it. I never noticed anything. Would you like to interview Keith, Marjorie or Suzanne...they might..." "My partner, Agent Fowler is seeking an interview with them now." "Oh. I could have saved you the trouble with Keith and asked him to come in," Borden said. He glanced at Mulder. "I thought you were his partner?" "No, I'm from DC..." Before Mulder could say anything further, Lyon interrupted him. "Our apologies, Doctor Borden. Sometimes we have to ask unpleasant questions...it goes with the territory." Borden waved his hand in dismissal and placed the picture back on the shelf. "No problem. It's your job. And hell...if I can help in any way, I'll be happy to do it." "We'd like to see those reviews and transcripts," Mulder replied. "Yes, of course. They're still stored upstairs as hard copy. We haven't had the budget to convert them to any other medium. I'll go get them." As soon as Borden left the office Lyon slapped his notebook shut in disgust. "I'm going to ream Wilson's ass for not finding out this guy was a faggot," he said. Mulder almost burst out laughing at the obvious reference to 'reaming' the unfortunate Wilson in tandem with the use of the pejorative for the gay Borden. Nothing like letting your homophobia hang out...and saying precisely what will make you seem like twice the fool about it in the process. "That's some kind of mixed metaphor there, or at least an interesting juxtaposition of images." "What?" Lyon asked. "Never mind. Who's Wilson?" "The agent I asked to do the background checks. He's gonna hear about this. We'd better re-run all the background checks. Shit...like we have time to do that." Mulder was about to answer when there was the sound of someone fumbling with the door. Mulder rose to help, grabbing the doorknob. "Thank you," Borden said as he entered, his arms full of file folders. Before he could shut the door someone was standing in it. Mulder stared into the piercing ice blue eyes of one of the most stunningly beautiful women he'd ever seen. "Oh...excuse me...I was looking for Uncle John," she said. Borden turned and smiled. "Laura! I almost forgot our late lunch. I'm so sorry...I was talking to these gentlemen." Mulder pulled his eyes away from the attractive black-haired woman and glanced at Lyon. He was surprised to see the look of surprise on his face...a surprise that seemed to indicate he knew this young woman. The woman smiled at Lyon. "I hope he's not in serious trouble with the FBI, Ross. He'll tell you he hasn't smoked pot since Sid Vicious died in the Chelsea." "Yeah, he said that," Lyon smiled a little. He was embarrassed and it showed. "You know Laura?" Borden asked, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, and I'm sorry. Laura, this is Agent Fox Mulder; Agent Mulder, my niece Laura Massey." "Agent Lyon and I had the pleasure of meeting at the Gingrass Gallery the other night at Paul Stringer's opening," Laura Massey replied. As she turned toward Mulder he had a split second to see Lyon nodding dumbly at Laura's comment before she stretched out her hand to him. Mulder grasped it and their eyes locked again. Her pupils were ringed in black, but the irises were the ice blue of a glacier. "It's nice to meet you too, Agent Mulder." His headache was back almost instantly. His stomach fluttered for a few seconds. 'Damn,' he thought. 'I hope I'm not going to lose my United Airlines complimentary breakfast.' Mulder swallowed to regain his composure. The pain in his head subsided and he was glad to feel his stomach relax as well. He cleared his throat. Laura Massey smiled brightly at him. "My pleasure," he said as their hands parted. "And your uncle isn't in any trouble. He was providing some background information for a case we're investigating." "Right. It involves one of his former students," Lyon added. "Barbara Sutcliffe," Borden said. "Barbara?" Laura asked. "Did you know Barbara Sutcliffe?" Mulder asked. "No, not really. I'd seen her around the school of course, when I'd visit Uncle John. I was much younger during her time here. That seems like a long time ago, and I don't recall her very well, I guess." "Laura went to the Pratt Institute, the School of Art and Design in New York. I guess her Uncle's school didn't quite suit her," Borden said. Laura playfully slapped his arm. "Oh, Uncle John. You know me...I love to travel and I always wanted to see New York City. I returned to Milwaukee to teach here didn't I?" Borden chuckled. "Yes, you did." Mulder realized he was staring at her and focused on Lyon instead but he was staring at her too. His hand moved and when it did, Mulder followed it down to the other agent's belt line. He couldn't help but notice Lyon's hard-on tenting the front of his dress slacks as he adjusted himself in an attempt to make his erection less evident. It would seem that Lyon was more than ready to mix business with pleasure... maybe he already had. Well, maybe not strictly business. Laura Massey didn't seem to have any information about Barbara Sutcliffe, even if her Uncle had been the murderer's teacher. Nevertheless, Mulder filed her name away just in case something later should point to that being an incorrect assumption. She was certainly a beautiful woman and she seemed intelligent as well. He hoped she knew what kind of dickhead she was getting in Lyon if they were seeing each other. Lyon finally took his eyes off the prize and cleared his throat again. "Well, if we could get copies of those documents, we can be on our way. I think we've taken up enough of your time, Dr. Borden." "Yes, certainly. We can use the copier in the registrar's office," Borden said. He moved forward, heading out of the office and Mulder, Lyon and Laura followed him. He shut and lock the door while still juggling the files. "I'll wait here, Uncle John," Laura said. "Uh...I need to use the men's room," Lyon muttered. "Mulder...can you get the copies? I'll catch up in a few minutes." "No problem," Mulder replied. "Ok, did you come in by way of the registrar's office?" Borden asked. "Yes, I know where it is," Mulder said. Borden tilted his chin at Mulder and proceeded to walk down the hallway. "Great. Come on then," he said and Mulder dutifully followed. On a hunch, he glanced back and saw Lyon cozying up to Laura Massey. 'Oh yeah...he had to take a piss...right,' Mulder thought. Bullshit. The agent was talking and Laura Massey was smiling seductively and touching his arm. The last thing Mulder saw before he and Borden turned the corner of the hallway was Laura's hand trailing down the front of Lyon's slacks. xXx AN APARTMENT ON JUNEAU AVENUE. MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN. For the first time in a long time Ross Lyon was truly thankful that he'd rented this particular apartment so he'd be close to the FBI offices in the Plaza East Building Otherwise he wouldn't be able to take an hour or so in the afternoon and get it on with Laura Massey. Man, he still couldn't believe she feigned having a migraine to get out of lunch with her uncle. 'You're a lucky fucker,' Lyon, he thought. She was hot for his cock though, so it probably wasn't just luck; his talents in the sack made her come back for more. It was lucky that Laura and her uncle apparently had nothing to do with the case. He sent Mulder back to the Plaza East to look over the material Borden had given them, but he doubted Mulder would find any further connection between either Borden or Laura and Sutcliffe. He told Mulder he was going to stop by Milwaukee Police headquarters and see what was up there. He would do that too...as soon as he was done with Laura. He grimaced in pleasure as he gazed down at the top of Laura's head. Her mouth slid down his cock again. She had some technique. It felt like a fucking vacuum cleaner as she sucked him. "Yeah, baby...that's it...take it," he mumbled, grasping her head in his hands. "Come on...all of...it," he hissed, pumping his hips. He shoved his cock into her throat again, pulled back and shoved again and again. She took it all, deep-throating him almost effortlessly. 'Christ it?s good,' he thought, gritting his teeth. But fuck...he was so close. He was gonna come, but he didn't want it this way. He wanted to feel her tight cunt around him when he shot his wad. "Hang on, sweetheart...I wanna fuck you," he said, pulling back and pushing her away at the same time. Laura smiled at him as she let his cock go with a wet smack. "Oh yes, Ross. Give it to me," she said, his pre-cum smearing her lips. He chuckled roughly. "Baby...you are one hot bitch," he said, grabbing her and spinning her around so she fell to her knees. Laura laughed and thrust her ass up at him. It only took a second to roll a condom down his hard-on and then he rammed his cock home, impaling the woman kneeling in front of him as she moaned in ecstasy. xXx THE HOOVER BUILDING. WASHINGTON, DC. "Scully?" "Mulder...where are you?" "Enjoying the hospitality of the Milwaukee field office...a cup of bad coffee and a stack of casefiles. Where are you? Did I catch you in the basement?" "Just. I was about to pack up and go home." "Ah. Did the meeting with Skinner run long? For what it's worth...I'm sorry you got stuck with that budget hassle." "Let's just say you owe me, Mulder." "More than you know, Scully." "Mulder...are you all right? You sound...tired." "Yeah, I am a little tired I guess." "Is the case going badly?" "I don't think it's going badly. I think...well, I think there's an answer here...we just haven't found it yet. I feel close to a solution. You know how it is when it's just there...the answer, but you can't quite reach it?" "Yes, I know what you mean. What leads are you following?" "We're looking into a trip Barbara Sutcliffe took to Italy just before she moved to New York City and started her career as a murderer. But we haven't correlated all the information yet. I'm actually waiting for Agent Lyon and his partner to get back here so we can do that. I'm hoping we can avoid contacting anyone in Italy on this but that may be a necessity." "Do you think something happened to her in Italy to drive her to do what she did?" "Scully...there has to be something..." "The word...possession was bandied about..." "I know that." "Have the Milwaukee agents been receptive to your theory on..." "I haven't mentioned it." "Oh?" "Look, Scully...these guys are real cowboys, ok? Sometimes I am perceptive enough to actually realize when I might be considered?off base." "Well..." "I'll concede that what went on between me and Barbara Sutcliffe in the past could have been...I don't know...just my being too cocksure of myself when faced with a truly evil, manipulative sociopath and nothing more. But I reserve the right to pursue this as an X-File if the evidence presents itself." "But the evidence hasn't presented itself?" "Like I said...we're still correlating it. Italy seems to be the nexus. After Italy she went from being Barbara Sutcliffe, artist to being Barbara Sutcliffe, 'The Artist'. I've been sitting here reading through what we do have on her past and I keep asking myself...what happened to this woman to change her into a killer?" "I read a little more from the older VCS files on her after I got out of the meeting with Skinner. She did seem so...normal. There wasn't anything that pointed toward that kind of pathology in her early life." "Exactly. I mean what did she do? Visit Italy and come back transformed into a homicidal maniac?" "Possession would make as much sense." "That's what keeps knocking around in the back of my mind. I have a feeling I'm going to be up tonight back at the Wyndham searching the Internet for information on Italian demonology practices." "Listen...remember our promise? I...I want to be sensitive to the idea that your past issues with Barbara Sutcliffe were disturbing. Do you want me to ask Skinner to assign me? If you could use another opinion I could..." "No...no that's ok. I don't think it's necessary for you to come out...yet. Although I'm considering it, believe me. I may need you to actually take a look at the victim if nothing pans out with this Italian angle." "They're still holding the body?" "Yes, the Milwaukee County coroner has it. Maybe Mr. Alvin Sparrow can give us some additional clues." "You know I want to help. And Mulder...I...I'm sorry but I have to say this...I hesitated to even bring this case up again given how much it bothered you, but..." "Oh hell...I know, Scully. Listen, thanks...really. I've been thinking all day about what I said to you yesterday and I should grovel at your feet in apology for acting like such an asshole. This case...what happened with Barbara Sutcliffe in the past...it's all affected me on some level that I can hardly admit much less articulate. I realize you want to help. And I'm sorry I shut you out. As soon as I know a little more, I'll call Skinner myself and request you as forensic back-up, ok?" "Oh, Mulder. You...you infuriate me, sometimes." "Just sometimes?" "Yes...one minute I want to shake you until your teeth rattle and the next minute I..." "Want to kiss me?" "I wouldn't go that far. But you have a way of apologizing that makes it hard to stay angry with you." "Does this mean you accept my apology?" "Yes...it means I accept your apology." "See...I knew the groveling would work." "Oh, just...put a sock on it." "Scully! That's a sexual innuendo if I ever heard one." "Mulder..." "Ok, ok. So...uh...I guess I'll let you go." "All right. I'll read through more of the case material on Sutcliffe tonight so I'm more up to speed." "Sounds good. And, Scully..." "Yes?" "Thanks again, for everything. I mean that, partner." "I know, Mulder...and I appreciate it. I'll talk to you soon." "Right. Soon." xXx THE MILWAUKEE FBI FIELD OFFICE. THE PLAZA EAST BUILDING. Mulder rubbed under his glasses, massaging his eyes. As he'd told Scully, he really hadn't found anything significant in the reviews or the MIAD transcript. The Italian trip slides Borden had given him before he left MIAD showed what appeared to be an excited group of students having fun and admiring the sculpture of Italy. All the data indicated that Barbara Sutcliffe was a boringly average individual, if a talented artist. There just wasn't anything untoward about her past academic history. He kept asking himself...how in the hell could you reconcile her past with what she did when she returned from Italy and settled into the art scene of New York City as a murdering sculptor? Should he pursue this case as a standard criminal investigation or delve into his possession theory and classify it as an X-File? And what was he really afraid of here? Barbara Sutcliffe? Looking bad in the eyes of the Milwaukee agents? That he might be burning out and that his faith in the validity of the X-Files was in jeopardy? None of that meant jack shit at this point. The immediate objective was finding Barbara Sutcliffe. That was the important matter at hand, not his self-doubts. His thoughts needed to be focused toward finding this woman...whatever it took. He needed to get with the program and just get to work on digging up evidence. Mulder removed his glasses and set them aside, shaking his head. He had to think that something happened to Barbara in Italy to change her. Whether that something was possession or a relatively mundane occurrence...they had to determine it. In the absence of other information the Italian study trip was the one unknown quantity they could investigate. Mulder sighed and pushed back from the conference table. He glanced at the nearby wall clock. Where the hell were Lyon and Fowler? He was anxious to see if Lyon had gotten anything else from the Milwaukee PD, and if Fowler's interviews with Borden's students on the Italian trip dredged up anything useful. As if on cue Mulder caught sight of Fowler making his way through the nearly empty bullpen outside. The other man waved at him through the glass of the conference area. Ok, one down and one to go, he thought as the short, balding man opened the door and entered the room and shut the door behind him. "Shit...what a drive I had to Green Bay. A tractor-trailer jackknifed on I43 and traffic was backed-up the whazoo. I'm just glad I had AC in the bu-car otherwise I would have cooked. Where's Lyon?" "Taking a late lunch?" Mulder asked, rubbing at his temple again. The headache he had earlier was still pulsing distantly behind his eyes. I'd better find some aspirin, he thought, before it comes back with a vengeance. "Late lunch? It's nearly 6 o'clock...time for dinner," Fowler replied. He raised an eyebrow as he stood looking down at Mulder. "Well, he did say he was going to check in with the Milwaukee PD when I left him at MIAD at around 2 PM. I was hoping to brainstorm further on what we discovered today sooner rather than later," Mulder said. Fowler scratched at his bald spot, his face puzzled. "He didn't check in?" "Not with me." "Not with me either. That's not like Ross," Fowler said. He stopped scratching his head and pulled out his cell phone. After punching a couple of keys on the front he stuck the cell to his ear. "Where the fuck are ya, partner?" Fowler barked into the receiver. He chuckled after listening for a few seconds. "Yeah, I know how they can be. All right...get your ass back here. Mulder's here and so am I. Yeah, I got complete interviews. Yeah, that might go a long way toward making me forgive you. Ok." He clicked the cell phone shut but the puzzled look returned to his face. Mulder rubbed his temple a little more as Fowler spoke. "He said he had trouble seeing the Milwaukee Detective in charge of Sparrow's murder. He also went to talk to the Milwaukee County coroner again about Sparrow's autopsy results. And...He?s bringing us pizza as a peace offering. At any rate, he's on his way in." "Ok," Mulder dropped his hand from his temple and nodded. "Say...you got a headache? Did you eat? You shoulda eaten, you know." Fowler smiled and Mulder gave him a brief smile in return. It appeared that Agent Fowler was trying to be friendly. Maybe he actually wanted to make Mulder feel welcome in Milwaukee. "I did have lunch but this headache's been sticking with me. Maybe it's from the heat." "I've got some Advil at my desk. You want a couple?" "Yeah, that might not be a bad idea. Thanks." "Hang on." Mulder took a sip from the coffee cup at his elbow as Fowler left the conference room. The coffee was cold now, but that worked better for swallowing the pills. Fowler returned and sat down, tossing Mulder a packet of two Advil tablets. "Water?" "No need," Mulder replied. He tore open the packet, shook the tablets out and put them in his mouth. As he drank the tepid coffee, Fowler studied him. "You know, Mulder...Lyon's normally an ok guy for the most part. Sure, he's not perfect but we get along as partners. He's not a firebrand but he's a good agent capable of solid work. It really isn't like him to slack off or not call in." Mulder finished swallowing the coffee and placed the cup down on the table. He wondered if Fowler agreed with his own assessment of Lyon at the moment. It sounded as if he was trying to convince himself as much as offer it as a testament for his partner. Lyon might be a passable agent but he was obnoxious. He couldn't even give Fowler the benefit of the doubt on the last part of his assertion regarding his partner's behavior on the job. "You said normally?" he replied. Fowler pursed his lips. His face showed he was debating whether to break the bond of partner privilege and comment on Lyon's actions. He finally shrugged. "He's got his mind on this new woman he's seeing maybe. He hasn't introduced us...but he said she's quite a looker." Mulder couldn't help smiling. "I think I met her at MIAD this afternoon. I guess I could understand how she might be a distraction." His face grew serious again. "But we need to concentrate on this case. I don't want to wait for Barbara Sutcliffe to murder someone else in order to get fresh clues. Fowler ran his hand over his mouth and then finally sat down heavily. "Yeah, I know," he sighed. He picked up a pencil and studied it, tapping it on the table a few times. Then he looked Mulder in the eyes. "Listen...I'll put a word in Ross's ear about keeping his mind on the job. I don't want that psycho bitch to kill anyone else before we get her." He cleared his throat. "Shit...this case stinks." Fowler tossed the pencil down. Mulder sat back and put his hands behind his head, giving the other man a small sympathetic smile. "You're preaching to the choir on the stench quotient. Look...I don't mean to come between you and your partner. We have different work styles. I'll try to be more...accommodating." Fowler brushed him off with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it. I'm the epitome of diplomacy when necessary. I'll see that he gets the message...in my usual tactful way. So, let's just try to get back to the matter at hand...catching this whacko." Mulder nodded, brought his arms down and shifted forward again. "Anything significant in the interviews with Mitchell, Smith and Hardaway?" Fowler shook his head, scowling. "What you've got are basically one average John Q. Public and two average Jane Q. Publics...although it would have helped if the agent we had do the background checks had found out Keith Mitchell and Borden were an item. "Yeah, Lyon said the same thing...although more colorfully." "I bet. At any rate, I didn't come up with much. Italy was sunny and warm; they had a lot of fun...the sculptures were, to quote Marjorie Smith, 'inspiring'. It was pretty much your typical study trip I guess." "Did they mention anything about a ballet school?" Mulder asked. Fowler hauled out a notebook from inside his coat pocket, flipped it open and started to thumb through the pages. "Uh...oh...yeah," he replied. His eyes scanned over his notes. "They said Barbara Sutcliffe had some kind of fainting spell at the... 'Varelli Academy di Ballet'. Suzanne Hardaway said it was because she had her period and it was hot in the building." Before Mulder could answer a noise at the conference room door caused both men to look up. Lyon was fumbling with the doorknob with one hand and balancing two large pizza boxes with the other. "Hang on, buddy," Fowler said. He rose, hurried to the door and opened it. The aroma that only a pizza with the works could give off reached Mulder's nostrils. He felt his mouth water. "Ah ha...Edwardo's...my personal favorite," Fowler remarked. Lyon strode in and dropped both pizza boxes on the conference table. "Fuck me," he said. "I got nowhere with the Milwaukee PD or the coroner. I hope you guys have some leads because I'm fresh outta clues on this bitch." The smile on Fowler's face flickered out. Mulder sighed This was going to be a hell of a long dinner 'hour'. xXx THE WYNDHAM HOTEL. DOWNTOWN, MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN. Mulder struggled against the chains that bound him, his eyes straining to see past the darkness. Phantom fingers caressed his face. A foreign touch... a musky scent... he couldn?t see his captor, but there was no question that she was a woman. When he opened his mouth to protest, she dipped her finger into his mouth like a finely tapered paintbrush. Her thumb beneath his chin was gentle, even encouraging. She wanted him to taste her essence, to pool it inside of his mouth like milk and honey. But the taste was sour and the texture reminded him of bile. This was no ordinary desire but lust created out of a timeless greed. Nauseated, he tried to turn his head to the side. "No?" she murmured. "Perhaps you would prefer this." The mocking finger inside of his mouth turned into the crushed silk of his partner?s tongue. Scully... He could feel her delicate hands reaching up to cup his face, comforting him with a lover?s caress. Her taste was as distinctive as her touch was sublime. The steel chains prevented him from clasping her to him, but his mouth fused to hers in hot desperation. Scully broke their kiss with a whisper, "Close your eyes, lie still...as death..." It was an odd request but the memory of her breath was sweet and the trail of her lips was tantalizing. She was gliding her lips down the length of his torso, stopping to graze his nipples with her teeth. The tension on the chains increased as he strained towards the pleasure/pain of her mouth. She was both rewarding and punishing him. It was a seduction of his mind as well as his body. "Scully..." The sound of her name was a hiss of approval. She knew what he liked... the promise of his cock inside her mouth...the scrape of her nails against his ass. She was kneeling... rubbing his thighs with her nipples.... circling his balls with the tip of her tongue. He gasped as she rocked towards him. With each thrust of her body his cock was sinking further into the warm velvet of her mouth. She was pulsating around him, forcing him deeper toward the nirvana of her throat. "Closer it comes, silent, and mad, and vast..." In the distance a forge was burning with the intensity of a thousand candles. The light illuminated a darker truth. The woman kneeling at his feet wasn?t swaying in passion; she was being taken from behind with strokes hard enough to propel her forwards. Skinner.... She was the servant to the master, prostrating herself in front of an altar in which he, himself, was the chained sacrifice. With every plunge into her body her arousal dripped onto the floor like hot wax. He followed the copper of Scully?s hair to the black of Skinner?s eyes. In them he expected to see a fierce possessiveness. But what he discovered was the greatest torment of all...a passion that burned for them both. A passion he suddenly acknowledged was in his own heart as Skinner's eyes smoldered up at him. Jesus...he wanted Skinner's cock too. He could almost taste it...almost feel it... The flame seared through his entire being. He felt himself exploding in Scully?s mouth. She swallowed with greedy gulps. With every spurt her fingers squeezed his testicles...milking him for more. Stunned, he gazed down at her hair. It was no longer the color of copper but raven black. Lips, full and dripping with semen, curled into a triumphant smile. "Squisito" she murmured. Delicious. Mulder woke in a cold sweat, the sheets of the bed twisted around his arms and legs. He lifted his head to discover an embarrassing truth. The darkest of fantasies had led to the wettest of dreams. "Shit," he murmured to himself. Was he suffering the effects of a troubled psyche or should he blame the pizza? Either way, he felt nauseous. Clutching a sheet to his stomach, he got up from bed. A phone interrupted his groggy trip to the bathroom. It was 'pizza boy', himself. "What?s up, Lyon?" Mulder mumbled. He cleared his throat to help focus his mind. "I think our psycho bitch problem is solved." "Solved? How?" Mulder asked. "Take a look out your window." Mulder did as Lyon requested staring down at one of the bridges that spanned the Milwaukee River directly below his window. Lights from a Milwaukee Police cruiser flashed below, making trembling patterns over the water. An ambulance was coming across the bridge, its siren silent. Mulder could see Lyon, he could see Fowler...and he could see two police officers Mulder could see Lyon, he could see Fowler?and he could see two police officers pulling a body out of the river; a woman's body. "Oh fuck," Mulder breathed. "Get your ass down here," Lyon said...and the line went dead. xXx CRYSTAL CITY. WASHINGTON, DC. Walter Skinner stood staring out into the night from his apartment in the Viva Towers. He could see his reflection in the glass...a middle-aged, barefoot, muscular man in dress slacks and no shirt stared back at him. His specs obscured the expression of weariness he knew was in his eyes. The air conditioning from a nearby vent wafted across his bare chest, cooling him and ruffling his chest hair at the same time. DC glittered beneath him...he could still see traffic on the streets and tiny figures going about their unknown business. It was one o'clock in the morning, but the city seemed to never sleep; a condition he could relate to since his nights lately were spent staring at the ceiling above his bed. He fingered the glass of J&B in his hand. He told himself that after a hell of a day, capped off by a meeting that kept him overtime at the Bureau, he needed this second drink. Tipping the glass to his lips, Skinner took a swig and welcomed the smooth heat of the liquor as it flowed down his throat. The booze was finally starting to relax him. He hoped it would pave the way for sleep by stilling his seemingly endless inner discussion about Scully and Mulder. Since his arrival at home his mind had been caught in an endless debate on why he revealed his feelings to Scully. The debate yielded only one truth...it certainly hadn't been the damn GAO budget report that caused him to do it. Otherwise he was clueless as to what made him breach professional decorum. Maybe he was having some kind of mid-life crisis. Maybe he'd held himself in tight control for too many years and simply reached a breaking point. The answer continued to elude him. He also kept asking himself if he'd seen Scully return his interest at all...whether the expression on her face after his suggestive comment meant she was uncomfortable with his feelings...or whether she was discomforted because she felt the same and didn't know how to deal with the issue. He knew they were either going to have to pretend it didn't happen or deal with his confession at some point...and he had no idea which would be the case...or what would ensue. The more he went over the issue the more confused he became. And of course his mind dwelled on Scully's partner as well. He had mused over issues of friendship and mutual respect between them until he reached for the liquor bottle and finally poured that first drink. If he took another swig of this second scotch maybe he could tamp down the desperation he felt. What would Mulder think if he heard about his confession to Scully? Desperation grew in him when he thought about Mulder's reaction and what that might do to the tenuous bond of friendship that had grown between them...or at least which he hoped was growing, their differences notwithstanding. He had to admit that it would disturb him greatly if he lost Mulder's respect or found his feelings of friendship weren't reciprocated. Skinner lifted the glass to his lips, thinking not for the first time how important Mulder's friendship had become to him. And finally...how he had to admit his feelings went beyond friendship...how much... The knock on his front door startled him. His hand jerked and J&B spilled down his chin and onto his chest. All thoughts of Scully and Mulder emptied from his mind as the remainder of his drink emptied from his glass, the scotch dripping onto his dress slacks. "What the hell?" he mumbled. Skinner knew from past experience that late night callers didn't bode well. He was instantly alert... his senses focused on moving quietly back across the hardwood floor. He gently set the glass on the bar and briskly pulled his Sig Sauer out of the holster where it lay on the wooden bar. His feet barely made a sound as he carefully walked to the apartment door. There was a second knock. He stood to the side, his gun up and ready, the safety off. "Who is it?" he said. A muffled male voice came from the hallway outside. "Sergei?" Skinner's brow furrowed in bewilderment. He couldn't quite believe his ears. There were only two people who had ever called him by his middle name...and that wasn't his late grandmother on the other side of the door. He took a quick look through the peephole and confirmed the identity of his visitor. Despite wondering what brought this familiar caller to his door unannounced and at such a late hour, his lips curled in a smile. He flipped the safety back on his Sig Sauer and stuck the weapon in the back of his dress pants. Sliding back the dead bolt and unlatching the doorknob lock, he swung the door open to greet the bearded man outside. "Kak dela, Dimitri?" Skinner said. "It's been a long time." Archpriest Dimitri Yvashko smiled, his white teeth showing through the salt and pepper of his beard and mustache. His intelligent hazel eyes were tired but filled with pleasure at seeing Skinner. "I'm fine, my friend. And it *has* been a long time. Yet you remember your Russian...that honors me...and honors your babushka as well," he replied in accented English. Skinner stepped aside gesturing for Dimitri to enter the apartment. He shut and locked the front door after the priest moved past him. Yvashko deposited the briefcase he was carrying next to the door. "I don't get to practice my conversational Russian often, but whenever I do, I think of my grandmother and you..." Skinner said. Both men stood awkwardly staring at each other for a moment. Then they stepped forward to embrace. Skinner wrapped the slightly shorter and leaner Dimitri in a bear hug and Dimitri slapped Skinner on the back. "It's good to see you," Dimitri laughed. 'Christ, it's good to see him too,' Skinner thought. They e-mailed back and forth, but he hadn't actually seen Dimitri Yvashko since he made AD. The hug and his friend's voice instantly brought back memories that were over 30 years old. Memories of another fond embrace. He was 18 and so was Dimitri. They'd reached young manhood together, sharing everything like brothers despite the fact Dimitri was a Russian immigrant and Skinner was a farm boy from rural Pennsylvania. But that day so long ago they were going their separate ways...Skinner to war and Dimitri to the peace of the priesthood in his native Russia. It was their destiny, Dimitri had said. Had it been destiny that brought that tentative kiss from Dimitri...so startling yet somehow not unexpected...and so very sweet? Had his eager response been destiny? Had their awkward denials after that uncertain but arousing embrace been destiny too? Skinner wondered about that over the years. Neither man had ever spoken of that hot summer afternoon in the barn on Skinner's farm. It was a pleasant, hazy memory and that's all...not a destiny that was somehow overlooked...an opportunity missed. It was several seconds before Skinner realized he was probably smearing spilled scotch all over Dimitri's black suit coat. "I spilled some scotch," he finally murmured and broke the embrace. "I did think you smelled rather like J&B. So you still drink it?" "Yes," Skinner replied. "But look...Dimitri...come in and sit down. What brings you here?" "I know it's late but..." The priest suddenly noticed Skinner's sidearm. He gestured at it with his chin. "Forgive me, I've been remiss. Perhaps I should ask how you are, Sergei?" Skinner looked into Dimitri's quizzical eyes and made a gesture of dismissal with his hand. He slipped the gun out of his pants and sauntered over to the bar. The gun slid easily back in its holster. "Well...you know...it's the nature of my job. When someone's at the door late at night it pays to be cautious." Dimitri nodded. "It's a troubled world we live in, Sergei." "I can't argue that. Now...sit down. Would you like a drink? I have some vodka." "Yes, spasiba." "A shot?" "Please." As Skinner poured the vodka, Dimitri retrieved his briefcase and placed it on the coffee table in front of the couch. He seated himself and opened the case. Skinner carried the vodka over and handed it to the priest. He raised an eyebrow as he noticed that Dimitri's hand was shaking slightly. "Dimitri...are you really all right? Don't bullshit me..." The priest took the vodka from Skinner, downed it in one swallow and placed the glass down next to the open briefcase with a 'clunk'. "Sergei...we do indeed live in troubled times...and they're about to become more deeply troubled than either you or I could imagine." xXx A BRIDGE OVER THE MILWAUKEE RIVER. MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN. Sweat trickled from Mulder's hairline and down the back of his neck, oozing slowly past his hastily donned dress shirt's on its track toward making his back itch. The setting sun hadn't mitigated the heat. The humidity was still high, and the river smelled of fish...alewives as Fowler had cursed, holding his nose. Barbara Sutcliffe looked like the belly of a dead alewife where she lay, half-naked and dead on the stretcher at his feet. She was fish belly white...with eyes that were filmy from both death and being in the less than clean river water. He squatted and fingered with latex covered fingers, the knife slice that stretched from one of her ears to the other. If it hadn't been for the absence of her tongue sticking out of the wound he would have thought drug dealers had given her a Colombian necktie. In that moment Mulder felt pity for Barbara...at least pity for the young woman who had gone to Rome with her friends and seemed so happy and carefree so many years ago. "So...one dead psycho bitch," Lyon pronounced, standing back slightly and jotting something on his note pad. A photographer's flash punctuated his words. The last of the crime scene pictures had been taken and the cameraman moved away. "Stop calling her that," Mulder whispered. "She was a human being...once." "Whatever." Lyon coughed. "We're done here. Case closed." Mulder stood up, and when he did, his headache returned with a vengeance. He shook his head, trying to dispel the onslaught of pain and when he did so, his gaze traveled up river...toward the next bridge that spanned the water. He could see someone standing on the bridge. A woman standing and watching them. A tall woman with long dark hair. He strained past the ache in his head to see her face. He could just...if he tried....he could just make out her face... "Take her away," Lyon said, jerking Mulder completely back to the matter at hand. Just as quickly as it came, the headache was gone and Mulder shook his head in bewilderment. Something about a woman on the bridge...he glanced up river but the figure of the woman was gone. He filed the vision away as movement commenced all around him. Lyon gestured toward the coroner and his assistants who were on the scene with the "meat wagon" as the Milwaukee agent had so colorfully put it. Fowler trailed after the city of Milwaukee employees as they lifted the body and conveyed it to the coroner's van. "I wouldn't be so fast to say case closed," Mulder replied. "For one thing...there's no sight of the knife that..." Lyon looked up from making a last note, slowly closed the pad and tapped his pen on the cover for three beats. It was as if he were counting to curb his temper. ?Or maybe he's counting their strikes and I'm out,? Mulder thought as Lyon spoke. "Why the fuck can't you let it go, Mulder? The knife's probably in the river since the officers who pulled her out didn't find it. There's nothing weird or bizarre about this woman's death. There's nothing weird, bizarre or alien about this case. You just heard the coroner say his best guess from a look at the wound and the blood spatter pattern was that she cut her throat here and fell into the river there. She probably did cut her own throat...it can be done...especially by nutjobs who are several cards short of a deck. So, little green men didn't kill Barbara Sutcliffe and dump her here." "Gray men...they're gray." "Christ," Lyon said, shoving his notebook and pen in his pocket. "Go back to bed. We're done." Lyon started to turn away and Mulder grabbed his sleeve. The other man's eyebrows shot up and he looked down at Mulder's hand. Max Fowler left the coroner's van, which was pulling away and walked back over. "Agents?" he asked. "Look...I know you don't like me, Lyon. I don't like you either. But Milwaukee asked DC to send you help on this case and here I am. I've had some experience in profiling and I'm telling you...I don't think we should close this case yet. I think there are unanswered questions about Barbara Sutcliffe's death and..." "And so