SPOOKED By Suzanne Bickerstaffe and "Melody" (Ecksphile@aol.com, harmne@kans.com) August, 1997 Rating: R for language, violence, adult subjects, some other/other sex and general weirdness Category: S, Scullyangst/Muldertorture Spoilers: Anything up through Memento Mori but not much beyond Summary: A clerk-typist tells the story of her experiences with Mulder and Scully, on loan to the VCU to investigate a serial murder case involving witchcraft and past horrors. Archive: Yes please, anywhere, anytime - with our thanks Disclaimer: The characters of Mulder, Scully, Skinner and Blevins belong to Chris Carter, Fox Television, and the actors who give them life. We borrow and embelish, our only profit being the thrill of creation and the joy of playing with their heads. Chandra, the characters you don't recognize and the plot belong solely to the authors. May be forwarded, reprinted, archived, etc., as long as the story remains precisely the same, with our names attached as authors, and no money changes hands. Chapter One J Edgar Hoover Building Washington D.C. Wednesday, March 26, 1997 I met the legend today. Funny, after two years of working as a clerk here without laying eyes on him I was beginning to think he was just a character the guys made up to scare the newbies with. And they'd certainly scared me. For the first six months I reacted like a frightened rabbit if I was caught in a strange place after dark, thinking I saw shadows within shadows. I should have known not to take a position in this department. But it was a promotion, a step up in pay and grade, and it had seemed like a good idea at the time. I promised myself I'd give it 30 days, and if I couldn't settle into it by the end of that time, I'd ask to step down. Blevins agreed I could. And after all, a clerk is not an important position. More like a glorified gopher, still a step away from a secretary. How bad could it be? Well, in the Violent Crimes division I soon learned. The first week I think I threw up a dozen times. The agents here are a wild and woolly bunch, foul-mouthed at the best of times. They talked over the most horrifying details of cases with seeming unconcern, sometimes even while they were eating. The first time I caught sight of some crime scene photos left lying on a desk I didn't even make it to the restroom. I quickly learned to keep my trash can handy and a supply of plastic liners in my desk drawer. Peppermint candy helped, too. Looking back, it seemed as if I were being subjected to some kind of initiation, a hazing of sorts. Testing the mettle of the newbie, to see if I had what it takes to work in this division. But after two weeks I found I'd become...well, inured... to the grisly sights. I guess I passed muster - I'm still here. Now I really am a glorified gopher, sent to fetch everything from coffee supplies to evidence bags of severed body parts. Although the latter still give me the willies, they no longer send me running for the nearest recepticle. During the past two years I'd heard a seemingly endless stream of stories about this legendary man. More stories than seemed creditable for a mere mortal who'd supposedly only been in the division for a few years. A young man, fresh out of college, who surely would have been more than a little wet behind the ears. So after a while I began to take the stories with a grain of salt. The stories seemed to circulate in waves, too; nothing for a while, then for a few weeks that's all the agents seemed to talk about. Then it would die off until something stirred them up again. Once in a while one of the agents would claim to have seen him in the building with his partner, whom they referred to as the Ice Queen. Or they even claimed to have spoken to him. I could never understand why they seemed both awed and contemptuous at the same time. The one agent I dared to ask snarled at me, snapping that the man had gone insane. They didn't know why he was still even with the Bureau, but he had ended up in the basement and supposedly chased UFOs now. And ghosts. Maybe that's why they refer to him as "Spooky". There's been a serial murderer at large that has been making the entire division miserable for the past seven months. The only thing the victims seem to have in common is their age, all of them being around forty-five. This guy - and at this point they're not even sure it's a man - apparently changes his MO enough to make it hard to track him or even tie him to the different murders. He gets around, too. When things were getting bad, as usual, the Spooky stories started up again. Ben Johnson was the first one to suggest maybe they ought to ask for his input. The first overwhelming response was derisive hooting, but after a few more weeks the tides changed. Then, this morning.... This morning when I got to work there was a strange man standing at my desk. He scared the shit out of me. The offices were mostly dark, only the required "Exit" lights on. I'd unlocked the door and swung it open, and there was this shadowy figure.... I think I was halfway back down the hall when he stepped through the door into the light. I don't remember moving, actually. By the time I could think again, I was just leaning against the wall at the corner, my heart in my throat beating a mile a minute, and looking back to see him standing there. He looked startled. He was probably wondering what the hell was wrong with me. He looked awfully young, tall and kind of lanky, with dark hair that was sticking up in front like he'd run his fingers through it. His face was smooth and slightly olive-colored, attractively put together. Seen through the wire-rimmed glasses he wore, his eyes looked brown, or maybe hazel; it was hard to tell in the dim light. His suit was probably a designer, judging from the dusty-eggplant color and the quality of the fabric, but it hung just a little loosely on his body, and was slightly rumpled. His tie was loud, both in color and pattern, a garment no designer would willingly claim. He'd called out to me, I suppose, when I'd bolted. Now his voice was finally registering in my brain, soft and apologetic. "I'm sorry I scared you. I guess I should have turned the overhead lights on, but I wasn't expecting anyone for another half an hour," he was saying. He stayed in the doorway, though, as if he knew it would frighten me if he came toward me. "How did you get in there?" I demanded. My legs felt like jelly, but at least my voice was firm. "My key still fits. I guess Blevins never got around to changing the locks." He sounded serious, but his lips twisted up a little like he was joking. "I'm Mulder." Special Agent Fox Mulder. The legend. *THIS* was Spooky? Surely not. He had his ID in his hand, though, offering it to me. I walked back toward the door, stopping just out of reach - not that it would have done much good if he'd had nefarious intentions, I could see he wore a gun. But the distance nonetheless made me feel safer. I glanced down at the proferred ID and then back up at his face. Seen closer, I could tell he wasn't as young as I'd first assumed. Oh, his face was unlined and his hair had no gray, but his eyes gave him away. His eyes were old, ancient almost, and slightly sad. They reminded me of the uncle I used to visit in the VA hospital, the one who'd been in a POW camp for several years. How could such a young man have such eyes? They certainly didn't match the rest of him. "You have pretty fast reflexes. You were gone before I could even say anything," he was saying as he put away his ID. "Adrenalin," I explained, still embarrassed. "They told me you were coming down today, but since the door was locked I wasn't expecting anyone to be in the office. Guess I made a great first impression, huh." He grinned and humor lit up his eyes, changing his whole face. I felt safe now, and offered my hand. "I'm Chandra Jones, the clerk here for the VCISU. If there's anything you need while you're down here, just ask me." "Thanks, I'll remember that," he said, taking my hand briefly. His grip was warm and firm. "But I'll warn you ahead of time that you probably won't want to have anything to do with me. I have sort of a reputation, you see." I heard myself chattering away, "Oh, I know. I've heard all about you, but I've got to say I don't believe everything I've heard. Besides, some of the things I've heard don't make any sense at all." "Oh?" The humor was still in his eyes and his head tilted to the side just a little, as though he hung on my every word. I felt a flush rising to my cheeks. What made me say that? I groaned inwardly, but I was committed now. "Um... I've heard, for example, that most people think you've gone crazy.... But when they hit a wall on an investigation, they go to you for help. That doesn't make sense." Agent Mulder was smiling, but it was wry, twisted. "And you don't understand how they can value my skills and ridicule me at the same time?" I nodded, and he continued. "They appreciate my results, but my methods are sometimes... unexplainable. People scorn what they don't understand." He sighed, and turned to go back inside the offices. "And anyone who gets too close to me will get tarred with the same brush," he added over his shoulder as I followed him. I got the definite impression he was warning me to keep my distance. He found the table where the case files were spread out as soon as I turned on the overhead lights, and was instantly absorbed by them. I went about my normal morning routine, making coffee and trying to have everything necessary on hand for the day. I took Agent Mulder a cup of coffee and reminded him to take off his coat, hanging it up for him when he absentmindedly dropped it over a chair. I was at the computer when Blevins came in. "Well, Mulder, I see you finally saw fit to grace us with your presence." "Yeah, I was out of town when I got word that you missed me, Blevins. I came as soon as I could." Mulder's voice was off, somehow. The tone was cool, even though he spoke in a relaxed manner. I got the definite impression there was some unpleasant history here. "Chasing little green men again?" "No, as a matter of fact it was a coven of witches practicing human sacrifice. And aliens are gray, not green." Aliens? "So, Mulder, what do you think of this mess?" Johnson and Roberts came in just then. Having my own work to do, I missed bits and pieces of the conversation, but I got the gist of it. Mulder reminded Blevins he'd just arrived, and typically Blevins had a few choice words ready about wasting time. Mulder more or less ignored him, and eventually Blevins huffed off to his own office on the other side of the section. Mulder sat down at the table alone, systematically reading through each file. Then he took the crime scene photos out and laid them out across the table, walking around it over and over, studying them. He occasionally rearranged a few of them. The other agents watched him furtively, and I could hear a few muttered remarks I thought were totally uncalled for. Apparently someone figured Mulder was putting on a show to impress them, although how what he was doing could be considered grandstanding was beyond me. Not that I had any idea what he was actually doing, but it was clear he was totally absorbed in it, and not merely putting on a show for the other occupants now drifting into the room. He spoke only once, to ask me for a magnifying glass. He thanked me absently and returned to his photos. I was trying to watch Mulder and transcribe some field notes onto the computer when another newcomer entered the room. This one was a woman - rare in these offices - and a small one at that, even shorter than my own 5'4". Her face was almost china-doll pretty, but she held it in a serious expression that could almost be considered haughty. She gave the impression of being cool to the core, but it seemed to me that her vibrant coloring and the fire in her eyes told an entirely different story. She paused at my desk. "Hello," she said in a low, pleasant voice. "I'm looking for Agent Mulder. I was told he was here. I'm his partner, Dana Scully." Because of the way the room is laid out - this whole section used to be a bomb shelter - the table where Agent Mulder sat was visible to me but not to her. "Good morning, Agent Scully. Agent Mulder is just over there." I pointed her in the right direction and watched her walk over to him. She didn't pause in the least when someone was in the way, as if she expected them to move...which they did. Hmm, yes - I could see the regal bearing and the cool manner, but did these people really see this woman as an ice queen? Somehow I couldn't agree. Mulder looked up as she neared him, and his face cleared of the lines of concentration long enough for him to smile. "Hey, Scully, I was hoping you'd get here soon. I have something I need you to look at and tell me if I'm seeing things...." There was a derisive squawk from a group of agents nearby. Casting a dismissive glance at them, Agent Scully stepped up to her partner's shoulder to look at the photos he was holding, and their voices dropped to an almost conspiritorial level. In moments their heads were bent close together as they examined the photos, Mulder pointing at details with the tip of his fountain pen. After a few minutes, Scully took the photos from him to look at more closely, then she handed them back. "You're right, Mulder. I would have missed it, but you're right." Ben Johnson's curiosity finally got the better of him, and he joined the partners at the table. Ben was an anomaly in this office, a nice guy who didn't feel the need to appear as hard as nails, or as ruthless as the killers he pursued. He was the one person who had some empathy for Mulder. Well, perhaps empathy's taking it too far... at least he valued Mulder for his contributions and gave him credit for his unorthodox methods, even if he didn't understand them himself. "Got something, Mulder?" Mulder turned to Johnson abruptly. He seemed startled, as if he'd forgotten anyone else but his partner was in the room. He recovered quickly, however. "Possibly. I think seven of these twelve murders were committed by the same person. The others - maybe they were, maybe they weren't." Jerry Walsh detached himself from a little group of agents who had been observing the proceedings. He was one of Mulder's most virulent detractors in the department, and I had a feeling there was about to be a scene. "You smug, self-righteous son of a bitch! You come in here with your know-it-all attitude and spend ten minutes looking over a bunch of pictures, and you have the balls to act like you've got the whole fucking thing figured out!" Mulder's face froze for an instant, then was replaced by a mask of cool blandness. He shrugged. "Sorry. He asked." Ben glowered at Walsh. "Can it, Jerry. If our track record on this case weren't so fucking awful, he wouldn't even be here. At least hear him out, for Christ's sake. Okay Mulder, what makes you think that?" "Let's just say that I find it more than coincidental that seven of these Scene of the Crime photos have the same personal memento in the frame. Now, as to whether it was already in the possession of the victims, or whether it was left by the killer, I can't say. By any chance, has anyone checked these out?" Johnson sighed and lowered himself into a chair. "That's just one of the many problems with this case. These murders were committed in Virginia, DC, Maryland, and Delaware, with no two in the same town. They were all investigated by the local authorities - twelve different departments in all, none of which came up with anything they thought was unusual enough to mention, and no leads. By the time someone saw a possible connection in the murder method and handed it over to us... well, the crime scenes had long since been cleaned up. Makes things a little more difficult to check out. Okay, what 'personal memento' are we talking about here?" "This photograph." Mulder pointed with the tip of his pen to each of the seven photos in turn. "Admittedly, they're a little fuzzy in several of these shots and will need to be enlarged. The frames are all different, but it appears that at least it could be the same picture in each." Johnson picked up the magnifying glass and peered at the SOC photos. "You're right - each of these has some sort of framed group picture - young adults, it looks like. So, outside of the victims' ages, this could be the first substantive clue we have linking the victims and tying the murders together." Mulder nodded. "They look like they're all wearing robes of some sort," murmured Scully, looking over Johnson's shoulder at the photos. "Maybe they were in some sort of a college or church choir together." "It's possible," her partner replied. "There are some other objects in the background I'd like to take a closer look at when we get these enlarged. It might tell us something more." "So, what's the plan now?" Johnson asked. "Blevins read us the riot act yesterday and said you'd be taking over the direction of this case." At Mulder's expression of surprise, he grinned. "You know how it is. This case has been on the books too long. Evidently Skinner chewed Blevins' ass about it, then Blevins came down here and chewed ours." So that's why everyone had been in such a foul mood yesterday. I had seen them filing into the conference room like they were going to their own executions. They had emerged an hour later stony-faced. That's when Blevins told me that Mulder would be in to look at the case files.... So he had carried through on the ultimate threat - to let Spooky run the show. I couldn't help but feel he was putting Agent Mulder in a terrible position. Surely Blevins had to know that the guys in VCU already either hated or feared him, or were green with envy for his talents and track record. Now Blevins was forcing Mulder to lead this team of hostile colleagues? Talk about your no-win situations. He was being set up to fail, as all the others had before him. And if the legendary agent *did* manage to succeed it would only earn him more jealousy and resentment from those he was forced to work with. You need to understand something - I have no love for Blevins myself. He's moody and inconsistent, and his management style features pitting one team against another in an effort to make everyone work harder, better, faster. Unfortunately, all it accomplishes is to sink morale to an all-time low. With the kind of work this department does, stress levels are already high. Adding more pressure is not the way to get the best out of your employees, I wouldn't think. But what do I know - I'm only a clerk. I glanced across the office to see Blevins leaning against a desk, eavesdropping, his arms crossed in front of his chest and a self-satisfied smirk on his face. I wondered what he thought of the 'ass-chewing' comment. I looked back at Mulder. Everything about him, from his body language to the expression on his face, was controlled, but something told me he was only too aware of the position Blevins had placed him in. And he didn't like it. Not one bit. I saw Agent Scully's hand drift to his shoulder and just rest there. He seemed to pull it together then, taking a deep breath and letting it out. He nodded to her, just a subtle bob of his head, then turned his attention to the agents who had joined them at the table. "All right. We need a team to contact the families of those seven victims and ask what they know about the group portrait - if it had been in the victim's possession, or was left at the murder scene by the killer. If it