Procedures 
By Stephanie Roberts 
stefrobrts@aol.com 
  
Date: Fri, 18 Sep 1998 20:44:25 EDT 
Rating - R for violent content, disturbing themes 
Category - X, MSR 
Spoilers - Fight the Future, The X Files Game 
Keywords - None 
Summary - The reopening of the X Files are put on hold 
while Mulder and Scully are assigned to assist the Seattle FBI 
Office in catching a bizarre serial murderer. 
This story can be found in its entirety at: 
http://members.aol.com/stefrobrts/xfiles.htm 
Procedures 
An X-File by Stephanie Roberts, with badgering from 
David "you need an antagonist" Roberts 
Disclaimer: All hail Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and the Fox 
Network. They own the characters, I own the plot. I'd appreciate 
them not suing me for this little exercise in creativity. 
Author's notes: Many thanks to Jill for bravely reading it first. 
I'd also like to make a plea to all readers to be sure and give 
feedback, not just to me, but to anyone whose stories you read. 
Throwing this stuff out to the world for everyone else's enjoyment 
is tough, and it's nice to know it's appreciated, so please be 
generous with the feedback. 
No kiddies on this ride, please! 
Buckle up folks, here we go! 
  
  
Prologue 
-------- 
Seattle, WA 
Pioneer Square 
June 16, 10:13PM 
A little action, that was what he needed, he thought to himself as 
he pulled his car over. He pressed the power window button to lower 
the passenger window as he pulled up near the women lined up along 
the curb. A number of them pushed towards his car to get his 
attention, letting their tube tops, mini-skirts, and fishnet 
stockings do most of the talking for them. 
"Too old, whites only, no fatties," he callously dismissed the women 
until only one remained, a very small woman who stood shyly away 
from the car. "How about you, toots? Move up here so I can get a 
look at you." 
She leaned into the window and looked at him. He took one look at 
her tiny body, small breasts, and soft pale skin, and knew she was 
trouble. "What are you, 14, 15?" 
"I'm 18, I'm just small for my age." She said, trying to sound 
seductive. 
"You're jail-bait, honey. You're not a day over 16, I'll bet." He 
leaned down and looked out the windows all around him. "What is 
this, some kind of sting? I'm not getting busted for this. I'm out 
of here." He jammed the car into drive and left the curb so fast he 
nearly hit an old camaro driving slowly down the street. 
The car stopped and the driver beckoned to the young girl. She 
walked over, as sexily as she could muster and leaned into the 
passenger window. 
"What can I do for you?" She asked, trying to sound seductive, even 
though her voice cracked a little with nerves. 
"I'm sure we can think of something," his voice was velvety smooth. 
"Get in." The green dash lights dimly lighted his face, throwing his 
profile into stark relief, highlighting his thick beard. His glasses 
reflected the green light with their flat lenses, glowing like cat's 
eyes. She gathered her courage and got into the car. He pulled away 
from the curb and she sat awkwardly for a moment, not knowing what 
to say next. 
"My name's Tina," she finally offered. 
"That's not going to matter." He reached over and laid a hand on her 
arm, and she felt a buzz followed by a wave of tingling that seemed 
to flow over her. She sunk back against the seat, feeling suddenly 
drowsy and weak, thinking she might doze off before they got 
wherever he was taking her. 
Back on the curb two of the other women were watching intently. "Did 
you see that new girl get picked up?" 
"Yeah, what luck, her first night out. It's disgusting when they go 
for the young ones like that." She shivered, remembering some awful 
experience in her past. 
"Well, I'll bet he was rich, did you see that car? I hope she comes 
back tomorrow and lets us know what she got for her trouble." The 
other replied. 
*********** 
The man had left the girl unconscious in the room at the back of the 
basement. He believed no one would ever think to look in this house 
and find the room, so he didn't bother to hide it. In fact, the only 
reason he had even chosen the basement was for practicality sake: 
easy cleanup, contained sounds and smells well, was difficult to 
escape from and impossible to signal for help from. 
But, unlike the bare room where he kept his 'patients', this room 
was filled with electronic equipment. There was a workbench, covered 
with circuit boards, soldering equipment, wires, capacitors, and 
other little electrical components. 
Sitting on another workbench nearby was the result of all his labor. 
All his years of tinkering and experimenting had been aimed at 
producing this machine. It resembled a small generator, but with a 
'V' of metal rods poking out of the top of it, like an old-fashioned 
TV set. 
He picked up two wristbands, which were attached to the machine by 
thick wires, and slipped them onto his wrists, making sure the metal 
buttons inside the bands made good contact with his skin. He reached 
out and pushed a rocker switch with his thumb and power began to 
flow through the machine with a low, thrumming hum. The basement 
lights dimmed and the only light came from the flickering blue light 
of the sparks that crackled up between the vertical rods. 
A familiar buzz shook him as the energy entered his body through the 
metal buttons in the wrist straps. His skin would have burned had it 
not already been toughened with thick scar tissue that had developed 
from repeated use of the machine. He felt a fullness in his body and 
his heart fluttered as it received random electrical pulses. He 
delighted in the feeling, feeling the power build and feeling his 
body's living reaction to it. Finally he reached the rocker switch 
with a shaking hand and the machine turned off. The basement lights 
came back up. 
He shakily removed the wristbands and rubbed his hands together for 
a minute, feeling the shivers run up his arms from the electricity 
he had absorbed. He still did not understand the process by which 
his body stored the electricity, but he found it convenient and so 
didn't question it much. It had been bestowed upon him by a higher 
power, to allow him to pursue his other interests. 
Since he was a little boy he had fantasized about operating on 
people, having the power of life and death in his hands. Now, 
through a strange twist of fate he had this machine which gave him 
the power to subdue his 'patients'. He could meter the electrical 
charge in his body and release it on them by touch, giving just 
enough charge to effect what he needed. If he just wanted to calm 
them and prevent them from fleeing, it would be a gentle buzz that 
left them weakened, if they were dying, he could put them out of 
their misery with a touch of his hand and a burning jolt of fire, as 
if from God. 
He liked that part best. To his patients, he was God. 
He heard a crash in the other room and went to investigate. 
*********** 
She awoke in a darkened room, a bright light hanging over her. She 
was lying on a metal table, her naked body covered only by a thin, 
white sheet which was pulled up and covered her face. She pulled it 
down quickly, afraid for a second that she had been left for dead, 
but her gasping breaths reassured her that she was still alive. The 
room was chilled, like a morgue, and she shivered under the 
unprotective cover. For a minute the lights dimmed considerably and 
then came back to full brightness. She heard a buzzing sound coming 
from outside the room, like the sound effects of an electric chair 
in the movies, and she wondered what kind of place this was. With a 
touch of panic, she sat up and looked around, wondering how she had 
arrived here after being picked up by the stranger in the car. Stars 
danced before her eyes for a moment as the blood struggled to reach 
her head after laying flat for so long, and her heart began to pound 
in fear and confusion. 
There were five other metal tables in the room, each positioned in a 
pool of bright light from dangling, hooded ceiling lamps. On the 
tables were four other people, each covered from head to toe by a 
white sheet, bringing to mind creepy old horror movies she had liked 
to watch with her sister. They had been fun to watch, curled up 
together in the basement of her parent's house, but she was 
horrified to see she now had a role of her own to play. She quickly 
gathered her sheet around her, though her fingers felt rubbery and 
hard to use, and swung her legs over the side of the table. 
The table was too high for her to easily reach her feet to the 
ground, so she jumped off, feeling her feet slap against the cold 
stone floor. Her knees nearly buckled and her legs felt wobbly, but 
she ignored it and moved on. She was almost afraid to breathe as she 
approached the nearest table. Pulling back the sheet revealed a 
young man, near her own age. She touched him and received a mild 
static shock, which made her yelp in surprise. Forcing herself to be 
calm, she laid her hand on his arm again and found he was warm, and 
not dead, though his shallow breathing scarcely gave that away. 
Gingerly, she poked his arm with her fingers, hoping to get a 
response. "Hello?" she said, her voice small and mousy in the huge 
empty room. "Can you wake up? I don't know where we are." 
There was no response from him, so she went to the next table. Here 
was an older man. A sheet covered his body, though it was stained 
and rumpled. She reached out to touch him, to see if he would wake 
up and help her. He was rough looking, covered with tattoos, and, 
she realized as her fingers pressed against his skin, stone cold. 
She gasped, almost screamed, and backed away from the table so fast 
she bumped into the boy's table behind her. The table moved enough 
to upset an industrial-looking floor lamp that was standing behind 
it, and it fell to the floor and shattered with an echoing crash. 
She backed away from it, looking around in terror. There was a door 
at the end of the room and she felt sure someone would come to 
investigate the noise. She ran to it, hoping to escape before anyone 
had a chance to come in. Wrestling with the doorknob for a moment, 
she pulled it open and began to charge through.. 
into the arms of the man who had brought her here. 
He grabbed her, holding her small arms with his bare hands and 
squeezed. She felt a powerful shock of electricity where he touched 
her, burning her, leaving the scent of singed flesh in the air. 
Before she could protest, her legs buckled and her back went numb, 
leaving her slumped helplessly in his hands like a rag doll. 
"Now, where were you going, little girl?" His voice was angry and 
threatening, conveying the hatred that welled up within him at the 
thought that she had tried to defy him. He shook her limp body to 
accentuate each word. "I'm not done with you yet." She felt 
consciousness slipping away as he threw her over his shoulder and 
carried her back into the room. 
  
  
Chapter 1 
--------- 
Washington, DC 
FBI Headquarters 
June 17, 10:07am 
Assistant Director Skinner looked at the paperwork on his desk 
without really seeing it, and looked at his watch again. He had 
called a meeting at ten AM, and he didn't expect to be kept waiting. 
Finally, his phone buzzed and his secretary announced that Agents 
Mulder and Scully were in the outer office. He thanked her and went 
back to looking at the paperwork. Now it's their turn to wait, he 
thought. 
After another ten minutes he went to the door and signaled them to 
come in. They quietly filed into his office, Mulder first, and 
seated themselves in front of his desk. He was pleased by their 
suitably submissive behavior. Apparently being made to wait had 
conveyed his disappointment with their lateness sufficiently. He sat 
back down behind his desk and opened a case file. 
"Good morning, agents. I hope you can make it on time next time I 
ask for you." 
"Yes, Sir, we apologize for our lateness." Scully said, a little too 
quickly. Skinner noticed Mulder shooting her a look that said the 
apology wasn't sanctioned by him. Knowing Mulder, the extra time 
spent waiting in the outer office had done more to irritate him than 
to knock him down a notch for being late. 
"I know you two are eager to get the X Files back up and running, 
but I have another assignment for you first. It looks like it fits 
nicely into both of your areas of expertise." 
"And what would that be, sir?" Mulder was sitting back in the chair, 
hands in his lap, but his demeanor said in no uncertain terms that 
nothing was more important than getting the X Files back on track, 
anything else was not worthy of his attention. 
"There's been a series of murders in Seattle. Eight so far. In each 
case the victim has been found with various body parts or organs 
removed with surgical precision. The Seattle FBI office has 
requested our assistance." He looked from one agent to the other. 
There was no reaction from Scully, she was patiently waiting to hear 
more. Mulder, however, was fidgeting in his seat. 
"Is this not interesting enough for you, Agent Mulder?" Skinner got 
up and walked around to the front of his desk and sat on the edge, 
towering over the seated agents. 
"The Seattle office should be able to handle it. What do you need us 
on this for? We should be working on the X Files." Mulder was trying 
to keep the disdain out of his voice, but it was clearly coming 
through. 
Skinner let him have his say, and waited for a moment after he 
stopped to let the silence settle over the room. Scully shifted 
uncomfortably in her chair, certain Mulder was going to butt heads 
with Skinner before they got out of there, and not really wanting to 
be present for the show. She looked at Mulder and he looked back at 
her, and even though nobody's lips were moving, Skinner thought they 
were having a full-on argument in the silence. 
He cleared his throat and their attention snapped back to him. 
"Well, Agent Mulder, this might not be what you prefer to 
investigate, but the police still need some solid leads to catch 
this monster before he strikes again. They've requested we provide a 
profiler to look over the evidence and weigh the circumstances 
surrounding each victim, and give them a direction to go in looking 
for this guy." Mulder conceded, still fuming, and even a little more 
annoyed that he could see where Skinner was going with this. 
"Furthermore, the King County Medical Examiner's Office has 
requested some assistance in examining the victims, seeing as how 
they don't want to risk destroying any valuable evidence through 
mishandling." He looked at Scully. "Now, where do you think I could 
find a team consisting of a top-notch profiler and one of our best 
forensic pathologists?" 
"But sir, we were just getting back to the X Files," Mulder 
protested again. 
"Yes, but there are people dying in Seattle, and we can help stop 
it. I would think you would want to help out where you could." 
Skinner lowered his voice, which was more intimidating than raising 
it would have been. "Additionally, you two haven't come out of this 
unscathed. Just because you were given your pet project back doesn't 
mean you're out of the woods with those in authority positions 
around here. There are some who'd still like to shut you down 
again." 
"How does sending us to Seattle help?" Scully asked. 
"Because I want everyone to see that you two are still valuable 
assets. If you go to Seattle, cooperate with the regional field 
office agents and the county resources, and catch the bad guy, it's 
going to look good for both of you." He looked from one to the other 
and saw he had gotten their attention. "What's good for you is good 
for me, agents. Don't screw this one up. Get out there and find the 
killer." 
He handed Scully an abbreviated case file and returned to his seat 
behind the desk. "You can study that on the way there and catch up 
on the story so far. Stop by the travel office and they should have 
your tickets ready. You're flying out today. You're dismissed." He 
turned his attention to the paperwork on his desk and didn't look up 
as they got up and quietly left his office. 
  
  
Chapter 2 
--------- 
Seattle, WA 
FBI Field Office 
June 17, 6:00pm 
The Seattle FBI field office was bustling with activity when Mulder 
and Scully arrived that evening. They waited in the lobby for the 
agent in charge of the case. After a few minutes they were relieved 
when the door opened and a familiar face strode out to greet them. 
It had been a couple years since they had met Agent Willmore, after 
he was assigned to find them when they disappeared in the Seattle 
area. He had done an excellent job, not only finding and rescuing 
them, but helping them finish their own investigation. He had gotten 
entangled in things no one outside the X File team had ever 
encountered. From that he probably knew better than anyone did the 
kinds of things they had to deal with, but he handled it 
professionally and kept his mouth shut. Both of them respected him 
for that. 
"Agent Willmore, how have you been?" Mulder reached out to shake his 
hand first, intercepting Willmore's move towards Agent Scully. 
Willmore couldn't help but feel it was a protective move on Mulder's 
part, since subtlety wasn't Mulder's strong suit. 
"Fine, fine. I've been hearing about you two. You always seem to be 
in the thick of things. That was quite a mess in Dallas, and I heard 
you were in the middle of it." At the mention of Dallas, Willmore 
noticed Mulder's eyes shot over to meet Scully's, a look that told 
him a lot more had gone on there than they were going to tell him 
about. 
"We were there," Mulder nodded, finally dropping his hand and 
allowing him to move on to greet Scully, though his eyes never left 
Willmore. 
"Well, we're looking forward to helping you with this case, Agent 
Willmore. I hope we can be of some assistance." Scully was already 
determined to be on her best behavior for this case, but finding 
Willmore in charge had brightened her spirits considerably. During 
their last encounter she had found him to be flexible, resourceful, 
and persistent. 
"We appreciate the help. The medical examiner has the last two 
victims in cold storage waiting for you. You can start on them 
tonight or wait until morning if you want." He turned to Mulder. "I 
need you to help us canvas the street tonight looking for anyone who 
knew the latest victim, a transient. We're hoping someone will have 
gotten a glimpse of the killer. I wouldn't ask you to, I know you're 
here to profile the killer, but we're short-handed this week. We've 
got some other big things going down around here, and we're spread 
thin." 
Mulder nodded. "I can help you do that. When do we start?" 
"Well, you and Agent Scully might want to go find some dinner and 
meet me back here in.. oh, say about an hour?" He looked at Agent 
Scully again. "If you don't want to start the medical exams tonight 
you're welcome to join us on the street search too." 
"Actually, we had a bite on the plane. I'd like to get started on 
the examinations. If you can just give me directions to the Medical 
Examiner's office, I'll head over there now." Willmore went to the 
front desk and spoke to the secretary for a moment and came back 
with a one-page map and directions for her. 
"There you go, Agent Scully. Here's my card also, so if you need to 
contact me for any reason, use my cell number." She took them with a 
quick thank you, and after looking over the card quickly, stuffed it 
in her pocket. 
She held a hand out to Mulder and he covered it with his own for an 
instant. Their investigations in Dallas and their subsequent, 
involuntary, trip to Antarctica had reminded them how precious life 
was, and how quickly it could be taken from them, and served to 
drive them closer together than ever. Now, every little touch was an 
embrace, even just the way he allowed his fingers to glide over hers 
as he dropped the rental keys in her hand. She closed her hand 
around them as he moved his hand away, suppressing a flood of warmth 
that threatened to color her cheeks, determined to keep her mind on 
work. 
  
Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, a warning look from 
Scully. They had had a long argument on the plane about this case 
taking precedence over the X Files. Mulder thought it was someone's 
way of preventing them from resuming their more important 
investigations. Her opinion had been that they had better 
concentrate and be on their best behavior here, live up to Skinner's 
expectations, and that it would grease the wheels back at 
headquarters for the ongoing support of their investigations. 
Somewhere over the Midwest he had finally agreed, reluctantly, and 
assured her he would be on his best behavior. Now, as she caught his 
eye, he gave her a slight nod, assuring her of his continued 
cooperation. It happened so fast, Willmore didn't even notice. 
Without further comment she left the lobby, leaving Mulder and 
Willmore alone. 
"Well, would you like to look over the case files until it's time to 
head out?" Willmore finally said, leading him back to where the 
offices were. 
"Sure. I had the chance to look over an abbreviated file Assistant 
Director Skinner gave us, but it'll be good to start reading up on 
the details." 
"Make yourself comfortable in here," Willmore led him to a 
conference room and left him there for a moment, returning with a 
pile of folders. "These are the complete files. If you need 
anything, my office is straight across the hall." 
"Thanks," Mulder took off his jacket and sat down, putting on a pair 
of reading glasses and pulling the first folder on the pile down to 
look at. Willmore watched him for a moment, thinking he had expected 
a little more when he was told he'd be working with Mulder and 
Scully again. Their behavior had been positively subdued compared to 
how they'd been last time he met them. Since Mulder seemed set, he 
returned to his office to finish up some paperwork. 
  
  
Chapter 3 
--------- 
King County Medical Examiner's Office 
June 17, 8:10pm 
Scully looked at the cadaver that was laid out in front of her. An 
assistant, a young medical student named Tom Peterson, had been 
assigned to her, and was busy arranging the corpse on the table, 
placing a form under the head to hold it at the correct angle for 
the autopsy. In his late-twenties, clean cut with sandy blond hair, 
he was the stereotypical student, very serious, trying to be 
professional beyond his years. Scully enjoyed his attention, feeling 
like an instructor again as he hung on her every word, carefully 
watching her every move. 
The victim, an approximately 45 year old white male, covered in 
tattoos, had been a transient. Presumably he was the one Mulder 
would be out asking about this evening, looking for someone who had 
known this man well enough to know who he was last seen with, what 
he had been doing. She thought about all the forgotten people living 
on the street, the poorest of the poor, the mentally ill, the 
addicted, the runaways. They were easy pickings for serial killers, 
desperate and willing to follow anyone for the promise of a little 
money, drugs, or whatever they craved. 
  
This man had obviously gotten a lot more than he bargained for. From 
the track marks on his arms she guessed he was heavily drug 
addicted, though she would have to wait for the tests from the lab 
to know what he was addicted to. Not that it mattered much now, 
except to add to their knowledge of the killer's methods. Whatever 
the killer had lured him with, instead of receiving money or drugs, 
he had been subjected to unnecessary surgeries. 
"The killer's technique seems to be very professional," Scully said 
for the microphone hanging above the table, recording her findings 
so they could be transcribed later. "The cuts look like they were 
made with a scalpel, neat and straight with fairly sharp edges, 
indicating the blade was dulled. The cuts are sutured, and all three 
show evidence of infection, though in varying degrees of severity. 
The severity of the infection may indicate the age of the 
incisions." Peterson stood on the other side of the table, watching 
her every move as she probed the incisions and reported her 
conclusions. 
"What do you make of that?" He pointed at the oldest sutured 
incision, the one that showed the greatest level of infection. 
"Well," she pried at it with a probe, "Disturbingly, these show 
signs of beginning healing, indicating the victim was kept alive for 
several days while this was being done to him. I'd say this incision 
is as much as a week old." She used a large magnifying lamp to 
closely examine each cut once again, thinking about the purpose of 
each, and the motivations of the surgeon who did them. 
She carefully continued her external examination of the body, 
lifting the arms and examining the length of them. She stopped at 
two small circular marks, approximately one centimeter each, 
separated by an inch. She pulled the magnifying lamp over them, 
examining them under the bright light. 
"Tom, can you get some photos of this?" She pointed it out to him. 
He nodded and retrieved the camera, carefully photographing the 
marks from a couple different angles. 
"What do you think those were caused by?" Peterson asked, stepping 
back from the table to give her room. 
"They look like stun gun burns, though I can't be sure yet." She 
continued examining the body, but encountered no other abnormalities 
hidden among the tattoos and track marks. Finally she stepped back 
to make some notes in her personal observation log. "That concludes 
the external exam, Tom. Go ahead and make the 'Y' incision and we'll 
begin the internal exam." 
  
End Part 1 of 7 
      Title - Procedures (2 / 7) 
      Author - Stephanie Roberts 
      E-Mail - stefrobrts@aol.com 
Chapter 4 
--------- 
Somewhere in Seattle 
June 17, 8:00PM 
The first thing she realized as she drifted out of the dreamless 
sleep was that her arms hurt. They stung and ached with a deep pain 
that frightened her as soon as she became aware of it. She struggled 
to open her eyes, and realized that the light over her table had 
been turned off, leaving the room dark except for the light over the 
boy's table, about ten feet away from hers. The table that had had 
the dead man on it was empty, and she wondered how much time had 
passed since she was awake. 
She turned her head enough to see the boy, but kept her eyes 
squinted nearly shut. She didn't want to attract the attention of 
the man who held her captive. She was sure that if she lifted the 
sheet to look, there would be two ugly wounds on her arms, which he 
had done with his bare hands. She could feel the sheet irritating 
her where it touched her arms, but she tried not to think about it. 
She saw the boy stirring, and her heart suddenly filled with hope. 
Maybe the two of them together could fight their way out of here. 
She watched as he reached up and wiped his face with his hand, and 
then looked around the room. For a moment they made eye contact and 
stared at each other, like two lost people running into each other 
in the woods, all desperation and hope at having found a kindred 
soul. 
Before they could exchange any words the door to the room opened, 
and the man stepped in. Wearing a long lab coat, which went all the 
way to his knees, he looked very doctor-like as he strode across the 
room to the boy's table. She closed her eyes, and listened as his 
footsteps stopped a short distance away from her. Feeling sure he 
wasn't looking at her, she opened her eyes just enough to see what 
he was doing. His back was to her as he stood over the young man on 
the neighboring table. 
"So, how are you today? I see you're awake." There was no concern in 
the man's voice, just a cold curiosity. The boy looked back at him, 
but said nothing. 
"Come on, you were so talkative when I found you. Can't you do any 
better than that?" He pulled the sheet back and roughly pulled the 
boy into a sitting position. "Come on, speak." He was sounding 
impatient. 
Finally the boy opened his mouth, but only a guttural gurgling sound 
came out. His eyes filled with shock and his hands reached up to his 
throat, his mouth moving noiselessly. His fingers found the stitches 
at the base of his throat and his expression turned to horror. The 
man laughed, a terrible, grating sound. 
"Yeah, no more of that from you. After those names you called me, I 
thought you needed something a little more drastic than just washing 
your mouth out with soap."  The boy coughed and gurgled, willing his 
voice to work, hoping this was just a terrible dream. Nothing but a 
wet sputtering came out. 
The boy's expression shifted to hatred, and his eyes were locked on 
the man.  He jumped off the table with surprising speed, lunging for 
the man's face. He grabbed him and dug his fingers into the soft 
fleshy skin of his cheeks and gouged at his eyes, though his 
attacker had already pulled his fingernails out, thinking ahead. He 
knew this one was going to be a fighter, and he had planned on 
goading him a little, just to add to the fun. Still, he was thrown 
off by the attack. He fell backwards, his arms pinwheeling in an 
attempt to keep his balance, which failed. 
On the floor, the boy jumped on top of him, beating him, scratching 
at him with his soft, nailless, fingers, all the time making an 
inhuman hissing noise that seemed to come straight from his gut. No 
doubt it would have been a scream, if there had still been vocal 
chords to mold it into one. The man writhed under him, surprised by 
the ferocity of the attack. The girl was just getting up the courage 
to jump off the table and join in the fray when she saw the man's 
hand slip into his coat pocket and pull out a scalpel. She froze in 
place. 
The man brought the scalpel up between them and slashed a deep 
diagonal cut across the boy's chest. He stiffened and froze in pain 
for an instant before forcing himself to continue. He grabbed at the 
hand wielding the scalpel, trying to stop its motion, but the man 
was healthier and stronger than he looked. The boy, sensing there 
was no way out for him, began clawing at the man's face with a new 
hatred and desperation, even as his blood was pouring out onto the 
killer's body under him. 
The man pulled back and stabbed the scalpel deep into the boy's 
chest, just below the ribs, angled up towards the heart, and twisted 
it with both hands. The boy froze in pain, a curious look coming 
over his face, as if he was surprised by this new sensation. He 
released the doctor's face, his hands shaking and pawing at the air 
for an instant, his full body weight on the madman's hands as the 
scalpel dug deep into his vital organs. With a shiver that coursed 
through his entire body, he went limp. The killer threw the body off 
to the side and jumped to his feet. 
In a panic, adrenaline pulsing through him, he tried to brush the 
boy's blood off his coat, but only succeeded in wiping it around 
with his hands. There was too much of it. Panting, he looked at the 
blood pooled on the floor and still draining from the boy, and shook 
his head, started to turn away and then turned back, as if he didn't 
know what to do. He stomped over to the boy's body and stood over 
it. 
"What did you do that for?" He screamed at the body, and stomped his 
foot, splashing in the expanding puddle of blood. "You weren't 
supposed to do that. That's not supposed to happen, God damn it!" He 
wiped a bloody hand through his hair, pushing it back from his 
forehead, slicking it with the blood. Putting his hands on his hips, 
he paced around again, coming back to stand over the body. "I'm 
supposed to save you, heal you. God damn it!" He paced around again, 
never taking his eyes off the boy for long. Finally he turned and 
stomped out the door, leaving bloody footprints behind in a wet, 
crimson trail. 
When the door clicked shut, the girl took a deep shuddering breath, 
having been afraid to make a noise until then. She pulled the sheet 
up over her head, and tried not to make a sound as she lay shaking 
on the table and cried. 
  
  
Chapter 5 
--------- 
Super 8 Motor Inn 
June 18, 1:00 AM 
Willmore pulled up to the motor inn and waited with his engine 
idling while Mulder reached into the back seat for his jacket and 
got out. 
"Thanks for the lift, Willmore," he said, scanning the parking lot 
for their rental car. He spotted it further down the parking row, 
and felt a sense of relief. 
"No problem. Good job tonight, Mulder. Maybe by morning we'll have a 
drawing of the guy to start showing around." Mulder nodded at him 
and walked to his motel room, digging for his keys as Willmore 
pulled away. 
Willmore drove around the parking lot and was waiting to pull out 
onto the street when he looked into his rearview mirror and noticed 
Mulder was knocking on the door of a unit with darkened windows. A 
light came on and the door opened for him, and he slipped inside. 
Willmore stared at the door for a moment, wondering if there was 
something un-partnerly going on there. There was no question Scully 
was attractive, but the last time he had seen her, he wouldn't 
exactly have described her as a bubbling personality. If anything, 
he had found her serious, business-like, and professional in the 
extreme, exactly the opposite of wisecracking Mulder, and a little 
bit unnerving. He couldn't imagine anything going on with those two. 
But still... 
Another car pulled up behind him in the driveway, and with a honk, 
prompted him to get moving, but he stocked away the bit of 
information for later. 
***** 
  
"Did I wake you," Mulder asked, walking into Scully's room and 
depositing his briefcase on the table. She shook her head and rubbed 
a hand over her eyes, blinking in the light from the nightstand lamp 
she had switched on when he knocked. She was wearing a soft, silky- 
looking pajama top and bottom, her feet were bare and her hair was 
tousled. He couldn't hide the smile it brought to him, and it 
carried over into his voice. "You look like I woke you." He left his 
jacket and tie on the table as well and quietly joined her, sitting 
on the edge of the bed. 
"No. I just was lying down, wondering how your night was going." 
"We found a guy who knew the victim and saw him with a man a couple 
weeks ago. The witness is with the police artist now making a sketch 
of the suspect. The last time anyone saw the victim he was going 
with this guy to do some work to earn money for his drug habit. " 
"Well, unless 'guinea pig' is a line of work, I'd say things didn't 
turn out the way he expected." She flopped back on the bed, 
gathering a pillow up and pulling it under her head. Mulder 
stretched out lazily beside her, and she rolled onto her side so she 
could see him. He tried to ignore the way her top rode up on her, 
exposing her soft, flat stomach. He kept his mind off of it by 
keeping the conversation on business. 
"Well, don't keep me in suspense. What did you find?" 
"The victim had had multiple operations performed, the incisions 
were partially healed, indicating he was kept alive for at least a 
week after the first operation." She rolled onto her back and ran a 
hand through her hair, thinking about the autopsy. "He had a number 
of procedures done to him, including removal of the kidneys, spleen, 
a portion of the liver, and complete removal of the testicles. It 
might be a black market body parts scheme, but the organs taken 
weren't generally the kinds in demand for transplants or even for 
medical study. It was almost like they were removed just to see how 
long the patient could survive without them." 
Mulder grimaced. "I read over the other autopsy reports for the 
first six victims. They were all similar. There were multiple 
operations performed on each. As many as four operations per 
victim." 
"The thing that bothered me most was I couldn't find any other signs 
of abuse. There were no marks on wrists or ankles from being bound, 
no bruises from beatings. The only thing I found was two small burn 
marks that looked like they were made by a stun gun. I'm hoping the 
lab can find some traces of whatever was used as an anesthetic for 
the operations, since that might help us track the killer down." 
"Did you determine a cause of death?" 
"I don't have a conclusive cause of death yet, though it was cardiac 
in nature. The victim was suffering from a severe infection caused 
by unsanitary conditions during the surgeries, or poor post-op care, 
which could have caused heart failure, depending on the toxicity of 
the infection." 
"What kind of person does this," he asked, mostly to himself. 
"A very talented one. I'd say he's a doctor, almost certainly a 
surgeon. He did a very neat job of all his work." She yawned, trying 
to hide it behind her hand, but Mulder could tell she was beat for 
the day. Back home it was almost four AM, so he supposed she had a 
right to be tired. 
He laid there for a couple minutes, thinking about the case, and he 
noticed her eyes drifted shut, her lips parted just a little, her 
breathing slow and steady. He weighed his options; return to his 
room and work on the case or lay here all night watching her. It was 
a close call. Finally, he got up and collected his things off the 
table. Awakened by the shifting of the bed, she rolled onto her side 
and drowsily watched him, but didn't move to get up. 
"Ok, I'll see you for breakfast and we can discuss the rest of it. 
Come lock the door behind me," he said quietly, not wanting to wake 
her fully. She nodded and got up, slowly padding barefoot across the 
worn carpet to the door. He looked down at her and pulled her into 
his arms before leaving, lingering just a moment, enjoying the still 
new sensation of her arms around his waist and her body held close. 
He bent down and laid a gentle kiss on her lips, prompting a sleepy 
smile from her. 
"g'night, Mulder," she finally mumbled, pushing him towards the 
door. 
Outside he waited until he heard her throw the deadbolt on the door, 
and then returned to his own room. Maybe this case was going to be 
more challenging than he had anticipated, he thought. A surgeon for 
a killer, probably very intelligent, covering his tracks. Mulder was 
already well into theories for his profile when he turned on his 
laptop and sat down to type. 
  