what? Mulder...you were sent out here to help apprehend a dangerous felon. She did us all a favor and offed herself. Your job's done as far as I'm concerned and that's what I'm going to tell DC as soon as I get back to the office. I don't know what else you think can be gleaned from this case that's even important. And if it's some crazy ass spooky angle I don't want to hear about it anyway. So like I said....give it up and go back to bed." Mulder glanced down and saw Lyon's fist clenching at his side. His jaw tightened and he slowly let go of the other man's arm. He knew that if he didn't release the other agent, they were going to end up belting each other. Much as he didn't like Lyon he wasn't willing to risk disciplinary action over something as stupid as hitting this asshole. He looked at Fowler. Fowler shrugged but his expression was more sympathetic. "Yeah, Mulder. Look at it this way...you can head back early and maybe take a couple of days off after you get done with the paperwork. Nothing like a few days of unscheduled vacation to make you feel like you're cheating the system a little." Mulder turned away from Fowler's friendly smile. He stripped his latex gloves off and stuffed them heedlessly into his pants pocket. His gaze went to the river again and he ran his hand through his sweat-dampened hair. A mixture of dread and excitement flashed though his guts. Clearly if he thought this case wasn't closed he was going to have to follow up on it alone. Well...not really alone. The idea that he would most certainly go back to his hotel room and call Scully buoyed his spirits. "All right," he said, turning back to Lyon. "Forget it. You file your report, and I'll file mine and we'll call it quits. Forward what you find out from the coroner tomorrow. I'll add it to my notes and book a flight back to DC." "Fine," Lyon replied, his jaw tight. Mulder abruptly turned away and started to walk back toward the entrance of the Wyndham Hotel. "Mulder!" Fowler called after him. He didn't answer as his shoes made hollow clanking sounds on the bridge's metal walkway. The cold, hollow sound echoed the feeling in Mulder's heart, the cold feeling that told him something was definitely amiss regarding Barbara Sutcliffe's death. The icy sensation that there was something he was forgetting about the last few minutes...something important that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Something that would give him all the answers. xXx CRYSTAL CITY. WASHINGTON, DC. Skinner closed the file in his lap and looked up, craning his head to look at Dimitri Yvashko, who stood at the apartment windows staring out into the night. "So, you've been doing this for three years now...working within the Synodal Department of Cooperation?" "Yes...ever since our Patriarch appointed me to the department I've acted as one of the liaisons between the Russian Orthodox Church and the Federal'naya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti. The church is very interested in maintaining contact with the FSB and the other KGB successors. Another branch of the Synodal department deals with the Armed Forces. "Well of course I'm aware of the church's connection with the Federal Security Service. I just had no idea...Dimitri...why didn't you tell me you were involved with this...this..." "Battle?" Skinner tossed the file onto the coffee table, sat back and let out a breath. "I don't know what to call it...but *witch hunt* might come close." Dimitri left the window, walked over and sat down in the overstuffed chair adjacent to the couch. He leaned forward and addressed Skinner. "She is a witch...but she's much more than..." "Dimitri...come on...you know what I meant by *witch hunt*. You can't expect me to believe..." "Sergei...I know this is hard to accept...especially by a man who is so grounded in facts and hard evidence in his life work. I haven't told you about this aspect of my work partly because I knew you would find it out of your sphere of belief. But there was also a degree of Church secrecy involved...and a personal wish on my part to not complicate your life with my problems in this area. But now you must believe me, the world is in terrible danger...all our souls are in terrible danger." Skinner sighed and rubbed up under his glasses. To say he was having a difficult time swallowing the information Dimitri had brought him was no exaggeration. Even after everything he'd seen over the last 5 years in his association with Mulder and Scully he was still essentially a skeptic at heart. He did need facts and evidence. He was willing to believe some things because he could see the evidence or had direct experience with them...but this...this supernatural bullshit strained his credulity. "Dimitri...are you sure that this woman isn't a member of some kind of cult on the order of Anton Levay's church of Satan. Those people are full of it...and hardly capable of endangering mankind...but they are good at PR and..." Dimitri bowed his head. "I'm asking you to try to believe as my friend, Sergei. I think she's here in the US and I have to make a very unofficial investigation. But, I need the help of someone higher up in law enforcement with access to the tools that come with that position...and I didn't know where else to come but to you." Skinner looked at the top of his friend's head and felt something cold prickle at the back of his neck. Dimitri was serious. As farfetched as he found what he'd read in the file...Dimitri believed it with all his heart. He didn't want to think his friend was suffering delusions. Dimitri had never shown any evidence of psychological instability. Skinner shifted on the couch and came to a decision. This was his friend. He at least merited the benefit of the doubt and an attempt at understanding. He cleared his throat and Dimitri looked up. "All right...let me get this straight. In the late 1700's an architect named Varelli built three houses for three witches?" "Yes...a diabolical trinity. Just as there are three fates, three graces and three furies, so there are three sorrows..." "Our Ladies of Sorrow...as in Thomas De Quincey's 'Levanna and Our Ladies of Sorrow'?" "The essayist De Quincy was aware of the legend only...but not the truth." Skinner nodded not so much in confirmation as much as to focus his train of thought. "All right...so these three sorrows are called the Maters, or Mothers if we're using English and not Latin," he said. "Yes. The Mothers of Whispers, Tears and Darkness; three very powerful sorceresses--they are really demons for all intents and purposes." "Who generate all the ills of mankind from these three mansions that Varelli built?" "Yes. As you read in the file...they use black magic, and psychic influence...especially temptation...temptation of every appetite including erotic temptation to work their wiles. They are able to possess innocent women, destroying them while they use their bodies to continue their demoniacal plotting." Skinner shook his head. "This is...very hard to believe." Dimitri seemed to ignore his rumbled protest. "For many years a select group within the Russian Orthodox Church has been hunting them," Dimitri murmured. "My brothers and I have used our connections with law enforcement organizations throughout the world to track them to their houses in Freiburg, Germany, New York and now Rome." Skinner flexed his hands and again set his mind to wrapping itself around Dimitri's story as best he could. "And your...brotherhood managed to destroy two of them?" "The Mother of Whispers in Germany and the Mother of Tears in New York. They were eliminated years ago...before I was appointed to the Synod. I've been hunting the last...The Mother of Darkness all this time." "And you trailed her to Rome and now think she's in the states?" "Yes. And it's imperative I find her. We knew it was only a matter of time before the Mater's plans reached fruition. And make no mistake, their goal wasn't to just bring ills to mankind...it's always been to bring down mankind..." "By opening the gates of hell and bringing hell on Earth...the enslavement of mankind by Satan and his minions?" "Yes," Dimitri answered. "The Mothers have been sacrificing men for years...performing the blood rites...building a nexus of power, pushing the door between Earth and Hell open a crack at a time...but now...now I sense this last Mater is very close to throwing that gate wide open. And I must stop the Mother of Darkness from completing her task." "You alone?" The priest gave Skinner a gentle smile. "If it is God's will. But, Sergei...I think it's not my destiny to be alone in the hunt any longer...I think...I dreamed..." The priest stopped talking and rose, walking again to the windows to stare out them. Skinner stood as well and followed him, standing at his friend's side. "Dimitri?" he murmured. The priest didn't look at him, but spoke quietly, still staring out into the darkness. "Sergei...I prayed for an answer and I think my answer was to seek you out for help. But besides coming to you for support I also came here to warn someone specifically...someone in grave danger." "Warn who? Me?" "I'm not sure, my friend. I've prayed on that too...and although I know I won't hunt alone this time...I'm just not...sure..." "I don't understand." Dimitri let out a sigh and left Skinner's side, traversing the room to the bar where the bottle of vodka and his shot glass now sat. Skinner turned and folded his arms over his chest. "Part of the way I follow my quarry is by being...sensitive," Dimitri explained, reaching for the vodka and pouring himself another shot. "Sensitive? You're trying to tell me you're psychic?" Skinner asked. "Only a little," Dimitri said, letting his lips turn up in a self-deprecating smile at the disbelief in Skinner's tone. He downed the vodka and then continued. "I marshal certain minimal psychic talents to follow her trail. You might describe her...aura as an evil miasma...a foul stench that even the most rudimentary sensitive can track." "So, you think she's...what...after me? Why the fuck would..." "I had a dream. I saw a man in the dream that was in great peril from the Mother of Darkness. I think this man will soon be a sacrifice. Perhaps the last sacrifice." "Oh great...so I'm going to help usher Satan into this world? Remind me to tell you sometime how that already hits closer to home than you realize." Dimitri placed the shot glass back on the bar and turned to look at Skinner. "The face and form of the man were unclear...but I sensed the aura of the law about him. In one of my most recent dreams, I even saw a partially obscured badge...the badge of an FBI agent. The Mother has a personal vendetta against me and anyone in the brotherhood. She will do anything to get at us...attack our family, our friends. My close family is dead...and you're the only true friend I have in law enforcement, in the FBI, Sergei. So, although my dreams have been frustratingly symbolic at times...I had to come here to both ask for your help and warn you...or tell you to warn someone..." Skinner shook his head in bemusement. Dimitri raised an eyebrow. "What?" the priest asked. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking how much you sound like one of my agents. How everything you've said reminds me of him and how often I've sat at my desk and told him how hard it was to believe him too. Skinner walked over and sat back down on the couch rather heavily. It was nearly 3 AM, he was now sleepy at last and the booze he'd consumed as well as the strange nature of the conversation was making him feel fuzzy and out of focus. Dimitri followed him, his eyebrows still quizzically raised. The priest sat down in the overstuffed chair again and stared at Skinner, studying him. "Agent Fox Mulder," Skinner continued. "He and his partner, Dana Scully comprise a unit under my jurisdiction. They investigate...unusual cases for the FBI. X-Files...cases that are unsolved and what you might think are very similar to the type of situation you're in now." Dimitri sat up straighter. "Their cases involve the supernatural and occult?" "Yes...anything of a paranormal nature. UFO sightings and such as well. But you know...Mulder didn't always chase after ghosts and aliens...he was one of the top profilers in the Violent Crimes Section. In fact, right now he's assigned back to VCS to help apprehend a serial killer who..." Skinner stopped talking as he noticed Dimitri's eyes unfocus. The priest was staring right through him...and his face was draining of color before Skinner's eyes. Skinner's brow wrinkled in concern. "Hey...Dimitri," Skinner said. The priest didn't answer. Beads of sweat appeared on his brow. "Dimitri! Are you all..." The priest came back to reality abruptly, color flooding back into his countenance. He became agitated and gestured with impatience toward Skinner. "I'm all right. Tell me more about this Agent Mulder..." Dimitri said. "What does he look like? Where is he now? I..." Skinner held up a hand. "Dimitri...slow down...what...what the hell happened to you just now? You looked like...well you weren't here for a couple of seconds." "I told you I sensed things," Dimitri replied. "I...sometimes I experience something akin to a waking dream..." "And that was one...a waking dream?" "Yes...I saw...Sergei...I think it is Fox Mulder who is in grave danger." xXx GEORGETOWN. WASHINGTON, DC. "Dana Scully...Hello?..." "Scully, it's me." "Mulder! Is something wrong? Are you ok?" "I'm sorry to wake you..." "No...That?s all right...what's going on? Did you get a break in the case?" "You could say that." "What happened?" "They just pulled Barbara Sutcliffe out of the Milwaukee River." "Dead?" "As a door nail." "Jesus, Mulder...was it suicide?" "The coroner's preliminary assessment is that she slit her own throat and fell in." "I take it you don't agree?" "Scully, I...I'm not sure." "We talked about me coming out..." "Yeah, I know we did..." "I'm still willing to do that, of course. But the coroner's exam should be able to confirm if it was a suicide." "By the depth and angle of the wound?" "Yes. As a general rule, if she was right handed the wound will probably start on the left and finish up on the right." "Probably?" "All right...definitely if she cut her own throat and she was right handed." "Barbara was left-handed." "Then the reverse will be true if she's left handed. You could also look for a false start...a smaller hesitation wound...it's quite common even for the most determined suicide in instances like this, to hesitate slightly before the decisive cut." "The wound looked like she didn't hesitate much..." "I could look at the coroner's report if you don't trust the findings..." "Scully...to be honest...I'm not sure forensic evidence is going to convince me of anything at this point whether I trust the coroner or not." "Are you trying to say you're treating this as an X-File now...on what grounds?...Mulder?...I asked on what evidence." "If I say I have a hunch are we going to get into a long drawn out debate about it?" "Mulder...that's not fair." "All right, sorry. But really, all I have to go on right now is a feeling and some research I did on the Internet tonight about an Italian demonologist named Varelli...which was pretty inconclusive so far." "Italian? Is this connected with Barbara Sutcliffe's trip?" "Yes...her study group visited a Varelli Ballet Academy when they were in Rome. Barbara had a fainting spell there. I did a search on Varelli last night and came up with a reference to the ballet academy and an Italian satanist as well." "So you're following up on your possession theory?" "Yes." "It could be a coincidence." "I suppose, but...I'd like to nose around here a little longer and see." "Have you told the local agents about your theory yet?" "Not exactly. I just told them I didn't think they should close the case yet since they hadn't found the murder weapon." "The knife could be in the river." "That's what Lyon said. At any rate...I haven't gotten into any of the other...details regarding my theory." "Well...with all due respect, I've known you to be completely willing to expound theories to the locals before. Why aren't you doing it now?" "If you're implying I'm not confident about what I think's going on here...yeah, ok...maybe I'm not. But it's still a waste of time convincing the locals. Agent Lyon as much as told me that tonight." "He's positive the case is concluded?" "Oh yeah. Hell...Ross Lyon is worse than Skinner ever was on being close-minded." "Speaking of Skinner. You know he's going to want an update." "I'm sure he will." "You didn't call him about this development?" "No, why? So when he finds out, he can order me back to DC?" "I didn't say that." "Look, Scully, if you're suggesting I tell Skinner so he can pressure me to return and you won't have to..." "I'm suggesting you tell him because he's our superior, Mulder...and Barbara Sutcliffe being found dead in the Milwaukee River is certainly an important development in the case." "But you're thinking I should come back to DC...that the case is over because Barbara Sutcliffe's dead, right? Your tone makes me think I?" "Mulder...listen to yourself, all right? You're upset...you sound exhausted. You're getting defensive and to be honest, you're not making a very convincing case for your theory here." "Scully...with all due respect to *you*...maybe I'm upset and defensive because no one will fucking pay attention to me. Maybe I'm exhausted because I'm tired of people thinking I'm...Spooky Mulder." "Well, I hope you don't think that I..." "You know, Scully...for someone who's so unwilling to believe in possession, it wasn't that long ago that you were talking about the existence of seraphim and nephilim and trying to convince me that..." "Damn it, Mulder...that really *is* unfair!" As I recall you were quite unwilling to be convinced about that yourself." "Look...I didn't mean to say that. I'm sorry. Scully?...Scully, listen, really...I..." "Mulder...I'm not doubting your theory...I'm not doubting you. I'm just worried. I'm worried you're in over your head this time and I don't want you to get hurt, ok? I'm sorry...I didn't mean..." "All right, yeah...I guess...I guess I could be in over my head. Maybe...maybe I'm letting my past history with Barbara Sutcliffe get to me and color my perceptions. Maybe all these hunches are just products of my paranoia. And crap...I am tired. It's as hot as blazes here. I've had a headache on and off all day, hardly any sleep because I had a bizarre...I don't know...a weird stress related dream I can barely remember now...and I had to deal with A-number-one prick Agent Lyon just a few minutes ago. Not to mention the fact that the whole Milwaukee river smells like a sweaty armpit." "Alewives?" "Bingo." "You have my sympathies there...I remember those all too well when we were out there together." "I guess it's time for me to grovel again, Scully...before I sound like an A-number-one prick." "Maybe it's just time for you to call it case closed and come home. Let the locals handle the details for once, Mulder. I think you've done good work out there." "I hope so...I don't feel like I did much at all." "You know...I...I could be persuaded to meet you at the airport and we could go for sushi. My treat." "Oh yeah?" "Yes. It occurs to me that I owe you a dinner and this would be a good opportunity to pay you back. What do you say, Agent Mulder?" "I think you're a very persuasive woman, Agent Scully." "So, you'll wrap things up there?" "I could do that, yes." "Promise?" "Hey...far be it for me to turn down an offer of sushi. Tomorrow I'll just write up my report and hand over a copy to the field office. I need the coroner's findings but Lyon said he's going to send those over here later. But I'll book a flight for the afternoon and be back in time for our...date." "Dinner." "Semantic evasion? You wound me." "All right, we'll compromise and call it a dinner date." "There you go." "Call me tomorrow when you know your flight." "Will do." "And Mulder?" "Yeah?" "Call Skinner...he really does need to hear what's going on from you." "Aww...did he tell you he missed me?" "Something like that." "Really?" "Mulder?Skinner doesn't dislike you...he respects you a great deal. He...I think he worries about you sometimes too." "Gee, I'm touched." "Mulder...Skinner's not...he's not inhumane, you know. He does care." "You think I should cut him some slack." "Think about the times he's done that for you and I think you'll answer the question yourself." "Yeah, I guess. I know he can?t think I'm totally incompetent...otherwise I wouldn't be out here." "Exactly. So call him." "Yes ma'am." "All right. Try...try and get some sleep." "I will. I'll talk to you tomorrow." "Mulder...I'm sorry if I made you feel like..." "Don't worry about it, Scully...I think we're just...you know, things have been kind of tense." "I know." "Let's...we should talk more about that when I get back, ok?" "I...I guess we could, Mulder." "Ok, good. So...I'll let you go then." "All right. Bye now...and have a safe trip back." "Thanks. Night, Scully." xXx CRYSTAL CITY. WASHINGTON, DC. Skinner stared at the Russian priest, temporarily at a loss for words. When he found his voice, he knew he sounded shocked and disbelieving but he couldn't help it. "Mulder!? Dimitri...Fox Mulder is in Milwaukee, Wisconsin right now. Even if I was inclined to accept everything you've said without a single shred of reservation..." "Sergei...I'm talking about evil incarnate...not...not some human criminal. Mulder's location is of no consequence." "Well, what in blazes would make Mulder a target for..." They were interrupted by Skinner's phone ringing. The AD felt his jaw clench. 'Who the hell could that be at this hour,' he wondered. "Excuse me," he said, rising from his seat on the couch. He walked across the room to the sideboard where his cordless phone was located. His name came out as a low growl of displeasure as he held the receiver to his ear. "Skinner." "I'm sorry to wake you, sir." His surprise at hearing this particular caller's voice was evident in Skinner's answer. "Agent Mulder!?" "Yes, sir...I know it's late...or rather early." Skinner caught sight of Dimitri in his peripheral vision. The priest was preparing to rise. "Mulder...can you hold on?" he asked "Yes, certainly," the agent replied. Skinner pushed the mute button on the receiver and turned toward Dimitri. "Sergei...I need to know what he says." Skinner wrinkled his brow. "I realize you're concerned...but this is official FBI business, Dimitri. There are some limits on what I can tell you." "Please...anything you think might be significant..." Skinner flexed his jaw muscles and studied Dimitri's face. The expression of desperation he saw there made him worried for his friend's sanity again. But it also persuaded him that he could at least tell the priest something, if for no other reason than to ease his mind. "All right. Look...I'm going to take this upstairs but I'll tell you as much as I can after the call." The priest sagged back into the chair but gave Skinner a nod. "Thank you." Skinner tilted his chin and then walked toward the stairs. As he mounted them he pressed the mute button on the phone and spoke into it. "My apologies," he mumbled. "If I've called at an inconvenient time..." It didn't take much of an imagination to read the implication. He thinks he interrupted me with a woman, Skinner thought. He ground his teeth together to shake off the sudden image of Carina Sayles that appeared in his mind. "No...It?s not inconvenient. What's going on?" Skinner reached his bedroom, entered and pulled the door closed. Mulder cleared his throat on the other end of the line. When he spoke his voice sounded as laconic as it usually did when he was delivering a report. But Skinner sensed there was something beneath the flat delivery. Disappointment? He sounded tired...exhausted as a matter-of-fact. "They pulled Barbara Sutcliffe out of the Milwaukee River this morning," Mulder said. "She's dead." "Christ," Skinner replied. "Was it suicide?" "Apparently. The coroner's preliminary examination seems to indicate that's the case." There it was in his voice, Skinner thought...definitely disappointment...along with some skepticism. "You sound like you doubt the coroner's findings?" Skinner said. He could hear Mulder shift his arm at the other end of the line. He hesitated a second before he answered Skinner's question. "I did. I talked to Agent Scully just before I called you and..." Skinner was taken aback at the quick stab of jealousy that coursed through him. Jealousy over the idea that Mulder had called Scully--first and at all. He shook his head. Shit...what the fuck was wrong with him? Never mind...don't answer that, he thought. It'll only lead down a distracting path you've already spent too much time wandering down tonight. Get your mind back on business, Skinner. "And you'd like me to assign Scully to come out and examine the body?" "We discussed it, sir. But...I think after talking to Scully I'm going to err on the side of letting the locals handle the situation. The Milwaukee coroner's office, the Milwaukee police and Agents Lyon and Fowler can conclude things here." Mulder tried to make his reply mechanical and by the book, but didn't quite succeed. Under his concise words was a tone of defeat. Skinner found himself rubbing at his temples with his free hand. Shit...something must have happened out there, he thought. Mulder sounds like someone kicked him in the balls. "So, uh..." Skinner faltered, trying to decide whether he should fish for an explanation or just tell Mulder he'd done a good job and it was time to come back to DC. He decided to fish. "Agents Lyon and Fowler were cooperative?" "We had...different investigative styles but things worked out," Mulder replied. Skinner let out a slow breath. Bullshit...that translates as 'they fought like pit bulls', he thought. "Mulder...if there was a problem..." "Did I say that, sir?" "No, but..." Mulder sighed. "You know I frequently have problems with the locals..." "Did *I* say that happened in this instance, Mulder?" "Maybe not in this instance...but with my track record..." "Agent Mulder...that's hardly fair..." Mulder's next words came in a whisper. "Jesus...is there anyone who thinks I'm fair tonight?" Skinner felt his face grow warm again. Now he wondered what had transpired between Mulder and Scully as well as Mulder and the local agents. Could Scully have said something about his admission to her? Did they argue about what he'd said to Scully in his office as well as something to do with this case? "What?" Skinner hissed into the phone. "Nothing. Sorry, sir. Lyon and I did have some disagreements but it wasn't anything that hindered the case." Skinner cleared his throat. "Mulder...if an agent of the Milwaukee field office didn't give you the cooperation you needed I hope you won't hesitate to put that in your report. It's not something I want swept under the rug, understand?" "Yes, sir. I'll make a full report. Skinner nodded. "All right. Good." There was an awkward silence and then Mulder spoke. "Is there anything else you'd like me to do out here, sir?" "It sounds as though the case is closed and you can come back to DC." "Yes, sir. I just need to wait for Agent Lyon to send me the coroner's report. He said he'd have it sent round later. I can book a flight for tomorrow evening and have my report on your desk first thing Monday." "That sounds fine," Skinner replied. "Great." But it was anything but great, Skinner thought. He couldn't get over again how tired and defeated Mulder sounded. Hell...maybe if he'd remember to congratulate his agent once in a while it might help in a situation like this, he thought. It might keep Mulder from thinking he's the world's door mat at least. "Mulder...I want to commend you for taking this assignment on short notice and following through on it. I know it was...distasteful. I also know the ending was abrupt and not as satisfying as having a warm body to incarcerate...nonetheless, I'm pleased with your performance." Skinner could hear Mulder breathing on the other end of the line. When he spoke again, his voice was just a bit more upbeat. "Thank you, sir. I...I do appreciate that." "No problem," Skinner said. There was another awkward silence and then Mulder spoke again. "Then I'll let you get back to...whatever you were doing, sir." The innuendo was in Mulder's voice again. That and...Was that disappointment in his voice again too? Before Skinner could mentally follow up on why the prospect of him having a woman at his apartment would disappoint Mulder, Skinner heard Dimitri sneeze loudly downstairs and his friend's worries came to mind again. He surprised himself with his next question. From the tone of Mulder's answer, it surprised him as well. "Mulder...did anything...unusual happen out there?" Skinner asked. "Unusual? What do you mean?" Skinner winced a little. If there was nothing to Dimitri's fears Skinner figured Mulder would never let him live this down. It wasn't often that Skinner showed an active interest in whether a case was an X-File. Now he was about to show more than a little interest. "Yes, you know...no X-Files angle at all?" he asked. Instead of the expected amusement or wry reply he expected, there was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. "Mulder?" "Sorry...uh...I guess I was a little unprepared for the question." "Because I don't ask that kind of thing often." "You won't hear me disagree, sir. Why are you asking now?" Skinner hesitated for a moment. Shit, yeah...why am I asking? What do I tell him? "I'm asking now because...well, I've been remiss in showing interest in that aspect of your work. I'm trying to make up for it, I guess. So...was there anything of a paranormal nature about the case?" There was another few seconds of silence on the other end of the line. "No, sir. Nothing paranormal. But thanks for the interest." "You sound disappointed." "Believe me, sir. In this case I'm glad there wasn't an X-File." Skinner was getting the idea from Mulder's tone that the local agents had given him hell about the X-Files and it was troubling him. He pushed his glasses up and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Hell...he was getting tired of hearing that 'Agent Spooky' bullshit...he could imagine Mulder was sick of it. Skinner pitched his voice in a more gentle tone when he answered. "Mulder...before you left I told you if there was anything you wanted to discuss I'd be willing to listen. I want to reiterate that here. If the locals gave you a hard time I want to know about it. I...I meant what I said about valuing your contributions, about valuing your work...even on the X-Files. I don't think it's fair when your colleagues ride you on your work in an unreasonable fashion." "As opposed to when you ride me in a reasonable fashion?" Skinner felt his whole body flush at Mulder's particular choice of words. There was an awkward silence. He could hear Mulder breathing on the other end of the line again. "I'm the boss, Mulder...it's my job," Skinner finally managed to reply. "It's not some local field agent's job." Mulder sighed. "I'm sorry. For what it's worth, sir...I consider you pretty impartial." "As opposed to Lyon and Fowler who were anything but?" Mulder chuckled and Skinner felt a modicum or relief; at least he amused the agent. "Yeah. Listen...I do appreciate what you're saying, really, sir. And for what it's worth, Scully told me I should uh...cut you some slack." Skinner chuckled this time. "I'll have to thank her later," he said. "And look, sir...Fowler was ok. It was Lyon who acted like a prick. I'll put it all in my report, like I said...no problem." Skinner nodded. "Good. So, we're clear here?" "Five by five, sir." "All right. Good work." "Thank you again, sir." Skinner cleared his throat. "Get some rest, Mulder. You sound exhausted." "Scully already read me the riot act on that." "She can urge...I can order," Skinner replied, his lips lifting in a slight smile. Mulder chuckled again. "Duly noted, sir." Skinner hesitated a moment and then he delivered one last piece of advice, a nod to Dimitri Yvashko's concerns but something he knew Mulder would be doing anyway. "Safe trip, Mulder...and watch your back." "Yes, sir...and thanks again. Good night." "Good night." xXx TOWNSHIP OF CONCORD. WISCONSIN. The music blared and she danced. She danced round and round the studio. Round and round, her mouth caked with dried blood...her hands lifting the wine goblet to her parched lips. She sang along with Rob Zombie as he growled out song lyrics through six-foot speakers. Defunct the strings Of cemetary things With one flat foot On devil's wing Crawl on me Sink into me Die for me Living dead girl. She laughed, and spilled wine down her naked breasts. The drops reflected the glow of many candles. It mixed with the sweat that trickled in her cleavage...the sweat from the heat of the furnace that glowed in a corner of the room. Snake-like, her tongue flicked out to lap the wine off her wrist. Some blood had spattered and dried there as well. Now it was sticky with the wine. She sucked on her wrist...savoring the flavor. "Ah...Barbara," she said. "You still taste sweet." She upended the goblet, drained it, and hurled it into the wall. The crash of shattering glass echoed the shrieking of her hysterical laughter. "Ragazza guasto vivente," she exclaimed. "Living dead girl, quanto adatto...how appropriate...for both of us." Her arms thrown wide, her head tilted back, she spun in a circle, her long hair swirling about her shoulders. The music whined, crashed and thundered around her. Rob Zombie's power chords shifted into the strains of 'The Beginning of the End' and she was almost in tears over the ecstasy of it all. L'estremita'...the end... and the beginning of her Master's reign on Earth. So close, so close the pleasure was almost pain. And oh...that was sweet too. She spun again and again, and then dashed for the stairs that lead to the studio loft. Skipping over steps as she climbed, she quickly reached the room above. Her hands grabbed the balcony railing. She jerked her body back and forth, causing the railing to shake and groan in protest. Her cry of exultation soared down into the flickering lights below. "I am ready, my master! I am ready!" She barely heard the tiny mouse-like squeal of protest that issued from deep within her mind. The last shriek of the woman who was no longer needed...and whose voice was squelched. Who died--her soul no longer really there at all. She threw herself backward, landing recumbent on the King-size bed behind her. Her hands slicked down her body, smearing the sweat, wine and blood over her breasts. She massaged her nipples and chuckled throatily. "Yes, almost time." She reached for the stereo's remote control and muted Rob Zombie. Her gummy fingers picked up the cordless phone on the nightstand and dialed a number. When the party on the other end of the line picked up, his voice was thick with sleep. "Hmmm...lo?" "Mama sta attendendo, il mio sacrificio prezioso," she whispered, breathless. "Wha'?" the man asked. "Mama's waiting...don't be late." xXx CRYSTAL CITY. WASHINGTON, DC. Skinner hit the 'off' button on the cordless phone and bent his chin to his chest. He took several breaths to direct his mind away from the few short moments he felt closer to Mulder and Scully at the end of his conversation with Mulder. He had to stop thinking about them in such unprofessional terms. It was simply too dangerous given his slip-up with Scully. He already had one agent with whom he needed to clear the air. He didn't need another. His distracted thoughts were interrupted when he heard sounds of Dimitri moving around downstairs. He sighed...time to go down and face the music there too, he thought. Skinner left the bedroom, phone in hand. Dimitri turned from the windows when he heard Skinner's footsteps on the stairwell. He walked to the couch, placing his hands on the back of it. "Is he all right?" the priest asked. "Yes, he's fine," Skinner replied. "He's wrapping the case up and returning to DC tomorrow." Skinner crossed to the couch and sat down. Dimitri shifted and went back to the chair he'd been sitting in. He ran a hand through his thick brown hair and sat down. "Sergei...this is a matter of faith for me. I have to believe...do you understand that?" Skinner thought once again how much Dimitri reminded him of Mulder. "I can understand religious faith, Dimitri. I admire you for taking vows and living your convictions," Skinner said. 'God knows I could do a better job of living up to mine,' he thought. "Can you try to believe me?" Skinner sighed and rubbed at his eyes again. "Ok, you said Mulder's in danger...what kind of danger are we talking about here?" "It's possible Mulder may become a sacrifice," the priest replied. "Possible, but you're not sure?" Dimitri looked down and sighed. "No...But I get a sense he's in danger. Perhaps...perhaps the Mother is attempting to locate him." "From DC?" "She will go where her sacrifice goes." "Well, if she's as powerful as you say, wouldn't it follow that she might just wait here for him to return? That she'd know somehow that he was returning from this case and wait for him here?" Dimitri studied Skinner's face and then slowly nodded his head. "I suppose that's possible." "Then Mulder will be back tomorrow. If you'd like I can arrange for you to meet him somewhere and you can tell him your concerns then." "Sergei...you must warn him to be careful." Skinner leaned back and scrubbed his hand over his mouth. "What specifically should I warn him about?" "The Mother may try to tempt him...it's her favorite tactic. As it said in the file, she has the ability to possess a woman and use that woman's body against anyone she wishes to lure into her clutches." Skinner yawned. He couldn't help it. He seriously needed some sleep at this point. His voice was slightly muffled from the yawn. "I told Mulder to watch his back. He's a wary individual due to his work. I'm sure he'll be vigilant." Dimitri leaned back in his chair, his fatigue showing clearly in his face. "I'm sorry...it's late and I know this is difficult for you, Sergei. I know you're trying to understand and I appreciate it." "Dimitri, I..." The priest put up a hand and rose from the chair. "It's all right. You've done more than I could have hoped, my old friend. I should go now." The priest stumbled a little in his fatigue and Skinner reached forward to steady him. His arm felt warm, the muscles lean and taut under his black suit coat sleeve. "Dimitri...it *is* late...stay here if you'd like...you're tired too," Skinner murmured. The priest straightened and captured Skinner's eyes. 'His eyes look just like they did when he was eighteen', Skinner suddenly thought...they're still piercing with intelligence...and beautiful. He felt himself grow hot with embarrassment at the memory. The priest smiled gently at him. "I think...I think it would be better if I went back to my hotel. I'll talk to you in the morning and you can tell me about that meeting with Agent Mulder." Skinner removed his hand and stepped back. "Where are you staying?" he asked. "At the Dulles Airport Hilton." "I'll call you there in the morning then." The priest moved to gather up his files and briefcase. "Let me help you," Skinner mumbled. In a moment, Dimitri was packed up and the two men again stood awkwardly staring at each other. "Thank you again for seeing me, Sergei. I know it was an imposition..." "Stop saying that, Dimitri," Skinner replied. "You're my friend. I'll help you in any way I can." The priest smiled and inclined his head, but Skinner knew he hadn't been as accepting as Dimitri had hoped. He felt a pang of guilt over letting his friend down. But...it was all so hard to believe...he was tired...and other than some professional problems, Mulder was fine out in Wisconsin and due back tomorrow. What else could he do without more concrete proof with something so...out there? "Good night, Sergei," Dimitri said. Skinner walked him to the door and opened it. "Good night...I'll see you tomorrow," Skinner mumbled. Without another word the priest left. Skinner watched Dimitri for a moment as he quietly walked down the hallway to the bank of elevators at the end. He turned and raised his hand in farewell and Skinner did the same, shutting his apartment door as the priest entered the elevator. "Damn it," he swore, throwing the locks on the door. "I couldn't have handled that any worse." The clock on Skinner's sideboard chimed the hour. 