belonged to the victim, we need to know who the people in it might be, and their connection with the victim. We also need to find out if the other five victims had this portrait among their belongings. If not, then chances are they aren't connected with this particular series of murders, and their case files can be returned to local law enforcement for individual follow-up. Johnson, you know the men; why don't you divide up the teams and make the assignments?" I thought. I saw Johnson smile and nod, Mulder's gesture not lost on him. It wasn't lost on Blevins, either. I think he was worried Mulder would steal his show. He strode purposefully toward the group assembled at the table. "Well, I was hoping it wouldn't be a complete was of time and government money bringing you in here, Mulder. You heard Agent Mulder, people! Let's get cracking!" The other agents dispersed, leaving Mulder and Scully standing uncomfortably with Blevins until the Section Chief was called away to the telephone. I figured with the 'get cracking' comment he must have meant me, too, so I turned back to pounding the keyboard once more, my eyes fixed on the terminal screen. I was startled a few minutes later, then, when Agent Mulder cleared his throat next to me. "Ms. Jones, would you run these down to the Photo Lab when you get a chance? I've marked the areas to be enlarged and by how much on each of the SOC photos." I smiled up at him warmly. "I'd be happy to, Agent Mulder. Want a rush order on them?" He shook his head. "I just called. They said they wouldn't be able to get to them for several hours, maybe not even today." "Well, I have a friend who works there - Larry might be able to 'expedite' things a little," I whispered conspiratorially. I rose and took the manilla envelope. I think Mulder's the only one who has ever bothered to conceal this kind of photograph from view by putting them in an envelope or folder. Whether it was deference to my sensibilities or out of respect to the victims, I have no idea. It really didn't matter. Either way, it was refreshingly thoughtful. "Thank you, Ms. Jones. It seems I came to the right person to get this done. I should have guessed - after all, I know how fast you can move." He grinned at me. I blushed, remembering my panicked flight from him earlier, but returned his good-natured grin. "Please - call me Chandra." "Thanks, Chandra," he smiled. "And I'm just plain Mulder." He gave me another one of those quirky grins, then turned away. Mulder may be a lot of things, but I doubt 'plain' is one of them. God, but the man smelled good! I've always had a very keen sense of smell, and Mulder smells great. It isn't a cologne or after-shave scent; this didn't come from any bottle. No, this was just the way clean smells, with a faint spicyness I suspected was just 'him'. "Agent Mulder!" Blevins called him before he'd gone two steps. "Richmond PD was just on the phone. They have a new body that looks like it might fit into our serial case. You know what you're looking for, so you pull the trip. You and Scully get down there and meet a Lieutenant Beaulieu at the crime scene. Here's the address." He handed Scully a scrap of paper. "...And Jones," he looked past Mulder to me, "when you're finished running Agent Mulder's little errand, I have a special project for you." He smiled at me. I suspect it was much the same smile a predator gives the rabbit that's about to become dinner. Wonderful. "Yes, sir." With a final, furtive smile for Mulder, I headed for the Photo Lab. J. Edgar Hoover Building Wednesday, March 26 Evening After Blevins dropped his little bomb on me - a project with an impossible deadline - I worked on it steadily for the rest of the day. The only times I broke from the damned files was when I got a cup of coffee, and once to go to the restroom. I called home at four, and called Allie at five-thirty to see if she'd tape that night's psychology lecture for me. By seven-thirty I had at least made a start on nearly half of the files, but I was starting to see double, so I decided to go home. I would get them finished by the deadline, no matter how late I had to stay the following night. I yawned all the way across the parking garage to my car even though my mind was busy rehashing the events of the day. I went through the motions of unlocking my car and starting the trip home, but I couldn't stop thinking about Agents Mulder and Scully. They seem to mesh so perfectly. I have to admit, I can see where rumors of their being lovers would be easy to believe.... But I don't think they are. I don't know, I just think it would be somehow more obvious if they were. But there *is* something there that just doesn't exist between most partners. They each seem to know what the other is thinking - which is funny, when they seem to be so completely opposite from one another. Agent Scully is so grounded, so practical and, I don't know, scientific maybe. Agent Mulder is more, for lack of a better word, intuitive. I get the feeling he listens to his gut more than his brain at times. A horn honking behind me startled me out of my reverie, and I realized I was sitting at a green light, nearly halfway home. I'd been driving on auto-pilot. I was just lucky there was little traffic. I kept my attention on the road the rest of the way home. The late spring twilight was fading and it was starting to get dark. By some miracle, there was an empty parking space near the door to my building, and I grabbed it. It was the closest I had been able to park in two weeks. Now if it had been raining, I wouldn't have found a parking spot in the same zipcode. I normally don't mind climbing the three flights of steps to my fourth floor apartment, but that night they seemed especially steep. I could hear Mrs. Stone's TV as I passed her door on the second floor - the poor woman must be nearly deaf - and smell the bouquet of a mouth- watering marinara wafting under the Petrocelli's door on the third. As I reached the top of the next flight I could hear the music drifting from my door, and felt the accustomed catch in my heartbeat. It was so nice to have someone to come home to! As usual, he didn't hear me come in. Sven, the man of my dreams, is in the mostly-bare living area, painting. He's an artist. I know, we've all heard about artists. God knows I've heard enough from my father on the subject. But Sven is different. He's actually very good - he makes a pretty decent living from his paintings already, and his reputation is still growing. He was at his tall easel, his back to the door. Sven is a big man - 6'4" and well-muscled - so I couldn't see what he was working on. All I could see was his golden hair brushing the shoulders of his favorite paint-stained denim shirt. He was so immersed in his work he didn't hear me kick off my shoes or toss my purse behind a chair. I was able to walk right up behind him and slip my arms around his waist before he realized I was there. As always, Sven responded immediately to my touch. Although he didn't jump - a trick I'd like to learn - he took a quick breath, then tried to turn in my arms and hug me. And as always, he forgot he had a paintbrush in his hand. I've learned to elude his grasp until he remembers and puts it down. On my salary, I can't afford to lose any more clothes to paint splotches. Grinning, Sven dropped the brush into a jar of solvent and reached for the snaps on his shirt. He slowly popped each snap and stripped off the shirt, dropping it over his stool, his eyes never leaving my face. I knew he was taking it off because it had paint on it, but that didn't mean I appreciated the show any less. Sven is gorgeous. He looks like some Viking war god, but his touch as he took me in his arms was gentle. I snuggled into his embrace and lifted my face for his kiss. "I miss you when you are late, ~alskare~," he whispered against my lips. Mmm, right! He was concentrating on his work so hard I could have been here for hours before he noticed me.... "How is this one coming?" I asked, peeking over his shoulder at the canvas on the easel. His paintings remind me of Monet a little; they're somehow restful and I can look at them for hours and still notice new things. Perhaps that's one of the reasons he's becoming so popular in the hectic DC area - people find them soothing. "It's almost finished," he answered, turning to cast a critical eye over the painting. It was a scene from a walled garden with a pond, slightly out-of-focus, but still so detailed you could almost see the breeze sway the flowers, and the goldfish swimming. My stomach growled, reminding me it had been a long time since lunch. "Did you eat yet?" "I had Chinese delivered after you called. Why don't you change clothes while I heat some of it up for you?" Sven headed for the kitchen area while I backtracked to pick up my shoes and purse, then went into the bedroom. Our apartment is an open-plan, basically a rectangle with a wall across one end that creates the bedroom, bathroom, and the single huge closet. The kitchen and dining areas are along the opposite side and are all open to the main room, which at this point is still nearly bare. So far we have only a dinette set and a sofa for furniture in there. The lamps and my stereo and TV are still sitting on the wooden crates Sven's things were shipped from Sweden in. But the main feature of the room was the sole advantage to being on the top-floor walk-up of a converted apartment building - huge skylights that let in both the daylight and the stars. Sven fell in love with the space when we chose the apartment together last year. It's a lot bigger that I would ever have chosen on my own, but I have to admit - the openness is growing on me. The bedroom is proportionately large, fortunately, and not dwarfed by Sven's king-size four-poster bed. I, on the other hand, feel like a midget when I crawl into it alone. Thankfully that's not often. I absolutely love the huge closet - what woman wouldn't? - but I won't go into it without the light on. Okay, I admit it. I'm easily spooked. Putting my shoes and purse away, I rummaged around for one of the loose jumpsuits I like to wear around the house and carried it out to the bed. Sven came through the door just as I was slipping off my jacket. "Need any help changing?" he asked, grinning. Oh, those blue, blue eyes! "I don't think so," I answered teasingly, turning my back on him. "I've been dressing myself since I was a kid." His arms came around me, his hands going unerringly to the buttons of my blouse. "Ah, but I am wanting to *un*dress you...." His voice was low and rippling with laughter. This was a game he always enjoyed playing. I relaxed, leaning back into Sven's chest, and watched his hands quickly opening my blouse. The skirt followed quickly, then my bra. Sven's hands cupped me softly. The contrast of his pale skin against mine never fails to fascinate me. I think it does him, too. I could see him watching in the mirror over the dresser. Sven's more than a full head taller than I am, so I was practically framed by his fairness. I inherited my coloring almost entirely from my East Indian mother. I never knew her, she died when I was born, but my father saw to it that I have pictures of her. She was small and very dark, with an elfin face and liquid black eyes. I have her darker skin and her black hair, but I have my father's light eyes. Cat's eyes, Sven calls them, and he says they're amber. I don't know - they look plain brown to me. As if he knew what I was thinking, Sven turned me to face him. He doesn't like it when I start looking for my faults. He never sees the extra five pounds that keep creeping up on me, or that my makeup has turned shiny, or the myriad other things I find to criticize. I felt the tug as he pulled the band from my braid, loosening it and running his fingers through the crinkled strands. My hair, unbound, reaches past my waist and is the one thing we agree on. It's my vanity. Maybe I should have felt silly standing here in just my pantyhose and hair like some bizarre Lady Godiva, but Sven didn't give me time to think about it. Lost in the feel of his hands on my skin, I barely realized the hose had disappeared until he pulled me against him again. "You're beautiful, Chandra," he murmered against my lips, between leading kisses. "When are you going to let me paint you nude?" "You don't paint portraits," I hedged. It was an old argument. Even the thought of some stranger - or worse, someone I know - seeing a nude painting of me gives me the willies, but I know someday Sven will manage to talk me into it. Maybe. "I want to paint you," he insisted softly. "No one but me will ever see it." His hands slid down over my hips, pulling me closer. I could feel him growing hard and it mades my knees weak. He kissed me again, his tongue sliding in deeply, and I groaned. I didn't want to argue about this anymore, even in jest.... I wanted *him*. But he withdrew, breaking the kiss. "Okay, suppose I agree..." It wouldn't hurt me to just talk about it for a minute, would it? "How would you want me to pose?" "Curled up on the bed, like you're waiting for your lover." His answer was prompt. Obviously he'd given this some thought. Was that good or bad? "Show me." Lifting me easily, he carried me to the bed and began to arrange me on the turned-down covers. He pulled the pillows up behind me, and in the process of spreading my hair across them a few strands fell over my breast. He brushed them back. My nipple contracted and grew hard at the inadvertant touch, and his eyes darkened.... My stomach gave up growling as heat began to pool low in my belly. The stir-fry was probably getting cold again, but I no longer felt that type of hunger. His hands trailed over my body, then lingered on my thighs as he arranged my legs. I let my eyes close. So he wanted me to pose as if I were waiting for my lover? Okay - I focused on his touch, and let myself relive what it is like to make love with him. Let myself feel that hunger.... Then I opened my eyes and looked at him. "Like this?" I whispered. He had to clear his throat before he answered in a voice noticeably deeper than before, "~Ja~, something like that." I got the sudden urge to play with fire. I have no idea what came over me - maybe it was a result of the many stresses of the day - but all at once I wanted to play the tease and see if I could make Sven lose some of his control. Sven was normally the most gentle, considerate of lovers, always taking care he didn't hurt me. But that night I wanted him wild. Could I do it? Make him lose control? "Am I waiting for a new lover, or an old?" I asked. Sven shook his head as if to say 'what's the difference?' and I continued. "If I wait for a new lover, I would want to tempt him." I rearranged myself to what I hoped was a more provocative pose; thrusting my breasts forward through the curtain of my hair, wetting my lips and letting my eyes half-close. Sven's eyes darkened and I felt a thrill. I was also becoming aroused... "If it's a lover of long standing, perhaps I feel anticipation - knowing what's to come." I smiled dreamily and let one hand stroke my breast absently, making the nipple peak. The heat from Sven's gaze brought the other to attention and I stroked it, too. I didn't know if this would drive Sven wild, but it was sure doing a number on me. "Of course, if my lover is making me wait for him too long, I might start without him...." I squeezed my thighs together restlessly, rubbing my hand over my abdomen as if I was fighting myself. Then I let my legs fall open and my fingers slid down. I felt my own wetness and bit back a groan, then suddenly Sven's had caught my wrist. He was leaning over me now, his eyes bright with desire, a faintly amused twist on his lips. "And if I am the lover you wait for? How would you wait for me?" he growled. He was close enough to reach and I took advantage. "I wouldn't wait long," I murmered. "I would come find you." As I finished speaking I closed my fingers over the bulge in his jeans, stroking firmly. His eyes widened in surprise, then closed as he pushed into my hand. "~Du reta mig~," he growled, pulling my hand away from his arousal. I hid a smile; although I only understand a few words of Swedish, I love it when Sven lapses. It means I've got him rattled, something I can rarely do. "English, Sven," I reminded him. "I said, you tease me. Why do you tease?" "Did you like watching me?" I asked. "Yes." "That's why. I wanted to - excite you - by doing something different." I grinned up at him coyly. "Did it work?" Sven responded by climbing on top of me. Grinning, he pinned me to the mattress with his weight and caught my wrists, pulling my hands over my head. "You are bad, ~sma|ena~." I wiggled and managed to get my legs apart, settling his weight where I wanted it the most. I arched my hips, rubbing against him, arousing myself even more in the process. His hands tightened and his pelvis ground into the soft flesh between my legs for a moment before he regained some control. Then his eyes narrowed. "Only with me, ~kvinna~," he demanded, "~Du tillhor mig.