Title: Nocturnal Perception (1 of ?) Author: Jen Green Feedback: jennygee@yahoo.com if you liked it, bummer@notmyemail.com if you didn't. Rating: PG-13 Classification: X Spoilers: Tiny ones here and there. Nothing to fear. Summary: As a serial killer stalks the streets of DC, Mulder and Scully find themselves at odds over the cause of several strange events befalling one of the agents. When Mulder disappears, can Scully suspend her disbelief long enough to find her partner...before it's too late? Disclaimer: If they were mine, I wouldn't still be working in retail, that's for sure! Notes: This is just a good old-fashioned x-file, taking place somewhere around season 6...no Doggetts, no babies, and definitely no MouldyMulders! Chapter One Fox Mulder's apartment Friday 3:15 am Special Agent Fox Mulder was suddenly propelled into wakefulness by the shrill ring of a telephone. He sat up on his couch, groping around in the darkness for the offensive object. As his hand settled on the receiver, his eyes went automatically to the green glow of the VCR to check the time. **3:15 am. Who would be calling at this hour? **, he thought fuzzily, as he lifted the phone from its cradle and gave his trademark greeting. "Mulder." There was no answer, but he could hear the soft sounds of breathing in the background. "Hello?" Then, in an unexpected flash of intuition, "Scully?" There was still no response from the caller, and Mulder could feel the first twinges of panic at the edge of his consciousness. He couldn't understand the reasoning behind his sudden irrational fear. ** It's a prank call, that's all. People get them all the time. Just some kids screwing around with the phone. ** But even as he thought these things, trying desperately to convince himself to calm down, he was equally convinced that this wasn't a simple prank call. He suddenly knew without a doubt that it was his FBI partner, Dana Scully, on the other end of the line. He had no idea from where this certainty came. He just knew. "Damn it, Scully, answer me. Are you all right?" His overactive imagination was beginning to kick in, eagerly supplying him with dozens of possible scenarios that could have prompted a phone call at this hour. He remembered another phone call from her, long ago now, a message on his answering machine that had marked the beginning of a three-month nightmare. Duane Barry was long dead, he knew, but the world was full of psychos. An image of Scully lying on the floor, phone clutched in her hand, unable to call out for help due to the fact that her throat had been slashed popped unbidden into his mind. The mental picture was so vivid; he could almost smell the coppery scent of her blood as it seeped from her body, forming a rapidly growing pool on the floor around her. He was off the couch and halfway to the door before he realized she had finally spoken. "Mulder, she needs your help. You have to help her." Although the voice was hushed, barely above a whisper, it was unmistakably Scully, and he felt a surge of overwhelming relief rush through him. "Jeez Scully, you scared the hell out of me." It hadn't yet dawned on him exactly what she'd said, just that she had spoken. Her throat wasn't cut. She was ok. He chuckled softly to himself. "You know that hyperactive imagination you always accuse me of having? Well, it just went into overdrive. It's going to take me an hour to come down from this adrenaline rush." He sank heavily back down onto the couch. "Mulder, there isn't much time. You have to hurry. He's going to kill her." Her voice sounded strange, still soft and curiously flat, considering the message it was currently conveying. And this time the actual words penetrated his brain. "Scully? Where are you? Are you all right? Who's going to kill who? Did someone break into your apartment? Is someone there with you?" His mind was instantly racing again, his panic back in full force, when the inane thought that he probably should've said "whom" instead of "who" crossed his mind. **Jesus, I'm either having the strangest dream of my life, or something very bad is happening to my partner, and here I am giving myself a damned grammar lesson! ** She continued as if he hadn't spoken, still in that same toneless voice, "There's an abandoned building down on Taylor Avenue, it used to be a bakery. It's right across the street from the post office. That's where he is. He's going to drag her into that building, rape her, and then kill her. He has a gun, Mulder, you'll see that, but he also has a knife strapped to his right ankle. Hurry Mulder, you've only got about fifteen minutes." A thousand questions crossed his mind in the next instant. **What the hell is going on here? Why aren't you at home, safe and sound in your bed, Scully? What are you doing staking out a rapist at three in the morning? When exactly did I fall down the rabbit hole, anyway? ** But all he said was, "I'll be right there, Scully, ok? You wait for back-up. Don't try to take him out by yourself. I'll be right there." "Don't forget the knife, Mulder. Remember the knife." Mulder heard a gentle click, and the connection was lost. Looking at the clock, he was shocked to realize it was only 3:17. He felt as if it had been hours since the telephone had awakened him, but in reality, the call had lasted less than three minutes. He shook himself and went in search of his shoes and a pair of jeans to throw on over the boxers he'd been wearing. Once dressed, he headed for the door, grabbing his gun on the way. Scully had said he had fifteen minutes, and the location she had named was a good ten minutes away. ----- Chapter Two Taylor Avenue Friday 3:25 am Due largely in part to the lateness of the hour, the streets were virtually deserted, allowing Mulder to reach his destination in record time. He had broken every traffic law between his apartment and here, making the drive in eight minutes flat. He spotted the abandoned bakery easily enough, the broken and partially boarded up windows a testament to the fact that it had been empty for quite awhile. He noted that many of the boards appeared to be missing, especially the ones that had at one time covered the front entrance. There were plenty of gaps large enough for a human to easily gain entrance to the building. Mulder continued down the block, not wanting to draw attention to himself in case the rapist was watching the street. He had no idea exactly where this guy was supposed to be, or even where his partner was for that matter, so he turned into the parking lot of an all-night convenience store on the opposite side of the street two blocks away and left the car. Heading back toward the bakery, he glanced at his watch. 3:28 am. It had been roughly eleven minutes since he'd hung up with Scully, and if the timetable she'd given him was correct, something should be happening within the next four minutes. He replayed the conversation in his mind as he walked, wondering how she could possibly know the exact time the rapist was planning to strike. He figured she must've somehow overheard the man's plans, but that just brought him back to the question of what she was doing out here in the first place. This whole scene was just starting to seem a little too weird, even for him. A car started up behind him, and Mulder turned to see a young woman dressed in an orange uniform leave the convenience store parking lot and turn her 1970-something Volkswagon onto Taylor Avenue. **Guess her shift is over**, he thought as he watched her drive past. He continued to watch as she slowed to a stop at a traffic light directly in front of the bakery, and suddenly, he knew what was coming. He was still nearly a full block away when a stocky figure in dark clothing darted from the shadows of the building and circled around the back of the car, gun in hand. Mulder hugged the building fronts, approaching as quickly and quietly as possible as the man reached the driver's side, and ordered the frightened girl out of the car. Thinking she was the victim of a carjacking, the woman did as she was told, trying her best to pacify the man in a trembling voice. "Ok mister, go ahead, take the car. I won't tell anyone, I swear. Just don't hurt me!" "Shut up!" he growled, shoving her brutally up against the car, pinning her there with one arm. With the other, he reached into the car and switched off the engine, then engaged the hazard lights. Now anyone happening by would simply think the car had broken down and been abandoned. He slammed the door shut, and the woman's eyes widened with fear. "What...?" Her question was cut off abruptly by a hand over her mouth and a gun pressed to her temple. "We're gonna take a little walk now, honey, and if you try to fight, or scream, I'm gonna splatter your brains all over the sidewalk," he told her as he began moving her towards the bakery entrance. Mulder realized that his best chance of saving this girl was to stop them before they made it to the building. There were just too many unknowns once they got inside. He had absolutely no knowledge of the layout of the building, whereas the perpetrator seemed to know exactly where he was going. Plus, there was still the mystery of his partner's whereabouts. He didn't want to risk this guy running into Scully in the dark. She'd probably kick his ass if she knew he had such an overprotective thought about her, and truth be told, she was actually a better shot than he, but sometimes he just couldn't help himself. And she hadn't sounded at all like herself on the phone, which, when coupled with her absence, was really starting to worry him. By the time Mulder was directly across the street from the abandoned bakery, the man and his intended victim were nearly halfway between the girl's car and the entrance of the building. Deciding it was now or never, Mulder drew his own weapon and ran out into the street, keeping the car between himself and the pair until the last possible second. They were ten feet from the door when Mulder rounded the front end of the car and made his presence known. "Federal agent! Drop your weapon!" The man turned automatically towards this new voice, the woman momentarily forgotten, and found himself looking down the barrel of Mulder's gun. "I said drop it!" ordered Mulder. The man put his hands up, fingers spread wide, the gun hanging loosely in his right hand. "Ok, ok, I heard ya. Don't shoot, man." "I want you to very slowly put the gun down on the ground," said Mulder. As the perpetrator bent to comply, Mulder's attention shifted briefly to the woman, who seemed frozen in place. "Miss, are you ok?" he asked. She gave a quick nod, her eyes flicking nervously between Mulder and her would-be abductor, who had yet to stand after placing his gun carefully on the pavement. Mulder kicked the weapon several feet away, safely out of the suspect's reach. "Get up!" he ordered harshly. In a much gentler tone, he spoke to the victim. "I need you to do something for me. Go back to the convenience store and call 911. Tell them that I'm a federal agent, I've apprehended an armed suspect and need police backup. Can you do that?" "Y-yes." Her first attempt came out a mere whisper, so she tried again, her voice stronger the second time. "Yes, I can." He smiled encouragingly at her. "Go on then. Take your car. This neighborhood can be dangerous at this time of night." She gave him a ghost of a smile in return and walked quickly to the Volkswagon. As the engine turned over and the car headed back in the direction from which it came, Mulder turned his full attention to the man still crouched in front of him. "I told you to get up!" Seemingly absorbed in the task of tying and retying his right shoe, the man ignored the order, much to Mulder's annoyance. In exasperation, Mulder stepped directly in front of the man, gun leveled at his head, and cocked the hammer back with a deliberate click. "NOW!" The suspect glanced up, giving Mulder a look of mild irritation, much as he might look at someone in a theater that talked during the movie. Then he shook his head briefly as if amazed by the unmitigated gall of this FBI agent before him, and bent once again to fiddle with his shoelace. Mulder was completely bewildered by the man's cavalier attitude. **What's wrong with this picture? I'm standing here with a gun not two inches from this guy's head, and he's trying to make it into the Guinness Book of World Records for World's Most Perfectly Tied Shoelace. ** Mulder was suddenly certain that he was missing something. There was some vital piece of information nagging at his memory, but the harder he tried to retrieve it, the more it continued to elude him. It wasn't until the man stood quickly and lunged at him, something clutched in his right hand that flashed silver in the streetlight, that Scully's warning came back to him. **Don't forget the knife, Mulder. Remember the knife. ** At the last possible second, Mulder stepped quickly backwards, managing to avoid the brunt of the blow. He felt a sharp, hot pain as the knife cut into him just above the waistband of his jeans, but upon sparing a glance down at himself, he realized the wound was superficial. He said a silent thank you to his partner, certain that without her warning, he would've just been gutted like a deer. He backed up a little more before the man could lunge again. "Drop the knife, asshole!" Even with Mulder a safe distance away, a gun aimed pointedly at his heart, the man hesitated for a moment, quite obviously weighing the possible consequences of another attack. Finally he decided the odds weren't in his favor now that he'd lost the element of surprise, and he relented, dropping the knife to the pavement. "Now, I want you to turn around and lie face down on the ground with your hands behind your head." The suspect sighed in resignation as he complied with the order. Mulder had no way of securing the prisoner until the police arrived, since he had left his handcuffs at home in his rush to get here in the short amount of time that Scully had allotted him. Fortunately, the distant sound of approaching sirens told him that he wouldn't have long to wait. ----- Chapter Three Taylor Avenue Friday 4:15 am "I'm sorry sir, but there's no sign of her anywhere." The words were barely out of his mouth before Officer Steve Phethean wished he could take them back. It was quite apparent from the steely glare now fixated on the young officer that this news was not what "Special Agent Fox Mulder, FBI" had wanted to hear. He instinctively took a half step backwards before he dared to continue. "The bakery has been thoroughly searched, as have all the side streets and alleyways within a two block radius. Every building within that same radius has been checked as well, and found to be locked securely with no signs of recent entry, forced or otherwise. We've also been unable to find any car in the area matching the description you gave us of your partner's. Are you absolutely certain that she didn't leave of her own accord?" "Agent Scully would not leave a crime scene." This was spoken through a jaw clenched so tightly the officer feared for the enamel on Agent Mulder's teeth. "What did he say when you questioned him?" Mulder jerked his chin in the direction of the perpetrator, who was currently handcuffed and sitting in the backseat of Phethean's patrol car. He had wanted to question the man himself, but at Phethean's insistence had been led off to have his knife wound looked at by an EMT and then to give his own accounting of what had transpired. Officer Phethean consulted his notes, rolling his eyes as he spoke. "Well, let's see here. He claims he was walking home from church - seems he had the irrepressible urge to visit the confessional at 3 o'clock in the morning - when he spotted an old family friend sitting in her Volkswagon at a red light. He greeted her - though he couldn't even give us her first name when questioned - and the two of them were just on their way to catch up on old times over coffee when you happened along." Mulder snorted. "Yeah, greeted her with a loaded .22. Couldn't he have just sent a Hallmark? Anyway, what did he say about Scully?" "I told him that you had been called here by your partner who hasn't been seen or heard from since the time of that phone call. His reply to that was, 'If there's another fed down here somewhere, I ain't seen him.' It didn't seem to occur to him that your partner could be a woman." Steve held up his hand when Mulder began to interrupt. "I know what you're going to say, and yes, he could've said what he did to throw us off. But for some reason, I don't think he was lying." "Oh, that's just great," Mulder said. "You're going to accept the word of a rapist and a murderer simply because you don't think he was lying?" He ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of impatience. "That's another thing. When we ran the guy's name through our computer, he came up clean. Well, relatively speaking, anyway. There were a couple of assault and battery charges, two counts of possession of illegal firearms, a smattering of drug-related charges, and a failed attempt at robbing a liquor store, but nothing having to do with murder, rape, or any other kind of sexual offense whatsoever." Phethean took a deep breath before continuing. "Look, Agent Mulder, there's no doubt in my mind that if you hadn't come along tonight, that girl would have been raped at the very least. What I'm having such a hard time with is how your partner could have possibly known that this guy would choose tonight of all nights to begin his new career as a rapist. You said you were asleep when she called, right? Is it possible that you were dreaming?" "If that phone call was a dream, then how do you explain the fact that when I got here, I stopped a man from dragging a young woman off into an empty building, exactly as I was told it would happen? How could I have known to come here, specifically?" If Mulder wasn't so worried about Scully, he might have laughed. ** Ok, now I'm supposed to be psychic? As much as I'd love that idea, I'm just not buying it. ** The officer shrugged. "Well, this isn't exactly the greatest of neighborhoods. It could be a coincidence. I mean, it's kind of like dreaming that you have to go to Baskin Robbins, and while you're there you're going to have some ice cream. If you wake up, drive to Baskin Robbins, and eat ice cream, does that make you psychic, or victim of the inevitable? What else would you expect to eat there? You don't live far from here yourself, so you must know what this area is like. What else would you expect to have happen here at this time of night?" Mulder shook his head. "No, it wasn't a dream. She called me. I'm certain of it. It's completely plausible that Scully could have somehow learned of his plans. Who's to say the guy hasn't been planning this for weeks, watching and waiting for the right time to make his move?" "Well, ordinarily I'd agree with you," Steve said. "But, according to Miss McIntyre, her home is in the opposite direction from the convenience store. She only came this way to drop something off at the post office mailbox for her mother." He indicated the building across the street from them. "If he had been plotting this abduction, wouldn't it stand to reason that he'd have been waiting in a location that was actually on her way home? What that tells me is that this was not a premeditated event." He sighed heavily. The agent wasn't going to like what he had to say next. "Regardless of whether or not your partner called you Agent Mulder, she's not here now. I'm at a loss as to what else I can do for you without having some solid evidence of foul play. There's going to be hell to pay for me tomorrow if I keep my men out here all night looking for someone that may or may not even be missing. I'm sorry I can't be of more help." Phethean was certain an argument was forthcoming, but was surprised when Mulder spoke. "Well, thank you for looking, and you have my number if you need any more information about what happened here tonight." He began to walk towards his car as he spoke, delivering most of his parting statement to the officer over his shoulder. He needed to be off by himself so he could think. ----- Chapter Four Taylor Ave. Friday 4:22 am Mulder spent the two-block walk to his car reviewing the events of the past hour. By the time he'd reached the convenience store lot where he'd parked, he had no new answers, but plenty of new questions. How had Scully known the man would attack tonight? How had she known exactly what time that attack would take place? Why did she leave the scene without waiting for backup to arrive? These were all questions that would have to be answered by his partner, he knew. And that wasn't likely to happen until he found the answer to his most pressing question: where was she now? Mulder reached the car and got in, his eyes falling on his cell phone lying forgotten on the passenger seat. ** Why the hell didn't I think of that before? ** He snatched up the phone and hit the speed dial number for Scully's cell phone. After several rings, a nasal voice told him, "We're sorry, the Cellular One customer you're trying to reach..." Mulder punched the 'end' button in frustration. Then he tried her home number. Expecting to hear her machine pick up but hoping to hear an annoyed "hello?" at being called at such an hour, Mulder was baffled by what he did hear. A busy signal. He tried again, just to make sure, and got the same result. He called the operator and requested an emergency interrupt, just so he could hear for himself that she was fine. ** Jeez, I'd even like to hear that from her at this point. ** Her patented, "I'm fine, Mulder", delivered with a sigh that said without words that even if she wasn't fine, she didn't want to be mothered, would be music to his ears right about now. The operator came back on the line, putting an end to his musings. "I'm sorry sir, but there's no one on the line. Either the phone is off the hook, or it's out of order. Is there anything else I can help you with?" "No, thank you." Mulder hung up abruptly and started the engine. Well, at least now he knew where to start looking. He put the car in gear and headed for Scully's apartment. ----- Chapter Five Less than one hour earlier Dana Scully stood in the middle of an unfamiliar street, barefoot and dressed in her favorite navy blue satin pajamas, watching the drama as it unfolded before her. A Volkswagon came down the street, stopping for a traffic light in front of a vacant building, it's driver not seeming to notice the petite redhead standing in the middle of the intersection not fifteen feet in front of her car. When a man with a gun made his appearance, Scully was certain he looked in her direction as he surveyed the area for possible witnesses, yet he continued to carry out his heinous intentions, not seeing her as a threat to his plans. Or quite simply, not seeing her. Turning her gaze away from the girl and her abductor, Scully saw her partner making his way hurriedly toward the pair. She quietly watched the scene play itself out, making no attempts at intervention. She sensed that any action she tried to take would only result in frustration for her. Somehow she knew that her role here was as an observer only, and that any movement she made would go unnoticed, any sound she uttered, unheard. Her part in this had ended as soon as she'd returned the phone to its cradle. Now all she could do was watch, and pray. Scully watched as her partner confronted the man, disarming him easily. With the suspect's gun gone, and the girl on the way to phone for help, Scully should have been relieved, although in reality she was anything but. The words tumbled out of her mouth in a frantic whisper before she even realized she was speaking. "The knife, oh God, he forgot the knife!" As soon as she heard herself saying the words, she remembered what her partner had forgotten. The suspect had a knife in a sheath strapped to his right ankle, and he was planning to use it on Mulder. Scully watched in fascinated horror as the killer made a show of tying his shoe, waiting for just the right moment to attack. As she saw his right hand slip beneath the hem of his pants to grip the knife handle, she knew she couldn't just stand by and watch her best friend gutted before her eyes. If Scully had more time, she might have wondered at what she did next. She would have questioned with a scientist's logic the validity of her actions. And had she the time to question, she most certainly would have dismissed the gesture outright, certain in her science that her attempt at intervention would be ineffective. But as time was a factor, she acted purely on instinct, channeling all of her energy into a single thought, hoping against hope that subconsciously he would receive her message. ** Don't forget the knife, Mulder. Remember the knife. ** Scully held her breath as the knife cleared its holster and the man rose from his crouch, a flash of silver glinting in his right fist. Mulder did not yet seem aware of the impending danger. He hadn't gotten her message. She choked back a sob as she tried to prepare herself for the sight of her partner receiving what would most likely be a fatal knife wound, when he jumped back at the last minute, avoiding the brunt of the blow. Scully exhaled shakily and allowed her eyes to close for a moment in relief, only to open them to darkness. She could no longer feel the pavement beneath her bare feet, couldn't see her partner and his prisoner, couldn't hear the sirens that had been discernible in the distance. The street where she'd been standing a moment before was simply gone, and in its place was...nothing. There was no light, no noise other than the sound of her own sharp intake of breath at the sudden loss of stimuli, the only sensation that of floating in the nothingness that surrounded her. She felt a twinge of surprise that she wasn't at all frightened by the darkness, and then even that faded as she let her eyes slip closed and her mind drift away. Continued in Part 2... Title: Nocturnal Perception (2 of ?) Author: Jen Green ----- Chapter Six Dana Scully's apartment Friday 4:40am Fox Mulder parked his car a block and a half down from his partner's building and killed the engine. He'd considered double parking directly in front of the building, but decided against it. He'd already broken so many traffic laws in the last hour without suffering any kind of repercussions from local law enforcement, he felt it was best not to tempt fate. He took a moment to rummage through his trunk for the emergency overnight bag he kept there. He smiled to himself as he remembered how Scully liked to call it his "ditchin' bag" after all the times that he'd run off on his own to investigate leads. She hated it when he ditched her, despite his best arguments that it was for her own safety. He knew that whatever had happened tonight, she hadn't intentionally left him out there on his own. He hurriedly exchanged his torn and bloody shirt for a clean one from the bag, and slammed the trunk shut. As he approached Scully's building, he spotted her car parked in one of the spots closest to the door, the kind of spot you practically had to stay home sick to get, they filled up so fast. He felt the hood as he strode past. It was cold. ** Doesn't mean anything. She just didn't use her car, that's all. The metro isn't too far from here. ** Of course, hard on the heels of that thought came the realization that the subway trains didn't run all night long, and they most certainly hadn't been running at three in the morning. Mulder sighed, and decided to table his internal argument until after he'd located his partner. When he reached her door, he proceeded to bang on it hard enough to wake the entire building. Everyone in the building that is, except for one Dana Katherine Scully. From inside her apartment, there was no response. He knocked again and waited all of about ten seconds before digging in his pocket for the key she had given him. ----- Chapter Seven 4:44am She had no way of knowing how long she floated in the darkness. The passage of time, she found, was nearly impossible to judge when one had absolutely nothing by which to gauge it. She simply allowed herself to drift, enjoying the silence, amazed by how at peace she felt. She would have thought that the absence of light and sound and feeling would frighten her, for how would she recognize danger if it approached? Instead, she was filled with the very unscientific certainty that wherever this place was, it was safe, and that in the unlikely event that danger did come looking for her here, she would be able to sense it. She was so involved in listening to the silence that the fact that it was no longer silent took a moment to register. Eyes still closed, she listened intently, trying to identify the sound. It seemed to be coming to her from far away, but conceivably it was only being distorted by the all-encompassing darkness. A staccato thumping noise, a heartbeat perhaps? A possibility, she thought, but if that were the case, whose? She could feel her own heart beating in her chest, a slow, steady rhythm, nothing like this frenetic pounding she was hearing. Her mind latched onto that word: pounding. What was that pounding? Before she had completed the thought, the pounding was gone, silence once again restored. This time, however, she found herself unable to relax back into its tranquility, and tried instead to find her way back into the light. When she opened her eyes, Dana Scully was not at all surprised to find that she was in her own bed, wearing her favorite pair of navy blue satin pajamas. What did surprise her was the fact that her bedside lamp was on and Fox Mulder was leaning over her, an expression of worry knotting his brow. "Mulder?" She blinked at him in confusion. "What are you doing?" One of his hands was at her throat and as she pushed it away and sat up, she realized dimly that he had been trying to take her pulse. She raised her hands to rub at her eyes, as if by doing so she could wipe away the sleepy fog that still permeated her brain. "Scully, are you alright?" The sight of her sitting up and talking seemed to relax him somewhat, but his face still wore a mask of concern. "Do you hurt anywhere? Did he hurt you?" He sat down on the edge of the bed and ran his hands lightly down her arms as if checking her for injuries. When he began to lower the quilt under which she lay, presumably to assess the rest of her, she snatched it back, holding it to her chest. "Mulder! I'm fine! What the hell has gotten into you?" For some inexplicable reason, her harsh words made him smile, the tension draining from his face. Mulder felt something loosen in his chest, the tight knot of fear that he hadn't even realized was there since first receiving her phone call an hour and a half ago. She was here. She was ok. She was looking at him as if he'd suddenly sprouted a second head, but he was used to that. He suddenly felt very tired. Without the flood of adrenaline that had kept him going throughout this whole strange ordeal, his body was beginning to realize that it was nearly 5 o'clock in the morning, and he'd gotten two hours of sleep at best. He wondered what Scully would do if he curled up in bed beside her and went to sleep. He figured she would probably deck him, and he had to smother a grin at the thought. She was waiting for him to explain himself, her best "ok- Mulder-this-had-better-be-good" look clearly evident on her face. He opened his mouth to speak, to finally give voice to the scores of questions raised by the evening's events, but the words died on his lips as he noticed the telephone on her bedside table. The receiver lay slightly askew in its cradle, the contact not quite enough to close the connection, as if whoever last used the phone hadn't been paying attention to what they were doing. Or hadn't been able to see the cradle in the dark. He remembered the way she'd spoken to him on the phone earlier. Her words had been flat, toneless, soft. It had barely registered at the time, but as he was able to replay the conversation now thanks to his eidetic memory, her complete lack of emotion reminded him of someone who was in a trance, or talking in her sleep, perhaps. As he heard the words once again in his mind, he realized something else. Throughout the entire conversation, she never once said "we" or "us". It was always "Mulder, she needs you" or "Mulder, you don't have much time". He hadn't just been defending his partner when he told Officer Phethean that Scully would never leave a crime scene without a word to anyone. He was as certain of that fundamental truth as he was of his own name. To even suggest that she would leave him to apprehend a fugitive on his own while she skipped home to don a comfy pair of jammies and slip between the sheets was unthinkable. It wasn't even remotely within the realm of possibilities. And as one by one the puzzle pieces began to click into place, he acknowledged that she hadn't left the scene at all. She had never been there in the first place. He tore his gaze away from the telephone to stare into her bottomless blue eyes, his own hazel orbs wide with amazement at what this revelation could mean. What it had to mean. What other possible explanation could there be? His partner, his favorite skeptic, Special Agent Dr. Dana Katherine Scully, firm believer that nothing happened in this universe or any other without a rational, scientific explanation, had experienced a psychic episode. And from the looks of it, she had absolutely no memory of that event. Scully was starting to squirm under his intense scrutiny. She gave an exasperated sigh. "Mulder, it's nearly 5 o'clock in the morning. Are you going to tell me why I woke up to find you standing over my bed, or are you going to sit there staring at me until it's time to go to work?" He reached out and settled the phone properly on its base. "Scully, what was the last call you made on this phone?" Although her eyes clearly said she failed to see the relevance of his question, Scully knew her partner well enough by now to know that he was leading up to something. "I called my mother, why?" "When was that?" "Around 6:30 this evening. I was supposed to have dinner with her tonight, but by the time I got home I had the beginnings of a headache, so I called her to cancel." "And you're certain you didn't call anyone else after that?" She nodded. "After I hung up with my mom, I took some aspirin, had a long, hot bath, and went to bed. Where are you going with this, Mulder?" His only reply was to pick up the phone and hit the "redial" button. Scully gasped and tried to hang the phone up before her mother got an early wake-up call, but Mulder grabbed her hand and shook his head. "Just wait," he told her. ** I sure hope my theory is right, or else Scully and her mother are going to kill me. ** He leaned close to her and tilted the phone slightly away from his ear so they could both listen. After four rings, a familiar voice answered. "This is Fox Mulder. I'm not in right now, so leave your name and number and I'll get back to you as soon as possible." Mulder's expression was triumphant. Scully's was dubious. Obviously he thought this was supposed to prove something, but to her, the only thing it signified was that the "redial" button on her phone was malfunctioning, and she said as much to Mulder. "On the contrary Scully, your phone is working just fine." "How can you say that Mulder, when I just got through telling you that the last person I called was my mother? Are you trying to say that I called you tonight?" "That's exactly what I'm trying to say, Scully. You called me just under two hours ago, at 3:15 this morning." "Mulder, that's impossible. I was sound asleep at 3 o'clock this morning." He just sat there, watching her, waiting. She sighed. "I called you?" He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. "Well, what did I say?" He stood up. "Why don't I go make us some coffee, and then I'll tell you all about it, ok?" ** Oh Lord, it must've been one hell of a conversation if he thinks I'm going to need caffeine.