  
Chapter 6 
------- 
Mercer Island, WA 
June 18, 7:00am 
"Thank you for the help, Dr. Winston." Tom Peterson picked up his 
books and gathered his papers back into his backpack. "I really 
appreciate you answering these questions, especially so early." 
"It's no problem, Tom. You're a good man, I think you'll make a good 
doctor someday." Winston picked up the coffee cups from the table 
and slowly walked them to the kitchen. 
His house was large and lavish, the result of many years of being a 
well paid neuro-surgeon. Until his hands had begun to shake a couple 
of years ago, he had been one of the most respected surgeons at 
Harborview, the pride of the Seattle medical community. When he had 
lost his job, with it had gone his standing in the medical community 
and his young trophy-wife. Now he lived off his savings and doddered 
around his house alone, trying not to break anything, occasionally 
getting visits from some of the young students he had taken under 
his wing before his abrupt retirement. Tom was one of his last, and 
without a doubt his favorite. 
"Still, sir, I just want you to know how much your mentoring means 
to me." 
"It's my way of giving back. How's your job going?" Winston 
carefully rinsed the coffee cups and gently placed them on the 
drainer next to the sink. He moved slowly and methodically to avoid 
dropping them with his gently shaking hands. 
"Excellent. Of course, I have you to thank for that too. I would 
never have gotten the appointment to the MEs office without your 
recommendation." Winston nodded his head and smiled, though it was 
almost hidden behind his thick salt and pepper beard. He led the way 
back out to the living room. "The local police have called in the 
FBI to help them catch this serial killer they're after. I got 
assigned to assist the FBI's Forensic Pathologist they brought in 
from DC." Peterson was nearly bursting with pride. 
"Excellent. That's a good way to get noticed. Maybe you will join 
the FBI some day, if your interest truly lies there." 
"I was questioning it, watching her autopsy those victims, but I 
think it's my main interest. I want to help the victims get the 
justice they deserve." 
"That's noble of you. What have you found out from these victims?" 
"The killer has been doing medical experiments on them. They haven't 
determined an exact cause of death yet, though." 
"Well, keep after it. There's always a cause." 
They walked to the front door, and Winston held it open. "Thanks for 
running those errands for me last night, Tom. I can't get out much 
anymore, and I appreciate the help." 
"It was no problem. Thank you for letting me use your car again. 
That's a hell of a machine. They don't make them like that anymore. 
What is it again, a '67?" 
"1968. The best year for the Camaro in my opinion. I just wish I 
could still enjoy it. I'm glad to see it hit the road now and again 
though." He looked down at his hand, lying on the doorknob, shaking 
vigorously of it's own accord, and frowned. It was like a curse, he 
thought. First it ran off his career, then his wife, and now it 
waved like a flag, telling everyone who could see that he was a 
doddering old man. "Well, have a good day. Come again soon, Tom. I 
enjoy the company." 
The younger man smiled and walked out to the driveway, shaded from 
the morning light by the tall trees surrounding the drive. He waved 
as he got in his dilapidated Honda and drove away. 
  
  
Chapter 7 
--------- 
Super 8 Motel 
June 18, 8:00am 
It was a brilliant, blue-sky morning, pacific-northwest style. The 
air was cool, with just a hint of moisture, and the smell of the sea 
wafted in off Puget Sound, bringing to mind fishing boats and 
shipyards. It was mornings like this that made Agent Willmore 
appreciate living in Seattle. They were almost enough to make him 
forget the side of the city he was forced to deal with everyday. 
Almost. He took a deep breath and knocked on the motel room door. 
"Who is it?" Mulder's voice shouted from the other side. 
"Willmore." 
After a moment he heard the lock click and the door swung open. 
Mulder was still wearing the same suit Willmore had left him in last 
night, but the tie was gone and the collar was undone. He had on his 
reading glasses again, and Willmore could see his laptop open on the 
wrinkled, still-made bed, making him wonder where he'd spent the 
night. 
"Well, you're an early riser," Willmore commented as Mulder stepped 
aside so he could enter. Mulder pulled off his glasses, tossing them 
down next to the laptop, and rubbed his eyes. 
"Actually, I got going on the profile last night and didn't go to 
bed. After I talked to Agent Scully about her findings, I wanted to 
get right on it while I had some ideas to jot down." He shut down 
the computer and disappeared into the bathroom. After a few minutes 
he came out, changed his shirt and selected a tie from his suitcase. 
"Good enough," he said, glancing in the mirror. "Lets go. Can we get 
some coffee on our way to the office?" He picked up the laptop and 
had his hand on the door before Willmore could react. 
"Uh, yeah, sure. What about Agent Scully?" He stammered. 
"She left for the ME's office an hour ago. She's still running on 
Eastern Time, you know. Just give her a cup of coffee in the morning 
and off she goes." He smirked at him. "Let's get going. She'll meet 
us at the office when she's done." 
"OK, but we aren't going to the office." Willmore said quickly. 
Mulder looked at him surprised, a suspicious caution flashing over 
his features. "There's been another victim discovered down by Boeing 
Field. The scene is secured and we're going down there to check it 
out." Mulder's face fell. 
"The victims are being found with an increasing frequency. He must 
be feeling more confident. It's almost guaranteed he's going to 
leave an important clue, get sloppy. Maybe we'll get lucky this 
time." 
"I hope so," Willmore said, leading him out to the car. "At this 
rate he's going to surpass the Green River Killer for the area's 
most infamous serial killer, and I don't plan to stand by and watch 
him set that record." 
  
End Part 2 of 7 
      Title - Procedures (3 / 7) 
      Author - Stephanie Roberts 
      E-Mail - stefrobrts@aol.com 
Chapter 8 
--------- 
Boeing Field 
June 18, 9:45AM 
With an earsplitting whine the jet plane lifted off the tarmac and 
pointed it's nose to the sky, thundering over the heads of the 
assorted FBI agents and Seattle Police gathered just past the 
security fence at the end of the runway. Mulder looked up at it, 
annoyed, covering the mouthpiece of his cell phone and waiting for 
it to get far enough away for him to speak again. 
"Scully, can you hear me?" He shouted into the phone, shooting 
another annoyed look at the plane. "OK, here, talk to Willmore, 
he'll explain how to get out here. It's just off Interstate 5, south 
of where you are. You shouldn't have any problem finding it." He 
handed the phone to Willmore. 
After being stuck in traffic for the better part of an hour, they 
had arrived to find the police investigators were still examining 
the crime scene. The police had already been there for several 
hours, and they hung back out of the way and waited for the tedious 
job of documenting the area and collecting initial evidence to be 
finished. 
"Scully's on her way. I told her a route that should help her avoid 
most of the traffic. She should be here in a half-hour if she 
doesn't get lost." Mulder nodded, but said nothing, looking toward 
where the corpse was laid out in the tall grass. He hadn't gotten 
close enough to see it yet, but he knew where it was. It was the 
center of attention, after all. Too bad, considering the victims had 
so far all come from the fringes of society, it was probably the 
most attention this guy had ever gotten. 
The sun had begun to beat down on them, and Mulder had already 
ditched his suit jacket in favor of rolled-up shirtsleeves. He was 
grateful to discover Willmore had an extra pair of sunglasses in his 
glove box, so while the police did their work, Mulder and Willmore 
leaned against the car and looked the part of Feds waiting their 
turn. 
Willmore was silent for a minute, but he was never good at that, 
keeping quiet, that was. "So what's your profile looking like so 
far?" he finally asked. 
Mulder was quiet for a minute, thinking. "Well, we're fairly certain 
we're looking for a male, just because of the sheer strength needed 
to haul around the victims we've found so far. Scully noted 
substantial technical expertise in the procedures performed on the 
victims, which would indicate someone close to the medical 
profession, probably a surgeon. It's unlikely he's currently 
practicing, or he would be satisfying his desires to operate in 
other ways. As it is, he cannot fill those needs without capturing 
'patients' from the fringes of society. Because of the skill level 
I'm thinking it might be someone who's recently lost his license, or 
a medical student. I've got a lot of other theories, but I'm waiting 
to talk to Scully before I settle on those. There's a lot to be 
learned by examining how he chose the victims, what he used to lure 
them, and why and how he finally killed them." 
"Didn't you talk to her last night after you got back to the hotel?" 
"Yeah, but she fell asleep before she could fill me in on everything 
she found, and this morning she was eager to get back to the ME's 
Office and check something out, so she wasn't in the mood to talk." 
Willmore was quiet for a second. "You're pretty close to her, aren't 
you?" He phrased the question as a statement. He saw Mulder smile, 
his eyes hidden behind the sunglasses, still watching the 
investigators combing the area around the body. 
"She's my partner, Willmore." 
"Well, for example, could I ask her out if I wanted to?" He was 
determined to weasel his way around to getting Mulder to confirm his 
suspicions that something was going on there. Instead of the jealous 
reaction he had hoped for though, Mulder just laughed. 
"You can try anything you want, Willmore, but remember, she's 
armed." 
A policeman came over to them, interrupting them. "You the Feds?" 
They both nodded, inadvertently moving in synch. The policeman 
looked at them, a little nervous. "Well, they're ready for you over 
there," he gestured back to the crime scene. 
Mulder ducked under the police tape and stepped carefully through 
the now trampled knee-high grass, following a path broken by the 
earlier investigators, and stood over the body of the latest victim. 
Number Nine, he thought, a cold designation for someone's child. He 
looked at the body of the young man, probably only fourteen or 
fifteen years old, laid out naked on the ground in a peaceful 
repose, like a body in a casket. His body showed evidence of sutured 
incisions in several different places, including one on the throat, 
but unlike the other victims, this one had been badly cut up before 
death. A long cut crossed his chest and abdomen, and a stab wound 
below the ribs looked like a fatal blow. The killer had attempted to 
clean off all the blood, but there had obviously been a lot of it, 
and it was smeared all over the body. Mulder took a deep breath and 
blew it out slowly. 
His phone rang and he snatched it from the clip on his belt, glad 
for the excuse to walk away from the crime scene. The trampled grass 
crunched under his feet and brushed his pant legs as he moved away 
from the rest of the officers, who were gathered by the edge of the 
grass making casts of tire tracks in the soft dirt. 
"Mulder." 
"Mulder, it's me. I'm stuck in traffic. Looks like construction. 
How's it going there?" 
"It looks like the latest victim is a young male, fourteen or so. 
Same as the others. He's been subjected to several surgeries, all of 
which are neatly sewn up, and carefully laid out in a nice funeral- 
style pose. The major difference seems to be he was badly cut up and 
stabbed, probably the cause of death." He tried to keep his voice 
sarcastically light, but it had a frustrated edge to it. He stopped 
and looked at the ground, one hand on his hip, one clutching the 
cell phone to his ear. He closed his eyes. 
"Mulder, are you ok?" 
He stood still for a second, thinking. "I'm fine, Scully. I hate 
profiling." He spoke quietly and looked back over his shoulder to 
where Willmore was examining the area around the body with a police 
detective, pointing and looking at the investigator's notes 
regarding evidence they had gathered. 
"I know, Mulder. Just hang in there through one more. We'll make 
everyone happy back in DC and get back to our work." He thought he 
could hear her smiling at him on the other end of the phone, and he 
liked the way she said 'our work'. 
"Did you finish your second exam?" He changed the subject and began 
walking back to the corpse. 
"No, we put it back in the fridge. I'll finish this afternoon. Oh, 
the traffic's starting to move. I'll see you in ten, Mulder." He 
heard the phone click off before he was ready, and he suddenly felt 
very alone. 
He clipped the phone back onto his belt and squatted down next to 
the boy's body, wondering how the mind of the killer worked, what 
kind of fantasies he had satisfied by performing these operations. 
Another jet roared low overhead, or maybe it was the same one making 
a second pass. Either way, it drowned out all other sounds and 
Mulder closed his eyes, thinking about what kind of mind you would 
have to have to do this to a boy. 
How did he choose them? 
There had only been male victims so far, perhaps the good doctor was 
homosexual, or abused as a child by a male relative. All had been 
picked up off the street. All had been people who wouldn't be 
missed. 
And what about cutting them up and then closing the wounds? He 
didn't need to open his eyes to see the carefully stitched sutures 
on the boy's body. Was he practicing, taking revenge, trying to help 
them somehow, playing with them like a cat with a mouse, keeping 
them alive until he tired of them? 
How did he subdue them? 
How did he keep them sedated? 
Where did he get the drugs to anesthetize them? 
Why did he tire of his victims and kill them after taking care of 
them for days? 
Why had he killed this one in such an obvious way? Was he escalating 
the violence of the fantasy he was playing out, or had something 
gone wrong? 
Mulder's mind tossed the questions out and tried to answer them, one 
after the other, until he was completely absorbed in the details and 
the process of catching, hiding, mutilating and killing, forgetting 
where he was. The images rolled around in his head and he tried to 
organize them and make some sense of them, trying to put together 
how the killer's mind worked. Trying to predict what he would do 
next. 
Ten minutes later Scully arrived and saw the other officers gathered 
in a small group in the tall grass adjacent to the security fence at 
the end of the runway. She walked over to them, expecting to find 
her partner but only recognized Willmore. 
"Agent Willmore, where's Agent Mulder?" She noticed all the officers 
were looking towards the same place off in the tall grass, past the 
yellow ribbons, quietly talking among themselves, and occasionally 
gesturing in that direction. 
"Over there." Willmore pointed where everyone was looking. 
Concerned, Scully hurried through the grass, following the tamped 
down path, only to find Mulder squatting down next to the body of a 
naked boy. His hands hung limply between his knees and his eyes were 
clenched shut behind the dark sunglasses. She said his name and put 
a hand on his shoulder. He startled, opening wild eyes to look at 
her as if she were a stranger. He suddenly jumped up and began 
moving backwards, away from the corpse, away from her. He moved so 
quickly he turned, stumbled, and fell to his knees. He was quickly 
back on his feet and staggered a little further away before 
stopping, leaning over and resting his hands on his knees, breathing 
hard as if awakening from a nightmare. 
Willmore appeared next to Scully, surprising her. She was still 
watching Mulder with concern, but she spared a worried glance at 
Willmore, which was enough to encourage him to talk. 
"He came over here about ten minutes ago, and he didn't move until 
now. He wouldn't respond to anyone talking to him. It was like he 
was in a trance. It was..." He struggled for the word. 
"Spooky?" she finished the thought for him. 
"Well, yeah. What the hell's going on?" 
"He's just doing what he needs to do, Willmore." She said 
cryptically, and walked away to join her partner. 
  
  
Chapter 9 
--------- 
Seattle FBI Field Office 
June 18, 3:00PM 
Mulder peered through his glasses at the laptop's screen, hit the 
backspace key a few times and continued typing. He didn't appear to 
notice Willmore watching him from the doorway, instead shuffling 
through his notes. There was something about the victims. They had 
all been picked up near Pioneer Square in downtown Seattle, a seedy 
place, a good place to pick up people who wouldn't be missed. He 
returned to his keyboard, organizing and evaluating the details he 
hoped would lead them to the killer. 
Willmore couldn't stand being ignored anymore. "Agent Mulder?" 
"Yes, Willmore, what can I do for you?" He didn't look up from the 
laptop, hoping the younger agent would leave if he made himself 
unapproachable enough. He knew his behavior at the crime scene was 
the talk of the office, but hoped a thorough profile would erase any 
question of his abilities. On top of that, he was exhausted from 
skipping sleep last night and weary from thinking about the vicious 
mutilations all day. He was in no mood to deal with anyone else. 
"How's the profile going?" 
"I think we're close to finishing it. I should have it done by 
morning." 
"I'd like to call a meeting to present it to the troops. We just 
finished an Asian gang bust down in Tacoma and the Director is 
adding those agents to our case. That'll be ten more agents we can 
use to hunt for this guy." Mulder looked up at him, realizing that 
none of this was related to his behavior this morning, and thought 
that perhaps he'd underestimated Willmore. 
"Set the meeting for 8:00 am and I'll present my profile then. You 
can fill them in on the rest of the case." 
"What's it shaping up to look like?" Willmore sat on the edge of the 
table, looking at the notes Mulder had scribbled on a yellow pad. 
"Well," Mulder sat back and linked his hands behind his head, 
stretching. "What I try to look for is some pattern in what the 
killer is doing. Serial killers tend to perform the same ritual over 
and over again, playing out some fantasy scene, with the unfortunate 
victim cast in a part that gives the killer complete control over 
them. We can see these patterns in the way this killer is picking 
out people who won't be missed, picking them up from the same area 
every time, torturing them until they die from the mutilations he 
performs, and then he finds another victim almost immediately, or 
maybe even concurrently." 
"It doesn't seem like it should be hard to find this guy." 
"Except for the fact that most serial killers fall into the top 
eighty percent of the population, intelligence-wise, and some can 
even be sociable and charming, so they don't stand out. This killer 
lives to perform his fantasies, doing whatever needs to be done in 
the outside world to allow him to continue his covert activities. 
They often hold down jobs, have families, blend into the community. 
This guy seems to have medical knowledge, so we have that to go by. 
We have a rough description from the guy we found last night, and a 
description of the car. I'd say we're well on our way." 
Willmore nodded, "I'm running the car info now, and I hope we have 
some names to start checking tomorrow after the briefing, if nothing 
else comes up. I think your profile will be invaluable, though. I'm 
glad they sent you two out to help us. Catching this bastard is my 
number one priority." He returned to his office. Mulder had barely 
begun typing again when his cell phone rang, chattering in the 
large, empty conference room. 
"Mulder, it's me." Scully's voice was a welcome comfort. 
"What have you got?" 
"Something weird," she said, mysteriously. 
Mulder smiled. He had been hoping for this. "Well, don't be a tease. 
What is it?" 
There was a pause on the other end of the line. "We found a 
handprint burned into the arm of the boy we found today." 
"Burned?" 
"Well, yeah. I think it's an electrical burn, but I've never seen 
anything like it." She muffled the phone and he barely heard her 
giving orders to someone on the other end. "Thanks, Tom. Are you 
still there, Mulder?" 
"Oh, yeah, I wouldn't miss this." 
"I'm pulling the other bodies we still have here out to take a look. 
It made me think, maybe we missed something. The burns on the other 
victims may have been faded due to the condition of the bodies. 
They've been in cold storage for quite a while. I'm thinking the 
cause of death on these other victims might be electrocution, like a 
low-current electrical charge strong enough to upset the heart beat, 
but not leave the kinds of burns you normally see with, oh say, 
power line accidents. Kind of like a de-fibrillator - but in this 
case it would be a fibrillator." 
"..but in the shape of a hand?" 
"Well, there was that mark that looked like a stun-gun burn on the 
body I examined yesterday." He could hear her mulling it over, 
treading carefully with her words. "Maybe this is all related. I'll 
let you know after we look back over it. Plus I haven't even looked 
at victim number seven yet. Now that we know what to look for, maybe 
we can find something there." 
"Alright, well, call me when you get something. I'm finishing up the 
profile for Willmore. He wants to present it to the team in the 
morning. Let me know if there's anything I should add." 
  