'Christ, it's four o'clock,' he thought. There wasn't much time for sleep. And he wasn't sure he could sleep anyway now. Not after the bizarre events of the last few hours. Skinner squared his shoulders and walked back over to the couch. Plopping down he reached for the TV remote on the coffee table. In a moment CNN was on his TV screen. He settled back to watch the news. As images of the overseas financial reports flickered across the screen he made a mental note to call Mulder in the morning and arrange a meeting between the agent and Dimitri. He stretched and slumped down a little, scratching his balls as he extended his legs. Skinner sighed as he rested his feet on the coffee table. In a few more minutes his eyes grew heavy, and then his head began to nod. Finally, exhaustion claimed Skinner. His head tipped back against the couch cushions and his TV remote control fell from his hand and bounced on the area rug before coming to rest next to the coffee table leg. xXx THE WYNDHAM HOTEL. MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN Mulder woke up needing coffee badly. He hadn't slept that well and even though the clock on the nightstand said almost nine thirty, he still felt like he needed a hit of caffeine to get moving. Luckily for him, the Wyndham Hotel had one of those small coffeemakers in each room so the agent was able to satisfy his craving immediately. While the coffee brewed Mulder took a piss. His headache was gone...that was a relief at least, he thought as he tucked himself back into his boxer briefs. When the coffee was finished, he poured the hot black liquid into one of the complimentary cups that was on the tray next to the coffeemaker. He took the cup over to the window, sipping the coffee as he stared down at the Milwaukee River. There was a scrap of yellow police tape still attached to the bridge railing where they pulled Barbara Sutcliffe's body from the water. With no breeze the tape hung limp, a forlorn marker of Barbara's passing. Mulder touched the window glass and he could already feel the heat of the day through it. He drew his hand back and ran it through his sleep-tousled hair. He could see his dim reflection in the glass...like a spectral presence against the sun-brightened buildings across the river. He felt like that reflection. Indistinct...trapped between one world and another? trapped between letting his disillusionment in his work and his lingering fear of Barbara Sutcliffe abandon this case as a possible X-File and kicking himself in the ass for losing his faith and not following his hunches. Last night he thought maybe Scully was right and he was wrong. He'd almost convinced himself that his suspicions about Barbara Sutcliffe?s possession and her death were way off base. Now he wasn't sure he should have agreed with Scully. What had happened to his drive to discover the truth? Had it really come to this...this second-guessing indecision? He sighed and moved away from the window taking a longer drink of coffee. He had to admit that talking to both Scully and Skinner last night had been comforting. He felt better for having their support. Skinner had actually seemed to care and once again he was surprised how much that meant to him. Scully's offer for sushi had more than pleased him; he was hoping they could dispel some of the tension between them. He didn't like being so at odds with her. But Skinner?s question about paranormal aspects to the case had sent his mind back on the track of his theory. He'd spent a sleepless night and still felt restless and indecisive. 'Damn...what a time for Skinner to decide he hadn't paid enough attention to the spooky part of Spooky Mulder.' Mulder?s thoughts were interrupted by his cell phone. He quickly strode to the nightstand where he'd left it, set the coffee cup down and put the cell phone to his ear. "Mulder." "Morning, DC. This is Max Fowler." What happened last night at the riverside came back to Mulder and his brow furrowed. 'Why am I not surprised Lyon didn't call,' he thought. 'Christ...what a dick.' But the least he could do was be civil to Fowler...the guy had tried to be cooperative, even friendly in his own way. "Morning...what's up?" "I just wanted to let you know I'm sending the coroner's autopsy report over by messenger in about a half hour. But, I'm also e-mailing it to you at your Bureau addy as I speak." "Ah...thanks." "Yeah, I always find it helps if you have the text already available to cut and paste into your report if you want to quote it. At least that's the way I operate." Mulder walked over to where he'd left his laptop set-up on the small table in the hotel room. It was still on and plugged into the phone jack available for Internet access so he sat down and dialed in as he spoke to Fowler again. "Yeah, that works for me, I appreciate it. I'm connecting now." "Oh, ok...it should be on its way. I'll wait to make sure you got it." Mulder logged on and accessed his FBI e-mail box.. "Not here yet." "Yeah, the system is a slow as molasses this morning," Fowler said. "So, you going to complete your report before you go back?" Mulder sat down in front of the laptop. "That's my intent." "Me too. I want to get the paperwork done this morning myself if I can; because my wife and I got a night out planned. I'd like to get home early for a change." Mulder raised an eyebrow. "You're doing the paperwork alone? How did you rate that?" Fowler sighed a little. "Remind me never to bet on a coin toss. I have the worst fucking luck." Mulder chuckled a little. "Sounds like it," Mulder replied as he spotted the e-mail subject line 'Milwaukee Coroner's Report' appear in his mailbox. "So, where's Lyon?" Fowler hesitated for a second and then spoke. He didn't cover up his annoyance very well. "Chasing skirt, I think," he said. Mulder hesitated, his finger poised to click open Fowler's e-mail. Laura Massey. The name felt like it had been there all along just waiting to grab his attention again for some reason. Mulder wrinkled his brow. What was so important about Laura Massey other than the idea that she had poor taste in men? "You think he's with Laura Massey?" Fowler cleared his throat. "I got that idea when we had a discussion this morning. Or I should say argument. He blew me off," the other agent replied. "Sorry," Mulder mumbled. "Yeah, well...shit happens. I suggested he shouldn't let his dick get in the way of his work, so maybe I'm not as diplomatic as I think I am." Mulder pursed his lips. "Seeing her is a little questionable, with her being related to Borden," he said carefully. "She could have had a closer connection with..." Fowler interrupted. "She's related to the art professor?" "Yes, she's John Borden's niece. Didn't Lyon tell you that?" "Shit, no. He just told me she was an artist and taught at MIAD." Mulder wondered why Lyon didn?t mention the relationship between Massey and Borden to his partner. He kept coming up with the same reason...Lyon didn't consider Laura Massey important enough to the case and used that rationalization as an excuse for screwing her. But he was still guilty or nervous to make him so circumspect. "Maybe he figured she wasn't involved enough in the case to make seeing her a conflict of interest." "Yeah, maybe. But still...he should keep it zipped when he's got to take care of business," Fowler sighed. "Listen...I gotta apologize about all this, Mulder. I mean..." Mulder shook his head. "Don't worry about it...like you said, shit happens," he said. Something about Laura Massey was still nagging at him but he pushed it to the back of his mind as he opened the e-mail Fowler sent him. "I've got your e-mail here." "Oh...good," Fowler replied. "Does it look ok?" Mulder scanned the report. "I see they found the knife?" "Yeah, one of the Milwaukee cops found it stuck between the edge of the walkway and the barrier to the river. Lucky find." "Right...and only Barbara's fingerprints were on it." "Exactly. So...uh...I guess that really means case closed." Mulder bit his lip. He still wasn't sure it was case closed at all. "Yeah, I guess it does," he said. His words belied his feeling that there was an X-File in here somewhere. There was an awkward silence on the other end of the line for a moment. Then Fowler spoke again. "Well listen...it was great working with you, Mulder, really." For a second Mulder wasn't listening as he debated again just what to do about that feeling. When Fowler coughed a little on the other end of the phone, Mulder blinked. "Thanks, Fowler," he hastened to reply. "It was good working with you too. For what it's worth you made me feel welcome in Milwaukee. I appreciate that and the cooperation." "Sure thing," the other agent said. "Anytime. Have a safe trip back. Hope it's cooler out your way." Mulder chuckled a little. "It's gotta be cooler than here. And thanks." "No problem. Oh and one last thing...if you've got any questions regarding the report..." Mulder's mind saw an opening and took the plunge. Almost before he realized it, he interrupted Fowler. "I do have one question...uh...not about the report. For some reason I don't have Laura Massey's address or phone number. I guess I forgot to add it to the list of people we interviewed about her past history. Can you give those to me?" "Oh sure, just a sec," Fowler replied. Mulder heard papers rustling on the other end of the phone. He dragged over the pen and yellow legal pad he used the night before to take notes from the Internet on. Fowler came back on the line. "Here you go...she lives at the same location as her studio. Shit...she lives out in the middle of nowhere. S5807 Church Road, Concord Wisconsin." "Ok, hang on." Mulder quickly jotted down the address. "Got it. Phone number?" Fowler gave him the number, and they exchanged a few more pleasantries before Mulder hung up the cell phone and placed it down on the table. He sat and stared at the legal pad with Laura's name, address and phone number on it. Laura Massey was the one person that no one had talked to extensively about Barbara Sutcliffe. He couldn't get it out of his head that if prompted she'd reveal something that would point toward the truth. Scully and Skinner were going to be pissed but there was no way around it. He had to get to the bottom of his suspicions. Maybe this was a last ditch effort to recapture his lost faith in himself and his work. Maybe it was just a way for him to conquer his fears and prove that Barbara Sutcliffe wasn't some kind of supernatural threat. Or maybe he could just find out why such a life of early promise ended up in the Milwaukee River. Mulder picked up his cell phone and dialed Laura Massey's number. The phone rang several times and then finally someone picked up. "Church Road Metal Designs." "Ms. Laura Massey?" "Yes, this is Laura Massey." "Ms. Massey, this is Agent Fox Mulder...we spoke at MIAD?" "Yes...Agent Mulder. I remember. I'm sorry about Barbara." "It *is* unfortunate. Did it make the morning papers? I haven't seen them yet." Mulder had been more than content to leave all the publicity to Fowler and Lyon; he wasn't interested in sharing the limelight. He hadn't even thought about whether last night?s events made the local paper. "No...Ross Lyon told me on the phone this morning. It's such a shame...she wasn't like that when I knew her." It sounded like Lyon wasn't there, Mulder thought. Good...he wasn't looking for a confrontation. He straightened and prepared to get at the answers. "Well that kind of brings me to why I called. I need to ask you a couple of final questions about Barbara Sutcliffe for my report..." "Oh...well go ahead. I'll help in any way I can." "Actually it involves identifying some old photos I have here. Would you be available for a short meeting?" Mulder sat back and hoped Laura Massey wouldn't tell him to go ask her uncle. She'd be within her rights to do that and he wasn't sure how he'd work around it. "I'm busy today. I have a commission deadline I'm working on and Ross and I were planning on getting together later..." "It'll only take a few minutes, I'm sure." Mulder heard Laura's footsteps on the other end of the line. A shuffling of papers, then she replied. "If you wouldn't mind coming here I might be able to swing it at say...one o'clock. I should have some time before I meet Ross." Mulder bit his lip. He was hoping to meet her somewhere more public, but if this was his only shot... "All right, that would be fine." "You must have the address if you have my phone number...but I'd better give you directions...this really is out in the country." "Great. Thanks," Mulder said. He tore a clean page from underneath the top sheet on his yellow pad and re-wrote the address and phone number on it. As he wrote the directions to Laura Massey's house, he told himself that although he intended to go talk to her, it might lead to nothing significant. He told himself there was no reason to make Scully think he was a total jerk. After he ended the call he got up and went to the hotel phone on the nightstand next to the bed. He picked up the receiver and dialed the front desk. "Yes...could you give me the number for the United Airlines desk at Mitchell Field? Thank you." It was a compromise. He'd book his flight back to DC for early evening, drive out to Concord and talk to Laura. If nothing panned out he?d head straight to Mitchell. If Laura gave him a lead, he'd call Scully and ask her to come out to Milwaukee. She'd work it with Skinner somehow; with the way the AD was acting last night he'd probably agree without a debate. By the time Mulder hung up the hotel phone the game was afoot. He felt a sense of purpose as he headed into the bathroom to shower before the messenger arrived with the hard copy of the coroner's report. xXx TOWNSHIP OF CONCORD. WISCONSIN. Ross Lyon watched as Laura Massey walked naked up the loft steps, cordless phone in hand. "Who was it, baby?" he asked, stretching a little on the bed. "My client. He's anxious to see...my work." She smiled. "Oh yeah...you gotta show me this piece you're working on." "You're really interested in it?" 'No,' Lyon thought...'but if it'll get you to shut up and suck my cock, I'll pretend.' "Sure...I'm interested in everything about you." Laura grinned and placed the cordless phone back in its cradle on the nightstand. She climbed up onto the bed. Lyon shifted slightly as she moved in next to him. "Well...pleasure first, business later, don't you think? Now...where was I?" she said. Lyon placed his hands behind his head and spread his legs. "Right here, baby," he said, gesturing with his chin toward his erection where it jutted up between them. "Ah yes...Mama wouldn't want that to go neglected, now would she?" Laura answered as she took Lyon's hard-on in hand. "Ohhhh, Mama," he gasped as she swallowed him in right down to his nuts. "Oh yeah...do it, bring me off, baby," he grunted. Laura was only too happy to oblige and in only a few minutes Lyon's back was arching as he cried out, his semen spurting down Laura's throat and trickling down her chin. Afterwards they lay together and Laura toyed with his dick as it grew flaccid. "Hey, it's a little tender," he mumbled as she stroked it. She smiled at him. "Come," she said, extending her hand. "I just did, baby," he chuckled. "You were great." Never hurts to give 'em some positive feedback he thought as Laura laughed and shook her head. "I mean come and see," she said, reaching for his hand. "Your work? Now?" "It's complete...I want to christen it with you. Or don't you think you have it in you to get it up again that fast," she teased. Never a man to turn down a challenge to his manhood, Lyon grinned. "Show me and I'll show you how fast I can get it up again," he replied. Laura laughed again and Lyon took her hand. They left the bed and naked, climbed down the loft stairs. Laura led him through the studio, past her worktables, her block and tackle for lifting bronze castings, past the furnace for smelting metal and the kilns to bake the pottery she sometimes made. "Where is this thing?" he asked. There wasn't any sculpture evident in the larger space of the old church that had been converted into her studio. "Here, lover," she said, yanking on his hand slightly. Lyon followed her to a door at the back of the studio. She threw it open on a smaller room inside. It was dark in the room, but Laura flipped a wall switch as they walked in. The light illuminated a spot on the wall opposite the long table in the middle of the room. Hanging on hooks on the wall was a metal sculpture. Lyon wrinkled his brow. What the hell is that, he wondered. He let go of Laura's hand. "What is it?" he asked looking at her in the semi-darkness. "My work...go see," she said. He smiled at her and she smiled back. Lyon took a few steps and then circled the table to get a closer look. The 'work' was obviously a bronze. He could see it glinting in the spotlight. "It looks like...it looks like it's sculpted fur," he mused, bending closer to examine the intricate casting. 'The thing looks like a big furry horse collar or something,' he thought. 'And what are these...they look like fucking Freddy Kreuger gloves.' "Nine inch nails, huh?" he chuckled. "It is fur...and they are nails...or more properly...claws," Laura said and Lyon thought her voice sounded like something with fur and claws...like a great big cat purring seductively. He felt his cock twitch and grinned. Oh yeah...he was ready to go again...no problem. "Yeah? Interesting..." He jumped slightly when he felt Laura wrap her arms around him. He hadn't heard her cross the room. The thought spun away as she trailed her nails down his chest and groin. Her right hand reached down and wrapped around his cock. "Uh," he grunted as she started to stroke it and lick his ear. "It's a lion's mane and claws...do you like them?" she whispered. "Oh yeah...I can see that now...and that's the tail hanging in back. Clever," he replied, his voice strained as she moved her hand up and down his swelling flesh. "Thank you," Laura breathed into his ear. "Now...want to christen it properly?" "Oh yeah," Lyon smiled, turning his head to capture Laura's mouth. They kissed passionately for a few moments and then she released his mouth and erection. He looked around. As his eyes grew more accustomed to the dim light he noticed the room's walls. They were covered in graffiti of some kind. He squinted, trying to make it out, but a clinking sound distracted him. He glanced at Laura. She'd been touching the bronze but came and took his hand. "I want you in me, baby," she said, smiling at him. "Fuckin' A...come on," he said, pulling her toward the door. She yanked him back and shoved him against the table. "You want it here, on the table?" "Yes," Laura replied, still smiling. "Hey, that's fine with me," Lyon laughed, placing both hands on the tabletop. He took a short hop to hoist himself up. Laura came up after him and placed her hand on his chest indicating she wanted him to lay flat. "I'd like it on top," she said, her voice low and sultry. "Hell, yeah," Lyon grunted, positioning himself so Laura Massey could straddle his thighs. His erection pointed up between them and she took the base tight in her right hand. "This good?" he asked. "Yes, close your eyes, lie still...as death..." "What?" he asked, chuckling. "Sia ancora il mio leone piccolo," she said. "What the fuck are you saying?" Lyon asked, laughing this time. Laura Massey didn't answer and as Ross Lyon stared into her eyes, something shifted in their light blue depths. Lyon wrinkled his forehead and felt something he didn't expect to feel right now...fear. His erection started to wilt and he spoke. "Laura?" "Not anymore," the thing that had been Laura Massey said, her grin stretching from ear to ear. Ross Lyon had just enough time to consider how his will hadn't been his own for quite a few days...how he hadn't really been himself...and how much it hadn't seemed to matter until now...just enough time to realize what had been done to him...before Laura's left hand arced up and then came smashing down between his legs...driving one of the nine inch bronze lion talons straight through his right testicle. And then Ross Lyon had just enough time to scream. xXx TOWNSHIP OF CONCORD. WISCONSIN. Laura Massey's directions had been easy to follow and it hadn't taken Mulder long to reach the intersection of highway B and Hillside Drive in Concord. The air conditioning in his airport rental car helped make the drive pleasant despite another day of record-breaking temperatures. He'd enjoyed the scenery, the dairy and beef cattle in the fields, farmers on their tractors--classic images of rural America flashing past his windows as he drove. Mulder hung a right turn onto Hillside Drive, glancing briefly at the directions again. He was looking for Church Road Tree Farm first...a large business that was on the left side of the road. Once he saw the tree farm the directions said the next right hand turn was onto Church Road. Laura Massey's home and studio, a converted church, was on the corner on the left. A grove of deciduous trees and then pine trees passed on Mulder's left, a sign advertising 'cut your own Christmas tree' caught his eye...and then he spotted the church up ahead on the corner of Church Road and Hillside Drive. It only took him a moment to drive in, park the rental and cut the ignition. As soon as he got out of the car he started to sweat. He shook his head in a mixture of bemusement and annoyance over his luck at coming to Wisconsin during a heat wave and then jogged to the large double front doors of the church. From the general gothic design of the structure and the stained glass scenes in the windows, Mulder theorized it had once been a Catholic church. He could hear music playing inside...something loud with a rock beat. The agent knocked on the front door and stood back, waiting for someone to answer. When no one did after a few seconds, he pounded on the door. The music inside stopped and he heard footsteps approaching behind the door. Mulder stepped back again as the door swung open. "Ah, Agent Mulder. I thought I heard someone," Laura Massey said, smiling. "Sorry...I tend to play my music loud when I'm working." Mulder was taken again at the woman's beauty. Even dressed in an upturned welder's mask and leather welding apron, she was breathtaking. Her long black hair and electric light blue eyes made her striking. She was also almost as tall as Mulder and athletically built...the better to work with metal, Mulder thought as he smiled at her. "Sorry to impose on you like this," he said. "No, it's quite all right, come in out of this heat. Although I can't promise it's that much cooler in here...I had the smelting furnace on earlier." Mulder entered what must have been the narthex of the original church. It was darker inside and a little cooler. The walls were cut stone and he figured that contributed to the drop in temperature. Sweat congealed between his shoulder blades as he noted the bronze bas-reliefs on the walls, and the sculptures on stands that were placed tastefully around the area. No realism and nothing figurative, Mulder noticed. All Laura's work appeared to be of a surrealistic or avant garde variety. A large engraved sign with the words 'Church Road Metal Designs' hung over the entrance to the sanctuary area of the church. Laura observed him taking it all in. "Nice work," he commented. "Thank you. This is where I usually meet and greet clients," Laura replied, shutting the church doors. My offices are off here too," she replied, gesturing toward a door to the right. Mulder took a step in that direction as Laura pushed open the double doors of the sanctuary. "Come on in and have a glass of iced tea while I look at the photos you brought," she said, walking through the doors. She held them open and turned to Mulder. "Oh...sure. Thank you," Mulder said. He turned away from Laura's office door. As he followed Laura though the entrance to the sanctuary, she removed her welder's helmet and apron, tossing both aside onto an old but comfortable looking couch. Mulder couldn't help looking at her jean-clad legs and ass as she walked ahead of him. Damn...her legs go practically up to her neck, he thought. But his attention was diverted by the sound of the door shutting behind them, and then the room they were in. The converted sanctuary was enormous. Mulder looked up into skylights that had been built into the ceiling. Those and the stained glass windows flooded the area with natural lighting, which was augmented by powerful natural electrical lights, currently shut off. Ceiling fans stirred the air and a central air system purred unobtrusively in the background. Contrary to Laura's previous apology, it was pleasantly cool in the large, stone walled space. It was obvious Laura both lived and worked in the studio. The sanctuary had been converted into an open concept all-purpose living and working space. There were all the accouterments of the sculptor and metal workers trade, including the aforementioned smelting furnace built into its own extra wing off to the side, and something Mulder recognized as a kiln. But there was also a kitchen area, an area that was made into a cozy living room, with bookshelves, the couch and several overstuffed chairs. There was an entertainment system along the living room area wall with two of the largest speakers Mulder had ever seen in a private residence. He guessed she did like to crank up the music, but given the rural location, the thick stone walls and lack of close neighbors except for the tree farm, that wouldn't matter. When he was far enough into the room and turned around, he could just glimpse her bed in the loft above. Somewhere there had to be a bathroom too, he expected. "Please sit down," Laura said, indicating one of the overstuffed chairs in the living room area. "I have diet coke and Evian if you'd like either instead of iced tea." "No, iced tea is fine," Mulder replied, taking a seat in one of the overstuffed chairs. He watched the artist gracefully walk to the fridge, retrieve a pitcher of iced tea and carry it back over to a large, low, round coffee table that sat in front of the chairs and couch. She bent at the waist and placed the pitcher in front of him. Mulder couldn't help but look down the front of her sleeveless, scoop necked T-shirt. She was braless. She had freckles on the tops of her creamy, pale breasts. Mulder blinked and glanced away as he felt a tightening in his groin. But his arousal wasn't for Laura Massey. The moment he saw the freckles and pale, fine skin he'd thought of Scully. He felt his face grow hot. "Would you like some ice?" Laura asked. "What?" Mulder replied, startled. "Ice. Would you like some ice in your glass?" Mulder refocused on Laura Massey. She was smiling at him. "Oh, yes...thank you," he managed to get out. She left his side again and he quickly wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead. He glanced down and frowned. 'Oh great. Damn it...just what I need...a hard-on.' Mulder crossed his legs as Laura approached again, two ice filled glasses in hand. "Here you go," Laura said, extending a glass toward him. When Mulder took the glass, their fingers brushed. He looked up and Laura captured his eyes. There was a sudden sharp pain behind the bridge of his eyebrows...and then it was gone as suddenly as it came. His erection wasn't however...it made itself known by dampening his boxer briefs. "Thanks," he mumbled accepting the glass. "My pleasure," Laura said, smiling. Her fingers lingered on his for a second longer and then she left his side. The sculptor poured tea for both of them and then crossed to the overstuffed chair on the other side of the coffee table and gracefully sat down. She kicked off her sneakers and pulled her long legs up. Mulder watched her full, red lips for a moment as she took a sip of iced tea. Then he tore his eyes away and cleared his throat. "You have a great set-up here. It's an attractive building too," he said. He didn't want to make small talk; he wanted to cut right to the chase. But he was having trouble keeping his mind off Scully...and his thoughts were making him as horny as hell. He was trying desperately to focus his mind on the matter at hand and away from his insistent cock. "Yes, it's convenient to both live and work in the same place. Of course it does have its drawbacks...you can spend all your time working because it's easy to do...and I find I do like to...play occasionally. "It was a Catholic church, wasn't it?" "Yes, but the congregation was consolidated with one in Sullivan and the church was de-sanctified and put up for sale. I bought it and helped renovate it." "Sweat equity," Mulder commented, taking a long swig of his iced tea. He glanced around again and it occurred to him that there wasn't a sign of what Laura had been working on when his arrival interrupted her. Laura chuckled and drew his attention back to her. "Oh yes...a lot of sweat went into this place," she said, nodding. "Blood, sweat and tears you could say." "Renovating can be a challenge." "I found that out. Ripping out the pews and altar was quite the job. We left the tabernacle and created a separate room back there and the wing over there for the smelting. We found out we had to rewire all the electric. I'm just lucky I had a lot of help from good contractors and a superb architect." Mulder felt drops of perspiration trickling down his back. They were both silent for a few seconds and then Laura put her glass down. "So...you had some photos?" Mulder straightened up. "Yes...sorry...I didn't mean to take up this much of your time..." "Don't worry about it...I'm enjoying your company," she replied, giving him a gracious smile. "Nonetheless..." he said, fishing in his inner suit coat pocket. "I should be out of your way soon if you can take a look at these. They're slides actually, not photos." Mulder had gone through the slides that John Borden loaned him for the investigation and pulled out three from the Italian trip. He'd had them in his hotel room last night while he did his Internet research. He intended to send them back to the local FBI office before he left, but with his change of plans decided to use them now. Two slides were of Barbara, Borden and the other students posed in front of the Varelli Ballet Academy. The third was a close-up of Barbara Sutcliffe looking at a bronze of a satyr. The Varelli connection was the one thing that kept bothering Mulder. The Academy was where Barbara had fainted...the one anomaly in an otherwise routine trip...hell...in a mundane life. He'd located enough on the satanist Varelli to know he should follow up on the subject...it was too much of a coincidence that the ballet school was named after him. And he wanted to see Laura's reaction to the slides. He was hoping, despite her prior assertions that she hadn't known Barbara well, that something about the slides would jog a deeper memory and bring it out. "Oh...well...I do have a small light box," she replied. "Over here," she added getting up. Mulder rose and followed her to a workbench that ran along the wall next to the living room area. Laura switched on the light box and Mulder placed the slides carefully down on its bright surface. Laura bent over the box, and peered at them. Mulder stood back out of her field of vision. His dick was tenting the front of his pants. He didn't want her to see it, and he didn't want to take a chance of brushing against her either. "These are my uncle's slides...from Italy," she said, biting her lower lip a little. "Yes...do you recognize everyone?" She smiled. "Keith and John look so young. I'd forgotten they went on this trip together. Yes, I recognize them all. Barbara looks so happy..." Laura's voice trailed off and she glanced at Mulder. "I know I told you I don't remember Barbara very well, Agent Mulder, but one thing I do recall is she had a good sense of humor and was always laughing." Mulder nodded and she bent back to the light table. After a few seconds she spoke again. "This is the Varelli Academy," she said. Mulder moved a little closer. "You recognize it?" "The Varelli Academy is very well known for its bronze collection." "Do you know anything else about it...about Varelli for instance?" Laura Massey stood up and swiveled in his direction. Her eyes captured his and Mulder felt his whole body flush. He could practically hear the sound of his own heart pumping blood into his engorged penis. He struggled to pay attention to what Laura was saying. "Varelli was an Italian architect. He built the academy. It was said he was a satanist...but that's only rumor," she said. Her voice flowed over him, like molten metal that might have come out of her smelting furnace. His muscles quivered as sensations of pleasure flooded through his body and centered in his swollen dick. "Uh...excuse me. I could use some iced tea," he mumbled. Mulder turned on his heel and strode back to the living room area. "Are you all right, Agent Mulder?" Laura asked. He sat down and reached for his iced tea glass. "You were a little white there for a minute." "I think...the heat is bothering me...either that or I'm fighting the flu. I've felt ill on and off since I got out here," he said. He took a long drink of the tea. When he put the glass down, Laura was standing at his side, her hand on his shoulder. He hadn't heard her cross the space between them. She touched his cheek and his thoughts spun away. "You don't feel feverish. Let me get you some more iced tea...and some aspirin," she said. Mulder scrubbed his hand over his face while Laura left him. 'I'd better see a doctor when I get back to DC,' he thought...'yeah...I'd better see Scully...Scully's breasts have freckles just like that on the top they'...Jesus...He had to stop thinking about Scully's body...it was making him useless here. Before he could shove her out of his mind however, Laura returned with a second glass of ice and some aspirin. "Maybe you just haven't been sleeping well," she said. "I know when I travel I have a hard...time sleeping in hotels. But then again, the Wyndham is comfortable." "How did you know I was staying at the Wyndham?" Mulder asked. Somewhere in the back of his mind an alarm was going off...a warning. Laura leaned close and placed the glass and aspirin down on the table in front of him. Mulder could smell her then...she smelled like...she smelled like Scully's perfume. He looked into her eyes again. "Ross told me," she said. He could see something shift in her eyes...a dark opaqueness similar to what he'd seen in films of shark's eye as they bit into their prey...and then she stood up and moved away. Mulder shook his head when her back was turned. He tried in vain to dispel the confusion and waves of arousal that were coursing through him. He needed to do something or he was going to come in his pants. He needed a minute to think...to get his head clear. "May I...may I use your bathroom?" he murmured, standing. "Oh...certainly. It's back through those doors. You can't miss it," she replied, pointing toward the area where the tabernacle had been. Mulder turned and strode across the expanse of the sanctuary as quickly as he could without giving away that he had a massive erection between his legs. As he walked he felt marginally less aroused however and his heartbeat slowed when he realized he wasn't in imminent danger of climaxing in front of this woman. He reached the door at the back of the sanctuary and just as he started to open it, the alarm that had been trying to warn him finally got his attention. He remembered. Last night.... He remembered the woman he had seen on the bridge over the Milwaukee River...he remembered his dreams...he remembered he'd seen the same woman in his fevered sexual dreams the night before too. He remembered...and he knew it was Laura Massey. "Let me help you with the door, Fox," Laura said. Mulder hadn't heard her cross the sanctuary floor again, but he felt her iron grip as she grabbed his left arm and threw the door to the tabernacle open. He watched her smile as she looked into the room, which was lit with hundreds of candles. His eyes inexorably followed hers inside. He saw Ross Lyon spread-eagled on his back on a table in the room, blood pooled under him. The other agent's head was encased in a bronze lion's mane that had been bolted to his skull. He had nine-inch claws attached to every finger and a long metal tail bolted to his pubic bone and encasing his penis. Each bolt had been soldered neatly in place. He saw the rictus of agony on Lyon's face.... And Mulder went for his gun. Laura Massey's arm blurred in front of him. His gun was knocked from his hand and he was pushed hard up against the room's wooden door and held there. He gagged and choked as Laura's arm pressed against his throat. "Welcome to my world, Agent Mulder," Laura said. "It's been a long time...but I'm so pleased to finally show you my work." "Who...who are you?" Mulder asked. But he didn't need to ask really...he already knew. He knew because he could hear it reverberating in his ears; a sound very much like the sea makes in a seashell hissing itself into his brain. "I know you know, Fox," Laura said, grinning at him. She pushed, pinning him with inhuman strength, and Mulder saw spots swim before his eyes. "But just in case I've overestimated you...this should help." And as Mulder watched, Laura Massey opened her mouth to show him a bloody stump where her tongue had been. "Jesus Christ!" Mulder gagged. "Blasphemy!" Laura screamed, slapping his face with her free hand. "You'll pay for that." "Fffuck you, whatever you are," Mulder replied. "Oh...we'll get to that, la mia volpe piccola, we'll get to that too." In that instant Mulder had all his answers...and he also knew he'd been lured here...manipulated and compelled to come to this de-sanctified church. He knew because the thing in front of him was in his head, telling him, boasting of it, at the same time as it squeezed his brain like a lemon for information. He could feel it. It made him gag again...but it also made him even harder and his cock twitched between his thighs. The thing that inhabited Laura Massey trailed its free hand down Mulder's body and reached for his crotch. He yelled something incoherent in protest and pulled away from her. The artist laughed, yanked him back and slammed his head into the wooden door. Mulder fell unconscious at her feet. xXx THE DULLES AIRPORT HILTON. WASHINGTON, DC. Dimitri Yvashko thrashed in his sleep. Sweat rolled down his body. He was dimly aware that he had an erection. The voice came to him, hissing in his head like a thousand seas in a thousand seashells. "Say the words, il mio priest piccolo. I know you want to say them." He moaned long and low. "No...I will not let you tempt me." The voice laughed. "I have not tempted you, my little priest...your own mind and body betray you. Say it...go on...say it. Say, "I love you, Sergei". You want him...he's magnificent and virile. Say it and spill your seed for him. As hard as he tried he couldn't wake up. His hand strayed between his legs and rested on his swollen penis. "God, help me," he mumbled, resisting with all his faith. The voice cackled its laughter. "Go on...pray. Blaspheme my master...you'll pay for it later. Pray to your bastard deity, priest. He will not help you. You will lose...and I will have *all* the prizes. See...look...see what I am about to do. Watch...and despair." His vision shifted, blurred and then cleared. He could see a man...a lean, naked man with brown unruly hair and hazel eyes. The man was bound hand and foot to a flat surface and he was struggling up out of unconsciousness. He groaned. "Scully," he said. "Scully...ohhhh...Walter." A naked woman came into view, a tall woman with raven black hair and blue eyes. Suddenly, the man woke and struggled in his bonds. The woman approached and touched his brow, stilling him. "It's all right, I'm here," she said. "Scully?" the man coughed. His hoarse voice rang in Dimitri's ears as the woman stroked his brow and bent forward. "NO!" Dimitri cried out, thrashing in the bed sheets. The voiced cackled in triumph. The woman bent close and captured the man's lips. Dimitri could taste her...taste them...taste the heat that was blossoming between them. And then the woman's face twisted, the features morphed, changed...and it was Sergei kissing the man. Sergei devouring his mouth. Dimitri couldn't help himself...he came, his cum shooting out, spurting into his boxer briefs. Suddenly the kiss tasted like burning sulfur and he gagged, crying out to God as the voice shrieked in pleasure. xXx THE HOOVER BUILDING. WASHINGTON, DC. Dana Scully yawned as she poured coffee into her FBI issue mug, her second cup that morning. She purchased a latte grande on the way into work, but that was long gone. After the night she'd had, she found herself needing a second hit of caffeine to focus. Not to keep her awake...no she was wide-awake despite her lack of sleep. No...she wanted something to focus her thoughts on what to do about a two-fold problem. The first part of the problem was Mulder. Last night during their conversation she had been annoyed and eventually angry with him. She had to marshal all her tact to keep her anger under control, although his apologies had helped somewhat. She knew he was upset but some of the things he?d said hurt her. In addition to hurting her personally it hurt her to hear him sound so defeated?so affected by his treatment by the locals in Milwaukee. She also couldn?t get it out of her head that some of the things he said to her about giving up on the case were said because he thought she wanted to hear them. She feared he was still trying to decide for himself whether his possession theory was valid and merited further investigation. Maybe he was even convinced the case was an X-File. He'd been afraid of his past with Barbara Sutcliffe. So afraid that he balked at going to Milwaukee because of it. Last night was he trying to conquer that fear so he could follow up on the case? Prove he wasn't afraid or prove there wasn't a reason to be afraid? He hadn't said. She had to admit the fact that he didn't share that with her made her very sad as well as irritated. Finally he gave in because she wanted him to come home. She expected him to argue more about why the case was an X-File. His whole demeanor just wasn't adding up in the end, instead of being angry with him, she worried about him. It made her feel as though something was seriously wrong in Milwaukee and she'd tossed and turned about it all night. She hoped he?d call soon about his flight. She had resisted calling him because she didn?t want to pressure him and add to the tension between them. But it was nearly one o?clock and she?d expected he would have called before now. They really did need to talk when he got back. There was too much between them and they needed to get a lot of issues out on the table. And then there was the other part of the problem...Walter Skinner. Every time they mentioned Skinner in their conversation last night she felt the need to defend him...to take his side. As she and Mulder discussed him she felt a fluttering in her stomach and tension between her legs that was undeniable. God...she had to stop thinking of Skinner in such an unprofessional manner. It was bad enough that he made those references...what amounted to a confession...in his office yesterday. Maybe he sensed her attraction to him. She just wasn't sure she wanted to go there at all. She sighed. She supposed that whole situation was something she and Skinner had to either discuss or bury. She wasn't sure which option she wanted to have happen either. It was nerve-wracking and not a little scary to think about dealing with their feelings openly given their circumstances. But it bothered her to have yet one more thing stand unspoken between herself and her supervisor. It bothered her to have a good many things remain under their respective radar for that matter. She'd done more tossing and turning last night over that whole business as well. A ringing phone interrupted her musings and she quickly put the coffeepot back on the burner. Hurrying out of the break room, she rushed down the hall toward the basement office. Her clicking heels echoed in her wake. "Mulder...that had better be you," she grumbled as she juggled her coffee cup. A few drops sloshed onto her blouse and she grimaced as she reached the door to the office. The phone was still ringing. She ran to Mulder's desk, put the coffee mug down, took a seat in his chair and picked up the receiver. "Agent Dana Scully." "Agent Scully, it's Danny." "Oh...hi, Danny. What can I do for you?" "It's more along the lines of what I can do for you," he chuckled. "I have those figures on my testing costs that you guys need. Sorry it took me so long to get back to you but we had the GAO guys up here yesterday and well...you know how that goes." 