** He was being so mysterious about the whole thing, she was really starting to worry about what she might have said. She tried to feel him out. "What'd I do Mulder, call you up and tell you I'm hot for your bod or something?" she joked. He grinned at her from the doorway. "Nope, that's not it Scully. But for future reference, if you ever feel the urge, you know my number. I'll meet you in the living room." He turned to head for the kitchen when her voice stopped him. "Hey Mulder?" "Yeah?" "That coffee? Make it strong." ----- Chapter Eight 5:00am Fourteen seconds. That's how far into the story he got before the eyebrow made its appearance. Mulder knew this for a fact because he'd been expecting it, waiting for it. Timing it. He never ceased to be amazed by the ease with which his partner managed to convey her thoughts without uttering a single word. That eyebrow said it all. That one perfectly formed eyebrow, arched heavenward told of her disbelief as surely as if she'd opened her mouth and said, "Mulder, you're nuts." It was a look he would recognize anywhere, having been on the receiving end of it many times over the duration of their partnership. But, to give credit where credit was due, she held her tongue, urging him with her eyes to continue the narrative. "Your voice sounded funny, monotone almost, and you wouldn't answer any of my questions. You told me that I had to hurry, that I only had about fifteen minutes. Then you gave me one last warning, and hung up." "A warning? About what?" "I'll get to that later," he said. "You never said where you were calling from, I just assumed that you were already down there at that building somewhere and needed my help. So I grabbed my gun and was on my way. To make a long story short, I got there just in time to see a young woman being pulled from her car and dragged towards the entrance of the abandoned bakery you described. The guy had a gun, just like you'd said he would. I confronted him, and he gave it up readily enough. I sent the girl to call for backup, and that's when things got weird." He didn't think it was possible, but the eyebrow went up another notch, letting him know quite explicitly that in her opinion things had been weird since the beginning of this tale. "Anyway...the guy was crouched down on the ground fiddling with his shoe. He was completely unconcerned about the gun I was pointing at his head. I started to feel like I'd forgotten something, something that would explain why he was behaving as if I was nothing more than an annoyance. I didn't get it until it was almost too late. He jumped up and lunged at me just as I remembered your warning. Except it wasn't like I was remembering it; it was as if I was hearing it again. I heard your voice, as plain as day, inside my head." She looked away abruptly, turning to stare across the room. The eyebrow was gone, and in its place was another expression he knew quite well. His words had triggered something, some memory within her, and she was trying to figure out what it meant. He could almost hear the gears turning in her head as she tried to find some logical explanation for whatever it was she'd remembered. "Scully? What is it?" She shook her head. "It's nothing. Go on." "Uh uh. I know you better than that. Tell me what you're thinking." "You just reminded me of a dream I had, that's all. I'm sure it's not relevant." "A dream you had tonight?" She nodded. "Tell me about it." "I don't really remember much of it. Just that you were there, and someone was going to hurt you, but you didn't know it. I wanted to tell you, but you couldn't hear me. And then it was like you did hear me, because you jumped back at the last second." She was concentrating hard, trying to catch hold of the fleeting images before they disappeared completely. "You got cut, with a knife, I think, but not as badly as it would have been if you hadn't moved in time. Right here." She reached out a hand to his stomach. He watched her blue eyes open wide with surprise when she felt the bandage through his shirt. "Mulder? What is this?" Her eyes met his, and her confusion was apparent. He pulled up the tail of his shirt to show her. "This is what you warned me about, first on the phone, and then again at the crime scene." "I - I don't understand," she stammered. "Your last words to me on the phone were, 'Don't forget the knife, Mulder. Remember the knife,' as if you already knew that I wouldn't check for another weapon once I got his gun away from him. And any other time, any other day, I would have, but this one time I forgot to check. I didn't frisk the guy, and I almost paid for that mistake with my life, but you warned me again. Just as that guy was gearing up to carve me like a turkey, I heard your voice telling me again not to forget that he had a knife. You saved me, Scully." She was shaking her head in denial. "Mulder, this is crazy. How could I have - have called you and told you those things? I don't even know where Taylor Avenue is! How could I possibly have known what was going to happen? I've been asleep since 9 o'clock. I certainly don't remember picking up the phone and calling you!" She thought for a minute. "You said you were asleep when you supposedly got this call, right? Maybe you dreamed it. The fact that you went down there and stopped a crime in progress is just a lucky coincidence." "Nice try, Scully. You sound like the cop I gave my statement to at the crime scene. But what about the redial button on your phone? You called me." "Well, I'm sure that before that call to my mother you probably are the last one I called from this phone. Maybe for some reason the phone didn't record the call to my mom." "Scully, why are you so determined to find another explanation for this? It happened to you. You. Not to some stranger who may or may not be telling the truth. And you know that I would never make something like this up, right? So why can't you believe? Something incredible happened here tonight, Scully. What happened, that can only be described as a 'psychic event'!" She sighed. "Mulder, of course I don't think you're making anything up. You know that I trust you. But this story you've told, it's just so unbelievable, so completely outside the realm of possibilities. I have no recollection of any of it myself, except for a few scattered fragments of a dream that may or may not be related. Why are you so determined to believe, when there are much more plausible explanations for what happened tonight?" "Ok, Ms. Skeptic, let me hear one of your plausible explanations." She fiddled absently with the left sleeve of the navy blue robe she'd donned earlier as she considered possible explanations. "Well...maybe it was someone else who called you. Someone who only sounded like me." He gave her a look that clearly said, 'you can do better than that!' "Scully, how many times in the length of our partnership have we spoken to each other on the phone? Hundreds? Thousands? I know your voice better than I know my own. It was you. Besides, that still doesn't explain that pesky redial button." "Well Mulder, maybe whoever called you intended for you to think it was me. Maybe - maybe they used a sound-alike or something. Someone who intentionally impersonated my voice, or used some sort of computer simulation." He was shaking his head at her and pointing to her phone. "Maybe they - uh, broke in and made the call from here while I was asleep." Mulder had to laugh out loud at that. "Scully, your plausible explanation is sounding more and more implausible by the minute. And you forgot one tiny detail. How did they sneak in to use your telephone and then manage to re-chain the door behind them when they left?" "Hey, that's right! How did you..." She broke off mid-sentence, looked at the door, then back at her partner. "Mulder!" "Did I forget to mention that I broke the chain on your door getting in here? Don't worry, I'll fix it for you later. Do you have any other plausible theories before I give you mine?" Mulder had a knack for saying the word 'plausible' and letting you know that in his mind he was actually substituting the word 'ridiculous'. It made Scully want to wipe the smirk off of his face. "And what theory would that be, Mulder? Would that be the one in which you tell me all about how there was a time in Man's early stages of infancy when the ability to grasp beyond the reach of the five senses was inherent to all human beings? Where you explain how experts in the field of the paranormal believe that this gift, from which we have weaned ourselves through thousands of years of genetic evolution, still lies within all of us, dormant, waiting only to be awakened and relearned? How somehow, in my sleep, that gift was reanimated in me, and my subconscious mind was able to reach out across time and distance to perceive a danger not yet known even in the mind of the one about to perpetrate it? That most likely this ability was revived due to some extreme event such as a near death experience, alien abduction, high fever, severe blow to the head, or some other stress-causing occurrence and now that the door is open I can train myself to forge a communication pathway with my subconscious to be able to utilize it's knowledge at will? Well? Mulder?" Her partner's eyes glazed over as he stared at her in mock- adoration. "Scully, what do you think of Graceland for our honeymoon?" She rolled her eyes skyward and shook her head. "Look Mulder, I have no idea how to explain what happened tonight. But the idea that I'm suddenly psychic? I don't buy it. I just can't." She spread her hands wide in an apologetic gesture. "All I know right now is that I'm tired, and you look exhausted. Did you get any sleep at all?" "I got a couple of hours," was his reply, as he tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn with the back of his hand. Scully got up to take their now-empty coffee cups to the kitchen. "Go home and get some more sleep, Mulder. Skinner won't start looking for us until at least 9:00am. If I get in before you, I'll just tell him you were up late investigating an X- file," she grinned. "I'm not sure that explanation is too far off the mark, Scully." At her warning look, he raised his hands in acquiescence. "Ok, I'm going, I'm going. But if you start having visions of tonight's winning lottery numbers, feel free to call and wake me." She chuckled and pushed him out the door. "I'll see you later, Mulder. Get some sleep!" ----- Chapter Nine Scully closed the door quietly and turned the deadbolt. She automatically lifted her hand to engage the chain, and then sighed at the hole in the doorframe where one end of the chain used to be. ** I hope he means to fix that later today rather than later this year. ** She turned out the living room lights and walked down the short hall to her bedroom, intending to follow her own advice and get a couple more hours of sleep before officially starting the day. She took off her robe, hanging it on the back of the closet door. Something snagged the left cuff of her pajama top, and she realized she'd forgotten to take off the bracelet she'd been wearing all evening. She removed it absently, placing it on her dresser as she reflected on the story Mulder had told her. Moving towards the bed, her eyes focused on the telephone. ** Could I really have called him? ** she wondered to herself. Suddenly, the need to know was overwhelming. She picked up the phone and dialed. "FBI switchboard, how may I direct your call?" She identified herself and requested to be transferred to the Special Communications division. A moment later, the phone began to ring. A quick glance at the clock made her reconsider her decision to call. It was only 5:25am, after all. Maybe no one was... "Erickson." "Hi Dave, this is Dana Scully." "Well, isn't this an unexpected surprise! To what do I owe the pleasure, Dana?" "I need a favor. I need to know if there was a phone call made from this number at or around 3:15 this morning, and if so, what number was called." She gave him her phone number. "Would that be possible?" "Sure Dana, I can get that for you. It's going to take a little while though. There probably won't be anybody over at Bell Atlantic for me to hassle for another hour and a half or so." "That's no problem. You can just call me at the office with the results later if you don't mind. I should be in around nine." "Ok, will do. Talk to you later, Dana." She thanked him and hung up the phone, wondering how she would ever get back to sleep. But as she turned out the light and lay back on the pillow, exhaustion won the battle over curiosity, and she drifted off almost immediately. Continued in Part 3... Title: Nocturnal Perception (3 of ?) Author: Jen Green Chapter Ten FBI Headquarters J. Edgar Hoover Building Friday 9:05 am The phone was on its sixth ring by the time Mulder managed to get the door open to the basement office that housed the X- files. He was somehow able to get to the phone halfway through the seventh ring without spilling either the two large coffees or the new case file he was carrying. "Mulder." "Agent Mulder, this is Dave Erickson up in Special Communications." "Agent Erickson! You're just the person I need to talk to. In fact, I was planning to give you a call this morning. What can I do for you?" "Actually, I was looking for Dana, uh, I mean Agent Scully. She had asked me to get some information for her earlier, and I was calling to give her the results. Is she there?" The young agent sounded hopeful, and Mulder had to roll his eyes. ** Good lord, not another Pendrell! ** "No, sorry, she's not in yet this morning. If you'd like to give the information to me, I'd be happy to pass along the message." When the other agent hesitated, Mulder decided to take pity on the poor, besotted fool. "Or, if you'd rather, I can have her call you when she gets in." Mulder could practically see the idiotic grin through the telephone. "If you could have her call me, that would be great, uh, I mean fine, that would be fine," he stammered. "You said you wanted to talk to me about something, Agent Mulder?" "What? Oh, yes. I received a phone call at 3:15 this morning, and I need to know what number that call was placed from." He gave the agent his home phone number. "Can you get me that information?" There was a second of hesitation before the reply came. "Yeah, I can get it." His response was somewhat less than exuberant, and Mulder wondered what on earth could've happened in the last twenty seconds to darken the other agent's mood. "In fact, I have it right here. According to Bell Atlantic phone records, there was a call at 3:15 this morning, lasting two minutes and twenty-five seconds in duration, placed from Agent Scully's home phone number to yours." Mulder was amazed. "How did you do that so fast?" Mulder heard the door open behind him and turned to see Scully enter the office as the lovesick Agent Erickson sighed in his ear. "That's the same information that Agent Scully asked me for." Scully set her briefcase down on the desk and motioned towards the two cups of coffee. He nodded at her and continued his conversation. "Oh, she did, did she?" He watched his partner with interest as she poured cream into one of the styrofoam cups. "When was this exactly?" "Around 5:30 this morning. I guess she won't need to call me back now." He couldn't have sounded more dejected if someone had walked in and told him his dog just died, Mulder was sure. Poor guy. "Well, thank you very much Agent Erickson. Agent Scully and I both appreciate your efforts." At the mention of the agent's name, Scully looked up quickly, nearly spilling her coffee. Mulder gave her a knowing grin as he said goodbye and hung up the phone. He leaned back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head. "So..." he began. "So?" "So, I thought you were of the opinion that your redial button was malfunctioning?" "I am Mulder, that's why I asked him to check my outgoing calls. So I could prove it to you." "No, I don't think so. You didn't have to call at 5:30 in the morning for that. Admit it Scully. You were curious. You still are." She glared at him, and he knew he had her. "Well, are you going to tell me what he said, or do I have to call and ask him myself?" "While I'm sure it would make Agent Erickson's week to hear from you twice in one day, I'll save you the trouble. He said exactly what I've been trying to tell you all along. At 3:15 this morning, a phone call was made from your phone to mine, a call that lasted exactly two minutes and twenty-five seconds. And during those two and a half minutes, Scully, you sent me to a deserted street in downtown Arlington to save a young woman from certain death." She looked perplexed. "Mulder, what you're suggesting, it just isn't possible. You realize that, don't you? Just how completely unlikely your story is?" "How else would you explain it Scully? We have the proof now. You did call me. As for whether or not the rest of it happened, I'll get you a copy of the police report to read. How else can you explain the events that occurred once I arrived at the abandoned bakery that you sent me to?" "It..." She trailed off, unable to come up an argument. She sighed heavily. "I don't know Mulder. You're right, I don't have a better explanation, but I can't just blindly accept yours without more evidence either. So, unless you've got the proverbial smoking gun hidden in your desk, let's just chalk this one up to coincidence, shall we?" Mulder wanted to argue, but knew his partner well enough to realize that he could talk himself blue in the face and she still wouldn't be convinced. The scientist in her would settle for nothing less than hard evidence, solid facts that proved to her beyond a shadow of a doubt that she herself had sent him on a mission that had saved a young woman's life, and then had given him a warning which had saved his own. And all this accomplished while she lay sound asleep in her own bed, her conscious mind blissfully unaware of her subconscious' participation in the evening's festivities. He decided to spare them both the frustrations that would surely arise should he choose to continue the conversation without this evidence, this "smoking gun" that her orderly mind found necessary to sanction belief, and changed the subject. "Ok then Scully, how do you feel about Maryland's Eastern Shore?" "Love the seafood, hate the jellyfish. What's over there?" "Well, a few hours from now, we will be." He opened up the case file on his desk and withdrew several pictures, which he spread out for her inspection. "Crop circles, Scully. Crop circles and missing teenagers. On two consecutive mornings, the owners of two adjacent farms awoke to find their fields riddled with crop circles, and their teenage children missing." He separated the pictures into two sets of three. Indicating the first group, he said, "On Wednesday morning, Jeff Patterson, a tobacco farmer in rural Jonesboro, Maryland found three crop circles cut into the tobacco field closest to his house. He ran into the house to wake his nineteen year old son, Joshua, but found the boy's bedroom empty." One of the pictures was of a handsome young man with blonde hair and green eyes wearing a black cap and gown, presumably a graduation picture of Joshua Patterson. The other two pictures were of the damage to the crops, one an aerial view of all three circles, the other a grainy close-up of the largest of the trio. Scully's eyes went to the second set of pictures as Mulder continued his briefing. "On Thursday morning, at the farm next door, Sandie Colby chased the family cat into the corn field next to their house. Seems the recalcitrant kitty was trying to avoid an early morning appointment with the vet. She ran after him for approximately 10 yards when she found herself standing in the middle of a crop circle cut into the corn. Since she'd already heard about the incident at her neighbors' farm, she returned to the house to check on her family only to find that her eighteen-year-old daughter Tracey was missing." The second group of pictures contained similar shots of crop circles, one from the air, the other close up. The third photo was of a pretty brown-haired girl, apparently Tracey, smiling brilliantly at something or someone outside the camera's view. "Neither teen has been seen or heard from since," continued Mulder, "and because of the obvious implications of the evidence at hand, the local police turned the case over to us as of this morning." "Am I to assume that by 'obvious implications' you're suggesting that the presence of the crop circles indicates some kind of alien abduction scenario?" "Well, that's why the case was given to us. As far whether or not that is what actually transpired, that's what we're going to find out. Ever been to Jonesboro, Scully?" "Can't say that I have. Are we going now, then?" She replaced the photos and put the case file in her briefcase. "Uh, yeah, as soon as I find my keys." He began patting down his pockets, and when that turned up nothing, he started searching the desktop. Scully, checking her briefcase to be sure she had a pen and pad of paper, answered without even looking up. "They're on the floor between the desk and the file cabinet." Mulder had the keys in his hand and was midway through the act of straightening when it struck him that she hadn't yet been to that side of his desk, and therefore could not have possibly seen the keys. He gaped at her. She laughed at his dumbstruck expression. "Come on Mulder. I don't have to be psychic to know that your keys end up down there at least three times a week. Maybe if you set them gently on the desk instead of tossing them from across the room they wouldn't slide off onto the floor." He looked at her for a moment longer, cocking one eyebrow in an imitation of her usual look of skepticism, trying to decide if she had really only been guessing or if there was more to it than that. "It was an educated guess Mulder, nothing more. Let's go." She picked up her briefcase and laptop and headed for the door. As he came up behind her, he felt rather than saw something land on his foot. He bent down to retrieve the object and found a silver bracelet made up of seven owls in profile, each about an inch in length. The right eye, the only eye visible in each, was set with a small, rounded, milky-white stone. "Hey Scully, did you drop this?" She turned to examine the object in question. "My bracelet! I didn't even hear it fall. Thanks Mulder." "Looks like the clasp is a little loose. You'd better get that fixed before you lose it. Since when did you become such an owl lover anyway, Scully?" She held out her hand to take the bracelet, but instead he turned her palm face down and fastened it on her wrist himself. "I'm not really. I just saw it, and...liked it for some reason. So I bought it." She seemed almost embarrassed by her impulsive purchase. "Ooh Scully, how spontaneous of you! Pretty soon you'll start doing your laundry on Wednesdays instead of Thursdays and eating peanut butter straight out of the jar!" She punched him in the arm as they walked towards the elevator. "Shut up, Mulder." ----- Chapter Eleven Friday 6:30pm They rode back towards D.C. in companionable silence, Mulder at the wheel and Scully in the passenger seat using her laptop to type up the field report that would declare the Patterson/Colby case solved and closed. The kids were no longer missing, having been tracked down to a small motel in Ocean City, Maryland where they had gone to consummate their marriage. The crop circles and subsequent "alien abduction" scenario were part of a plan masterminded by the two teens to hide the reality of their elopement from their parents until it was too late for them to intervene. It had taken a ten second examination of one of the crop circles for Mulder to determine that whatever created them had definite earthly origins. That something had turned out to be a manual push-mower owned by the senior Mr. Patterson. From there it was simply a matter of a few well- placed questions posed to the parents and the truth began to unfold. Josh and Tracey had been long-time sweethearts who were anxious to marry now that they both had finished high school. Their parents were equally adamant that they wait a few years before making such a long-term commitment. Due to the distraction caused by the crop mutilation, no one thought to check the teens' bedrooms for missing items. Once it was determined that there were articles of clothing and luggage missing in each case, any thoughts of foul play were ruled out. One usually didn't have time to pack a bag when being abducted by aliens...or humans, for that matter. A quick search of county records revealed that two weeks prior, a marriage license had been issued to a Mr. Joshua Patterson and a Miss Tracey Colby. From there it was only a matter of finding the runaways, which proved to be a simple task in itself. The suggestion to Tracey's best friend, Kristen, that withholding her friends' location could be construed as 'aiding and abetting' the felony of 'willfully and maliciously misleading a federal agent', was all it took to get the city, motel name, room number, and phone number of the happy couple. Mulder grinned to himself, imagining the looks on the young newlywed's faces when their parents arrived shortly to interrupt their honeymoon. He thought it was a safe bet that they'd soon be wishing they had been abducted by aliens. The soft clicking of the computer keys ended abruptly, rousing Mulder from his thoughts. A quick glance at the passenger seat revealed Scully, fingers motionless over the keyboard, head back against the seat, eyes closed. She appeared to be about a minute or two from falling asleep. "Report finished?" he questioned. Without opening her eyes or turning in his direction, she replied. "Um-hmm." "You planning to turn off that computer before you start your nap?" His voice carried just the slightest hint of amusement. She gave a mighty yawn and turned her head towards him slightly, trying to get more comfortable. "In a minute." Mulder doubted she would still be awake in a minute, much less cognizant enough to shut down the computer. Rather than risk rear-ending the car in front of them by doing it for her, he decided not to worry about it. Thanks to the five or six cups of coffee he'd had over the course of the afternoon, he would need to make a stop soon anyway, and would take care of it then. He turned on the radio for background noise, and returned his attention to the highway in front of him. They rode that way for ten or fifteen minutes before an unexpected noise overshadowed the soft music emanating from the radio and Scully's even softer breathing. The unmistakable sound of typing. Mulder looked over, surprised that his partner had awakened so abruptly. He had glanced in her direction less than two minutes ago, and had been quite certain she was sound asleep. What he saw now made him do a double take. To look at her face, Scully appeared to be sleeping, head back against the headrest, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, breathing deep and even. Her fingers however, seemed to have a life of their own as they danced over the keyboard in her lap. ** Well, this is a new one, ** he thought. ** I've seen people walk in their sleep and talk in their sleep, but this is the first time I've ever seen someone type in their sleep! ** After two minutes or so of the incessant sleep-typing, Mulder decided to wake Scully before she completely ruined the report she'd written. Without taking his eyes from the road, he reached over to gently still her hands, but jerked his own hand back when he encountered something unexpectedly warm. Surprised, he diverted his attention from the highway long enough to try and determine the source of the strange heat. His gaze was drawn immediately to the bracelet on her left wrist, the owl bracelet that he himself had placed there earlier that morning. It was glowing. Or rather, the white stones that marked the one visible eye on each of the seven owls were glowing. Each individual stone shone brightly as if lit from within by a fire, and Mulder stretched out a tentative finger to touch one. The white gem was unnaturally warm under his hand, but quickly grew cool as Mulder shifted his attention briefly back to the surrounding traffic. At the sudden change in temperature, he looked back to find that the stones had returned to their normal state, all traces of the mysterious shine gone. He blinked, and found himself wondering if he'd imagined their previous luminescence, or if perhaps it had merely been the light from the setting sun playing tricks on him. He moved his hand to Scully's shoulder and shook gently. "Scully? Hey Scully, time to rise and shine." There was no response from the sleeping redhead, so he shook her a little harder. "Come on Sleeping Beauty, I told you it's time to wake up. Don't make me have to pull over and wake you up Disney style." Finally she began to stir, and it occurred to him that she had been unusually slow to wake when he'd come to her apartment earlier that morning as well. She opened her eyes and blinked at him tiredly. "Where are we?" "Still on Route 50, about fifteen miles east of the Bay Bridge." "Well, why'd you wake me up then? Do you need me to drive?" "No, I was afraid you might sprain a finger." As usual, he was unable to suppress his automatic, sarcastic response. "Besides, I figured that if I let you ruin that field report in your sleep, you might make me do it over, and you know how much I love paperwork." "Mulder, start making sense, or I'm going back to my nap." "Scully, you were engaged in a phenomenon that I have never before witnessed in all of our history with the X-files." She scowled at him. "You were typing in your sleep." "Mulder, what the hell are you talking ... about..." Her question trailed off as she stared at the computer screen. Mulder took her silence to mean that the field report was ruined. "Well, Agent Scully? What's the damage?" Her reply was a ragged whisper. "Mulder, this isn't funny." She had yet to take her eyes away from the word-filled screen, unable to believe what she was seeing. "Aww, come on Scully, I was only kidding before. I'll redo it if you don't want to. It's not a big deal." "Mulder, when did you do this? And how could-how could you write these things? Is this supposed to be a joke?" Her voice had an edge to it that he didn't recognize at first, because it was something he had rarely before witnessed in his partner- hysteria. The Dana Scully that he knew prided herself on being calm, cool, and collected at all times, in all situations, and the few times he had seen that composure slip a notch or two had all been occasions that would have sent a lesser woman-or man, for that matter-screaming for the hills. She had faced down liver- eating mutants, mothmen, government conspiracies and even cancer without becoming a candidate for a rubber room, and yet, here she was, nearly in tears over a ruined field report? Mulder was baffled. The only definite thing his mind was able to grasp was that she thought he was playing a trick on her. But even if that had been the case, her typical reaction would've been to threaten him with bodily harm if he ever dared defile one of her sacred field reports again, and the only tears would be his own tears of pain. It simply wasn't like Scully to get this upset over something so inconsequential, and he felt the need to reassure her. "No, Scully, I told you, you were typing in your sleep. I'm sorry I didn't wake you up sooner, before the report was ruined, but it just didn't occur to me right away. Don't worry about it though, I told you I'll rewrite it once we get back to D.C., ok?" He felt rather than saw her eyes searching his face, trying to determine his sincerity. He turned to give her a reassuring smile, and noticed her pallor for the first time. "Jesus Scully, you're white as a sheet! What is it?" She ignored his question and instead posed one of her own, her voice almost childlike. "You really didn't do this?" "Scout's honor." Taking one hand off the wheel, he held up two fingers in the shape of a 'V'. "Scully, you know, I do value my life somewhat. I would never risk it unnecessarily by messing with one of your...Scully?" Before his eyes, her face went from white to a sickly gray, as she stared at him wide-eyed for a moment before turning back to the computer screen. "Mulder, I think maybe you'd better stop the car." ----- Chapter Twelve Judging by her color, Mulder assumed she was going to be sick and began to pull over to the side of the highway, only to be waved on by her. "No, take this next exit. There should be a McDonalds. Stop there." Her tone of voice implied to Mulder that this was perhaps the last place on Earth she wanted to be headed, but