"You'll be the first to know, Mulder." There was a clanging in the 
background and he heard the phone being muffled again, and her voice 
scolding someone. "Gotta' go," she said with an exasperation in her 
voice she usually reserved for him and clicked the phone off before 
he could answer. 
  
  
Chapter 10 
--------- 
King County Medical Examiner's Office 
June 18, 8PM 
Agent Willmore and Agent Mulder strode into the Medical Examiner's 
office, flashed their FBI IDs at the front desk, and were directed 
to one of the autopsy bays in the back of the building. Mulder 
looked through the glass window in the door of the room before 
entering, spotting Scully and a young man bent over a small pale 
body that was stretched out on a metal table. There were two other 
bodies on gurneys in the room as well, covered with sheets. 
"Looks like the place." Mulder pushed the door open and an 
indescribably evil smell, something between feces and vomit, or a 
combination of the two immediately assaulted them. They cringed, 
swallowed hard, and tried to ignore it, having been exposed to it 
many times before. When they entered, the sandy-haired young man 
turned around and stared at them for a moment, while Scully barely 
spared the men a glance. 
"Mulder, Willmore, this is Tom Peterson, my assistant," she said, 
her voice muffled as she bent back over the corpse. 
The men all nodded at each other in greeting, and Peterson retrieved 
a small jar of vapo-rub from the counter, offering it to the others 
to kill the smell. They gladly accepted. 
Mulder and Willmore walked around to the other side of the table to 
get a better look at what Scully was doing. She was working over the 
body of the boy they had found that morning. They had already 
performed the autopsy on it, so the torso was disconcertingly 
sunken, and a 'Y' of thick stitching that reached from the shoulders 
to the groin held it closed. Hunched over the body, she was 
examining a dim red smudge on its arm, peering through a large 
magnifying lens. "Look at this," she said, without looking up. 
She moved aside so Mulder could get close enough to look through the 
magnifying lens at the burn. Willmore squeezed in between them, 
putting a hand on Scully's shoulder for balance as he tried to get a 
look at the burn. She shot him a glance that made him quickly remove 
his hand and back off a little, waiting his turn. 
Mulder peered through the lens. It was clearly a five-fingered hand, 
nothing too weird about it, except that it was burned into the 
slightly blistered skin of a mutilated dead boy's arm. He gave a 
little snort of surprise, and she looked up at him, her blue eyes 
peeking out from behind the large plastic goggles. 
"So, we have a mad doctor, and he has some kind of stun-gun glove he 
uses to put his victims out of their misery?" Mulder shook his head, 
thinking that this guy was just getting harder and harder to 
profile. He stepped aside so Willmore could see. 
"I'm not even sure about the glove part, Mulder. I can almost make 
out the wrinkles in the attacker's palm in the blistered skin here," 
she took a probe off the tray and pointed out the marks burned into 
the arm. "I'm not sure how, but it looks to me like it was a bare 
hand that made this contact. I also found similar marks on the other 
victims. Even the mark I thought was caused by a stun gun looks to 
be fingertip marks burned into the skin. We're sending the bodies to 
the regional field office in Los Angeles. They have the facilities 
there to do a search for latent prints on the cadaver's skin." She 
paused, thinking. "Of course, this burn isn't the cause of death for 
this victim, the stab wound in the chest was, so why does this body 
have this burn on it, which looks to be at least a day old?" 
"Scully, you know what you're saying?" Mulder tried to get her to 
look him in the eye. Instead she looked thoughtfully at the corpse 
and nodded. "You're advocating something pretty unheard of here. 
Generally that's my job." 
"Well, don't get all defensive. I'm sure we'll figure this out and 
it'll have a reasonable explanation." She let out an exasperated 
little breath and her words didn't have the confidence they usually 
did. The reasonable explanations had been few and far between 
lately, but she didn't plan to give up completely. "Have you gotten 
anywhere?" 
"Well," he found a seat on a nearby counter while she began 
finishing up. "The witness we found worked with the department's 
police artist to make a rough drawing of the suspect. The most 
distinctive thing was a full beard and glasses, otherwise he was 
pretty vague, just saying it was a white male. He couldn't even 
guess at the age. He also said the man the victim left with was 
driving a nice classic camaro. And that he thought it was red. Which 
matches nicely with some carpet fibers that were found on the first 
body, which were from a manufacturer of auto carpets for the 
restoration industry." 
"A restored, red camaro. That doesn't narrow it down much." She 
said, stripping off her gloves and making some last minute 
observations in a notebook. 
"Worse than you think," Willmore added. "There are lots of classic 
cars in this area and the police are pretty forgiving about them not 
being registered, since they don't get used much. However, we got 
lucky since we got a call from a passerby that saw the camaro at 
Boeing Field last night. This guy knew his cars, and gave us a year 
and make to look for. He said it was a 1968 Rally-Sport. We're 
running the information through the police computers, maybe we'll 
get lucky." 
Willmore's cell phone chirped and he pulled it out of his coat 
pocket and walked out of the autopsy bay to answer it. A moment 
later he came back in, looking shaken. 
"That was one of the police detectives. They said a hooker they 
picked up near Pioneer Square tonight reported seeing our man. Two 
nights ago he picked up an underage girl who was working the same 
street as this woman. She identified her from pictures as a recent 
runaway; 14 year old Tina Alconi." He bit his lip and looked at the 
boy's body on the table before looking back up at the other agents. 
The determination in his eyes was doubled with this new information. 
"We've got to find this bastard." 
"Jesus," Mulder rubbed his eyes and stared at the floor, lost in 
thought. 
Scully pulled off her gloves with a snap and threw them away as she 
left the room to change back into street clothes. Her stomach 
churning at the thought. Now they would all have a cause, a specific 
person to save. A face and a name for the next victim, if they 
didn't get their act together quick. 
Willmore turned to Mulder, "I'm going to go back over the case, see 
if I can find anything we missed. You riding back with her?" He was 
eager to get out of the morgue. 
"Yeah, thanks for the ride." He reached over from his position on 
the countertop and grabbed Scully's notebook, rifling through it for 
more information. His mind was getting sluggish from lack of sleep, 
but he was haunted by the thought that they might not catch this 
guy, there was so little to go on. So far, all their work had 
amounted to a vague physical description, and a description of his 
car. He desperately wanted more. A few minutes later he looked up 
from the notebook to see Willmore and Peterson had both left, and he 
was alone in the cold autopsy bay with the bodies, the boy's body 
now modestly covered with a white sheet. 
He stared at it. 
It was just a young boy, why would anyone do these things to him? He 
shook his head. Value judgements would only cloud the issue. The 
killer had a different set of values to follow, and he needed to 
understand them if he was to get one step ahead. One step, that's 
all it would take, and now a little girl's life depended on it too. 
He shuddered to think that one morning soon, Willmore might call him 
out to look at her body, discarded in a heap on some lonely 
roadside. 
He cautiously slid off the counter and walked to the table, standing 
over the body, not wanting to lift the sheet. Suddenly the lights 
went off and the background hum of the room died down to complete 
silence. Mulder looked around and realized the only light was coming 
from the hallway, falling through the glass window in the door in a 
shaft, landing at the head of the table. He slowly looked back at 
the body, feeling certain he would see something different this 
time. But it was still just a dead boy under a sheet. 
He thought about this boy, unconscious, being operated on over and 
over again. He would have been unrestrained, but somehow 
incapacitated the whole time he was captive. Something had happened 
to make the killer attack and kill the boy, maybe he had fought back 
somehow. Either way, cutting someone up wasn't part of the killer's 
usual plan. Then he took the corpse to a peaceful place, somewhere 
with grass, outdoors, and carefully laid them out. It was all such a 
complex series of steps to follow, he wondered what joy it brought 
the mad doctor. Did he get his jollies from the operating, the 
killing, the careful disposition of the body? Maybe he required the 
whole process to satisfy him. Mulder stared at the still form under 
the sheet. 
"Mulder?" Scully returned, miraculously transformed once again from 
doctor to FBI investigator. She stopped, surprised to see her 
partner alone in the dark room, hovering over the body like a 
specter. She walked to his side and looked at the body for a moment 
before looking up at him. His face was in shadow but she could still 
see his haunted, tired eyes. She reached out for his hand and gently 
took it, drawing his attention to her. 
"The lights went out," he said weakly, stating the obvious. 
"Yeah, I see that. Come on. Let's get out of here. You look like you 
need some sleep." 
"What about him?" He indicated the body. 
"I'll get someone to take care of it. Let's go." She gently removed 
her notebook from her partner's other dangling hand and pulled on 
his arm just enough to get him moving, doing the math in her head to 
figure out how many hours he had been awake at this point. Too many, 
she thought, and if he didn't get some rest he was going to be more 
of a hindrance than a help tomorrow. 
  
Chapter 11 
--------- 
Super 8 Motel 
June 18, 9PM 
Scully sat down on the bed with a moan. Performing two difficult 
autopsies in one day had worn her down, made her feet hurt from 
standing and her back hurt from leaning over the table. Now she just 
wanted to relax and get a good night's rest, but Mulder had livened 
up on the ride back to the motel. He was restless and had wanted to 
talk before turning in, and so had followed her back to her room. 
"Tense?" Mulder asked, sitting down next to her. She nodded without 
opening her eyes. As she had hoped, she soon felt his fingers 
rubbing her shoulders, making little circles on the muscles of her 
back, crushing the tension out of her. She began to relax and lean 
into it, enjoying the pleasant tingling sensation that was flowing 
through her, when she felt one of his arms snake around her and pull 
her close. 
He reached his other arm around in front of her and turned her 
towards him. For a moment he looked into her eyes, cautiously 
evaluating what he found there. The dreamy, comfortable look she 
returned matched his own, led him to believe the time was as right 
as it would ever be, so he leaned forward and kissed her. 
She returned the kiss, a little surprised but not disappointed. 
Things had been building up between them. It had gotten to the point 
where she looked forward to him spending time with her in the 
evenings, and she felt his absence when he left each night. She knew 
it was only a matter of time before they took things further. 
She felt his stubbled face rubbing against her soft skin, scraping 
against her chin, burning her cheeks. His lips moved over hers and 
she felt his tongue gently exploring her mouth, teasing her lips. 
His hands wrapped around her face, moved down so his fingers gently 
trailed over her neck and continued down, tracing a path along her 
back that made her tingle. She reached for him, her fingers running 
along the sides of his face, following the outline of his ears and 
pushing through his hair. Time seemed to slow down as if in a dream, 
and Scully let it take her wherever it was going. 
In a flash, she remembered everything. Five years of better and 
worse. 
Mulder breaking into an old RV to rescue her from a killer. 
Mulder holding her in a hospital hallway, telling her the truth 
would save them both. 
Mulder's smile when he heard her cancer was in remission. 
But she also recalled all the times he had run off and left her to 
come find him, or just to wonder if she would ever see him alive 
again. The times he had gone to do things on his own, seldom using 
his best judgement and unwilling to listen to anyone else. 
Mulder releasing a child killer from prison in the hopes he would 
lead him to his sister's fate. 
Mulder letting a quack doctor drill a hole in his head to bring back 
childhood memories, nearly driving him over the edge of sanity. 
She remembered being ready to leave the FBI, thinking he didn't need 
her. Thinking she was just extra baggage on his quest. 
Suddenly, she became aware that their positions had changed. She was 
lying back on the bed and he was over her, still kissing, touching, 
exploring. His hands ran down the front of her blouse and traced the 
shape of her breasts, he ran a hand down her leg to pull up her 
skirt and run his fingers over the nylons covering her thighs, his 
touch gentle and light. His eyes were closed as if in a trance, 
concentrating, lost in the moment. 
Scully felt a knot in her stomach. This wasn't right. Mulder was her 
partner, her friend, an unpredictable, tortured soul that had 
somehow become an integral part of her life, but maybe not the kind 
of person you built a stable, healthy relationship with. She wasn't 
sure she wanted to explore any further, to make the attachment any 
deeper. 
Wriggling, she tried to get out from under him calmly, but her arms 
and legs were pinned by his greater weight, her mouth covered by his 
own. She got an arm up to his chest and pushed against it, hoping to 
get his attention, but he took it for playfulness, and grabbed her 
hand at the wrist and held it still. Panic seized her, and she took 
the most immediate way out; a hard push followed by a loud "NO", so 
loud she surprised even herself. 
They stared at each other for a moment, suddenly an arms length 
apart on the bed. Mulder's face was hot and flushed, his expression 
conveying perfectly that he couldn't imagine why Scully had stopped 
him. Her own look was one of horror and fear, and his heart dropped 
from looking at her. 
"Scully, I'm sorry." He reached out towards her but she backed away. 
"I don't know what to say. I thought we were..." He couldn't finish 
the sentence, shocked by his own misunderstanding and his resulting 
behavior. 
"No, no," she quickly got off the bed and went over to the table, 
feeling a need for distance, the space to regain clarity. The case 
file had been dropped on the table, and she stood there and pushed 
at the papers with her fingers, not really seeing them. "I just 
needed some space," she said, knowing, even as she said it, that it 
was completely inadequate. 
After a long moment she felt Mulder behind her, his arms wrapping 
around her waist but not pinning her, leaving her free to get away. 
He rocked her gently against his body. She could hear his breathing, 
and feel the hot air against her ear as he whispered, soft and 
concerned. 
"What's wrong, Scully?" 
She took a deep breath, feeling herself shaking from the strange mix 
of passion and panic, and the fear of telling him what she was 
thinking. Honesty was a new thing between them, and she wasn't yet 
sure it was preferable to their old habits of denial. Her heart 
pounded in her chest as she made her decision. 
"I'm afraid of you," she finally said. She felt his arms tense, his 
body slip against her back, a puff of warm air against her cheek. It 
was as if she had delivered a punch directly to his stomach. It took 
him a minute to think again. 
"Why?" She heard more shock and hurt than she thought anyone could 
express in one word. She hated knowing she had done that, and was 
thankful she couldn't see his eyes. 
"I'm not sure I can trust you this way." 
He reached out for her hands and caught them, pulling her back 
tightly against him. Nothing was said for a moment while he gathered 
his thoughts. He knew he was too tired to think, and he wanted to 
get it right. "You almost died in Antarctica." He spoke quietly, 
leaning his forehead against the top of her head. She strained to 
hear him. "I had to stop and give you mouth to mouth, CPR. There 
were.. creatures all around us, pounding to get out of their 
containers. It was right before we climbed up the vent. Don't you 
remember?" She remained silent. She didn't remember the creatures, 
but he had told her this part before. 
This part he hadn't told her. 
"These creatures were beating on the walls, trying to get to us, but 
I wouldn't leave you. It didn't even occur to me that a time would 
come when I should leave your body behind and save myself." He took 
a deep breath, feeling his eyes wet with the memory of how close he 
had been to losing her, not even thinking how close he had been to 
losing himself. "You looked so small, wrapped in that huge parka. I 
couldn't leave you. If you hadn't woke up, I would have died there 
with you," his voice caressed her. "I won't ever leave you, Scully, 
and I won't let anything hurt you." 
"Including you?" She closed her eyes and listened for a response. 
"You can trust me." His voice was just a quiet plea in her ear. 
She squeezed his hands. "You give everything one-hundred and ten 
percent, Mulder. It's overwhelming sometimes." He held her for a 
moment longer, pressing his face against her hair, then kissed her 
neck and let her go. She didn't dare turn away from the table, 
feeling her own eyes tearing, even as she heard the door click shut 
behind him. 
  