'The GAO report? Screw the GAO report,? she thought. ?Where's Mulder?' She gritted her teeth, put a smile in her voice and replied. "That's ok, Danny. AD Skinner and I have a meeting set up at three o'clock to finish up our report. Just send the figures down...I'll plug them in." "Great, I'll send them right down." "Thanks." There was a slight hesitation on the other end of the line and then Danny spoke again. "Say, did Mulder get back yet?" he asked. The second Danny mentioned Mulder's name; a cold chill ran up Scully's spine. "No...Why do you ask?" "Well the news came over the wire that his UNSUB was found dead in the Milwaukee River out in Wisconsin. I just figured he might like to get in on a little b-ball tomorrow so I was gonna ask him." Scully bit her lip. For some reason her 'Mulder worry meter' was creeping into the red zone. She felt goose bumps rising on her arms. "He said he'd be flying back tonight. I can leave him a note if you'd like." "That would be great, thanks...we need a good guard so we'd be glad to have him." Scully tapped her foot anxiously. She came to a sudden decision. "On second thought, Danny...I need to get out of the basement for a few minutes. I'll come get those figures from you," she said. "Oh...well, sure. Come on up," Danny replied. "All right, I'll see you in a few minutes," she replied. "Bye." "Bye." Scully pressed the hook switch on the phone. She dialed Kim Cook's phone number. After a few seconds, Skinner's executive assistant picked up. "Office of Assistant Director Walter Skinner." "Kimberly, this is Dana Scully. I need to see him before our scheduled meeting. Is he free?" "Let me check for you, Agent Scully, just a moment," Kimberly replied. Scully leaned forward, propping her elbows on the desk, intent on listening for Kimberly to come back on the line. A warm shiver ran through her when Skinner's rumbling voice reached her ear instead. "Agent Scully...this isn't a good time...." he began. Without thinking she blurted out the first thing that came into her mind, interrupting him. "I don't want to talk about yesterday..." 'Shit, shit, shit,' she cursed inwardly. What made me say that of all things?' His answer was quiet. "Yesterday?" he cleared his throat. "Are you referring to the GAO report...or something else we discussed in my office..." She sat back and shook her head emphatically. "No, sir. I'm sorry. What I mean to say is I wanted to know if you'd heard from Mulder?" There was enough relief in Skinner's voice when he answered to make Scully realize he wasn't any more comfortable than she in talking about what had passed between them. "Yes, last night. He reported to me on the outcome of the Sutcliffe case." "No, I meant since then," she replied. "No." Scully hesitated a moment before she spoke again. "Sir...I know this sounds...well it probably sounds odd...but I have a feeling something's wrong with Mulder. I talked to him too last night and he...well he seemed off is the only way I can put it." Skinner cleared his throat again. "Can you hold on a moment, please?" "Yes, sir," she said. The line went mute and she chewed at her lip. Then Skinner came back on the line. "Sorry...I needed to get the GAO rep out of my office. We were done anyway." Scully took a breath and expelled it. But before she could speak again, Skinner beat her to the punch. "Listen...Mulder sounded rather disappointed last night in the outcome of the case. I also believe the agents in the local office were...uncooperative or critical of his work on the X-Files and that bothered him as well. Perhaps that's what you were picking up on." Scully wrinkled her brow. "I know he was disappointed, sir. But...I don't know if that's what I was hearing. I got the feeling that something else was wrong. He usually argues more if he believes a case is an X-File and he gave in way too easily last night and agreed to come back to DC..." "He thought the case was an X-File?" Skinner interrupted. Scully noticed an undertone of alarm in Skinner's voice. "Yes. I got the idea he did but he was giving in because he thought I wanted him to...or for some reason, at any rate. It made me worried. It just didn't seem like him, sir." There was silence on the line for a few seconds. Then Skinner's rumble made her shiver again...but for a totally different reason. "Maybe you'd better come up here, Scully," he said. "I'm on my way, sir," she replied, slamming the receiver down. xXx TOWNSHIP OF CONCORD. WISCONSIN. Mulder was standing next to a river; on a walkway along the Milwaukee River. The water looked cool and rippled in patterns of green and dark blue. A breeze brushed over the fine hairs on his body, tickling him. He glanced down and saw he was naked. There was a sailboat floating in the river with two people in it. It was Scully and Skinner. He could see them clearly in profile sitting in the stern of the boat. Both of them were naked too, and Scully was straddling Skinner's thighs, facing away from him. It was obvious he was fucking her. Scully's back was arching and her ass plunged up and down as Skinner's large hands gripped her hips, helping to move her on his erection. Her creamy, white breasts fascinated Mulder as they bounced up and down. A voice whispered in his ear. "Would you like to join them?" He sighed. "Yessssss" The voice chuckled. "I think not yet." He felt a profound sense of loss at the voice's denial and moaned their names, as Scully and Skinner's groans of ecstasy sounded loud in his ears. "Scully...Walter." He'd never called Skinner by his Christian name in all the time he'd known him and when he uttered it now, it distracted him enough to tell him that something was wrong here...hell yeah, something was wrong...way wrong... Someone grabbed him from behind suddenly and he yelled out in surprise and fear. He was pulled close against what he could tell were the breasts of a woman. She ground her crotch against his ass and held him tight in a full nelson. He couldn't move. The voice he heard earlier was close, hissing in his ear. "Do you want to know what I did to her...how I did it?" she said. "Dddid what?" Mulder asked, trying to crane his neck around to see the woman behind him. "This..." she answered and Mulder felt a terrific pain in his head. His hand jerked up into his field of vision. He had a knife in his hand. "No," he whispered. "Oh yes...I made what was left of her cut her own throat," the voice hissed, and then it laughed. Mulder's hand flashed across his throat...and he woke up screaming. He cried out for a few seconds and then a woman's soft voice calmed him. "It's all right, I'm here." "Scully?" His hoarse voice sounded odd and his head was splitting. He struggled to focus through vision blurred by the ache in back of his eyes. "Shhhh," she said. A woman's hand stroked his brow and his headache faded to a bad memory. He slowly opened his eyes to see Scully bend down toward him. "Close your eyes, lie still as death." Scully's lips touched his and he shut his eyes again. He tried to raise his hand to cup the back of her head but found he couldn't. In a moment...as she deepened the kiss and their tongues warred, he found he didn't care he couldn't touch her...didn't care that his body felt as leaden as one dying. 'Oh my God,' he thought...'she tastes like warm honey.' He felt his cock swell and the lips on his grew thinner, but just as warm and eager. A larger tongue probed his mouth; Mulder twisted in pleasure under the onslaught. A hard, muscular chest pressed down against him. A man...he could feel a man...and smell...Old Spice aftershave. His eyes flew open. Skinner was kissing him. Startled, he cried out. Skinner released his mouth. The AD stepped away, tilted his head back and brayed his laughter. But then...it wasn't Skinner any longer...it was a naked Laura Massey and she was laughing at him. 'Fuck,' he thought. 'I know what's way wrong now...and I'm in deep shit.' "Welcome back, la mia volpe piccola," Laura said, chuckling. Mulder stared down past his half-hard penis and over his toes toward the woman standing at the foot of the table he was lying on. He carefully shifted, testing his arms and legs to confirm that he was manacled to the table. He glanced around. The walls of the room were festooned with occult symbols. There was a large smear of blood on one wall, but no sign of Ross Lyon's body. He swallowed hard. Laura smirked at him. Her grin was feral. She was insufferably pleased with herself at his predicament. Mulder took a breath and gathered together every ounce of bravado he had. He was scared shitless...but he was determined that as long as he had his wits about him he wasn't going to let this...this bitch know it. "Nice trick," he commented, gesturing with his chin at her. She chuckled again. "I'm glad it pleased you." "I wouldn't go that far," he replied. She inclined her head in acknowledgment and glided gracefully back up to the head of the table to look down at him. She smiled into his upturned face. Her eyes were riveting. "You know, I can't decide whom you want more...the bald man built like a bull or that red-headed bitch," she said. She fingered one of her nipples, circling it and then rubbing it. "Mmmm. I know if I had to choose I'd pick that exquisite stud and slit the cross wearing cunt's throat." Mulder felt his face flush in anger. He tamped it down and dug for a means to deflect the conversation away from any discussion of his hidden desires. Laura's words stung because he'd been keeping his feelings for Scully and Skinner hidden even from himself. The fact he'd been in denial upset him for a lot of reasons, the least of which was that it might prove fatal. The fact that Laura had been able to get at his thoughts so easily both angered and frightened him. The emotion kicked his libido in the head; his cock grew flaccid again. He preferred it to stay that way so he spoke quickly and with only a hasty idea of what he wanted to say: "So...I take it I'm not having the pleasure of Barbara Sutcliffe's company at the moment. But I wonder...is she still here...or am I addressing Laura Massey? Or perhaps instead I'm meeting..." Laura laughed again, shaking her head. "Don't make me think I've overestimated you, Fox. I have a high regard for your intelligence and perceptiveness. I have had for years, ever since we first met in New York. You can't possibly go all psychologist on me now. I'm not Laura Massey doing a 'Sybil' or even an 'All About Eve'. I'm not having some kind of schizophrenic episode, il mio uomo piccolo. And neither are you." And while Mulder watched, her features shifted into the dead face of Barbara Sutcliffe and back to the youthful features of Laura Massey again. "How did you do that?" he whispered before he could help himself. She stepped forward and tapped her index finger on his forehead. "I'm not doing it, my little man...I'm making you do it, that's the whole point," she replied. Mulder clenched his jaw and stared her down. She giggled. "So resolute. You look just like him...your luscious, jaw clenching Assistant Director." "Did you make Varelli do it too..." Mulder began. Laura laughed in delight and clapped her hands, interrupting him again. "Oh yes...that is more like it, la mia volpe piccola handsome. I just knew you'd rise to the occasion and start connecting the dots." Mulder managed a head tilt and ironic half-smile. His hands shook a little both with suppressed fear and anger but also with the excitement of the chase. Ironic that at this hopeless juncture he had regained his joy in his work. "The Italian was rather a dead giveaway. I don't speak it fluently but I know enough to translate 'la mia volpe piccola handsome' as 'my handsome little fox'. And by the way...I'm glad my looks please you." "I wouldn't go that far," Laura Massey said. Mulder gave her another small grin. "Touché'." "But to answer your question...Varelli was merely an instrument. Granted, he was a finely tuned one...but only a tool...a means to an end. You could say he saw to it that we were all housed in the style we were accustomed too." "We?" "Yes...myself and my...sisters." "Housed in Rome?" Laura looked past him for a moment, her eyes unfocusing as she spoke. Her voice was softer, lost in memory. "In Rome, New York and Freiberg, Germany. Have you ever been to Frieberg, Fox? It's quite lovely," she said. "No...I haven't had the pleasure." Laura's eyes refocused. Her head swiveled down, and she gazed at him again. "Ah yes...pleasure...now there's an interesting subject." She grinned and then licked her full lips. Mulder felt his guts jump as she sidestepped down the table until she was even with his hips. He craned his neck watching her nervously. "Where's Laura Massey?" he inquired, seeking to distract her again by an abrupt change of topic. "She was here," she said. "But I regret to inform you she's...left the building, as they say. Isn't that the current pop-culture term for it?" "You...you did possess her then," Mulder said. He'd already known it in his heart; the verbal confirmation was only a formality. "But of course...I took her mind just like a lover would take her body...just like I took Barbara in Rome before her. For a time Laura thought of me as a lover...until I tired of the charade and melted her soul as we melted metal in that forge over there. I watched her scream, Fox. Watched her soul go up in steam. It was glorious!" Before Mulder could answer, Laura touched his thigh and then trailed her fingers to the space between his thigh and balls. He grimaced and flinched, as a sweat broke out and the hissing of many seas flooded his ears. He knew she was going into his head.... Probing his mind...and although he was really, truly terrified he could feel arousal building in his groin as Laura stroked his skin. "I know you hate me...and you should, my little fox. But perhaps you would find this easier to take if I looked like this," she murmured. As Mulder watched, a replica of Scully stood next to the table. A very naked Scully who smiled lovingly at him. He could clearly see the freckles on the tops of her breasts. Her fingers moved onto his balls and then onto his cock caressing him. He shut his eyes and ground his teeth together. He would not let this make him get it up, he vowed. With every fiber of his being he rebelled against the Scullything's tender and tantalizing touch. He jerked his hips away from her hand and snarled, spit flying from his mouth. "All right, cut the crap," Mulder said. 'What do I have to lose,' he thought. 'I'm a dead man...I might as well get some answers before I end up shooting my wad and being tricked out as sculpture in this thing's bronze bestiary.' "I know you can read my thoughts and influence me...but what the hell for...what's the ultimate plan here besides pulling my pud and making me a member of your bronze 'Beast of the Month Club'?" The Scullything morphed back into Laura Massey and her hand left his wilting hard-on. She raised an eyebrow and walked back up to the head of the table. She bent close and hissed into his ear. "Defiant aren't we? But I like that. It'll make your capitulation to my will even sweeter. I also like your renewed vigor to find truth at all costs. You know, Fox...your search for the truth was something that attracted me to you. I knew if I put you on the scent that you'd come to me. I also knew that once you came I could influence you and take you...do you know why?" Mulder played along...anything to buy him a few more minutes. She was right...the truth was important to him...and if this was the last truth he'd ever hear then he wanted to know it. "No, why?" he replied. "Because you were in danger of losing your faith. Oh, you had just enough left to get you here...but you were rapidly losing it...losing your faith in yourself, your work...in everything. You didn't even have faith in yourself as a man to admit your most hidden desires. You wouldn't admit your lust and your love for two people who might just bring you happiness and return your love, faith and trust in kind. You didn't trust yourself or them to reciprocate. And that made you susceptible, Fox. Ripe for the picking and oh *so* delicious." Mulder swallowed and stared into her eyes. "Who are you?" he finally said. "You said you knew Italian?" she asked. Her grin made shivers run up his spine. "Yes, some." "Then you may call me, 'La Mia Madre di Nerezza." "My Mother of Darkness?" Mulder whispered. "Yes, my little fox...and this is who I am," The Mother replied. She touched his forehead and the sound of a thousand seashells hissing grew into what it really was...the sound of thousands upon thousands upon thousands...millions of souls screaming in torment...and Mulder saw. He saw and he knew what she was...and then he cried out in horror...and then he knew no more. xXx THE HOOVER BUILDING. WASHINGTON, DC. Scully pressed her cell phone closer to her ear as she watched the elevator numbers ascend toward Skinner's floor. "Come on, Mulder" she whispered. She'd tried Mulder's number twice now, once just before she got to Danny's office and once in the hallway on the way to the elevator again. She'd gotten his voice mail both times. Getting it a third time made her disconnect and stuff the cell phone in under her jacket and next to her weapon. "Damn it," she said. The elevator finally dinged, signaling she'd reached Skinner's floor. The doors opened onto several people waiting to get on. Scully squeezed past them quickly and hurried up the hallway to Skinner's office reception area. Kimberly Cook was typing but looked up as soon as she heard Scully's footsteps. "He's expecting you," she said, with a nod at Skinner's closed door. "Thank you." Scully strode over and pulled Skinner's door open, entered his office and shut the door behind her. He stood behind his desk, his phone to his ear. When he saw her, he hung up. His face was tense. "I can't reach Mulder. I left him a message," he said. His fingers pushed his glasses up and pinched the bridge of his nose. Any thoughts that Scully had entertained about discomfort due to what transpired between them yesterday got shoved to the back of her mind. The expression on Skinner's face told her he was definitely worried about Mulder. "Neither can I...and with all due respect, sir...you're making me more worried by the minute." Skinner removed his hand and indicated Scully should sit down. She took her customary seat in front of him. He remained standing and proceeded to prowl back and forth behind his desk as Scully watched in apprehension. When he spoke he hesitated and then struggled with his words. "In...In all honesty, Scully...I don't want to believe you have anything to be worried about..." he said. She raised an eyebrow. "But you think something's wrong as well?" Skinner pulled a disgusted face. "Well...Mulder being out of contact isn't atypical..." Scully bent her head and took a breath, letting it out slowly. Skinner stopped pacing and focused on her. "He usually contacts me, sir...unless..." Skinner ran his hand over his mouth. "Unless he can't," he said, lowering his hand. "Yes." Skinner's lips thinned to a line. He was silent for a moment and then inclined his head slightly. "All right...as much as my logical mind wants to deny it....Yes...*now* I think there's something wrong. But last night...hell...last night I didn't want to entertain the thought." "Sir?" "Do you really think Mulder felt Barbara Sutcliffe's case was an X-File?" "Yes. And permission to speak honestly, sir?" Skinner nodded. "Mulder was afraid of Barbara Sutcliffe and that fear went back to his original experiences with her." "Because?" Scully searched Skinner's face. The AD had never been very open to extreme possibilities before...but now he looked like he was hanging on her every word. "Because he felt she was...possessed by something evil. I've only seen him affected that way over cases a handful of times, sir. He was really afraid....that was one of the reasons...maybe the primary reason he didn't want the Milwaukee assignment." Skinner ran his hand over his mouth and then shook his head. "Damn it," he said. "I tried to get him to...to feel like he could come to me if he had any concerns. And I meant that...any concerns whatsoever." Scully avoided his eyes as he looked at her. The implication was heavy in the air that Scully should have clued Skinner into what was bothering Mulder too. "Well...with all due respect again, sir...you've never been very open to the paranormal...." Skinner's brow wrinkled. "And you have?" he asked. Scully looked down at her hands. She knew she'd been skeptical. As much as Skinner...but at least she'd been willing to listen to Mulder even as she debated his theories with him. And she'd seen enough over the years to know her skepticism shifted into belief at times. Skinner often wouldn't listen, and what galled her was sometimes she sensed he was willing to believe and avoided it. When he was willing to help she was beginning to suspect now that it was mostly due to his feelings for her and not an innate respect for her and Mulder's work. She didn't want to think that of him...but now she couldn't help it. It was just one more reason she had to distrust him...one of many reasons. And one more reason her attraction to him disturbed her even more. How could she possibly want a man who she thought she couldn't trust? She tried to push that thought away and focus on what she wanted to say. She cleared her throat and spoke without looking into Skinner's face. "Perhaps I was just more open...or more to the point...I've become more open...perhaps Mulder trusts..." She knew the words were wrong the minute she uttered them but she hadn't been able to shake the thought that Mulder didn't trust Skinner enough to confide in him. She heard Skinner shift and looked up. He walked over and sat on the corner of his desk closest to her. His large hands folded into his lap as if in prayer. Her eyes met his. She could see pain in his eyes. She felt a twinge of guilt and sympathy. "I know it seems like I don't listen or I'm not open to the X-Files a lot of the time. But I told Mulder last night that I don't automatically discount his theories. I respect your opinions as well. I hope you could at least try to believe that too," Skinner said. Scully's brow wrinkled and Skinner looked at his hands for a second. Then he sighed and looked up again. Their eyes met. Skinner's eyes were suddenly much softer and Scully realized maybe for the first time what a deep brown they were...like warm, dark chocolate. "Look...I know both of you distrust me," he murmured. "I haven't done a lot to inspire your trust. But right now...Scully...right now I'm hoping you can trust me just a little...because I need your help to make sense of this...this situation. I think...I think I may have made a mistake last night and if I did...I'm partly responsible for Mulder being in danger." Scully was no longer teetering on the edge of fear...now she was truly frightened. "Go on," she whispered, watching his eyes. Skinner nodded and straightened. He walked around to the back of his desk and started to pace and talk at the same time, pivoting on the balls of his feet as he turned within a small space. "I had a visit from an old friend last night...he's a priest," he said. "He presented me with some information that I...well, quite frankly, that I thought was unbelievable." "Information about Mulder?" Skinner ran his hand over the back of his neck, as if gathering his thoughts and deciding how to word them again. "It ended up being about Mulder but, it started out being about...about...an entity." "An entity?" Skinner gritted his teeth and plunged on. "Yes...some kind of demon who's working to institute the downfall of mankind." Scully raised an eyebrow. "Believe me, Scully...this isn't easy for me to swallow," he sighed. "Well...I have to admit, it does sound hard to believe, but in my experience..." Skinner gave her an acknowledging tilt of his head. "I realize that you and Mulder have shown me incredible things over the years. And believe it or not, I do acknowledge that some of those things defied scientific or logical explanations. But I couldn't wrap my mind around my friend?s assertions even though he insisted that Mulder was in danger," he replied. "Because it sounded...delusional?" "Last night I'd almost convinced myself he was borderline delusional despite the fact he's my friend and I have no reason to question his sanity or his bona fides. And despite the fact I had a gut feeling that something was wrong." Scully shifted a little and replied. "Maybe you should have followed your gut feeling." Skinner stopped pacing and fixed her with an intense look. "I realize that...even I can learn to admit my mistakes, Agent Scully. And maybe we both should have gone with our gut feelings for that matter." Scully flushed a little and nodded. "I'm sorry, sir," she said. Skinner frowned and made a dismissive gesture. "No, *I'm* sorry...my comment was out of line." They started at each other and there was a moment of awkward silence. Then Skinner cleared his throat. "I thought it was just Mulder's disappointment or the fact the locals were riding him and that's why he sounded off. I ignored the possibilities my friend was presenting me because I found them so outlandish. Today...maybe today I need to confess I might have been wrong to doubt him." Scully's reply was cautious and quiet. "You talk about your friend as if you're referring to Mulder," she said. Skinner twitched his lips in a short ironic smile. "That's what I told Dimitri...he reminded me of Mulder and that's how Mulder's name came into the conversation." "And possession was mentioned as well?" Scully asked, looking at Skinner. "Yes," Skinner said. "My friend called this demon a sorceress. He said she had a name...." Skinner stopped for a second, searching his memory. "Dimitri called her 'The Mother of Darkness', and said she's able to possess women and use them to..." "Possess women? You mean possess women like Barbara Sutcliffe..." Scully whispered. Skinner's mouth thinned to a tight line. "I should have been more willing to believe in extreme possibilities last night," he admitted. Scully felt a cold chill course through her body. There was another awkward silence between them for a few heartbeats. Then Skinner turned toward his phone. "Listen...I'm going to call the Milwaukee field office and see if they've heard from him," he added. Before Scully could answer, Skinner's phone rang. His eyebrow went up. "That's my private line," he said. "It may be Mulder." Scully watched silently, her stomach clenching and unclenching with worry as Skinner picked up the receiver. xXx THE DULLES AIRPORT HILTON. WASHINGTON, DC. Kneeling, he recited the end of the Lord's prayer. "I ne vvedi nas v iskushenye," Dimitri Yvashko whispered. "No izbav nas ot lukavogo. Amin." He bent his head under the cold shower spray, staring down at his now flaccid, uncircumcised cock. He'd just been able to drag himself into the bathtub, shaken, his thighs covered in his own cum to pray for God's guidance while he used the frigid shower water to shock him into focus. "Please.... Help me to be strong," he said as the water raised more goose bumps along his spine. He lifted his shaking right hand through the cascade of cold liquid. His thumb and first two fingers of his right hand joined at the tips with the third and fourth fingers closed at the palm, as a symbol of the Trinity. He touched his brow, his chest over his heart, his right shoulder and his left. "Vo Imya Otsa, i Syna, i Svyatogo Dukha, Amin. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." Finally he stood and turned on the hot water in the shower, soaped up and scrubbed the remainder of his earlier wet dream from between his legs. He sighed and shook his head as his hands lathered his whole body. He wasn?t bothered that he'd been tempted by his attraction to Walter Sergei Skinner...a man he'd loved for years. Celibate gays had been allowed in his order for years now. It was the fact he'd given in to his sexual impulses at all that disturbed him. He could not afford to grow weak now. Not when he was so close to defeating the enemy. He rinsed, watching the soap wash away his dried cum. He felt like his sins were washed away as well. He had faith that God would both forgive him this trespass, strengthen him and not abandon him at this crucial juncture. After all, in his moment of extremis this afternoon, God had answered his call and awakened him. Dimitri exited the shower, turning his thoughts again to his conversation with Sergei the night before...but more particularly to Agent Fox Mulder. He hurriedly dried himself and pulled on a clean pair of boxer briefs. Grabbing his deodorant, he applied it under his arms as he left the bathroom. By the time he reached the phone in the hotel room he was tossing the deodorant container into his small suitcase. The anti-perspirant landed next to the loaded Glock and plane ticket laying on top of his underwear as he reached for the telephone receiver. He had to warn Sergei about Mulder. He had to make him listen and believe now. Dimitri placed the receiver to his ear and dialed a number he'd been given years ago but never used before. xXx THE HOOVER BUILDING. WASHINGTON, DC. "Skinner" Scully adjusted the hem on her skirt, fidgeting as Skinner spoke into the phone. "Dimitri!" he exclaimed, glancing at Scully. Scully leaned forward. "Yes...yes...no...look...listen...Dimitri...Dimitri, it's all right...I know I should have been...I should have been more receptive." Skinner listened intently for a few moments and then nodded. "Yes, something's happened here that has Mulder's partner, Agent Scully and I...concerned. She's here with me now...we...what?" Skinner listened again, looking at Scully as he did. "Brown hair and hazel eyes...right, late thirties. Yes...I'd say he was..." Skinner cleared his throat..."I'd say he's similar in build to you, but my height." He raised his eyebrow. "I haven't seen it but that's my understanding...uh...all right. Yeah. Hang on." Skinner hit the hold button on his phone, his face closed off. "He wants to speak to you." "What is it?" Scully said, her brow furrowing. Skinner extended the receiver. "It would be better if he explained. His full name is Dimitri Yvashko, he's an Archpriest of the Russian Orthodox Church." Scully stared at Skinner for a second in surprise. Then she stood, walked over and took the receiver from his hand. Skinner pushed the phone toward her, stepped back and Scully depressed the hold button again. "Archpriest Yvashko, this is Agent Dana Scully." "Please...Dimitri is fine. Or if you prefer more formality...Father Dimitri. Even I have trouble getting Archpriest Yvashko out when I'm in a hurry." "Father...Assistant Director Skinner told me a bit about the situation. He said you could explain further..." "Yes, Agent Scully. I will make this short and pray that you believe me. But regardless of whether you do or not...or can help Sergei to believe or not...I am going to Wisconsin...it is a matter of life and death." Scully's eyes opened a little wider. "Mulder's life or death?" "The life and death of mankind, Agent Scully...all of mankind." Scully glanced at Skinner. The AD was studying her face, his forehead creased with concentration. "So Assistant Director Skinner said. Please tell me what you're talking about," she said. "I am a member of a secret brotherhood, Agent Scully. We have been tracking the creature I spoke of to Sergei for centuries. She is in Wisconsin and she intends to make Mulder her final victim...turn him into the key, a sacrifice to open the gates of hell." Scully rubbed at her temple. She could tell by the priest's voice that he was utterly sincere and believed every word he said. She glanced at Skinner again. He raised an eyebrow. The AD said he thought this man was genuine and not disturbed, but... "You have to realize how that sounds..." she said. "Insane. I know," the priest replied quietly. Scully took a deep breath and tried to keep an open mind. After all...this man was a priest and Skinner's friend. He at least merited a chance to state his case. "Well, for what it's worth...I've learned that insanity is a relative term in some instances." "I was hoping that was the case given the nature of your and Agent Mulder's work." Scully cleared her throat. "All right...how do you know Mulder's in danger...how did you..." "I'm a sensitive. I have visions. I had one earlier that showed me Agent Mulder in peril." "And that's why you asked AD Skinner what he looked like?" "Yes...I saw him quite clearly and I was trying to confirm his identity. I even saw the bullet wound scar on his shoulder. Are you familiar with it?" Scully removed her hand from her temple, and raised her eyebrows at Skinner. "Yes...yes, I am. But, Father...even so...you're asking me to believe a lot without direct empirical evidence," she whispered. "I'm asking you to have faith, Agent Scully, just as I asked Sergei to have faith last night." Scully's hand fell to her cross. Faith. Something she'd been warring with in her mind for many months. She bit her lip. But in this case, she couldn't take a chance at not believing...for Mulder's sake and if the priest was correct...for the sake of a lot more. "What do you want me to do?" she said. "I want you and Sergei to come to Wisconsin with me. I know it will be very dangerous but I also know that both of you are supposed to do battle with me against the forces of the apocalypse." Skinner was shifting on his feet, impatient to know what Dimitri was saying but trying to contain it. "Yes...I can do that but....just a moment," Scully said. She took the phone away from her ear and extended it to Skinner. "He wants us to go to Wisconsin," she said. "Both of us?" She nodded. Skinner gave her a dour look and took the phone from her. "Dimitri?" he said. He listened, frowning. "I don't think that's necessary. Agent Scully is quite capable of handling....what?" Scully watched Skinner's jaw tighten. "I know I said I'd be more receptive. I consider allowing Agent Scully to accompany you being more...Dimitri...look...no...that's just not easy for me to accept." Skinner walked behind his desk, shifted the receiver closer to his mouth and turned