~" "Only with you," I promised. There was no time for more. Sven's mouth descended on mine with a ferocious hunger and it was all I could do just to breathe.... When he released my wrists his hands were everywhere - clenched in my hair to hold me for his kiss, caressing my breast, behind my back to arch me closer, clasping my knee to pull my leg over his hip. Then he was sheathing himself in me, and I could no longer think. I think I created a monster. Some long time later I lay exhausted on Sven's chest, trying to catch my breath. His fingers tangled in my hair as he stroked my back. He was murmering to me, mostly in Swedish I think, but I was slipping into sleep and didn't catch most of it. "~Jag alskar dig~," he whispered. I caught that. It means 'I love you...' The Apartment Early Morning, Thursday March 27, 1997 I woke to the scent of coffee and stretched, smiling to myself at the feel of the sheets against my bare skin. Pushing a tangle of hair off my face, I opened my eyes and looked around. Sven was sitting on the windowsill sipping from a steaming cup. Another one sat on the nightstand for me - yet another reason I love this man. "I have decided you are right, Chandra," he said suddenly. "I will wait to paint you nude." He paused, turning his head to grin at me. "When I am older perhaps you will not have such an effect. I don't think I would survive many nights like last night." I stiffled a giggle and gave him my best 'innocent' look. "But what if I improve with age?" A look of shock passed over Sven's face, then he burst into laughter. He muttered something toward the ceiling that I didn't understand. It sounded suspiciously like a prayer, and I finally succumbed to the giggles. Sven joined me in the bed for a good morning kiss and a cuddle. It was a brief one, though, because my alarm clock went off five minutes later and he kicked me out of bed to go take my shower. "You can't run late today, ~raring~. I have to get ready this morning, too. I've got a meeting with the owner of a gallery." I promised to hurry, and did - not difficult because the hot water heater had decided to act up again and I got mostly cold water. If the landlord didn't fix it soon I was going to put his name and fingerprints in the crime computer database! By the time I dashed back out, shivering and dripping, Sven was in the kitchen again, refilling his coffee. I headed for the toaster. I remembered Blevin's project as I pushed my bagel in. "Sven, I'll probably have to work late again tonight." "As late as you did last night?" I wrinkled my nose. "Unless I manage a miracle, a lot later. Blevins gave me another one of his special projects to do, and it has to be done by Friday at five." He grunted. "What did you do to make him angry this time?" "What makes you think I did *anything*?" Sven didn't reply, just raised his eyebrows at me. Okay, so he knows me pretty well. "I'm not really sure this time. I was civil to Agent Mulder, that's the only thing I can think of." "And who is this Mulder?" "He's an agent who's taking over a case for the section." "Why is being civil to him a crime to Blevins?" Why indeed? "That's the really hard part to explain - and to understand. Mulder used to work in the VCU under Blevins, you see. He was a profiler, and from what I've heard he was the best. But now he's kind of an outcast, which is hard to figure, because he's the nicest guy...." I paused, trying to put together all I've picked up about Mulder and Blevins' past from the gossip going around in the office into some sort of coherent form. I didn't need to explain Blevins to Sven, he's heard all about Blevins before. Like I said, he's not my favorite person by a long stretch. "I don't know all of the story, but from what I've heard it all comes down to the fact that Mulder quit profiling and walked away from the VCU. There's a lot of resentment left in the department even now over that; I don't think Blevins will ever forgive him. The other profilers are envious of his abilities and his record, but they seem to... I don't know, it's like they want to be him, but at the same time they hate him. They make fun of him all the time, even to his face." "And Blevins encourages this," Sven added matter-of-factly. "Right. Indirectly, of course." "And of course, my ~sma|ena~ won't play the game their way. You were polite to him." He shook his head, then said, "~Nu har du skitit I det bla skapet~." "Translation, please?" Sven screwed up his face in concentration, then looked a little sheepish. "It sounds better in Swedish. Translated, it says 'now you have shit in the blue cupboard'." Now *that* was picturesque! I started laughing and couldn't stop until I was out of breath. Gasping and wiping my eyes, I consoled a now-frowning Sven. "I don't think our American saying makes any more sense - we say 'the shit's going to hit the fan'." The puzzled look on his face as he digested that sent me off into giggles again, and I had to abandon any idea of actually eating any breakfast. Time was passing, and I had to get ready for work. An hour later I was almost ready to leave. It had been close - Sven tends to walk around starkers after he gets out of the shower, and he's a little distracting that way.... One last check in the mirror showed my makeup was in the right places. If my broomstick skirt wasn't exactly 'professional' attire, well, it was comfortable. That was more important to me, especially if this day turned out to be as long as I feared it would. Stepping into a pair of comfortable low-heeled shoes, I reached for my purse and started for the door. Sven waylaid me, though, to say goodbye. "Try not to be *too* nice to this Agent Mulder today, ~alskare~, or I might have to be jealous. Besides, you don't want to give that ~djavel~ Blevins any more satisfaction." "Agent Mulder was nice to me first," I argued playfully. "Of course, it doesn't hurt that he's extremely good looking, too." Sven frowned hard at me, and I laughed and kissed him to assure him I was only teasing. Mollified, he gave me a hug. "Be good today, Chandra!" he admonished. "And if you can, call me later." "I'll try. Good luck with your meeting!" A last quick kiss and I was out the door. - - - - - J Edgar Hoover Building VCU Section office 8 A.M. I looked down hopelessly at the newly-increased stack of thick manilla folders on my desk. This was a new low, even for Blevins. The new folders contained the interview notes from what must have been twenty cases, all of them handwritten in the psychotic scrawls of the VCU staff. My mission - whether or not I chose to accept it - was to get them *all* neatly typed, proofed, entered into the computer, and returned to Blevins by Friday at five. All the work I had managed to do the previous day barely made a dent. Three weeks wouldn't have been enough time, not with the bizarre abbreviations and unique shorthand these guys used. It was crystal clear - Blevins was handing me the opportunity to fail on a silver platter. Was all this really just because I'd been nice to Mulder? Was Blevins actually that petty? Then I remembered the look he shot me as I ran down to the Photo Lab for Agent Mulder. Uncomfortably, Mulder's words came back to me - that anyone caught too close to him would be tarred with the same brush. Well, shit! If being polite, getting a cup of coffee and running a simple errand for him was enough to piss Blevins off, what was next? Public floggings for wishing Mulder a nice day? It looked like I was going to have to phone Allie and ask her to tape the lecture from my class that night - again. Disgustedly, I opened the next file and got to work. I don't know how much later it was that I looked over to see a man's hand placing a cup of coffee on my desk. My eyes flicked up, lighting on Agent Mulder's face. "You haven't moved from your desk since I came in two hours ago. Looks like you have your work cut out for you," he observed with a lop-sided smile. "I did warn you." I pushed my keyboard drawer away from me and reached for the cup. There was cream and sugar in it... how did he know how I liked my coffee? "Yeah, you did. I didn't take you seriously, though. Blame my naivete - I just find it hard to believe that people can be so petty." "You'd be surprised. Or maybe you wouldn't be. As you saw yesterday, no one exactly rolled out the red carpet for Scully and me." "True," I sighed. "Well, Blevins is going to be the one with the surprise in store this time, because I'm going to finish this by his deadline if I have to work around the clock to do it." "Looks like you may have to." "It'll be worth it, just to beat him at his own game." I grinned up at him. "Thanks for the coffee, Agent Mulder." "It's just Mulder, remember? You're welcome. And I'm sorry." I shrugged. "Don't be, it's not your fault. I was never on his Favorite Employee list anyway." "Really? Why not? From what I've seen you're a hard worker, very organized and efficient." "Yeah, well... those traits he probably likes. But, among other things, he thinks I have an 'attitude' and that I 'don't know my place'." Mulder muffled a laugh. "Ah, well, I *knew* there was a reason you and I got along. Look, I won't hold you up. Hang in there, Chandra." I smiled . "Thanks, Mulder, I will. Count on it." I watched as he greeted his partner at the door. Together, they headed for the empty desks at the far end of the office, spread out their files, and got to work. Sighing, I did the same. - - - A couple of hours later I had done what I could with about half of the files. Now I had to go around to each agent and try to get them to translate the hieroglyphics I hadn't been able to make out. Ben Johnson was the worst. I mean, I liked the guy personally, but it was obvious he'd flunked penmanship all through school. He also had the annoying habit of using initials for everything. Half the time, even *he* couldn't remember what they stood for. How he managed to testify in court based on what he wrote is beyond me. I took his files and what I had typed - mostly blanks connected by guesses on my part - and searched for him. He and a cluster of others stood around Mulder's desk. I could hear the raised voices long before I got close. "You've got paranormal on the brain, Mulder," Jerry Walsh accused heatedly. "What makes you think this is a coven, for Christ's sake? They could be the Youth Choir from St. Cecelia's Church, for all you know." "Not unless St. Cecelia's is heavy into witchcraft," Mulder replied equably. He sighed and took out the photograph taken from the Richmond crime scene, the only copy of the group portrait they'd managed to get possession of. "Look at some of these things in the background. Somehow I don't think Sr. Mary Ignatius would approve, do you?" There was a sprinkling of guffaws from the group, quieted quickly by Walsh's furious expression. His temper was fierce, and no one wanted to see him lose it again. We'd just replaced the furniture from the last time. "What the hell are you talking about? What things in the background?" Mulder took a steadying breath and held up the photograph. "Look, Jerry...This is an altar ..." "If you ever set foot inside one it might shock you to discover that a *lot* of churches have altars, Agent Mulder," Walsh replied sarcastically. "With black candles?" Mulder calmly asked. " *What* black candles? Those things might be candles, or they might not. They might be black, or they might not. Maybe they're purple Advent candles. But from this picture, you'll never know. Christ, they could be anything! Shadows, anything!" "All right - then what about this?" persisted Mulder, pointing at another object. "It's a damn bowl." Mulder shook his head. "It's a scrying dish, used in magic rites." "You're full of shit, Mulder," Walsh argued. "That could be anything, too." "And the pentagram?" "*What* pentagram?" "Okay, it's pretty fuzzy," Mulder admitted. "But just... back... here - see that?" "The only thing fuzzy around here is your brain." Walsh stood with his hands clenched into fists, obviously spoiling for a fight. Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed. "I thought there had to be thirteen in a coven," commented Dan Kravitz blandly. Dan was the intellectual of the section, well-read on a wide variety of topics. He reminded me a little of Mulder, but he didn't make the unexplainable intuitive leaps Mulder did that made the latter truly brilliant. "This photograph shows only twelve people." Mulder shrugged. "Someone had to use the camera, right?" Ben cleared his throat. "You sure you're not simply being influenced by your last case, Mulder? That witchcraft murder case was pretty intense, from what I heard. Don't you think you might be reading in things that aren't there?" "What, do you think I'm so traumatized by my past that I can no longer keep my cases straight? That 'Spooky' has gone off the rails again? Is that what you all think?" Mulder shot back, with the first sign of anger I had seen from him. "Sorry to disappoint you, gentlemen, but it takes a hell of a lot more than that to unbalance me these days." He paused to stare them down with eyes gone dark and hard as diamonds, then continued, "I want this photograph enlarged and enhanced. We know this portrait is our link to the killer. Computer enhancement of the background will clearly show the details I've pointed out that are consistent with witchcraft. The evidence is there. Now, how are we coming with contacting the relatives of the victims about the photograph?" I waited until Ben had given his report, then drew him aside to ask about the problems in the old case files. As I suspected, he couldn't remember what most of the initials represented, and generally had a harder time with his handwriting than I did. I gave him the file, incanting the magic words, "Blevins wants this right away", and he took it back to his desk to mull over. I glanced up to see Mulder watching me. "How's it g - " "How's it g - " He grinned. I laughed and motioned for him to go first. "It's coming along. Although I'm beginning to think that all the subjects in that photograph buried the events surrounding it pretty deeply. We haven't found any of the family members yet who knows anything about it. If I could just get everyone here in the unit to put aside their personal prejudices about me for a minute, we might get somewhere." He made a visible effort to relax, not entirely successfully. "How about you?" I sighed. "It's slow work." I leaned over, casting a curious eye over Mulder's case notes. They were written in a small, tight, unusual hand and scattered with abbreviations or symbols that resembled - well, nothing I was familiar with, in any case. "Hopefully I won't be asked to transcribe *your* notes next. That would just about finish me off." He grinned. "I don't even use these myself, to tell you the truth." He tapped his temple. "Photographic memory. But back when I worked the VCU I had to keep notes to 'comply with procedure' .... Now, it's just a habit. Scully uses them sometimes when she writes up the official reports, but that's about all. I don't need them. Actually, I think it just made the Suits feel more secure if I wrote something down. Not that they didn't trust me, you understand." His hazel eyes sparkled with mischief. I grinned back at him. "Oh, I understand completely. By the way, where is Agent Scully?" "Doing the autopsy on the last victim." He looked at his watch. "Right about now I would guess she's on her way here." As if on cue, Scully walked into the office. "Cause of death?" he inquired before she even got to the desk. She grimaced. "Hello to you, too, Mulder. Same as the others - exsanguination. The wounds, the actual damage inflicted on the body is different, as it has been in each of the other murders, but ultimately it was the loss of blood that killed him. The blood is apparently collected and taken away by the killer. There was evidence of hair loss on the limbs that puzzled me, until I did a skin scraping and found remains of adhesive - the type used for duct tape to be precise. I think the killer taped something around the wounds to collect the blood." So that's why the crime scene shots had shown so little blood. My stomach lurched, and I was almost relieved when Blevins bellowed for me. Almost. - - - I was just coming out of Blevins office with three more case files when I head the shout. "Hey, Sp-..., Mulder!" Mulder and Agent Scully looked up to see Dan Kravitz loping up to them. "I think I may have a lead," he said excitedly. Standing, Mulder took the piece of paper Dan held out as he went on in a rush, "I was working on an intersect point for the victims, and I think I've finally got one. It seems that five of the subjects lived in or near Milford, Delaware approximately twenty- three years ago. That would put them at the right age for college. So I checked out area colleges and there are only two. *Were* only two, I should say, because the extension campus of the state university there closed down several years ago. The other college is St. Vincent's, a small Catholic liberal arts school. So I did a little checking with the relatives of the victims, and surprise, surprise. Three of the victims went to the State University in Milford and two went to St. Vincent's. It isn't much, but it does put five of them in the right place at the right time to have known each other." Mulder nodded. "Nice work, Dan. Does anyone else have anything to add to this?" "That fits with the victim I've been working on," said Ben Johnson. "Sarah Jane Hargitay also attended St. Vincent's College." "All right. Ideas on how to proceed?" Mulder asked the assembled agents. "The Milford campus of State once had an enrollment of over five thousand students, plus it's now defunct. And you know what it's like trying to get any response from a state agency...." Dan grimaced. "I think it would be faster to contact St. Vincent's first. It's small and still in existence, so information about the victims that attended there might be more forthcoming." "Good point. All right. Dan, you contact St. Vincent's. Get all the information you can on the subjects we know went there, and see if you can place any of the others there as well. Get the names of the Alumni Secretaries for, say, the classes of 1972 through 1976. If there's a single group of people that will know what happened on campus twenty-three years ago, it will be them. We'll split the list of Secretaries up between us and contact each one of them to ask for more specific information on the victims - their interests, what clubs they may have belonged to, who they hung out with. See if the Secretaries have had any contact recently with the victims, or perhaps more importantly, if anyone *else* has shown any interest in contacting them. It's possible our killer tracked his targets down this same way we are. In the meantime, those of you working up victims we haven't placed in Milford yet, see if you can put them there at that intersect point. So far we have only half our victims placed. I'd feel better if we could get them all there. Walsh, we can't leave the State University thread untouched. Why don't you start working your way through the wonders of the DSU bureaucracy and see what you can dig up for the now-defunct Milford campus?" "That's a shit assignment and you know it, Mulder," Walsh glowered at him. Mulder looked cool, remote. "But it *is* a valid assignment, nonetheless, Agent Walsh. Do it." The heavy emphasis on the last two words were in a tone that brooked no argument. Whether Jerry liked it or not, Mulder was the senior agent and the one in charge on this case. The agents scattered for their desks - all except for Walsh, who childishly sauntered back to his as slowly and insolently as humanly possible. The effort was wasted on Mulder, who had immediately gone back to reading notes someone had handed him. I parked myself back at my desk without enthusiasm. Eleven files down, and I didn't even want to count how many there were to go. I *would* finish them before the deadline! Half an hour later an impromptu meeting got started when several agents converged on Mulder to report some progress on the case, and the others came over, too. I really shouldn't have taken the time to listen in, but at this point I was hooked. It was fascinating to watch Mulder work, and some of the guys were beginning to respond to how he ran the case. Maybe this would set a good example for Blevins - not that Blevins was likely to learn from it. I took my time getting a cup of coffee and returning to my desk, but my attention was focused on what was going on at the conference table in the center of the room. "Okay, does anyone else have anything new to add?" Mulder was asking mildly. It seemed that Jerry - predictably, in my opinion - hadn't gotten to first base with the Education Department in Delaware. But most of the others had made progress. All of the Alumni Secretaries had been contacted, and two more of the victims had been placed at St. Vincent's in the right time period. Interestingly, none of the victims had graduated from either of the colleges, and all had left school at the end of the fall semester in 1974, never to return. None of them had ever shown the slightest interest in attending reunions or any other alumni activities. It seemed to me that they had all made a conscious effort to avoid any contact with the school. Or perhaps with the memories of what had gone on there.... I smiled to myself. Maybe the psych classes were starting to sink in, after all. They're an odd complement to my Software Design and Systems Analysis courses, but useful in this job. "Agent Mulder, I got a name," Charlie Haddox offered. "The Alumni Secretary for the Class of '76 told me that a man called her up a couple of months ago, demanding to know if she had given out his name or address to anyone. Said he sounded very upset - paranoid even. He gave his name - Vincent McNulty - only because he had to, so she could look through their inquiry records and tell him if she had given