  
Chapter 12 
--------- 
Somewhere in Seattle 
June 18, 9PM 
She sensed a change in her surrounding. She wasn't able to move, but 
she could open her eyes, if she was careful and slow and 
concentrated hard. Her lids quivered and lifted just enough to 
reveal a sliver of brown iris and large black pupils, which were 
assaulted by the brilliant flood of light directly over her head. 
She closed her eyes. 
A few moments later the light moved, leaving her in the semi- 
darkness behind her eyelids. She struggled to open her eyes again. 
She felt the cold metal table under her back, and felt a sheet over 
her front. She managed to open her eyelids a little, taking in her 
surroundings again. 
She saw a floor lamp, which had been moved down to illuminate her 
midsection. The man was standing just beyond it, lost in the glare 
of the light, but she knew without a doubt he was there. If she 
strained to look towards her toes she could just see a sheet fencing 
off her body at the midsection, hiding his activities from her 
sight. She watched him moving, methodically moving his blood-covered 
hands up and down. She realized after a moment that he was pulling a 
needle and thread, sewing something. In her sedated, exhausted 
state, she wondered what he was doing, with an odd sort of detached 
curiosity. 
He looked towards her, seeing her eyes open. He laid the needle down 
on her abdomen, carefully laying the thread down so it didn't 
tangle, and moved to her head. He looked at her face thoughtfully, 
evaluating her condition from the disoriented look of her eyes. He 
brought his hand up to her face and pressed his fingertips to her 
forehead. She felt a jolt that shook her whole body, making it kick 
up from the table. Her eyes flew wide open for a moment and then 
fluttered shut, leaving her drifting in darkness again. 
He picked up the needle, now dangling from the thread which led to 
the half-sutured incision, and continued his methodical stitching. 
  
  
Chapter 13 
--------- 
Coffee shop 
June 19, 6:45AM 
Scully had gratefully downed two cups of strong coffee while waiting 
for Mulder, but he still hadn't arrived. She hadn't slept well last 
night, thinking about him, thinking about them. She wished she could 
express herself better, so as to make him understand how much this 
new thing between them concerned her. There was so much at stake, a 
friendship, a partnership, a relationship. She felt it had the 
potential to be one of those rare, defining moments. It was a fork 
in the road, and the direction they took would have major 
consequences for the rest of their lives, and so it deserved careful 
consideration. No wonder it seemed so hard. But now it was time for 
work, and she tried to put all those other issues out of her mind. 
There would be time to deal with them later. Now, there was a little 
girl to save, and her time was running out. 
She checked her watch and looked out across the street to their 
motel for what seemed like the hundredth time, frustrated that she 
still didn't see Mulder heading in her direction. Finally, she 
dropped a few dollars on the table and went back across the street. 
"Mulder," she pounded on his door with her fist. After a moment he 
opened the door and leaned on the doorframe, looking at her through 
dull eyes. His hair was sticking out in strange directions and he 
wore tattered sweats that were wrinkled as if he had slept in them. 
"What's wrong? We have a presentation to give in about an hour." She 
pushed her way past him and looked around his room. Scattered around 
were pictures of the victims, autopsy reports, transcripts, 
everything from the case file. She looked back at him, worry now 
evident in her eyes. "What did you do all night?" 
He shrugged, rolled his head around and rubbed the back of his neck 
with one hand. "I couldn't sleep. I went for a run, and then I went 
over the case again." 
"Mulder, did you sleep at all?" He shook his head, not meeting her 
eyes. "You've been up for over 48 hours! How are we going to present 
your profile?" She looked around the room in frustration. "Go take a 
shower and put on a suit. If you hurry we can still get there in 
time." She started gathering the case file papers back together into 
a pile. Mulder didn't move from the doorway. 
"Scully, don't do that," he moaned. She stopped and looked at him. 
"Mulder, get ready. We have to go do this." Her voice was stern, 
intending to leave no room for questions. If they missed this 
meeting she knew they would defeat Skinner's whole purpose for 
sending them here. Valuable, hardworking agents didn't fail to 
arrive for meetings to present their work. 
"No, don't do that." He was in front of her in two steps, grabbing 
her hands roughly and making her drop the papers. "I'll take care of 
it later," he said, a little more disgust in his voice than 
necessary. 
She looked up at him with concern but no fear, and he felt a little 
backwash of guilt from his aggressive behavior. He had spent the 
night berating himself for all the times he had let her down, not 
been there when he should have, and considering that she was 
probably right to not trust him. She was better off without him. Yet 
here she was, meeting him eye to eye, not backing down, unafraid, 
still his friend. 
"Mulder, I know you're tired and frustrated, but we have to do this. 
Let's go present your profile and then you can come back and get 
some sleep." She said it slowly and clearly, her voice firm but not 
scolding, appealing to his logical side. "Mulder, there's a little 
girl who needs our help. We have to do this right. We can't let 
other issues cloud our judgement on this." 
He stood there, still holding her hands and looking down at her in a 
sleepy haze, thinking of things he'd lost and things he'd never 
really had to begin with. The moment seemed to stretch on much 
longer than it should have. 
"I'm sorry about last night," she heard herself offer. 
"Don't be," he quickly dropped her hands and walked towards the 
bathroom, eager to escape, knowing he was far too involved to 
discuss it now. He would be better off concentrating on the case. 
"I'll get ready." He shut the door behind him and after a moment she 
heard the shower come on. She closed the front door and sat down on 
his still-made bed, flipping on his laptop to browse over his 
profile before their presentation. 
  
  
Chapter 14 
--------- 
FBI Field Office 
June 19, 9:30AM 
Mulder had performed flawlessly, surprising considering his sleep- 
deprived state. Although Scully had felt prepared enough to step up 
and help him, he hadn't needed it. He had presented a profile that 
was complete, insightful, and genuinely useful, taking into 
consideration all their knowledge of the case and the evidence so 
far, and molding it into a description of the killer's activities 
involving each victim. He was also able to give a rough description 
of the killer's methods, his background, what motivated him, and how 
they might watch for him to strike again. The other agents had 
listened attentively and carefully taken notes, apparently impressed 
with his presentation, in spite of his reputation. 
Willmore had received a list of Red 1968 Camaro Rally-Sports 
registered in the King County area, and narrowed that down to those 
owned by medical professionals and students. That still left almost 
90 vehicles to investigate, and he handed out assignments after 
Mulder was through presenting his profile. Armed with this 
information, the agents headed out in teams of two to begin 
questioning owners and examining vehicles. 
Willmore handed a sheet to Scully, listing ten cars that needed to 
be checked out. She took it but Mulder enthusiastically snapped it 
out of her hands almost immediately. "Alright, Scully, ready to go?" 
"Not with you, Mulder. I'm going out with Willmore today." He looked 
up from the sheet in amazement. 
"What?" 
"Mulder, you haven't slept in three days, at least. It's not safe. I 
don't want you watching my back if you're half-asleep." She snatched 
the assignment back from him. "I want you to go back to the hotel 
and get some rest. I've already talked to Willmore, and we'll go 
check out these cars and call you if we find anything." 
He grabbed her arm and quickly dragged her out into the hallway, out 
of the other agents' earshot. When he stopped he stooped down so he 
could stare at her eye to eye as he hissed "You're ditching me?" His 
voice conveying both amazement and anger. 
"I'm not 'ditching' you, Mulder. You need to get some sleep. I'm 
giving you time to do it." Scully didn't flinch under his stare. 
"Willmore doesn't know why you're not joining us today. This isn't 
going to look bad to Skinner, if he even finds out about it. If we 
find anything we'll let you know. You're not going to miss 
anything." 
He stood up and looked away from her, rubbing the back of his neck 
with one hand. He looked up and down the hallway, seeing that they 
were alone, before he turned back to her. "Is this because of last 
night?" 
She looked a little surprised that he would dare make the 
connection, and a little dismayed that he had cut right to the core 
of the problem. She didn't want to sit in a car with him all day, 
driving all over Seattle, nothing to talk about but things she 
didn't want to talk about. Last night still felt awkward, and it was 
exactly what she had been afraid would happen if they pursued a 
relationship. All relationships had awkward moments, time when 
people needed to be apart, but she and Mulder normally had none of 
that time, especially while on the road. Today, she had managed to 
arrange some. 
She decided honesty had not served her well last night, so she chose 
to try denial again, even though she knew how bad she was when it 
came to lying to him. "No. No. Not at all. I just don't think you 
should be in the field today. I don't trust you to be my backup in 
your condition." 
"Well, there seems to be a sudden lack of trust going around, that's 
all." He saw Willmore come out of the conference room and start 
heading their way. Mulder glared at her, still annoyed, a little 
suspicious that she was not telling him everything, but unwilling to 
make a show in front of another agent, so he kept his mouth shut. 
"Agent Scully, are you ready to go?" 
"Yes," she looked back at Mulder, steeling herself against the hurt 
and resignation in his eyes, but didn't know what else to say. 
"We'll call you, Mulder." She turned and left with Willmore, leaving 
Mulder standing alone in the hall. 
  
  
Chapter 15 
--------- 
FBI Field Office 
June 19, 2:30PM 
Mulder arrived back at the office before Scully and Willmore, so he 
waited in Willmore's office until they arrived. He had gotten a few 
hours sleep at the hotel before he was awoke by the ringing of his 
cell phone, telling him one of the other agents had apprehended a 
suspect, and for him to meet Scully and Willmore back at the office 
to assist in the interview. 
He wandered around, looking at the Civil War photos, maps and 
drawings hung on the walls before he sat down in Willmore's chair to 
examine the family pictures on the desk. Apparently he was the 
father of a very cute little girl. Mulder was still looking at the 
picture when they came in. 
"Mulder, you made it," Willmore hung his jacket on a coat rack in 
the corner. "Hang on and I'll go get the details on our suspect." He 
hurried back out of the office. Mulder sat back and put his feet up 
on the desk, watching Scully, who was walking around the office 
looking at the same pictures Mulder had gone over a few minutes 
before. 
"So, how was your day?" He finally asked. 
She feigned interest in the pictures to casually avoid meeting his 
eyes. "Fine. None of our leads turned up anything, obviously." 
"Get along with your new partner?" He prodded her with the question. 
She chose to ignore the bitter undertone and took it at face value. 
"Willmore's really interested in the Civil War. He talks about it 
constantly. He can relate any situation to a strategy used in one 
battle or another." She sat down in one of the chairs facing the 
desk. "That, and his kids." She looked across the desk at him. "Did 
you get any rest?" 
  
"About four hours," he rolled a pen around on the desktop with his 
fingers, never taking his eyes off of hers now that he had the 
opportunity. "Good enough?" As much as he wanted to be angry with 
her for ditching him, he found he was just happy to have her back, 
even if she did seem a little uncomfortable for some reason. 
"Better than nothing." 
An awkward silence settled over them, and she fidgeted a little, 
wondering why being alone with Mulder was suddenly difficult. 
He looked at the pen he was playing with and started to speak. 
"Scully, I think..." He stopped abruptly as Willmore came back into 
the office. 
"Ok, guys. He's waiting for us," he came up behind Scully, putting 
his hands on her shoulders and leaning down close to her ear, nearly 
inciting an uprising from Mulder in the process, "and we have a 
surprise for you, Agent Scully. You know him." 
She turned around to look at his face, confused. "I know him?" 
"It's your assistant from the morgue, Tom Peterson." 
"Peterson?" Scully couldn't begin to hide the amazement in her 
voice. 
"The agents who captured him were examining a car that belonged to a 
retired Dr. Winston. It was obvious he wasn't responsible for the 
murders..." Willmore began to explain. 
  
"Why was it obvious?" Mulder interrupted him. 
"He was physically incapable of committing the crime," Willmore 
explained, a little annoyed with Mulder for questioning his agents' 
evaluation. "They found blood in the trunk and dirt on the car. When 
questioned, the Doctor mentioned he had loaned the car out several 
times to a young student he was mentor to, Tom Peterson. They picked 
Peterson up on his way out of class at the University and questioned 
him, and he admitted to using the car on the nights in question. Now 
we just need to get a little more out of him." 
"Have you determined where he performed the mutilations?" Scully 
asked, still suspicious. She had worked with Tom for two days and 
never gotten the feeling he was anything but a hard working young 
student. He had paid close attention to everything she showed him. 
Could it have all been an act, a brazen act put on by a murderer who 
had maneuvered himself so close to the investigation that he could 
watch his handiwork being dissected by the investigators while he 
stood right under their nose? She didn't have a whole lot of faith 
left in people in general, but she suddenly felt it shaken a little 
more. 
"He's still denying any involvement." Willmore answered. "We have a 
team searching his house now, but they haven't found any other 
evidence linking him to the crime yet. We need to get him to tell us 
where he did it so we can rescue any other victims he has there." 
"Well, let's go talk to him," Mulder began walking down the hallway 
to the interrogation rooms. Scully followed, still lost for a moment 
in her own thoughts. 
Until he opened the door. 
Sitting at the table of the dim, bare room was her assistant, 
dressed in jeans and a light blue T-shirt with a small logo on the 
breast for some ski equipment company. He slumped in the chair, 
looking mentally beaten. His face brightened to see her enter the 
room. 
"Dr. Scully, thank God. What's going on here?" He blurted out before 
they could shut the door. Scully sat down at the table without 
answering him, looking into his eyes, searching for a clue about his 
thoughts. Was he hoping to play them for fools and make them believe 
his lies, or was he genuinely confused? 
"Well, I guess you can tell us, Tom. What happened?" Her tone was 
cold and businesslike, with just a touch of disappointment. 
"Your people detained me this morning on my way out of class. I 
don't understand. They keep asking me how I did it, where I did it, 
if I have any more victims hidden away. But I didn't do anything." 
The desperation and confusion was clear in his voice, and Scully 
thought if he was on the verge of tears. 
"Do you have a lawyer?" 
"Yes," he looked from Agent Scully to Agent Mulder, casually leaning 
against the wall in the shadows at the back of the room. "My 
father's arranged for one. But I don't need one. I haven't done 
anything." 
"What about the car?" Mulder asked quietly. 
"I ran some errands for him. He said he wanted the car to get some 
use because he couldn't drive it anymore." 
"Why can't he drive it?" Scully asked. 
"His hands shake. It's some kind of palsy, but he doesn't like to 
talk about it. He was forced to retire and he can't drive because of 
it. He barely functions anymore, but I met him when he was one of 
the top surgeons at Harborview. He's a great man." 
"So how do you explain the blood in the car?" Mulder came up and sat 
on the edge of the table, leaning over the younger man. 
"I can't. I didn't do anything. He asked me to drive it to the store 
to pick up some groceries for him, so I did." 
"I think you're lying, I think you did kill them." Mulder leaned 
over him a little more, aiming to intimidate. Scully watched Tom 
closely, evaluating his reaction. He was horrified. 
"No, No, I didn't! I swear!" Tom shook his head vigorously. 
"I think you killed them, I think you dumped the bodies, and I think 
you got a job in the ME's office so you could enjoy cutting them up 
one last time. I think you're a sick little bastard." 
"No! No! I'm going to be a doctor, a pathologist. I want to help 
people, help them get justice. I've never hurt anyone." He paused 
looking from one agent to the other, meeting their gaze 
unflinchingly, pleading with damp eyes for them to believe him. "I'd 
help you if I could, but I didn't kill those people." He looked at 
Scully, "please, Dr. Scully, you have to believe me." 
Mulder stood up and put his hand on Scully's shoulder, breaking her 
attention away from the young man for a moment. She rose and left 
the room for a quick consultation in the hallway, away from the 
suspect. 
"What do you think?" She asked, trusting his opinion over her own, 
which she felt was clouded. 
Mulder leaned his back against the wall and rubbed his eyes with one 
hand, thinking. "I don't think he did it. I don't think he's the one 
we're looking for." 
"What should we do?" 
"I'd like to talk to Dr. Winston, myself. It's probably going to 
mean stepping on Willmore's toes, but I think his men missed 
something there." 
"Well, I consider myself a good judge of character, Mulder, and I 
don't think Peterson did it either. I never had a clue the whole 
time I worked with him, that it could have been him. Even in 
retrospect I can't think of anything suspicious." She shook her 
head, looking down at the floor, lost in thought, rummaging through 
her memories for anything that might stand out about the young man 
who had helped her perform three autopsies over the last two long 
days. 
Mulder stepped away from the wall and put a hand on her back, 
directing her down the hall towards the FBI offices. "Let's go step 
on Willmore's toes, then." 
"Mulder, let me," she stepped away from him, just out of his reach. 
"What?" 
"Let Willmore and I talk to him. We can check him out, and having 
Willmore in on it will keep us from offending anyone here. No one 
wants to be second guessed by the visiting agents." 
"You and Willmore? Scully, why?" He was obviously frustrated and a 
little offended. 
"Skinner told us to play nice, and sometimes that means playing 
politics, Mulder." She continued walking down the hall without him. 
"You wait here and I'll let you know what happens." 
  