his back on Scully. She struggled to hear what he was saying as he whispered into the phone. She caught the word 'friendship' and then 'anything but jeopardize the jobs of those under me by stepping out on this GAO audit'. Then he turned back around with a muffled 'Shit,' and slammed the receiver down. "He hung up on me. He's going to Wisconsin. He said he'd meet you at the United counter at Dulles with a plane ticket for the 5:38 flight to Milwaukee." "And you're not going?" "Scully...I can't." "Or won't," she said, her face clouding over. Skinner straightened, pulling himself up to his full height. "Can't. Scully...you have no idea what the GAO is trying to do. If you and Mulder want an X-Files department you'll have to grant me some understanding here or..." Scully stuck out her jaw and interrupted him. "It won't matter if Mulder's dead, sir." Skinner shut his mouth on air and stared at her. "It won't matter if we're all dead on top of that." "You believe it, then?" he sighed, looking down. "I've discovered over the years, sir, that at the very least it doesn't pay to not check it out...and besides...why hasn't Mulder checked in? How did Dimitri know what he looked like right down to the bullet hole I put in him?" Skinner looked up again. "I don't know." "And you don't want to know." "That's not fair..." Scully felt her face flush. She walked forward and placed her hands on Skinner's desk, facing him where he stood behind it. Without really considering her words, she spoke. Her voice was soft but intense. "I think it's fair when you consider you've gone to bat for us before. I've appreciated that and so has Mulder...but now I'm beginning to wonder if it was on your terms only and you really don't care about the work." Skinner's face went completely stony, but Scully could see his eyes flash. "What are you trying to say, Agent Scully?" She took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm trying to say that I wonder if you only helped us because of...because of what you said yesterday...what you implied here yesterday. If you..." Skinner held her eyes. "If I did it only because of you," he whispered. "If that was my agenda?" Scully nodded. "Yes." Skinner's eyes slid away. He glanced at the door to his office as if to confirm it was closed, turned away and looked out the window. His back was ramrod stiff, his hands balled on his hips. "I won't lie...I think you deserve the honest truth. That was part of it...but not all," he mumbled. "Like I said...I can admit my mistakes and I've tried to be receptive. I respect the work...maybe more than I can ever explain or even comfortably acknowledge." Scully swallowed and stepped away from Skinner's desk. "Then come with me, sir. If you respect the work...you'll want to know if any of this is really possible...you'll want to know the truth." She watched as Skinner unclenched his fists and turned around. He cleared his throat, looked down and spoke in a subdued voice. "You know we're going to have to discuss...the personal ramifications of this at some point, Scully. I know you're not comfortable with...the issue. I'm sorry." "Yes...I know, and yes, you're right, but..." Skinner looked up and captured her eyes for a second. "But now is not the time," he replied. "Right." Scully watched Skinner's face and then his body relax. He nodded. When he spoke this time, he was all business. "Dimitri said this will be a very unofficial investigation...which I'm sure doesn't surprise you. So, I'm going to tell Kimberly that I have a family emergency and have to go out of town immediately for several days. I'll work out something with the GAO. I still have a few favors I can call in. I suggest you leave and meet Dimitri at the airport. I'll join you as soon as possible, but if I miss that flight, I'll arrange to take another as soon as possible. "Yes, sir," Scully said, squaring her shoulders. "And thank you." Skinner gave her a terse smile. "Thank me when we prove this is all bullshit and Mulder's cell phone battery is just dead." Scully gave him a quick smile of understanding and he gestured toward his office door. "I'll let you out...I need to talk to Kimberly anyway." Scully preceded Skinner to the door. She could feel his warmth behind her...he seemed to radiate it. She felt the hair on the small of her back stand up and knew he was ushering her forward in precisely the way Mulder did...his hand hovering just above her waistband. Her nipples tightened and she caught her breath shakily. Then Skinner was stepping ahead and quickly opening the door. She ducked her head and hastened out. She gave Kimberly a quick "nothing's wrong" smile and hurried away. She barely heard Skinner addressing his executive assistant as she ran to catch an elevator to the basement. xXx TOWNSHIP OF CONCORD. WISCONSIN. There was an echoing in his ears. A hollow, tinny sound...the sound of distant music. He struggled up out of the darkness of unknowing and back into the here and now...to perceive the muted whine of electric guitars and someone...someone singing. Shit...the voice sounded familiar... Your momma told you that you're not supposed to talk to strangers Look in the mirror tell me do you think your life's in danger here ya No more tears... I know...that's Ozzie Osbourne, Mulder's wakening mind thought triumphantly. That's Ozzie yowling in the distance. And then the words prompted full awareness to crash back down on him and he realized several things at once. He had to take a piss very badly, it was as hot and hell; sweat was stinging his eyelids...and someone was bending over him. He could just hear muffled breathing over the distant music. His eyes flew open. There was a welding mask above him, candlelight flickering over its dull gray metallic surface. The mask tilted up to reveal the face of a little girl. Samantha was staring down at him. He let out a choking sound of protest. "Surprise, big brother!" Samantha crowed. Mulder cried out in panic and felt his bladder release. His urine sprayed out and trickled down to puddle beneath his ass cheeks. His mind went temporarily blank with terror and he thrashed in his chains as Samantha's face melted and became Laura Massey's face again. She was naked except for the welding helmet. She pulled the helmet off and tossed it aside. The Mother's mocking laughter rang in his ears. Finally Mulder found his voice, if not his composure. "You bitch!" he yelled, drool running out of the corner of his mouth. "Now, now...is that a nice thing to call your mother?" The Mother said, grinning. "Then again...from what I saw in there..." she tapped his head, "...maybe that's the right term for la vostra madre." Mulder sucked up the drool that was dripping down the side of his chin and spat it into The Mother's face. She smiled and wiped it off. "How rude considering I've brought you a gift." Mulder's vision blurred for a moment and then became crystal clear. He swallowed hard and threw his head from side to side, looking around at the graffiti covered walls of the room. He squinted at them in the guttering candlelight. The symbols were glowing slightly...and not from the candles' reflection. The door to the room was closed and it was stifling hot. His whole body was slick with sweat and he was suddenly dizzy from the heat and from something else besides. The Mother glided to the end of the table. "I see you feel it," she said, licking her lips. And he did...he sensed it...energy...something almost alive and electric crackling over his skin. His eyes widened. "What is it?" "The power...but only the power generated from il piccolo lavoro...the small work. Just wait until you feel the grand work." "My fifteen minutes of fame," Mulder said between clenched teeth. "Oh yes, la mia volpe bella...your moment of divine, unholy grace." The Mother bent down at the end of the table and scooped something off the floor. Mulder's eyes were drawn to her. "And now for my gift," she said. There was a clanking and she held her hands up, displaying what was in them over her head. She held a metal cowl, the fur engraving in the bronze quite plain, the fox ears pointed and distinct. Attached to the cowl was a chain link cloak and attached to the chain link were fish hooks and what looked like dozens of fox pelts, the heads still attached. Mulder's eyes roved over the combination of sculpture and garment, and tracked down to the long hem, and the fox tail with it's glinting cock ring and ball spreader hanging there. The inside of the ring and spreader were studded with needles. Mulder gritted his teeth and felt even more sweat drench his armpits. "Like it?" she asked. "Fuck you," he hissed. The Mother chuckled. "I'll take that as both a compliment and a request," she replied. Mulder pulled against his bonds again as she turned away and walked gracefully over to the hooks that were imbedded in the wall to his right. She carefully hung her metal work on the hooks and then turned and walked back to his side. Mulder felt a hissing, searing pain in his head and jerked harder on the chains. "Get out of my skull," he hissed, sliding away from her. The Mother grabbed his chin and pulled hard, yanking him nose to nose. Her eyes blazed, the centers like the blue event horizon descending into a black hole. "Oh, but why? It's such a fertile place to be...so full of need...so full of lust." "Jesus..." Mulder choked as her fingers squeezed his chin. "If you say that bastard's name one more time, I'll make you cut out your tongue," she whispered. Mulder clenched his mouth shut as she bent to kiss him. He felt his will bleeding away as her lips touched his. He tried to focus on something, anything as her fevered lips roamed over his. He concentrated....and let the wetness below him jerk him back to reality. "You're leaning in my piss," he mumbled under her mouth. The Mother's lips stilled on his and then she drew back. Her eyebrows were raised high. "Well, so I am," she said. Then her eyebrows lowered and she smiled. "Not that it bothers me...but if it bothers you..." Mulder had just enough time to breathe in before the Mother dropped out of sight, came up with a bucket and pitched the contents over his crotch. The ice cold water nearly sent him into shock and he cried out as it sluiced the urine that was on and under him off onto the floor. She laughed as she tossed the bucket into a corner. It clanked loudly as Mulder sputtered, choked and writhed in front of her. The Mother, a look of satisfaction on her face, vaulted up onto the table and straddled Mulder's thighs in front of his cock and balls. She placed her hands on either side of his head and bent close to his face. "Now, you figlio bastardo di un whore...it's time for *you* to cut the crap," she hissed. Mulder shuddered all over. His voice croaked when he answered her. "Vada al hell, you slut," he said. "Oh we will go to hell eventually...but right now we're going someplace else entirely," she replied. Mulder moaned as something that felt like a psychic ice pick shoved itself into his skull. He thrashed once, hard. And then he lay like a pinned insect. "Nnnno!" he groaned. "Yessss," The Mother said, and Mulder felt the protest in his mind begin to dissolve. He watched as The Mother's skin undulated, rippled and melted again. Her body changed and it was a naked Scully straddling him. "Scully," he smiled. "Yes, Mulder. Do you want me?" "Oh yeah," he sighed. He was saying it, but deep down in his mind he was screaming objection. No...he didn't want this...this thing. This thing wasn't Scully...he didn't want... But something stroked his brain, massaged his will, pushed hard again and his protests were silenced. He could only watch in horror as part of his mind was totally lost to the Mother's influence. That part said, God yes, he wanted Scully. He could feel heat pooling in his groin and his cock twitch as it swelled between his legs. The Scullything smiled at him and bent forward, capturing his mouth. He opened his lips eagerly, drinking her in, laving her tongue with his, moaning as she grasped either side of his head and pressed into him. When she broke the kiss, he grabbed for her. A part of his mind told him he was manacled and chained but it didn't seem to matter really. He dropped back and smiled stupidly at her. She slid away, her well toned thighs carrying her over his hardening cock. "Mmmm...beautiful," she cooed, eyeing him from a kneeling position. "You're beautiful," he heard himself say. "Thank you...lover," the Scullything replied. Mulder watched as she arched her head back, exposing her throat. She touched herself at her throat and then skimmed her hands down over her breasts, massaging and rubbing. Mulder realized distantly that 'his' Scully...the Scully I love he told himself resolutely, wears a cross. The Scully fingering her nipples before him displayed no sign of one. She arched her back further, making small sounds almost like a cat purring as she pleasured herself. Mulder became fascinated with her agile, dexterous fingers as they tweaked her breasts. "You like to watch, don't you?" she asked. Mulder nodded and the Scullything smiled. Her hands trailed down between her legs and she gathered the moisture that was flowing from between her folds onto her fingers. "Oh," Mulder groaned and arched up as she started to rub her clit. "Oh yes, Mulder...this feels so good," she murmured. "I love it when you watch," she added, licking her lips and pumping her hips. "Fuck," Mulder grunted, half in pleasure but part of him wanted to make it a protest as well. The Scullything grinned at him and bent forward over his cock. Her warm, damp mouth sucking down over the head drove the protest away again. "Uhhhh," he groaned as she deep throated him. He jerked his hips and rocked up and down spastically as she pulled up with her lips and then pushed down again. She sucked hard, and the sensation was so good it was almost painful. He cried out. In a few quick minutes he was massively erect and the Scullything released his bobbing hard-on with a wet sliding smack. "Mmmm...wonderful," she smiled and Mulder watched openmouthed, part of his mind dreading what was coming next as the creature straddling him shifted forward over his erection. "Fuh...Fuh..." Mulder choked. One last bit of free will tried to battle past her control. "What, my love?" The Mother said, her mocking grin taunting him. "Fuck me," he hissed, a tear trickling down from the corner of his eye. "Oh yes," she laughed. Mulder couldn't turn his head and he couldn't look away as the Scullything grasped his cock, squatted over him and then lowered herself. "Ohhh," he moaned as her warm, tightness enveloped him. He gritted his teeth, and the tears trickled down uncontrollably. Please...I never...never like this...he thought. The Scullything bent down close, his cock tipped up inside her. She whispered in his ear. "Just remember la mia volpe piccola...lust and despair is what drew you to me...what drew me to you...lust and despair are what feed me...and right now you are my feast." Mulder wanted to vomit but he felt arousal flood his body and wipe his mind in a flare of white, hot heat. He arched up into the Scullything and grunted in pleasure as she sat up and started to ride him. And then he couldn't feel anything but bright, burning pleasure as he pumped his hips again and again. The Scullything rocked her head back, moaned and laughed, her right hand tugging between her legs. Her hips rose and plunged, rose and plunged, her ass slapping Mulder's balls on every downstroke. He blinked back stinging sweat and when he could see again, it was the Skinnerthing above him...his muscular ass and cum heavy balls slapping against his thighs. The pressure on his erection was exquisite. Oh my God, Mulder thought...oh...shit...he's tight. The Skinnerthing's huge, erect cock dripped pre-cum in front of him. Mulder's eyes narrowed in on it as his hips pistoned under the monster. The creature chuckled in pleasure. "Go on...you can touch me," he rumbled. Mulder felt his hands come up and out of his bonds. He gripped the things hip with one hand and grabbed his cock with the other. "That's it, man...oh yeah, you're good," the Skinnerthing panted as Mulder started to stroke him. Sweat poured off them both and Mulder strained, crying out in ecstasy even though part of his mind was shrieking in agony. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks as his hand and hips moved up and down. The thing flashed above him like an obscene human chameleon. First it was Skinner and then Scully, then Skinner again...hot, wet, tight and then incredibly tighter. He couldn't stop this...it was too much...he was going to come. Jesus Christ, he was going to come inside this thing, he thought. A spike of intense rapture boiled up out of his balls and arced though his entire body like a lightning bolt. As Mulder ejaculated he roared, and Ozzie Osbourne brayed in counterpoint out in the sanctuary. I never wanted it to end this way my love my darling Believe me when I say to you in love I think I'm falling here No more tears... xXx A UNITED AIRLINES FLIGHT TO MILWAUKEE, WI. Scully woke and shifted her shoulders against the seat back. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but had been unable to prevent it. The headlong rush to the airport, meeting Father Dimitri, trying to concentrate as he conveyed his information, the hurried upgrade of their tickets to first class (at Skinner's expense), and the dash to the gate added to her existing sleep deprivation had left her utterly exhausted. She glanced across the aisle. The plane was almost empty. The first class cabin contained only the three of them. It was quiet on board. Well, relatively quiet. Skinner had succumbed to the inevitable before she had and was still gently snoring in the window seat across from her. Dimitri, seated next to him on the aisle, smiled at her. "Would you like to move over here?" Scully offered, smothering a smile. 'Skinner's 'wood sawing' would make it difficult to fall asleep if you were right next to him.' Her mind stuttered over the implications of that particular thought and she felt her face flushing slightly. "If you don't mind?" Dimitri replied, studying her face. She shook her head, rose and scooted over a seat, covering her slight loss of composure with her efficient movements. "No, not at all." The priest unbuckled his seat belt, levered out of his seat and carefully crossed the aisle. He sat down next to Scully and stretched his left leg into the aisle to get comfortable. But he didn't put his head back to rest. Instead he stared at Scully's cross. Her hand went involuntarily to her throat. Dimitri looked away from her hand and into her eyes. "I'm sorry...but I've been admiring your cross and I was just curious. Do you mind me asking if..." "Yes, I'm Catholic," she said, hastening to alleviate both their discomfort. "Ah. Sergei is as well." Scully raised an eyebrow. Skinner had listed 'no religion' on his hospital forms when he was wounded by Luis Cardinale. "You didn't know?" the priest added. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't." Dimitri nodded. "Well, that doesn't surprise me. He doesn't often acknowledge it any longer," he whispered with a slight sigh. Scully looked down. "I'm sorry...if talking about Sergei makes you uncomfortable...breaches your professional protocol..." Scully looked back up and Dimitri studied her face. "Or perhaps it is talk of religion that makes you uncomfortable," he concluded quietly. Scully's eyes dropped to her lap again. "I have questioned my faith, Father. Especially over the last few months," she murmured. The priest's hand came into her field of vision and took hers in a gentle grasp. "My child..." Scully's eyes rose again and she stared into Dimitri's face. She had trusted the priest almost immediately on meeting him. Maybe it was because he was a holy man...maybe it was because the laugh lines around his eyes served to offset the deeper lines of worry on his forehead and those evident even through the beard around his mouth. But maybe it was also because his intelligent hazel eyes and gentle smile reminded her of Mulder. There was a resemblance between the two men, right down to the notable nose, a distinctive feature on both their faces. In any event, she wanted to believe in Father Dimitri Yvashko...and his touch was comforting. "Questioning isn't a bad thing. And in my experience, God has a way of eventually answering those questions." "But you need us to have faith *now*, don't you?" she whispered, searching his face. "Yes...but Agent Scully...*I* have faith that you will. I know what I've told you is difficult to believe...but I have faith that when it's necessary, God will be in your heart." Scully nodded and he released her hand. They sat in companionable silence for a moment and then Scully cleared her throat. "You've known Assistant Director Skinner for a number of years?" she asked, seeking to move the subject away from discussions of religion for the time being. Dimitri sat back and the corners of his eyes wrinkled up in good-humored remembrance. "Oh yes...I have known Sergei since we were twelve years old. I was a skinny, scrawny Russian immigrant boy and he became my big, strapping American defender. He also became my friend, Agent Scully. We were very close." The priest's smile dimmed a bit. "We are very close," he amended. "I'm sorry..." Dimitri turned to catch her eyes again. He shook his head a little. "No...no, it's all right. We really are close. It's just that...well the war changed him, you see." "Vietnam," Scully stated, her brow furrowing. "Yes...it distanced him...from everyone, I think. His wife, me, his faith. From himself as well. I think...I think Sergei's biggest lack of faith is faith in himself actually." Scully bent her head. "But he searches for faith in himself?" "Yes, I believe that's the case. He lost his faith in himself first and foremost but I think he still searches for it. Still hopes he can find it again." Scully felt her ears turning red. 'Do I really want to know this,' she thought. Part of her mind shrank from hearing such personal information about Skinner. Another part wanted more to better know him. She cleared her throat. "Do you think he'll find it?" Dimitri captured her eyes. "Yes," Dimitri replied, gazing deeply into them. "And you think so too, don't you?" Before Scully could answer however, the priest's eyes slid away from her suddenly and rolled up in his head. He shuddered...his whole body shook violently. "Father!" she exclaimed. Dimitri fell back against the seat, his arms flopping about. "Dimitri!" She shifted sideways and tried to steady him. Skinner jerked awake across the aisle at the sound of Scully's voice. His eyes grew wide and he got up quickly, looming over Dimitri's shaking leg in the aisle. He bent forward and tried to help steady his friend as well. "What happened?" he asked. "He's having some kind of seizure," Scully said, all business. Her hands checked the priest's vitals as best she could. She tried to loosen the collar of his black shirt. Skinner grimaced. "I can see that," he said. "What did he do or say just before..." A blonde stewardess came hurrying into first class from coach, her face was a study in compassionate concern. "Do you need help?" "I'm a doctor," Scully said, then frowned at Skinner. "He was just talking...and he suddenly started to convulse." A chime sounded in the cabin and the overhead seat belt and no smoking sign came on. Another stewardess was on the intercom instructing everyone to prepare for landing. "I'll get the first aid kit," the stewardess said. "And please be careful...the approach to Mitchell field could get a little bumpy." Scully and Skinner nodded briskly as the women bustled to the front of first class. Skinner bent close to the priest's ear. "Dimitri!" he called. "Can you hear me?" He glanced up at Scully where she was still trying to steady the priest's other arm so he wouldn't hurt himself or them. He cleared his throat and gripped the arm he was holding tighter, then he placed a hand gently on Dimitri's forehead. "Come on, Dimmie...we're here for you. Come on back." The priest's shaking slowed and then stopped. He sagged in the seat, gasped once and then began to breathe normally. He opened his eyes and looked around in confusion for a moment. Scully and Skinner released his arms and Skinner took his hand from his forehead. Dimitri placed a hand over his eyes. "Are you all right?" Scully asked. The priest nodded and Skinner gave him a brief pat on the shoulder. He glanced at Scully and swallowed hard. "Was it a...a waking dream?" he whispered. "Yes," Dimitri replied. "A waking dream?" Scully asked, puzzled. "Yes...of The Mother. She knows I'm hunting her...knows I'm close." Scully looked at Skinner over the priest's head, her expression still questioning. "Does she know we're here?" Skinner hissed, his lips compressed. "No...With God's help I'm blocking her. But we must hurry. I can keep her from knowing...but Agent Mulder is running out of time...we all are." Skinner stepped back. Scully shook her head, half in denial but half in the knowledge Dimitri might be all too unfortunately correct. "Fasten your seat belts," Skinner ordered. The voice of authority served to steady them all and with a sense of renewed if grim purpose, they took their seats and prepared to land in Wisconsin. xXx TOWNSHIP OF CONCORD. WISCONSIN. The Mother stared down at the unconscious sacrifice and pursed her lips in dissatisfaction. Power buzzed in the room...thrummed all around her, making the symbols on the walls glow and pulse...spilling out into the sanctuary and making way for the grander work. But her blood didn't sing as it should...and it disturbed her. She reached forward and carefully peeled the used condom off Mulder's now flaccid penis. She knew it wasn't the fact that his seed wasn't spilled in her body. She had no problem with the realization that it had to be preserved and used for the opening of the way. And Mulder had been tasty in his despair. She had laughed at the irony that he didn't even know she was capturing his essence. But what should have been squisito...what should have been an exquisite feast was lacking in true sustenance for her. There hadn't been enough meat on the bones so to speak. She turned and walked out of the room, the condom in hand, musing over what had transpired between her and Fox Mulder. She shut the door and entered the candlelit sanctuary, sweat trickling down between her uncovered breasts. If forced to admit it she had to say that bending this man to her will was proving to be difficult. She knew he'd be a formidable opponent, but he was perhaps even stronger than she estimated earlier. There was a core of strength in him that served to bolster his determination to defy her and fight her control. Proof of that came in the end when just before he lost consciousness she caught his mind reasoning that it was Laura Massey's body he was violating, not a monster's violating his. He felt pity for the sculptor and a hatred for her that shored up his reserves of strength before he collapsed from the sensory overload. She should be energized and sexually satiated but she felt tired and in need of more stimulation. Fighting to dominate the agent and force him to her will had lessened the experience for her and drenched her in fatigue. To top it off she knew without a doubt that he loved that redheaded cunt and took strength from that. She sighed in exasperation; not just lusted for her...genuinely, deeply loved her even if he wouldn't comfortably admit it. What he saw in her she couldn't understand. In her opinion his little redhead lacked passion and any artistic proclivities. She wasn't even attractive really; she was small, cold and analytical. But of course Mulder didn't think so. He practically worshipped her...and he certainly needed her. She could see Scully reflected in his mind too and sensed that his little redhead loved him. What a farce...they were both in denial and avoiding the obvious. The Mother wished she had Dana Scully in front of her right now...she'd cut her throat and let Mulder watch her bleed out at her feet. Maybe that would crack his mind like an eggshell and let his will ooze out for her. She proceeded to the space she'd cleared on the sanctuary floor and knelt down. Squeezing the semen out of the condom, she made the first large glyph of the magic circle on the wood. She shook her head as she drew. And the idiot couldn't decide whether he loved his Assistant Director, she thought. Didn't know if it was right to desire him? What an imbecile! How could he be confused whether that magnificent bull of a man was desirable...worthy of worship...of love. The Mother licked her lips. If Walter Sergei Skinner was here now she'd show him what she thought of him. Mmmm...yes...she most certainly would show him he was more than worthy. She smiled and set the condom down on the floor for a moment. 'Oh yes...there...that was better', she thought as she felt warmth and wetness grow between her legs. She would take great delight in showing Skinner he was desirable. Nessuna materia, that Skinner wasn't actually here. No matter, she thought. She could have him here...here in her mind. She lay down on the floor and shut her eyes. In her imagination the big man came to her, stalking across the room like a huge cat, naked and sweating from the heat of the furnace. In a moment she was under him, her legs spread, and he was between her thighs, impaling her with his huge cock. The Mother's hand trailed down between her legs. She rammed her fingers deep inside her body and stroked them in and out as her imagination supplied images of Skinner taking her with hard thrusts. She writhed on the sanctuary floor, her perspiration and juices smearing the wood as she envisioned herself pressed beneath his muscular torso; arms, and chest pressing down on her. Her nails raked his powerful back as his taut ass and thighs hammered him against her, his cock driving her closer and closer to orgasm. She could smell him...his sharp musk of male arousal, could hear his grunts as he approached climax himself. "Uhhh," she groaned in ecstasy. "Mio handsome, il mio toro. Fuck me." When she came she screamed in pleasure and triumph...Oh yes, her blood sang then...it sang and the power surged in her like the energy of a thousand lightning volts. 'Now,' The Mother thought. 'Now I am ready, Master.' xXx THE WYNDHAM HOTEL. MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN. Skinner listened at the hotel room door. He couldn't hear any sound behind it but he knocked and addressed the door anyway. "Mulder?" It's Assistant Director Skinner." He glanced up. The hall was deserted. Dimitri and Scully eyed him skeptically. Skinner scowled. "All right...he probably did check out. I'll use the pass key," he grumbled. Dimitri had said this was going to be a very 'unofficial' investigation. It was certainly a righteous one, which couldn't be said for all the 'unofficial' activities in which he'd been involved. It still rankled him to breach regulations; it was hard to take the Bureau out of the boy. Besides, it hadn't been very 'unofficial' when he waved his badge around downstairs to get the pass key. He reconciled himself to the fact that under the circumstances and from here on out, protocol was superfluous. Skinner hesitated and then caught Dimitri's eyes. "Do you...sense anything?" he asked. "Not in the room." Skinner wrinkled his forehead. "Yeah well...better to be safe than sorry." He pulled his Sig Sauer out of his holster and then fished the passkey out of his jacket pocket. The click of a round being chambered made him glance at Scully again. She was unholstering her piece, but looking at Dimitri in surprise. Skinner's head swiveled in the priest's direction. He raised an eyebrow as well. "I hope you remember how to use that thing," he whispered giving Dimitri an acerbic smile. Scully flipped the safety off her gun without comment but her face spoke volumes. "I hope you haven't forgotten our hunting trips, Sergei," Dimitri replied with a quick grin. Skinner looked at the doubtful expression on Scully's face. He knew the priest had been a good shot when they were younger. He had to think the priest hadn't let that skill atrophy. He'd kept up his permit on the weapon after all; that and his diplomatic passport had gotten him through airport security as a matter-of-fact. And Dimitri's brotherhood was allied with a formidable security force where he certainly could have honed his skill with a gun over the years. "No, I haven't forgotten. But rabbits and quail are one thing. Are you..." "I'm prepared to shoot to kill if that's what you're wondering," the priest whispered. Skinner gave him a terse nod. "All right, on my count of three." Scully was all business again as she slipped to the side to flank him at the door. Dimitri stepped to the other side to watch his back. The efficient movements pleased Skinner. He could visualize them as a team. That was going to help their mission at least, he thought as he slid the electronic passkey into the door lock slot. They went in high and low, guns out and ready...to confront an empty, stuffy room. The bed was made, the trash cans empty. Skinner shut the door and they did a quick reconnoiter, confirming no one was there. Everyone stood down and holstered their weapons. The air in the room really was close, Skinner thought. Scully looked much more comfortable since she'd changed into a T-shirt and jeans. Sweat trickled down under his starched shirt. He'd only taken the time to bring the clothing at hand in his office. So later his heat fighting options would consist of the dark blue FBI logo T-shirt, sweat pants and sneakers that were in his gym duffel in the rental car. "He did say he was coming back to DC," Scully observed as she stood next to the small table in the room. There was clearly no sign of any of Mulder's belongings. "And the front desk said he checked out normally," Skinner replied. "But he never called me about his flight," Scully protested. "Perhaps he had someone else to interview in connection with the Sutcliffe case?" Dimitri asked. "But packing and checking out suggests he was leaving," Scully mused. Skinner's brow furrowed for a second. "We need to know if he made flight plans." Skinner crossed over to the room phone, examined the list of numbers on the face, pulled out his cell phone and dialed it. "Concierge, please. Hello. This is Agent Fox Mulder," he said in a close approximation of Mulder's vocal delivery. He caught Scully trying to suppress her astonishment. "Yes, the FBI Agent. Right, I was in room 220. Before I checked out this morning I called down for uh...the phone number for United Airlines. I must have written it down wrong. What was it again? Right. Thanks." Skinner returned to them, pocketing his cell. Scully avoided his eyes but he caught the hurt look in hers. 'She thinks Mulder was following up a lead and only told her a half truth about returning,' Skinner thought. 'And that idea bothers her.' "Yeah...I wish he'd played straight with me too," he found himself mumbling. Scully made a dismissive gesture with her hand and looked at him again. "Maybe he was following a lead. But maybe he didn't have a choice, sir," she replied thoughtfully. "If what Father Dimitri says about The Mother is true he may not have had complete control of his actions." Skinner gave her a skeptical look. He was still having trouble with the whole possession business. But regardless of what he believed and whether or not the information would upset Scully, they needed to find out if Mulder booked a flight back. He pulled out his cell phone again and dialed it again. The United Desk at Mitchell field picked up after three rings. Skinner gave his name and badge number and requested ticketing information on Mulder. He hung up and turned to Scully and Dimitri. The priest was studying Scully. Scully's brow was furrowed. Skinner kept his face neutral as he stowed his phone away again. "Mulder hedged his bets I guess. He was booked on an early evening United flight." Scully nodded. "So, if he was following up on a lead at least it sounds like he wasn't sure it would pan out and intended to return to DC." "I'd give him the benefit of the doubt on it," Skinner murmured. "But The Mother may have lured him somewhere," Dimitri interjected. Skinner sighed. "Then where did he go?" the priest challenged. "Can't you sense anything?" Skinner snapped. 'Shit,' he thought, 'that came out wrong.' Dimitri looked offended, but before Skinner could apologize the priest recovered his equanimity. He shook his head. "No, I can't see where Mulder is in detail...the location is hazy. I can only see him and The Mother with any clarity." They all looked at each other for a moment. "We're at a dead end here. I'm going to call the local field office and see if they have any idea about Mulder's whereabouts," Skinner finally said. There was no disagreement in spite of Dimitri's earlier expressed desire to keep this unofficial. Scully and Dimitri watched as Skinner pulled out his cell phone once more. He'd programmed the Milwaukee Field Office's number into speed dial. He hesitated, gathering what he was going to say and then pressed the button. In a few seconds he had someone at the Field Office on the other end of the line. It was a second shift operator. He gave his name and badge number again. "I'd like to speak to Agent Ross Lyon, please," he said. "Agent Lyon is gone for the weekend, sir. I can try to reach him at home..." "What about Agent Max Fowler?" "Let me check. Yes, Agent Fowler is still in the building. Just a moment." Skinner watched Scully as she and Dimitri moved away, conferring quietly. Max Fowler came on the line. "Assistant Director Skinner? What can I do for you, sir?" he said. "Agent Fowler, I'm trying to locate Agent Fox Mulder...he has a family emergency and left word that he was delayed in Milwaukee." "Didn't he answer his cell phone?" "No. Is he there?" "No...no, he's not here. I talked to him this morning when I sent over the coroner's report. I don't know where he is now." "Was there anything he mentioned following up on? Any new leads?" "Not really. I just sent the report over and he asked me for a witness's name and address..." "Asked you about a witness? Which witness?" "Laura Massey. She's not a material witness though. We checked her out. She was just a background reference." "Do you know what she looks like?" Skinner could see Dimitri shifting in agitation. He knew his friend wanted to leave but thought Fowler's information would be useful in verifying his description of The Mother. Skinner was still grasping for something to bolster his belief. "No, unfortunately. Agent Lyon and Mulder interviewed her so I never met her. Uh...but Ross, that's Agent Lyon, sir, said she's tall and attractive." It wasn't much but it was something. "Maybe Mulder did follow up with her for some reason. I can contact her. Give me her name, address and phone number," he said. Scully and Dimitri stopped talking and returned to his side as he pulled out a pad and a pen from his inner suit coat pocket. He tossed the pad and pen to Scully, she caught it efficiently and opened the pad. "You have a paper and pencil?" Fowler asked. "Yes. Shoot." "Ok. It's Laura, L-A-U-R-A Massey, M-A-S-S-E-Y," Fowler said. Skinner repeated the name and Scully wrote it down. Fowler then proceeded to give Skinner Laura's address and phone number. Skinner repeated those as well. Fowler cleared his throat on the other end of the line. "Listen...nothing's wrong is it, sir? I mean beside Mulder's family emergency. He did good work out here really...I mean all things considered..." Skinner wrinkled his brow. 'Considering Lyon gave Mulder trouble,' he briefly thought. 