it out to anyone," he explained. "But she said even getting that from him was like pulling teeth. She didn't have many clear memories of him from when they had been at the school together, but did tell me that he hadn't graduated with his class and he failed to return to the college after the Christmas break of 1974." "That seems to fit." Mulder frowned. "That name hasn't surfaced before, which means he might be one of the survivors in the photograph. And if so, he might be the next target.... Fine work, Charlie. Did the Secretary get an address, even an old one? We need to locate this guy, fast," he observed. "The killer seems to be escalating. Look at the dates of the murders. The first one was seven months ago, the next one six weeks after that, then a four week interval, then three.... At this point there's a kill every week or less. The Richmond victim's time of death was placed at four days ago, so we have only a few days, at best, before the killer hits again. We have find this McNulty." "The Secretary asked for a new address for the man, but McNulty point-blank refused to give her any other information. She did try." Haddox grinned. "It seems that they have a fund drive coming up and she wanted to get his address to hit him up for a contribution. But the guy hung up on her." He paused, taking in the disappointment on the agents' faces. "*But*... she happened to have caller ID on her phone and she wrote down his number. She normally would have dropped it, she said, but it ticked her off that the guy was so rude. She got on one of those Internet Phone books and looked up the number and got his address, intending to send him a fundraiser letter just to piss him off. He lives in Naylor, Maryland. I called the Sheriff's Department down there and connfirmed that the address is current - 413 Bluffs Road, Naylor." He beamed triumphantly. "Thank God for modern technology and persistent women. We should see if that lady wants to work for us," Mulder said lightly. There was a rumble of laughter around the table that sounded wonderful after all the hostility of the day. "Great work, Charlie." Agent Scully suddenly had a thought, her brow puckering. "You didn't call this McNulty, did you, Agent Haddox?" Charlie shook his head. "No, ma'am. The guy sounds - excuse the expression - spooked. I was afraid he'd bolt." Mulder looked at his watch. "Look, it's close to four now, and we haven't stopped all day. Why don't you guys take a break, starting now. Get some dinner, relax a little, and be back here by, say, eight. Meanwhile, Scully and I will run down to Naylor and see what McNulty has to say for himself. That sound okay by you, partner?" Agent Scully nodded, a small smile curling the corners of her mouth. She looked tired to me - exhausted in fact - but she seemed to accept Mulder's suggestion happily enough. Maybe she'd grab a nap on the way down. Mulder stopped by my desk on the way out. "You going to be leaving on time tonight?" "Not a hope in hell, Agent Mulder," I answered a lot more cheerfully than I felt. "Then maybe I'll see you when we get back." "I think that's a distinct possibility. Good luck" "Thanks." His long strides carried him over to where Scully waited at the door, and then they were gone. I watched enviously as the tired VCU agents filed out through the doorway in twos and threes, in search of a decent meal and some time away from the office. For me, dinner would be some of the unidentifiable crud from the cafeteria, choked down in a hurry at my desk. Sighing, I pulled the next file from the stack and flipped it open. J Edgar Hoover Building VCU Section Office Thursday, March 27 7:48 P.M. With the guys out of the office I got a lot more accomplished, especially after Blevins left on the dot of five thirty. He had interrupted me at least half a dozen times that day, usually for things he didn't need me for in the first place. It was beginning to look as if he wanted to make sure I wouldn't finish this damned project on time. Or maybe I was just in a crappy mood. If I were to have the project done by his deadline of five the next day, I was going to have to put in some very late hours. Which meant no decent dinner, no class and worst of all, no Sven. He'd probably have been asleep hours before I got home. At least the stack of files I had finished was significantly taller than the ones I still had to do. That was the good news. The bad news was that I had purposedly left the most difficult ones for last. Probably a strategic error, as I thought about it now in retrospect. I picked up the styrofoam plate of what had euphemisticly been labelled macaroni and cheese in the cafeteria. Shuddering with revulsion, I dropped the glutinous mess into the trash. "Looks better than what I had for dinner." If I hadn't been so tired I'm sure I would have jumped higher. As it was, my reaction was enough to elict a chuckle from Agent Mulder. "You *really* ought to consider making the switch to decaffeinated," he teased, perching himself on the corner of my desk. "Not on your life, it's the only thing keeping me going," I replied wryly. "How was your trip? And where's Agent Scully?" A dark shadow crossed his face and the light went out of his eyes, making them seem even older at that moment than I had yet seen them. "I dropped her off at home. She's... been feeling a bit under the weather lately. Probably some bug." "I'm sorry to hear that. I hope she gets better soon." "So do I," he said bleakly. I watched as he studied the floor, his face grim. True, I had pegged him as a brooder, but his reaction to his partner's virus was much more extreme than I would have expected. Unless they were more than partners... or unless it was more than a virus.... I remembered her earlier exhaustion and wondered if I'd brought something up I should have left alone. "How was your trip?" I repeated softly, in an effort to change the subject. "Interesting - very interesting," he said in a much different tone. "And very productive. At least now I think we know who we're looking for." "That's wonderful news!" He nodded and looked at his watch. "Anyone else here yet?" "Charlie and Dan poked their heads in about twenty minutes ago, but took off when they saw you weren't back yet. It's still a few minutes to eight. Don't worry - they'll be here," I assured him. "They have their faults, but Blevins runs a pretty tight ship where punctuality's concerned. Can I get you some coffee? It's fresh." "Don't get up, I'll get it. Is it safe to pour one for you? I won't have to peel you off the ceiling, will I?" His lips twisted in a smile, and I felt a warm sensation starting in my toes and travelling all the way up to my cheeks. Don't get me wrong, I'm totally, madly, deeply in love with Sven. But somehow Mulder knew how to turn it on. Or maybe it was unconscious on his part, I don't know. I did know I was having some pretty carnal thoughts about the man. "Don't worry - it would take rocket fuel at this point." "Do you have to work these kinds of hours often?" he asked, handing me a mug. "Often? No," I replied truthfully. "Just when Blevins has a bug up his-" I caught myself just in time - I was really going to have to watch my mouth around Agent Mulder. He was so easy to talk to it was hard to remember that he *was* a senior agent. "Just when Blevins has something to get out in a hurry. Maybe every six weeks or so. Or if there's a night meeting for some reason and I have to be here to take notes." "Still, that can put a cramp in your social life," he said, resuming his perch on my desk. "Well, less in my social life than academic, actually," I replied. "I attend night classes - when I can. I'm three-quarters through a degree program in Software and Systems Design." Mulder's eyes widened in surprise, but before we could discuss it further, the other agents began to swarm in. He went over and set up a mini recorder/player on the conference table, then sat patiently waiting for everyone to be seated. "Thanks for coming back," he began. "I was concerned that I would be calling you back here for nothing, if Mr. McNulty had opted not to speak to us. As it was, it took nearly half an hour for us to gain his trust enough to allow us to tape the interview. Due mostly to patience and persistence on the part of Agent Scully, I might add. It took a good ten minutes just to talk our way through his front door." Mulder paused as there were chuckles around the table. I guess they'd all had similar experiences at one time or another. "But patience and persistence paid off, gentlemen. I believe we now know who we're looking for, and why." He paused again to let the rumbles of surprise and satisfaction die down. "I'm going to ask you to listen to this tape all the way through without interruption. Take notes if you want. Then I'll fill you in on some things that aren't on the tape, and we'll listen again, stopping at the important points and discussing them. Are we in agreement?" I was surprised to see even Jerry nodding. "Good. As I said, after ten minutes of assurances we finally got in the door. Vincent McNulty is forty four years of age, divorced for about ten years, with no children. He is self- described as a loner, with no church or other affiliations. He surfs the Internet and reads for recreation. His choice of reading material is best described as mostly war or spy novels - Tom Clancy, Robert Ludlum, and so on. Interestingly, although he has an extensive library of best sellers, there is a noticeable absence of best-selling authors such as Stephen King - books which deal with the supernatural or the occult." I saw that Jerry Walsh's look of triumph was noted by Mulder, but all he did was smile slightly. "Okay, I think that's all the background you need." I felt a frisson of excitement as Mulder pressed the start button. Glancing at the wall clock, I decided it was worth the time away from Blevins' project to listen to the tape of the interview. <> Agent Scully's voice was low, reassuring, almost as if she was talking to a small frightened child. <> <> <> I heard several sharp clicks. He evidently had some problems getting his cigarette lighted. McNulty's voice was unexpectedly high-pitched - more from fear and nerves, I suspected, than because it was his normal tone. <> There was a few seconds' pause. <> The voice was guarded, suspicious. <> Scully's soft explanation took the possible sting of sarcasm out of the words. <> <> <> <> There was a much longer pause. <> <> Scully said smoothly. <> <> I thought of my own class, the one I was missing. I hoped that Allie's recorder was working. Her notes were harder to decipher than the VCU guys'. <> <> His tone was sharp, accusing. I heard the clicks of his cigarette lighter again. No wonder Agent Scully wasn't feeling well - she had inhaled enough second-hand smoke to make anyone sick. <> <> A bitter laugh. <> Mulder's voice was next. < <>> There was the sound of movement, evidently Agent Scully administering first aid. There was nothing on the tape for a couple of minutes, just the sound of Scully ministering to her patient. Then - <> <> <> It came out as a hoarse whisper. <> <> <> There were several more sharp clicks. <> Agent Scully suggested. <> His voice was rough, angry. There was a long pause, several clicks and then McNulty spoke again, tense, halting. <> <> <> <> <> It was unconvincing, even to me. There was another pause. <> <> Mulder's voice came from a distance. <> <> There was a crash and the tape was obviously paused at this point. I shivered, in spite of the heat of all those warm bodies in the room. < It was Agent Scully again. <> The voice was weak. There was another long pause. <> VCU Office Thursday, March 27 8:45 PM Tape Recording of Interview between Vincent McNulty and Special Agents Mulder and Scully Mulder's voice was soothing, sympathetic. <> McNulty's voice sounded almost stunned, overwhelmed by the power of his memories.<<...We were just kids. Just stupid fuckin' kids. We didn't know what we were getting into - not most of us, anyway. Gary, he was the one. He's the one that said it would be a real trip.>> A bitter laugh again, but shaky this time. <> His voice broke and there was the sound of harsh sobbing. The tape was paused again.... <> <> <> <> He sighed heavily, and the clicks of his cigarette lighter were heard again. <> <> <> <> <> <> Mulder said. <> <> <> Mulder prompted gently. <> There was a pause. <> <> There was a long pause. <> I shifted in my seat, my muscles cramped from too many hours at my desk. Even when my chair creaked, the guys didn't even glance up, just kept staring at the tape recorder on the table. <> Mulder said again. <> <> The sound of Scully's heels clicking smartly on a hardwood floor grew faint, and then louder again. <> <> McNulty broke off suddenly. Mulder's voice was tinged with amusement. <> There was an embarrassed laugh. <> He sighed. <> There was a pause. <> McNulty's voice trailed off. <> Scully observed quietly. <> Once more, McNulty broke into sobbing. I was beginning to think that maybe I really didn't want to hear any more. I saw Mulder glance over at me, questioning, concerned. I guess I just wanted to show him how professional and competant I was, not one to swoon or utter a girly scream at the horrors that life sometimes held. I wondered briefly if he were that protective of his partner. I met his eyes and gave him one of my long-practiced unflustered, cool 'VCU stares'. And just as soon as I did it, I could have kicked myself. So far it had been merely unpleasant. There would be worse to come - much worse, if Mulder's expression was anything to go by. He had given me my chance to bow out gracefully, but my pride - or my ego - wouldn't let me take it. I was committed now. I hung on grimly for what was to come. <<...After that, it got worse and worse,>> McNulty's voice was saying on the tape. He sounded almost numbed by the trauma he was reliving. <> He was silent for several minutes. <> Scully gently prodded. <> My own stomach was churning at that point. Mulder, of course, had been right - I shouldn't have stayed. <> queried Agent Scully. Her voice was tightly controlled, as if she, too, were having a problem sitting dispassionately through McNulty's recitation of depravity. <> asked Mulder. <> <> Silence for a moment, followed by a deep breath. <> <> Mulder suggested. <> McNulty's voice was barely audible when he finally continued after a long silence. <> He began to cry. <> He could hardly get the words out, choking on his sobs. <> Oh my god... My throat tightened and my stomach heaved, and I knew I wasn't going to be able to tough it out through this one. I bolted from the office as quietly as possible, by some miracle making it to the ladies room down the hall before depositing everything I had eaten in days down the toilet. Crouching miserably on the hard floor, cold sweat dampening my skin, I retched until there was nothing left to come up. The toilet paper felt scratchy on my oversensitized skin as I wiped my mouth and nose. My legs were shaking as I pulled myself up. I flushed the toilet and headed for the sink, washing my hands and rinsing my mouth out. I tried to make what repairs I could to my face and hair - as stupid as it was, I was still concerned with maintaining the facade I had carefully manufactured of the cool professional. I was hoping that Mulder, if he had noticed my absence at all, would think that I had merely left to answer an inopportunely-timed call of nature. With trembling fingers, I tucked in the pins holding my heavy coil of hair in place, and crept back to the office. Back at my desk, I slid open the drawer and grabbed a peppermint, slipping it from the wrapper as quietly as possible and popping it into my mouth. When I raised my eyes to the conference table Mulder was looking at me, a knowing expression of concern on his face. Shit. What had ever possessed me to think I could put one over on him - not only a senior agent, but a psychologist to boot? I attempted a reassuring smile but I'm afraid it came out wan. He acknowledged the effort with a faint smile and a wink. <<...I don't know....>> A tearful McNulty was saying. <> <> Agent Scully prompted. <> He trailed off, and no one spoke for some time. <> <<...Huh? No, I'm not sure I ever knew it.>> <> Agent Scully said smoothly. <> Another bitter laugh. <> <> <<...I dunno. I've had a feeling from time to time that I'm being watched.... But that might just be because this whole thing has me spooked.... Phyllis! That was her name - the girl, I mean. Phyllis. I'm sure I never heard what her surname was, but her first name was Phyllis. Greg used to call her his Phyllie - sort of a pun.>> <> <> <> He sounded genuinely puzzled. <> <<..Oh! I had forgotten all about that.... Yeah, Gary took that picture, I think it was taken the second time, before we did the anointing ceremony.