End Part 4 of 7 
      Title - Procedures (5 / 7) 
      Author - Stephanie Roberts 
      E-Mail - stefrobrts@aol.com 
Chapter 16 
--------- 
Mercer Island, WA 
June 19, 4:30PM 
Willmore had grudgingly agreed to go with Scully to interview Dr. 
Winston again, only doing so out of respect for the more experienced 
agents. They had driven to Mercer Island, East of Seattle in the 
middle of Lake Washington. It was known for being inhabited by the 
richest of Seattle's rich, and the huge mansions that covered the 
island were carefully hidden from the road that wound around the 
island by a thick cover of fir trees and greenery. 
Willmore parked the car in the shaded driveway and they both got 
out, pausing to stare up at the massive, three-story Tudor house 
that towered above them. Framed by the tall trees and set off by the 
impeccable landscaping, it looked like a dream house. 
"I wouldn't mind living here," she said, looking up at the towering 
trees. 
"Save your pennies, Agent Scully," Willmore said, walking towards 
the front door. "Maybe in two or three hundred years on an FBI 
salary..." 
Willmore rang the doorbell and they stood side by side on the front 
porch for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts about what 
they wanted to ask. When there was no answer he shuffled a little 
and rang the bell again. Finally an old man opened the door, but 
inspected them suspiciously from behind the screen door. 
"Dr. Winston?" Willmore asked, and the old man nodded unsteadily. 
Willmore held up a badge for his inspection. "I'm Agent Willmore and 
this is Agent Scully. We're with the FBI. May we come in and ask you 
a few questions?" 
"I've already talked to your people today. They took my car away." 
He opened the screen door and let them enter, directing them to a 
sitting room off the main foyer. Willmore winced a little at the 
strong medicinal smell that assaulted him as they entered, though he 
knew it was typical for an elderly person's home, and was probably 
standard issue for a retired doctor. 
As they followed him in and took their seats, Scully noted the way 
his hands quaked and trembled of their own accord. He seemed to have 
little control over them, and it was painful to watch him try to 
pick up a magazine to move it off the chair before he sat down. He 
grabbed at it and tried to get his fingers to close around it 
several times, before he got a good enough grip to move it and toss 
it onto the coffee table. He shakily settled himself down into the 
antique, overstuffed chair. "Now, what can I do for you?" 
"I'm sorry to bother you sir, we just had a few more questions," 
Scully began. "I understand Tom Peterson is an acquaintance of 
yours?" 
"I've been mentoring him since he was in high school. I was still 
practicing then, and I learned about him from a teacher who thought 
he had potential. I encouraged him to go to medical school." 
Winston's eyes became unfocused as he thought back to his glory 
days. "I had a number of students brought to my attention in those 
days, and I tried to help whenever I could. It's so hard to do it 
alone, you know." Scully nodded sympathetically, thinking she could 
never have gotten through all those hard years of school without the 
support of her family. Having a mentor with high standing in your 
field would been a huge help for anyone. 
"Tom didn't really have any support from his family, and so I helped 
him where I could, helped him choose classes and recommended paths 
for him to follow. I even helped him get jobs in places that would 
help advance his career. That's how he got the job at the ME's 
office." He shook his head sadly, looking from one agent to the 
other. "I can't believe he did what he did. He was always such a 
nice boy." 
There was a long, sad pause in the room, while they all collected 
their thoughts for a moment. Willmore found he couldn't take his 
eyes off the old man's ever-moving hands. They flapped and shook, 
despite the way he tried to hold them still by laying them flat on 
his knees. "Sir, tell me about the car. How did Tom come to borrow 
it?" 
"Oh, that car was my pride and joy, but I can't drive it anymore, so 
it just sat in storage for the last couple years. Tom, of course, 
knew I had it, everyone who knows me knows about that car." He 
chewed on his lip in thought for a moment. "One time I asked him to 
fetch some groceries for me, as he often did after coming by for 
some homework help," he smiled regretfully, "it was kind of our 
arrangement. He told me his little car wasn't running good and asked 
if he could use my car. I thought it was a wonderful idea, it hadn't 
been used in so long. It fired right up and he drove it to the 
store. At least I thought he did." 
"I didn't even think about it until your boys were here this 
morning, but it did take a long time for him to get back whenever he 
used it. The first time, I had begun to think the car had broke down 
on him, but he finally drove up, all smiles, and I figured he just 
took the long way home. I used to do that a lot when I was his age, 
too." He smiled, remembering those days long past, but it faded 
quickly. "To think he was using it to carry bodies," he grimaced. "I 
don't care if the FBI keeps that car. I don't think I want it back 
in my garage again." 
"Does anyone else have access to the car? A maintenance person, 
household staff, anyone?" 
"No, I have no staff. No one used it but me, and I can't drive it 
anymore." 
A silence settled over the room again, and Willmore finally broke 
it. "Can you tell us anything else about him, what kind of man he 
is?" 
"Well, a good one, I thought. He was always so eager to learn, so 
hard working. He's curious about everything, about how things work, 
he's kind of an inventory of gadgets too. No matter how busy he was, 
he always came by to visit once a week. Just last week he was 
telling me how excited he was to be working with the FBI at the ME's 
office." Scully felt a lump in the pit of her stomach. "He said he 
was working with a specialist from back east, and he was learning so 
much. He said he wanted to join the FBI someday. I don't understand 
how he could be so two-faced to me." The old man shook his head 
sadly. Scully didn't let on that the same question was occurring to 
her. 
"Well, Sir, I don't think we need to take up anymore of your time." 
Willmore began to stand. Scully interrupted him. 
"One more thing, sir. If you don't mind me asking, what is your 
condition?" She came over to his chair and squatted down in front of 
him, looking at his shaking hands. 
"Are you a doctor, young lady?" He asked, curious but not offended 
by her question. 
"Yes, I am." She gently took his hands in her own, turning them over 
and watching the involuntary spasms that wracked them. On the 
insides of his wrists she noticed small burn marks, heavily scarred, 
like hot metal buttons had pressed against his skin over and over 
again. 
"It's a degenerative nerve condition. No one has identified the 
cause, though they suspect it was something I was exposed to during 
my time in the service." She nodded, letting his hands go. 
"I'm sorry to hear that. It sounds like you were a real asset to the 
medical profession." 
"I'd like to think so." 
"Thank you, Dr. Winston. We'll see ourselves out." They left him in 
the room alone, contemplating the turn of events in his life that 
had left him in this condition. 
He heard the door click shut and sat in the chair for a moment 
longer, before deciding he had had enough of being treated like an 
invalid for the day. He stood, determined to do something about it, 
and left the sitting room. 
Alone again in the darkened house, he walked through the kitchen, 
past the gleaming countertops and stainless steel appliances, and 
opened a door that led to a staircase to the basement. With 
painstaking care he lowered himself down the steps, trying to hang 
onto the banister with his jittery hands. 
At the bottom of the stairs he searched the wall for the light 
switch and when he found it, illuminated the basement. Bare bulbs 
hanging from the ceiling illuminated the rough stone walls. In one 
corner was a wooden chair next to a table with a large, strange 
machine on it. 
Capacitors, vacuum tubes, and a V-shaped pair of wires such that you 
would expect to see a crackle of blue energy crawling up between 
them all conspired to make the contraption look like it belonged in 
a fifties science fiction movie. The old man slowly sat down in 
front of the machine and donned a wristband, which was strung to the 
machine by a pair of wires. It took several tries for one shaky hand 
to place the band over the other, and for a moment it seemed like an 
insane game as one hand chased the other. Finally he secured it on 
one wrist. Performing the feat again, he placed a second band on his 
other wrist. He then grabbed a large wooden lever, carefully 
wrapping his fingers around it and forcing them to grip tightly 
before he pulled it down, making a connection at the bottom of it's 
swing. 
With a hum the machine came to life. Indeed, electricity did dance 
up between the wires. The basement lights dimmed as power crackled 
from the contraption. He held his arms out and felt the power 
flowing into his body. The wristbands began to get hot, transferring 
power to his skin through the metal contact patches. It traveled up 
his nerve pathways and calmed them, canceling the random signals 
coming from his brain. After a minute he confidently grabbed the 
lever and pulled it up, turning the machine off. He easily removed 
the wristbands and held his hands out straight in front of him, 
noting with approval that they were now rock-steady. 
Pleased, he went to the door, disguised against the back wall of the 
basement, and left the machine cooling in the room alone while he 
went to enjoy his temporary fix. 
  
  
Chapter 17 
--------- 
FBI Field Office 
June 19, 5:00PM 
Mulder was getting tired of waiting in Willmore's office, so he left 
to wander the halls in search of coffee. He was passing the hallway 
that lead to the questioning rooms when he saw Peterson being 
escorted out without handcuffs. The agent accompanying him pointed 
him towards the front office and started to walk him there. 
"Hey, Peterson, what's going on?" Mulder changed direction and 
walked up to the younger man, who regarded him suspiciously. "Sorry 
about what I said during the interrogation, it's just part of the 
job." 
"That's OK," he waved it off. "My lawyer got me out. The FBI hasn't 
found anything at my house, and they can't hold me." He shook his 
head in frustration. "I knew they wouldn't find anything. There's 
nothing to find. They're just wasting time while that guy could be 
killing that little girl." 
Mulder nodded. "Can you tell me where Dr. Winston lives?" He had 
been trying to use the computer in Willmore's office to look it up 
but couldn't get past the password to use the crime database. 
"I can take you there. I need a ride home, since my car has been 
impounded. We'll go right by Dr. Winston's." Mulder thought it over 
for a second and nodded. He wanted to catch up with Scully and 
Willmore, and this seemed like a good way to do it. It may have been 
his sleep addled mind, but it had occurred to him, after they left, 
that there was no reason all three of them couldn't have gone 
together. He was rehearsing a partner-to-partner talk in his head as 
he plotted a way to catch up with them. 
"Fine, let's get going." He nodded to the other agent. "I'll take 
him from here." 
  
  
Chapter 18 
--------- 
Dr. Winston's Residence 
June 19, 5:30PM 
"He certainly doesn't look like he could be our killer." Scully 
opened the passenger door of Willmore's car and stood there, looking 
across the roof at him. He looked back at Dr Winston's house, 
thoughtfully. 
"I still think my detectives were right. He doesn't look capable. 
What did you think of his condition?" 
"He wasn't faking it, if that's what you mean. Plus we have a 
recorded history of the disease advancing on him, since he lost his 
career because of it. It's obviously something that's been effecting 
for years. There was something strange, though." 
"What?" 
"On the insides of his wrists there were small, round, burns. I 
couldn't tell what to make of them." 
"What could that mean?" 
"Hard to say. They could be old wounds, they could relate to some 
kind of treatment for his palsy. Either way, it's a little 
suspicious after we found those burns on the victims." 
"Did any of the victims suffer from a palsy like he does?" 
Scully thought back. "I think the first three did. They were all 
older, homeless men showing the first stages of Parkinson's, 
according to the police interviews with the victims' friends and 
relatives." 
Willmore thought for a moment longer, leaning against the car and 
looking back at the house. "The victims have burns, he has burns, 
and the first victims had the same condition as he has." He heard a 
sudden intake of breath from Scully and looked up. "What?" 
"I've read about experiments to rehabilitate patients with 
degenerative nerve disorders that involve electroshock therapy. 
Limited doses are applied to the damaged nerves and it can stimulate 
them into working again, but usually only for limited time, and the 
process was found to cause more damage than it repaired so the 
procedure was considered a failure." Her eyes were big as she 
considered the consequences. "What if he's been experimenting with 
something like that on his own? The first victims could have just 
been experiments, but it grew into something more sinister." 
"Could repeated electrical shocks result in personality changes, 
maybe even psychotic behavior?" 
"Of course. That's what electroshock therapy was used for, to 
stimulate or isolate portions of the brain and effect personality 
changes in people suffering from mental illness." 
He looked back at the house, his mind reeling with new 
possibilities. "No, this is too far fetched. We can't keep 
disturbing this guy with nothing to go on but a ridiculous theory. I 
thought you were the reasonable one, Agent Scully." 
"Willmore, I am being reasonable. This man owns the car that was 
used, he has strange burn marks similar to the victims, and he has 
no alibis. He fits the profile Mulder laid out perfectly. I think 
this warrants a few more questions." She was getting a little 
impatient with Willmore, especially after the remark about her being 
unreasonable. Mulder would have already been back in the house by 
now. "We need to go talk to him again. Let's call the field office 
for backup." 
He looked skeptical, but as she pulled out her phone and dialed the 
field office, he resigned himself to going along with her. He 
returned to the front porch while she made the call. By the time she 
caught up with him, he was pounding on the door and ringing the 
doorbell, but there was still no answer. Finally he turned the 
doorknob and pushed the door open. He looked at Scully. 
"I think there's 'just cause' here." She nodded and they pulled 
their guns and entered the house. 
Doctor Winston wasn't in the sitting room where they had left him a 
few minutes before. They looked around and decided to explore the 
house, and Willmore bumped into her as he chose the same direction 
she had. She shot him a look that sent him the other way, towards 
the back end of the house, while she explored the front. They 
cautiously wound their way around, until they had carefully examined 
all the rooms on the first floor and met back in the kitchen. Scully 
opened the basement door and looked down the dark stairwell, seeing 
a dim light. She glanced at Willmore and he nodded quickly, his eyes 
confirming her thoughts. Gun drawn, she started down. 
She cautiously descended the stairs, sweeping around looking for any 
threats hidden in the shadows. By the time she reached the bottom 
she was fairly certain they were alone, and she pointed her gun at 
the ground, allowing Willmore to pass and move ahead of her. He 
immediately went straight to the machine, located on a wooden table 
set flush against one wall. 
"What is that?" Scully asked, holstering her gun and peering around 
him to get a better look at the mess of electrical components that 
had been crudely meshed together. 
"I don't know," he reached out and touched a harmless looking part 
of it and received a shock that made him quickly pull his hand back. 
"Jesus, Willmore, be careful!" Scully scolded him as he shook his 
hand to chase away the tingling that remained from the shock. She 
reached around him and carefully picked up one of the wristbands and 
looked at the metal buttons inside. "Look, this is probably what 
caused the burn marks on his wrists." 
Willmore nodded and looked around the basement, spotting a door in 
the back wall. They drew their guns and moved to the door. Standing 
close to it, Scully could hear a low grinding noise coming from 
behind it. She shot a worried glance at Willmore and he shrugged in 
response. They took up positions on either side of the door and 
Scully grabbed the door handle and flung the door open. 
"FREEZE! FBI!" Willmore moved into the doorway so he could see into 
the room. 
Inside, Dr. Winston sat at a pottery wheel, slowly pushing on the 
pedal, causing the table to turn and making the low grinding sound 
they had heard from the other side of the door. His hands were 
covered in clay and he was working on a delicately shaped vase. He 
froze and pulled his hands back from the wet clay form on the wheel, 
looking completely shocked at their entrance. 
"Wha- what's going on?" He asked in his quiet voice, clearly 
confused. 
"What are you doing?" Willmore asked while Scully walked around the 
room, confused and disbelieving. It was a dead end, there was 
nowhere to hide victims here. She returned to the doctor, holstering 
her gun again in frustration. She had been so sure she was really 
onto something here, but she had come up empty handed. 
"Just some clay. It's my hobby. I used to do quite a lot of it 
when.. before my hands.. you know." He shrugged, still confused. 
Scully squatted down next to him and looked at his hands, which were 
now steady and normal. "And what about your hands, Doctor? Why 
aren't they shaking?" 
He looked at his hands and looked up at her, as if he wasn't sure he 
should tell her. He looked back at his steady hands again. "That 
machine in the other room, it's a kind of therapy." 
"It shocks the nerves and gives you control again?" Scully asked, 
playing on her original hunch. 
"Exactly." She took his hands and turned them over, wiping the clay 
off the wrist where the button scars were. 
"Doctor, the first three victims suffered from a similar palsy, and 
all the victims have had electrical burns somewhere on their 
bodies..." He gasped and she looked at him, "Is there something you 
can tell me?"" 
"Tom built me that machine. I told you he was very creative, kind of 
an inventor, and that was one of the things he built for me. I 
seldom use it because it gives me headaches." His eyes widened with 
horror. "You don't suppose he tested his design on others, do you?" 
Scully looked up at Willmore and he pulled out his cell phone. After 
a brief talk with someone back at the office he turned back to her. 
"They found nothing in Peterson's home or car and his lawyer got him 
released for lack of evidence. He was last seen leaving with 
Mulder." 
"We've got to find him." She looked the old doctor over one more 
time, admitting to herself that he wasn't the one. How could she 
have been so taken with Tom's innocence that she was duped into 
believing him and suspecting this old man? 
She pulled her phone out, cursing herself for leaving Mulder alone, 
she should have known he would find trouble if there was trouble to 
be found. She quickly punched the memory button for Mulder's number, 
and after listening to it buzz six times, clicked the phone off. 
"Mulder's not answering his phone. Willmore, get some agents out to 
cover Tom's home, get an APB out on Mulder's car, and get Tom's 
family's address and number. I want to talk to them and see if 
there's anywhere else he could be hiding. Maybe another property his 
family owns." Willmore turned away and began relaying Scully's 
requests to the field office. 
"They're pulling the information for us. Let's head back to the 
field office and maybe they'll have it for us by the time we get 
there." Willmore pocketed his phone and waited for Scully to leave 
the room before he turned back to Dr. Winston. "Thanks for your 
cooperation, and I apologize for our intrusion." The old man waved 
it off as unnecessary and watched as the young agents left. 
Dr. Winston sat hunched over his idle pottery wheel, thinking about 
the boy he had mentored for so many years, wondering how he could 
have grown up to be a murderer. Finally he got up and wiped his 
hands clean and went upstairs to look through his correspondences 
with Tom to see if anything stood out that could help them find him. 
  