'Fowler doesn't sound like the type.' He refocused on the agent's words. "No...I'm sure everything's fine. He probably has his cell off or the battery ran down. I'll locate him. Thanks for your help." "Yes, sir. My pleasure," Fowler replied. Skinner hung up and looked at Scully. She'd placed the pad and pencil down on the table and Dimitri was studying it. "Did Mulder mention her name to you?" Skinner asked. Scully looked up at him. "No...did he mention it to you?" "No." Dimitri ran his finger over the name and address. He spoke, his voice distant. "She would lure him to her for sacrifice. He wouldn't realize her influence over him and he would go to her." Skinner and Scully turned to him. "You're saying this woman is The Mother?" Scully asked. "The Mother is nearby...I feel it," Dimitri said. "She would have left her former host and possessed another if it suited her needs." "Her former host, meaning Barbara Sutcliffe." Scully stated flatly. "Yes...and I blame myself for not realizing that sooner. The Mother must have possessed Barbara Sutcliffe years ago before she first met Agent Mulder. I know her host is not Barbara Sutcliffe any longer. I've seen her. She looks nothing like that unfortunate woman you showed me in that file you brought along, Sergei," Dimitri said. Skinner cleared his throat. "Then what does The Mother look like now?" "She is tall...with black hair and ice blue eyes." Skinner glanced at Scully. Her eyes showed her desire to accept what Dimitri was saying, despite her innate skepticism. She was worried for Mulder and it was driving her need for any evidence that would point to his location. He was worried too...but he still wasn't as accepting. "Fowler said Laura Massey was tall, but she wasn't a material witness. She was just a background reference who had been checked out and wasn't important to the case." Dimitri shook his head. "She would have seen to it that she wasn't suspected by anyone. She would insinuate herself into the case to get close to Agent Mulder." Skinner sighed. He was still having trouble accepting the paranormal aspects of this situation. Obviously Mulder was missing; there had to be some reason. He wanted to trust and believe in what Dimitri was saying...but it was almost too incredible even with what he had seen in the past. "But we can't say for sure this woman is anything but a witness who was ruled out as immaterial to the case," he said. "Maybe you're seeing someone other than Laura Massey." Dimitri bowed his head. "That could be so. I'm not sure." Scully pursed her lips and studied Skinner's face. When she spoke her voice was gentle but firm. "Sir...I know all this comes under the heading of possibilities both of us have trouble believing. I'm struggling with it myself, but I think at the very least, this woman merits investigation. I think there's a likelihood Mulder wanted to follow-up with her if he asked again for her name, address and phone number." Skinner held her eyes. 'Christ, she's beautiful' flitted through his mind. He shoved the thought back while he considered her words. "Instead of coming back to DC." "Even without any undue influence, Mulder would want to follow up if he thought he had a lead on an X-File," Scully said, "I know we could probably pin this woman's appearance, even her intentions, down further by making more phone calls...but I vote for the direct approach. We should go to Concord." Skinner saw the look in her eyes before she looked down. She was hurt Mulder hadn't been honest with her the night before. Hell...he didn't feel good the agent hadn't leveled with him either. Faced with her pain he was sorry he pressed that point home, even though a small dark part of him took a perverse pleasure in pointing out Mulder's shortcoming. But then he felt guilty and sickened. He looked away and straightened up, flexing his jaw. "Yeah... you're right," he found himself mumbling. "Then we're going to...Concord?" Dimitri asked. "Yes. As Agent Scully points out, Laura Massey is our best lead...we have to follow up in person," Skinner replied. "If she is The Mother and lured Mulder to her, it makes sense that it would be someplace private. Concord is out in the country as I recall, so it's a possibility she took him there." Scully let out her breath. "And where are Hillside Drive and Church Road?" Dimitri asked, his brow furrowing. "I haven't been out there in more years than I want to admit," he replied. Scully smiled slightly. "We'll get a map." "Maybe the concierge can give us directions as well," Skinner replied. They pulled themselves together; Skinner picked up his pad and pen. "All right. Let's go, people," he said. Scully cleared her throat. "Um..." she inclined her head toward the bathroom. "Oh. Yes." Skinner said. Scully hastened to the bathroom. Dimitri nodded absently and walked away toward the windows. Skinner watched Scully for a second as her back retreated then turned and went to join the priest. Dimitri Yvashko was staring out the windows at the setting sun. "We must hurry," he whispered as Skinner drew up next to him. "The sun is setting and this is the last sacrifice. She will complete the magic circle at midnight." "And kill Mulder." "Yes. She is torturing him now, Sergei. She will torture him further and then kill him inside the magic circle. It will throw open the gates. You've seen Barbara Sutcliffe's work...you know what lies ahead for Fox Mulder. But it's nothing to what lies ahead for all mankind." Skinner shook his head. "I'm not sure I'm up to heading off Armageddon, Dimitri," he murmured staring into the sun. The priest turned toward him and Skinner found himself staring into intense hazel eyes. "I have faith that you do, Sergei. But be warned...you must trust and have faith in yourself. In yourself...and in your feelings for her," he said, gesturing with his head back toward the bathroom. "In her feelings for you and her partner...and in Mulder's feelings for you both. You must trust and have faith in each other's hearts...and in God...it's imperative." Skinner knew his shock was showing on his face. He could barely reply. "Which...which waking dream gave you a look inside our heads?" Dimitri gave him a self-deprecating smile. "Just trust when the time is right, my friend. You'll know what to do," he said. Skinner nodded under the strength of the priest's steadfast gaze and turned back to contemplate the sinking sun. xXx TOWNSHIP OF CONCORD. WISCONSIN He was floating someplace softly glowing and warm. It was almost peaceful and would have been completely so if not for a distant droning in his ears. But despite the far off, muffled sound it was pleasant...comfortable...comforting, like being wrapped in the womb with the sound of your mother's heart beating. He smiled and basked in the glow around him. The only thing his mind could supply for what this warm glow signified was that it was like being enveloped in Scully. He recognized his love for her and took pleasure in realizing she loved him too. They may have been in mutual denial or avoiding a commitment for any number of reasons, but right now, at this moment he was surrounded by her warmth and he knew they loved each other deeply. But there was another more distant glow and he stretched out through the warmth toward it. He flowed out like water, a warm wave that rolled to that second source of heat...the first glow came with him, seeking it also. The faraway glow was Skinner; he knew it the moment he touched it. Skinner was the other source of light. His heat and love enveloped and comforted Mulder also. Mulder gathered it all around himself, knowing...admitting at last that he loved the other man as well. The first glow joined them, surrounded and intermingled with them and all of them were content. He knew this was important...this love and the trust and faith in Scully and Skinner that came with it. He could feel strength building in him, renewing him as the warmth penetrated him. He heard a voice. "Be warned," it said. "You must trust and have faith in yourself. In yourself...and in your feelings for her. In her feelings for you and her partner...and in Mulder's feelings for you both. You must trust and have faith in each other's hearts...and in God...it's imperative." And then suddenly the glow and warmth started to recede. He tried to hang onto it, but it flowed away from him and then it was gone. He cried out in protest. Loud rock music and someone howling in time with electric guitars assaulted his ears. An electrical crackling of power arced around him and drove all thoughts of warmth and glowing love out of his mind with one swift snap of energy and crashing music. I am the voice inside your head and I control you I am the lover in your bed and I control you I am the sex that you provide and I control you I am the hate you try to hide and I control you Mulder's eyes flew open and he twisted his neck, looking around in panic. He remembered again where he was and clamped his mouth shut on another yell of anger and objection. He quickly shut his eyes and feigned unconsciousness again...but not before he saw Laura Massey dancing naked and sweating in the middle of the Church sanctuary, candlelight rippling over her skin. She was oblivious to him so he lay quiet. Somehow the table he was on had been moved into the center of the room and tilted so that he was upright and able to see her displaying herself before him. I take you where you want to go I give you all you need to know I drag you down I use you up mr. self destruct Mulder knew he was in very big trouble. Clearly this thing's plans for him had been launched long ago, when he first met Barbara Sutcliffe. She'd waited patiently like a spider in her web until her escape from the psychiatric hospital let her catch up with him. It was tragically ironic that he feared her all those years ago for good reason. He had to think her influence on him in Milwaukee kept that fear just enough at bay to lure him in. Oh yeah...she played him like a trout all right using weaknesses he could barely admit he possessed to capture him. He had to believe that she played him...because if not he'd truly made the most stupid mistake of his life all on his own by coming out here. Something nagged at the back of his mind as he half opened his eyes and peeked at Laura dancing in front of him. Although he felt like someone had run over him with a truck, maybe backed up and smashed his genitalia again for good measure, he could feel something giving him strength. He didn't quite know why...he thought he should remember what it was and couldn't put his finger on it...but he knew that if there was a chance of extricating himself from this predicament, that strength was bolstering his will to try. He shut his eyes again, and concentrated on breathing steadily. It was as hot as hell...to use an unfortunate allusion...in the room. Sweat was pouring down his body and he needed water badly. When he'd looked around he noticed the smelting furnace was still blazing. The Mother must have left it on after she fashioned her little gift for him. Suddenly he sensed someone close by and then fingers snaked up his thigh and tickled his aching penis. He couldn't help it, he flinched and the music volume lowered in counterpoint to The Mother's laughter. "Welcome back, Fox. So glad you could join me again." It was hard to speak because his mouth was so dry. "Yeah, well...I hate to miss a party," he croaked. The Mother laughed again, toying with the stereo remote and a bottle of Evian she must have picked up before she came to touch him. "I would have hated for you to miss this particular party." She took a long swig from the water bottle and Mulder felt what little saliva he had available trickle into his mouth. He licked his parched, cracked lips. The Mother lowered the bottle and smiled at him. "I bet you'd like a drink," The Mother said. Mulder didn't answer. He stared her down, defiance in his eyes. The Mother laughed and threw the contents of the bottle in his face. The cold water made him blink and sputter. "Defy me...I enjoy it. It makes it that much more exquisite to crack you like an egg and pour out your weak, obsessed little soul." Mulder stuck out his tongue and gathered up the traces of Evian from his lips. What dripped off the end of his nose ended up in his mouth as well and he drank it down gratefully. It wasn't much, but it at least made his mouth feel moist. "Thanks for the refreshment...and the entertainment," he said, fixing her with a shit eating grin. He gestured toward the stereo system. "Nine Inch Nails, right?" The Mother grinned back at him. "I love this century's popular culture. So much of the music suits my work." "Il grande lavoro," Mulder said. "Yes, the grand work," she replied, stepping away. The air around him throbbed and pulsed with energy. Tendrils of it seemed to criss-cross his skin. Mulder was reminded of that time in Tunguska when the black oil crawled over his body and infected him. His body felt that way now... tendrils of energy prickled over his skin, making his short hairs stand up. He swallowed and tried to ignore the sensation. He glanced down, following The Mother's footsteps and saw on the floor what he expected to find there. A magic circle was drawn on the floor, the last part of it incomplete. The circle, scrawled in black charcoal, something rusty red which could have been Ross Lyon's blood and something he didn't want to acknowledge but couldn't help but think was his dried semen, surrounded him. The Mother turned and smiled at him, gesturing toward her feet as she walked through the gap in the circle's design. "As you can see. I know you're familiar with the symbols...you've had more than one experience with my Master's work before." Mulder licked his lips again and looked back up at Laura Massey's face." "And I take it we're waiting until the time is right." The Mother chuckled throatily. "Yes...but we don't have to wait much longer. The 'horn blows at midnight' to quote an old movie title." "And I'm Jack Benny?" "You might want to consider yourself the horn that blows the note bringing the end of the world. At least you'll squeal like a trumpet by the time I'm through with you, la mia volpe piccola." "Gee...and I was hoping I could be the comedy relief." Mulder looked around again. Hanging nearby was the metal hood and chain link cloak with its accompanying pointed cock and ball spreader he would certainly be wearing for the big event. He shook his head and for a moment felt despair. He couldn't see how he was going to get out of this situation. He tugged carefully at his bonds to see if there was any chance they were a little loose and he could wriggle free. The Mother laughed. "Oh, the chains are very tight, don't worry," she said. Then she smiled again at him. "You know what I find fascinating, Fox?" Mulder's muscles tensed. "Is that a rhetorical question?" he asked. "It's an observation. I find it fascinating that I'm not the only one who has been in your mind and suborned your will." Her features and body rippled and Robert Modell was standing before him. "You've got a weak will, buddy...ripe for the picking...remember the way I made you take a shot at your little red-headed partner?" Mulder set his jaw and didn't answer. The Mother's face and body warped again and Linda Bowman was laughing at him. "And apparently controlling you runs in the family...at any rate...I did a pretty good job of making you think your little partner shot herself, didn't I?" "Yeah, well if you got that good a look at my memories you must have seen the former with a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead and the latter lying in a pool of blood after 'my little partner' shot her. Bang, bang...they lost...and so will you." The Mother's flesh flowed and twisted again, and Laura Massey stood naked before him. She chortled. "You have such arrogance. Look around you, little fool, and tell me how I can possibly lose?" Mulder had to admit she had a point. But from a psychological standpoint if he gave in to despair he'd miss any chance of besting this monster. "Pride cometh before the fall," he said, smiling at her. The Mother's face clouded in fury. "I'll show you the Fall!" she shrieked. Mulder felt that sharp psychic ice pick stab into his head again. He gasped, his body went rigid and his eyes rolled back in his head. He felt his will slipping away, and that part of his mind that The Mother could grab and stroke without effort took over. He was a spectator at his own torture...and he could see, hear and feel every second of it. He was in Skinner's office, sitting in his customary seat in front of the AD's desk. But instead of the chair facing Skinner's desk it was turned around to face his conference table. Scully and Skinner were there as well. They were naked and fucking each other enthusiastically on the table top. Mulder moaned, arousal flooding his groin, stirring his cock as he watched Scully astride Skinner, rising and falling with each pump of their hips. Their combined whines, grunts and groans, the sight of their bodies illuminated by the sunlight streaming in through the office windows, the musky, spicy odor of their sex, inflamed him. In very short order he had a hard-on of mammoth proportions. It was then that he noticed he was naked, his arms and feet bound to the chair. He couldn't do anything about his cock jutting up between his legs. He could only squirm in his seat as Skinner and Scully pleasured each other. The familiar hiss of the sea trapped in many seashells echoed in his ears. "Frustrating, isn't it? Hard...so to speak...to want, and want and not be able to have, isn't it?" The voice came from behind him. It wasn't The Mother's voice however. He strained to look out of the corner of his eye. Tried to get a glimpse at who stood at his back. A knife tweaked his neck under his ear, drawing blood. The knife-wielder stepped around to stand at his side. Alex Krycek grinned at him. "Privet, Moy druk. How's it hangin'?" Part of Mulder thought, 'My friend? Fuck that,' and wanted to surge up in his seat and strangle Alex Krycek. But the part that lacked any control was ascendant and he smiled dazedly at the green-eyed man holding the switchblade. "Hello, Alex," he said. Krycek grinned back, his smile wide and predatory. Then he turned his gaze to the conference table. "Incredible aren't they? Shit...Skinner fucks like a bull. That must be some ride for Scully." Mulder moaned and bit his lip hard. He tasted blood. "Shall we see if I can join in the fun?" Krycek said. "Do you want me to join in the fun, Mulder?" "NO!" a piece of his mind shouted. "NO! Stay away." "Yesss," he sighed, slumping in his seat. "Spasiba," Krycek replied with a polite incline of his head. He prowled with confident grace over to the conference table where Scully and Skinner seemed to be heedless to his presence. Scully arched back, moaning and twisting as Skinner drove into her again and again. His large right hand gripped her pubic bone, his palm and fingers massaging her, stimulating her. Mulder watched fascinated as her breathing came in stuttered pants and her creamy white breasts quivered in time with her breaths. She appeared to be close to orgasm and a flush was spreading on her chest. Skinner's neck muscles strained taut. His arm muscles bunched up as he helped to lift Scully up and down with his other hand. His muscular ass, hips and thighs helped to propel her butt up and down. His mouth opened and he groaned with effort and ecstasy. Krycek walked to the head of the table. Skinner's knees were up, supporting Scully's back near the edge as she road his cock. "I think she's close, don't you?" he asked, grinning back at Mulder. All Mulder could do was nod. Scully's spine arched. She went stiff on top of Skinner. Krycek watched for a second and then looked in Mulder's eyes. "You know you can never have her, don't you?" Then he reached forward, grabbed Scully's hair, pulled her head back and slit her throat with the switchblade. Mulder gurgled. It was the only sound of protest he could utter as arousal pierced his cock and balls painfully. He trembled, fighting the feelings of intense pleasure that coursed through him as Scully's blood spurted from her severed throat and coursed down her body. The Krycek!thing pulled her from atop Skinner, who seemed to be intent on reaching his own climax and ignorant of the fact that his partner had been unceremoniously dumped in a bloody heap on the floor. Mulder's vision blurred and swam. When it cleared Laura Massey was astride Skinner, fucking him relentlessly. "You know you can't have either one of them, don't you?" she sneered. "When the gates open I'll have them both to do with as I will...and you can't do anything about it, il mio sacrificio piccolo triste." Mulder watched The Mother come and then shift up and off Skinner's cock as he climaxed as well, yelling incoherently and shooting cum all over The Mother's stomach and breasts in spastic spurts. His own cock jumped and twitched, seeking relief. Then Mulder sensed someone behind him. "They call orgasm the little death," Krycek whispered. "But I think this is so much more pleasurable." Mulder felt Krycek grab his hair and pull his head back. "Do svidaniya, Mulder," he said. Mulder felt his own orgasm pound through him. He screamed as Krycek drew the knife across his throat, spilling his blood down his chest. But as he screamed a section of his mind, the profiler's talent safe within the part that was still free, ticked away, observing...noting that The Mother killed Scully but pleasured herself and Skinner...and didn't hurt Skinner at all. xXx TOWNSHIP OF CONCORD. WISCONSIN Highway B stretched before her and Scully kept her eyes on the dark country road. Dimitri rode shotgun, holding the map they purchased at the hotel gift shop and the supplemental directions one of the hotel night clerks gave them. Skinner was in the back seat; the other reason Scully kept her eyes front and center. The AD hadn't taken the time to change clothes at the hotel; now he stripped in the back seat. She'd gotten a glimpse of him pulling on a dark FBI T-shirt and matching dark blue sweat pants. Scully didn't want to think of him moving around back there in his underwear, didn't want to think about why or where he learned to strip and dress so efficiently in the back seat of a car. "'P' is the next right," the priest said. They had decided to come up on the far side of Laura Massey's residence. That required taking Highway P instead of the more direct Hillside Drive. According to the map they should be able to take a right onto Ranch Road, park at the intersection of Ranch and Hillside, and approach her residence on the corner of Church Road and Hillside Drive with good cover and more stealth. At least that was the theory. They were about to find out if it proved correct. Scully turned onto Highway P. She bit her lip as the trees slipped by her side window. She was trying to hold down her worry, trying to stay in professional mode, trying to stay 'frosty' as Skinner had advised when they left Milwaukee. It wasn't easy; she was dreading what they would find. She glanced at her watch; it was nine thirty now. They didn't have much time left to mount a rescue effort if Mulder needed one. And besides all that, she was carrying a load of guilt for not being more on top of what had gone on with Mulder. Skinner stopped rustling around in the back. Then his warmth hovered near her face, his rumbling voice at her ear. "I had a spare ammo clip for my other gun, the Smith and Wesson, in my duffel bag," he said, proffering the clip. "Sir, I have a spare..." "Don't argue. Just take it." Scully lifted her left hand off the steering wheel and accepted the clip from Skinner's outstretched hand. As their fingertips touched, the callused, warm tips of his gave her a sense of support and comfort. She stuffed the clip into the side pocket of her jeans next to her first spare. "There's Ranch Road ahead," Dimitri said. Skinner sat back as Scully took a right. "Turn off the headlights," he said. Scully did as ordered. There were farms on their left and right. Holstein dairy cows appeared like black and white ghosts in one field; some grazing and some laying down, drowsy and chewing their cud in the open night air. 'They're probably more comfortable out there than in the barn,' Scully thought. The heat of the day hadn't lessened with the setting sun. They drove further and then Dimitri snorted a little. "Jack's Auto Ranch. I thought the hotel clerk was jesting," he said. The huge auto graveyard stretched to their right, wheel rims and old metal doors making up the unusual wall around its perimeter. "Just past the boneyard, pull up," Skinner said. Dimitri raised an eyebrow at Scully. "Boneyard...it's an American term for a salvage yard," she mumbled. Dimitri smiled and nodded. "I was once an American...but I don't recall that particular term." Scully heard Skinner chuckle deep in his throat as she pulled the car off onto the abbreviated shoulder. The back country road was narrow. Putting the car over as far as she dared without rolling it into the ditch, she hoped no one came along and sideswiped it. Scully threw the car into park, put on the parking break as well, and cut the engine. The AC went off and she could immediately feel sweat form on her upper lip. She peered through windshield. They were parked just short of the intersection of Ranch Road and Hillside Drive. Scully saw there were two large farms to the left. To the right, across a field the dense pines of the tree farm stood in shadowed rows. Scully could just make out the church's spire protruding above them. Dimitri dropped the map and directions on the seat between them and followed the direction of her gaze. Skinner gripped the back of the car seat and stared as well. "I feel her," Dimitri whispered. "The Mother's in the church, isn't she?" Scully said. "If that's the corner of Church and Hillside Drive, then Laura Massey lives in the church," Skinner replied. "A de-sanctified church would appeal to The Mother's sense of irony," Dimitri said. "Right," Skinner said. He sat slid back a little, his hand still on the top of the back seat. Dimitri brought his hand up and placed it on Skinner's hand. "Sergei, please believe. If you do not..." Skinner dipped his head and took a breath. Then he let it out slowly. "All right...I'm willing to believe this woman has some kind of...unusual powers. I'll consider her dangerous." The priest searched his face. Seemingly satisfied, he released his friend's hand and gave a brief nod. "Before we go, there are some things you need to know," he said. "What?" Scully asked. Dimitri sat back and grew grave. He spoke in a low, intense voice, his accent seeming to add to the severity of his words. "In order to subdue The Mother, it may be necessary to kill her host. What was Laura Massey is no longer. The Mother will have seen to her soul's death already. We must destroy the husk of her victim. Once the body dies The Mother will vacate it. Then I must trap her using a special prayer and send her to hell." "You're saying we *have* to shoot this woman?" Skinner hissed. "You will only be killing an animated corpse," Dimitri answered. Skinner glanced at Scully. "All right. What else?" she asked. "Eject the rounds from all your clips," Dimitri said. Skinner grumbled, "What for? We're wasting time." "Sir...please...just do it," Scully implored. Cold chills were scurrying up and down her spine. She needed action; needed to get moving. Most of all she needed to know that Mulder was still alive, that they could help him. Skinner reached for his Sig Sauer and drew it out of the holster clipped to the back of his sweat pants. In a few minutes, Scully and Skinner had expressed all the rounds from the clips in both guns and then the rounds in their spare clips. There was a neat pile of bullets in each their laps. Dimitri pulled out a Swiss Army knife. "I have already done this with my ammunition. This will make your shots more effective," he whispered. Picking up a bullet from Scully's lap, he etched a cross on the nose of the slug. Scully examined it with fascination when he returned it. Skinner ran his hand over his mouth and shook his head slightly. "This lends a whole new meaning to 'praise the Lord and pass the ammunition'," he murmured. Scully tried to suppress a snort. Skinner shrugged but chuckled. Scully smiled and found herself tamping down her feelings for him again. Dimitri held out his hand toward Skinner. "Your first round," he said. Skinner reached down and then handed the priest a bullet from his lap. In short order, all their rounds had been marked with crosses and returned to their clips. Scully shoved a clip into her Smith and Wesson. Skinner slapped a clip into his Sig and shoved his spare clip into the pocket of his sweat pants. "You said, 'things' you needed to tell us," Skinner said as Scully fished for something out of the carry-on under Dimitri's feet. The priest lifted his feet and Scully came up with two palm-sized flashlights. "Here," she said, handing one to Dimitri. "Ah, yes...thank you. This one is much smaller than mine," he said. Skinner bent down, rummaged in his duffel bag and brought up a small flashlight as well. "Use them sparingly...we don't want to telegraph that we're on the way," he said. "Now...what else?" he added firmly to the priest. Dimitri bowed his head for a moment and then looked back up. "The Mother is unaware of our presence. Either she is distracted, or the blocks I've erected in my mind are sufficiently strong to conceal my location. She won't be looking for either of you...so I believe we have an element of surprise." "But what if your blocks fail?" Scully asked. "Then I will confront The Mother as soon as possible. The two of you will have to shoot her host very quickly at that juncture." Skinner shook his head. "Dimitri..." The priest shook his head in return, silencing the other man. "I know this all sounds crazy. But I cannot reiterate enough how both of you must believe and have faith and trust in each other and God. I hope Agent Mulder can do the same. The Mother will try to seduce you away from your mission, try to overpower your will and mind so that she can distract and enthrall you. Only by staying strong together can we resist and defeat her." "You said, 'I hope Agent Mulder can do the same'," Scully whispered. "Yes...I hope that Agent Mulder is still rational enough...still physically able to help us free him in some small way. But if he is not...our priority is to destroy The Mother before she can actually kill him." Scully felt her stomach tense. She didn't want to face the idea that Mulder might be beyond help or have to be expendable. She set her jaw and told herself that wouldn't happen, but she tried to prepare herself for the eventuality. "Is that all?" Skinner hissed. "I will need to bless you both," Dimitri said. Scully felt her lip quiver slightly with emotion. She nodded. "I went to confession last week, Father," she murmured, bowing her head. "Good, my child," Dimitri said laying his hand gently on top of her head. Dimitri looked toward Skinner. "It's been a long time since my last confession." "I know that, Sergei." Skinner swallowed and cleared his throat. "Dimmie...Dimmie I don't think there's enough time right now for me to confess all my sins..." he whispered. Scully shifted uncomfortably. Skinner loomed large, solid and dark in the back seat. He had bowed his head in front of the priest. His face was lost in shadow so she couldn't see his expression. She averted her eyes not wanting to know what emotions were on his countenance if he should raise his head and his face happened to be revealed in the moonlight. Dimitri removed his hand from Scully's head and placed it on Skinner's. "I think God will forgive you, my friend," he whispered. Dimitri removed his hand. Scully and Skinner remained with heads bowed as the priest blessed them both. Scully couldn't speak Russian so she didn't understand his words, but when he came to the end he spoke in English, crossing himself. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." Scully and Skinner repeated his words and crossed themselves as well. "Repeat after me, now," Dimitri said: "Saint Michael, the Archangel, defend us in battle; be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into Hell Satan and all other evil spirits who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen" Scully and Skinner both spoke the words after the priest, ending with 'Amen.' The priest bowed his head for a moment. "God be with us," he said. Skinner shifted in the back seat. "Let's move out. I'll take point." Scully's stomach tensed in anticipation. "Right behind you, sir," she said. xXx CHURCH ROAD METAL DESIGNS. TOWNSHIP OF CONCORD, WI The Mother grasped Mulder's hair, pulled his head up and peered into his unconscious face. She was breathing hard from the exertions of trying to breach his mental defenses. There was a disturbing reserve of strength in Fox Mulder, which vexed her. She wasn't ready to admit defeat, however. Nor was she ready to admit her fear that she might never break Mulder. "You test me, la mia volpe piccola testarda. You are indeed *very* stubborn." She dropped Mulder's chin back onto his chest. "But I will break you before we are done. And even if I don't...your suffering will be magnifique and your death more than sufficient to open the way for my Master." The Mother ran her hands down Laura Massey's naked, sweating body and felt the residual buzz of her second coupling with the vision of Walter Skinner pried from Mulder?s mind. Mulder's memories of his Assistant Director were quite vivid and each time she tapped them and channeled them for her own use, her power grew. One more joining and she thought she'd be able to break the agent down. She left Mulder's side and carefully walked through the gap in the magic circle. "This Skinner...he really is most worthy," she mused, glancing around the room at the glowing and rippling power that danced in the air. She could sense her Master very close...just on the other side of the dimensional doorway that would release him and his infernal host into this world. "Very worthy, Master. I know it is forbidden for me to...desire anyone but you as consort. But...surely one so worthy cannot be withheld completely from a servant who has been so loyal?" She smiled hopefully and continued across the sanctuary to the living room area. "Perhaps he can be my plaything for the end of days...a diversion while you do your work upon the world?" The power thrummed around her, but her question went unanswered. "I will find him and take him when the gates open," she whispered. There was still no answer, but she grinned wider and headed for the sanctuary's entrance to the bell tower. Thunder sounded in the distance as she grabbed a long rope from a hook next to the door. "Now...something special to greet my Master and the coming storm," she said as she headed up the steps into the spire. xXx CHURCH ROAD TREE FARM. TOWNSHIP OF CONCORD. WI Skinner was reminded of night in Vietnam as he crouched low and ran the last few feet across the freshly tilled soil of the field. He was sweating like a pig from running, the prospect of engaging the enemy and the unusual Spring heat and humidity. Mosquitoes big enough to carry off a small child buzzed around his ears and bit into his exposed arms. 'Christ,' he thought, 'if I hallucinated some palms, bamboo and the screams of tropical birds I'd think I was having a flashback to night patrol.' Thunder rumbled in the distance. Skinner focused his attention behind him and sensed Scully and Dimitri drawing close. He stopped, knelt down and waited. Scully arrived and crouched next to him. "That was thunder," she observed, wiping her brow on her T-shirt. He scrubbed the bottom of his shirt over his face as well. "Yeah, maybe a storm's going to break this heat," he replied. "I think I see some kind of outbuilding closer to the road," he added, pointing ahead. Scully flashed her light briefly as Dimitri joined them. "It looks like a tool shed," she replied, stuffing her flashlight into the top of her jeans. "We can make for that," Skinner whispered. "Yes, sir," she murmured. When he turned his attention to Dimitri he thought the priest trembled slightly as he nodded in response. Skinner shined a light in his face. "You ok?" Skinner asked. The priest let out a stuttering breath. "Just winded." Skinner studied his face. He hoped Dimitri would tell him if his control threatened to falter. "I'm ok," the priest assured him. Skinner gave a curt nod and stuck his flashlight into the waistband of his sweat pants. "All right. Let's go." It didn't take them long to wind their way through the neatly planted rows of pine trees. When they reached what turned out to be maintenance shed, all three of them knelt down behind it. The church was dark, although there was a yard light that illuminated the garage and driveway. The only noise came from the buzzing of mosquitoes, the cheeping of peepers, the clicking of crickets and the lowing of the dairy cows. Skinner knew sound carried in rural areas. There didn't appear to be anyone across the road, anyone around anywhere. "Either the place is empty...or she's asleep," he whispered. They unholstered their weapons. Scully and Dimitri stared at him and he realized they were waiting for him to give the next order. 'The chain of command,' he thought. He dipped his head, accepting the job that came with his rank as he always did. "All right, here's the way this is going to work. I'm going in to reconnoiter. You two will stay put here. If the coast is clear, I'll flash my light three times and you can join me. If I see anything suspicious, I'll try to confirm who's inside and then come back here to get you." Scully protested. "But, sir...shouldn't I act as your back-up, in case Mulder needs medical..." Skinner shook his head and indicated Dimitri's gun hand. Scully followed his gesture. Even in the darkness they could all see the gun waver. "Look...I'm sorry...but that doesn't translate into getting off a good shot," he said. The priest didn't reply. Skinner turned to Scully. "Back him up until he has a chance to steady himself, Scully," he said softly. Then he turned to Dimitri again. "I guess I'm buying into the whole 'sending this creature back to hell' idea, my friend. I can't do that and neither can Scully...only you can. You need to take a minute to get your head together. As long as your hands are shaking you'll get back-up." Dimitri bowed his head. "I understand," he murmured. "I'll watch the church." He got up and went to stand by the side of the tool shed. Skinner and Scully allowed him his privacy. Skinner's gaze turned to Scully. "You could back him up," she whispered. Skinner thought she was probably champing at the bit to find Mulder. "I'm not the best choice," Skinner said. "Don't try to protect me. I can do my job. And I'd risk my life for Mulder...or you," Scully hissed. Skinner's head snapped back to her. He noted her serious, defiant tone and knew she spoke the truth. She'd die for them both...just as they would for her. Skinner suddenly realized that not only did he want to find Mulder...he was as desperate to find him as Scully. He was no longer jealous of Scully's strong connection to her partner. He felt his face grow hot. There was something he knew he needed to consider...but right now was not the time and place. Scully shifted. He looked toward Dimitri. "I know you would. I'm not trying to protect you." He focused on Scully again and lowered his voice further. "You're a doctor...if he has another seizure, I'd rather it was you here with him than me." Scully's face relaxed. "Oh. All right, yes," she replied mildly. Skinner took a breath and let it out. Then he looked back toward the church. "Besides...I'm worried about Mulder too, Scully." He heard Scully shift and turned back to her. "I do care about him. I meant that," he added quietly. She stared into his eyes. Skinner thought she was divining what he could hardly admit to himself about Mulder. "I know," she replied. "Then we're on the same page?" he asked. "Yes, sir," she stated. He didn't stop to wonder which page they were discussing, or if it was more than one page in fact. He pushed all distracting thoughts out of his mind and stood up. Dimitri rejoined them. "I didn't see anyone...but I can still sense her," the priest said. "Ok," Skinner said. "Be careful, Sergei," Dimitri said. "I will," Skinner answered, giving Dimitri's back a quick pat. "Stay loose." Skinner turned to Scully. "Give me 10 minutes. If I'm not back or haven't signaled, call for reinforcements." "No!" Dimitri hissed. "We cannot endanger anyone else. It's up to us alone to do battle with The Mother anyway...I have seen that and do not doubt it." "Did you see who won?" Scully murmured. Dimitri shook his head. "Then you'd better hope I signal or come back," Skinner said. He started to move away. "Cover me." "Wait," Dimitri said, grasping Skinner's arm. The AD grunted impatiently. "Here." Skinner watched as Dimitri reached behind his neck and pulled something from beneath his shirt. It was a cross on a chain. The priest removed it and draped it over Skinner's head. His gentle fingers lingered on his neck. "Take this...as back-up," he said with a kind smile. Skinner remembered that day many years ago when he stood this close to a young man and saw the look of love in his eyes. That look was there again...but this time it didn't frighten him. It gave him hope and strength. "Thank you," he murmured. Then he left Dimitri and Scully and crept off through the remaining pine trees toward the road. xXx THE MAINTENANCE SHED. CHURCH ROAD TREE FARM. TOWNSHIP OF CONCORD. WI. Dimitri Yvashko watched Skinner's back as it disappeared into the deeper darkness of the trees between the maintenance shed and the road. A moment ago he knew the other man had sensed his love for him. Dimitri had felt his own love returned, but only as a fondness based upon the memories of youth. 