>> <> <> <> <> <> <> His voice became more demanding. <> Scully seemed reluctant. <> There was a pause. McNulty's mood appeared to have changed with this latest bit of information, now almost calm and fatalistic. <> <> asked Mulder gently. <> McNulty's voice was now flat, devoid of life or hope. <> <> There was the sound of movement... clothes rustling, chairs squeaking, feet shifting. <> Mulder said. <> <>> The tape ended and began to rewind. VCU Office Thursday, March 27 11:57 PM It was coming up on midnight and I was still at my desk. Every time I closed my eyes I could still see Blevins' smirking face - I'm sure he thought this 'special project' would be the final straw that would break me. Although I was dead tired, it was worth putting in these long hours to meet his impossible deadline. Another couple of hours work would put me close enough to finishing to be able to go home at last. But the coffeepot was empty, and I need more caffeine to keep me awake. Walking back from the water cooler through the darkened section gave me the creeps, so I kept my eyes on my desk and the island of light around it. When I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye I jumped, fumbled, and nearly dropped the glass carafe of water in my hands. Agent Mulder was back, pacing silently around and around the table where the SOC photos were laid out. Damn, that was how many times he'd scared the shit out of me now? He looked up as I stepped forward again, and gave me a tired smile. "Chandra, you're still here? It's awfully late." "I'm still working on Blevins' 'special project'," I explained as I poured the water into the coffemaker and turned it on. "Another hour and I should be gone. What's your excuse?" "I just went by the photo lab to check on the status of those enlargements. They told me they were finished and you'd already picked them up. I came here hoping you'd left them out where I could find them." "They're right here." I pulled them out of the file drawer where I'd put them while I was working. I had thought about leaving them on the table Mulder was using, but I was a little afraid they'd 'disappear' before Mulder had the chance to see them. He didn't need more problems. "And I also have the transcript of the interview with McNulty, if you're interested." "Thanks. That'll be helpful - sometimes it's easier to catch things when you see them in print." He took the envelope and I sat down to get back to work. He wandered over to his work table and sat, squinting to see in the dim light. I thought about telling him to turn on the lights, but as focused as he was I doubted he'd hear me. He reminded me a little of Sven that way. Ah, Sven.... Shaking my head, I got up and turned the light on for him, then poured us both a cup of coffee. He didn't notice when I put his down on the table beside him; he was totally absorbed in the photo enlargements. Larry had done a good job on them, I noticed, as I peeked over Mulder's shoulder. Even the enlargements from the fuzziest part of the photo had come out usable. I made a mental note to bring Larry some of the homemade cocoa cookies he liked so much. I went back to my desk and got back to work, entering the information from the old files into the database. From time to time I'd look up to see what Mulder was doing. He drank his coffee absentmindedly, and got up once to refill his cup. Most of the time when I looked over he was frowning at a photograph, peering at the transcripts through his wire rims, or staring into space. I recognized the process. In the VCU they call it 'getting into the killer's mind', and I've seen it in varying degrees in the other agents. I've never seen anyone like Mulder, though. As the time crept past it was as if he turned inward completely - as if he were watching the killer inside his mind somehow. It was a little frightening, especially when I caught sight of his eyes. They'd gone blank. Totally... vacant. No one home, insane - no, *malevolent*.... It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I think I've figured out why they call him "Spooky". I tried to concentrate on finishing up the last file, but one eye wanted to stay on Mulder and I kept getting goosebumps. Little wonder I made no progress, but noticed every move he made. One minute he had devil's eyes; the next, he shook his head and blinked and was once again the Mulder I was familiar with. Fatigue was in every line of his body as he pushed his chair back and stood up, stretching until I heard his bones pop. Hooking his coffeecup with one finger, he ambled over to refill it, then slumped gracefully into the chair next to my desk. "How'd you know I took sugar in my coffee? I didn't say anything when you brought me a cup black." It was just about the last thing I expected him to say. It took me a moment to recover, and the surprise brought a bubble of laughter to my voice as I answered, "I may be only a GS-05 clerk, but I *am* capable of doing that much investigation on my own!" He raised his eyebrows and his lips quirked, and I caved. "I saw Scully refilling your cup when she got herself one," I admitted. "She put one cream in hers, one sugar in yours." He chuckled. I really liked the way humor lit up his face; I wondered what he would look like in other, happier situations.... Even exhausted and rumpled, Mulder was one good-looking man. "You look dead on your feet," I chided. "Why don't you go home and get some rest? You've only been on this case two days and you've already made more progress than the whole department did in seven months. No one's going to think you're slacking if you take time out to sleep." Well, in point of fact Blevins probably would, and Mulder's twisted smile said he knew it. "I will in a bit. I wouldn't be able to sleep right now, anyway...." He sighed, looking blankly out into the shadows of the room. "Things are falling into place almost too fast. I keep thinking I'm missing something, but I just can't see it. I wish we could eliminate the others in the picture. It could still be one of them. At least we have full names for those people now - we have nothing more than a first name for that mysterious girl Vinnie was talking about." He broke off and turned to face me. "By the way, I'm sorry for that." "For what?" I had a good idea what he meant, but since I was still feeling pretty uncomfortable about it, I chose to play dumb. "The taped interview. I knew it was pretty rough stuff, and I intended to say something to you before it started. I forgot." He angled his neck and looked at me appraisingly. "I'm sorry it shook you up." It was on the tip of my tongue to deny that hearing the tape had done any such thing, but I knew he'd see through that in a New York minute. "That's okay. It was my fault. I knew when you looked over at me that you were giving me a chance to bow out. I-I thought I could take it, that nothing I could hear would bother me anymore." I shrugged. "I was wrong." He smiled a little. "You know, I'm just as glad it did." I looked at him quizzically. "There are some things people should never get completely hardened to. That's one of the reasons I left the VCU in the first place. It came down to a choice - either I would have to get hardened to all the horror around me in order to survive, or I would have to leave. I left." He shrugged. "I'm glad you haven't become hard like the others in here. I'm *glad* that hearing what those kids did made you sick. And it did make you sick, didn't it? Literally." Face warm with embarassment, I nodded. "It's nothing to be ashamed about, Chandra. Shit, it made me want to throw up, too. I'm just relieved that working in this place, being exposed to everything that passes through here, isn't dulling your sense of what's right and what's terribly wrong. A word of advice, though - if at some point you find you *aren't* getting sick at that sort of thing, it's time to get the hell out. Get out before this place twists you into someone you don't want to be." "Oh, with any luck I'll be long gone before that has a chance of happening," I assured him. "This only only a temporary gig, a step on the ladder. Once I finish my degree I'm out of here. Out of this department, anyway. I want to stay with the Bureau, that's the main reason I'm still here, but I hope to move up either into tech support or one of the Computer Labs." "Really? That's great, Chandra. I'll ask Scully to put in a good word for you." "You'll ask Agent Scully? You won't do it yourself?" I asked, smiling. He grimaced. "Scully has more pull with the scientific types than I do. Besides, in certain areas, a word of recommendation from me is like the kiss of death. We want to get you promoted, not thrown out of here on your ear." "Thanks," I said, warmly. Then changing the subject, I asked, "Are the photo enlargements going to help any?" "Some, maybe. Hopefully they'll at least convince the rest of the unit that I'm not seeing things." He stretched to reach the photos then leaned forward to show them to me. "Now it's perfectly clear that these *are* black candles, and that this is a scrying dish. Even the pentagram came out clearly." I wouldn't have dared question another agent, but Mulder is so much more approachable I ventured to ask, "Don't 'white' witches - what do they call them, Wiccans? Don't they use a five-sided star symbol, too? What makes this different?" Mulder nodded and drew one on my notepad. "The "white" witch symbol has the single point turned upwards, and it's called a pentacle. For black magic, the point is down. It's easy to remember if you look at a pentagram with your imagination. Facing up, the points of the v-shape look like the Devil's horns." I shivered involuntarily. Mulder didn't notice, thankfully, and went on about the pentagram in the enlargement. Looking closer, I noticed something.... "It looks like it was drawn on the wall with pencil or charcoal, doesn't it? Maybe they intended to paint inside the lines?" I'd just been thinking aloud - a result of my fatigue - but Mulder nodded absently. "That would make sense." He frowned then, and shook his head. "I need to go home and try to stop thinking about this for a while. This isn't getting me anywhere." "Sven has a saying for this sort of situation," I offered helpfully, hiding a smile. Hopefully one of Sven's sayings would have the same effect on Mulder that they did on me. "Who's Sven?" Mulder asked, sidetracked. "Sven's my - what was that acronym the guys next door at the IRS dreamed up? POSSL-Q? We live together. It's yet another on the long list of things Blevins holds against me." "Why should Blevins care if you live with Sven?" "Because Sven was born and raised in Sweden, still has family and citizenship there. Sven's in the process of getting his citizenship papers here, though, he's already passed the test. There's just some red-tape snafu somewhere that's holding them up." "What's his last name? I'll see if I can find out what the problem is." "I thought you didn't have friends in high places." Mulder shrugged. "I have friends that might have friends...." "We'd both appreciate it, if you could," I hurried to assure him. "His full name is Sven Lindqvist." I wrote it down for him. "So, what is the saying?" Mulder asked patiently as he took the paper. It took me a moment to recapture the thread of our earlier conversation. "I can't say it in Swedish - Sven says I mangle it. But it translates 'No matter how you twist and turn, your butt is always in the back'." His eyes smiled first, then his face, then a laugh bubbled up from his toes. I laughed, too, glad it had had the desired effect. Mulder was still chuckling when his cellphone rang in his pocket. He answered it so automatically I wondered if he'd forgotten it was nearly midnight. Or was he used to middle-of- the-night calls? "Mulder," he said, then he paused to listen. After a moment he flashed me what could only be described as a guilty look, and I knew who the caller had to be. "Yeah, Scully, I know it's late. I was working and lost track of time.... No, I'm on my way home now, honest...." He turned away from me slightly now, and I could almost see him crossing his fingers as he spoke. I had to bite my lip to keep from snickering. "...And what are *you* doing up at this hour, Agent Scully?" His lips quirked and I wished I could hear the other half of the conversation. From the amused, bemused expression on his face it was a pretty safe bet that Scully was giving him an earful. He turned away from me slightly and his voice dropped. I thought I could hear him asking her how she was feeling, but why would he be secretive about that? He'd already mentioned Agent Scully wasn't feeling well... It wasn't long before he said, "I will.... G'night, Scully," in a soft voice, and hung up. For a long moment Mulder sat looking down at the phone in his hand, then he seemed to remember where he was and reluctantly pushed himself to his feet. "I'd better be heading home," he said. "I told Scully I was already on my way." I had barely opened my mouth to tell him goodnight when his phone rang again. He was grinning slightly as he answered it, as if he suspected it was Scully checking up on him again. "Mulder." His face registered surprise, and it was quickly apparent that the caller wasn't Scully. "No, that's all right, I was still up...." He was silent for a couple of minutes, his eyes remote. "No, I agree, I don't think there's anything to worry about either, but it won't hurt to check.... All right, I'm on my way." "Duty calls," he said with a wry smile. "Thanks for the coffee, Chandra. Don't work too late!" Then he was gone. I sat staring at the empty doorway for several minutes before I sighed and turned back to my work. I felt a lot like I'd just been caught in a whirlwind. The clock read 12:38, and I glared at the remaining files on my desk. Thanks to my goofing off for the last hour and a half, I hadn't managed to get nearly as much done as I'd thought I would. Crud. There was no way I could work any more that night. I was exhausted, seeing double, still unsettled by the things I overheard on the interview tape, and to top it all off I wasn't wild about the middle-of-the-night drive home. I'd done enough. I would finish the project tomorrow come hell or high water, I resolved to myself, but tonight I needed sleep. Turning off the coffeepot and flipping off the lights, I checked to make sure the door locked behind me and headed home. J. Edgar Hoover Building VCU Section Office Friday, March 28, 1997 The morning started badly. I didn't get home last night - I mean, early this morning - until nearly one, and I'd left a lot more work undone than I had hoped. I *should* have gotten through a lot more, but stopping to talk to Mulder.... Okay, so it was my watching him that put me so far behind. My fault. Then on top of that, when I finally did get home I found a message from Sven on the answering machine saying he had been invited to visit the gallery owned by the man he'd had the meeting with. The gallery was in New York, so he'd be gone overnight. Wonderful. I didn't sleep well, alone in that huge bed. I slept through my alarm this morning, not waking up until an hour later when the radio turned itself off. This wasn't a major disaster. I usually give myself plenty of time in the mornings to get up, eat breakfast, and get ready for work. Sven wasn't home to get in my way or... distract...me. I took a quick shower with my hair pinned up instead of washing it, since it takes forever to dry, and by rushing a little I was ready to leave at my normal time. It would have been fine. Except that the person in the car parked opposite mine in the apartment building's lot decided to back out of his space at the same time I did. You wouldn't believe the amount of damage a 5 mph collision can cause in modern cars. By the time we got that mess sorted out I was well and truly late. It was a quarter till nine when I finally made it into the VCU. I almost expected Blevins to be standing at my desk, but oddly there was no one around. I hastily got myself settled, made coffee, and got to work. It was only a few minutes later when Agents Carlile and Santos came in. Johnson came in right behind them and made a beeline for the coffeepot. Carlile, one of the louder antagonists, called out, "Hey, Johnson, where's the Wonder Boy this morning?" Ben took a sip of his coffee before he answered. "Mulder hasn't come in yet." Kasey Anderson, who was just coming in, added, "I heard he missed a meeting with Assistant Director Skinner first thing this morning - didn't even call in. His ass is grass," he practically chortled. It looked like I wasn't the only one having a bad morning. For a morning that started later than normal, it seemed to stretch on for extra hours as I waded through piles of field notes and dictation tapes. Mulder's clues the previous day had generated more paperwork than I'd seen in months. It all had to be sorted out, labeled, transcribed, and entered into the computer. Luckily I didn't have to do it all myself - some of the dictation tapes went to the typing pool to be transcribed. I took a stack of them over myself on my way to a much-anticipated extended break. In my hurry this morning I'd neglected to eat, and I was starving. My friend Megan was waiting for me at a table in the cafeteria. She's a clerk on one of the main floors and hears most of the gossip before I do, and today she was practically bursting at the seams. Rumors were rife this morning, she told me while I ate. It was all over the building that Mulder was cracking again after only two days back in the VCU. "I really doubt that, Megan," I defended. "I worked late last night, and I know Mulder was here until after midnight. He probably just slept through his alarm or something." "No way, Chandra. Mulder doesn't sleep, haven't you heard that by now? No, he's gone off somewhere to hide or something. Look, there's his partner, Agent Scully. I bet she knows where he is and is just covering for him." I looked up and caught sight of the petite redhead as she paused to pay the cashier. If she realized most of the eyes in the cafeteria were on her, she didn't show it. In fact, she didn't show any sort of emotion at all as she collected her bagel and drink to leave, but as she passed our table on the way out I was able to see her eyes. They were shadowed, and she was holding herself so tightly I was sure she was hiding *something*, but I had no clue what it might be. Megan was going on about something but I didn't listen. In fact, I pretty much tuned her out completely as I quickly finished eating. Mumbling something about getting back to my paperwork, I headed back to my desk. Most of the guys were out on break or on other assignments. Johnson was sitting at the table where the pictures were still laid out, studying the enlargements Mulder had been working with the previous night. Since Ben was one of the least likely to brush me off, I decided to ask him. "There are a lot of rumors flying about Mulder today." I tried to make it sound conversational, but Ben saw through me and grinned, his teeth a flash of white against his ebony skin. "I'll bet. Old Spooky provides a lot of fodder for the mill, and on a pretty regular basis, too." "Some people think he's hiding." He shook his head. "I doubt that. Mulder's not that sort." I sighed. Ben wasn't being very forthcoming.... "What do you think is going on, then?" He put down the photos and turned around to face me. He looked pretty serious. "Mulder has always been a kind of a loner, Chandra. He's constantly going off on his own, checking on things no one else will take on. Don't get me wrong - he usually turns up something on his solo jaunts. And he's pretty damn near one hundred percent when it comes to solves." "So why does everyone make jokes about him?" He shrugged. "He attracts a lot of attention, what with his solve rate and everything. He doesn't play by the book, and seems to get away with it. And I gotta admit, he's not very likable when the guys are razzing him, either. He starts acting like a smartass and rubs them the wrong way." I didn't think that was fair. "He wouldn't do that if they didn't make all the nasty comments," I pointed out. "Yeah, I know," he admitted. "But you know what the guys are like in here. That's what people remember." He turned back to the photographs and I headed for the computer. I didn't agree with what he'd said, but at least I had some idea what was going on now. Was that what Agent Scully was hiding? That she was worried about him? *Had* he gone off on his own again? I settled back into my transcribing, as the agents began to trickle back in from break. I didn't notice at first - they were talking but I had my headphones on to listen to the tape. When they got louder, though, I stopped typing and started paying attention. Blevins had come in from his office and was making some sort of announcement. I nudged the headphones aside so I could hear. "The rumors you've been hearing around the building this morning are true, to an extent," he admitted. "Agent Fox Mulder did not report to work this morning, nor did he call in. All attempts to get in touch with him have been unsuccessful." "So what's new about that?" someone droned in an exaggeratedly bored voice. "They start checking the bars?" Santos smirked. "No, no - the local loony bins. That's where the smart money's going." "Money - hey, are we gonna have a lottery about this? I've got five bucks on the loony bin," another called out. "Mulder'll show up a week from now, after we have the killer behind bars, and wonder what all the fuss was about. He's probably chasing some ghost up in Maine or something." "No, it'll be that UFO sighting down in Alabama - don't you read the tabloids?" "Oh, good, maybe a gator'll get him." "My money's goin' on the Sci-Fi marathon going on down at the Rialto. We'll probably find him down there surrounded by a shitload of jujubes and Milk Duds, dug in for the duration." "Oh, no," declared Kasey. "If he's watching movies, then my money's on that video porn collection I've heard rumors about. They'll probably find him colder than a carp, with a terminal hard-on and a huge smile on his face." It was the kind of remark I would have expected from Anderson - the bastard