he followed her instructions nonetheless, sensing that she had not chosen this particular restaurant at random. And he was fairly certain that she wasn't suddenly craving a Big Mac. Neither spoke for the minute or two it took to reach the restaurant. As they entered the parking lot, Mulder turned towards the right, following the directional arrows on the pavement. He headed for the first empty space, only to be stopped once again by his partner. "No Mulder, go around to the other side. By the drive-thru." He shrugged his assent and drove around to the other side of the lot. She pointed out a spot to him, giving him a final direction as they approached. "Back in." Mulder was mystified by his partner's erratic behavior. The odd sleep-typing, her obvious distress thinking he'd destroyed their field report as a practical joke, then becoming even more upset to learn that she'd done it herself, these things were all completely out of character for her. He wanted to question her, ask her what had her so upset, and why they were stopping at McDonalds of all places, one of her least favorite restaurants in the universe. Instead, he followed her directions without question, trusting his partner to explain herself to him as soon as she was able. But when she pulled her gun and checked the clip to make sure it was fully loaded and ready to fire, he was unable to hold his curiosity in check any longer. He finished backing the car into its slot, shut off the engine and turned to his partner. "Uh, Scully, you aren't planning to shoot me again, are you? I swear I didn't touch that report!" He tried to hide behind humor the fact that she was beginning to make him slightly nervous. She rolled her eyes at him and ignored his question, reholstering her weapon. "Turn the engine back on." He opened his mouth to protest, to demand an explanation, but she stopped him. "Please Mulder?" That edge was back to her voice. Not as obvious as before, when he'd thought she was near tears, but there nonetheless, enough to have him reaching for the ignition before she'd even completed his name. Once the car was running again, he turned in his seat, looking at her expectantly. She took a deep breath, and began, "Mulder..." and then stopped as something else occurred to her. "What time is it?" Mulder was beginning to think that one of them might be going insane and for once, it wasn't him. "It's 6:57. Scully, what the hell is going on?" "6:57," she repeated quietly. She seemed to consider this for a moment before whispering, "Ok, that's good." She cleared her throat and returned her attention to her partner. "I'd explain, but I'm not sure that I can, Mulder. You need to see this for yourself." She handed him the laptop, then sat back to watch his reaction. He looked at the screen, fully expecting to see line after line of gibberish where their field report was supposed to be. When that wasn't the case, his mouth dropped open, and he looked to his partner for confirmation. Apparently this was the reaction she'd been anticipating, because she nodded at him. "Read it." He held her gaze with his own for a moment before turning back to the computer and beginning to read... ****** ...and upon locating the two subjects known as Joshua Patterson and Tracey Colby Patterson in the Surf and Sun Motel at 342 Ocean Highway in Ocean City, Maryland, it is the recommendation of these agents that case number X-2145184 be considered officially solved and closed. Oh god we have to help her he's going to hurt her kill her he's a monster wants to do terrible awful things and she's so little just a baby only 3 years old the same age Emily was oh god please let us stop him she's so pretty curly blond hair and big green eyes her mother doesn't even realize what's happened yet thinks she just wandered off with her older sister but he took her took her right from their own backyard in stevensville right by the bridge he's been watching waiting for his chance and he finally took it dressed up in a gas company uniform walked right in and took her she's a curious little thing came over to see what he was doing while he pretended to read the meter her mother had run in to answer the phone made it so easy so easy before she knew what was happening he had the cloth over her face the cloth with the chloroform on it no other houses around no one saw him put her in his van white work van no lettering no windows XTM467 by the time her mother came back they were gone she's wasting time checking the house maybe she didn't notice Katie come inside she's in their bedroom getting worried now Kelly's in there reading a book hasn't seen her little sister the fear's setting in now the panic she's in the backyard again calling her name no answer running around to the front yard calling her over and over finally remembering the meter reader but it's too late she doesn't have a good description didn't see his van the police won't catch up to him until it's too late he's already on route 50 moving east grinning to himself thinking of what he wants to do with her when he gets there to his secret place small cabin in the woods no one around for miles not far from here not far at all 20 miles and they'll be there and then they can play he's impatient can't wait it's been too long since the last one and that one didn't last nearly long enough he was frail sickly didn't last couldn't finish the game this one will be much better he'll be more careful she looks strong and sturdy they'll have great fun together he's getting hungry now playing with the children always makes him so hungry his stomach's growling in anticipation he sees a mc donalds sign decides to get his new friend a special treat then she'll love him she won't be like the others not afraid won't hate him he looks at the clock 7:10pm almost there now he'll go through the drivethru and get some food no one will ever know she won't wake up until they reach his secret place and then they'll eat before they play and she'll love him like none of the others ever have...oh jesus mulder wake me up please please wake me up i can't bear this he's a sick evil bastard oh god the things he wants to do to that poor little girl we can't let it happen mulder he's thinking about her now imagining getting excited getting turned on oh god what kind of a monster is this he's getting an erec... ****** Scully watched Mulder's face as he read, gauging his progress by his facial expressions. First there was surprise as he realized at last what it was that had upset her so badly. When he reached the reference to Emily his eyes filled with sadness and he threw a concerned glance her way. She gave him a tiny smile. "I'm ok, Mulder." She had felt a momentary twinge of pain upon seeing Emily's name, but had determinedly pushed it aside in order to focus on the matters at hand. Falling apart over her own lost little girl now wasn't going to help anyone. He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment until he was convinced that she wasn't just placating him before returning to the laptop. She watched him go into 'Special Agent' mode as he read the description of the van, his brow furrowed into a look of concentration that told her he was dedicating the license plate number to that photographic memory of his, as surely as if he'd picked up a pen and paper and written it down. A gamut of emotions crossed his face as he went on. The first of which, sympathy with the little girl's mother, was completely understandable in Scully's mind. Mulder understood better than most the fear and helplessness brought on by having a loved one unexpectedly taken away, having lived with the pain of not knowing what had become of his sister for more than half of his life. Next came disgust as it became apparent just what fate this man intended for little Katie, the same terrible fate that ostensibly had befallen others before her at the hands of this monster. When he hurriedly checked his watch, Scully knew he'd almost reached the end of the narrative, just as she knew which emotion he would display next. By the time he finished reading, his face had taken on the same grayish cast that hers had earlier. "Jesus Scully. I'm sorry...I had no idea!" He looked absolutely sick with guilt, just as she'd known he would. When it came to shouldering responsibility and accepting blame, Mulder was the king, and she'd known as soon as she'd read her entreaty to be woken up that he would castigate himself for not waking her sooner. She rushed to reassure him. "Mulder, it's ok, I don't remember any of it, I swear. It's not your fault." He looked at her sadly, wanting to believe her assertions, but at the same time not quite ready to give up his self-reproach. "All I had to do was put out a hand and stop you, Scully, and you wouldn't have had to go through all that!" Ok, enough was enough. His concern for her mental well-being was sweet, but Scully couldn't shake the feeling that they were running out of time. So, while Scully wasn't even sure she trusted the things she'd typed-hell, she didn't even really want to accept the fact that she'd typed them-she decided to play the one card that would break her partner out of his self- inflicted guilt trip the quickest. His belief. "Look Mulder, just because I had some weird dream that somehow manifested itself into the Word document from hell..." she began, only to be interrupted by him. "Scully, after what happened last night, how can you possibly say that? It's more than just a dream, and you know it. It's happening again, only this time, we have proof!" "Do you honestly believe that Mulder? That this is some kind of- of a premonition, or something?" She worked hard to inject just the right amount of skepticism and doubt into her tone. She only wanted to convince him that for once something wasn't his fault, not piss him off. "Yes, I do. Everything you said to me on the phone last night came true, Scully. Every single word." He checked his watch. "I won't be at all surprised in three or four minutes when a windowless white van with license plate number XTM467 pulls into the drive-thru." "Do you also believe that there will be a little girl, stolen from her home, unconscious in the back of this van?" He nodded slowly, a look of pain clouding his eyes for a moment, and she couldn't help wondering once again if he was thinking of Samantha. She reached out and covered his hand with her own where it rested on his thigh. "Wouldn't it be worth it then, Mulder? Wouldn't it be worth the endurance of a bad dream, a nightmare not even remembered upon waking, if it meant you could spare an innocent child from having to experience those very same, very real horrors? It is to me. If you had woken me any sooner Mulder, we might not be here right now." He couldn't help a wry smile as he realized how his partner had just smoothly manipulated him out of his guilt. "Ok, ok, point taken. Jeez, Scully, am I always so predictable, or did you just have another psychic moment?" He had to laugh at the discomfited expression his mention of her "newfound talent" produced. Sometimes Scully could be pretty predictable herself. She smirked at his deliberate dig. "Ha ha, Mulder, very fun..." She broke off abruptly and stared at him, wide-eyed. "He's almost here," she whispered. "God Mulder, how can I know that? Am I going crazy?" Her blue eyes were perplexed as she looked at him, and he returned her earlier gesture, reaching out to take one of her hands in his own. "Of course you're not crazy," he told her gently. He fiddled absently with her bracelet as he spoke. "We're going to figure this out, Scully. But right now, I think we need to determine a course of action. Like you said, he'll be here soon." She looked as if she wanted to argue with him. He knew her well enough to know the doubts that plagued her. Despite the fact that she had typed the words herself, she questioned their validity. To his partner's rational, scientific way of thinking, it was easier for her to distrust her own sanity rather than accept that she had experienced a premonition. Scully was the only person he knew who could sit there with the truth in her lap, both literally as well as figuratively, and still not see it for what it was. He could see in her eyes that she doubted the existence of the van, it's imminent arrival at this particular location, and the existence of its supposed passenger. At the same time, however, Mulder knew she would give no voice to these doubts. She could spend the next two days asking herself "what if?" and never come up with a scientific explanation that would overshadow the most important question. What if it was true? Scully might not always be as open to extreme possibilities as he would like, but she would never let her skepticism endanger the life of an innocent child. So as long as there was a remote chance that a little girl was in danger, Scully would do whatever was necessary to protect her. She sighed mightily and broke eye contact at last, looking around the parking lot. "So, what's the best way to do this, Mulder?" He surveyed the drive-thru and found it to be a typical McDonalds' design. From the point of entry all the way to the pick up window, a high curb, most likely placed there to deter people from leaving the line when they got frustrated with the wait, bordered the lane. The portion of the lane in between the payment and pick-up windows was roofed to protect both customers and cashiers from the worst of the elements, the overhang being supported by three brick columns on the right side of the lane, one at either end of the canopy, the third in the middle. Mulder noted that there was not sufficient space between each column to drive a car through. Once a vehicle was under the roofed section, the only way out was forwards or backwards, and from the parking spot Scully had directed him to, they were in a perfect position to quickly block the drive-thru exit. It was simply a matter of pulling forward fifteen feet or so. "I think you already know the answer to that, Scully. Isn't that why you insisted on this particular parking space?" "Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time, but looking at it now, I'm not so sure. If there's no one directly behind him in line, he could still back out. Assuming, that is, that he even exists." "I thought of that as well, but frankly I don't see any better options. I think that if we time it just right, he should be distracted enough with picking up his order that he won't know what hit him. I just wish your little manifesto had mentioned whether or not this guy was carrying any weapons." "He's not." The words tumbled out automatically, before she'd really even had a chance to process the question, but once they were out, she knew it was a correct assessment. "He's very sure of himself, almost cocky. He used the chloroform to get her out of the yard quietly, but doesn't feel he needs any weapons. He's completely convinced that there is no way anyone would ever catch on to what he's done, so the only person he's going to have to contend with is a four-year-old child." She had been looking at him as she made this speech, but at its conclusion dropped her eyes to her lap, embarrassed. "That makes sense. Especially if he's gotten away with this in the past." He knew she was uncomfortable with her intimate knowledge of the kidnapper, given the method by which she'd come to have this information. He decided to focus on the facts for now, and ignore the way in which they'd been obtained. "I think we can do this, Scully. As far as he knows, that little girl hasn't even been declared missing yet, so he's not expecting any trouble. We've got the advantage here; we know he's coming." He picked up his cell phone and continued. "And in a minute, so will the Queen Anne County PD. A little back-up never hurts." She raised her eyes to his. "There's no time for that Mulder. He's here." They both turned to watch a white van enter the restaurant's parking lot and head for the drive thru, its license plate obscured by distance. Both agents took silent notice of the fact that the cargo portion of the van had no windows. In unison, weapons were unholstered and checked, seatbelts unfastened to enable quick movement from the car. Outwardly, their motions were practiced, precise, each in tandem with the other, as if the partners were not separate units, but rather two parts of the same whole. Inwardly, however, their thoughts as they each pondered the arrival of the van betrayed their individuality. While one, the believer, was filled with a sense of wonder to find that the vehicle was real, and that it was here, exactly where it had been foretold, the skeptic viewed this same event with doubt and fear. Not a fear of the kidnapper, or even of the possibility of being wrong, but rather the exact opposite: the fear that her prediction had been right. They waited with baited breath for the van to reappear in their line of sight. Either there were a few cars ahead of it, or the cashier was extremely slow, because the wait seemed to span an eternity. Three cars later, their quarry rounded the corner and headed for the payment window. It was close enough now for the license plate to be read, and although neither had really doubted that this was the vehicle for which they'd been waiting, a collective gasp filled the car as they were confronted at last with the truth. XTM467. Hazel eyes met blue as both mentally steeled themselves for the upcoming battle that they now knew was inevitable. "You ready?" asked Mulder, slipping the car into drive. She nodded somberly, her left hand on the door handle, the gun in her right. "Then let's go introduce this guy to the newest addition to the menu. The UN-happy meal." ----- Chapter Thirteen In the end, capturing the driver of the van proved to be ridiculously easy. He was so engrossed in berating the poor teenager who'd mistakenly placed a cheeseburger instead of a hamburger in his bag that he never noticed the two FBI agents until their car had closed off the end of the drive-thru lane and Scully's gun was inches from his face. Mulder's voice brought his attention to the front of the van, where he found another weapon aimed at him through the windshield. "FBI! Turn off your vehicle and put your hands where we can see them!" After the briefest of pauses the man complied, shutting down the engine and raising his hands in the air. All wide-eyed innocence, he grinned good-naturedly at Scully. "Wow! Real, honest-to-goodness FBI agents? What can I do for you, officers? Or should I say 'agents'?" All business, Scully ignored his friendly overtures. "Here's how we're going to do this. I am going to open your door. When I tell you, I want you to open it the rest of the way with your foot, step out of the car, and face me. You will move slowly, and keep your hands up at all times. Do you understand?" His smile was still in place, but no longer quite reached his eyes. He nodded at her before his gaze flicked to Mulder, who had moved around even with the driver's side front fender so that he now had a clear shot through the open window. "What's going on here? Have I done something wrong?" "That's what we're here to find out, sir. Now please, just do as Agent Scully says, and we'll discuss the problem momentarily." Mulder's speech wasn't so much meant to soothe the man's fears, as it was to distract him while Scully opened the door. Once she had it opened slightly, Scully moved several steps toward the rear of the van, allowing the man enough room to exit the vehicle. "Now remember," she said, "Keep your hands up, and don't make any sudden movements. I want you to use your left foot, and push the door all the way open. Good. Now, get out of the van, and take two steps towards me. Right there. Stop." Once the suspect was out of the way, Mulder moved up and closed the door. He then pulled out the handcuffs that he'd wished he'd had the foresight to bring along with him the previous night, and proceeded to secure their prisoner. At the first touch of cold steel against his right wrist the cheerful mask slipped a notch, and by the time both wrists were enclosed, he'd given up all pretense of his amiable facade. He glared at Scully, who stood before him, covering him with her weapon while her partner finished his task. Outwardly, she appeared to be waiting patiently, her face betraying no emotion. Inwardly, however, it was taking every bit of concentration she had to keep from shooting the bastard where he stood. From the moment he'd left the van to stand before her, her mind had begun to fill with images of children, their angelic faces distorted by the pain and fear being inflicted on them by this monster who stood before her now. They flickered through her brain, one after another, each lasting no longer than the flashbulb on a camera, and yet, as the light from a camera lingers in one's vision long after the flash is over, Scully felt that each of these mental pictures were being indelibly etched into her memory. She had no recollection of ever seeing any of these children before, but was equally certain that she would remember each and every face for the rest of her life. The obscene internal slide-show continued, each image more vivid and horrific than the last, until finally Scully could stand it no longer. She stepped forward and raised her weapon, aiming at a spot directly between his eyes. "Are you Kenneth Gallant?" She practically spat the question at him, disgust and loathing clearly evident in her voice. At Gallant's affirmative nod, Mulder caught the nearly imperceptible widening of her eyes that told him Scully was just as surprised to have given voice to the man's identity as he had been to hear it. The partners' eyes met and locked, and in Scully's, Mulder saw a grudging acceptance. She may not yet understand the how and why of it, but he knew in that moment that she no longer doubted what this man was. He gave her a tiny nod of encouragement, and her eyes snapped back to the other man's face. "Mr. Gallant, you are under arrest. Mulder, you read him his rights and I'm going to check the back of the van." She turned and took two steps towards the rear of the vehicle before his voice stopped her in her tracks. "Under arrest? For what? You can't just arrest me for no reason. What did I do?" Scully whirled around to face him, both eyebrows raised impossibly high in an incredulous expression. "What did you do?" The question came out a mere whisper, her voice as soft as a spring breeze, but Mulder could see the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. ** Look out folks, here comes Hurricane Scully, ** thought Mulder. He was profoundly grateful that for once, the full force of her Irish temper wasn't focused on him. His partner was normally quiet and reserved with the patience of a saint, but once pushed to her limits, her ire was quite a formidable thing indeed. Mulder found himself thankful that she had already reholstered her weapon, because judging by the look of pure hatred on her face, she might have been tempted to use it had the gun still been at hand. As it was, he thought that he might yet have to intervene if she decided that bare hands would do just as nicely. Her cheeks flushed with rage, she advanced on the man slowly. Despite the fact that she was seven or eight inches shorter than he, and that he probably outweighed her by eighty pounds, he found himself instinctively backing away from the hostility he saw in her eyes. Finally his back came up against the side of the van, stopping his retreat. She continued until their faces were inches apart, and when she spoke, her voice was cold and low. "Michael Hart, 12/4/97. Amy Phillips, 3/17/98. Corey Davidson 7/29/98. Madeline Williams 11/7/98. Tyler Jenkins, 2/28/99. I'll tell you what you did, you sick son of a bitch. You stole them from their homes, acted out your twisted fantasies on them, forced your disgusting perversions on them, and when you were finished, you killed them. You are under arrest for the murder of five innocent children, you sorry excuse for a human being, as well as for kidnapping and plotting to murder Katie Harris today." Her voice had gradually risen to a shout midway through her tirade, but dropped back down to a whisper once again. "You'll get the death penalty for this, and I'll be right there, in the front row. I can see it as surely as if it were happening right now. No stay-of-executions for you. Mark it on your calendar-December 12th of next year-that's the big day. Sure hope it was worth it." Had Mulder any doubts as to the accuracy of the names and dates his partner recited, he needed only to look at Gallant's face in order for them to be dismissed. Surprise was evident there, not the astonishment of one being wrongfully accused of a crime, but rather the amazement of one that assumed himself to be untraceable being found out. This had gone on for so long now, just over a year and a half by Scully's accounting, that Gallant had begun to think that his crimes would never catch up with him. To be confronted with all six of them at one time was bound to be traumatic. Of course, the shock mixed into his expression could also have something to do with the fact that Scully had just predicted the date of his death. He decided it was time to end the staring match between his partner and their captive before she really did attack him. He stepped up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder, feeling her startle slightly. He leaned toward her until his mouth was near her left ear, and spoke quietly. "Scully, I've got him. Why don't you go check on the little girl?" Their eyes met and his asked a silent question. ** Are you ok? ** She gave a slight nod, whether in response to his verbal or non- verbal inquiry, he wasn't sure. That is, until she moved once again towards the rear of the van, and her softly spoken, "I'm ok, Mulder," reached his ears. He turned back to Gallant, thinking to himself, ** And they call me Spooky? ** ----- Chapter Fourteen For a moment, Scully could do nothing but stare into the back of the van. She didn't know why she was so surprised, really, when this was exactly what she had expected to find. She supposed it had something to do with the strangeness of the events leading up to this point, and the fact that this represented their culmination. No matter what else had happened up until now, the final proof as to whether this was all one big coincidence or there was some other force at work hinged upon what she found in this van. And now that this evidence, conclusive evidence, was staring her in the face, Scully was having a hard time figuring out exactly what it meant. She stood there, trying to somehow get her mind to wrap around this newest information in a way that made some sort of sense until a sound interrupted her contemplation. When the little girl before her sighed softly in her chloroform-induced sleep and began to show signs of awakening, Scully gave herself a mental shake and climbed into the van to check on her small patient. ----- Chapter Fifteen After Scully had found little Katie Harris in the back of Kenneth Gallant's van, the police had been summoned, as well as Katie's parents. Both were grateful that the pair had caught the perpetrator so quickly, and all seemed to accept the story they gave as to how they had managed to do so. Scully had concocted quite an interesting little tale, stating that the partners had stopped at the restaurant to eat on the way home from investigating a case in Jonesboro, and on the way back to their car had heard little Katie crying in the back of the van as it sat in the drive-thru line. Since she and her partner had recently begun looking into a series of missing children on Maryland's Eastern Shore dating back to late 1997, they decided to check out the source of the crying, rescuing little Katie from the pedophile before she came to any real harm. Scully then gave the police the names and "missing since" dates of the other five children Gallant had taken, under the guise of their ongoing "investigation". She suggested that they check property records to see if Gallant owned any remote holdings nearby. Something that would be isolated enough to suit his evil purposes. Scully already knew what a thorough investigation would find, but if she were to tell the Queen Anne County police that, she would be forced to explain how she came by that knowledge, and that simply wasn't something she was prepared to do. So, the best Scully could do for now was to give them a gentle push in the right direction and trust that the police would gather enough evidence against Gallant to keep him out of commission. Mulder remained fairly quiet throughout the whole process, not contributing much to the story, but to his credit, he didn't disagree with Scully's version of it either. Finally at around 8:30pm, the police were satisfied that they had all the relevant information, and the duo was allowed to leave. Mulder waited until they reentered the highway before speaking. "Gee Scully, I never knew you could be such a convincing liar." This was said with a trace of sarcasm, leading Scully to believe that Mulder was only half-kidding. She had an idea about what was bothering him. They hadn't really had time to discuss what they were going to say to the police, and when the time had come, he had left the decision to her. She had known that he wouldn't care much for her choice, not so much because she had lied, but because of what she had omitted. Mulder would be the last person to berate her for "participating in a campaign of misinformation", having done it himself on more than one occasion when he felt the situation warranted such actions. Scully suspected that Mulder's upset was due more to the fact that she had purposely left out any and all references to the paranormal happenings that had led them to that particular place at that particular time. He would view that as a denial on her part of everything that they had witnessed and would no doubt be disappointed and even slightly hurt that she could still disavow what to him was so glaringly obvious. She suddenly found that she wanted very much for him to understand where she was coming from. "Look Mulder, I know that you're disappointed with the story I gave the police." When he opened his mouth to speak, she held up a hand. "No, wait, just let me say this, ok?" He closed his mouth and nodded for her to continue. "Ok. I know that you would have preferred that we tell it like it really happened, beginning with me typing in my sleep and ending with me blurting out the names of five dead children that I was hearing about for the first time even as I was speaking them. I know you feel that by denying what really happened I'm going against everything that we've worked to prove with the X- files, and that the only way the straight-laced Dr. Scully can allow herself to sign off on the official report is by first trying to legitimize it with normalcy. Now, that may have held true to some degree way back when we worked on the Boggs case, but that's not why I did it today. I gave that story to the police for one reason, and one reason only, Mulder. Because I do believe." The look he gave her was almost comical, a mixture of astonishment at her admission, and confusion over what she actually meant by it. She gave him a small smile. "Yes, you heard me right. Mulder, when I opened up the back of that van, there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that I would find that little girl there. And do you know why? Because I could "see" her. In my head. If you had asked me before I'd opened that door, I could've told you exactly what she looked like and described her clothing to you. As to how I happened to have that knowledge, or why, I can't even begin to explain, though I'm quite sure you have several theories on the subject," when he prepared to expound upon the aforementioned theories, she continued quickly, "which I'm afraid I'm not quite ready to discuss yet. The point is, I don't know how it could be possible, but I just knew. As soon as I laid eyes on Kenneth Gallant, I knew what he was, what he had done to those other children, and what he was planning to do to Katie Harris. As surely as I know my own name, I just knew. And that was why I was equally certain that I could not tell the police the true story. That man is a monster, Mulder. The things he did to those children, the way he made them suffer before they..." Her voice trailed off and she blinked back tears as the memories of her earlier visions assaulted her. "There was no way I could risk giving a statement to the police that would cause them to regard this case with anything less than the utmost sincerity. If I told them how we really came to stop that man, that we had no true probable cause, that we had in fact stopped him because of some kind of a premonition that I'd had in my sleep, that bastard would be back out on the streets by morning, searching out his next victim. He cannot ever be allowed to hurt another child, Mulder. I simply couldn't allow that to happen. I'm sorry if you don't see it that way, but I just...couldn't." The tears threatened again, and she turned her face towards the window so he wouldn't see. He hadn't said a word throughout her entire speech, and she was curious to know his reaction, but didn't trust herself to turn around until she got her emotions back under control. She didn't think he would understand, didn't think he really could unless he'd seen the gruesome atrocities that had been inflicted on those children himself, so she was surprised to feel him cover her hand where it lay between them on the seat with his own. "You did the right thing, Scully." She turned quickly to look at him, to see what the "but" was, but there was only approval in his eyes and a warm smile on his face. He squeezed her hand briefly before releasing it to once again grasp the steering wheel. "How about a little music, Scully? You can even pick the station." "Just as long as you don't expect me to sing, Mulder," she quipped, grateful that he was willing to forego the inevitable discussion of the past day's events for the present time. To show her appreciation, she chose a light rock station that they both liked rather than the classical music station that she loved and he hated. They spent the rest of the hour-long drive back to DC simply enjoying the music, an unspoken agreement between them that tomorrow would be soon enough to try and solve this newest