'It's for the best,' the priest thought. 'Best for Sergei to love another now under the circumstances.' He silently prayed for God to give Sergei protection, his success...for their success. And he prayed that he would not falter in his faith when the time came. The priest rested his arm against the shed and concentrated on holding his gun steady. This was the culmination of all his instruction; his many years of learning from his elders how to prepare for battle against the forces of evil. He could not let his fear or the stress of blocking The Mother overcome him. Scully came up behind him and touched his shoulder. "Are you really all right?" she asked. "You need to be honest with me...if anything's going to hinder your performance..." He nodded. "Yes, of course you're right. I'm managing, but it is difficult. The strain of trying to block The Mother is fatiguing." "If there's anything I can do to help you..." she said. "You're helping me just by being here," he whispered. She looked at him again and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. "For what it's worth...I'm afraid too...but having you here is helping me as well," she replied. She focused on the dark outline of the church. Dimitri gave her arm a squeeze in return. "I have asked God to watch over them both," he said. "I have faith He knows what is in our hearts for them...and that He will." "What's in our hearts?" Scully whispered in puzzlement. Then realization of what he meant dawned on her face. The priest knew that Agent Dana Scully felt something very strong for her supervisor and her partner. Sergei?s feelings were evident as well. Their emotions were easy to read; since they arrived in Milwaukee they weren't shielding them very well. Dimitri suspected that they were experts at hiding the truth from each other and Agent Mulder, however. He had faith their love for each other and the other man would help to sustain them through the horrors to come. "He's almost reached the road," Dimitri said and Scully's attention was instantly on Skinner. A large shadow was moving among the trees. Together they watched it crouch to the ground and then appear to rub its hands over its face, smearing what they assumed was dirt. "He has not forgotten the ways of war," the priest whispered. Scully tensed next to him and raised her weapon. Dimitri raised his as well. Skinner?s shadow darted across the road, and as they watched, reached the back of the church and disappeared into the deeper darkness. xXx CHURCH ROAD METAL DESIGNS. TOWNSHIP OF CONCORD, WI. Skinner plastered himself against the stone wall of the church. He glanced back toward the pines but couldn't see Dimitri and Scully. 'Good,' he thought. His eyes roamed the yard around him. There was no other movement. But, he could hear music now. 'Laura Massey must have a helluva audio system.' There was a loud base back beat coming from inside. He shook his head. Maybe he should amend that to 'had' a helluva audio system. 'Yeah right,' he thought. He couldn't quite get over the idea he'd be shooting a corpse if he had to use his weapon on this woman. He told himself that if this was all bullshit Dimitri owed him, Big Time. A cloud blew away from the moon and the cross around his neck glinted in the revealed light. Skinner touched the cross, thought of his lapsed faith, remembered the love in Dimitri's eyes and tried to believe. He worked his way to the right edge of the building and peered around the corner. The back of what looked like a new wing stretched off to the right. The three-car garage was detached but next to it. There were no windows in the walls of the newer wing. The only windows were glass, and high up in the side of the church. There was no possible access or view into the windows. There was a window in the garage within reach, however. Skinner quickly moved to it and looked in. A white van with the words, 'Church Road Metal Designs' emblazoned in black on the side was parked inside. 'If Mulder drove out here, Laura Massey certainly hadn't done the obvious and hidden his car in the garage,' he thought. There was no one in the garage. Skinner traversed the length of the wing and the church again and looked around the left corner of the building and out along the street. There didn't seem to be a way to easily see in on this side either. The stained glass windows were just too high up and there was nothing to stand on or climb up on to look in. But a wooden door was cut into the wall at the bottom of the bell tower. As Skinner stood in the shadows, considering what to do, he heard a sudden thud and then a creaking noise. He looked up. Someone was moving around in the bell tower. He flattened himself against the wall again because he realized if someone looked down from above they could see him. Then he made a decision The door in the wall was recessed a good deal. If he could reach the doorway and stand in it no one from above could see him. He quickly rounded the wall and slid to the door, secluding himself in the shadows. He waited to hear a shout of protest or other sound that would signal he'd been seen. There was none. He listened at the door. He could just make out a distant creaking. He made a second decision. He had to know what was going on inside. He raised his gun and tested the door. It was unlocked. He opened it and slid inside into the darkness. The door did indeed lead to the bell tower. Skinner could tell that was the case when his eyes adjusted to the darkness. There was a wrought iron rail bordered stairway leading up and he could see moonlight shining down through the large trap door in the floor. He could also see a pair of legs move past the door; a pair of naked female legs. He backed up against the wall and stepped on something that made a clanking sound. He looked down as it clattered and saw four metal manacles; four manacles covered in blood. He had just enough time to breathe out the word "Shit," before it felt like a knife stabbed into the back of his skull. He was pinned to the spot. "Ungh," he grunted in fear, pain and protest. In a split-second of panic he realized he'd made two very bad decisions in as many minutes. A woman's voice addressed him. "Who's down there?" Skinner tried to move his hands and legs but he couldn't budge them. 'Fuck, fuck,' he cursed silently as he felt a compulsion to answer. He gritted his teeth, put a lid on his fear, and concentrated on resisting the compulsion with all his might. But he looked up; he couldn't help it. A bright light lit his face. There was a gasp and then a woman's delighted laughter. "Venuto a me il mio toro magnifico." Skinner couldn't understand Italian, but for some reason he suddenly understood the woman's words. 'Come to me', she said. 'Come to me my magnificent bull'. He gasped, dropped his gun and nearly fell to his knees as his head was pierced by another bolt of excruciating pain. Then his entire body was suffused with overwhelming sexual arousal. "Oh God," he ground out, doubling up on himself as the waves of pleasure flowed over him, through him, centered on his groin, pounded into his cock and balls. He panted as his cock became engorged and then threw his head back, hitting the rock wall as an even more powerful wave of desire crashed through him. "Come to me," the woman said. And then he could move, he had no resistance at all as he walked up the wrought iron stairway into the bell tower. When Skinner climbed through the trap door and stood on the wooden floor of the bell room, he was met by an attractive, naked, tall, black-haired woman. "Welcome, Walter Skinner. This is indeed a pleasure," she said with a broad smile. Skinner moaned low in his throat. His senses spun, his vision swam. He felt like the woman was milking his erect cock for all it was worth and all coherent thought was rapidly receding. There was a hissing in his ears and Skinner was reminded of the sound the sea made in a seashell as he stood, dizzy, his cock bumping into the front of his sweat pants. "Let me see you," the woman whispered. Skinner's hands came up seemingly of their own volition and yanked down his sweats and jock strap. His straining cock jutted free. "Ah," the woman breathed. "Impressive and beautiful. I knew it would be so. Now...take your cock...show me how much I excite you." Skinner reached down and started to pump himself, pulling his hard-on up and then working it with quick, sure strokes. Grunts were wrung from his throat with each rise and fall of his fist. Through the haze of approaching orgasm, he was vaguely aware that the woman was covered in streaks of dried blood. The corpse of a stranger, blood-stained and bedecked with what looked like a metal lion's mane was hanging from a rope behind her. "Come for me," The Mother said. Skinner did, his neck muscles straining taut, his mouth open in a silent scream. The Mother clapped her hands and laughed in unrestrained joy. Skinner fell to the floor, senseless. xXx CHURCH ROAD METAL DESIGNS. THE SANCTUARY DOWNSTAIRS. Mulder drifted between wakefulness and unconsciousness. He was dimly aware that he ached all over. His eyes felt gummy, his eyelashes were stuck to his eyelids and his lips were cracked and bleeding. Nine Inch Nails blared, mixing with the throbbing pulse of energy crawling over his skin. The combination of sound and power, plus the heat made him feel weak and nauseous. 'God, I'm getting sick of Nine Inch Nails,' he thought. The lyrics of 'The Downward Spiral' were sadly apt, however. Before he passed out again, they echoed in his ears: You let me violate you You let me desecrate you You let me penetrate you You let me complicate you The room was still as hot as a tropical rain forest when he woke the next time, but it was quiet. The change prodded him to struggle toward full consciousness. He slowly pried his eyes open and carefully looked around. It took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the flickering candlelight and furnace glow and when they did, his mouth dropped open in surprise. Walter Skinner was bound with rope to one of the posts that supported the sleeping loft. He was naked, sans his spectacles and sweating. Perspiration had created patterns in the dirt on his face like war paint; Mulder followed rivulets of perspiration as they trailed down the muscular chest. He shook his head and blinked at the image then twisted his neck around, seeking the whereabouts of The Mother. She had to be in the sanctuary to be creating this hallucination. "Mulder," Skinner hissed. Mulder's head swiveled and his eyes involuntarily zeroed in on Skinner's crotch. Even in the dim light, the streaks on his thighs indicated that Skinner had been the recipient of The Mother's attentions. "Go away," Mulder croaked, averting his eyes from Skinner's genitals. "You're not real." "The fuck I'm not. Come on, Agent. Get it together," Skinner barked impatiently. Mulder squinted at Skinner. "Sir?" he asked. "Don't tell me you're the cavalry." "Part of it." Mulder whipped his head around in panic. "Scully's here?" "Listen, we don't have much time...Laura Massey went back up to the bell tower but she probably won't be long." "She's not Laura Massey. She's not even human, sir...not really...she..." "I got that. It felt like she peeled my mind like a fucking orange," Skinner replied, clenching his teeth and struggling against the ropes that bound his hands and legs. "But, she has to know Scully is..." "Oooh, you struggle so nicely, my lover," The Mother interrupted as she entered from the rear of the sanctuary. Skinner fell silent as the mother moved gracefully into the room and drew up in front of him, toe to toe. "You wouldn't have to be bound at all if your mind wasn't so full of that red-headed slut you both love. We'll have to work on those errant musings." Mulder's eyebrows rose practically to his hairline. He was stunned at The Mother?s statement. Skinner stared at what had been Laura Massey, his jaw muscles working. "You're crazy," he said. The Mother laughed. "No...I *can* read your mind, mio handsome." Mulder watched carefully as she whirled toward him. There was something petulant in The Mother's expression. She was angry with Skinner, but more importantly...Mulder shut his eyes and concentrated... and he remembered what else might be important. He recalled thinking before he passed out from the force of the last hallucination that the Mother had a thing for Skinner...as in the love and lust 'thang'. She did...he saw it in her eyes. He wondered if it would buy them some time, maybe time enough for Scully... The mother's next words stopped his thoughts in their tracks and his eyes flew open again. "He wants you both, you know, my little fox; you and your glacial redhead. How ironic...all your wishes come true...but the fulfillment of them is denied you in the end." "Fuck you," Skinner spat, twisting in his ropes. The Mother smiled at Mulder and licked her lips lasciviously. "See, he does want me," she gloated. Mulder yelled over her head, "Watch out, sir. She's..." "Silenzio!" she screamed at Mulder. Then she pirouetted abruptly toward Skinner and the AD's body went rigid, his eyes rolling back. "No!" Mulder shouted, jerking against the chains and manacles that held him. The Mother giggled obscenely and smirked at Mulder as she walked to stand in front of Skinner. "It's much more fun when the object of your lust is right here in the room isn't it?" Mulder struggled to overcome his shock at hearing her flaunt his and Skinner's most secret desires. He took a calming breath and spoke. "I guess you're enjoying it, all things considered," he replied evenly. The Mother stared at him skeptically. "Guess? All things considered?" "Yeah, well--if you think I'm stubborn, you ain't seen nothing yet," Mulder chuckled, tilting his head toward Skinner. "Or maybe you already have." The Mother's brow furrowed and her mouth turned down slightly. "On the contrary. I think it's you who 'ain't seen nothing yet'." She turned to focus on Skinner. Mulder could hear the hissing of seashells in the air, but this time he knew she was entering Skinner's mind. The AD's body suddenly convulsed, shaking from head to toe. The Mother seemed to sway forward, closing her eyes. Skinner twisted away and then sagged in his bonds, drool sliding out of his mouth. Mulder's lips tightened. 'She must be pushing him really hard,' he thought. Skinner jerked once more in his bonds and then relaxed again. The Mother opened her eyes. "Now...that's better," she said, smiling. She stood in front of Skinner for a moment, stroking her breasts. Skinner's eyes cleared and followed her hands. He licked his dry lips. The Mother?s hands skimmed down her body and settled between her thighs. As she stroked herself Skinner's cock started to swell and rise between his legs. "You'd like to fuck me, wouldn't you?" she said, her voice a seductive purr. Mulder could see Skinner's head try to shake in the negative. 'I know what that's like,' he thought ruefully as Skinner blurted out a forced "Yes." The Mother smiled and drew closer. She murmured something in Skinner's ear and the AD smiled at her. "Only for you, il mio toro," she whispered. She sank to her knees in front of him, gently lifted his half-hard cock and took the head into her mouth. Mulder looked up at the ceiling and pulled at his bonds again. Desperation jangled his nerves. 'Come on, Scully,' he thought. 'If you're the rest of the cavalry, now's a good time to ride to the rescue.' xXx CHURCH ROAD TREE FARM. TOWNSHIP OF CONCORD. WI. Scully waited and pursed her lips. Skinner hadn?t returned after entering the church. "He's still inside," Dimitri said flatly as thunder rumbled overhead. His concern came through loud and clear in his statement. Scully nodded and illuminated her watch, still holding her gun up at the ready. "He has two minutes left. If he doesn't come out or signal I'm calling the State Police." Dimitri shook his head violently. "No...please...I meant what I said. You cannot endanger..." Scully interrupted the priest. "Father...Dimitri...according to you, the whole world's in danger right now. It can't possibly matter if I call in back-up," Scully replied. Dimitri sounded worried and sincere as he spoke. "They will not understand the nature of this situation. They will do more harm than good. There is no time to explain. There's no time at all, Agent Scully. We need to go in now." Scully studied the priest's face as she listened to his urgent assertion. She had been struck by his physical resemblance to Mulder. Now she marveled at his unwavering belief in everything he'd told her and Skinner and how that resembled Mulder as well. She took a deep breath and exhaled into the humid night air, then slapped at a mosquito that dined heartily on her forearm. "All right, we'll go in," she said, standing to peek around the edge of the maintenance shed again. She examined the church and thought she could see someone walking around in the bell tower. Dimitri stood next to her. "We should have brought binoculars," he whispered. "Someone is in the belfry but I cannot see them clearly." Scully cringed. Evidently their trepidation had translated into poor planning. No one had considered needing night vision scopes. They might have helped in the long run. Dimitri didn't belabor the point. He crouched down again and plowed his fingers into the grass at their feet and then into the rich soil under it. Coming up with a small handful, he smeared dirt onto his face. Scully followed his lead. "I was going to ask you if you knew anything about...covert operations," she murmured. "I learn well from example," he replied, gesturing with his chin in the general direction where Skinner had disappeared into the darkness. "But yes...I have been trained for this battle, Agent Scully." Scully noticed his gun hand was steady now. His words and tone indicated his determination. She knew his resolve matched her own. "All right, let's go. The priest gripped her arm. "Remember...hold God in your heart. Trust in those you love," he whispered. Scully nodded and took off through the trees, following Skinner's pattern of approach to the church. Father Dimitri Yvashko hurried close behind her. xXx CHURCH ROAD METAL DESIGNS. THE SANCTUARY. Mulder had been subjected to The Mother's expert demonstration of fellatio on Skinner before she untied him, his hard cock still jutting out from between his legs. He'd been forced to view their strenuous fucking on the couch in the living room area as well. Part of his mind detached from the experience for a few minutes. He could distance himself from the sight of Laura Massey pinned below the AD, her legs wrapped around his waist. He could divorce himself from the sight of Skinner's muscular arms braced against the back of the couch on either side of her head while his hips pounded his cock into her with powerful thrusts. But he couldn't ignore The Mother's unearthly howl when she came, or Skinner's roar of protest when he came as well. And afterward he couldn't overlook the thrum of amped up power that crackled around him and crept like ants over his skin. The only saving grace during their coupling was the fact that nothing about it had aroused him. In fact he felt sick to his stomach with abhorrence during and after their performance. He was especially disgusted that The Mother hadn't bothered with a condom. He was worried about himself in that regard, in spite of his obvious, more immediate danger. If he and Skinner should be lucky enough to survive the night he had to hope that The Mother's desire not to hurt her 'magnificent bull' included the knowledge that Laura was STD free. Skinner was on the couch, slumped sideways with his chin on his chest, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. The Mother had gone out through the front of the sanctuary, some of Skinner's semen still glistening on her thighs. She hadn't said a word to Mulder. Waiting for what would happen next was making his stomach jump. Thunder rumbled outside and he flinched at the sound. "Sir," he hissed. Skinner didn't answer. "Skinner...come on...wake up." Mulder thought he saw the AD's jaw muscles jump. "WALTER!" he yelled and Skinner jumped. "CCChrist," he stuttered and then he straightened and put his hand to his forehead. Gripping his temples on either side he groaned and bent over. His head went between his knees and he vomited onto the area rug below his feet. Mulder winced as Skinner emptied the contents of his stomach. When the heaving stopped, he sat there, his head hanging, his breath coming in shallow pants. "Take deep breaths, it'll help," Mulder said. The AD nodded and did as instructed. In a moment he was sitting up again looking around the room, obviously searching for The Mother. "Fuck me," he mumbled. Mulder shook his head in distaste. "Uh...yeah," he replied. Skinner struggled to get up, his legs shaking. "My head feels like somebody crushed it in a vice," he said as he lurched to his feet. "She had to push you really hard, sir. For what it's worth...I think you put up a good fight." "Pushed...like Modell," Skinner commented as he weaved across the room toward Mulder. He shuddered slightly and then smacked at his arm. "Jesus...what's that on my skin?" "Power...something like static electricity...only a lot more potent," Mulder replied. "We're in deep shit," Skinner said, frowning as he stumbled forward. "Sir...you have to get out of here...find Scully, and..." As Skinner shook his head, his steps faltered. Mulder thought his eyes still looked unfocused. He was certainly debilitated from The Mother's attentions. Even if he tried to go for help, he'd probably fall on his face before he reached the back door. "No fucking way," he said. "Not without you." Mulder's lips fell into a tight line. 'Trust the AD's stubborn streak to assert itself now.' "Then break the circle...somewhere, anywhere," Mulder said. He gestured toward his feet with his chin as he noted the AD's legs trembling. "What?" Skinner asked, confused. He looked down and saw drawings on the wooden floor. "Scuff some of it out," Mulder urged Skinner rubbed his bare heel over the drawing but couldn't erase much of it. He staggered toward Mulder, careening into the table where the agent was restrained. They were nose to nose and cock to cock, sweat and semen smeared between them. Skinner grabbed Mulder's shoulders to steady himself. He pinned the agent's eyes. "I could barely fight her, Mulder. I tried but she...she sucked my mind dry just like she sucked me off. I don't know if I can resist her again." Mulder's eyes probed Skinner?s. He was clearly frightened but seemed determined not to go down without a fight. Mulder swallowed hard. 'There isn't much time,' he thought. He'd been staring at the minutes ticking by on Laura Massey's wall clock after all. It was almost eleven o'clock. He didn't know if Scully could do any good...but he had to hope. "You have to try. Give Scully time," Mulder murmured. "She knows Scully's here...and Dimitri too," Skinner hissed. Mulder's brow furrowed. "Dimitri?" "The rest of the cavalry," Skinner coughed. He levered off Mulder and teetered in front of the table. "Was what she said true?" he whispered, studying Mulder's face. Mulder didn't have to ask what truth he wanted to know. "Yes." Skinner studied his face for a second and then gazed into his eyes. "It's not just sex is it?" "No," Mulder whispered. Skinner nodded. "Me neither," he murmured. Mulder shut his eyes for a moment and then nodded as well. "We...I think we need to remember that...I think it's important that..." "I need to get my gun," Skinner interrupted, shaking his head to clear it further. "Voi bastardi," The Mother cried out from the front of the sanctuary. Skinner fell instantly to his knees, clutching his head. "Sshhhit..." he stammered and panted hard. "You said you wouldn't hurt him!" Mulder shouted angrily as The Mother strode toward them. She brandished Skinner's Sig Sauer and she was royally pissed off. The thing that had once been Laura Massey came through the gap in the circle, grabbed Skinner's arm and shoved him aside like he was an oversized, naked rag doll. He landed in a heap on the floor outside the magic circle. Then she stuck the gun to Mulder's forehead. The cold metal felt cool against his hot skin. "I'm not hurting him, you bastard. He's experiencing the most exquisite pleasure imaginable," The Mother hissed in Mulder's face. Mulder grinned. "I told you he was stubborn," he said. The Mother fingered the trigger. "It's bad enough that his mind lingers on that redheaded whore. He doesn't need you luring him over here and tempting him with a cock he desperately wants in his mouth and in his ass as well." Mulder showed her his teeth. "Why don't you pull the trigger and eliminate the competition, you bitch?" "Oh you'd like that, wouldn't you, la mia volpe piccola, to die the hero saving the world," she snarled, lowering the gun. "But sorry...we have a short time yet to play. And I have time to show Walter Skinner the worthiness of his true consort." Mulder seized the moment. He was never one to overlook the opportunity for sarcasm under circumstances such as this. He smiled insolently. "What's the matter? Aren't you enough for him? Aren't you able to..." The Mother backhanded him so hard his head flew to the side. Mulder had a split second to be thankful she hadn't used her gun hand before his cheek cracked against the tabletop. His lip split and blood gushed down his chin as his head flopped back around. She thrust her face into his. "I'll show you what's enough...soon," The Mother hissed. Then she stuck out her tongue and lapped up his blood. xXx CHURCH ROAD METAL DESIGNS. OUTSIDE THE BELL TOWER. Scully crouched in the doorway to the bell tower as Dimitri ran up behind her. Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed on the horizon. The storm was indeed coming, she thought. The irony did not escape her. She gripped both her flashlight and her gun. There was no time for stealth now...they needed to get in and get the job done in any way possible. Dimitri yanked out his flashlight and held it next to his gun as well. "On three," she whispered. She quickly counted and they went in high and low, Scully sweeping the vestibule with her flashlight and gun. Dimitri did the same. No one was there. They turned off the flashlights and tucked them into their waistbands, hugging the wall beneath a wrought iron stairwell until their eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness. Clearly there was dim light coming from ahead of them. There was a door in the wall and it was cracked open. Scully felt her heart hammering in her chest. "I don't like this," she whispered in Dimitri's ear. "Do you sense anything?" Dimitri looked at her and started to shake his head. Then suddenly his face went blank. His eyes rolled back and he started to shudder. "Oh, no," Scully murmured. Before she could raise her gun, Dimitri crashed against Scully, and she was knocked to the side. Her right elbow slammed painfully into the stone wall and she dropped her weapon. She sunk to her knees, gritting her teeth and fished for the gun in the dim light. Dimitri kicked her in the side and the pain nearly made her cry out. Her fingers scrabbled for the gun butt. Through the pain she heard the sound of feet slapping on wood. She looked up into the eyes of a naked, gun-toting, black-haired woman, her face smeared with blood, dirt and something that looked like semen. Scully struggled to raise her weapon. "You will learn not to blaspheme my Master, you redheaded cunt," the woman hissed. Then she slammed the gun into Scully's head and the agent crashed to the floor, out cold. xXx CHURCH ROAD METAL DESIGNS. THE SANCTUARY. Scully heard someone whispering her name. The voice was familiar and it had an accent. A Russian accent. She tried to wake up, but her head hurt horribly and the loud rock music wasn't helping matters. Dimitri Yvashko bit his lip and tried to rouse Scully again. "Agent Scully. Dana," he hissed into her ear. Scully moaned and struggled to open her eyes. She was lying on her side, her hands bound behind her, her legs bound together with rope. Father Dimitri was spooned up against her back. She could feel his body heat...and his nakedness. She realized she was naked too. The room was incredibly hot and both of them were sweating profusely. Sweat ran in her eyes and she blinked it back, teetering on the edge of consciousness. Across the sanctuary Mulder saw Scully move slightly near the living room couch and strained against his bonds. He glanced at Skinner to see if he'd heard or seen Scully but the AD was comatose on the couch where The Mother had deposited him. 'At least he?s not erect again,' Mulder thought. 'So much for the benefits of exquisite pleasure.' He refocused on the duo to the left of the couch. The agent had seen the other man, who he expected was the 'Dimitri' that Skinner had mentioned, inch his way over to Scully, dragging himself across the wooden floor. They didn't have much time. The Mother had to put some finishing touches on his metal fox suit. She'd gone outside to check the vents to the smelting furnace wing saying she'd return soon. "Scully!" Mulder called. He ground his teeth in frustration. The music was so loud he knew she couldn't hear him. But over Scully's cheek Dimitri caught a glimpse of Mulder yanking against his restraints. "Mulder calls to you. Wake up!" he yelled in her ear. Scully's eyes flew open. She saw Mulder bound to some kind of hinged worktable in the middle of the room. He was tilted up, naked, covered in sweat, dirt, blood and streaks of something else she didn't want to think about. His chest heaved and his mouth moved as he jerked against the manacles that held his wrists and ankles. She was also shocked to see that Skinner lay, naked and seemingly unconscious on a couch to her left. The music reverberated off the stone walls and Scully could feel the throb of the repetitive techno beat vibrating up into her through the floor. An electronically distorted voice spouted lyrics that made no sense beyond the words 'I'll show you what you mean to me', slurred at intervals. She called to Dimitri, "I can't move." "I am working on your bonds," Dimitri said. She felt him slide down her body, his penis rubbing against her thighs. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. Then she felt his teeth graze her wrists. He was gnawing on the ropes. Skinner heard the distant thudding of rock music but all he could see before him was the woman he had come to know as Laura Massey. She lay naked in his bed in the Viva Towers, her blue eyes filled with desire, beckoning him. He didn't want to go to her...he didn't want her at all. He wanted Scully...or Mulder...or Dimitri...or even Sharon again...anyone but this woman with her legs spread and her sex glistening. Something slammed into his head again however, and a tremendous jolt of arousal shot through his body. He suddenly found it hard to resist her charms. He took a step forward, his hand falling to his cock. He started to jerk himself. "Sir!" someone yelled. "Sir...wake up!" He shook his head, trying to recognize the voice but walked on, masturbating as he did. Scully twisted on the floor trying to help Dimitri as he chewed on the rope around her wrists. As she slid back and forth she called out to Skinner, shouting above the music. "Sir! Sir...wake up!" There was no response. She couldn't help but look at his penis. It swelled as she watched it. Dimitri's mouth left her ropes and he shouted over the music at her. "He is in thrall to the Mother. He is not responsible for his actions. Steel yourself...it will become much worse." Scully nodded and Dimitri went back to his work. Scully looked across the sanctuary to Mulder. He was watching her, his face full of hope and anxiety. She'd seen him undressed of course, even nude, but never all of him. Her eyes strayed between his legs too but were than jerked away as Dimitri tugged her bound wrists. Mulder watched helplessly as Dimitri moved around behind Scully. He couldn?t stop to think how fantastic she looked writhing naked on the wooden floor. He needed to concentrate. It appeared that the other man was trying to chew through her wrist bindings. He bounced his head back against the table in frustration. Then he saw the door to the front of the sanctuary start to swing open. He marshaled every ounce of his strength and screamed as loud as he could. "SCULLY!" Scully heard Mulder's shout and looked up. He gestured wildly back over her shoulder with his chin. "Stop!" Scully yelled. Dimitri lay still and feigned unconsciousness. The music's volume suddenly lowered dramatically and Scully heard the slap of bare feet behind her. Then Dimitri slammed against her hard, cracking his jaw into her coccyx. He cried out. The Mother had kicked him in the kidneys. She laughed before she spoke with venom. "I know you're awake, il mio priest piccolo. Don't play dead. You'll be dead soon enough," The Mother said. Dimitri coughed and spat blood. Then he spoke and his voice was defiant. "Lo spirito ripugnante e diabolico della O, sente la mia voce! Conosca il ye che sto lavorando per il signore," he said. The Mother walked around Dimitri, tossing a stereo remote onto the end table near the couch. She stood in front of Scully. She still carried Skinner's Sig Sauer. Dimitri pressed close to Scully's back to hide her hands between them. Scully looked up into what must have been Laura Massey's face. The woman's light blue eyes blazed with anger and her face was twisted into an expression of mockery. "O foul and evil spirit, hear my voice!" she whined, exaggerating Dimitri's Russian accent. "Know ye that I am working for the Lord." She threw her head back and laughed derisively then bent closer to Dimitri. Scully felt him stiffen behind her. "That's quite a mouthful, little man...but I know it's not the mouthful you really seek, cocksucker," she hissed, gesturing toward Skinner. "But you won't have him...I won't even give you the guilty pleasure of forcing you to get down on your knees for him." Then she stood up and kicked the priest again. Dimitri groaned and rocked against Scully. "Don't look at her. Show deference or she will punish you," he struggled to whisper. Scully averted her eyes. "You are pathetic, little priest. And so is this poco whore rosso-diretto. But I'm glad you've joined our celebration. My Master will be greatly pleased that an old nemesis and a new sacrificial offering are here to greet him." Mulder rose up in his bonds across the room. 'Priest? An old nemesis?' New hope suffused him. He didn't stop to wonder how this man came to join the rescue effort. He was just glad he showed up if he knew how to fight this creature. He saw Dimitri shift behind Scully and gritted his teeth. 'The Mother's going to figure out the priest's plans in a moment,' he thought. Mulder realized he had to distract her somehow. He shouted at her hoping that when he did, she wouldn't enter his skull and read his thoughts. "Your Master's gonna piss brimstone when he sees what's draped on the couch over there!" The Mother flipped around, wrath showing plainly on her face. With perfect timing, Skinner groaned and her head snapped in that direction. Skinner shifted and looked stricken for a moment. His breathing stuttered and he groaned again. "Mio handsome," she whispered. 'Oh man...she's got it bad,' Mulder thought, hope growing in his chest. 'At one time,' he theorized, this thing was human, a woman with human frailties and strengths. She needed love, was capable of jealousy, and possibly possessed low self-worth.'. He knew he could use her feelings for Skinner against her if given half a chance. Mulder had to think that if Satan had a master plan here it did not include his minion fawning over a mortal so close to the hour of his ascendancy to Earth. Showing her preferences for Skinner as a lover instead of his infernal majesty wasn't a smart idea either. He remembered telling her that 'pride cometh before the fall'. He latched onto that idea hoping he could use it to promote her defeat. The Mother crossed to Skinner, knelt next to him and stroked his forehead. "Il mio consort," she crooned. Skinner settled back on the couch and his breathing eased. "Oh wait...I have something for you." Mulder watched in amazement as The Mother raised her hand. The power pulsed in the room and her fingers flared bright like a 100-watt light bulb. She pulled a delicate object out of thin air. It was a silver cross on a silver chain. An upside down cross. The glow disappeared as she spoke. "I soldered it correctly, see." The Mother draped the chain lovingly over Skinner's neck. Scully stared in horrified fascination as Skinner twitched and flinched under The Mother's touch. She was reminded of a reluctant stallion that rejected gentling. Her eyes focused on his cock as it strained back toward his stomach. Dimitri saw it was his cross reviled, and uttered a quick prayer for strength and Skinner's protection. "Don't watch," Dimitri hissed at Scully and he went back to working on the ropes. But he hadn't spoken softly enough. The Mother heard him. Scully jerked her hands against the priest as the creature's head swiveled around. Dimitri grunted and lay still, covering their bonds again. The Mother captured Scully's eyes. "You will watch me take him...watch us make love...and then you'll watch me take him as well," she said, smiling toward Mulder. "And then...I will deal with you all." At that point Scully rejected Dimitri's advice to show deference. She was just too angry. She stuck her chin out and even though her voice wavered, her eyes flashed with deadly intent. "I wouldn't call what you're going to do, 'making love'," Scully said. The Mother pinned her eyes again and Scully heard hissing in her ears. It sounded like the sea...like the sea when Missy put a seashell to her ear and asked her to listen. The Mother's face twisted in anger as Scully shook her head and ignored the sound. "How would you know, you ignorant slut, with your withered, unused cunt," The Mother spat. "What would you know about love or even pleasuring a man such as this," she declared, gesturing toward Skinner. "You can't even admit you love both these men, much less acknowledge that you want both their cocks." Mulder fought his bonds again. In the back of his mind an idea had been formulating. Memories surged up...knowledge revealed that had been shoved back by the Mother's cruel ministrations. He remembered hearing the priest's voice before. Remembered what he said too. Mulder knew that his love and trust for Scully and Skinner gave them a chance. He also knew that in this moment, he had to pray. He didn't know if he silently prayed to Scully and his mother's Christian God, the Hebrew God of his father, the spirit guides from Albert Hosteen's Blessing Way, or even the new-age higher energy source of Melissa Scully's...but he prayed for divine intervention now to save the world...starting with Skinner, Scully and the priest before him. "He hates you, you know," he shouted across the room. "Look at him...even his skin flinches away from you. You can't possibly think he enjoys having you fuck him, can you?" The Mother rose in one movement and ran across the sanctuary toward Mulder. Mulder prepared himself for the blow. Scully cried out in warning and fear as the monster brandished her gun in the air. Dimitri thrashed behind Scully, twisting the ropes that bound her wrists. "Morirete," The Mother screamed. "You will die!" She ran at him full speed, cocked her arm back and smashed him in the right knee with the gun butt. He roared in pain and anger. One moment Skinner was lowering himself between the legs of a woman he didn't even want to touch and the next moment it was Scully beneath him. He stopped in surprise. 