had never had a thought originate north of his groin since I'd been there. There was a ripple of laughter - I thought Blevins was going to bite through his lip, he was trying so hard not to join in. I looked at him, sure the disgust I felt must be written all over my face. With my usual luck, he of course glanced over at me just at that moment. His face darkened, whether with embarrassment or anger, I couldn't tell. I sighed - another black mark to add to my collection. Well, I didn't give a damn. I couldn't believe this was going on. Hell, all the leads they had managed to pick up had come from Mulder! "Yeah," piped up Walsh, almost choking on his own laughter. "Maybe he found the killer and the two crazy S.O.B.'s killed each other off. Then they'd *both* be outta our hair!" "Nah, we wouldn't get that lucky," another voice said. I was completely disgusted by what I was hearing. This was a fellow agent, for God's sake, who was missing, possibly in terrible danger - if he was even still alive. This was a new low, even for these callused guys. I turned back to my desk, thinking it was perhaps time to put in a serious request for transfer. With horror, I noticed two people standing in the doorway to the office. One was Agent Scully. The other could only have been, from the descriptions I'd heard, Assistant Director Skinner. They stood as if carved in stone, Skinner livid with rage, and Scully.... God, I could only imagine what she was feeling right now. I knew that she and Mulder were close. I had seen them, seen how fluidly they interacted, like the proverbial well-oiled machine. There was trust there, and respect.... The rumor mill said they were much closer than normal, even for partners. Of course, I had heard the stories. The clericals always get the latest gossip first, and according to the grapevine it was even money that they were lovers. But whether or not they slept together - and it was nobody's business but theirs, really - they were still close, and the betrayal by these guys had to hurt. I couldn't take my eyes off Agent Scully. Except for the blue flame of her eyes, her face was totally devoid of color. Whether it was from shock or fury, I couldn't say. She was certainly entitled to both. It took every bit of discipline I had to keep myself from screaming at the others to shut up, to just shut up, as I saw every word strike her like a bullet. The laughter and jesting was trickling to a halt as the other agents noticed the pair in the doorway. But Jerry Walsh, the self- proclaimed life of the party, had his back to the door, and wouldn't shut his trap. "Hey, it probably wasn't the murderer at all. He probably got his wish and got himself kidnapped by those little green - oh, sorry - *gray* men he likes to chase. He's probably sitting on his ass in some UFO right now, driving them cr- " Jerry broke off as he realized he had lost his audience. Some were studiously surveying the floor, others were trying to make eye contact with him, using head gestures in an effort to force him to shut the hell up and turn around. Slowly, he did. His eyes widened. Then, with a dusky flush coloring his cheeks, he slouched down at his desk. Blevins, of course, was now acting as if he disapproved of these goings-on. "I was under the *impression* we all worked for the Bureau, that we were all on the same team," Skinner thundered. Suddenly, Agent Scully cut in, her voice low and icy cold, only a slight quaver betraying the rage she must have felt. "With what Agent Mulder has experienced, being abducted by aliens would probably be his worst nightmare." She paused, then began again with more heat. "Then again, it would beat his having to come back in here. What is *wrong* with you people? I don't understand you. What makes you this way? Mulder was *ordered* on this assignment, he didn't barge in because he wanted to. Christ, he wanted nothing to do with you bastards! He's served his time in this hell. Nothing would have made him happier than never to set foot in this section again and never to lay eyes on any of you. But he did what he was ordered to do. And what does he get for it? This *shit*?" I saw Skinner's hand move to take her gently by the arm in a gesture that was at once restraining and oddly protective. His expression, beneath the anger, was almost sad. Softly, he murmured, "Agent Scully, - " Sharply, she shrugged away from his hand and turned furious eyes on him. "No! I'm going to have my say. God knows it's long overdue." She stepped forward, once again skewering the agents in the room with her stare. "Ever since we came in on this case, we've been subjected to your hostility and your resentment and your bullshit. You couldn't solve this one on your own, and it hurt your precious egos that Mulder was called in. Well, tough shit! Mulder is the finest agent I've ever seen, and if you can't handle that, then keep it to yourselves, instead of acting like a bunch of two-year-olds!" She paused for breath. When she began again, her voice throbbed with intensity and filled the room, growing stronger with every word. "Mulder wanted nothing to do with you *or* this case. He wanted nothing to do with picking up after you, cleaning up your mess. I was naive - I actually thought that something called professional courtesy and respect between fellow agents in the Bureau extended to the VCU," she spat out bitterly. "Mulder knew better. He *knew* the reception he'd get from you. Do you think he couldn't see your sarcasm? Or hear the remarks made behind his back? Is he just 'Spooky' to you people? A freak? Oh, you'll use his talents, his gifts, his genius, like the parasites you are. But treat him like a colleague, like a human being? You fucking *hypocrits*!" she shouted. Suddenly, her hand flew to her face, and she turned and rushed from the room. I don't think I ever heard a silence so complete. Everyone just sat, stunned. Skinner's eyes followed Scully down the hall. Then he turned back to the assembled agents and strode into the center of the room. A vein in his temple pulsed wildly. He hesitated, probably to get himself under some sort of professional control. My eyes caught on the sidearm he wore on his left hip, and I was glad he was taking the time. He looked furious enough to kill right now. I didn't wait for the diatribe to begin. Quietly, I picked up my purse and left the office, looking for Agent Scully. J Edgar Hoover Building Friday, March 28 11:47 A.M. Behind me in the office Skinner was in high gear, delivering a blistering tongue-lashing to the VCU agents. The hallway was deserted, but as I approached the ladies room I thought I could hear the sound of running water. I paused, my hand on the cool metal of the door. I hadn't thought about what I'd say to her. But after what had gone on I knew someone had to *do* something, *say* something, to try to make some sort of apology. I blamed Blevins for a lot of this - the callousness, the cutthroat competition, the lack of teamwork, the unbridled egos. But he couldn't take responsibility for all of it. These guys were responsible adults, for God's sake. Supposedly civilized human beings. Nothing could excuse the demonstration to which Agent Scully had just been subjected. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. She was bent over the sink, her back turned to me, bathing her face. I thought at first she had been crying - until I saw the bloodstained tissues wadded up in the waste bin. "Agent Scully! Are you all right?" My voice was sharp with alarm. She straightened. She didn't turn around, merely looked at my reflection in the big mirror as I moved to the sink next to her. I could see where she had been scrubbing at a bloodstain on her blouse. There was resignation in her face, in her voice. "I'm fine. I - I'm sorry, I know you work in VCU and I should remember your name, but...." "It's Chandra - Chandra Jones. Look, I know it's none of my business, but the blood - " "It - it's all right. Really. Nothing to worry about. It was a nosebleed. I get them sometimes." "But - " "It's... hypertension. High blood pressure. When I get upset I sometimes get a nosebleed," she said dismissively. I may not be a highly trained agent, but I know when I'm being lied to. "You should get that checked out by a doctor," I said in a carefully neutral tone. She snorted bitterly. "I *am* a doctor. And my own physician is more than aware of my condition." All right. I could see she had closed the door on that particular subject - closed and locked it. I tried again. "I came here - followed you, really - because... well... it's not enough, but I'd like to offer you an apology for all that." I hitched my chin in the direction of the office. "It was completely inexcusable. I know why they're that way. It's the work. It makes them so hard. They have to shut off their feelings, so the work doesn't get to them, and I think they forget how to turn them back on again. But it still doesn't excuse what they said, or how they've been treating you and Agent Mulder." She nodded and bent over the sink again. She finished rinsing her face and I handed her some paper towels. "Thanks." "You're awfully pale," I commented. The wad of paper towels followed the bloodstained tissues into the waste bin. "That's not surprising, all of my makeup just went down the drain. I guess I'll just have to look like a ghost for the rest of the day." It was begging the question. I knew it, she knew it, and she knew I knew it. Sure, she was stubborn, tough. But still, she looked shaky. I dropped my handbag on the counter and fished around until my hands touched my makeup case. "The color's probably not right for you - you're so fair - but you're welcome to use anything in here, if you'd like." She gazed at her reflection, then turned to me and took the makeup case. "Thanks - I might scare people or start some ugly rumors looking like this," she replied, a touch of bitterness to her tone. She lightly brushed on some blusher and applied a little mascara, then surveyed herself critically in the mirror. "I guess this will have to do. Thanks." "How about some coffee? You look like you could use some." When she hesitated, I rushed on, "No, not back in the office. Or in the cafeteria. I know a place on the next floor. It should be deserted this time of the day." Reluctantly, she nodded. "Yeah. I guess I could use some coffee, thanks." Normally I would have taken the stairs, but I still wasn't convinced Agent Scully wasn't going to pass out on me. If she were going to faint, I figured it would be safer in an elevator than on a staircase. We glided silently up to the next floor. There were few people in the hallway, and we reached the door marked "Custodian" unquestioned. I grinned at my companion's quizzical expression and turned the knob. Inside, a woman was seated at the small rectangular table. I would have preferred if no one were there at all, but as luck would have it, it was Elaine, a friend of mine. As Agent Scully preceded me into the little room, I gestured to Elaine that we needed the place to ourselves. She nodded pleasantly at Scully, collected her lunch remains and her romance novel, and left. Thank God it was Elaine - there were a dozen others who wouldn't have left if we had sprayed the room with Uzi-fire. "I didn't even know this place existed," the agent murmured. "I'm not surprised," I tossed over my shoulder, as I poured out two mugs of coffee at the counter. "It used to be a custodian's office. But in the last round of budget cuts, he was laid off. The cafeteria's too far to go for breaks, usually - by the time you get there and wait in line, your break's over. So a few of us appropriated this place for ourselves - fixed it up, scavenged the table and chairs, brought in a coffee maker and the little fridge." I looked around at the buttercup-yellow walls decorated with vacation snapshots, picture postcards, and a bulletin board for messages and job postings. "It's not much, but it's ours. Besides," I added dryly, "there's just something about participating in a conspiracy within the very walls of the J. Edgar Hoover building that's very exhilarating." I carried the mugs over to the table. "I guess I'll have to swear you to secrecy now. I'm sure if the existence of this place were known, the head honchos would close it in a heartbeat." "Your secret's safe with me," she replied, a ghost of a smile curling her lips. I went back for the powdered creamer, stirrers, and packets of sweetener, then sat across from her. "You know, if it's any consolation - I really don't think most of them really feel that way about Agent Mulder. Most of the guys probably just don't say anything when the others start acting like jerks. Not that they shouldn't defend him. But it's just that Agent Mulder's kind of a legend in the section, and some of the incredible stories of his investigations.... Well, it makes it hard for the guys to follow in his footsteps, you know? Some of them can't handle that. So they get angry and frustrated, and take it out on him." "You should have been a psychologist," she observed wryly. I shrugged. "More like just good old common sense." We were silent for a while, sipping our coffee. I was relieved to see that a little natural color had crept back into her cheeks. Finally she spoke, although I think it was more to herself than to me. "I really hope he's just ditched me again," she said softly, her eyes staring into space. The grapevine had been informative on that subject as well. It seems Mulder was always striking out on his own, usually without his partner's knowledge. Some of the grapevine participants believed it was just Mulder reverting to type - the Lone Wolf, traveling swifter and surer into hostile territory unencumbered. The romantics in the group felt he was protecting his petite partner. The few who were well-versed in women's issues were incensed either way. "Do you think his disappearance might have something to do with this case?" I asked. She pulled herself from her dark thoughts with an effort. "No, I... I really don't know, actually." She smiled briefly but there was no humor in it. "Mulder doesn't lack for enemies. Sometimes I think they'd have to take a number and wait in line." She drained the remains of her mug like it was nectar from the gods. "Can I get you some more?" She hesitated, then pushed her mug across the table towards me. "Yeah, thanks. Why not. It's not like I'm going to be getting any sleep, anyway - not until he shows up." I poured more coffee for the both of us. Hopefully, Elaine had spread some story - like incipient plague or something - that would keep the break room off limits for a while. When I set the mugs down again, I noticed Scully's brows knit in a frown, and her lips moving silently. Once I sat down, she began to think out loud. "The body in Richmond was the work of the same killer, we're sure of that," she murmured. "He had been dead at least four days when I did the autopsy yesterday. We found the portrait within arm's reach of the body. He was in the photograph - the victim, I mean. About twenty years younger, but it was definitely him. And yesterday's witness just added more confirmation to it." "Do you know yet if the portrait was left at the scene by the killer?" She looked startled by my question. Blushing, I continued. "Sorry. I mean, I know I'm only a clerk-typist, but I pick up a lot of what's going on in the section. I heard the tape of the interview that you and Agent Mulder conducted yesterday. I know that the portrait is pivotal to the case, and...." I trailed off. Had I lost my mind? What was I doing, discussing a case with an agent - a consultant Special Agent at that? My last evaluation had mentioned something about knowing my place and saving my energies for the performance of the duties in my job description. Obviously, I was going to have to work a little harder on that. She smiled then, a genuine smile that made her look more like a college coed than a physician or an FBI agent. "That's all right. I was just thinking out loud. But you wouldn't be working here if you weren't intelligent and extremely discreet. The victim - Richard Cleaver - lived alone, estranged from his wife and kids for many years. We know after talking to McNulty yesterday that the killer brings the portrait along to the crime scene. But Mulder was already pretty sure that was the case. The rest of the victim's place was pretty cluttered and dusty, and there was very little dust on the portrait, so it looks like he hadn't had it for long. Mulder was the one who picked that up. I don't know anyone better at SOC investigation than he is. How he does it, I can't even begin to guess...." Her eyes clouded with worry again. Encouragingly, I said, "You'll find him." "I wonder," she replied. She leaned forward, elbows on the table, massaging her temples. "This has happened so many times that I can't help but think that sooner or later our luck is going to run out. Maybe this time...." "He's strong and he's resourceful," I maintained. "And so are you. You'll find him." "*If* his disappearance has something to do with this case - and that's by no means certain - the interview with McNulty is our best chance of finding him. Of the twelve people in the photograph, only four men, including McNulty, and one woman are still alive. We've made some headway on contacting the others in the picture. Who knows, one of them may turn out to be the murderer." "Well, that's progress. It sounds like you know a lot more now than when I spoke to Agent Mulder." She looked up from her mug sharply. "You spoke to Mulder? When?" "Last night. Before he disappeared. He was here around midnight," I explained. "I was here in the office, working late on a project Blevins dump- ..er, assigned me, and -" "What did he say? Tell me exactly what you discussed." Her whole demeanor had changed - alert, analytical, determined. I was thankful I wasn't a suspect. "Well, okay. He came down looking for the enlargements he'd wanted made from the SOC photos, the ones of the witchcraft items and symbols from the backgrounds. I asked him if he wanted to see the transcripts of the interview with McNulty. I had just finished typing them up and he hadn't seen them yet, so he asked for a copy. I recall he said sometimes it was easier to catch things when he could see them in print." She nodded. "Good. Go on." My brow furrowed. There was a lot riding on this - I wanted to get it right. "Okay... he was different - more introspective, more remote. He didn't say anything for a long time, just looked at the photograph and the transcripts. He was kind of like the way the guys in VCU get - you know, when they're profiling? Trying to get into the mind of the killer?" She nodded again, a bit impatiently this time. "And did he say anything about that?" "No, not to me, anyway. He left a little while after." "That was it? That's all he said?" I could see the disappointment - verging on despair - now touching her face. "Well...there was the phone call from you," I said hesitantly. "And then there was another phone call." "Another call? From whom?" "I don't know. He never mentioned the name of the caller, I'm sure of that. But he was concerned, and said he was on his way." "On his way...," Agent Scully repeated, lost in thought. "Did it seem to you that he was going to have to go some distance? Did he use the phone again, to make plane reservations or anything?" "No, not while he was in the office anyway." "Did he give you any indication, any hint at all, whether the call had to do with this case, or was it personal? His