mystery. Continued in Part 4... Title: Nocturnal Perception (4 of ?) Author: Jen Green Chapter Sixteen Dana Scully's apartment Saturday 11:20am Mulder was late. Thanks to a six-car pile-up on the Beltway, it had been nearly 10:30pm before the agents had made it back to DC from Stevensville. One look at his partner's tired face had prompted Mulder to suggest that he drive Scully directly to her apartment rather than back to her own car, which was still in the parking garage at work. She had accepted only after extracting his promise that he would pick her up by eleven o'clock the next morning and take her to the Hoover building to collect the vehicle. She had rescheduled Thursday's cancelled dinner with her mother for tonight, and had several errands to run beforehand. She didn't mention it to Mulder, but one of the chores she intended to accomplish today was to replace the broken chain on her door. He had offered to fix it, being as he was the one responsible for breaking it in the first place, but Scully didn't want to wait the week or two it might take Mulder to get around to the task, nor did she want to harp on him to get it done sooner. She didn't really want her partner to know how much it bothered her not to have the chain there. Intellectually, Scully realized that if someone wanted to gain access to her apartment, something as insignificant as a chain on her door wasn't going to bar their way. If she hadn't already been aware of that fact, the night before last would have proven it to her quite effectively. Mulder had broken in and been at her bedside before she'd even begun to stir. It wasn't meant to act as a hindrance to anyone determined to enter her apartment without permission, she had her gun for that; it was more of a ... security blanket. She just felt better knowing it was there. It was ludicrous, she could admit that to herself, but the acknowledgement did absolutely nothing to lessen the comfort provided by those few thin links of metal. It was similar to the irrational sense of security some people derived from sleeping with their feet covered up, as if a thin layer of cotton were some sort of magical shield against any and all foot-grabbing boogeymen. It just made her rest easier. At least it would if her partner would ever show up... A knock on the door interrupted any further thought on the subject. Scully looked pointedly at her watch as she opened the door to admit her fellow agent, but he was ready for her. "I know, I know, I'm late. But I have a good excuse this time, Scully." "What's that Mulder? You had to stop on the way over to break up a global conspiracy? You were abducted by aliens who didn't get the memo that they're only supposed to keep you for nine minutes? Or did Elvis show up just as you were leaving your apartment and ask you to make him a peanut butter and banana sandwich?" Her dry tone carried just a hint of amusement, and in response he affected the Mulder-patented Puppydog-Look No.49. "Scully, you wound me. I would never try and use such lame excuses on you. Besides, Elvis couldn't possibly show up at my door today. Everyone knows that on Saturday nights he calls the bingo numbers at the local Moose Lodge in Juneau, Alaska. Don't you ever read the National Enquirer?" He grinned and handed her a paper bag bearing the name of a local hardware store. "I stopped to pick this up on my way over. I figured you'd want it sooner rather than later." A glance inside the bag revealed a new door-chain and all the required hardware. Sometimes Scully wondered if maybe Mulder knew her just a little too well. "Let's go get your car and then I'll fix your door, Scully." She gave him a skeptical look. "Are you sure you know how to use a drill, Mulder?" "Why Agent Scully, I'll have you know that I am quite proficient in the use of many... tools." She rolled her eyes at his suggestive tone and mock leer, turning to lock the deadbolt behind them as they left the apartment. ----- Chapter Seventeen They were nearly to the Hoover building when the inquisition started, although they were not the questions that Scully had been expecting. "So, Scully, where'd you get that owl bracelet?" "I bought it at a small consignment shop." "Oh? When was that?" She thought for a moment. "Wednesday...no, Thursday afternoon. I stopped after lunch to pick up my dry cleaning, and saw it in the shop window next door on my way back to the car. Funny thing was, I don't remember seeing it there on my way in to the dry cleaners. They must've just put it out. I remember thinking that must mean it was meant for me." She smiled slightly at the memory. "I don't recall seeing it on you after lunch on Thursday." "That's because you never saw me after lunch, remember? You had an afternoon meeting with the VCS to present that profile you worked up for them, while I had the dubious honor of meeting with Skinner to go over last month's expense report. By the way, he says that if you manage to lose or destroy one more gun this year, you're going to have to make do with a plastic toy and a sign that says 'BANG'." "Hey, that last one wasn't my fault! I think it was abducted by aliens." "Yes, I believe you mentioned that in the report. Suffice it to say, Skinner was not amused." He shrugged his shoulders and gave her his best "well-what-can- you-do?" look. "Can I help it if the sense of humor gene is located on the hair follicle?" She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head, trying to suppress a laugh. Sometimes it was best not to encourage him. "So anyway, Scully, what kind of stones are those?" She was confused for a moment until she realized he had returned to the subject of her bracelet. "I'm not sure, Mulder, I forgot to ask. I'm sure they're nothing valuable. I only paid twenty dollars for the thing. What's your sudden fascination with my bracelet, anyway?" His face a mask of innocence, he asked, "Whatever do you mean, Agent Scully?" "Out with it Mulder, what's with the game of Twenty Questions? I admit, I expected to be grilled this morning, but on the subject of what happened yesterday, not...wait a minute." She gaped at him incredulously as the realization struck her. "You can't be serious!" He pulled into the parking slot next to her car and turned off the engine, his gaze level, indicating that he was indeed serious. "Were you wearing that bracelet when you went to bed Thursday night, Scully?" "Mulder, this is ridiculous. My bracelet has absolutely nothing to do with..." He cut her off. "Were you wearing it?" "Yes, but that has nothing to do with anything." "It has everything to do with it, Scully. In all the excitement, I forgot to mention something to you yesterday. When I decided to wake you up in the car, I put my hand on your wrist to make you stop typing, and I encountered something unnaturally warm...almost hot, actually. It surprised me, and I jerked my hand back, and then looked to see what was causing the heat. It was your bracelet. The stones were glowing, Scully. I reached out and touched one, and it was warm. I looked back at the road for a second, and felt the stone grow cool under my fingers, and when I looked again, the glow was gone. Then a minute later, you woke up, and the rest is history." "Come on Mulder, the glow and the heat could've been caused by anything. We don't know what kind of stones these are...maybe they simply possess some extremely refractive properties. And the warmth could've been caused by exposure to sunlight." "Scully, it was nearly 7 o'clock in the evening. The sun isn't strong enough at that time of day to cause the kind of heat I felt. And at first, I thought the glow was probably a trick of the light too, but I did some research last night..." She groaned. "Oh Mulder..." "No, hear me out." He had expected her reluctance, so continued undaunted. "Scully, did you realize that nearly every culture around the world has some sort of superstition or folklore regarding owls, and that many of them revolve around clairvoyance?" She sighed. "No, Mulder, I didn't know that." He ignored the patronizing tone and continued. "Well, it's true. It's quite fascinating, actually. The ancient Greeks believed that the owl has a magical "inner light" that gives them night vision. Navaho legend states that men listen to the voice of the owl to know their future. The Ainu of Japan believe that the Eagle owl is a messenger of the gods and that the Screech owl warns against danger. In southern India the number of cries heard by an owl is said to foretell the future...one cry meaning impending death, two meaning success in anything started soon after, three meaning a woman would soon be married into the family, etc. Many cultures believe that the appearance or cry of an owl is a sign of approaching death - the Poles, the ancient Romans, the Apache Indians; they all have some mention of this in their folklore. But the most interesting legend I found, Scully, was the belief held by the Algerians." "And just what do the Algerians believe, Mulder?" "The Algerians believe, Scully, that if you place the right eye of an Eagle owl in the hand of a sleeping woman, she will tell all." "And?" "What do you mean "and"? Scully! Look at your bracelet. It has not one, but seven owls on it. Seven owls in profile, with only the right eye visible. You have had this bracelet in your possession for two days now, during which time you have fallen asleep twice while wearing it and both times you have experienced a psychic event. If that's not a case of the sleeping woman telling all, then I don't know what is!" "Mulder, I'll admit it's an interesting legend, but that's all it is. Folklore." He stared at her. Did it have to hit her over the head? "What do you think caused it then?" She broke his gaze to stare out the window. "I don't know. I'm still trying to come to grips with the fact that it happened in the first place, you know?" He continued to watch her, looking expectant. "I'm sorry Mulder, I don't believe I have psychic jewelry. What more do you want me to say?" "Say you'll come with me to that consignment shop to talk to the owner. Maybe we can get a little background information." He could see her gearing up to refuse, and quickly continued. "Humor me? Please?" Scully knew that Mulder with a theory was like a dog with a bone - once he sank his teeth into it, there was no talking him out of it until he found another bone that tasted better. Or in this case, another theory. She gave him directions to the consignment shop, hoping that talking to the owner of the shop would help him see how preposterous this particular theory was. ----- Chapter Eighteen Second Chances Consignment Shop District of Columbia Saturday 11:50am At the sound of the electronic chime announcing the arrival of prospective customers, Ruth Baxter looked up from the ledger she was working on and smiled warmly at the two agents. The sixty- something shopkeeper had shoulder-length gray hair and sparkling green eyes. Still quite a striking woman, Scully was sure that in her youth, she must've been breathtaking. "Good morning! You folks looking for anything in particular?" The woman rose from her stool and rounded the front of the counter, smoothing her dress as she walked. "I've just gotten in the most gorgeous matching antique wedding bands..." She halted mid-pitch at the strangled sounds coming from Mulder. "Oh dear. Is he alright?" She glanced at Scully for reassurance. "I'm sure he'll be fine. Sunflower seed go down the wrong way, dear?" She smiled sweetly at her partner who was finally regaining his composure. "No snookums, just got a little choked up by my overwhelming love for you," he answered, with a devilish gleam in his eye. Scully glared at him before returning her attention to the storekeeper. "Actually ma'am, we're not...um...I mean, we wanted to ask you some questions, if you don't mind." She withdrew her ID and flipped it open for the woman's inspection. "I'm Dana Scully and this is my partner Fox Mulder. We're with the FBI." Mulder presented his identification as well. "The FBI! Oh dear. Have I done something wrong?" She shifted her gaze between the two agents, her eyes wide with worry. "No ma'am, not at all. Like Agent Scully said, we only want to ask you some questions." He grinned engagingly at her. "Do you own this store?" "Yes sir. My name's Ruth Baxter. I bought this place about five years ago." "Well, you certainly have a nice selection here. I've been in consignment shops before that look more like thrift stores. This place is very elegant. I'm seeing a lot of things that look to be antiques. Do you get many antiques on consignment?" "I get a few. Most of the antiques I have though, I purchase myself through auctions or estate sales. It's kind of a hobby of mine to restore old furniture...give it a 'second chance' if you will. Then I bring it in here and sell it. I'd say roughly half of my inventory is consignment and the other half consists of the treasures I've rescued and restored." She indicated an antique highchair nearby. "This is my latest addition. It was in pretty bad shape when I found it, but I think it turned out rather nicely." Mulder moved in for a closer look. "You did this yourself?" She nodded shyly at his incredulous tone. "Amazing," he said. "You do exquisite work, Ms. Baxter." The woman was blushing, actually blushing under Mulder's praise. Scully was certain the poor woman was going to melt into a puddle at their feet any minute now. She decided it was time to move this investigation forward, so that Mulder would recognize the futility of it, and go fix her door. "Ms. Baxter, I was in here a couple of days ago. Do you remember me?" The woman studied the agent for several seconds before exclaiming, "I thought you looked familiar! You bought that pretty little owl bracelet, right? Is something wrong with it? Did you change your mind about it?" "Oh no, not at all. I like it just fine. We were just hoping to get a little background information about it. Was that a piece you bought yourself, or was it on consignment for someone?" "It was on consignment. In fact, I just mailed the check out yesterday." Her mouth dropped open as a thought occurred to her. "Oh my, it wasn't stolen, was it? I mean, she was a little...eccentric...but she seemed nice enough." "What do you mean by 'eccentric'? What did she say? How did she act?" Mulder's interest was piqued. "Well, she just seemed a little odd, that's all. She came rushing into the shop, muttering to herself about how unreliable the city bus system is, and that she hoped she wasn't too late. Then she just stopped, and got this look on her face as if she were concentrating really hard on something. After about 30 seconds of this, I came forward and asked her if she was all right, if she needed any help with anything. She gave me a huge smile and said that she was just fine, that she wasn't too late after all, and told me that she had a bracelet she'd like me to sell for her." "What did she mean by that? That she wasn't too late after all? Did you have an appointment?" Ruth shook her head. "That's what was so strange. We didn't have an appointment. In fact I had never spoken to this woman before in my life. And she couldn't have been afraid that the store would be closing, because it was only just lunchtime." That last word echoed in Mulder's mind, and he wondered at its significance. Lunchtime. He thought for a moment, his mind replaying his conversation with Scully in the car, until the connection came to him. "Ms. Baxter, do you remember what day that bracelet was brought in here?" "Why yes, of course. It was early Thursday afternoon. I remember because it was the fastest turn around I think I've ever gotten on an item." She smiled at Scully. "I put that bracelet in the display window about ten minutes after I received it, and five minutes later, you came in and bought it." "Yeah Scully, it was meant for you, remember?" Mulder grinned at his partner, and she could practically see his fangs sink deeper into the bone, relishing the flavor. He wasn't letting go of this one anytime soon. She was also pretty sure of where they would be going next. Mulder didn't disappoint her. "Would you happen to have the woman's name and address, Ms. Baxter? We really need to speak with her." At the woman's hesitance, Scully spoke up. "Ma'am, you're not in any trouble here. There's no evidence that the bracelet might have been stolen. We really just want to talk to the previous owner." Visibly relaxing, Ruth walked behind the counter and found the proper entry in her records. As she wrote down the information, she remarked, "You've got a bit of a drive ahead of you." Scully moved over to the counter. "What do you mean? Where does she live?" "Her name is Dorothy Williams, and she lives in Towson, Maryland. I remember remarking on the fact that certainly there must be some nice consignment shops up in Baltimore that would've been much closer to her home, and her answer was rather cryptic. She said, 'Yes, but none of them are next door to this dry cleaner.'" Mulder took the paper from her. "Thank you very much, Ms. Baxter. You've been extremely helpful. You ready, Scully?" Ruth smiled at the two agents and followed them to the door. "If you have any other questions, you know where to reach me." Mulder turned back to her. "Actually, there is one more thing. Do you happen to know what kind of stones these are?" He indicated the bracelet on Scully's wrist, which she promptly held up for inspection. "Oh yes, those are moonstones." She addressed the female agent. "You know, you really got a great deal on that bracelet. The silver alone is worth the twenty dollars that you paid. When you factor in the moonstones, it's worth three times that much." "Then why did you only charge me twenty dollars?" "Well, when I sell something on consignment, the actual seller of the item determines the price. If they're not sure of what to ask, I help them out with it, but the final decision is up to them. I actually suggested that she charge fifty dollars for it, but she was adamant. She said something strange like 'No, she would never spend that much on such a frivolous thing for herself. She's much too practical for that.' It was almost as if she thought she knew who was going to buy it." Ruth laughed to herself. "Maybe she knew you were coming," she joked. "She made me promise that I'd put the bracelet in the window as soon as she left." If Scully had held out any hopes of Mulder abandoning his theory about her bracelet, she knew now that it just wasn't going to happen. She could see the wheels turning in his head as he factored in the information given to them by the storekeeper, and it only served to brighten the gleam in his eye. They both thanked the woman for her time and turned once again to leave the shop. Scully felt Mulder's hand on the small of her back as he guided her through the door. "Hey Scully, did you know that moonstones are frequently used in meditation and are believed to facilitate clairvoyance?" She sighed. It was going to be a long afternoon. ----- Chapter Nineteen Dorothy Williams' residence Towson, Maryland Saturday 2:00pm Scully's knock was answered by a woman in her fifties wearing a black suit. She looked as if she'd recently been crying. "Yes? Can I help you?" "Ma'am I'm Agent Mulder and this is Agent Scully, we're with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Are you Dorothy Williams?" Sadness filled her brown eyes and she blinked rapidly several times to hold back the tears that suddenly threatened. "No sir, I'm her sister, Katherine Brown. Dorothy moved in here with me a few years ago after she lost her husband. Is there some kind of trouble?" "We're not on an official investigation. We just wanted to ask her a couple of questions. Is she here?" "No, she's...my sister passed away early yesterday morning. She had a...a ruptured aneurysm." Her voice broke on the last word and a few stray tears escaped before she regained control of her emotions. "I'm sorry. It was just so sudden. I'm still in shock, I think." "You have nothing to be sorry for. We're the ones intruding here." Scully reached out with her left hand and gave the grieving woman's arm a sympathetic squeeze. "We're very sorry for your loss, Ms. Brown." "Come on Mulder, let's go." Scully turned to her partner, and missed the way the woman's eyes widened at the sight of the bracelet on her wrist. "Did you say your name was Scully? Dana Scully?" Scully was confused. "Yes, it is. How did you know my first name? I don't remember either of us mentioning it." She shot a questioning glance at her partner, who shook his head. Both looked to the woman with curiosity. "I have something for you. From my sister. Just a moment." She disappeared into the house, only to return seconds later with an envelope in her hand, which she gave to Scully. The name "Dana Scully" was written on the front in precise handwriting. Scully looked from her partner to Katherine, perplexed. "I don't understand. How did your sister know that I would come here? I've never met her." "My sister knew a lot of things." Katherine smiled sadly. "That bracelet you're wearing was a gift from our maternal grandmother. She was a phenomenal woman and we were very close to her despite our geographical distances. She was born in Algeria, and lived her entire life there, so we only got to see her a handful of times, whenever our parents could save up the money for us all to vacation there. Only one time in my life can I ever remember her making the trip here. On my sister's sixteenth birthday, she came to visit and presented my sister with that bracelet. She said that it had to be done in person, so that she could be certain that Dorothy understood the importance of the gift. My grandmother could see things, you see, and very soon after receiving that bracelet, so could my sister. That visit was the last one we ever had with our grandmother." Mulder was clearly entranced by the tale. "When did she die?" "Two days after she returned to Algeria. She went to bed that night, and never woke up." "Do you think she knew she was going to die? That she came here to pass on her gift before that happened?" "I think it's possible, yes. I know that's what my sister believed." She smiled kindly at Scully. "And now she's passed it on to you, dear. I can see in your eyes that you don't believe any of this. That's all right. I didn't believe my sister at first, either." Scully moved to unfasten the bracelet from her wrist. "All I know is, if this is some kind of family heirloom, then you should have it back." She was stopped by Katherine's hand over her own. "No dear, my sister wanted you to have it. I'm sure she had good reasons for that. Read her letter. Maybe it will help you to understand." She excused herself, telling the agents that she had many preparations to take care of before the funeral the next day. As she turned to reenter the house, Mulder stopped her. "I'm sorry Ms. Brown, I just have one more question. What time yesterday morning did your sister die?" "She woke me up at 2:30 in the morning telling me that her stomach hurt. She was trying not to frighten me, but I could tell she was in serious pain. I called an ambulance, but it was too late. She was pronounced dead at 3:15am Friday morning." ----- Chapter Twenty Dana Scully's apartment Saturday 4:30pm Mulder stepped back a few paces from the door and admired his handiwork. Rather than installing another chain, he had opted for the slightly more secure solid bar version that they saw in so many of the hotels and motels they stayed in. Flush against the door, it would be a little more difficult to rip from the frame, and the bar itself would be much harder to cut through than the thin chain links. He wasn't deluding himself that it would provide any sort of protection against the more determined intruders. Like professional car thieves who could bypass whatever you threw at them and steal your car within thirty seconds, there were individuals out there who knew their way around every home security measure known to man and would find a simple door chain laughable. Scully was as aware of this fact as he, Mulder was certain. It just made her feel better to know it was there, although never in a million years would she admit that to him. Satisfied that the door would meet with his partner's approval, Mulder sat down at the dining room table and took a long swallow of the iced tea Scully had poured for him before going to get ready for dinner with her mother. As he returned the glass to the table, his eyes fell on the letter. After reading through it once herself, she had read it aloud to him in the car as he drove, but he took the opportunity now to see with his own eyes the written words that took the coincidental incidents of the last two days and made them seem no longer quite so happenstance. ****** Dear Miss Scully, First off, let me apologize for all the subterfuge in getting the bracelet to you. If I thought that you would have accepted it, I would have brought it to you directly, but we both know you would have dismissed me as a crazy old woman had I come to you spouting a story about a bracelet that holds powers of clairvoyance. By now, you have witnessed this phenomenon yourself not once, but twice, and yet you still doubt the truth. I can only hope that when the time comes, you will be able to overcome your doubts, or at least put them aside as you did yesterday with that evil man. If not, I fear that someone you care about very much won't turn out to be as lucky as little Katie Harris. I know you have many questions, and unfortunately I don't have enough time left to answer them all. I know that by the time you read this letter I will be gone, although it is not for me to know how this will happen. All that I can tell you is that I dreamed of you, and that you are meant to be the next owner of the bracelet. That is how it works, you see. In your dreams. In the beginning, what you see in your sleep will only come to you in bits and pieces, broken fragments of a forgotten dream. Eventually you learn to bring the knowledge back with you to the waking world. I have spent my life trying to use this knowledge to help others whenever I could, and I sense that it will be the same with you. There is a darkness on your horizon, Dana, and someone you love will be lost to you. I can only pray that when the wolf comes to call, you remember that there is a way to find the answers you seek. I must go now, I have a bus to catch... Dorothy Williams ****** Mulder finished reading just as his partner reentered the room, her red hair still slightly damp from her recent shower. She ignored the letter in his hand and moved past him to the door, opening and closing it a few times to test out the new hardware. "Wow Mulder, this looks good. If you ever get sick of the FBI, you can always get yourself a job as a carpenter." When he failed to respond, she turned to look at him, the grin fading slowly from her face as he regarded her silently. "What?" She was beginning to feel self-conscious under his intense scrutiny. His eyes traveled slowly over her slight form, taking in the simple gold studs in her ears, the ever-present cross at her throat, her casual, white, short-sleeved sweater, black jeans, and black low-heeled boots before stopping to rest pointedly on her wrist. Her bare wrist. "Where's your bracelet, Scully?" His tone was calm, conversational, but when she looked him in the eye, she could see the disappointment there. It immediately put her on the defensive. "I took it off," she answered succinctly. "I can see that. Why'd you take it off?" There was only a slight hesitation before she replied. "I haven't had time to get the clasp fixed yet. I don't want to lose it." "Bullshit." She blinked in surprise at his comment. Mulder rarely used profanity unless he was seriously angry about something. "Excuse me?" "Bullshit, Scully. That loose clasp has nothing to do with the reason you aren't wearing the bracelet. Not one damn thing." No longer making any attempts to hide his exasperation, he stared at her, eyes flashing, daring her to refute his statement. The staredown continued for a moment, until Scully looked away. "Look Mulder, I don't know what you're talking about. I'm late for my mother's." She picked her purse and keys up from the table and headed back toward the door. "That's right, Scully. Do what you do best. Just pretend it's not there, and maybe it will go away. I thought you said you believed this time." She stopped in her tracks halfway to the door and whirled to face him. His anger was infectious, causing her own ire to stir. "Yes, I said I believed that somehow I knew things about that man Gallant that I had no way of knowing. But do I believe that my bracelet told me? No, Mulder, I don't!" She was shouting now. "There is absolutely no evidence to support that insane theory. It's ludicrous!" Mulder was ready to throttle her. "How much more evidence do you need, Scully? You have had two psychic episodes in the two days that you've owned that bracelet. I personally saw the thing light up like a Christmas tree while you were in the middle of the second such episode. And now, we have right here a letter written specifically to you by the previous owner of the bracelet, a woman whom you have never met before I might add, and in this letter she speaks of things that didn't even happen until after she had died of a ruptured aneurysm! What more do you need, Scully?" He noted the way she stood, arms crossed stiffly in front of her, jaw clenched, refusing to meet his eyes, and thought to himself that something wasn't adding up. Scully usually held her end of an argument in the same way she did everything else - honestly and directly. She had no qualms about looking you dead in the face while she filled you in on exactly how wrong you were. The fact that she couldn't bring herself to make eye contact with him now was very telling. "You want to know what I think, Scully?" The look she gave, when she finally looked at him, was pure belligerence. It told him that no, she really didn't want to hear his thoughts on the matter, but at the same time, was resigned to the fact that he would tell her regardless. A typical Scully defense mechanism. In fact, Mulder was now certain that her entire angry outburst was nothing more than a front for her to hide behind. "I think that you're afraid to believe. You know that your bracelet is the cause, but if you admit that to yourself or to me, then you'd be forced to acknowledge that there is no scientific explanation for it. And for some reason, that scares the hell out of you, doesn't it?" There was a brief flash of surprise in her eyes that let him know he'd hit the nail on the head before she covered it with a glare. "It's a superstition, Mulder. You're basing all of this on some old Algerian folk legend and the words of a dead woman. It doesn't prove anything." Her words this time were quiet, almost hesitant, and he wondered which one of them she was trying to convince. "What is it that you're so afraid of, Scully?" His voice was gentler now, all the anger having drained out of him upon the realization of her fear. She looked at him for a long moment, trying to think of a satisfactory answer. How could she be expected to tell him what she was afraid of, when she didn't know herself? All she knew was the feeling of dread that had come over her when she read the letter and that feeling had yet to completely fade. She gave him the most honest response she could think of. "I don't know," she whispered. Well, at least she wasn't denying it, which was something. Mulder knew that her fear, whatever it was based on, was something she would have to deal with herself. He couldn't snap his fingers and magically make her get over it. He handed her the letter and turned to go. "Tell your mom I said hello," he said quietly, and closed the door behind him. Title: Nocturnal Perception (5 of 12) Author: Jen Green Chapter 21 FBI Headquarters J. Edgar Hoover Building Thursday 11:30am At the familiar sound of his partner's heels clicking on the tile floor, Mulder pulled his gaze away from the file he was reading to watch her approach. As they had every day this week, his eyes went to her wrist, surreptitiously checking for the owl bracelet. And as she in turn had done for the last three mornings, Scully pointedly ignored the disappointed look in his eyes when he discovered it wasn't there. "Are you playing nice with the other agents, Mulder?" Aggression was the key, she decided. Get him involved in a discussion about their newest case, and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't comment on her lack of jewelry. She knew that further discussion of the past weekend's events was inevitable; there was no way Mulder was going to let this one go, but she hoped to get at least a few more day's reprieve out of him. Whenever her thoughts drifted to the letter from Dorothy Williams, Scully got this sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she simply wasn't yet ready to try and figure out what it meant. "Well, Agent Brentwell tried to take my Ken doll, so I had to pop him one, but other than that..." His words trailed off and he simply looked at her for a moment. Before her arrival, he had decided that today was the day. They were going to have a conversation about her bracelet whether she wanted to or not. However, when faced with the look of apprehension in her eyes she was trying so hard not to let him see, he found himself granting her unspoken wish. ** Ok Scully, we'll play it your way. But as soon as this case is over... ** He gestured at the manila folder in her hand and let her off the hook. "Is that the autopsy report on the latest victim?" Slowly releasing the breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding, Scully gratefully accepted the opening her partner presented. "Yes, it is." She sat down at the small table Mulder was using as a temporary workspace and glanced around the bullpen assigned to the FBI's Violent Crimes section. "Where is Agent Brentwell? He should probably hear this too, since it's his case and we're just consulting. You didn't really...?" Mulder laughed at the semi-concerned look on his partner's face. "No, I didn't really. He went to visit the Little Agent's Room. He should be back any minute. Did you find anything?" "Nothing particularly helpful, I'm afraid. I can give you the cause and time of death, but not much more than that. Find anything at the scene?" "Exactly