'Well this was certainly better,' he thought as she smiled up at him. He lowered himself into her outstretched arms, settled against her warm breasts then reached between them and guided his cock into her. "I love you," he whispered into her hair. "I love you too, Walter," she said. An unholy screech suddenly assaulted Skinner's ears. He tried to ignore it as Scully's mouth reached for his. "NO! You will not think of her!" The Mother screamed, turning back to Skinner. Skinner convulsed violently on the couch and Scully flinched on the floor not far away. Then her eyes flew to Mulder. She and Mulder had always had a connection, the almost preternatural communication that long time FBI partners developed out of necessity and friendship. She realized now of course that theirs was even closer for other reasons. But the ability helped in all kinds of case situations...including tight ones. She knew what he was trying to do to the Mother now. Mulder was a profiler after all. He was 'playing' her. Scully could only hope his game was good. She had to have hope as Dimitri said. Trust in those she loved and have faith in God. She began to silently pray. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now, and in the hour of our death, she thought. Then she yelled. "He can't help it, he loves me," she shouted, taking Mulder's lead. "And I love him too." The Mother rounded on her and threw the Sig. It hit Scully in the bicep hard enough to bruise and Scully blurted out a cry of pain. The Mother stomped over to the end table at the foot of the couch, grabbed the audio remote and jacked the volume up on the stereo system as far as it would go. "Enough!" It is time!" she screamed above the shriek and whine of Nine-Inch Nails: I wanna fuck you like an animal I wanna feel you from the inside I wanna fuck you like an animal my whole existence is flawed you get me closer to god "Closer to your bastard God!?" The Mother laughed maniacally as she grabbed a piece of charcoal from the shelves along the wall. "You are all going to hell and then my consort and I will laugh over your burning bodies and shriveling souls!" she added, returning to Mulder and bending down. With a few deft strokes she repaired the slight smudges Skinner had made in the magic circle. It only left one section to complete. Mulder watched her as she threw the charcoal away and then strode over to where his special garment hung. Her face was twisted, almost irrational. The power hummed and buzzed around Mulder's ears. Sparks arced off the costume when she picked it up and swung it over her arms. She didn't even notice when the fishhooks caught her flesh. Mulder swallowed hard and prepared to fight as much as he could to forestall what she had planned for him next. Dimitri continued to worry Scully's bonds and Scully twisted and turned frantically trying to break them as the Mother proceeded back to the magic circle. The Sig was within Scully's reach. If the Mother was distracted enough, and with the cover of music if Dimitri could release her, she'd grab the gun and get off a shot, she thought. Skinner was lost in his fantasy Scully. They embraced, locked in each other's arms, her legs wrapped around his waist. His hips rocked back and forth, thrusting into her with long, slow pumps. 'She's so beautiful,' he thought. He smiled down at her and she smiled at him, tipped her head back and moaned with pleasure. Then he felt a weight behind him, someone large and muscular. A gentle hand caressed his ass. "Easy, lover," Mulder said. Skinner took a deep breath and felt the agent's hard cock press into him and then enter his body. "Oh God," Skinner gasped in pleasure as he pushed forward, filling him. Mulder draped himself over Skinner's back, holding him close. He kissed his neck. "I love you," he whispered. "I love you too," Skinner replied. An urgent Russian accented voice interrupted as Mulder started to thrust into him. "Sergei!" Skinner jerked his head up. It was Dimitri. "What?" he said. "You must trust and have faith in yourself. In yourself...and in your feelings for her," the priest said. "In her feelings for you and her partner...and in Mulder's feelings for you both. You must trust and have faith in each other's hearts...and in God...it's imperative." Skinner looked down at Scully and she touched the side of his face. "You have to fight, Walter," she said. "You have to fight free and help us." Mulder breathed into his ear. "There isn't much time," he said. Skinner knew it was all true. He remembered what Dimitri said and why he said it. And he knew Scully and Mulder were right too. In the past he may have been guilty of inaction. But not this time. This time he would not hesitate. He'd fight. Scully started to dissolve below him. He prayed to God and struggled through her, flailing his arms as if swimming through the fog of her disappearing form. The Mother dumped her artwork close to Mulder's feet. The fishhooks dragged slashes along her arms as they snagged through her skin. Blood slicked her forearms. She danced close to him. Mulder quickly shut his eyes as she spat in his face. "My gift will adorn you soon," she said. "Can I return it if it doesn't fit?" he asked, opening his eyes. "It will fit...especially around your cock...I know those measurements intimately after all," she snarled, turning away. "Now...I have other business to attend to." Mulder twisted in his bonds. "What business? Hey!" he yelled but she didn't heed him. Across the room, Dimitri had almost bitten through the ropes around Scully's wrists. Scully continued to aid him by pulling and twisting them. "Almost there," he hissed. "We've run out of time," Scully said flatly. Dimitri peered up over her hip. His eyes grew wide. The Mother was upon them, fury filling her face. "Get up, whore," she yelled, grabbing Scully by the hair. She pulled and Scully was off her feet and hanging in the Mother's outstretched hand, her arms dangling behind her, her bonds almost severed. The Mother noticed the state of the ropes. Scully swung her body forward, trying to knock The Mother off balance. The Mother punched her in the face, stunning her, and glared at Dimitri. "Maiali," she ground out through clenched teeth. "You are the swine, unholy one," the priest shouted back. The Mother kicked him in the crotch. Dimitri saw the blow coming and tucked up, covering her true target. But she still delivered a painful blow and he lay writhing and gasping. The Mother dumped Scully down hard, then grabbed a firmer handhold of Scully's hair and dragged her toward the magic circle. Mulder saw Skinner start to shudder over on the couch. "Sir!" he yelled. "Walter!" Dimitri rolled and sat up. "Sergei!" he shouted. Skinner shuddered again and then moaned. Dimitri didn't know if his friend would regain his senses, although he still had hope. But, time was almost up, all almost lost. "Father, please," he begged, gritting his teeth. "Please help them, help us," he said. Suddenly he felt his shoulders shift and he was able to dislocate them without feeling any pain. He thanked God as he slowly lifted his bound arms up his back and inched his hands toward his head. Mulder struggled fiercely as The Mother dragged Scully over in front of him, just outside the magic circle. She hoisted her up, and held her face to face by her bound hands. "Would you die for them?" she asked studying Scully's face. Scully knew she would, but she wasn't going to give this woman the satisfaction of getting another answer out of her. "Why don't you look into my mind and see," she spat through blood in her mouth. The Mother sneered. "Why would I want to bother, bitch?" she said. Mulder realized from the expression on the Mother's face that it wasn't a matter of bothering...it was a matter of not being able to enter Scully's mind. Part of his mind multitasked and figured what the odds were that the Mother could only possess a certain type of woman...one genetically suited to her in blood type, maybe even DNA or something as simple as the presence of artistic talent. Scully gave The Mother a triumphant smile. "You won't bother? You mean you can't. You aren't able..." The Mother punched her in the face again and Scully went limp. Mulder cried out in anger and fear. "Scully!" The Mother turned Scully around and pinned her against her with one arm. Scully's wrist bonds finally parted under the stress and fell to the floor. "I will complete the magic circle now!" The Mother shouted. "With this whore's blood!" Mulder watched in terrified fascination as The Mother stretched out her hand. Her fingers started to glow again and this time instead of a cross and chain, a bronze knife appeared in her hand. Part of Mulder's mind still theorized while he watched Scully's potential murder weapon flash and glint in the sanctuary's candle and furnace light. 'She can conjure metal objects but not non-metallic ones like charcoal. That's why she picks artists who can work with metal,' he thought. The rest of his mind was ready to shut down at the prospect of really seeing Scully's throat slit in front of him. There was a quick movement behind the Mother. Mulder looked past her and saw the priest throw off his wrist ropes and fall to the side, grabbing Skinner's Sig Sauer off the floor. Mulder yelled at The Mother seeking to distract her. "Let her go!" It didn't do any good however; she'd seen the direction of his gaze and turned with Scully in her arms. "Go on, shoot," she screamed, holding Scully as a shield. Dimitri raised his weapon. 'I have no choice,' he thought. "Guide my aim, Father," he mumbled and pulled the trigger. The gun jammed. The Mother howled her laughter, dropped the unconscious Scully and advanced on the hapless priest with her knife. Dimitri tried to fire again. 'So, she can be killed by gunfire,' Mulder thought. But he figured the fall caused the gun to malfunction. He was helpless to do anything about it, of course, as The Mother reached Dimitri and grabbed him by the neck. The priest cried out. "God forgive me!" The Mother stabbed him in the stomach. The creature cursed roundly and shook him. Dimitri dropped the gun and she threw him against the post that Skinner had been bound to earlier. The priest fell to the wooden floor and lay still, blood pooling below him. Those events hardly registered before The Mother had Scully in her arms again. Mulder hadn't seen her move across the floor. She brandished the knife. Mulder shut his eyes. "Watch!" The Mother screamed and Mulder's eyes were forced open. And then Skinner crashed into The Mother. She screamed in surprise and despair. "NO!" They collapsed to the left, going down heavily onto the floor. Scully flew right, her eyes opening when she hit wood. The knife skittered into the magic circle and stopped at Mulder's feet. Skinner was on top of The Mother, straddling her. He pounded her head into the floorboards, adrenaline fueling his fury. "Scully!" Mulder screamed as his partner shook her head, disorientated. "Shoot her! Shoot her!" 'God, I hope the gun won?t misfire again,' he thought as Scully struggled to sit up. The Mother lifted Skinner up bodily and threw him backward sending him crashing into the stereo system. The music cut off abruptly as the AD knocked the entire thing in every direction. He was up immediately however, as The Mother turned, hunting for her knife. He launched himself but she caught him and they grappled together, grunting and making incoherent noises of protest as they fought. Skinner stared into the face of The Mother, his biceps straining as he gripped her throat. He wanted to hold her as long as he could to give Scully a chance to get to his gun. Spittle flew from The Mother's mouth and Skinner clenched his jaw and pressed hard. For one moment The Mother's eyes softened toward him. "Please...no," she whispered. "I can give you the world." Skinner ground his teeth down. "Go fuck yourself," he growled. The Mother screamed and tried to throw his arms off her neck. Finally Scully realized what was going on, taking in Skinner and the Mother and Skinner's Sig Sauer lying near her. She pulled her bound legs across the floor and grabbed the gun. As she sat up her arms and hands automatically fell into a shooting stance. She noticed the clip was slightly off kilter and jammed it home. She paused in momentary panic and glanced around for Father Dimitri until she found where he had fallen. His eyes fluttered open and he looked at her and nodded. "Do it," he mouthed. Mulder knew that Skinner couldn't hold The Mother much longer. She didn't really want to hurt him at first but now she was beyond caring. He wasn't strong enough ultimately to contend with her supernatural strength. The agent bit his lip as Scully took aim. "Please," he prayed. "I know you can do it, Scully," he whispered. "Please...guide my aim," Scully murmured. Skinner was in the way and she held her breath. The Mother threw him aside. Scully took careful aim, and squeezed the trigger. The report echoed in the sanctuary. The bullet blasted The Mother between the eyes and Mulder saw a section of her skull explode out the back of her head. She shrieked and twirled about spraying blood on Skinner. Scully shot again for good measure, straight through The Mother's heart. A huge crash of thunder split the air and lightning illuminated the sanctuary casting it in stark white. Pulsing, throbbing power built in the room, a fiery glow encompassed everything and everyone as the air grew hotter and an odor of burning sulfur assaulted their nostrils. Mulder could feel his hair stand on end from static electricity. Mulder glanced at the clock. It was midnight. Someone was coming to call...but he'd find the door locked when he got there. "Look!" Skinner yelled. Mulder and Scully followed his gaze. A black mist flowed out of Laura Massey's body. It was shaped like a woman; Mulder could see her breasts. The Mother was leaving her dead host. As Laura Massey's body fell to the floor, Mulder heard Dimitri chanting in a strong voice. He spoke in Russian, and Mulder only understood a few words, but the undeniable faith and power of what the priest uttered was unmistakable. Scully lowered her gun, half in shock and Skinner struggled to his knees, hardly believing his eyes. There was a terrific wind and then an unearthly hollow scream issued from the black, oscillating mist. Mulder felt his ears pop and then there was an almost deafening roar. It was as if the air imploded somehow. Skinner crawled to Scully and gathered her close. She clung to him as the air pummeled them. They looked to Mulder, worry clearly written on their faces until they had to shut their eyes and crouch lower against the explosive sound. Mulder gritted his teeth and shut his eyes...the wind howled...and then everything was silent. When he opened them, Mother Nature was putting on her own light show outside, and rain was hitting the stained glass windows. All trace of paranormal power was gone. Laura Massey's dead body had disappeared, Skinner and Scully huddled together outside the incomplete magic circle, and the priest lay flat next to the post across from them. Skinner stood immediately and helped Scully up. Mulder sagged in his bonds, exhaustion making his head swim. "The priest," he said, inclining his chin in Dimitri's direction. Skinner looked. He could see the blood. His forehead creased in worry and his jaw clenched tight. "Help him," he told Scully. "I'll get Mulder down." Scully squeezed Skinner's hand and hurried to Dimitri. Mulder gave Skinner a weary smile as he came to stand in front of him. "Are you all right?" he asked. "I'm naked, bruised all over and my head's splitting, but I'll live." Mulder chuckled but he noticed Skinner's hands shook slightly as he tested the manacles. "You ok?" Skinner asked. "I may not be able to walk," Mulder admitted. He'd been shackled for hours. Between exhaustion and the cramping he wasn't sure he could stand. "Let me see if I can get you down." Skinner walked to the back of the table, stepping gingerly over the discarded metal clothing The Mother had created for Mulder. He gave it a look of disgust. He was heartily glad that the monster never got to use it. Behind the table there was a single large padlock that held all the chains to the manacles tight. Skinner glanced around and finally spotted something propped against the wall next to the furnace room. "Hang on...I have an idea," he said. Mulder watched as he limped to the entrance to the furnace wing and picked up a sledgehammer. Scully went to her knees beside Dimitri Yvashko. He was still breathing but he'd been stabbed in the stomach and there was a large bruise on the side of his face as well. Scully theorized that he had been thrown into the post. He might have internal injuries besides the knife wound. He needed a hospital. There wasn't much she could do for him, but she was willing to try. She noticed what appeared to be clean towels hanging nearby, retrieved them and pressed them to his wound. The priest opened his eyes and coughed. Blood trickled out of his mouth. His hand lifted and touched Scully's fingers. "She is gone?" he whispered. "Yes," Scully said, smiling down at him. He smiled as well and relaxed, shutting his eyes. "Thank, God," he whispered. "Don't try to talk," Scully said. Dimitri nodded weakly. Mulder jumped as Skinner's sledge hammer connected with the padlock at his back. The loud clank echoed in the sanctuary and Mulder was jolted in his manacles. "Once more should do it," Skinner said. The sledgehammer came down, and so did Mulder, pitching forward. Before he could fall completely on his face however, Skinner was there, cradling him. Heedless of their nudity they hugged intensely for a brief moment. Then Skinner helped Mulder stand. "Can you walk?" "Yeah, I think so." They both limped to where Scully knelt next to Dimitri. Mulder could tell that the priest was in a bad way; there was a lot of blood on the floor. He glanced at Skinner and saw his face grow tense. Scully stood and turned to them. "Mulder," she whispered. He held out his arms and with no awareness of their nudity, she stepped into his arms and grabbed him around the waist. They hugged for a moment. Scully stretched out her hand and gathered Skinner in as well. They gave each other a quick squeeze and then clustered around Dimitri. Skinner took a close look at the priest's stomach and knew it was serious. He'd seen enough wounds to recognize a potentially fatal one. He sank to his knees and took his friend's hand. Dimitri opened his eyes. "You did it," he whispered, coughing a little. Skinner smiled at him. "*You* did it." The priest returned his smile. "We make a pretty good team," he said, gesturing with his chin to encompass them all. "Find a phone," the AD ordered, looking up at Scully and Mulder. "He needs a hospital." Scully's brow creased and her eyes grew moist. She shook her head slightly. Mulder looked down. Skinner felt Dimitri squeeze his hand and turned to him again. "It's too late...I'm dying," he whispered. "Don't say that," Skinner insisted. Dimitri shook his head. "Listen...not much time." The priest pulled on Skinner's hand and he bent lower. "On the inside of my ankle. A tattoo. It's a phone number in Cyrillic. You remember your Cyrillic?" "Yes, I can still read it." Dimitri smiled again. "Good. Dial the number. They will come and...help you cover this up." Skinner's jaw muscles jumped. He was familiar with cover-ups, but this one he wouldn't mind. "All right." He squeezed the priest's hand. His friend sighed with relief and nodded. Skinner reached up and yanked the upside down cross off the chain around his neck. He gently picked up Dimitri's hand and put the cross in it. Then he folded his hand on his chest. "I think you can use this now," he whispered. Dimitri smiled, shut his eyes and then opened them again. He stared into Skinner's face. "I always loved you," he murmured. "I always will." Skinner felt tears sting his eyes. "I know. I loved you too. I always will." Skinner squeezed his hand. Dimitri smiled and his breath rattled in his chest. "Dimitri?" Skinner asked, touching his cheek. Dimitri Yvashko pinned Skinner's eyes. "Love them. Trust them and have faith in them and in God, Sergei. We will meet again, my friend." All Skinner could think to do in lieu of the last rights was to raise his hand and make the sign of the cross. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen," he mumbled. "Thank you," Dimitri said. Skinner nodded. Then the priest squeezed his hand very weakly. "No pain," he whispered. And then he stopped breathing. Skinner bent his head and felt tears trickle down his cheeks. His only consolation was in the thought his friend had died a hero saving them all...and mankind as well. "I don't suppose there's anything we could have done in time," he said. Scully touched his shoulder. "No, sir...he knew there wasn't anything we could do even if the paramedics could have gotten here. I'm so sorry." "So am I," Mulder mumbled. Skinner gave his friend's hand one last squeeze and wiped his eyes on his forearm. Then he shifted down to Dimitri's ankle, turned it slightly and read the number tattooed into the small design there. He stood up. Scully and Mulder were standing very close; tears slid down Scully's cheeks. Mulder looked grave, although curious as he glanced at Dimitri's ankle. Skinner set his jaw and spoke. His voice was all business. "We need to call in a clean up crew." xXx EPILOGUE WEST TISBURY, MARTHA'S VINEYARD. MASSACHUSETTS. Three Weeks Later. Walter Skinner glanced at the directions on the seat one last time and focused again on the road. A fine mist coated the windshield. The wipers swiped it off. It was dark, and Skinner gripped the steering wheel as he looked for the turn-off. After Wisconsin he hadn't seen Mulder and Scully for a week. Then a week ago when things seemed back to 'normal', he?d been forced to throw himself across Mulder's body when he threatened Gregory Pinkus, calling him a monster. It wasn?t that Skinner doubted him...well...after the fact anyway. But he was afraid the accumulated stress from Wisconsin and the hostage situation in Chicago might have caused Mulder to have some kind of PTSD incident. At the time he didn't trust him not to shoot Pinkus. Mulder had to be temporarily committed to a psychiatric hospital. The whole case was typically X-Files; everything was unsolved but Mulder and Scully somehow came out of it all right. He apologized to Mulder for not trusting him on the Pinkus case and the agent accepted his apology with good grace, saying he'd been pretty intense and couldn't blame Skinner for his concern. But Skinner insisted that they all see the Bureau psychologist anyway. It was his only demand after everything that they'd been through. He hadn't spoken to Mulder or Scully about what occurred in Wisconsin since the night he called Dimitri's brotherhood to cover-up the situation. Not a single word. Skinner wondered if they'd discussed their feelings at all together or with the psychologist. If they'd talked about him. He didn't think so. He based that idea on the fact he hadn't said anything to Karen Kossoff about them yet either. He hadn't even discussed them with his priest now that he'd started going to church again. Skinner was still experiencing budget woes...and yes, he'd been in mourning for Dimitri as well. So, he signed off on the case report and just let it go. After they'd found their clothes, guns and cell phones in Laura Massey's office, Skinner used Dimitri's phone number. A Russian accented voice answered. He explained what had occurred at the church and the voice asked for the address. Skinner gave it and then the man at the other end instructed them to leave, go to Mitchell Field and wait by the corporate jet hangers. Skinner angrily threw his cell across the office snarling, "Leave?" "Maybe it's better we don't know," Scully had signed. Even Mulder agreed with her that night. Luck or God was still with them. They were able to walk to Skinner's rental and found Mulder's rental parked outside the fence at the back of Jack's Auto Ranch. Mulder's keys had been in his pants pocket. They managed to drive both rentals to Mitchell Field and returned them to the rental lot. After about two hours they were met by a private jet. All of them were obviously suffering from various degrees of shock so none of them questioned the pilot or the taciturn man in the cabin who examined them. Luckily their worst injuries were cuts, bruises and exhaustion brought about in part from dehydration. Their doctor spoke very little English as he drew blood from them all but got it across that they would receive the results soon. Their facial bruises barely drew a glance back at the Hoover; Mulder and Scully were always showing up as the walking wounded. Skinner passed his off as the results of a dropped left during a round of boxing. All their tests came back negative. Skinner had no idea what had gone on back at the church in Concord. There were no clues about what happened to Dimitri's body, Ross Lyon's body....where Laura Massey's body had gone...nothing. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. It was clear the brotherhood had powerful backing within the Orthodox Church, the Russian Government...maybe even the US government as well. He was willing to let matters run their course. He had faith that they gave Dimitri a decent burial with full honors. Skinner could only hope the powers that be could mollify the local authorities and offer support to Lyon's and Massey's families. But it wasn't his problem. They filed no official reports. There had been no repercussions of any kind. Skinner merely reported to the local FBI field office that he'd finally located Mulder at the airport trying to get back to DC and he, Mulder and Scully left Wisconsin bruised and exhausted, largely silent and lost in their own thoughts. But this past Monday Mulder stopped him in the parking garage. "Sir!" he called as Skinner was heading toward his car. It was still, 'sir'. What happened in Wisconsin ran through Skinner's mind as Mulder told him he wanted to talk to Skinner and Scully. Skinner thought that saying they had much to discuss was an understatement. He almost laughed at the formality of the conversation and the irony. Even though they'd seen each other naked and heard their deepest secrets revealed, their emotions were well hidden again behind a facade of nervous hesitation every bit as much as their bodies were covered by their Bureau 'uniforms'. Mulder had suggested they meet the following Saturday night in West Tisbury at his late father's house. Mulder and his mother paid for its upkeep after his death in the hope that if Samantha did return she might go there. So Skinner had agreed to meet with Mulder and Scully in Martha's Vineyard. He rode the last ferry over and now was about to pull up to the house in question. xXx INSIDE WILLIAM MULDER'S RESIDENCE. "He'll come," Scully said from a comfortable chair in front of the window facing the porch. Mulder stepped away from the curtains. "Was it that obvious I was checking?" he asked, giving her a self-deprecating smile. Scully rolled her eyes a little and Mulder chuckled. "Well I know he's a man of his word and all...well...I think he...I mean..." "He'll be here," Scully said, putting an end to the matter. "You know that." Mulder nodded. "Yeah, I guess I do." Mulder was glad Scully had come up early. They'd been able to have a good, long talk. They hadn't talked much about Wisconsin really...it was as if by tacit agreement that most of that conversation would wait for Skinner's arrival. But over a glass of wine they had discussed the tension between them for so many weeks. They discussed the work, the quest and their commitment to it. They even discussed God and religion and what both meant to them now...and gradually the tension just ebbed away. Mulder again felt the warmth of Scully's regard, and dared to hope for the renewal of their official partnership and the beginning of a relationship too. Scully fingered her wineglass and watched Mulder smile and take a seat across from her. He picked up his wineglass content to sip it quietly while they waited. Instead of the silence feeling forced and odd as it had so many times lately...it felt natural, and right, and Scully smiled as well. She wanted to ask Mulder, 'penny for your thoughts?? but she had an idea what was on his mind. They'd really done a lot to clear the air. She felt like they were on the same page in regards to the work and their partnership. And there was a pleasant warmth and anticipation of deepening their relationship that she could definitely feel as well. Now they only needed Skinner to join them. Scully knew he would. She had faith that he would. xXx OUTSIDE WILLIAM MULDER'S RESIDENCE. Skinner parked his Olds down the street from Bill Mulder's residence in order not to draw too much attention to which house he was in. It was a half-hearted and maybe ineffectual precaution but they'd agreed to do it. It was surprising how much risk they all were willing to take. Well, maybe not surprising after they'd all nearly died in Wisconsin. Skinner knew the epiphanies, the changes that could come from a near death experience. The street was largely deserted but he recognized the car across from his as Scully's. Mulder's must be elsewhere. Grabbing the green bottle of Mosel wine wrapped in a paper bag from the car seat next to him, he smiled in self-deprecation. The offering of liquid courage had been a spur of the moment buy at a liquor store along the way. "Spatlese," he mumbled, reading part of the label where it shown over the top of the bag. "A wine that tends to be more intense in flavor and concentration. Maybe that's appropriate." Skinner exited the car and strode purposefully up the street, the bag tucked under his arm. The night air was balmy and he could smell sea salt on the breeze. He took a deep breath and stilled his mind, hoping to calm his nervous stomach as he headed up the sidewalk. xXx INSIDE WILLIAM MULDER'S RESIDENCE. Mulder put down his empty wineglass. "I'd like some more wine. Would you like some more wine?" Before Scully could answer he was up and nervously heading toward the kitchen where they left the wine bottle. Scully shook her head in amusement, put her wineglass down and rose to hurry after Mulder. She paused for a moment to admire his long, lean legs and tight butt giving thanks to Levi-Strauss, then she caught up with him and grabbed his arm. Mulder stopped, turned and looked down at her. "Come back in the living room," she murmured, smiling up at him. "You think I'm pretty funny, don't you?" he said, chuckling. Scully's voice was very quiet. "I think you're sweet." Mulder stared at her, his hazel eyes intense and full of love. For a moment, the only sound was the ticking of the hallway wall clock. Then he touched her cheek. "I'm going to kiss you." "I know." And Mulder pressed his lips to hers as Scully stood on tiptoe to meet him. xXx OUTSIDE WILLIAM MULDER'S RESIDENCE. Skinner stared into a window in the front door at Mulder and Scully kissing. The bag with the wine bottle dangled forgotten in his hand. His body flushed with hot embarrassment. The scene was so idyllic, so intimate and caring that he felt like the world's worst voyeur for not being able to take his eyes off it. "Christ...they don't need me," he murmured in a moment of self-loathing. He backed away and his foot hit a loose porch board causing it to squeak loudly. He glanced back through the window and saw Mulder break the kiss and look up. Their eyes met. 'Busted', Skinner thought. "Here's here," Mulder said. Scully looked up and smiled in Skinner's direction. Mulder gently released her and went to answer the door. Skinner smiled uncertainly when the door opened and Mulder stood on the threshold. "Hey," he said. "Hey. Come on in," Mulder replied. 'He looks tired...but really good,' Mulder thought as he ushered Skinner in and took the bottle of wine from him. Mulder shut and locked the door, feeling a profound sense of relief fill him now that the AD was here. He didn't know what would happen next...although he hoped they'd all clear the air. There were a lot of questions to ask and answer...truths to be discovered here on all sides. He wanted truth to allow his relationship with Skinner and Scully to deepen even further. He loved them both. He didn't want to go on without at least knowing if it was possible to be with them both. "I thought...you know...it's customary to bring wine," Skinner mumbled, indicating the bottle as Mulder set it aside on a small hallway table. 'Oh yeah...that's right,' Skinner thought. 'Remind them of what a by the book, tight ass you are most of the time.' He shook his head imperceptibly to banish the encroaching depression and self-doubt. 'What had Dimitri said after all? Trust in the ones you love and have faith in them and in God.' The least he could do was listen to the advice and thus honor his friend's memory. "Good thing you thought of it, I only brought one bottle," Mulder replied, his face showing amusement. Scully hung back. She discovered her hands were shaking after the kiss and Skinner?s arrival under these circumstances. She wanted a moment to catch her breath and calm her suddenly fluttering nerves. Skinner looked fabulous in jeans and a soft, short-sleeved dark green Henley. She remembered the muscular arms that the shirt flattered holding her protectively in Wisconsin. She had no idea what was going to happen next...although she hoped at least that they would all ask and answer many questions. She wanted the light of truth to shape the relationship between them and hopefully to deepen it. She loved both men. She didn't want to travel forward without at least knowing if it was possible to be with them both. They stood awkwardly together for a moment and then Skinner dipped his chin. "I'm sorry I...I didn't mean to stand there gaping earlier. Maybe...maybe you'd rather be alone," he sighed. Mulder raised an eyebrow and looked at Scully. She bit her lip and shook her head. "No, sir...I don't think that's the case at all," Mulder said softly but firmly. Scully and Mulder walked forward and both of them wrapped their arms around Skinner, drawing him into their embrace. Skinner felt a tremendous weight lifting off his soul as he put his arms around them both in the dimly lit hallway. "We're so glad you're here," Scully said. Skinner took a deep breath. "I know there are a lot of questions. I don't know if I'm ready for, for any of...this. I need to work through a lot after what happened in Wisconsin. I want to be with you?want to be with you both and work it out together," he stammered. But I'm willing to take it wherever or however far you want it to go," he murmured. "So am I," Scully said, raising her head and pinning Skinner's eyes. Mulder studied Skinner's face and nodded. "That makes three of us." Skinner looked from Scully to Mulder, smiled wide and hugged them both tight. -THE END- Author's notes: Beyond the end of the story it's my idea canon was a little different. LOL. I'm just one of those people who imagines Mulder, Scully and Skinner together I guess...either as firm allies and friends or more...what can I say? "Our Ladies of Sorrow" started out as a somewhat different fanfic a number of years ago. In fact I had it posted on Three Way Stop for a while but removed it after the bulk of the story got lost in my old PC's hard drive crash. I always wanted to finish it, and one day Paige and I were talking about the story and I proposed we re-tool it and collaborate on finally getting it written. It proved not to be an easy story to write. I don't think the difficulty had anything to do with the length, subject matter or imagery really. I think it had more to do with the fact that in the middle of it, September 11, 2001 occurred and also, personal real life intruded for both myself and Paige during the writing as well. There were points where neither one of us wanted to continue with it, especially for over a month following the horrible events in New York, DC and Pennsylvania. But, during that awful time in September and the dazed days afterward, the members of the I Want to Believe list to which Paige and I both belong rallied together in support of each other, showing me what being part of a true on-line community can mean. Their continued interest in this story over the months, and their kind words as we worked to complete it kept me writing it to be honest. And also...I hated to give up on the story a second time. It was a matter of stubborn pride I guess. LOL. The other thing that kept me going was the inspiration of Paige Caldwell's writing and conversation. She was intellectually stimulating to work with and her talent shows through in so many ways in this story, particularly in her creation of Dimitri Yvashko. She just had a lot of great ideas and it was a joy discussing the direction the story would take with her. It was just enjoyable collaborating with her all the way around. Real life responsibilities curtailed her contributions to the work at the end, but she's been there with feedback right through the final beta and I've really appreciated it. So...thanks for sticking with a long story that was comprised of some disturbing images to reach our author's notes. I know it was a long road but I appreciate you taking the trip. Take care. Stay well and walk in peace. Bests, frogdoggie Every so often a writer comes along who not only impresses you with his/her style, but tantalizes you with a story idea that you can't resist! "Our Ladies of Sorrow" was brilliantly conceived by frogdoggie and quite a pleasure to co-author. Although real life difficulties curtailed my collaborative efforts, I couldn't be more pleased with the end result. And I couldn't be more grateful to frogdoggie for his inspiration, vision and friendship along the way. Regards, Paige Caldwell