  
Chapter 19 
---------- 
Mercer Island, WA 
June 19, 5:30PM 
  
"Turn down this driveway." 
Mulder steered the rental car down the long gravel driveway. Lined 
with thick, wild bushes and shaded with tall trees that hung over 
the road, it led to a two story brick home. It had a beautiful view 
of Lake Washington. 
"Is this your place? You must do pretty well for a student." 
"It's my parent's guest house. I have an apartment in town too, but 
I stay out here sometimes when I want to get away from the crowds." 
"That's understandable. Well, here you go." Mulder stopped the car, 
eager to unload his passenger and get to Dr. Winston's house. He was 
sure there was something to be found there, and he was concerned 
Scully and Willmore would miss it. Tom put his hand on the door 
handle and stopped. 
"Agent Mulder, I can't believe you guys think Dr. Winston did it, 
but I've been thinking about it, and I have something he gave me 
that seems a little suspicious in retrospect. I'd like you to see 
it, if you wouldn't mind coming inside for a second." 
"Sure, Tom, what is it?" 
"It's easier if you just see it. It might be nothing, but, I'd like 
you to take a look." 
"Ok," Mulder parked the car, leaving the keys in the ignition, and 
followed him into the house. 
"Just wait here, I'll get it." Tom hurried off to the kitchen, and 
Mulder saw him open the cellar door and descend stairs to the 
basement. 
The inside of the house was decorated in typical early-seventies 
beach-house style. Nothing special, just the typical nautical decor 
with Japanese glass floats suspended in nets in the corners. The 
place smelled musty and disused. Mulder stood in the main room, one 
hand in his pocket playing with his keys, looking out at the water, 
waiting. He thought about the profile he had developed and all the 
ways it applied to Dr. Winston. 
As he stood looking out at a small boat sailing by, he heard a low 
hum and realized the lights had dimmed. After a minute it cut off 
with a snap, as if a fuse had blown, and the lights came back up. 
Mulder was still pondering the cause when Tom returned from the 
basement, empty-handed. 
"Couldn't find it?" Mulder asked as he approached. 
"No, I've got it right here." He lunged forward and hit Mulder in 
the chest with both hands outstretched, palms out. Immediately 
Mulder felt a strong electrical shock that threw him back, knocking 
him off his feet and causing intense pain in his chest. He hit the 
floor hard, knocking over a small table with a ceramic vase that 
shattered on impact. Mulder gasped for breath, feeling his chest 
tightening in a way that produced more panic than pain. There was no 
time to try to gasp out the questions that were spinning in his 
head. 
"Not much longer before people catch on, don't you think, Agent 
Mulder? I was lucky that lawyer got me out, but I only have so much 
time left. I thought I'd share my skills with one more patient 
before I go, though." He reached down and grabbed Mulder's arm, 
pulling him to his feet and dragging him towards the basement. "I 
think you need my help." 
Along the way, Mulder caught sight of a heavy wood paddle fastened 
to the living room wall, decorated with Greek letters, and as they 
passed it he pulled it down and swung it at Tom's head with all his 
strength. Even in his stunned condition, he managed a good hit, 
knocking the younger man down. Mulder charged past him and out the 
front door. Stumbling as he reached the edge of the raised porch, he 
tripped down the stairs, landing hard on the dirt path and causing 
vicious pains to shoot up his arm and across his chest as the 
exertion fought against his heart's efforts to regain it's steady 
beat. He lay on the dirt for a moment, unable to move through the 
haze of pain pulsing through his chest, gasping for air like a fish 
on the shore. 
He heard the heavy footsteps coming over the porch before he saw Tom 
standing over him, blood trickling down from his hairline. The look 
on his face was frightening, and he seemed to be insane with rage as 
he spat out every obscenity he could think of. 
"You bastard, you god damn, son of a bitch, bastard! What the hell 
were you thinking you could get away with back there?" Mulder saw 
the fury building up and winced as he saw the foot coming at him. 
Tom began kicking him in the ribs, striking out in a rage. The 
stabbing pains in his chest increased with every blow, and Mulder 
suddenly felt the sensations so clear and overwhelming, he couldn't 
hear Tom screaming at him or feel the blows. Everything else 
disappeared, and he found himself immobilized by a solid wall of 
pain. 
"Don't you know who I am? I'm here to help you." Tom kicked and 
swore until he was panting with the exertion, and Mulder had quit 
fighting. "You're more thankless than that god damn boy who swore at 
me and then had the nerve to attack me. After I fixed him! I had to 
kill him to protect myself." Tom stopped, his hands on his hips, 
breathing heavily as he leaned over and looked at his patient. He 
stood up straight and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back, 
looking around and wondering if anyone else had seen his little 
display. After a moment he had regained his composure and spoke 
again. "Don't make me kill you too. Just play your part and 
everything will be fine." 
He reached down and hauled Mulder up off the ground, shocking him 
into a dazed submission with an electrical discharge where his hands 
touched him. He watched as the agent's body went limp, eyes rolling 
back into his head until only the whites showed. When he was sure he 
wasn't going to fight anymore he dragged him back into the house. 
End Part 5 of 7 
      Title - Procedures (6 / 7 ) 
      Author - Stephanie Roberts 
      E-Mail - stefrobrts@aol.com 
Chapter 20 
---------- 
Northgate District 
June 19, 9:00PM 
Dusk was coloring the sky pink and orange, lighting the high, wispy 
clouds a brilliant purple. Scully looked out the window at them as 
Willmore drove, trying not to ignore him, but hard pressed to drag 
her thoughts away from the day's activities, and the previous 
night's. 
Although she had chased Mulder out of her room and then found ways 
to avoid him all day, she would do whatever she had to to get him 
back safe. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt over 
abandoning him that afternoon, though neither could have predicted 
the outcome. All the same, she felt this wouldn't have happened if 
she'd been with him, like she was supposed to be. She had to figure 
out where Tom was hiding and find him before Mulder got hurt. She 
pushed away that thought, and tried to forget the many nightmares 
she had had over the years, the ones where she pulled back the sheet 
on the autopsy table to find Mulder's cold body and lifeless eyes 
looking back at her. 
Willmore skillfully wove his way through the evening traffic, 
finally taking a freeway exit and following some twisty roads into a 
gated community. Once past the gate, he located the house and drove 
up the wide turnaround driveway which surrounded a large fountain, 
all carefully laid out in front of a massive house. 
Mr. Peterson answered the door and looked at them suspiciously 
through the locked security screen. "I don't have to answer any of 
your questions without my lawyer," he said firmly. 
"Your son is in a lot of trouble, Mr. Peterson," Willmore began. 
"My son was released for lack of evidence. I don't understand this 
further harassment. You people are trampling on his rights." 
"If we could just come in and talk I'm sure you'll understand." 
Willmore began. He caught sight of Mrs. Peterson, standing behind 
her husband and just peeking around to see the agents at the door 
before flitting away again. "New evidence has come to our attention. 
If you refuse to answer our questions you could be charged with 
interfering in an investigation. If your son is guilty and you help 
to hide him, you could be charged as accomplices to murder." 
Mr. Peterson looked from one agent to the other and finally unlocked 
the screen and waved them in, directing them to a sitting room off 
the foyer. Mr. Peterson took the armchair, establishing himself as 
being in his own territory. 
"Mr. Peterson," Willmore began, "your son has disappeared. He was 
last seen in the company of another FBI agent, and we suspect your 
son may have abducted him." 
"Maybe your agent abducted my son, did you ever think of that?" He 
began shouting. "You people drag him out of school and accuse him of 
these crazy things, it's just like Ruby Ridge all over again..." 
"Sir," Scully interrupted the man's tirade, "we have found evidence 
tying your son to a machine which uses an unorthodox electrical- 
discharge therapy technique to temporarily reduce the severity of 
palsy. The first three victims suffered from palsy, and all victims 
have shown electrical burns of some kind. Your son had access to the 
vehicle used for abductions and dumping of the corpses. Now he has 
disappeared in the company of an FBI agent who believed in his 
innocence, and I suspect he may have turned on him." She saw Mrs. 
Peterson cover her mouth, clamping down on emotions that were about 
to overflow. "What we need to know from you is: where is he? Are 
there any other family properties he might be using? Any vacation 
homes? Anything you can tell us about?" 
The man stood up quickly, angry. "You can't make us tell you that, 
it's private information. Anything we say would be speculation. 
Besides, you probably have it all in your records already," 
"Sir, it could take us days before we get that information from our 
sources, and we need to find him tonight. There's a fourteen-year- 
old girl, a run away, who is also suspected to be in the killer's 
possession. Any hope we have of saving these people is dependent on 
us finding them now. If your son is innocent we need to find that 
out too, so we can go on to other suspects, but right now he's our 
primary suspect." 
The man walked to the door and held it open. "I'm not telling you 
anything. You can talk to my lawyer. Anything he tells me to tell 
you, ok, anything else, you're on your own. Now get out of my 
house." Willmore went ahead of Scully, walking past Mrs. Peterson on 
his way to the door. 
At the foyer, with the women still behind them in the sitting room, 
Willmore stopped Mr. Peterson. "Would you like to tell me what you 
meant by that comment about Ruby Ridge?" Willmore asked to his face, 
standing a little too close, infringing on his personal space. 
"I'll tell you what I meant. You people think that just because 
you're government, the rules don't apply to you. You think..." Mr. 
Peterson's rants became louder, and soon he was shouting conspiracy 
rhetoric at Willmore, not noticing anything else around him, 
determined to get his point across. 
Scully immediately recognized Willmore's impromptu goading of Mr. 
Peterson as the excellent distraction it was meant to be. She walked 
up to Mrs. Peterson, trying to ignore the shouting from the foyer. 
"Mrs. Peterson, can't you tell us anything?" 
"My husband handles all this, I'm sorry Miss." Her voice cracked as 
she spoke and her demeanor was defeated and frightened. Scully got 
the impression this woman knew her son was guilty and that it was 
only a matter of time before he was caught. 
"Please, Mrs. Peterson. The agent Tom disappeared with is my 
partner." Scully didn't hide the desperation in her voice or the 
worry in her eyes. "I have to find him, Mrs. Peterson. I need to 
find him, and that little girl, and get some help for your son. 
Please, let me do this. If we wait to get the lawyers involved it 
could be too late." 
The woman looked back at her husband, still absorbed in his ranting 
against the establishment. Her resolve was shaking, and Scully knew 
she needed to push it over the edge. "He's been my partner for six 
years, Mrs. Peterson. He saved my life and so many other people over 
the years. He's a good man. Please, help me." 
The woman looked into Scully's eyes and saw something there that 
made her act. She silently walked to the desk and pulled out a 
notepad, quickly writing something on it. She tore it off, turned 
around and handed it to Scully. "Go now, don't let my husband know. 
Just promise me you won't hurt Tom if you can help it." 
Scully looked at the address written on the paper and nodded, 
shoving it into her pocket. "Thank you, Mrs. Peterson. We'll do 
everything we can to keep anyone else from getting hurt. There's 
been enough bloodshed." She walked quickly to the door, grabbing 
Willmore and dragging him away from the conversation on her way by. 
"We've taken enough of these people's time, Willmore. Let's go." 
Scully led the way to the car, leaving a still-shouting Mr. Peterson 
in the doorway. As they drove away she saw Mrs. Peterson standing in 
the sitting room window, watching them leave. 
  
  
Chapter 21 
---------- 
Mercer Island, WA 
June 19, 9:00PM 
Mulder awoke to darkness, feeling a cold metal table under him, and 
belts that crossed his chest, waist, and legs holding him to it. As 
he regained his senses, he realized that he was naked, covered only 
by a light sheet, which was pulled up over his face. A sudden 
claustrophobic panic came over him and he shook his head to knock 
off the sheet, breathing hard in the grip of panic. It fell away and 
he found himself still enveloped in complete blackness. 
"Who's there?" A small voice came out of the darkness, barely 
audible but still revealing the fear behind it. 
"My name's Mulder. Who are you?" 
"Tina. You're the first one I've met here who could talk." There was 
a short pause and he heard the soft sounds of fabric being gathered, 
followed by a slapping sound and tiny barefooted footsteps on the 
concrete. "You're new here." The voice was right next to his head 
now, and he could hear a slight wavering in it caused by pain or 
fear or both. 
"I'm an FBI agent. I was coming to rescue you, but he caught me 
instead. Can you help me unbuckle these restraints, Tina?" He felt 
her small hands run down from his shoulder until they reached the 
belt over his chest. He tried to ignore the tickle as her slight 
fingers trailed over his skin, looking for the buckle. Just as she 
touched it they both heard a noise outside the room. She disappeared 
and he heard her footsteps running away and the clanging of the 
table as she climbed back up on it. She was still again by the time 
the door opened and the lights came on. 
Peterson strode confidently in, carrying a medical journal, wearing 
a bloodstained white lab coat. He went to Mulder's table and yanked 
the sheet off, leaving him lying naked, completely unprotected in 
the cold room. Mulder flinched but tried not to let on that it 
bothered him. 
"How are we doing, Mr. Mulder?" He asked, not looking at him, 
instead flipping through the journal. 
"I'd be better without these restraints. They're a little binding," 
he joked, hoping to get a response from the younger man. Peterson 
didn't even bother to look at him. "You never restrained your other 
patients, why me?" 
"I'm thinking I'd like to try something new on you, Mr. Mulder. I'm 
wondering how much pain you can take before you naturally pass into 
shock and lose consciousness." He was still paging through the 
journal, looking for something specific. 
"That's a bad idea. I pass out really easy. I think you should just 
skip that and let me go." 
Tom pulled an instrument tray over and poked through the instruments 
until he found a scalpel. He laid the journal on Mulder's stomach 
and ran his hand over Mulder's chest, following the curve of his 
collarbone with two fingers, while examining a diagram in the 
journal. "I think if I start an incision here and it wraps around to 
here, I should be able to just peel this whole layer back, like we 
do in the autopsy bay." He seemed to be speaking to himself. "Or 
maybe I'll just cut it in strips, then I can peel it away one strip 
at a time." 
Mulder froze, listening to him, and then started thrashing against 
his restraints. "LET ME GO!" He yelled, putting up as much of a 
fight as he could muster. Tom stepped back, surprised by the 
intensity of Mulder's writhing. 
"Mr. Mulder, I'm asking you as your doctor, please sit still. It'll 
make it much easier for both of us." Mulder's eyes grew wide at the 
sight of the blood-encrusted scalpel Tom Held up. He threw his 
weight against the belts again, feeling them cut into his bruised 
sides and moving the metal table slightly, bumping Tom enough that 
he dropped the dirty scalpel. It clattered on the floor and bounced 
under a large equipment cabinet against the wall. Tom turned on him 
in frustration. 
"That's enough, Mr. Mulder! I didn't want to do this," Mulder tried 
to writhe away as Tom laid a hand on his chest and he felt a 
tingling charge move through his body. Suddenly, his muscles went 
limp, and his commands for them to move went unanswered. His eyes 
followed Tom's movements as he retrieved a clean scalpel from the 
equipment cabinet and returned to lean over Mulder's chest. 
"Don't Don't Don't" All Mulder could manage was a feeble chant. He 
lifted his head as much as he could muster, straining his eyes to 
see what was going on, but he dropped it back down as he saw the 
blade dig into his skin and blood began to seep out. He clenched his 
eyes closed and felt the cold metal blade cut into his skin and felt 
a disconcerting pull as his skin was sliced open. His nervous system 
had been slowed to a crawl by the electrical shock Tom had given 
him, but the pain did eventually make it's way to his brain, and 
when it did he didn't try to hold back and started screaming, hoping 
someone would hear him. Tom looked at him, annoyed, and reached for 
a small bottle on the instrument table. 
"I'll give you something to yell about," he rubbed some of the 
liquid from the bottle on the cut he had just made and Mulder howled 
even louder. 
Mulder managed to open his eyes long enough to pin the younger man 
with a stare. His eyes were filled with pain and cold hatred for 
this man who had complete control of him, and tears rolled down the 
sides of his face. He screamed at him to stop, gasping for breath, 
but Tom ignored him, smiling to himself. He lifted his scalpel and 
proceeded to make the next cut. 
  