what they found when the first three bodies were discovered - a whole lot of nothing." Mulder's frustration with the case was evident. People were disappearing from various subway stations in the DC metropolitan area only to turn up dead exactly three days later at a different station. Each time there was no forensic evidence to be found, and no witnesses. Then, within twenty-four hours of the appearance of a body, another person would vanish from yet another metro station. Mulder and Scully had joined the case on Monday at A.D. Skinner's request after Agent Brentwell and his team had failed to come up with any solid leads on the killer. There was nothing to suggest that it may be an X-file, but Skinner felt Mulder's superior profiling skills might prove valuable to the investigation. They had spent the better part of the week going over reports of the disappearances, combing crime scenes, checking and re- checking autopsy results only to come to the same conclusion as the VCS team. There simply was no evidence to be found. Late Wednesday night, the call had come in that their fourth kidnap victim, missing since Sunday evening, was no longer outstanding. "Ah, Agent Scully. Please tell me you have good news. Your partner and I were just about to go looking for a nice brick wall to beat our heads against." Scully smiled a greeting at the older agent as he approached the table. Christopher Brentwell was one of the few people in the VCS who didn't appear to subscribe to the "Spooky and Mrs. Spooky" attitude held by so many of his coworkers. At 45, he'd been with the FBI for nearly seventeen years, thirteen of those years spent working in Violent Crimes. Popular opinion said that he could've easily made Assistant Director five years ago, had he been so inclined, but Brentwell wanted no part of that. He was a good field agent with a decent solve rate and had no desire to join the race to see who could climb the ladder to the 5th floor the quickest. He was well aware of what most of the Bureau thought of these two, but in the few days he'd spent with them, Brentwell had found them to be intelligent, thorough, and insightful and he wasn't about to turn down good help because of a few rumors spread by small-minded people. Especially not on a case as tough as this one was turning out to be. "Please don't," she replied. "I spend enough time patching him up as it is." The two agents shared a conspiratorial grin while Mulder rolled his eyes. "Are you going to brief us on your autopsy findings, Agent Scully, or would you like to poke some more fun at the coordinationally-challenged?" "I'd be more than happy to go over the pathology report with you, Agent Mulder, if you're quite certain you're finished rewriting the English language? Coordinationally?" Brentwell saw the teasing looks that passed between the partners and couldn't help but wonder if at least one of the rumors he'd heard about these two might be true. ** If it is, ** he thought, ** more power to 'em. ** Getting back to business, Scully opened up the folder containing her report and slid it across the table so that both men could see it easily. The first item in the file was a photo of the victim as he had first been discovered. Both agents looked away quickly, Mulder being the first to recover. "Well, I guess spaghetti for lunch is out." "This is Mr. John Jasen, age 26, found late last night at the East Falls Church metro station by a security guard. Mr. Jasen has been missing since approximately 2:00pm Sunday, his last known whereabouts being the Glenmont metro station where he was catching a ride home from a friend's house." She indicated the crime scene picture. "Cause of death is exactly what it looks like gentlemen, excessive blood loss due to severe abdominal trauma. Mr. Jasen here was eviscerated with what appears to be a pair of pinking shears. In addition to being disemboweled, the victim's arms and legs were covered with many less-severe contusions and cuts and he has a goose egg the size of Texas behind his left ear. That appears to be the oldest of the injuries, most likely meaning that the killer struck him from behind with a blunt object as a way of subduing him at the Glenmont station. The blow to the head as well as the cuts and bruises are the only injuries shared by all four victims." "Due to the marked absence of blood at the crime scene as well as the fact that an attempt at reconstructing his bowels showed that several feet of large intestine are as yet unaccounted for, it is my opinion that Mr. Jasen was murdered elsewhere and dumped at that station, the same as the other three victims. Based on the condition and level of decomposition of the body, I would estimate time of death to be between 10pm and midnight last night, which would mean that, as with our other victims, he was probably dead no more than an hour or two before he was dumped. Toxicology screens showed nothing out of the ordinary, and as of yet I've been unable to find any trace evidence. I had his clothing sent over to the fingerprint lab, but I doubt they'll find any more from that than they did from the others. This guy is extremely careful not to leave anything behind. So...that's all I've got. How's the profile coming along?" "Oh, I've got a profile all right," said Agent Brentwell. "I'd say we're looking for a complete nut job. None of his victims share anything in common, he never kills the same way twice, and he has a thing for the subway. I mean, didn't they teach him in serial killer's school that it's not nice to fail to leave behind any evidence? We have four dead people here, one killed by poisoning, the second from a gunshot wound to the face, the third simply beaten to death, and the fourth had his stomach ripped open like a pinata. What kind of sense does that make?" "He's crazy, yes, but he's not stupid," Mulder said softly. He had that faraway look in his eyes that Scully recognized as the one he got when he was trying to solve a puzzle. "The subway stations, they're the key somehow. He's taunting us with them, knowing that we can't just close down the entire DC metro system. The fact that he can get in and out without anyone noticing indicates that he's quite familiar with the terrain. More than likely he works or used to work there, probably as a security guard or maintenance worker. Someone that a lone commuter would have no reason to fear in a deserted train station. He probably already knows that we will figure this out, but by using a different station each time, and jumping around randomly from DC to Virginia to Maryland, he realizes that it will be quite difficult for us to find him out that way given the vast amount of people employed by the Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Authority." "By keeping each victim for three days, and only killing them at the end, he's probably acting out some past trauma, most likely from his own childhood. I think our best course of action for finding this creep is to continue with the background checks on the Metro workers, with a focus on any who may have been fired recently or who have exhibited violent tendencies. This isn't the first time he's killed. In addition, we need to figure out his pattern. What makes him choose the stations that he does? We already know when he'll strike next, now we need to know where. If we can predict that, we should be able to get a team in there and grab him." ----- Chapter Twenty-Two Nearly eight hours later, Scully pushed her chair back from the table, stood up and stretched. Bleary-eyed from performing a 6am autopsy followed by endless hours studying maps of the city's subway system, she felt they were no closer to figuring out the killer's pattern than they had been this morning. Her stomach chose that particular moment to remind her quite loudly that lunch had consisted of a five-minute raid on the third floor snack machines nearly six hours ago. She looked at her partner who had yet to look up from the map he had his nose buried in. "Come on Mulder, it's time for dinner. We've been at this all day." "It's here somewhere, Scully. There's got to be a pattern." "Mulder, we need a break. If we haven't found it by now, we're not going to anytime soon. Let's go get something to eat, get some sleep. Then we can look at it with a fresh perspective in the morning. Brentwell has people working around the clock on those background checks, and they've beefed up security at all the subway stations for tonight. There's not much else we can do at this point. If they find anything, they'll call us, I'm sure." Something in her voice made him look up at last, and he saw the weariness in her face. "Listen Scully, you look exhausted. Why don't you go on home, eat some dinner, and get some rest?" She started to protest, and he cut her off. "I promise, just a few more minutes, and I'll go too, ok?" "You'd better Mulder, because I'm going to call that phone when I get home, and if you answer it, you're going to be in big trouble." She pointed to the telephone sitting on the corner of the table, half buried under maps and notes. "And don't just sit there and listen to it ring, pretending you're not still here either, because I'll know." "And just how could you possibly know that, Agent Scully?" "Oh, don't you worry, Mulder, I have my ways. Goodnight." She smiled mysteriously and left. "I'm sure you do Scully, but I also know you're too chicken to use them," he said to himself, thinking of a certain silver bracelet. He sighed loudly and gathered up his notes. He may have promised to go home, but he certainly didn't promise not to take the work with him. ----- Chapter Twenty-Three Fox Mulder's apartment Thursday 8:00pm Never let it be said that Fox Mulder wasn't one to follow doctor's orders. He had left the Hoover building a scant ten minutes after his partner and driven straight home so as not to miss the inevitable phone call. "Mulder...Yes Scully, I'm home...Yes Scully, my dinner is on it's way even as we speak...No Scully, I won't stay up all night long going over the case file that you know I brought home with me...Hey Scully, has anyone ever told you that you're sexy when you're being bossy?" He smiled at the resounding click that followed, and hung up the phone. Twenty minutes and two slices of pizza later, he was pawing through the notes and maps, searching once again for the connection that continued to elude him. "There has to be something here that we've missed. He is picking these particular train stations for a reason. I just know it. Oh great. Now I'm talking to myself. Now, where's that list I made of the crime scenes?" He rummaged through the pile of papers on the table until he found the one he needed. It was a single sheet of yellow, lined, legal paper on which he'd written the pertinent information from each of the murders: Virginia Square - GMU Station - May 16th - 6th stop orange line (VA) - Allison Broomall taken Arlington Cemetery - May 19th - 9th stop blue line (VA) - Allison Broomall found - poison Eisenhower Ave. - May 20th - 20th stop blue/19th stop orange (DC) - Mary Packman taken Navy Yard Station - May 23rd - 15th stop green line (DC) - Mary Packman found - gunshot New Carrollton Station - May 24th - last stop orange line (MD) - Nancy Wright taken College Park Station - May 27th - 2nd stop green line (MD) - Nancy Wright found - beaten Glenmont Station - May 28th - last stop red line (MD) - John Jasen taken East Falls Church Station - May 31st - 4th stop orange line (VA) - John Jasen found - eviscerated Mulder just couldn't figure it out. There didn't seem to be any particular pattern to the stop numbers he selected, the state they were located in, or the subway line on which they ran. He ground his fists against his tired eyes and sighed deeply. Maybe Scully was right and a fresh perspective was all he... There it was. He stared at the paper in front of him wondering how on earth he had missed it before. "I'll be damned. Could it be that easy?" He picked up a pen and began to write, and when he was finished, his suspicions were confirmed. "This is it. This has got to be it. Where's the damned map?!?" ----- Chapter Twenty-Four Dana Scully's apartment Thursday 8:45pm After adjusting the temperature, Dana Scully set the plug in her bathtub and proceeded to add a generous amount of scented bubble bath to the rising water. Breathing in the sweet fragrance of apricots, she found herself willing the tub to fill faster. A nice long soak in a hot bath was just what this particular doctor prescribed to work out some of the stiffness that came with sitting in a hard wooden chair looking at maps all day. Once the water level was to her liking, she turned off the taps and wandered into the living room to put on some background music. That was when she noticed the blinking message light on her answering machine. With some trepidation, and a longing glance towards the bathroom, she reached out and pressed the button that would play back her messages. "Hey Scully, it's me." **Well, surprise, surprise. ** "Look, you can't accuse me of ditching you this time, because I tried your cellphone too." ** Oh no, Mulder. What have you done now? ** "I just wanted to let you know, I think I may have figured out the pattern. I'm heading down to the Eastern Market station to check things out. I'll give you a call later and let you know if I find anything." She stared blankly at the machine as the message ended and the tape began to rewind itself. When the hell had he called? She'd just spoken to him barely forty-five minutes ago. She checked her cellphone, and sure enough, there was one missed call at 8:30pm. He must've called when she'd run out to check the mail. Normally that particular trip could be accomplished in less than two minutes, but this evening she'd been accosted by the overly-hormonal 21-year-old from down the hall wanting to know where "that scrumptious guy that you work with" was. ** Well Candy, or Muffy, or whatever your name is, he's probably off getting himself injured right about now, thank you very much. ** She hit the number that would speed dial his cellphone and waited. ** Well, at least he had the presence of mind to tell me where he was going for once. ** After four rings, Scully was not the least bit surprised to hear that the Cellular One customer she was trying to reach was either experiencing technical difficulties or had turned off his phone. ** Heaven forbid Mulder would try recharging the battery every once in awhile. ** She sighed softly before dialing information to request the phone number to the Eastern Market metro station's security office. Her bathwater would remain deliciously warm and bubbly for the moment, but she could practically hear tiny little bubbles bursting by the thousands all the way in the bathroom. "Eastern Market, Security." "This is Special Agent Dana Scully with the FBI. With whom am I speaking?" "This is Stuart Brown ma'am, I'm the Officer in Charge at this station tonight. How may I help you?" "Officer Brown, are you aware of the FBI's ongoing investigation in regards to certain incidents occurring in various subway stations?" "Yes ma'am, in fact, we've doubled the number of Transit Police at each station to try and prevent those incidents from happening again." "Good. Well, my partner, Agent Mulder is on his way down to your station right now. He has reason to believe that Eastern Market may be our suspect's next stop. Please alert your men to be especially diligent tonight. There's a possibility that the man we're looking for may be a Metro employee." "I've had that same thought myself, Agent Scully. Don't worry, we'll be on the lookout for this psycho, and for your partner too." "Thank you, Officer Brown. The FBI appreciates your assistance. Just one more thing. When my partner turns up, could you let him know that I need to speak with him? I haven't been able to reach him on his cellphone." "No problem. If he's a typical guy, he probably forgot to recharge the battery. I'll let him know you're looking for him." "I'd appreciate that. Goodnight." ----- Stuart Brown hung up the phone quietly and gave the still form at his feet a hard kick to the ribs. "Your partner wants you to call her." Title: Nocturnal Perception (6 of 12) Author: Jen Green Chapter Twenty-Five After a moment's indecision, Scully picked the phone back up and dialed a second number. As she waited for an answer, she wondered how Mulder had made the connection to this particular subway station. She hoped he hadn't just been guessing, or soon both of them were going to look awfully foolish. "Brentwell." "Agent Brentwell, it's Dana Scully. I just got a message from Mulder. He seems to think that our guy's going to hit the Eastern Market station tonight. I've alerted Metro security there, but I thought maybe we should get some of our own team over there to check it out." "Mulder figured it out? How? What's the connection between these stations?" "I don't know. I haven't been able to reach him on his cellphone. His message just said that he thought he'd figured out the pattern and he was going down there to look around." "Well, what do you think, Agent Scully?" ** I think I have a bad feeling about this, ** she thought to herself. Out loud she said, "If Mulder says this is the place, I think it's in our best interest to assemble the team and get them down there. Maybe we can catch this guy tonight." A few minutes later, Scully hung up the phone feeling slightly better about the situation. At least now Mulder would have backup if he needed it, regardless of whether or not it was wanted. She headed towards what was now destined to be her not- so-nice, not-so-long, tepid soak in a bubble-free tub. ----- Chapter Twenty-Six Eastern Market Metro Station Thursday 9:30pm Scully strode into the Eastern Market subway station forty-five minutes later, her eyes scanning the throng of people for the tall form of her partner. She didn't find Mulder, but did manage to pick out Agent Brentwell where he appeared to be briefing a combined group of FBI agents and Metro security officers. "...and I want each team to check in with me via radio every ten minutes. Report any and all suspicious activity, no matter how insignificant it may seem. We still don't know how this guy is making off with his victims, nor do we know where he takes them once they leave the train stations. It's best to err on the side of caution, so I want to act first, and ask questions later. I want to catch this psycho tonight before he has the chance to hurt another innocent person. Good luck!" The group began to disperse, breaking up into smaller teams of two before heading to their assigned areas. Brentwell turned to Scully as she approached. "Everything seems pretty quiet here so far, but we're more than ready if he shows up." "Where's Agent Mulder?" "According to the Officer in Charge here, Mulder never showed up. Maybe he decided this wasn't the place after all." Scully frowned in concentration. Surely Mulder would have called her back by now if he'd discovered his hunch was incorrect? "Is Officer Brown certain that Mulder was never here? Maybe he came and left without speaking to security." Brentwell gave her a puzzled look. "Who's Officer Brown?" "Stuart Brown, the chief Metro security officer on duty here tonight," she answered matter-of-factly. "I spoke with him earlier, right before I called you." The other agent flipped open a small blue notebook and scanned what he'd written there. "No, it's Johnson, not Brown. Keith Johnson. He's right over there." Scully was halfway to the man in question before Agent Brentwell had finished speaking. "Officer Johnson?" she queried. At his affirmative nod, she continued. "I'm Special Agent Dana Scully. Are you the officer in charge of this station this evening?" "Yes, I am. Can I help you with something?" "I called here earlier and spoke with someone who told me he was the commanding security officer. Do you know a Stuart Brown?" Her no-nonsense tone stated clearly 'someone here is lying, and I want to know who it is'. Recognition lit the man's features as he rushed to clear up this slight misunderstanding. "Yes ma'am, Stu is my superior, and if he were still here, he would be the commanding officer. He went home early tonight. He wasn't feeling very well." "When was this? I spoke to him less than an hour ago." "It was around five 'til nine. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes before Agent Brentwell and his team arrived." "Are you certain? That's only about ten minutes after I talked to him. He didn't mention that he might be leaving early." "Yes ma'am, I'm sure of the time. It was about five minutes after the false alarm, which took place at approximately 8:50pm." "I'm sorry," she answered, not understanding. "The false alarm?" "We got a call that someone had hit the panic button in the elevator that goes up to street level, at the same time that we temporarily lost the visual surveillance system. Thinking it may be our guy trying to make off with another victim, we locked the elevator down and rushed up there, but the car was empty. There must've been a short or maybe a power surge in the system." "Does that happen often? Losing the cameras like that?" "Often? No. But it's not unheard of. The way everything relies on computers so heavily these days, you learn to expect a few technical difficulties from time to time. We were lucky tonight, though. Stu's a computer wiz, and he got the cameras back up in no time." "I see. So Officer Brown stayed behind to work on the video problem while the rest of you went up to check the elevator, is that correct?" "Yes ma'am." "Did anyone stay behind with him?" "No ma'am. He said he could handle it, and if that nutcase was up in the elevator, we'd need all the help we could get. May I ask, why are you so interested in that incident? Like I said, it turned out to be a false alarm." She gave the officer a reassuring half-smile. "It's nothing. This case is just getting to me, I guess. Thank you for your time." As she was turning away from Officer Johnson, Brentwell approached. "I'm not sure he's going to put in an appearance tonight, but I'm going to keep some of the team here anyway, just in case. You look exhausted, Scully. Why don't you go home and get some sleep? We've got this covered, and I'll call you if we see any action." He noted her hesitation and tried to reassure her. "I'm sure your partner is fine. He probably figured out he had the wrong place and stopped on the way home for a drink. Don't worry." ----- Chapter Twenty-Seven Dana Scully's apartment Friday 5:05am Scully awoke with a start to find herself still on her couch with the television on, where she must have fallen asleep while waiting for Mulder to call. She stumbled into the kitchen in search of caffeine, hoping to clear away the fatigue that only a night passed sleeping upright on a couch can produce. She started a pot of coffee brewing and decided to try her partner's number once again. It had now been eight and a half hours since she'd received his message, and she was finding it more and more difficult to contain her worry. Even if he'd gotten in late, he should have called by now. Mulder had absolutely no compunction about calling her in the middle of the night. His philosophy was, I'm up, so why wouldn't everyone else be? And she had left a message on his machine telling him to call when he got in, no matter the hour. Calls to both cell and home phones unsuccessful, Scully decided to do what she always ended up doing when Mulder ditched her. She got dressed, poured herself a cup of coffee for the road, and drove to her partner's apartment to try and figure out where the hell he had gone this time. ----- Chapter Twenty-Eight Fox Mulder's apartment Friday 5:40am Scully knocked on the door of apartment number 42 and then used her key to let herself in without waiting for a response. She called out his name softly, not at all surprised by the lack of reply. The coffee table in front of his couch bore the evidence of the previous night's activities. The case file he'd taken from the Hoover building was spread over its entire surface, almost completely covering the pizza box, which contained the remainder of his dinner. A rolled up map of the subway system was being held open by a half-consumed can of Diet Coke. Scully sat down on his couch, looking over the photos, maps, and pages containing Mulder's notes, trying to decide which piece of paper was the one that had prompted him towards the Eastern Market metro station. Her eyes were drawn to a yellow sheet of legal paper in the center of the table that contained a list of subway stops written in her partner's familiar handwriting: Virginia Sq. - GMU Station - May 16th - 6th stop orange line (VA) - Allison Broomall taken Arlington Cemetery - May 19th - 9th stop blue line (VA) - Allison Broomall found - poison Eisenhower Ave. - May 20th - 20th stop blue/19th stop orange (DC) - Mary Packman taken Navy Yard Station - May 23rd - 15th stop green line (DC) - Mary Packman found - gunshot New Carrollton Station - May 24th - last stop orange line (MD) - Nancy Wright taken College Park Station - May 27th - 2nd stop green line (MD) - Nancy Wright found - beaten Glenmont Station - May 28th - last stop red line (MD) - John Jasen taken East Falls Church Station - May 31st - 4th stop orange line (VA) - John Jasen found - eviscerated This in itself led to no particular revelations. Scully had been with Mulder the previous day when he'd taken these notes. What drew her attention, and prompted a sudden gasp of awareness, was what he had written below them. V irginia Square - 1st abduction E isenhower Avenue - 2nd abduction N ew Carrollton - 3rd abduction G lenmont - 4th abduction E - ??? - 5th abduction A rlington Cemetery - 1st body N avy Yard - 2nd body C ollege Park - 3rd body E ast Falls Church - 4th body VENGEANCE A quick glance at the list of subway stations confirmed what Mulder had already figured out. There were only three stops that began with the letter 'E', and two of them had already been the scene of either an abduction or a body dump. That left one possible Metro station to fill in the missing 'E' stop. Eastern Market. Scully wondered briefly what the next station in the sequence could possibly be now that the word was completed, and then found herself hoping that she wouldn't have to find out. If she did, that would mean her partner was lost to her forever. Using Mulder's phone, she dialed the now-familiar number and waited for a response. "Brentwell." "Agent Brentwell, it's Agent Scully..." "Agent Scully! I can't say I'm sorry to inform you that your partner must've been wrong." The man sounded positively jovial. "We had a quiet night here, and no one has turned up missing as of yet. As a matter of fact, as far as we know, no one's been reported missing from any of the stations. Maybe our killer decided to give us a break, and offed himself instead." "No," she said quietly, "Mulder was right." "But I just told you, no one was taken last night. If the killer were going to stick to his established pattern, he would've taken his next victim sometime last night." "I'm calling to tell you, Chris, that someone was taken last night. And I'm willing to bet that he was taken from Eastern Market." "Who?" the agent questioned, clearly confused. "Mulder." ----- Chapter Twenty-Nine After explaining to Brentwell the method by which Mulder had determined where the killer would show up next, Scully repeated the conversation she'd had with Officer Johnson the previous night regarding the so-called "false alarm" with the cameras and the elevator. "I know it's a long shot, but I think we need to take a look at the guard who went home sick. Stuart Brown. I personally spoke to the man no more than ten minutes before he supposedly became too ill to remain at work, and let me tell you, he didn't sound sick to me. And he certainly didn't mention the possibility that he'd be leaving anytime soon. According to Officer Johnson, Brown is some kind of computer genius. What if he created the problems with the cameras and the elevator as a way of distracting the other security officers? What if - what if he knocked Mulder unconscious, as we believe was done with the other victims, took out the cameras and created a little diversion for the other guards so that he could get Mulder out of the building without being seen, and then came back in to "fix" the problem and save the day? Then, not wanting to leave his prize alone for too long lest he wake up, he suddenly develops a terrible case of the flu and leaves." Even as she heard herself spouting the theory, Scully realized how farfetched it sounded. But at the same time, it felt right. "That doesn't explain how he got the other victims. If he'd been working at each metro station at the time they had an abduction, that would've come up during the background checks. And it certainly would've come up if there had been the same sort of "distractions" at the other stations prior to the other disappearances." Scully was starting to understand how Mulder felt when she shot down one of his crazy ideas. "Look Brentwell, I don't know what to tell you. Maybe - maybe he takes them a different way each time, in much the same way that each manner of death is different. Perhaps he has only worked at this station, and for that reason, saved it last in this little game of his. We did decide that our killer probably works for the Transit Authority, right? I'm only asking that you have him checked out. It may be a weak lead, but right now it's the only lead we have." She heard the heavy sigh through the phone and knew he was giving in. "Ok Scully, you win. I'll put somebody on it right away. I'll tell you what though, if Mulder turns up safe and sound, I'm gonna have to hurt him." Scully smiled ruefully into the receiver. "You'd have to get in line." Replacing the phone in its cradle, she noticed the message light blinking on the attached answering machine. Figuring that the messages were all from her, yet willing to try anything at this point to glean some clue as to his whereabouts, she hit the playback button. As predicted, a familiar feminine voice filled the room. "Hey Mulder it's me. Listen, we need to have a talk about this nasty habit you've got of running around with a dead cellphone battery. Call me when you get in, ok? I don't care what time it is. Just call me." Beep. The next voice was one Scully didn't recognize, and was decidedly masculine. "Agent Mulder, this is, uh, never mind, you don't need to know who this is. I believe we have a mutual acquaintance in Melvin Frohike? He gave me your number. Anyway, you can call me, uh, Wolf, yeah, call me The Wolf, and the reason for my call is something that I can't get into over an unsecured line, but I believe I have some information that you will be interested in. I have in my possession some documents that prove without a doubt that the US Government has known for years about the existence of leprechauns and has been suppressing that information. Oh shit, unsecured line. Anyway...I guess you're not there, so I'll try to reach you again tomorrow...Oh yeah, destroy this tape as soon as you're done listening to it." Ordinarily Scully would've had a good laugh over the paranoid musings of Mulder's mysterious "informant", and would most certainly have teased him about it mercilessly in the future, but she found herself unable to focus on anything the man said after the words "call me The Wolf". Scully was only dimly aware of hearing the last two messages, both her own, as she fought to bring the elusive memory that particular moniker stirred to the surface of her mind. Why was that so familiar? She spoke out loud, testing the word on her tongue. "Wolf, The Wolf..." Suddenly she had a flashback from Saturday when she had read aloud to Mulder the letter from Dorothy Williams. "I can only pray that when the wolf comes to call..." She gasped as she was forced to confront the fear that had gripped her ever since receiving that letter. The fear that it was all true. If she believed in the power of the bracelet, then she'd have to believe Dorothy's prediction that someone she cared about would be lost to her, perhaps forever. Closing her eyes, she took several slow, deep breaths, trying to calm the unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach. ** Get a grip, Dana. Tossing your cookies all over Mulder's living room isn't going to help get him back. ** Opening her eyes and strengthening her resolve, Scully decided it was time to face her fears and go find her partner. Title: Nocturnal Perception (7 of 12) Author: Jen Green Chapter Thirty Dana Scully's apartment Friday 6:25 am Once again in her own apartment, Scully found herself standing at her dresser staring wide-eyed at her reflection in the mirror as she fastened the silver owl bracelet around her left wrist. That accomplished, she toed off her shoes, then removed her suit jacket and folded it neatly over the arm of the chair that sat in the corner of her bedroom. Next came her gun and holster, which she removed and placed on the nightstand beside her bed. Moving to the curtains, she closed them carefully, wanting to ensure that the rising sun would not encroach on the darkness of the room. Finally satisfied that the environment was properly conducive to sleep, she approached the bed, wondering not for the first time if she might be losing her mind. Her partner was out there, God knows where, having who knows what done to him, and here she was moving about her bedroom in a surreal daze contemplating a nap. As much as her logical mind was screaming at her that this was sheer lunacy, that the only result this foray into the absurd could possibly produce would be to shorten that much further the amount of time she had to conduct a serious search for her partner, Scully climbed into her bed, settling her head back against the pillows. Yes, it was crazy, and yes, it was entirely possible that nothing would come of it, but she was determined to see it through to its fruition, nonetheless, for the same reasons she had led them to that McDonalds in Stevensville to apprehend a pedophile, despite her disbelief. What if it were true? If she had the means, quite literally in the palm of her hand, to save her partner, she simply couldn't allow anything to sabotage their use, including herself and her own skepticism. Scully closed her eyes, taking slow, deep breaths as she willed herself to relax enough to sleep. If natural slumber proved impossible, she was prepared to take a sleeping pill, but she hoped it wouldn't be necessary, not being certain that the drugs wouldn't have an adverse effect on this little experiment. Fortunately, although it certainly hadn't seemed fortunate at the time, spending the night in a half-doze on one's sofa wasn't exactly a restful experience, so after just a few moments, Scully found herself drifting off, her last conscious thought directed to her partner. **Oh Mulder, the things I do for you...