mother hasn't been well," she explained. "I just want to be sure he hasn't gone up to Connecticut to see her. I haven't wanted to call her - I don't want to alarm her if I don't have to." I closed my eyes and tried to think back to the previous night. "No, there was nothing to indicate it was of a personal nature. I heard the way he spoke to you, and his tone was different on the second call. It sounded like something to do with his work." I opened my eyes again and saw that she was slightly flushed. Did it disturb her that Mulder's feelings for her were so transparent? She stood up. "Let's go." "Both of us? Where?" "You're coming with me to Skinner's office." "The AD?" I squeaked. Oh, the next evaluation was going to be really something - assuming there ever *was* a next evaluation. "You're not in trouble," she assured me. "I just want you to tell him what you told me. Come on." Making a mental note to apologize to whoever ended up washing out our mugs, I followed Scully out the door. - - - - - Tiny as she was, I had a tough time keeping up with Agent Scully as we made our way to the 'God pod' - the term we peons used for the floor that housed the offices of the head honchos. Without preamble, she strode into AD Skinner's outer office and addressed his administrative assistant. "Is he in, Kim?" "Yes, Agent Scully. Just a sec." Kim picked up the receiver and spoke into it softly, then put it down with a smile. "Go right in, Agent Scully." If she was surprised to see me go in with her, she gave no sign. But that's Kim - *very* well trained. Skinner rose from his chair as she entered, once more looking worried. When he spotted me, he frowned a bit, but motioned us both into chairs. He looked expectantly at Agent Scully. "Sir, this is Chandra Jones, clerk in the VCU section. I believe she may have been the last to see Agent Mulder before his disappearance." The AD's head swiveled toward me. "Is this true, Ms. Jones?" Scully's gaze had nothing on the piercing glare he gave me. Jeez, how could such nice brown eyes seem so menacing? Trying not to shrink back in my seat, I managed to return it calmly. "Yes, sir. I was working very late last night. Agent Mulder came down to look at some of the evidence. He stayed for about an hour and then left." "What time was this?" "I would say between twelve thirty and twelve forty-five, sir." "What were you doing in the building that late?" he rumbled suspiciously. I guess Agent Scully could see that I was getting a bit intimidated. Well - more than a bit. Smoothly, she said, "Section Chief Blevins assigned Ms. Jones a large project with a close deadline." Skinner turned back to me, his eyes narrowed. "Does Section Chief Blevins require you to work those kinds of hours often, Ms. Jones?" "Not if I can help it, sir," I answered honestly. "I take classes at night and I don't like to have to miss them." The AD nodded to me as if he had dismissed the subject, but I could see he had filed it away in his mind for further action. Damn, maybe I had answered a bit *too* honestly. I knew that the accepted drill was to make Blevins appear to be the perfect boss, and myself the perfect employee - that's how the game was played, that's how one got ahead. That was *not* what came naturally to me, however, as my counseling sessions with Blevins amply demonstrated. But I needed this job. The difference between the relatively good GS-05 wages and what I could earn on the outside was what paid for my college tuition. If Blevins got his ass chewed for working me like a dog, or if Skinner got the idea I was a slacker - "...Ms. Jones?" I looked up sharply to see AD Skinner and Agent Scully looking at me. "Sir?" "I asked if there was anything else you can remember about your conversation with Agent Mulder last night?" "I'm sorry. No, sir." "Did he say where he was going? That he was going to check out a lead?" "No, sir. I just got the feeling that the person who called him needed to see him for some reason." "Did he seem alarmed?" I hesitated. "Not really alarmed. Concerned, yes - alarmed, no. Not an emergency, just something that should be checked out." The phone on Skinner's desk buzzed insistently. He picked up the receiver. "Just take a message for me -" He listened for a few moments. "I see. Thank you." He turned to Scully. "They just found Agent Mulder's car on a road off of State Road 382 near Croom." "Croom? We had to go through there to get to McNulty's place," Agent Scully said. "That's not the worst of it," Skinner continued grimly. "They found blood on the hood of Agent Mulder's car. They've taken a sample of it to the state police lab nearby for analysis. They're waiting for the results now." Friday, March 28, 1997 7:58 p.m. I looked up at the clock on the wall in the empty office. It seemed hours since the hands had shown any movement at all. Nearly eight o'clock - my third late night in a row. Blevins' project had been finished on time, piled in an impressive stack on his desk. But the triumph I had expected to feel was missing. Not only was Blevins not there, but I was worried sick about Agent Mulder. After Skinner got that phone call this afternoon all hell broke loose. He excused me from the room, but as I turned to close the door behind me I saw his and Scully's heads bent together over the desk, coming up with a plan of action. Before I even got out of the outer office Skinner was barking out instructions to Kim over the intercom. Then, I hadn't been back at my desk more than five minutes when he and Agent Scully strode into the VCU section office and closeted themselves with Blevins. Ten long minutes later they came out. Skinner's commanding figure drew every eye in the office. "Approximately twenty minutes ago I received a call stating that Agent Mulder's car had been found on a road near Croom, Maryland. I need all the information you've gathered so far today and I need it now. Status reports." Ben Johnson stood up at his desk. "Sir, we've ID'ed the other people in the group photo and have virtually eliminated them as suspects. Martha Jo Gallegher died of leukemia several years ago. Walter Jackson is living in Russia as a rep for an oil company. Charles Stiner became a member of a religious cult about fifteen years ago, and is living in a commune in Montana. There's no phone there so we couldn't call to check on him, but we have the local cops driving out to the commune to verify his presence there. Jack Ouellette - Charlie, did you find out about him?" "I spoke to him myself. He's in California, alive and well, and apparently unaware of what's been happening to his former friends." "So that seems to indicate a killer who resides on the East Coast and who possibly lacks the financial resources to chase these people all over the country. Or lacks the time. Or both," Skinner summed up. "What about this Phyllis woman?" Dan Kravitz piped up. "We think her name is Phyllis Marchbanks. So far we've been able to trace her whereabouts only up to 1988. We do know she has a long history of psychiatric admissions. The first was early in 1975, when she attempted suicide following an abortion. There've been... let's see... six others since that time, her condition apparently more serious as time went on. The final admission - that we know about, anyway - was in 1986 when she was Baker Acted into Glenview Psychiatric Hospital in Virginia. She was released in 1988. The usual - some shrink said she was cured. Since then she seems to have dropped out of sight." He passed out copies of a fax of an old snapshot to Skinner and the agents in the room. Craning my neck over Dan's shoulder, I caught a glimpse of the photo. Between the fact that it was a lousy photo to start with, the mess the fax had made of it, and then the multiple photocopies, Dan wouldn't have been able to recognize his own mother from the copy in his hand. "Well, since she's our best candidate for the suspect in these murders, we'd better find those missing years fast." Skinner's glare took in the agents seated around the office. "She's also the most likely to be involved in Agent Mulder's disappearance. Narrow your search to the geographic area we know she's frequented in the past - I think you'll find that that also takes in just about all the murder sites. We need to move on this. Blood was found on the hood of Mulder's car. Tests are being conducted as we speak at the Highway Patrol Lab near Croom to find out exactly whose blood it is." From Skinner's tone, it was clear he had already assumed the blood would prove to be Mulder's. If even half the stories passed along the grapevine were true, Mulder had a way of finding trouble. Rumor had it that he had been close to being invalided out of the Bureau more than once for injuries received in the line of duty - and out of it. Maybe that's why his ancient eyes were always so full of pain. "Is it really likely that Sp- Agent Mulder could have been overpowered by a woman?" Jerry Walsh's voice was scornful in disbelief. "Mulder hadn't seen this photo of Phyllis Marchbanks... not that it would have helped much," Skinner observed dryly. "He left here at nearly one o'clock in the morning. I got a follow- up call from the Highway Patrol in Maryland while in Section Chief Blevins' office. The officers who found his car also found fresh tire tracks immediately in front of his vehicle. Apparently, the way they've reconstructed the scene, someone feigning car trouble or a flat tire might have flagged him down. If that person was Marchbanks and seeing a woman alone and in trouble at that hour, Mulder would have stopped to help out.... At least long enough to find out what the problem was and use his celphone to call for a tow truck. There were footprints in the mud by the side of the road - a man's size 11 1/2 and a woman's size 8. Mulder wears an 11 1/2. The man's footprints don't go back to his car. So in answer to your question, Walsh - yeah, I think if Mulder were unsuspecting, merely thinking he was helping out a woman in trouble, he could have been overpowered. Maybe hit from behind and toppled into the trunk of the supposedly disabled car." I noticed Scully grow paler - if that were possible - as Skinner outlined the Highway Patrol's theory on what happened to her partner. Skinner continued. "Now what I want from you people is this. Two of you - Agents Kravitz and Haddox - will stay here and continue to work on finding this Phyllis Marchbanks. The rest of you will accompany Agent Scully, Section Chief Blevins and myself down to Croom. Chances are good that Agent Mulder is being held in the area. Any information you come up with here is to be relayed to Agent Scully or myself immediately. The Maryland Highway Patrol and the local police will be backing us up. Kravitz, make sure you stay in communication with them. They'll be given what information we already have to expedite finding Marchbanks and Agent Mulder. Those coming with me - you'll be wearing your vests on this one. We're dealing with a deranged killer. While there's been no indication that firearms are involved, we're going to play it safe." His dark, glittering eyes swept the room. "I want to make myself clear - I'm holding each and every one of you personally responsible for seeing that this operation goes without a hitch and that Agent Mulder is recovered safely. Am I understood?" There were murmurs of agreement. "Very well. We'll meet in the parking garage, sub-level three, in fifteen minutes." Skinner strode from the room, Scully only a few steps behind him. As she passed my desk I put out a hand to stop her. "Good luck, Agent Scully. I know you'll find him." I spoke with more confidence than I felt, hoping it would reassure both of us. "Thanks. I hope so. We... we *have* to...." her voice caught, then she nodded and quickly walked out the door, closely followed by the others on the team. A couple still grumbled, still muttered about Spooky deserving anything he got, but I was relieved that most seemed determined to get their fellow agent back. Too bad it took something like this and Skinner's harrangue to do it. Too bad Mulder wasn't there to see the change in their attitude. The six hours since the rescue team left this afternoon had passed excruciatingly slowly. Dan and Charlie, with some information gathered by the Highway Patrol, had managed to trace Phyllis Marchbanks - now just Phyllis Banks - to an address on the outskirts of Croom about the time that the team reached the town. Then they had left to join their colleagues, and I was left alone. I finished the project by five - barely. I suppose I could have gone home. Instead, I picked up the phone and called Sven. Patiently I waited as the phone rang. He rarely even heard the phone before it had rung half a dozen times. On the ninth ring, he picked up. Quickly, I explained that I would be late again. "I thought you would have been finished with the Demon Blevins' project by now." "I did, but... Sven, Agent Mulder is missing and they think he may have been kidnapped by the serial killer they were after. The others have gone to try to find him. I just... I really don't want to leave until I know what happened." He grunted. "This Mulder again. I begin to be jealous of your Agent Mulder ~alskare~." While there was some teasing in his voice, there was an underlying uneasiness. I felt an unaccustomed twinge of guilt. I guess I had been mentioning Mulder a lot in the rare moments Sven and I had shared over the past couple of days. Despite his incredible looks and less... well, visible... attributes, Sven could be very insecure where I was concerned. "No need, my heart," I replied softly, my throat tight. "I am forever yours. But... Agent Mulder is different from the others, so... vulnerable, I guess you'd say. And he's a decent guy who treats me like a human with a brain, and not like some kind of servant. I just care what happens to him." I held my breath, hoping he would understand. "Stay, ~alskare~. I hope your Mulder is found safe. Come home when you can. I'll be waiting up for you." His rich, deep voice held the promise of passion. My heart leapt. Was it any wonder I loved this man? "I adore you, Sven, my heart. I'll be home as soon as I know something. And thank you. I owe you one." He laughed then. "And I know what I want in return. I have changed my mind again. I have a fresh canvas. Tomorrow will we start on your portrait." I smiled, my cheeks warm with the blush that had crawled up from my neck. If posing me went as it had the last time, the portrait would never get started, let alone finished. "It's a deal, beloved. See you soon, I hope." "And I hope, as well. Be safe, Chandra." "For you? Always." I replaced the receiver gently. I tried to settle down with some work that had piled up while I had slaved away on Blevins' project, but two hours passed and I was no further ahead than when I started. I was just too nervous, too keyed up to concentrate. What could be taking so long? Why hadn't anyone called to let me know what had happened? As I paced the office, I realized that that I was being somewhat unfair - no one would expect me to still be around, on the odd chance anyone would bother to call here anyway. I shut down my computer - work was out of the question, I couldn't even think straight at that point, between fatigue and concern. Restlessly, I tidied the office and started a couple of pots of fresh coffee. The guys would be needing it when they got back. I had just finished when several of them came in, grim-faced and blood spattered. My heart sank. Horrified, I went up to Haddox. "What happened?" Normally he was one of the more approachable and affable agents of the VCU crew. But not now... Tonight he was as grim as the others and looked completely wiped out. His hands were clean, but his clothing was liberally smeared with blood, and there were spatters of it on his neck and in his hair. "It went down, but not clean." He sighed and thrust a tape into my hands. "You'll have to do the transcripts at some point anyway, so you might as well hear it. But for Christ's sake, use your headset. Frankly, I don't have the stomach to go through it again, and I don't think any of the others do, either." He turned his back on me and went over to the coffeemaker, poured himself a cup and slumped down over his desk. I was shaking as I took the tape to my desk and put it into my machine, putting on my earphones. I waited tensely as the tape rewound, then I stabbed the play button. The voices on the tape were low, hushed. I turned up the volume. Someone I didn't recognize was speaking. <<...farmhouse, just through those trees. We think she's alone, other than Agent Mulder. One of my guys managed to get a microphone - a real sensitive, state of the art model - in there about an hour ago. Taped it up to the outside of one of those little pet openings in the kitchen door. We didn't hear much for a while - just the sounds of someone moving around and a lot of muttering which didn't make a whole hell of a lot of sense. Then....>> There was a clicking noise on the tape, probably the sound of another tape player being turned on. A hoarse, gravelly female voice was saying with evident satisfaction, << <> >> << <> >> My heart thudded. It was Agent Mulder. He sounded weak, but he was alive. << <> >> The voice sounded strangely reasonable. << <> >> << <> >> << <> >> A cackle chilled my blood. << <> >> << <> >> << <> >> I envisioned her leaning over Mulder and gloating, and I shuddered. << <> >> << <> >> she screamed. With trembling fingers I lowered the volume. << <> >> The voice broke, took on a pleading quality << << I couldn't get clean.... No matter what I did.>> >> There was a few moments' silence. When she spoke again, she seemed under better control. << <> >> she finished in a sing-songy voice. I could hear her repeating her horrible little song, along with some staccato ripping sounds in the background. << <> >>There was no plea to the words, just a dignified, almost sympathetic calm. << <> >> << <> >> Again quiet, reasonable. My God, I would have been screaming by now. How could he - << <> >>The words were patient, as if she were talking to a slightly slow child. There followed a long, tearing sound - fabric, I thought. << <> >> << <> >>There was a sudden, sharp intake of breath, a bit-off gasp. <> It was Agent Scully. There was a click, presumably as the tape from the house was turned off. <> Skinner's voice demanded. <> the unfamiliar voice replied. <> <> Skinner said, but I could tell he hated having to admit it - he spat the words out like they were toxic. Then, more softly, <> <> she cut him off. She knew it, but she didn't have to like it, any more than I did. <> A sigh. <> Skinner's voice was almost gentle, nearly unrecognizable from the furious AD who had given the VCU guys such a tonguelashing. It was a totally different side to the man, a very unexpected side. And it was obvious that he cared for Agent Scully a great deal. <> There was another click and the tape from the house continued. << <<...going to take forever at this rate if you keep clotting off. I guess I'm just going to have to open that up again....