  
Chapter 22 
---------- 
Mercer Island, WA 
June 19, 9:30PM 
Dr. Winston cursed himself for not remembering it when the agents 
were there. He would have done anything he could to help, but he had 
completely forgotten about the Peterson's guesthouse. Ironically, it 
was within walking distance of his home. Convenient seeing as how he 
couldn't drive since his hands had recommenced their constant 
shaking. 
He walked up to the house, noticing the rental car parked in front, 
and knew immediately it wasn't Tom's. He was quite familiar with 
Tom's little Honda. He found the front door unlocked, and as he 
hesitated to open it, he heard the screaming coming from inside the 
house. It was a deep, howling kind of scream, of a man in intense 
pain. He had heard screams like that many times over the years, 
coming from the wounded and dying patients in the Emergency Rooms he 
had worked in and supervised, and he had hoped to never hear them 
again now that he was retired. His shaking hands fumbled with the 
doorknob and he charged into the house. 
He followed the cries down to the basement, past a machine that 
looked very similar to his own, and to a door, set into the back 
wall of the basement. He hesitantly pushed it open. 
When he did he saw his friend and student, Tom, leaning over the 
body of a man, strapped to a metal operating table with thick belts. 
The man was screaming incessantly, stopping occasionally to gasp 
another shuddering breath before continuing. His body was drenched 
in sweat though he was curiously still. Winston saw the flash of a 
scalpel in Tom's hand. 
"TOM, STOP THAT!" He commanded, making the younger man jump, unaware 
of his presence. Dr. Winston hurried to the table and saw Tom had 
made a series of horizontal incisions along and below the man's 
collarbone, each about six inches long, and blood was flowing freely 
from them, running in rivulets down his chest over skin that was 
already bruised purple. "My God, what are you doing? Stop that man's 
bleeding, now." He looked around for gauze and pads, but saw none 
laid out, as if Tom had never intended to sop up the blood. Tom 
still stood looking at him dumbly. 
"What the hell are YOU doing here?" Tom finally asked, completely 
forgetting about his project on the table. Mulder had stopped 
screaming and was watching the men with hollow, frightened eyes, his 
mouth agape as he struggled to pull in breaths through the panic 
that had overtaken him from the moment Tom had started cutting. 
"I've come to talk some sense into you, Tom. What are you doing? I 
spent all those years helping you, and you helping me. I thought we 
were friends." The old man grabbed the dirty sheet off the floor and 
considered making bandages out of it for a moment and decided to 
pass. He turned back to his student. "How could you betray me like 
this? I had such great hopes for you." 
"I'm experimenting with things no other doctor has ever had the 
opportunity to try. This man's my patient, and what I'm doing to him 
is no different than what you did to thousands of people over the 
years." 
"What you're doing here is pointless, and against his will. You're 
just torturing people for your own pleasure. It has to stop!" Dr. 
Winston surprised himself with the anger in his voice, but the 
betrayal was too great, and seeing this poor man mutilated on the 
table made a mockery of everything he'd dedicated his life to over 
the years. 
Tom's eyes turned cold. "I'm not going to let you stop me, old man. 
Your help was appreciated at the time, but now I'm done with you." 
He looked at the scalpel in his hand and took a step towards the 
doctor. 
Forgotten, Tina had been hiding from Mulder's screams, knowing she 
would be overpowered if she tried to do anything. Now this older man 
had appeared, and she wanted to help if she could. She couldn't 
stand idly by and watch the madman kill again. She jumped off the 
table, ignoring the pain from the infected incision low on her 
stomach, which nearly made her knees buckle. Gathering her sheet 
into a rope she came quickly up behind the killer, looping it over 
his head. Once around his neck she crossed the ends and pulled it as 
tight as she could. 
Tom didn't see the attack from behind coming. He dropped the scalpel 
and it clattered to the ground, and he began flailing around, trying 
to turn and get his hands on the girl, to shock her back into 
submission. She hung on tight, although she was so small that she 
was no match for the bigger, healthy man. Before he could get a hold 
of her, Dr. Winston grabbed his hands, keeping him from turning. 
Tom struggled to pull his hands free, feeling the cloth tighten 
around his neck, feeling each breath coming harder. Finally he 
wriggled his hands around to grab Dr. Winston's wrists, digging his 
fingers in and delivering a potent electrical shock. 
To Dr. Winston, it was no different than being hooked to the therapy 
machine. His nervous system absorbed the shock, as it had been 
conditioned to do, and he felt his hands becoming stronger and 
steadier. He increased his grip and held on as Tom's legs weakened, 
his knees buckled, and he finally collapsed onto the floor. 
Tina held the sheet tight for longer than necessary. Finally, she 
let go, and his head hit the floor with a dull thud. Cautiously 
bending over him, she could see he was still breathing, but just 
barely. 
Dr. Winston pulled off his sweater and handed it to the girl to 
cover herself with, and then pulled off his shirt, folding it into a 
makeshift bandage and covering Mulder's wounds with it. Mulder 
watched helplessly as Tina unbuckled the straps that held him down, 
while the old doctor applied pressure to the incisions to stop the 
bleeding. 
"Who are you?" Mulder could barely form words, and his voice was 
hoarse from screaming. The blood loss had left him dizzy and 
lightheaded, slipping into shock. 
"Dr. Winston. Are you the FBI agent?" 
Mulder nodded weakly. 
Tina picked up a sheet off another table and gently pulled it over 
him, watching him closely, hoping she had acted soon enough and that 
he would be all right. 
"Your people came to see me, and I remembered this place after they 
left. I'm glad I got here, just in time I guess." Dr. Winston held 
the makeshift bandage down over his chest and trailed his fingers 
along Mulder's side, wondering if there were any broken ribs behind 
the dark bruises. 
Mulder made an unsuccessful attempt to sit up, but Winston gently 
pushed him down. "My clothes, my phone..." Tina looked around the 
room and spotted his suit tossed in the corner. She quickly went 
through the pockets until she found a cell phone, and brought it 
back to him. He took it and lifted his shaking arm up high enough to 
see the readout as he pushed the auto dial buttons and then handed 
it to the doctor just as he felt consciousness slipping away. 
Dr. Winston held it to his ear as it rang. For an instant he thought 
he was hearing it in stereo, mixed with the pounding footfalls 
coming down the basement stairs in the room behind him as Scully and 
Willmore arrived, Scully's phone ringing from her coat pocket. They 
stopped just inside the door, shocked by the scene laid out before 
them. Dr. Winston clicked off the phone, one concern on his mind as 
he turned to the young agents. 
"We need an ambulance." 
End Part 6 of 7 
      Title - Procedures (7 / 7 ) 
      Author - Stephanie Roberts 
      E-Mail - stefrobrts@aol.com 
Chapter 23 
-------- 
Harborview Medical Center 
June 23, 9AM 
Scully turned away and looked out the window at the dreary, Seattle 
rain, while Mulder pulled his clothes on. The situation seemed 
vaguely familiar to her, but she couldn't place it. This time it was 
a hospital room, though, which seemed a little different. 
It had been four days since her partner was admitted. His heartbeat 
had slowly returned to normal, after the electrocution he had 
suffered. The slices on his chest had been cleaned and stitched 
closed. The most frustrating part was recovering control over his 
stunned nerves and muscles. He had improved enough to be released to 
go back to DC and finish his therapy and they were both looking 
forward to going home. 
"Ok, you can look." 
She returned to the bed, sitting down next to him, seeing he had put 
on his pants and was struggling with shoes and socks. Although his 
recovery had been fairly complete considering the short amount of 
time that had passed, he was still struggling with some tasks that 
required manual dexterity. He huffed a little in frustration, and 
stopped to shake his hands out, as if that would help. He moved 
carefully, so as not to pull on the stitches in his chest. 
"Relax, Mulder. It's going to take a few more days before you're 
back to normal, but it will happen." He shot her a look reserved for 
use by people who were given useless advice by those more able- 
bodied. 
"Easy for you to say," he muttered, returning to the rather daunting 
task of tying his shoes. His fingers were weak and disobedient, and 
it felt like trying to eat with chopsticks, or more accurately, tie 
shoes with chopsticks. 
"Tina received at least one severe shock during the week she was 
held captive, and she's recovered completely." She paused, watching 
him struggle with catching the shoelaces that insisted on tumbling 
from his weak fingers as fast as he could grab them. "I saw her and 
her family today. They asked me to visit her hospital room, where 
she's recovering from what Peterson did to her. Apparently he 
removed one of her ovaries, but it looks like she's going to be OK. 
They wanted to thank us, especially you for your sacrifice." She 
stared at her hands for a moment, lost in thought. "Her parents 
seemed like nice people. They're going to try to work through 
whatever issues she had that made her run away." He looked over at 
her. 
"Well, at least that's good news. Poor kid ran away and fell right 
into the hands of a serial killer. It's got to be a parent's worst 
nightmare." He finished tying the first shoe and looked with 
resignation at the other. 
"Want some help?" Scully finally asked, trying to brush it off as no 
big deal. "I am a doctor, you know. I'm qualified to help," she 
joked. 
"I don't want you to help me tie my shoes," he said sadly, then 
smiling. "I didn't expect that until we're considerably older. Maybe 
eighty or so." 
She nodded and stayed put, her shoulder pressed against his, while 
he rested, wringing his hands together. She took the nearest one and 
gently massaged it, carefully loosening up the tense muscles. She 
moved her fingers and thumbs over his, gently applying pressure to 
the back of his hand, rolling over each knuckle, her fingers gliding 
over his wrist and rubbing the tension out of the muscles there. He 
thoughtfully chewed on his lower lip as he watched her work, 
fascinated that it felt so good but seemed to require so little of 
her own concentration. Her mind seemed to be elsewhere, and he 
wondered what she was thinking about while she worked on him. She 
reached for the other hand and he gladly let her take it for the 
same treatment. A comfortable silence had sprung up between them, 
and he decided to enjoy it for as long as it lasted. 
Finally, she broke the silence. "Examinations of Peterson seem to 
have revealed an unusual chemical imbalance that allows his blood to 
hold a charge." Mulder perked up at her words. 
"A charge? Like a battery?" 
"Yes, and he can release the charge in graduated amounts, though 
they are still working on the mechanism behind that." 
"A human battery. Scully, I knew you'd come through for me on this 
one from the moment you found that handprint on the corpse. 
Skinner's going to find you as annoying as he does me, if you keep 
this up." He carefully leaned over ignoring the ache it prompted 
from his bruised sides, and attacked his other shoelace again. "What 
else has been going on?" 
"Willmore took me to dinner last night." 
"He did not!" Mulder pretended to look shocked, teasing. 
"Really. He asked me out for dinner, took me to a really nice place 
downtown on the waterfront. We talked shop. I don't think he fully 
believed the human battery story, though. Otherwise he seems like a 
nice guy. He's kind of grabby though. I think I caught his hands 
roving at least twice before I brought it up." Mulder looked 
surprised at her for a second before turning his attention back to 
his shoe. He almost had it and didn't want to lose his place. 
"I could talk to him about that," Mulder said without looking up, 
his tone casual, as if offering to give him directions. Yeah, he 
thought, I'd give him some directions he wouldn't forget. 
"No, I've got him under control." She gauged his jealousy level and 
decided she liked it. 
He finally sat back, relieved he had won the shoelace battle. "So, 
do you think we achieved what Skinner sent us out here for?" 
"We caught the killer. We saved the remaining victim. We did our 
jobs and played nice with the local Feds. I don't think we left him 
anything to be disappointed with, except maybe your hospital bill." 
She stood up, retrieving his shirt off the foot of the bed. He stood 
and removed the loose shirt he had been wearing and she found 
herself face to face with the six rows of stitches on his chest. The 
black thread and swollen red edges of the wounds stood out 
grotesquely against his pale skin. For a moment she couldn't tear 
her eyes away, clearly seeing for the first time the vicious dark 
purple bruises that covered his sides where Tom had kicked him, and 
the burns on his chest where he had been shocked. 
She made herself look away, instead concentrating on helping him put 
on his clean shirt, slowly buttoning it for him even though he was 
perfectly capable of doing it himself. As she reached the top 
buttons he reached up and caught her hands, dragging her attention 
back to him, making her meet his eyes. 
"What's wrong, Scully?" He asked quietly, curious. He honestly had 
no idea what was bothering her, but the far-away look in her eyes 
told him her mind was elsewhere. 
"Nothing, Mulder. I'm fine." She started to pull away, but he held 
on and watched her for a moment, sure she wanted to tell him, if he 
gave her time. She looked around the room, thinking about escape, 
but finally looked back and met his eyes again. "I'm so sorry, 
Mulder," she said, shaking her head and looking away, suddenly on 
the verge of tears. She bit her bottom lip, feeling it starting to 
tremble despite her best efforts to the contrary. 
"Sorry? For what?" He still wasn't sure where the conversation was 
going, but he wanted to get it out in the open, no matter how 
painful. He felt an uneasiness waiting for her response, imagining 
all kinds of things he didn't want to hear her say, like 'goodbye', 
or 'it's over'. 
"For not being there when you needed me. For not being with you that 
day, watching your back like I'm supposed to be. For not finding you 
in time. For not being the one to rescue you, after you've rescued 
me so many times." He pulled her close, feeling her shaking breaths 
against his chest. He heard her voice break as she said, "I'm so 
sorry." 
"Scully, you don't owe me for the times I've rescued you." He rubbed 
her back, nuzzled her hair. "You can't always watch out for me and I 
don't expect you to. I should have been more careful." He felt her 
wrap her arms around his waist, her breathing becoming more normal. 
"I shouldn't have gone out with Tom alone, it was just my enthusiasm 
getting the best of me. I was so sure Dr. Winston was our killer." 
"I just wish I could have come through for you, Mulder." She thought 
about Dr. Winston's statement, about how he followed Mulder's 
screams to locate Peterson's operating room in the basement. It sent 
a chill through her. 
"You come through for me all the time, Scully, in ways you don't 
even realize. Don't knock yourself down over this. I'm OK, the girl 
was rescued, and the killer's in jail." He bent down just enough to 
steal a kiss and enveloped her in his arms again, closing his eyes. 
"Are you ready to go back to the world of viruses and honey bees?" 
She asked, her voice still unsteady as she finally pulled away from 
him, looking up to see his face and measure what she found there. In 
his eyes she saw the same friendship and hope that had always been 
there, unhampered by their little false start the other night and 
all the trouble it had caused. She was glad, she didn't want it to 
be over yet. She wasn't sure she wanted it to be over at all. 
"I have this great idea for locating those Jiffy-Pop bee hives using 
satellite photography," he said, changing the subject, his face all 
boyish eagerness. He put his hand on her back and directed her out 
of the room. "Are you ready to spend a little quality time with some 
grainy photos and a magnifying glass?" She tried not to groan in 
response as the door swung shut behind them. 
  
  
Epilogue 
-------- 
Tom Peterson lay in his jail cell on a thin mattress, covering a 
wire mesh bed frame, which was intolerably uncomfortable. He stared 
up at the single light bulb, protected by a safety cage mounted in 
the ceiling. There was a small, stupid moth, which had somehow 
wandered into his cell, and had spent the last half-hour beating its 
brains out against the light. It made a small pinging noise every 
time it bounced off the bulb, but with a persistence he couldn't 
fathom, it turned right around and came back for more. 
He lay on his back watching it, thinking about the nature of energy. 
It's ability to flow like water into his body through the machine he 
had built. Without the constant use of the machine, he had begun to 
lose his muscular control and his hands had begun shaking like Dr. 
Winston's. The moth continued it's pointless attack on the light 
bulb. 
With great effort, he stood up and climbed onto the bunk. He reached 
a shaky hand up towards the bulb, stretching as far as he could 
towards it. His fingertips just brushed it and he felt an idea begin 
to take form. One way or the other it would get him out of here, 
dead or alive. 
At dinnertime they slid a tray into his cell, and he waited until 
the guards had left him alone again to put his plan into action. He 
took the metal spoon from his tray, stood on the bed and reached for 
the light bulb. When he was sure he could reach it he steadied his 
hands and took a stab at it. He was successful on his first try. 
The metal spoon broke the thin glass of the bulb and as it showered 
down, the spoon touched the element within. The lights dimmed 
throughout the jail as energy funneled into his body, conducted by 
the spoon. Locked by the electrical arc, his body was suspended 
between the metal bunk and the spoon. Somewhere a fuse blew, the 
power cut out, and Peterson's body fell to the ground with a thud. 
****** 
The guard walked past the jail cells, looking in each to ensure 
nothing strange had gone on. The jail had experienced a power surge 
and resulting power failure to this block an hour ago, and now that 
everything was back to normal, he was making a final inspection of 
all the prisoners. 
He walked by the cell containing the new guy, a serial killer. The 
weird part was that he was a young man, clean cut, smart and really 
polite. The guards already liked him, because he was always so 
courteous. But now his cell was dark. 
"Hey, Tom, you ok?" 
The young man was sitting on the edge of his bunk, his hands flat 
and steady on his legs, his face hidden in the shadows. 
"Tom?" 
"My light seems to have gone out. Can you get someone to come fix it 
for me?" His voice was curiously strong. The guard didn't make much 
of it. 
"Sure, Tom. I'll get someone right up." 
"Thank you." 
  
********************************************************* 
********************************************************* 
And thank you, dear reader, for sticking with it through this rather 
long adventure. I'd love to hear from you, whatever your opinion. 
Also, if you enjoyed this, please check out my other stories, 
located at: 
http://members.aol.com/stefrobrts/xfiles.htm 
  
End Part 7 of 7