** ----- Chapter Thirty-One Reality returned in fits and starts, reasserting itself one sense at a time. Feeling came first, as she became aware of the cold, hard concrete beneath her stocking-covered feet, the cool air surrounding her causing the fine hair on her arms to rise in response. Smell and taste arrived simultaneously, carrying with them the nauseatingly sweet stench of gasoline. The odor was so thick, so overwhelming she was momentarily robbed of her breath as the vapors sought to steal oxygen's rightful place in her mouth and nose and lungs. She gagged, trying desperately to clear her airway of the foul substance before she drowned in it. Bending at the waist, hands resting on her knees, Scully coughed weakly several times until gradually she was able to breathe again, her respiratory system finally beginning to adjust to this olfactory assault. The smell of the fuel was still present, but no longer quite so overpowering. This was when she discovered that she could once again hear. And from the way it sounded, she was not alone. The noises were faint, vague, and as near as she could figure given the fact that her eyes still stubbornly refused to join the party, they seemed to be coming from a place about fifty feet to her left. Turning, she cautiously began moving in that direction, knowing instinctively that this was where she needed to be. As she drew closer, it became apparent that there were two distinct voices coming to her out of the darkness. The first was deep and slightly gravelly, it's tone fluctuating between gentle amusement and searing anger. She vaguely recognized the cheerful timbre as belonging to the elusive Transit policeman she'd spoken with the previous evening, Stuart Brown. When the rage of his insanity got the better of him, she could barely distinguish the guttural sounds emanating from his throat as being human. The second voice however, was as familiar to her as Scully's own mother. "Mulder." Despite the knowledge that she was as good as invisible here, Scully couldn't stop the ragged whisper that hearing his pain-filled voice tore from her throat. It was at this point that her eyesight decided to catch up with the rest of her, aided by a single, flickering candle casting its sparse light on the two men ahead of her. She increased the pace of her approach, not at all concerned with the thought that she might be observed. While she may not completely comprehend exactly what had brought her here, her limited understanding of the situation stretched enough to provide the knowledge that her existence here in this version of reality was undetectable by its natural inhabitants. She was right there with them now, included in the dim circle of illumination cast by the candle. Scully moved closer to Mulder, wanting to assess his injuries, only mildly surprised to find that her presence cast no shadow over his face despite the fact that she'd moved between him and the sole source of light in the room. Her loud gasp of dismay at the sight that greeted her had absolutely no effect on either the killer or his intended victim. She dropped down onto her knees beside the straight-backed wooden chair to which her partner was tied with not only what looked like twenty yards of rope, but electrical tape as well. His arms were pulled tightly back behind him and fastened to the back of the chair with what appeared to be his own handcuffs. Each foot was taped at the ankle to the chair leg it rested in front of and a half a roll of tape secured his thighs to the seat of the chair, effectively cutting off any chance of movement whatsoever. The only part of his body not tied, taped, or otherwise strapped down was his head. And from the damage that had apparently been done to his face so far by this monster, Scully figured that moving his head around too much would be the last thing Mulder would want to do. ] The entire left side of his face was an angry mixture of purples, blacks, and reds, and his left eye was almost completely swollen shut. There was a thin stream of dried blood that had trickled a path down the side of his face, the origin of which was concealed within his hairline. Looking into the one hazel eye that was visible, she could see the slightly dilated pupil that indicated the possibility of a concussion. "So what do ya say, G-man? Hungry yet? There's plenty of rats down here in these service tunnels. I wouldn't want it to be said that I deprived a man of his last meal." Brown spoke lightly, his tone almost buoyant, as if they were two long-time friends sharing a beer and a joke. "Gee, uh, no thanks. I think I'll hold out for the second course. I had rat yesterday," Mulder responded dryly. "You're a real smart guy, aren't you G-man? A regular comedian. Well, that's ok. Makes it more fun. I mean, you should've seen the look on the last guy's face when I pulled out those scissors. Now that was comical." The killer chuckled to himself at the memory, before growing serious once more. "You wanna know how you're gonna go? I could give you a little preview." "And ruin all the suspense? No, that's all right. I'll wait until..." His words trailed off mid-sentence as he suddenly turned and looked directly at Scully. Forgetting for the moment that for her this was only a horrible nightmare, she had raised a hand to gently brush the hair away from his face so that she could examine the cut on his head. It was only when her fingers reached the point where they should have been stopped by the barrier of his flesh but instead kept on going as if passing through a warm, Mulder-infused fog that she realized her mistake. Currently she and her partner did not inhabit the same plane of existence, so physically she was unable to have any kind of affect on his environment. Yet, when her fingers had entered the space presently being occupied by her partner, she felt a tangible connection to him, as if she were able to touch his very essence and take a bit of it back into herself. And when his head snapped around to hers seconds later, she felt certain that on some level he too was aware of her presence. "Mulder? Can you hear me?" Not really expecting a reply, and not getting one, she reached out a tentative hand to caress his bruised and battered face. This time his eyes slid closed and he leaned his head in her direction slightly as if he could feel the gesture and was gratefully accepting its comfort. He inhaled deeply as if infusing himself with some pleasant scent, and that's when she noticed that he was wheezing slightly on each indrawn breath. Without the benefits of an x-ray machine or even a proper exam, she could only deduce that this maniac had either hit or kicked her partner in the ribs, badly bruising if not fracturing a few. She found herself hoping that the wheezing was an effort on his part to reduce the pain of his injured chest and not due to a punctured lung. Mulder opened his eyes and warily regarded his captor as Brown moved out of the circle of the candlelight. There was a slight scraping noise of metal on concrete as he bent into the darkness to pick something up, and then the sound of liquid sloshing around in its container. When he returned to the glow of the candle and brandished his prize with a maniacal grin, Scully's eyes grew wide with recognition. "Oh God, no," she whispered, feeling suddenly sick. In his hands, Stuart Brown held a red metal gas can. As he slowly unscrewed the cap and walked toward Mulder, she jumped to her feet and screamed, "You can't do this! It hasn't been three days! You're supposed to wait three days!" He stopped directly in front of her partner, the can raised high over his head, and couldn't resist one last taunt. "You got anything funny to say now, G-man? I could use a good laugh." Scully knew the terror he had to be feeling at that moment. A fear of fire was the only true phobia that Mulder had ever admitted to having in the years that she had known him. To be suddenly faced with the knowledge that your worst nightmare was coming true could be nothing less than paralyzing. So only Scully knew the inner strength her partner revealed when he unblinkingly faced his captor. "Fuck you." "Now, see, that wasn't funny, it was just rude," he was told as the gasoline-filled can was inverted over his head. Mulder coughed and sputtered as he desperately sought to breathe without inhaling or swallowing the foul substance. After enough of the gas had run off so that it was no longer dripping in his face, he opened his eyes as Brown spoke again. "Consider that the prologue. We'll save the final act for Sunday," he said, as he brought the gasoline can down hard against the injured side of his face. Mulder's head crumpled forward as he slipped into unconsciousness. Scully would've given anything at that moment to be standing in front of Stuart Brown with a loaded gun in her hands. "I'm gonna get you, you bastard, just wait and see." ----- Chapter Thirty-Two "I'm gonna get you, you bastard, just wait and see." At the sound of his partner's heated snarl, Mulder forced himself to raise his head and open his eyes, despite the fact that the entire left side of his face felt as if it were on fire. "Hey Scully, can you wait to kill me until after I've had a couple of Advil?" Scully whirled around and stared at her partner as if he'd suddenly sprouted wings and proposed a midnight flight to the moon. "What's the matter? Never seen someone tied to a chair and doused in gasoline before? Scully?" She gaped at him. "You can see me?" She knelt beside his chair once again, waving a hand in front of his face. "Ha ha Scully, very funny. Now, are you going to cut me loose before that overgrown son-of-a..." Now it was Mulder's turn to look incredulous as he realized that the overgrown son-of-a-bitch in question was sitting on the concrete floor not four feet away ignoring them completely. "What the hell?" "I wish I could Mulder, more than anything, but I can't..." "Why can't he see you?" he interrupted. "He's acting like he doesn't even see you!" "Because he can't. And up until a minute ago, neither could you. He hit you and knocked you out, and when you woke up..." she snapped her fingers as the realization dawned. "That's it. You didn't wake up. Mulder you're still unconscious!" "Scully, I have a headache the size of the Grand Canyon, not to mention some pretty painful ribs. Do you think you could possibly explain to me in words that are four letters or less just what in the hell you're talking about?" "This is what I'm talking about Mulder." She raised her left wrist to show him the owl bracelet, it's moonstone eyes glowing brightly enough to rival the light from the candle. "I'm not really here. Let me show you." She reached out and tried to touch the undamaged side of his face. As before, her fingers passed through him, leaving her with the feeling that she'd touched a piece of his soul. In that instant, she could feel his wonder, his pain, and even the residual traces of the fear he'd experienced moments before when faced with the possibility of being burned alive. His mouth dropped open at the ghost-like touch of her fingers. "That was you! Before he pulled out the gasoline, you touched me, didn't you?" He waited for her nod before continuing. "I thought I must be suffering from some sort of brain damage. I didn't actually feel your hands, but all of a sudden, I felt like you were nearby. And I could smell you...or rather, your shampoo or bubblebath or whatever that apricot stuff is that you sometimes use. What's wrong?" Her eyes full of regret, she told him, "I used it last night, probably right around the time you were getting your skull bashed in. Damn it, I should've gone down there myself instead of calling the Transit police. I practically gave you to him, Mulder!" But he was already shaking his head. "No Scully, it wasn't your fault. By the time you got my message and called, he already had me. I was lying at his feet in the security booth pretending to be unconscious - well, half-pretending anyway since he had just clocked me in the head with his flashlight. It's nobody's fault but my own. I should've waited for you to call me back or called Brentwell." Scully narrowed her eyes in concentration as a feeling of urgency swept over her. "Scully? What is it?" "I think we're going to have to save the Blame Game for another day, Mulder. We're running out of time. I think - I think that one of us is going to wake up soon. Mulder, I need you to tell me anything you know, about this place, or about him," she indicated his captor who was happily munching his way through a bag of potato chips, "that will help me to find you. Do you know where you are? It has the look of a subway tunnel, though not quite as big, as if maybe it's some kind of service tunnel or underground storage?" He shook his head in frustration. "I'm just not sure, Scully. I'm fairly certain that we never actually left that metro station, but I was pretty out of it at the time. But even if that's the case, if you don't know exactly where to look, these tunnels are like a big maze." "Ok, well at least I know where to start. What about him? Do you have anything on him that I might be able to use?" "I've been trying to draw him out, to get him to slip up and talk about himself, but so far he hasn't fallen for it. Actually, it only seems to piss him off," he said sheepishly, winking his swollen eye at her. "Aww, poor Mulder," she said sympathetically, reaching out to give him a reassuring pat on the knee before realizing halfway to her goal the futility of it. She paused, her hand hovering in mid-air over his leg as an idea began to take root. "Earth to Scully? You in there?" She stood up suddenly and pointed towards Brown. "Mulder, he knows where you are." "Yeah, but he can't see us at the moment Scully, and even if he could, I seriously doubt that he'd write down the address and invite you to tea." "He may not have to," she tossed back to him over her shoulder. "When I touched you Mulder, it was like I could see inside you, what you were thinking and feeling. Maybe it will be the same with him." His voice stopped her inches from her goal. "Scully, you don't have to do this. Believe me, whatever you see inside him will not be pretty." She turned to him and smiled, the first real smile she'd given him since this whole fiasco with the bracelet began. "Mulder, you went to Antarctica with a bullet wound to the head to find me. Certainly I can take a glimpse into the mind of a madman for you." And with that, she reached out a tentative hand and touched the devil. Brown jumped in surprise at the sudden invasion as if he too could feel her presence in much the same way Mulder had. His eyes came to rest on his captive, who was still slumped over in his chair, dead to the world. While his attention was focused on Mulder, Scully took a deep breath, held it, and walked through him as quickly as she could. On the other side, she paused for a moment, her eyes closed tightly, as she shuddered involuntarily. After their misadventures last summer in the South Pole, Scully had thought she'd known what it meant to be cold, but this creature before her had a soul that was blacker than the darkest night and colder than any ice could ever be. She felt as if thousands of oily worms were crawling over her skin, and wondered if that feeling would ever completely fade. She had told Mulder days ago that Gallant, the pedophile they'd arrested, was evil, but she'd had no idea what evil was then. She knew better now. She walked back to Mulder's side and sat down on the floor beside him, suddenly more tired than she'd felt since before her cancer had gone into remission. She was careful not to touch him, lest he get a glimpse of her little souvenir from good ole' Stu. Mulder had enough to worry about without knowing what sort of sadistic things resided in the mind of his captor. She looked at him and smiled, not nearly as brightly as she had moments ago, but he had to give her points for effort. It was the best she could muster when all she really wanted to do was vomit. "I got it." "Are you all right, Scully?" She opened her mouth to tell him she was fine, but simply nodded at his warning look. "I'll be ok. And so will you. I'm going to get you out of here Mulder." "I know you will. I trust you," he told her softly. "But you be careful, Scully. Don't do anything stupid. That's my department." Their gazes locked and held for a long moment, until, clearing his throat, he changed the subject. "So, what made you decide to use the bracelet?" She shrugged. "The Wolf called." It took him a moment to decipher her cryptic statement. "The letter. Someone you love will be lost...you mean that was me? Gee Scully, I didn't know you cared." What was meant to be a teasing smile came out looking more like a grimace on his battered face. She thought of giving some sort of flippant reply, then figured, what the hell, he's unconscious anyway. He probably wouldn't remember any of this. "Well Mulder, I guess now you know." The look on his face was nothing short of stunned. "Scully...I...uh, I just want to say..." A shrill ring pierced the relative quiet of the tunnel, and Scully's last thought as the world faded to black was, "Damn it, not now!" Continued in Part 8... Title: Nocturnal Perception (8 of 12) Author: Jen Green Chapter Thirty-Three As the darkness slowly receded from her vision, Scully became aware of several things at once. She was lying in her bed, fully dressed, staring unseeingly at her ceiling, and someone was shouting in her ear. Or rather, into the telephone which was currently pressed against the side of her head. ** How did that get there? ** "Agent Scully! Are you all right? Hello?" Drawing in a deep, ragged breath, she blinked rapidly several times trying to clear the last vestiges of sleep from her brain. Her body felt, heavy, sluggish, the left side of her face tingled painfully as if still asleep, and was that gasoline she smelled? She struggled to sit up, instinctively grabbing the phone as it threatened to slip from her ear. While gradually the lethargy and tenderness subsided, the strange odor did not. She sniffed lightly at her hands, her blouse, the bedding around her, and unable to detect a source, wondered vaguely if she'd suffered some kind of a stroke. "Can you hear me? Agent Scully! I'm sending someone over there." Finally recognizing the significance of the molded plastic pressed to her right ear, Scully shook herself out of her stupor and responded before she found herself surrounded by concerned FBI agents. "No, Agent Brentwell, that's not necessary. I'm fine. I, um, must've dozed off. It took me a second to wake up." His retort was a short bark of laughter, part amusement at her statement, part relief at hearing her answer him at last. "A second? Scully, we've been on the phone for over two minutes now. That must've been some dream you were having." Scully found that she couldn't recall any dreams, good or otherwise, and for some reason, that fact bothered her profoundly. She considered the uneasiness that engulfed her, only dimly aware that Agent Brentwell was once again speaking. It wasn't until he said the word "Mulder" that she remembered why she was lying in her bed in the first place. Mulder. The bracelet. Had it worked? Searching her memory, she was further distressed to find that it was blank. She remembered going to sleep, nearly two and a half hours ago according to her alarm clock, and then nothing. Nothing, save for the lingering smell of gasoline. "I can't remember," she whispered. It was then that she began to realize her mistake. She had gone to sleep with the belief that upon waking she would retain the knowledge gained in her dreams, when in fact, on the previous two occasions, she had remembered nothing. It was only later that bits and pieces had come back to her, vague remnants of a larger whole. Both times, she had managed to pass along the pertinent information to a third party whilst still under the spell of the bracelet, once to Mulder, and once to her laptop. But this time, there was no Mulder to call, no self-written computer messages to read, and she didn't have time to wait around and see what tidbits came trickling back. She needed to find her partner before it was too late, that much she did know. And she had the beginnings of an idea on how to do just that. "Can't remember what? Agent Scully?" Finally realizing she'd tuned out again, Brentwell halted his monologue mid-stream. "Nothing, it's nothing. I'm sorry, Agent Brentwell. You were saying? Have you found Mulder?" She realized that all this worrying might be for nothing, and maybe it would be a good idea to actually listen to what the other agent had to say. "No, nothing yet on Mulder. I called to tell you that it looks as if you were right to want to take a closer look at Brown. Seems he doesn't exist." "I don't understand. What do you mean he doesn't exist?" "We ran a basic check on him, and everything seemed ok on the surface, no trouble with the law, spotless driving record, excellent credit report, he seemed like an all-around great guy, but there was one minor discrepancy. His address. The address listed for him in the Metro database turned out to be a Pizza Hut in Falls Church, Virginia. Thinking that it may just be a typographical error on the part of the clerk entering the data, we tried to check the address he gave on his actual job application, only to find that his entire personnel file is mysteriously missing." "What about the Department of Motor Vehicles?" "Well, the Virginia DMV had a different address for your Mr. Brown. Different, but no less phony. This one was actually a residence, but the family who lives there, and has for the past eight years, claims no relation to or knowledge of anyone named Stuart Brown. He has no car, no phone service, no records with the gas and electric company, and prior to being hired by the DCMTA, no bank accounts. He has one checking account which has only enough money in it to keep the account open, and he used the same bogus address to open that account as the one on his driver's license. We dug a little bit further and found the name "Stuart George Brown" and corresponding social security number only two more times. One was on a birth certificate for a little boy born on July 6, 1965 to a Michael and Christina Brown." He paused for dramatic effect, and Scully willingly obliged him. "And the other?" "The other instance was on a death certificate issued on May 27, 1966 when Stuart George Brown, son of Michael and Christina Brown, died at the age of nine months and three weeks due to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome." Scully closed her eyes briefly, her mind racing. "So even the name isn't his. What about fingerprints?" "We pulled some prints from the security booth that don't appear to match up with any of the other guards, but we didn't get a match when we ran them through the database. I suspect that this guy has gone to a lot of trouble to ensure that there are no computer records of him at all." "When does he work again? Maybe he doesn't know we're on to him yet." "Would it surprise you at all to hear that he has the next three days off?" "He does? What about during the other four disappearances? Was he off then too?" "Believe me, Agent Scully, something that blatantly obvious would have been noticed during our initial investigation. Records indicate that he worked at least two, if not all three days during each disappearance." "Has he always worked at the Eastern Market station?" "Yes, since completing his training about ten months ago." "The cameras. Have you checked the tapes in the security cameras?" "Yes, we have, but as we already knew, they're incomplete. Video surveillance was lost last night briefly between 8:45 and 9:00pm. We have Mulder walking in the station, looking around, but as he approaches the security station, all the cameras go dead. By the time they come back up, there's no sign of Mulder or Brown." "What about the other nights?" Some vague idea was niggling the back of Scully's mind, and not knowing whether it was caused by the bracelet, by intuition, or simply a scientific wild-assed guess, she decided to go with it. "What do you mean?" "Have you checked the cameras at the Eastern Market station on the nights that the previous victims were taken?" "No, we haven't. The other people weren't taken from that station, Scully." He spoke carefully, gently, as if he were trying to explain to a child exactly why she couldn't have ice cream before dinner. She sighed. "I know that Chris, but maybe they were taken to that station." He started to protest, but she interrupted. "No, just hear me out. It makes sense. He would want to keep up appearances by being at work, but at the same time, he'd want to have them nearby. Someplace where he could check on them from time to time, hurt them if he felt like it, remind them who was boss. Someplace cold and dark, underground, where the noise from the trains might mask their screams..." Her voice trailed off, and she shuddered from something that might have been the ghost of a memory. "Well, I suppose it can't hurt to check it out," said Brentwell. "Although if he's down there in that subway system, it could take weeks to find him. Those tunnels go on for miles and miles." "Mulder doesn't have weeks. He has two days," came her soft reply. "Call me if you find anything." "What will you be doing?" "I've got to pay a visit to America's Most Paranoid," she joked. ** Right after I shower and change clothes. This gasoline smell is nauseating. ** She hung up the phone and headed for her bathroom. ----- Chapter Thirty-Four Office of The Lone Gunmen Undisclosed location Friday 10:15am As Scully waited somewhat impatiently for the Gunmen to determine that she was in fact Dana Scully, and not some government engineered, conspiracy driven clone, she slipped a hand into her jacket pocket to lightly touch the bracelet that lay there. ** Mulder, if this doesn't work, I don't know what else to do.** Just as she was raising her other hand to ring the doorbell a third time, she heard the sounds of multiple deadbolts and chains being disengaged on the other side of the heavy, steel door. "Finally," she muttered under her breath. The door opened to reveal Melvin Frohike, oldest of the strange trio, bent over at the waist in a formal bow. He straightened and gestured her in with a grand sweep of his arm. "Agent Scully, to what do we owe the pleasure?" Before closing the door, he craned his neck to look outside, searching the alleyway behind her. "And where's your worse half?" "That's why I'm here. I need your help." The smell of gasoline rose up once again, sudden and strong, and she looked at Frohike in surprise. "Do you smell that?" The Gunman leaned toward her, breathing in deeply. "Ah, the sweet smell of apricots. Very nice, Agent Scully." He waggled his eyebrows at her comically. "God Doohickey, shut up, you're making me sick!" Ringo Langley, the aging hippie of the group had entered the room, followed closely by John Byers. "Shut up yourself, Ringo, she asked me to smell her. What was I supposed to say, that she reeks? No wonder you can't get a date!" Byers ignored his arguing comrades and greeted Scully with a nod of his head, formal as always. "Agent Scully. What can we do for you?" Ignoring his question for the moment, she stepped between the other two Gunmen before they could come to blows. "Wait a minute!" she shouted. Once she had their attention, she looked slowly from one to the other. "You don't smell gasoline?" The trio chuckled for a moment until it became apparent that she was serious. Byers stepped forward and gave her a look of concern. "Do you, Agent Scully?" Scully saw the looks passing between the three men and decided that, given the strange request she was about to make of them, perhaps it would be best to keep her olfactory hallucinations to herself for the time being. "Never mind, it's nothing. I probably got some on my hands at the gas station. Anyway, I'm here because I need your help." She took a deep breath before continuing. "I need you to hypnotize me." Three pairs of eyebrows raised simultaneously, as they each look at the other, at a loss for words. Byers recovered first. "Does this have something to do with Mulder?" "Yes, he's missing, kidnapped, and this is the only way I can think of to find him. Look, I know it sounds crazy, and I really don't have time to explain it now, even if I could somehow make sense of it. I need you to find someone who can come here today, now, and hypnotize me, no questions asked. Can you do that?" She looked between the three of them hopefully, not knowing what she would do if they turned her down. All was quiet for a moment, until Byers spoke. "I know someone." She sank down into a chair in relief and smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you." ----- Chapter Thirty-Five Office of The Lone Gunmen Undisclosed location Friday 12:30pm The two-hour wait for the hypnotist seemed to Scully more like two days. She called twice to check on the progress of the FBI team, only to be told both times that there were no new developments in the case. She composed a list of questions that she wanted to be asked under hypnosis and made sure that there was a tape recorder with a blank tape and fresh batteries available to document her responses. She washed her hands several times, still unable to rid herself of the scent of gasoline. She even forced herself to eat some of the Chinese takeout Langley ordered for an early lunch. Yet, despite her best efforts to stay occupied during the wait, Scully still found plenty of time to second-guess herself. Was she making a huge mistake? Were there possibly other, more legitimate avenues she could be out exploring right now? Was she in fact endangering her partner further by wasting what little time she had on this insane endeavor? A month, hell, even a week ago, her answer would've been a resounding "yes!", but now she was no longer quite so certain that the possibility of some "other" power being at work here was all that ridiculous. Of course, she could never tell that to Mulder once this was all over with. She'd never live it down. A knock at the door and a sudden flurry of activity from the only three men on the planet more paranoid than her partner marked the arrival of Byers' friend, Dr. Tom Strickland. Heaven forbid they would just open the door when someone knocked on it. But no, Frohike went to the door while Langley ran to the monitor that was fed by a video surveillance camera hidden in the alleyway. Scully knew that if a visual image wasn't enough to satisfy them, they were prepared to request that the visitor place his thumb on a pad built into the door that would supply them with an instant, electronic thumbprint which they could compare to their database. As it turned out today though, that wasn't necessary. Langley gave Frohike the all-clear, and the process of turning locks and opening chains began. ----- Chapter Thirty-Six 12:45pm Scully leaned back in the Gunmen's overstuffed, navy blue recliner and considered the level of craziness her life had sunk to in the past week. She had, of her own volition, put on a bracelet and gone to sleep with the intention of finding some sort of psychic lead as to her missing partner's whereabouts, and now she was about to be hypnotized by a friend of John Byers in an attempt to retrieve that information from her subconscious. She had to admit to herself, though, Dr. Strickland didn't look at all like she'd imagined a friend of the Gunmen to look. In fact, he seemed incredibly...normal. He had graduated from Georgetown University in the top five percent of his class, and for the last ten years had run a thriving psychology practice on Pennsylvania Avenue, right down the street from the White House. His clientele included congressmen, senators, and even a few of Scully's own superiors at the Hoover Building, although doctor/client privilege kept him from naming any names. He came across as being intelligent and insightful, reading over Scully's prepared list of questions and even suggesting a few of his own that she'd overlooked. All in all, Scully was pleasantly surprised by the psychologist. She had been prepared to go through with the hypnosis even if the Amazing Kreskin had walked through the door, but luckily for her, that hadn't been the case. Scully felt herself begin to relax as Dr. Strickland prepared to start. "Ok Dana, now I want you to close your eyes, and we're going to begin with some breathing exercises to help you relax." As she followed the psychologist's instructions, Scully felt herself beginning to relax, despite her earlier fears that her extreme worry about her partner might keep her from doing so. Her body felt light, almost as if it were floating above the chair, and she knew it would soon be time for the doctor to begin. ** Ok bracelet, do your stuff, ** she thought to herself absently, before another thought whispered into her mind, ** You never put the bracelet back on. ** The doctor's face registered surprise when his seemingly tranquil subject suddenly sat up and began digging frantically in her jacket pockets. "Dana?" "Where is it? It's got to be here!" She hurriedly checked the other pocket, and there it was, nestled deep in the crevice. She held it up triumphantly before securing it to her left wrist. Leaning back in the chair once again, she looked apologetically at Dr. Strickland. "I'm sorry, doctor. Can we begin again, please?" She didn't offer any explanations, and to his credit, he kept any questions he had concerning her strange behavior to himself. His only reaction was a quick glance over the top of her head to where the three Gunmen sat behind her, close enough to hear the proceedings, yet out of her line of sight so as not to distract. She didn't have to turn around to know that the three men were exchanging quizzical looks as they each wondered silently if perhaps working