>> >> There was another indrawn hiss, and over it, an involuntary sound, probably from Scully. << <> >> Damn straight that microphone was sensitive... I could hear each drop of Mulder's blood as it dripped into something deep and hollow and metallic. I wiped my forehead and upper lip where a cold sweat had broken out, and tried to get control of my rebellious stomach. << <> >> Skinner's voice was quietly urgent. <> <> <> The AD's voice was steely. There was no answer from Scully. For the next few minutes of the tape, Skinner outlined a course of action to the assembled lawmen. The microphone from the house was plugged right into the tape from the scene, but mercifully, not a lot seemed to be going on in there - just Phyllis' demented ramblings, Mulder's calm attempts to reason with her, and worst of all, the steady drip of Mulder's blood. Then there sounds of movement, as if the team was moving through the trees and brush. I imagined them surrounding a lonely, dilapidated farmhouse. Skinner spoke next, in a hoarse whisper. <> The captain seemed hesitant. <> Skinner was silent for moment. When he continued, his voice had that 'I hate this, but I have to say it anyway' tone again. <> <> <> The words were still whispered and must have failed to get her attention. There was another sound of movement through brush. Evidently Skinner was carrying the tape recorder. <> <> A long silence. <> Skinner's voice sounded - I don't know, stilted or something, like he knew he was being recorded, and was trying to get his message across without having to actually say it. <> <> He sighed. <>> <> <> <> Any tentativeness was gone from her voice now. This was Special Agent Dana Scully speaking. How she managed to draw that line, to cut off her emotions from this situation was beyond me. God knows I couldn't have done it. <> <> <> <> Skinner's voice sounded strained, as if he were speaking around a lump in his throat. There was another rustling sound. Then the volume of the microphone in the house was increased slightly. << <<...very nicely. But too slowly, too slowly. There's such a thing as too much of a good thing. Hold still....>> A bitten off cry, then Mulder spoke again. << <> >> A sharp slap rang out, and when she spoke, she was angry. << <> >> There was another long tearing sound. << <> >> << << How - how...aagh!>> >> He was panting now, though whether from fear or pain or anger or weakness, I didn't know. His voice was certainly weaker. << <> >> A short unpleasant laugh. << <> >> Mulder sounded stunned. << <> >> << <> >> The volume on the house mike was turned down again. It was MacKenzie again. <> <> <> <> Croom, Maryland Evening, March 28 Excerpts from Audiotape of Rescue Scene For the next couple of minutes, the agents surrounding the house must have been holding their collective breath, because there wasn't a sound from them. The microphone in the house was relatively quiet, too - just Phyllis singing her nasty little song again. There was no sound at all from Agent Mulder. Then suddenly - << <> >> << <> >> << <> >> << <> >> << <> >> Another hard slap, and Mulder fell silent. << <> >> The house grew quiet again. There were some scuffling sounds. Then Skinner said, << Good work, Lin. Report.>> Lin must have been in good shape - he was barely out of breath from his exertions << It was close. The back door is locked but not bolted. It should go down fast. There are seven windows in all - three at the back of the house, two in front and one on each side. Two of the ones at the back are open an inch or two, the rest of 'em are locked. The sashes are old, and will probably either jam or squeak if we try to open 'em, so I think the front and back doors are our best bets. I couldn't check the front door, it was too risky. The front porch is a mess of dry rot - I got away with it because I don't weigh much, but some of the rest of these guys will go right through if they put a foot in the wrong spot. I doubt the front door is used much. The car's pulled around back, and the path up to the front is overgrown with weeds and shit. My bet is she keeps that door locked. Again, with the dry rot, it should break down easy, but we'll have to make it in really fast. They're in the living room, not a dozen feet from the front door. She has your guy strapped to a wooden chair. There's a table set up about five feet away from him with knives, plastic bags, duct tape, and some other shit. She's ripped his clothes so she can get at his arms and legs. It's... shit, it's thee damnedest thing I ever saw, sir. She's cut him up, he's bleeding like hell from at least half a dozen places, and she's.... collecting his blood. She has these big plastic bags taped around his wrists, and he's bleeding into those pretty bad. There's a couple of buckets on the floor that the blood from his arms is dripping into. There's blood on the back of his head, too, but that looks dried. And he's pale, real pale. >> <> <> <> <> <> <> There was a muffled expletive, then <> Scuffling sounds.... <> <> More rustling. <> <> <> I heard Johnson crawl off, his voice in the background briefing the others. <> <> <> << I think we're going to need your medical skills more than your abilities as an agent this time, Agent Scully. Hang back. As soon as we go in call EMS. I don't want to call them now - if they come in with their sirens blaring, it's all over. We'll get Marchbanks restrained, then you see what you can do for Agent Mulder.>> <> <> Skinner's tone did not invite argument. <> Still the good soldier, but obviously upset at not being in the first wave. I wiped my sweating palms on my skirt. My drycleaner was going to be rich. The next two minutes passed with only my galloping heartbeat to listen to. Then there was a whisper. <> <> A few seconds later, the microphone from the house came to life again, first with the sounds of someone walking around, handling some implements that chinked together. << <> >> << <> >> Mulder suddenly seemed more alert, his voice raised as if he knew someone outside were listening. << << You won't be able to collect the blood if you cut my throat....>> >> << <> >> There were more staccato tearing sounds, and more of the soft rustle of plastic. << <> >> << <<*You* don't have much choice.>> >> Come on, come *on*, I thought frantically. Go in, go in *now*. Suddenly, there was a muffled crunch from outside and an enraged howl from inside the house. Almost simultaneously there was a yell from Mulder, a soft thud, and two deafening crashes. Then bedlam ensued. <> <> <> <> Then gunfire - lots of gunfire. There was a moment of perfect, stunned silence, then - <> <> Ben? Ben Johnson? What - <> <<...nah, suspect's deader than a doornail....>> <> <> Then Scully must have appeared. Skinner's voice bellowed over the shouts and cries, <> The cacaphony was dying down, enough to now hear a ghastly, gurgling, choking sound. <> A clearly horrified Agent Scully. <> Jesus! Ben.... No wonder the guys.... <> Skinner commanded from nearby. <> <> Scully sounded breathless as she cared for Johnson. <> called someone from a distance. <> she yelled, then breathlessly, <<...three, four, five.......one, two, three, four, five....>> The wail of an ambulance began to grow more insistent in the background. <> Skinner's voice was quiet and firm, but even he sounded shell-shocked. <> There was some murmuring I couldn't quite catch; if it was Mulder, he was awfully weak. <> There was a faint whisper, then the AD said dryly, <> The scream of the siren finally stopped and there was the clatter of boots. <> <> called Agent Scully. <> <> <> <> <> I think it was Jerry Walsh's voice. <> <> It was Charlie. <> <> <> All sound from the audiotape was drowned out for the next several seconds by the siren of the ambulance pulling away from the farmhouse. << -kay.... I'm here, Mulder. Sir, get his legs up on the chair, shock position. Mulder? Mulder, can you hear me?>> Mumbling.... <> <>> For once, Skinner seemed totally out of his element. <> <> <>> <> There was another tearing noise, somewhat more muffled than any previous. <<*Shit!*>> That was the first thing Mulder had said that I could make out, but then his voice fell back to murmurs. The AD chuckled. The sound struck me as strange, for some reason I couldn't quite grasp. Then I realized it was because I don't think anyone had ever heard him do it before. <> <> <> I took a guess that that wasn't good, confirmed a moment later by Agent Scully. <> <> Multiple sirens in the background grew progressively louder. It seemed every emergency vehicle in Maryland was converging on the farmhouse. It was a couple of minutes before I could hear anyone talking on the tape. <> More mumbles.... <> she said sympathetically.<<...but we have to leave your arms and legs out for a minute while we get you bandaged. You're still bleeding, Mulder, we have to get it stopped.>> There was another sound of ripping, paper this time, I thought. <> More mumbles. <> More clomping of boots. <> <> Agent Scully called. <> <> <> The tone could have frosted Miami. <> <> The voice lowered, muttering, <> More mumbles, followed by a chuckle from the paramedic. <> <> <> <> More mumbles.... Her voice was a whisper this time, perhaps meant for his ears only. <> The tape snapped off with a sharp click and began to rewind. Unsteadily, I got to my feet. Something dropped on the jacket of my suit. It was only when I put my hand to my face that I realized my cheeks were wet, wet with the tears I didn't know were falling. I went over to Charlie, who was still hunched over at his desk. "Charlie...?" He sat up, his face devoid of expression though his eyes were red. "She heard us. Someone went through that fucking porch. Sounded like a fucking gunshot. We broke down the door and we were in in less than two seconds. Mulder tried - threw himself over in the chair, trying to knock her down before she could get to the door. But she was too fast - her arm came up and Ben was spouting blood like a geyser...." "Charlie, is Ben...." He looked up at me dully. "Didn't make it. DOA." "Oh, God!" I felt the tears start again. "Anderson?" "He's not bad, he'll probably be released from the hospital in the morning." "And Agent Mulder?" He shook his head, and my heart just about stopped. "I don't know. Skinner was at the hospital for a while, but left to go break the news to Ben's wife Sheila, and stay with her until her mother gets there to be with her. Agent Scully's still with Mulder, hasn't left his side as far as I know. They were taking him into surgery when I left." The phone rang. I stepped back to my desk and picked it up automatically. "VCU." "~Alskare~....? ~Alskare~, are you all right? What happened?" "Oh, Sven!" The sound of his deep voice, so strong and caring, triggered the sobs I had been trying to hold in. "Chandra! What's wrong? Oh, no... Things have not turned out so good. Stay put, love. I'll come to get you. Can you meet me out front?" "Th-thank you, Sven." He murmured something gentle in Swedish before he hung up. I fumbled to get the phone's handset back in its cradle and found my purse on my chair by touch. Nearly blinded by tears, I fled. J. Edgar Hoover Building Several weeks later, Friday 7:18 p.m. I was still in a daze as I finished cleaning out my desk. I'd been offered a promotion that afternoon that was both a step up and out of the VCU, into a position in Computer Crimes. It was a bottom-rung position, true, but far better than I had dared to hope for when I had put in for transfer after the Phyllis Marchbanks case. I hadn't cared at that point - I just wanted out. The attitudes of the unit after Ben Johnson's death and their unanimous shift to the opinion that it was somehow all Agent Mulder's fault was just the last straw. I couldn't stay here any more. Shoving the last desk drawer shut, I put the last few personal items in the box to take with me. I was forgetting something.... My coffee cup. It wasn't special or expensive, but I didn't want to leave anything of mine behind. I fetched it from the shelf by the coffeemaker and had turned around to put it with the rest when a faint sound made me look toward the door. The shape of a man stood in the shadows. I didn't jump, but I did catch my breath. "You're getting better," said an amused voice. One I recognized, but had never expected to hear again. I began to smile. "Mulder! What are you doing here?" As he stepped forward I could see he'd lost weight, and his slow steps didn't quite mask a limp. I dragged a chair closer and he sank into it with a surprising amount of grace. "You aren't supposed to be back at work yet, are you." I made it a statement. Even I could tell he was still in pain. And I'd bet all my savings he refused to take pain medication, too. "I'm okay," he assured me, "just not quite back to normal speed. I'm cleared to come back to work on light duty on Monday." "I hate to tell you this, Mulder, but that's still a few days away." "I know - Jeez, you sound like Scully," he complained, but he was grinning so I knew he was teasing. "I just came in for a little while to get out of my apartment. I was going stir-crazy." "Well, I'm glad you're feeling better. Would you like a cup of coffee?" "Yes, please." "So what are you doing wandering the halls of the VCU this late on a Friday night?" I asked a few moments later as I handed him a cup. "I'm waiting for Scully. She's doing an autopsy and asked me to wait for her." He made an exasperated sound and shrugged. "Well, more like she *ordered* me to wait. She saw me limping and told me I shouldn't be driving yet, so she's going to drive me home." "So what's causing the limp? Overdo it chasing the nurses at the hospital?" I couldn't resist teasing him a little, and his reaction made it worthwhile. For an instant he looked startled, then he laughed. "I wish! I had a male nurse that looked like that football player they used to call the 'Refrigerator'! No, one of the cuts around my ankle was a little too deep and got part of my Achilles tendon. It's taking a while to heal. So, what's with the box?" he asked, gesturing to my desk. He wanted to change the subject, I realized. He didn't want to talk about his injuries any more - or the case, either, I suspected. So even though I could see the edge of bandages peeking out from under his sleeves, I did my best to ignore them and just talk to him. It got a little easier when I suddenly remembered part of our late-night conversation weeks ago. "I just got promoted. I start in Computer Crimes Monday morning... Thanks to you, most likely. You put in a good word for me, didn't you?" He looked confused. "No, I didn't. I was planning to get Scully to do it for me - I was afraid a recommendation from me would more likely get you fired than moved up - but things happened and I didn't get the chance to talk to her about it." Now I was confused. I hadn't requested the Computer Crimes division, and Agent Mulder was the only one I've ever told about my computer classes.... "If it wasn't you, and it wasn't Agent Scully...." I broke off, realizing I was speaking aloud. Mulder was shaking his head. "Scully would have mentioned it if she had," he said firmly. "It has to be someone else. Who else knew you were taking computer classes?" "Just Sven, and the people in the class. I don't even know most of their names." That reminded me of something else - "Sven's citizenship papers finally came through, along with a letter of apology. You wouldn't have had anything to do with that, would you?" "Indirectly, maybe. I made a phone call to some friends who said they'd look into it, but I haven't gotten back to them. It could be that whatever was holding them up cleared on its own." "Well, thank you anyway. Sven and I both appreciate it." "There you are." Another voice sounded from the doorway, and I looked up to see Agent Scully coming in. "I wondered where you'd gone. I thought you were going to get a cup of coffee while I finished up." "I did - just not in the morgue. I think they put formaldehyde in it over there. Chandra's tastes much better." "I can't argue with that," Scully said, pushing her hair back with one hand. She looked tired, although her suit was crisp and her makeup perfect. I motioned her to a chair and stood up to get her a cup of coffee, too. "I can get it myself," she protested even as she sat down. "My treat tonight -- I'm celebrating my last day in the VCU," I told her. Mulder piped in, "Scully, did you by any chance put in a recommendation for Chandra to be promoted?" "No, not yet. I was going to - it's already written up on my laptop, waiting to be printed. Why?" "My promotion was to the Computer Crimes department, and no one here knows I've been taking computer courses - except Agent Mulder." Scully frowned, thoughtful as she sipped her coffee. Then she tilted her head to one side and looked at me. "You mentioned taking night classes once, Chandra, but I don't remember your saying they were computer courses." I couldn't recall it, and I must have looked puzzled, because she gently reminded me, "When we spoke to Assistant Director Skinner, in his office. About your working late." Well, that wasn't actually the subject of our discussion in Skinner's office, but now I did remember it coming up in passing. I looked up just in time to see another example of their rare communication - Mulder gave her an inquiring look and she returned it with an "I'll explain later" nod. Was their code something instinctive between them, I wondered, or had it developed over their years of working so closely together? ...Then it registered what Scully had said. Was she implying that AD Skinner...? Scully broke my chain of thought when she spoke gently to Mulder. "It's getting late, Mulder, and I'm tired. Are you ready to go home?" "Sure, Scully. Why don't you go on out? I'll be right behind you." Another look flashed between them, too fast for me to catch. Scully nodded and got to her feet. "Thanks for the coffee, Chandra. Good luck with your new position." Then she was gone. Mulder got to his feet a little more slowly. "I didn't come down here just for coffee, Chandra. I came to say thank you for all your help during the Marchbanks case." My help? "I didn't do anything..." I started to say, but he cut me off with a wave of his hand. "You helped me every way you could, even when it got you in hot water with Blevins. And Scully told me how you supported her when she needed it. You told her and Skinner I had gone to meet someone after I left here that night, so that they'd already set the search for me in motion before they knew for sure I'd been kidnapped. That saved some time, and probably my life. To you it may not seem like you did much, but believe me, I appreciate it." Damn the man, he was going to make me cry.... "You'll do great in the Computer Crimes section," he assured me seriously, then gave me a sudden cheeky grin that went all the way to his eyes. "Besides, it'll be nice to have a friend to call on when we need help from the Computer department!" I laughed, "Any time, Agent Mulder. All you or Agent Scully have to do is ask." "Well, I'd better get going. If I don't get moving Scully will be coming back down to get me. Want to walk out with me?" "Thanks, but I'd better not. I need to finish locking up here before I leave, then I have to go out through Security to get my new ID badge. You'd better go on, don't keep Agent Scully waiting." "Well, goodnight then, Chandra." "Goodnight, Mulder. Take care." I watched as he made his way out, following him as far as the doorway so I could watch his progress down the hall. I smiled as he reached the elevators - Agent Scully was waiting patiently for him, leaning on an open elevator door to hold it on our floor. She didn't speak as he reached her, just straightened away from the door. His hand went possessively to the small of her back as they stepped into the elevator together. And just before the door slid closed, I heard his voice say, softly, "Let's go home." Spooky and the Ice Queen, indeed. End of Spooked