with Mulder all these years had finally pushed her over the edge of sanity. The psychologist however, managed to school his features into what she knew had to be a well-practiced mask of professionalism. Scully supposed in his line of work, he was accustomed to a certain level of craziness and had learned long ago when to keep his thoughts to himself. "Alright Dana, let's try this again, shall we?" As she reclined back into the chair and closed her eyes, the psychologist nodded at Byers to restart the tape recorder. He then spent several moments leading Scully through a series of breathing exercises designed to help her relax enough to reach a hypnotic state. By the time he had finished, she appeared for all intents and purposes to be sleeping. Head back, eyes closed, her breathing was deep and even and the tension he had previously noted in her face in association with worry over her missing partner had eased into a more calm and peaceful expression. They were ready to begin. "Now Dana, I want you to imagine a place where you feel comfortable, someplace where you have felt safe and happy and protected in the past. Do you have a place like that in mind?" After a moment's pause she responded in a low, calm voice. "Yes." "Very good. I'm going to ask you some questions Dana, about your partner and his whereabouts, and I want you to focus only on the sound of my voice. If at any time you feel upset, or afraid, I will tell you to remember your safe place and you will no longer feel frightened. Are you ready to begin, Dana?" "Yes." "Ok. I want you to think back to this morning. You were in your apartment, in your bed, asleep. Did you have a dream?" "Yes." "Can you remember what that dream was about?" "Mulder. I was talking to Mulder." "You dreamed that you were talking to your partner?" "Yes...well...no. I was talking to Mulder through my dream, not dreaming that I was talking to him." The doctor frowned in confusion. "Isn't that the same thing?" "No. I was asleep, but I wasn't dreaming. I was there with Mulder." "You're saying you could see your partner? Where he's being kept? That you actually spoke with him?" Had Scully not been under hypnosis, she might have laughed at the incredulous tone the psychologist wasn't quite able to keep from his voice. "Yes." "What did you talk about?" "I asked him where he was. It looked like some sort of subway tunnel, but it wasn't being used to run trains. It wasn't as large as the working tunnels. He said he thought that they never left the Eastern Market station, but he didn't know for certain. He was hurt." "Can you describe Agent Mulder's injuries?" "He has multiple contusions to the left side of his face. His left eye is swollen shut. I believe he has a concussion. Possibly some fractured ribs. That's the worst of it so far." "What do you mean 'so far'?" "He's covered in gasoline. That monster intends to burn him. Alive." This came out as a tremulous whisper. A gasp from one of the observers brought the doctor's gaze to Frohike. "She's been complaining about smelling gasoline ever since she got here," he said quietly. Strickland returned his attention to his patient. "Ok Dana, can you try and describe to me the place where your partner is being held? Maybe we can figure out where it is." "I know where he is." "You said that your partner didn't know where he was being kept." "I found out where they are from Brown instead." Her calm demeanor was marred by a sneer as she fairly spat the man's name. "Who is Brown?" "The bastard who took Mulder. Stuart Brown. Except that's not really his name. That's just the name he's using now." "You spoke with your partner's captor?" "No. Of course not. Brown couldn't see or hear me." Strickland's eyebrows were raised questioningly, although the expression was lost on the woman before him. "If he wasn't aware of your presence, then how did he tell you his location?" "He didn't have to tell me. I touched him." "You touched him? I don't understand." "I touched him, and I knew what he knows." She shuddered a bit from the memory. "About five feet from the security kiosk on the platform level of the Eastern Market metro station, there is a door which leads to a supply room. At the end of that room there is another door hidden behind a shelving unit which leads to an unfinished tunnel. It is approximately 1,500 feet long and runs parallel to the active tunnels. It was originally meant to be used as a service and repair tunnel, but before its completion the DCMTA decided to do that elsewhere, and construction was halted. Now it's not used for anything. Most people don't even know it's there. The only other way in or out is by a door at the far end of the tunnel which leads to the eastbound tunnel of the blue line. Brown learned about it through some old blueprints he dug up on the internet two years ago and was fascinated by the thought of a secret tunnel under the ground. That's when he set out to do whatever it took to ensure that he had access to that tunnel. He set himself up with a false identity, with a squeaky- clean history, and was soon hired by Metro. With the exemplary background he created for himself, being assigned to the station of his choice was no problem. He gets off on knowing that they're so close to him, even when he's working. He likes knowing he can sneak in there whenever he pleases, that he can make them...scream...and no one can hear them. The noise from the trains masks their cries for help." Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat before continuing. "He won't wait until Sunday to kill Mulder. He's supposed to wait three days, but he won't this time. He's said what he wanted to say, and there's no more need for him to stick with the pattern. He's going to kill him today. Then he's going to slip away and become someone else. I have to go find him." Her words took on a tone of urgency as she told of the fate that Brown had planned for her partner. The doctor tried to relieve some of her distress. "Dana, you're getting upset. I want you to calm down and listen to me. Do you remember the safe place we talked about earlier? I want you to think about that place now, and let it help to relax you. You're safe here." Instead of the desired effect, the doctor's admonition served only to agitate Scully further. "No! Time's running out. I have to get to Mulder. I'll relax when Mulder's safe. Wake me up. I've got to go." The psychologist scanned the list in his hand. Despite his subjects' entreaty to be released from hypnosis, he knew that her upset would be even greater should they leave any questions unanswered. It seemed to him that they had more or less covered all of the questions Scully had wanted to be asked, save one. And though he didn't honestly believe there was any way she could possibly know the answer, he asked it anyway. "Alright Dana, we're almost finished here," he soothed. " Just one more question and then you can go find your partner. Is there anything you can think of to tell me that will be helpful to you later? Anything that you feel you need to remember in order to successfully find and aid your partner? A...warning, perhaps?" She was quiet for a moment as she considered the question. "I have to go in, alone, unarmed. If he sees a weapon, he won't hesitate to ignite the gasoline. He's not afraid to die, and if he senses he has no other choice, he'll do everything in his power to take Mulder with him. I have to get him to come after me. And when he does...I don't know...I can't see it." She stopped, clearly frustrated, then began again. "All I know is that the way I want to go, the way logic tells me to go, is going to be wrong. If I go that way, I will be killed. I don't know why, or how, only that it's true." An unnatural light coaxed the psychologist's eyes away from Scully's face and down to her left wrist to where the moonstones in her bracelet had once again taken on their mysterious glow. He nearly jumped out of his chair in surprise. "What the hell?" The three men seated behind Scully came forward to see what had captured the doctor's attention. Frohike was the first to recover his voice. "Wicked! Is it hot?" He reached out a tentative finger towards the bracelet, stopping only when it was jerked away from his touch at the last second. For the first time since the session had begun, Scully opened her eyes and regarded him steadily. "I need to go find my partner now." That said, her eyes once again slid closed as she sat quietly waiting for the commands that would release her from hypnosis. ----- Chapter Thirty-Seven 1:10pm "You can't do this." As she reached out to eject the tape from the recorder, Scully felt a hand atop her own. Looking up at the owner of that hand, she was surprised to see concern in place of the comical leer usually reserved exclusively for her. "I have to, Frohike. You heard...what I said. Mulder's life depends on it." She gently shook him off and collected the cassette tape. "Yes, but at the expense of your own?" He begged the other three men for support with a single, beseeching look. "Hopefully it won't come to that," was her reply. "Besides. Mulder would do it for me." "Agent Scully, shouldn't you at least tell someone what you're doing? Shouldn't you have some kind of back-up?" Byers injected. "If I tell Skinner or the SAC about this, I won't be allowed to go in alone. It's against Bureau protocol," she explained patiently. "Besides, they'll want to know where I got my information, and what will I tell them? I saw it in a dream? They'll think I'm crazier than Mulder," she smiled. The psychologist saw his opening and took it. "Dana, I know that sometimes dreams can seem extremely realistic, and while they may sometimes contain certain fragments of what we call reality, they are still exactly that. Dreams. Nothing more than a series of ideas or images created and strung together by our subconscious during sleep. How can you even be sure this hidden tunnel exists?" "I just know." At his disbelieving look, she chuckled. "Believe me Dr. Strickland, if you had asked me that question a week ago, I would have agreed with you wholeheartedly." She nodded her head toward the Gunmen. "These guys can tell you, I've never been one to believe in something without hard scientific evidence to back it up. That's my partner's department. Some...things have happened over the last several days that I can't even begin to explain, and yet, I can't discount them either. Just the knowledge that they happened at all, to me, is evidence in and of itself. I know I'm not making much sense here, and I don't really have time to explain it all to you now, but I have reason to believe that the dream I had was more than just the worried imaginings of my own subconscious. Reason enough at least, to set aside my own doubts for the moment. For Mulder's sake." "Lucky bastard," Frohike mumbled under his breath as Scully turned and headed for the door. She stopped with her hand on the knob, and smiled. "You be sure and tell him that the next time you see him, Frohike." She sobered for a moment, regarding the group. "I appreciate your help, as well as your concern. I don't know what I would've done without you guys. Now, will one of you show me how to open this door?" Waiting patiently to one side while Langley went to work on the multitude of locks securing the exit, Scully studied Frohike thoughtfully. He held her gaze nervously for a moment before bursting out, "What?" She narrowed her eyes at him contemplatively. "You wouldn't be thinking about ratting me out, would you Frohike?" His eyes widened in surprise before he quickly lowered his gaze to the floor. "No, of course not," he lied. **How did she know that? ** he thought. She snorted in amusement as Langley finished his task and held the door open so she could pass through. "Good. See that you don't. I'd hate to have to kick your ass." Once she was out of earshot, Frohike shook his head, muttering to himself, "God, she's hot." Continued in Part 9... Title: Nocturnal Perception (9 of 12) Author: Jen Green Chapter Thirty-Eight Eastern Market Metro Station Friday 1:30pm The knot in Scully's stomach grew exponentially larger for every foot the escalator descended into the depths of the earth. As she took in the people around her, businessmen commuting to or from work, tourists off to take in the sights of the nation's capital, a young twenty-something in a suit on her way downtown for a job interview, Scully couldn't contain the thought that they were sinking ever deeper into the bowels of Hell, and she wondered idly how her fellow travelers would react to the knowledge that the devil was waiting for them at the bottom, rather than a subway train. She hoped fervently that they'd never have to find out. Taking note of the fact that none of her fellow agents appeared to be in the vicinity as she reached the end of the escalator, she flipped open her badge and ID, presenting them to the Transit Policeman seated within the security kiosk. He immediately pointed off to her right and began directing her to a briefing currently being held in a meeting room on the other side of the station, but Scully could hear none of his words over the sound of her heart pounding furiously in her ears. There, no more than five feet beyond the security booth, was a door. Exactly where she'd said it would be. "...and once you reach that hall, it's the second door on your left." It was only as he reached the end of his speech that the officer noticed his directions were falling on deaf ears. "Ma'am?" Dragging her eyes away from the door, Scully gave the man what she hoped would pass as a reassuring smile. "Actually, I'd like to take a look around, if you don't mind." At his disinterested shrug, Scully headed for the door, only to be stopped by him a moment later. "Ma'am? That's only the supply room," he told her. "I know," she nodded. "Do you have a flashlight I could borrow?" He rummaged around for a moment before coming up with a sturdy black Maglight. "There is an overhead light in there, you know," he said, as he tested the batteries on the light. "Ok," she said agreeably, and held out her hand. She hoped he wasn't waiting for an explanation, because he wasn't going to get one. She just wanted to get the flashlight and go find her partner before that briefing ended and the station was once again crawling with FBI agents. Apparently the officer decided that the idiosyncrasies of this one agent after dealing with so many of them over the past day or two weren't all that interesting, and he surrendered the flashlight without another word. Turning his attention back to the station's security monitors, he missed the grimace that crossed her face as the smooth metal first made contact with her palm. Scully hurriedly headed once again for the door, tossing a quick "thanks" over her shoulder. Once she was inside the supply room, she leaned back against the door, eyes closed, and exhaled slowly. It had been unexpected, the sudden knowledge that Brown had used this very tool to knock her partner unconscious, and she could still feel the vibration in her hands that he must have felt as the heavy, steel flashlight had made contact with Mulder's skull. It wasn't a pleasant sensation. Finally satisfied that she could proceed without dropping the light, Scully moved toward the far end of the small room wondering how on earth there could be a door hidden here that every other person searching this room had thus far failed to find. Approximately a ten foot by ten foot square, there didn't appear to be too many places for a hidden door to be found. The wall to her right held a tool cabinet no higher than four feet tall and three feet wide. No door. Stacked along the opposite wall were various janitorial supplies: a mop and bucket, boxes of paper towels and toilet tissue, bottles of glass cleaner and disinfecting bathroom cleaner, but no evidence of a door here either, hidden or otherwise, which left only one remaining wall. The back wall was almost entirely obscured by a floor-to-ceiling shelving unit filled to capacity with boxes of supplies, most likely blank farecards for the ticket machines, video tapes for the security cameras, office supplies, and whatever else a Metro station would find it impossible to get through the day without. Scully wondered idly how she could ever get the unit moved without pulling it over on top of herself. It looked pretty damn heavy. It didn't appear that unloading the supplies from it would be of much help either, because unlike most shelving units, this one didn't have the back cut out of it. ** Great. ** She walked to the left end of the monstrosity, trying to search the wall behind it for a door, but even the flashlight didn't cast enough light for her to see clearly. Frustrated, she gave the unit an experimental shove, and jumped in surprise when it actually moved a few inches. She crouched down for a closer inspection. "I'll be damned. It's on hidden casters!" With renewed determination, Scully managed to move one end of the supply-laden shelves far enough away from the wall to put an end to any speculation as to what may or may not be hidden there. "Well Monty," she said softly, "I believe I'll take what's behind door number 2." ----- Chapter Thirty-Nine Office of the Lone Gunmen Undisclosed Location Friday 1:35pm "Frohike, sit down already, will you? You're making me nervous!" exclaimed Langley. Ignoring his friend, the older man continued pacing the perimeter of the room like a caged animal. "She's gonna get herself killed. We need to call someone," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "Agent Scully asked us not to," Byers answered. "She's a trained federal agent, Frohike. She can take care of herself." "Yeah, well, she's not acting like a federal agent at the moment. She's acting like...actually, she's acting just like Mulder. And you know how pissed off she gets when he runs off without telling anyone!" He changed direction suddenly, making a beeline for the telephone. "I'm calling Skinner. What's the number for the FBI...switchboard?" His train of thought was interrupted by a single sheet of folded-up paper tucked under the edge of the telephone, his name written across it in feminine handwriting. He picked it up, trying to remember if it had been there hours earlier, when they'd called Tom Strickland, and decided that it had not. Curious, he unfolded the paper, and gasped at its contents. Frohike- If you call the switchboard, they'll never put you through. Try this number instead. (202) 555-5719. -Scully "What the? How did she know?" he whispered to himself. He dialed the number before handing the paper over to Byers and Langley. As the phone rang once, twice, three times, he watched his two friends exchange incredulous looks. Convinced that no one was going to answer, Frohike moved to hang up when a gravelly male voice boomed over the line. "Skinner." ----- Chapter Forty Assistant Director Walter Skinner's Office J. Edgar Hoover Building Friday 1:38pm Only the soft scratching of a pencil on paper and the occasional interjection of a harshly barked question interrupted the quiet of the room. "Where?" A location was hastily scribbled down. "Ummhmm. How long ago?" He balanced the phone to his ear with his left shoulder, freeing the hand not busy writing to rub at his temples. Scully was getting to be as bad as Mulder. Worse even. At least with Mulder, this kind of behavior was expected. Satisfied he had all the necessary information, he dropped the pencil and leaned back in his chair. "May I ask how you came by this information?" he questioned. He grew impatient as the informant hemmed and hawed on the other end of the line. "Fine. Never mind. I'll just ask Agent Scully after I've finished wringing her neck." Hanging up the phone, he ignored the intercom on his desk in favor of the direct approach. "Kim!" he bellowed to his secretary. "I need Chris Brentwell on the phone right away!" ----- Chapter Forty-One Eastern Market Metro Station Friday 1:40pm Leaving behind her suit jacket and weapon, Scully took a deep breath, passed quickly through the surprisingly heavy door, and closed it behind her with a dull thud. She stood quietly in the absolute darkness, listening intently for any indication that she was not alone. After several moments of hearing nothing more than the occasional rumbling of a passing train in a nearby active tunnel, she switched on the flashlight. Despite the lack of any other illumination, the beam was bright enough for her to discern the hexagonal terra-cotta tiles beneath her feet as well as the waffle-like concrete slabs that made up the curved walls and ceiling - decor that was typical Metro station design, as well as an exact match to what she could remember from her dream. A shiver passed through her that had less to do with being jacketless in the cool air of this subterranean hallway than it did with the overwhelming sense of deja vu that she felt at this revelation. She had been here before. Mulder was here now. The knowledge that her partner was nearby prompted her feet into action. Moving cautiously down the length of the tunnel, Scully was careful to keep the beam of the flashlight trained only far enough in front of her to ensure she didn't trip over anything. Apparently the decision to halt construction on this particular part of the station had been an abrupt one - the ground was littered with piles of unused tiles, broken pieces of concrete blocks, abandoned sawhorses, buckets of long-ago hardened grout, and various other types of building-related trash. A twenty- foot-long piece of machinery appearing to be a section of escalator lay along the left side of the wall, indicating that despite the tunnel's incompletion it had at one point at least been used for storage. The thick layer of grime and dust covering the escalator, however, signified that that point had been quite some time in the past. Now the tunnel held the musty air of long-time unuse, and had Scully not known better, she would have sworn that it's very existence had been completely forgotten. Unfortunately though, she could think of one person who was well aware of this passage and it's possible uses. Now more than halfway down the tunnel, she was able to make out the nearly indiscernible sound of voices. Estimating herself to be no more than three hundred feet away, she found she still couldn't make out any of their words, and marveled at the incredible amount of insulation that must have been used in these tunnels. It was amazing to her that the very thing used to make a more comfortable subway experience for its passengers had also allowed this maniac to murder four of them with impunity. Scully stopped dead in her tracks as without warning her mind filled with images of a laughing Brown, encouraging the man she had autopsied, John Jasen, to "go ahead, call for help, scream as loud as you want." The poor man yelled himself hoarse, encouraged by the sounds of the passing trains, so close, just a few feet away, right on the other side of that wall, and full of people...people who never once heard his pleas for help, his cries of terror, or his screams of pain as Brown fell upon him at last with those scissors. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she willed the gruesome images away, and when she opened them once again, she sighed with relief at the dark, deserted tunnel before her. She didn't know if what she'd just experienced was her imagination at work, or a memory from her dream, but it really didn't matter. That was not going to happen to Mulder, she determined. Her partner would not die alone at the hands of this madman while just a few feet away sat two hundred people blissfully unaware of his predicament. She would see to that. She moved faster now, suddenly desperate to single out Mulder's voice from the muffled tones reaching her through the darkness, needing to hear that she wasn't already too late. The tunnel began a gentle curve to the right ahead of her and she plunged forward, not slowing until she was finally able to recognize two distinct voices, one of them weak and full of pain, yet unmistakably Mulder. Scully felt a moment of relief at hearing that her partner was alive and conscious until she drew near enough to actually hear what he was saying. Then it was all she could do not to gasp out loud. "So, what do you think of this, G-man?" As Brown taunted Mulder, Scully could practically see the maniacal grin in his voice. "I think you should put the lighter away," Mulder returned. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to play with fire? You might get burned." Scully was close enough now to hear the slight tremor in his voice. Mulder was scared. Not that she blamed him a bit, but Mulder never seemed to fear for himself, only for her when she was in danger. The fact that he was frightened now told her that he had given up any hope of getting out of here alive. "Ha," Brown snorted, "My dear old mom didn't stick around long enough to teach me much of anything. But don't worry, I don't need that bitch to tell me that the only one about to get burnt is you." He laughed, and the sound of it made Scully's blood run cold. **Keep him talking Mulder**, she thought. **I'm almost there.** She could see the faint flickering ahead of the single candle that had been present in her dream. Switching off the flashlight, she set it quietly on the ground, pausing for a moment to allow her eyes to readjust. She thought about carrying it with her as a possible weapon, but dismissed the notion after a moment's consideration. At the very least, Brown would have Mulder's gun, and what good would a flashlight do her then? It was better just to leave it behind and keep both hands free, she decided. Almost as if he had heard her silent entreaty, Mulder spoke again. "How old were you when your mom left?" There was another awful bark of laughter from Brown. "Did I say she left?" he inquired mildly. "My old man killed her when I was four." "That must have been tough, losing your mother at such a young age," Mulder said sympathetically. Scully was as near as she could get to the pair without giving away her location, thankful for the curve in the tunnel that had allowed her to get this close without being seen. Risking a quick glance around the corner, she saw Brown move up into Mulder's face, his eyes shining with rage. They were no more than twenty feet away from her. "You shut up!" he screamed. "You don't know a damned thing about my pitiful excuse for a mother. She never did me any favors. The booze would've killed her if dad hadn't." "Why do you hate her so much?" Mulder asked quietly. "Because she couldn't protect you from him?" "That's it!" Brown yelled, putting the lighter directly in front of Mulder's nose. "This little therapy session is now over, G- man. I hope you like it hot." With a flick of his thumb he lit the flame, bringing it slowly, tauntingly towards the hair on the uninjured side of Mulder's head. Hoping to God she wasn't about to get them both killed, Scully decided it was now or never. She quickly rounded the curve in the tunnel, stopping about fifteen feet away from the two men. Continued in Part 10... Title: Nocturnal Perception (10 of 12) Author: Jen Green Chapter Forty-Two "Brown!" Two pairs of eyes looked up in surprise at the sudden intrusion, one hazel and full of hope, the other blue and full of maniacal rage. Recovering quickly, Brown moved to stand behind Mulder's chair, placing his hostage between himself and Scully. He thrust one hand roughly into the hair of the bound man, pulling his head back until Mulder gave a tiny, involuntary moan of pain. "Don't come any closer," Brown warned, "unless you came to attend the barbeque." In his free hand he held a silver lighter, which he ignited with the flick of a thumb. "I suggest you pass that message along to anyone else you brought with you, as well. My friend here has had a nice gasoline bath, with a little rocket fuel mixed in for good measure, so just one little kiss from Zippo here, and he's toast." He smiled, and Scully could see how he had managed to pull off all of the previous murders right under the noses of the Metro Transit Authority, the DC Police Department, and the FBI. With his blonde, close cut hair, sparkling blue eyes, and boyish grin, Brown epitomized the proverbial "boy next door". No one would ever suspect that inside this well-toned, clean-cut poster child for the Boy Scouts of America beat the heart of a madman. "And don't even think about shooting me, hoping that I'll drop this lighter. It stays lit, and I'll make sure I drop it right on my friend, Agent Mulder, here." To prove his point, he removed his thumb from the button of the lighter, and the orange flame continued to burn. Scully spread her arms out wide in a conciliatory gesture. "I'm not armed," she said softly. "And no one else knows I'm here, either." Keeping her hands up, she turned around slowly in place, allowing him to see for himself that there were no weapons concealed on her person. Completing her circle, she stopped and waited, keeping her eyes locked with Brown's, while he judged the sincerity of her words. She knew that if he didn't believe she was alone, he wouldn't hesitate to kill Mulder right here in front of her, determined that if he was going to die, he wouldn't be going alone. Everything in this insane rescue attempt, and Scully decided that she must indeed be insane to be here alone and unarmed with no real plan to speak of, depended on Brown accepting her word and letting down his guard. Somehow she knew that if she could just get him away from Mulder, everything would be alright. Brown said nothing as he continued to study her with narrowed eyes. Scully stood her ground and stared back, fighting the urge to turn around and survey the tunnel behind her. Certainly Frohike had called Skinner by now, and it wouldn't be long before Brentwell and his agents arrived. In her mind's eye she could see Chris Brentwell and six agents dressed in combat gear huddled around an aged blueprint scrutinizing the schematics of a tunnel no one had remembered existed. Over the agent's shoulder was a large shelving unit that covered an entire wall...She blinked slowly and the image faded away. She needed to get this show on the road, now, but didn't know what else she could do to earn Brown's trust. In the end, she didn't have to do anything. Mulder did it for her. During her stare-down with Brown, she could feel her partner's gaze searching her face, trying to decide for himself if she was bluffing. She knew the instant he reached a conclusion, because he immediately began to struggle in his captor's grip. "Jesus, Scully, are you nuts? Get the hell out of here," he hissed. That honest reaction from his hostage seemed to be the deciding factor for Brown. He blew out the lighter and released his grip on Mulder's hair, satisfied for the moment that he was still in charge of the situation. "Yes, Special Agent Scully, enlighten us. It's Dana, isn't it? Just what is it you hope to accomplish here, Dana?" Her eyes met Mulder's for the first time, and she felt only the mildest surprise, not at his battered appearance, but at the fact that she had already known exactly how he would look. "I came to get my partner," she said quietly. "Remember Mulder?" His eyes left hers for a moment as he took in the bracelet on her left wrist, and when they returned, she could see he remembered their shared dream. He nodded slowly. Brown nodded too, the wide grin firmly back in place on his handsome face. "That's very touching," he said. "You two must be pretty close. How very fitting that you're going to die together." Brown moved away from Mulder, walking towards the shadows off to the left side of the tunnel. Abruptly, Scully became aware of several things at once. Although there had been no sound, no indication at all, she knew without a doubt that Brentwell and his team were now entering the tunnel and would be here within minutes. She was also positive that Brown was going for the gun that he'd taken from Mulder. Her mind raced as she scanned the end of the tunnel trying desperately to come up with a solution to this situation that didn't result in a shootout between Brown and the FBI with her and Mulder caught in the crossfire. Twenty feet beyond the glow of the candlelight, the tunnel ended abruptly, but there seemed to be a small recess on the right side, the side that shared a wall with the neighboring tunnel. The recess seemed to be the right size and shape to possibly be...a door? Searching her memory, she recalled her own voice, nearly unrecognizable as such on the cassette tape of her hypnosis... "the only other way in or out is by a door at the far end of the tunnel which leads to the eastbound tunnel of the blue line." That was it, she decided. Somehow she had to get Brown to follow her into the other tunnel. Preferably before he picked up the gun. "The only one who's going to die here today is you, Bobby," she said as she moved closer to Mulder, closer to the end of the tunnel. It was only after the words where out that she thought to question them. **Bobby? What the hell?** Distracted from his task, Brown whirled on her, all traces of humor gone from his face. "What did you call me?" "I called you Bobby. Would you prefer Robert? That is your real name, isn't it? Robert Neidert?" "How do you know that?" he questioned darkly, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He stalked slowly towards where she now stood alongside Mulder, the gun all but forgotten. "How do you know that?" he shouted. **Believe me, buddy, I wish I knew the answer to that one myself,** she thought. Out loud she said, "I know all about you, Bobby. I know about Houston. And Syracuse. Chicago. You've been a busy boy. Only thirty-four years old and you've already killed 27 people. You must be so proud," she said sarcastically. "Oh, I think that number's about to increase," he said. "By two." Scully could practically feel the FBI team moving closer and closer. This was taking way too long. She needed him to be so pissed off that he'd forget all about Mulder, and that gun, and come after her. She risked a quick glance at Mulder, who had been quietly observing the exchange between her and Brown. Scully saw concern in his hazel eyes, not for himself, but for her. It was if he knew somehow what she was planning, and she realized that after so many years together, that was probably the case. Being able to know what the other was thinking was part of what made them such a good team. She gave him a tiny smile of reassurance before focusing once again on the lunatic before them. "I know about the cellar, Bobby." His blue eyes darkened until they were the dark gray steel hue of the ocean before a storm. He said nothing as he circled around in front of Mulder, effectively cutting off any chance of escape through the entrance of the tunnel. Simultaneously she moved from her partner's left side until she stood behind him, her hand squeezing his shoulder gently once. She could feel him tense beneath her fingers in anticipation of whatever was to come next. "I know about that time when you were seven, Bobby, and your dad locked you in the cellar. The school bus got a flat tire, and you were late getting home, isn't that right?" "Shut up," he whispered. "He told you what an irresponsible little bastard you were and locked you in the cellar, with no food, no water, and left you there. And when you cried and banged on the door, begging him to let you out, what did he do? He turned out the light, didn't he Bobby?" "I said shut the fuck up!" "He turned out the light and left you there, all alone in that cold, dark cellar, just you and the rats, for three days, right Bobby? Three agonizingly long, terrifying days. I bet you thought he wasn't coming back, didn't you? You thought he was just going to leave you there until you died of starvation, or thirst, or fear, or a combination of the three. And after the second day, when you broke down and drank your own urine because you were so thirsty you couldn't stand it anymore, you wished you were dead, didn't you Bobby? You wished he would just come back and kill you and get it over with. Is that why you like this place so much? Does it remind you of that cellar, Bobby?" She began to slowly back away from him, towards the end of the tunnel, anticipating his reaction. "You're going to wish you were dead by the time I'm finished with you, you bitch!" he ground out harshly as he tossed the lighter he still held to one side and lunged for her. Scully turned and ran for the door, half-expecting to feel a hand on her arm as an enraged Brown, or Neidert, or whatever the hell his name was, grabbed hold of her. A sudden crash and groan of pain from Mulder stopped her in her tracks. **You're supposed to come after me**, she thought. Fearing the worst, she turned quickly, and was surprised by what she saw. Neidert hadn't attacked her partner, after all. Somehow Mulder had managed to tip his chair over into the madman's path, using himself as a human speed bump to buy her a little time. Not much though, as Neidert was already picking himself up off the ground. "Scully, run," Mulder wheezed. That little maneuver probably hadn't done his already injured ribs any good, she thought, as she took his advice. She hoped for Mulder's sake that one of those men in blue rapidly approaching the bend in the tunnel was a medic. When she was about five feet from the door, Scully risked a glance behind her. Neidert was about fifteen feet back, and gaining. "Right behind you, Dana," he sneered. As she hit the door and stumbled into the eastbound tunnel of the Metro Blue line, she wondered vaguely what she would have done if it had been locked. ----- Chapter Forty-Three Eastern Market Metro Station Friday 2:00pm "Where's Brentwell?" Special Agent Donald Peterson looked up in annoyance at the harshly barked question, intending to put its inquisitor in his place for such a display of rudeness. That plan was changed significantly when he realized just who the man before him, waiting rather impatiently for an answer, was. "Assistant Director Skinner! Uh, Agent Brentwell and his team are in the tunnel, sir," he said nervously. "What's going on down there? Have they located Agents Mulder and Scully yet?" Suddenly Peterson wished he could be anywhere else on earth but where he was. He knew this particular AD only by reputation, but even that was enough for him to know that he didn't want to be the one passing on this information. "We, uh, don't exactly know, right now, Sir." "Excuse me? Agent, what is your name?" "It's Donald Peterson, Sir." "And please enlighten me, Agent Peterson, how it is that we 'don't exactly know' what's going on with this investigation?" His voice was deceptively calm, but Peterson could feel the tension coming off of him in waves. "Well, Sir, Agent Brentwell and six men from his team entered the tunnel approximately ten minutes ago, after finding what we believe to be Agent Scully's service weapon and jacket in that supply room over there," he indicated the door behind the security kiosk, hoping to at least momentarily direct the man's steely gaze anywhere other than at himself. Skinner, however, wasn't so easily distracted. "Go on," he coaxed. "We were in constant contact with them as they made their way down the tunnel, which according to the blueprints, is approximately fifteen hundred feet long. They were about halfway down the length, when the radios, uh, gave out. We lost contact. We're not sure why, Sir. Something is interfering with the signal, either something in the construction of that tunnel, or the trains are on the same frequency, we just don't know. Agent Andrews is working on it, trying to get them back, but hasn't made any progress yet. In the last communication, they heard voices coming from the far end of the tunnel, but hadn't yet made a visual confirmation. That was about five minutes ago." Skinner closed his eyes briefly and ran his hands over his head in a gesture that had to be reminiscent of days long gone when there used to actually be something there to run his fingers through. "Has anyone else gone down there?" "No Sir, Agent Brentwell told us to wait." "Ok, so let's see if I have this straight. There is a killer running around loose somewhere inside this metro station. Our first strike team is incommunicado, no one else has gone in to investigate further, and we still have commuters running around here as if nothing were going on. Do I have it right so far?" Peterson lowered his eyes to the ground. When he put it like that... "Yes Sir, that's about right," he said apologetically. To Peterson's surprise, the Assistant Director shook his head and gave a short bark of laughter, saying something under his breath that sounded like "only Mulder and Scully". When he looked back to Peterson, however, all traces of amusement were gone from his visage. "Ok, first of all, I want this station cleared out of all civilians. Now. I don't care how you do it, but I want everybody out of here, and I want no less than six agents at the doors to make sure they stay out. Second, get on the line with whoever is in charge of the running of these trains over at Metro's central headquarters. I don't want any passengers disembarking here. Until further notice, all trains are to bypass this station. And finally, get me a vest and two agents. I'm going down there." ----- Chapter Forty-Four Eastern Market Metro Station Friday 2:00pm Dana Scully burst into the Blue line tunnel and found herself on the edge of a tiny alcove, no more than eighteen inches deep. Careful to avoid the two high-voltage rails that powered the subway cars, she jumped from the tiny ledge to the tunnel floor, instinctively heading to her right, towards the east, and the safety of the station platform, still some fifteen hundred feet away. She took a half a step in that direction, and stopped suddenly, the mysterious tape recorder in her brain once again kicking in, as she 'heard' her own voice fill her ears... "all I know is that the way I want to go, the way logic tells me to go, is going to be wrong. If I go that way, I will be killed." She stood in the center of the tunnel, torn with indecision. Certainly to continue further into the tunnel was suicide. She had no knowledge whatsoever of these passages, while her pursuer had apparently spent quite some time studying them. Even if she somehow managed to avoid being hit by an approaching train, Neidert was sure to catch her. Everything in her cried out to go towards the platform, towards help. She had learned from their recent research on this case that these tunnels held an emergency call box every eight hundred feet, a phone that was built into a tiny alcove, safe from the passing trains. Straining her eyes, she could barely make out a weak blue light to the east, maybe five or six hundred feet away. To the west, the tunnel curved rightwards as it made it's way toward the Capital South station. Beyond fifty feet or so, she could see nothing. Behind her, the door slammed open, ending any more chance she had for debate. In an act of blind faith that would've made her partner proud, she turned and ran west, deeper into the tunnel. ----- Chapter Forty-Five Eastern Market Metro Station Friday 2:01pm Mulder tried to force himself to take deep, even breaths, but the stabbing pain in his left side on each inhalation made the effort futile. He lay on his side, still bound tightly to the wooden chair, the injured side of his face pressed lightly to the cool tile. There had been no sound whatsoever since that maniac had followed Scully through the tunnel door. He wasn't yet sure if that were a good or bad thing. He lay there with his eyes closed, trying to ignore the staccato beat currently being played on his brain by this latest concussion in favor of any kind of sound that might indicate his partner's safety. So focused was he on this endeavor, that he never noticed the approach of the cavalry. "Agent Mulder!" Mulder's eyes snapped open as he was suddenly surrounded by FBI agents, but he found it difficult to focus on any particular face. His chair was righted, and the sudden movement nearly caused him to lose consciousness. His head fell forward and he groaned as he struggled against the dizziness that enveloped him. He had to stay awake. For Scully. Chris Brentwell crouched before the injured man. "Agent Mulder, can you hear me? Can you tell me what happened?" He gestured to one of the other agents. "Get these restraints off him." As the agent went to work on his bonds, Mulder raised his head and blinked several times until Brentwell's face came into focus. Now that he was upright, he was finding it even harder to breathe. It felt like a hot poker was pressing into his side with each breath. "Scully...Brown...followed her into the tunnel...that way..." He jerked his head in the direction of the door his partner had gone through, wincing as a sharp pain lanced through his head at the movement. "Got to...stop the trains..." he wheezed. "Ok Mulder, we'll take care of it. Don't worry," Brentwell soothed. "Agent Chang." A petite, Asian woman in her late twenties, her straight black hair pulled back into a severe ponytail stepped over. To Mulder, she appeared to be even smaller than Scully. "Yes sir?" "Agent, is it my understanding that you currently hold the Quantico record for fastest Women's Hundred Meter Dash in the history of the Academy?" "Actually sir, it was the Thousand Meter, and it was fastest men's or women's time," she smiled. "Even better," he replied. "I need you to get a message to Agent Peterson. Tell him I want all trains between the Capital South station to our west and the Potomac Avenue station to our east stopped immediately. I don't care where they are or who's on them, I want them stopped. We've got an agent out there on that track somewhere. Also, have him call an ambulance and get a stretcher down here for Agent Mulder. Quickly, Agent." At that, she was already off and running towards the beginning of the tunnel, her "Yes sir!" an afterthought tossed back to him over her shoulder. "Paige, Ziegler, you two stay here with Agent Mulder until the EMTs arrive. White, Kramer, and Odbert, you three come with me." Weapons in hand, the four agents headed for the door at the end of the tunnel. ----- Chapter Forty-Six Eastbound Blue Line Metro Train Friday 2:02pm Scott Wells picked up the microphone and prepared to pass along the message he'd just received to his passengers. This was going to piss off a few people, he was sure. In his experience, most folks just didn't take well to a change in plans, especially if that change took them a few miles out of their way. Yep, they were going to be ticked, and most likely at him. Not too many people seemed to realize that the Metro train operators didn't actually run the trains. No sir, that was all done at the Metro Headquarters Building via computer. His job was mainly to open and close the doors, announce the stops, and occasionally pass along messages like the one he was about to deliver. **Oh well, best get it over with,** he thought. "Attention Blue Line passengers: I've just received word of a temporary closure at our Eastern Market station due to a possible power outage. We have been ordered to bypass this station without stopping until further notice. Our next stop will be Potomac Avenue. At that time, any passengers needing to return to the Eastern Market area may do so via shuttle bus, free of charge. The DC Metropolitan Transit Authority apologizes for any inconvenience this may cause." ----- Chapter Forty-Seven Eastern Market Metro Station Friday 2:03pm Scully moved as quickly down the dark tunnel as she dared, wishing more than anything for a flashlight. The low, droning hum of the high-voltage rails was a constant companion, sounding not at all unlike an angry hive of bees daring anyone to try and steal the fruits of their labor. Scully knew that one wrong step in either direction would carry a much more deadly sting than any insect. Not wanting to lose ground by looking, she judged by the curses and threats coming from Neidert that he was between ten and fifteen feet behind her, apparently just as wary with his steps as she. She estimated that they had traveled perhaps seventy-five feet down the tunnel when Scully heard a sound that made her blood run cold. From somewhere up ahead, around the never-ending northwestward curve of the tunnel that obscured the view that she wasn't quite sure she wanted to witness anyway, came the low, rumbling drone that could only signify one thing: the approach of an oncoming train. Apparently Neidert heard it too, for his constant, rambling narrative of all the things he was going to do when he caught her ended abruptly. Not nearly far enough ahead for her liking, Scully heard the whine of the car's dynamic brakes as it slowed down in preparation for the sharp curve that she and Neidert were at the far end of. She gave up all pretense of caution and simply ran as hard as she could, her eyes straining for a glimpse of the tiny blue glow representing her salvation. From the train, at least. The last emergency phone had been at least seven hundred feet in the other direction. The next one had to be close. Finally she saw it, twenty feet ahead and on the right, so near, and at the same time so far away. The approaching train was so close now she could feel it's vibrations in her teeth, and worse yet, she could see the first glow of its headlights shining around the curve of the tunnel. Fifteen feet, then ten, she could still hear the screeching of the brakes ahead of her, and imagined she heard the harsh breath of the monster behind her. Not daring to hope that someone knew they were there and might stop the train in time, she forced herself to move faster, cursing not for the first time the short legs inherited from her maternal grandmother. Almost there, she readied herself to leap for the safety of the alcove, and was surprised by the sudden twist of her ankle that brought her to the ground. It was only pure luck, she was sure, that brought her arms out quickly enough to break her fall, stopping her with her face mere inches from the charged rail. She could feel every fine hair on her face standing on end, and let loose a shaky breath of relief as she struggled to regain her feet. Neidert was right behind her now, no more than five feet away as the train at last rumbled into view. With a cry of pain as she forced her injured ankle into action, she launched herself towards the alcove that in the face of the looming train didn't seem large enough to accommodate even her own small frame. Pressing herself as close to the wall as possible, she turned her face into the cool brick and held on for dear life as she felt a tug on her arm that could only be her nemesis. She closed her eyes, thinking, **at least Mulder's all right**, as she waited for it all to be over. ----- Chapter Forty-Eight Eastbound Blue Line Metro Train Friday 2:04pm "Metro Center, this is Blue Line train number one-oh-one-three eastbound on track six. Please respond." "Train number one-oh-one-three, this is Metro Center. Go ahead, Scott." "Frank, we were told not two minutes ago to continue on past Eastern Market to Potomac Avenue, and now I'm coming up on Eastern Market getting a red signal. Please clarify." "Train one-oh-one-three, we've just received emergency notification that all trains in your area must be stopped temporarily. There's the possibility of an...obstruction on the track up ahead. You should be stopping momentarily. Please inform your passengers that there will be a slight delay while we clear the tracks, and apologize for their inconvenience. Over." Before he could reply, Scott heard the metallic whine of the brakes as they began to gently slow the train from its current speed of sixty-five miles per hour. As they entered the steep turn that headed into the Eastern Market station, Scott picked up the microphone to the onboard PA system and prepared to give his passengers this latest bit of bad news. He got as far as "Ladies and Gentlemen, I regret to inform you..." when the sight before him caused him to drop the mike as he rushed for the emergency override system. He hit the brakes as hard as he dared, not wanting to risk an even worse catastrophe by jumping the tracks, but when they slammed into the so-called "obstruction", they were still going a steady thirty-five miles an hour. Continued in Part 11... Title: Nocturnal Perception (11 of 12) Author: Jen Green Chapter Forty-Nine Eastern Market Metro Station Friday 2:04pm As the four agents approached the door at the end of the tunnel, they were met by the sound of squealing brakes. Unable to believe his ears, Chris Brentwell threw the door open in time to see a metro train skid to a stop a mere ten feet past where the agents stood. So, unfortunately, did Mulder. No longer bound, he immediately began to struggle to gain his feet, despite the best attempts of the two agents who tried to hold him down. "Damn it, they were supposed to stop the trains! Scully!" Not wanting to injure him further, the agents tried to reason with him, but nothing seemed to get through to him, and he continued to struggle, until a new voice entered the fray. "Agent Mulder!" Mulder stopped fighting immediately and turned to look at Walter Skinner with anguished eyes. "Sir...Scully..." he gasped out. "Agent Mulder, I assure you, we will find her," the AD stated firmly. "But you know how pissed she'll be if you injure yourself further in the meantime. The ambulance should be here soon." Mulder read the unspoken message in his boss' eyes: Trust me. I care about her, too. I'll find her for you. Nodding slowly, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair, whispering, "Ok." He approached the four agents who still stood at the door, staring in disbelief at the train. "Ok, people, there's a team working from the platform out this way, so I want you three to head east towards them until you meet up. One of you can talk to the conductor of that train and find out if he saw anything. Chris, you and I will head west. Any questions?" "God, Walter, if she went that way, there's no way..." Brentwell trailed off at the warning look from Skinner. "We don't know that, Agent Brentwell," he said tightly. "Now, let's go." ----- Chapter Fifty Eastern Market Metro Station Friday 2:05pm Hysterical laughter bubbled from Dana Scully's throat as it slowly sunk in that she had somehow managed to avoid "death by pancake". The breath that it seemed she'd been holding for the past hour suddenly escaped in a huge rush of relief, only to be sucked back in again as she realized that perhaps the danger wasn't entirely over with yet. She could still feel the weight of Neidert's hand on her arm. She'd survived, but so had the psycho. Although, it was strange that he hadn't made any attempt yet to get a better grip on her. Just that one hand. She supposed even crazy, bloodthirsty killers got a little bit freaked out when faced with the reality of their own mortality. Without turning around, she jerked her arm experimentally, and wasn't surprised when Neidert's hold didn't loosen. What was puzzling though, was the lack of...substance...behind his grasp. The fingers gripping her bicep were firm, and yet, when she moved, they followed her movement without any of the resistance that one would expect to encounter when being restrained by another person. It was almost as if... She turned her head and immediately confirmed her suspicions. Yes, indeed, it was Robert Neidert's hand wrapped securely around her right bicep. His hand, and not much else. Apparently he hadn't been quite so lucky as she in regards to the train that they'd encountered, and all that remained of him was the hand that was locked quite literally in a death grip around her own arm, along with a few inches of bloody forearm. Sickened, she pried the dead man's fingers from her arm and backed as far away as she could in the tiny space when the severed stump fell to the ground at her feet. She gently toed the limb with her shoe until it fell from the alcove. As the haze of adrenaline filtered slowly out of her blood, she became increasingly aware of the pain in her ankle, and sat down on the edge of the niche to wait. Above her, forgotten for the moment, was the emergency call box that had drawn her to this spot in the first place. ----- Chapter Fifty-One Eastern Market Metro Station Friday 2:07pm The two men carefully picked their way westward along the tracks in silence, neither one wanting to be the first to acknowledge the futility of their search, but the farther they ventured, the harder it became to deny the gruesome truth. Here and there along the walls and floor of the tunnel, their flashlights pointed out slick, shiny puddles of what appeared to be blood. Following the trail of logic which cruelly pointed out that if Brown had come this way, Scully most likely had as well, it was becoming more and more difficult to expect a positive outcome. Especially when the beams of their lights crossed over... "Oh God," groaned Brentwell, "Is that...?" "It's a leg," confirmed Skinner tonelessly. "Not hers though. It's too long." "But still, it's obvious they came this way," Brentwell began. "No," said Skinner firmly. "We keep looking until we find solid evidence." He cringed at his own choice of words. "Nothing less than that will satisfy Mulder." "But..." "Keep going." They continued on another twenty feet or so, hope dwindling farther and farther away with each pass of their flashlights over the increasingly bloody ground. Both men knew they were nearing the point of impact, and dreaded what they might find there. As Brentwell stooped to investigate a particularly gory puddle of blood and assorted tissue at his feet, Skinner continued along the curve of the tunnel. So intent was he on searching for the scattered remains of his agent, that his flashlight passed over her slim, very much intact form twice before his brain was able to register what it was he was seeing. She sat on the edge of a tiny nook in the wall, her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking in silent tears or laughter, he couldn't tell which. The faint blue light above her head lent her skin an otherworldly glow and he found himself thinking briefly that maybe she was only a figment of his imagination, some silent spectral apparition of her former earthly self, left behind to help them discover what had transpired in the final moments of her life. **I've been hanging around Mulder too long,** he thought. "Agent Scully?" There was no response from the agent in front of him, but behind him Brentwell quickly rose to his feet and came forward. "God, I don't believe it!" he exclaimed. Even when both men crouched in front of her, Scully still gave no indication that she was aware of their presence. The feel of her cold, clammy forehead beneath his fingers told Skinner why. "She's in shock," he said under his breath. Louder, he said, "Agent Scully, it's Walter Skinner. Can you tell me if you're hurt?" Taking a hold of her chin, he gently forced her to raise her head and gasped aloud as she stared through him, unseeing. He shook her slightly, calling her name louder, and she blinked once, before her azure eyes slowly came into focus. "Dana?" he questioned softly. Finally what he was asking seemed to sink in. She nodded slightly and said, "My ankle hurts, but...I...I'm ok. Is Mulder...?" He couldn't help but chuckle. How typically Dana Scully. She'd nearly been hit by a train, and here she was worrying about her partner. "He'll be fine. Although I'm sure he's nearly worked himself into a stroke by now, worrying about you. What do you say we go put his poor EMTs out of their misery?" She allowed the agents to help her to her feet, and even consented to a supporting arm from Skinner, but she steadfastly refused to be carried. In his opinion, she still looked slightly shell-shocked, but considering the day she'd had so far, he figured she was entitled. At least the glassy-eyed, blank stare she'd been sporting when they'd first found her was gone. As the trio limped towards the tunnel's exit, Skinner could no longer hold the question inside. "Scully, I know I'll be reading all about it in your report Monday morning," he said pointedly, "but I have to know. What on earth possessed you to go after Brown with no weapon and no backup? What were you thinking?" With a quick glance to the bracelet that was somehow miraculously still attached to her left wrist, she gave him the only answer she could. "Sir, you wouldn't believe me if I told you." Continued in Part 12... Title: Nocturnal Perception (12 of 12) Author: Jen Green Chapter Fifty-Two Washington Hospital Center Saturday 9:15am "Mulder, I said no, and I meant it," said a firm, feminine voice. "Aww, but Scully," whined Mulder. "Mulder, you went over eighteen hours with no food or water. You're dehydrated, and you have a concussion, not to mention three broken ribs. If you remove that IV, I will personally stick it back in, and believe me partner, you won't like where I put it." Smothering a grin, Walter Skinner entered room 1121 and greeted his two favorite agents. "Well, it's good to see you two are feeling better this morning." "Good morning, Sir," said Scully. She reached for the crutches she'd left propped against the wall and moved as if to rise from the chair beside her partner's bed, but he waved her back down. "Don't get up. I just stopped by to see how you both were doing. I can see that Mulder's feeling well enough to be his usual pain-in-the-ass self." The pain-in-the-ass in question smirked in response. "How's that ankle?" "Not bad," the redhead replied. "It's just a sprain. It'll be fine in a few days." "Good. I'm looking forward to reading your report," said Skinner. "Yeah, so am I," Mulder interjected cryptically. "Yes, sir," she responded, shooting her partner a sharp glare. "It'll be on your desk first thing Monday morning." "Alright, well, keep me posted," he said, heading for the door. "We will, sir." He was halfway out the door before remembering the other purpose of his visit. "Oh, Agent Scully, I wanted to let you know, I asked the crime scene boys to keep an eye out, but so far no one has seen that bracelet you lost. I'll let you know if it turns up." "Thank you sir, I appreciate that." Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mulder sit up straighter in his bed. Once their boss was out of earshot, he raised his eyebrows in a silent question. "I don't know what happened, Mulder," she explained earnestly. "I had it when we left the tunnel, but by the time we got here it was just...gone. I've asked the hospital staff to keep an eye out, too. Maybe it will turn up." Fully prepared for an all-out Mulder-rant disparaging whatever cruel twist of fate it was that forever doomed them to lose, destroy, or have stolen each and every tiny little shred of evidence that may possibly be construed as proof of anything remotely paranormal, Scully found his softly spoken "guess you should've gotten that clasp fixed, eh Scully?" almost anticlimactic. Scully looked at her partner in surprise. "You're not upset?" she questioned. He considered a moment before answering. "Well, it might have been nice to be able to study it," he said, "but to tell you the truth Scully, you were getting a little too weird, even for me. I mean, that sleep-typing thing? Face it Scully, that was just plain spooky." His obvious attempt to relieve any residual guilt she felt over losing the bracelet earned him a dry chuckle for his efforts. "You'll get no arguments from me, Mulder. I'm more than happy to leave the realm of the strange and unexplained to you." She stood and slid her crutches into position under her arms. "I'm going to get something to eat. Want me to bring you anything?" "No, thanks," he said, reaching for the television remote. "I hear there's lime jello for lunch. I wouldn't want to ruin my appetite." With one hand on the doorknob, she turned back. "You know Mulder, I just can't help but wonder what else we might have done. Who we might have helped..." she trailed off, not quite sure how to explain herself. "I know I was resistant at first..." she started. A rather loud guffaw interrupted her assertion, followed by a pained, "Ow, my ribs. Scully, don't make me laugh!" After a minute or two of alternately chuckling and clutching his side, Mulder sobered. "Scully, it's only natural to think of all the good deeds that could have been done. To have precognitive knowledge of all the bad things to come, to have the opportunity to right wrongs before they even happen, that's a heady prospect. But that's all it really was, Scully, a prospect. A hope. We don't have the slightest idea what would have happened next if you still had that bracelet. Maybe it would have worked, and maybe it wouldn't. In fact, I believe that more than likely there would have been no more predictions. I think Scully, that you did what you were meant to do." "You're talking about the letter," she stated. He nodded. "Think about it. Everything that happened with that bracelet was mentioned in Dorothy Williams' letter. The rapist, Gallant, Neidert...they were all referenced at least indirectly. But beyond that, there was nothing. No "you're going to do many good deeds with this bracelet, young lady" or anything. I think that was all you were intended to do." "You mean rescue my impulsive partner and hopefully in the process teach him a lesson about waiting for proper backup before investigating a possible crime scene?" she smiled. "Don't you start with me about backup right now, Pot," he returned. "And I don't mean just me. Your warning saved that McIntyre girl from being raped, and who knows how many kids that pervert Gallant would have taken if we hadn't caught him." He shook his head and chuckled again. "What?" she questioned, curious. "I just realized, that "someone you love will be lost" Dorothy wrote you about, that was me? Gee, Scully, I didn't know you cared." His tone was light, teasing, but in his eyes she imagined she saw something more, something...hopeful? Turning back towards the door, Scully could only imagine the look on his face as she delivered her parting shot and left the hospital room. "Well Mulder, I guess now you know." ----- Epilogue Westbound Boeing 747 Somewhere over North America Saturday 11:30am Jennifer Reeves leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, glad to be on her way home. It wasn't that she hadn't enjoyed their vacation, she thought, but her mother did tend to go a little overboard sometimes. Jen was quite certain she didn't have a single living relative left on the East Coast that she and Meg hadn't visited in the last week. And that "Aunt Patti" with the broken hip her mother had insisted they stop by and see in the hospital this morning on the way to the airport? Well, Jen was ninety percent certain she didn't even have an Aunt Patti. She couldn't really fault her mother though. Her desire to reconnect with distant family members had everything to do with wanting to show off her granddaughter, Jen was sure. She sighed softly. Flying made her sleepy. Too bad it didn't have the same effect on the little munchkin in the window seat beside her. Jen opened her eyes and regarded her daughter. "You're too quiet. What are you up to, Trouble?" she asked with a smile. "Nothin' Mommy, just playing with my bracelet," replied the seven-year-old. Jen lifted the child's wrist to inspect the unfamiliar jewelry. "Did Granny give you that, honey?" "No Mommy, I found it. At that hospital where we saw the lady with the blue hair. Can I keep it?" Jen sighed. "Not much point in asking now, is there?" "Are you mad, Mommy?" "No honey, I'm not mad. But next time you find something, let me know right away, ok? You should always try and find out who it belongs to before you just decide to keep it. Somebody back in Washington could be missing that bracelet very much." "Why?" Ah, how to explain the concept of "sentimental value" to a seven-year-old. Jen decided it wasn't worth the effort. If she played the lesson up too much, Meg would soon be demanding that they turn the plane around and return the bracelet to it's rightful owner. Truthfully, it didn't seem like an overly expensive piece, and, well, it was owls...how broken up could they be over it? "You know what I think?" Jen asked with a yawn. "What Mommy?" "I think we should try and take a nap. It will make the time pass quicker." "I'll try. Do you think Daddy will like my new bracelet?" "I'm sure he'll love it, sweetie. Now close your eyes." As the gentle dips and sways of the airplane nudged her gently towards sleep, Jen found herself reflecting once again on how glad she was to be heading home. There was nothing like the craziness of a vacation to remind you just how nice the normal, everyday routine could be... THE END... ?