Title: Devil's Advocate Authors: Vickie Moseley (vmoseley@fgi.net) & Susan Proto (STPteach@aol.com) Completed: January 2001 Category: X-file, MSR, MT Spoilers: None Summary: Mulder willingly joins an investigation that may be his undoing. Archive: IMTP for the first two weeks, then MTA, the Garden, the Pyramid, Ephemeral, Gossamer, and any other site that has received prior written permission. All others, please contact the authors. Disclaimer: Mulder & Scully as well as all other recognizable character references belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and Twentieth Century Fox Television. They are used here without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. Unrecognized characters belong to the authors. Author's Notes: This was written for I Made This! Productions as one of the episodes of Virtual Season 8. IMTP can be found at http://www.i- made-this.com. Thanks to our Beta-Reader, Brandon Ray, for his infinite patience and wonderful cyberEye for detail. Feedback: YES! Devil's Advocate By Vickie Moseley (vmoseley@fgi.net) & Susan Proto (STPteach@aol.com) Prologue Friday, April 6th, 2001 Monsey, New York 11 a.m. The heavy wood door opened and a small, slightly built man entered the sanctuary of the old temple. He moved about the pews and quickly checked for dust and smiled with satisfaction to find none. Next, he walked through a small archway and entered the old, but functional kitchen. He removed his formal, black hat and placed it on the counter. The man's long black coat brushed against the old stove as he opened the door. He peered in and wondered if that was a piece of bread, of chomaytz, that still lurked in the dark recesses of the oven. He reached in to pick it up, but his fingers swiped at only air and the hard, cold metal of the appliance. "It's clean, Rebbe," called out the young man who stood quietly during the older man's inspection. "You told me to make it spotless. I've been working here since 6 o'clock and I did as you said. Really, there is not one piece of non-kosher for Passover food crumb in this entire synagogue." "It doesn't hurt to check, Reuven," he responded in a surprisingly strong, deep voice. Though he rose to his full height, the younger man continued to tower over him. The rebbe unconsciously stroked his long untrimmed beard. His plain, black skullcap perched precariously on top of his head while his long curly earlocks threatened to thread their way in front of his lobes. His physical appearance belied his vigorous energy; an energy that was not normally expected of a man in his late eighties. Reb Shmuel Zimmerman, however, was no ordinary octogenarian. His small, orthodox congregation counted on him to make sure their shul was free of any chomaytz, so they would be able to celebrate the first Seder night of Pesach tomorrow night without worry. "Reuven, it looks as though you have done a fine job in cleansing and preparing our shul for Pesach. Now we'll be able to enjoy the Sabbath tonight without worrying about preparing for tomorrow. You may go and help do the same at home," informed the rebbe. "You're going home now too, aren't you Rebbe Shmuel?" asked the young man. "You should get some rest for tonight's service. You work hard, too." "Yes, yes, of course I will. I'll be leaving shortly. I just need to do a couple of more things here in preparation for tonight's service." "The shul is fine, Rebbe. You can go home too," assured the young congregant. At seeing the wizened old man nod his head, Reuven smiled and bid him good morning. "I'll see you tonight at services, Reb Shmuel." The old man nodded and heard the heavy door of the temple close behind the young member. Reuven Steiger was a good person, he thought to himself, and someday he will be a leader in our community. But for now, he worries too much! Reb Zimmerman thought with a smile. He moved about the old shul in a slow deliberate manner. This was his sanctuary, his home. He found his peace here and did whatever was necessary to make sure that his congregation could find their peace here as well. He finally ended up in the small room at the end of the hallway, his office. He sat down at his desk and opened the small book that would help him with the finishing touches on tonight's sermon. It had to be a particularly good one tonight, as it would be one to not only welcome in the Sabbath Queen, but it would be to inspire the coming of the eight-day observance of Passover. He turned the dog-eared pages of the old text. He'd used it as his inspiration for many sermons past and prayed it would continue to give him guidance for future sermons as well. As his gnarled fingers pointed to the words with great care, the rebbe felt a sudden draft. He supposed it was young Reuven returning to retrieve a forgotten hat or book. The old spiritual leader continued to read and make sense of the Hebrew text, while a second presence entered the room. "Reuven? What did you forget?" he asked without looking up from his book. Seconds passed when Shmuel Zimmerman realized he'd yet to receive an answer from his young charge. It wasn't like Reuven to be rude, thought the rebbe. Finally, out of curiosity, Reb Zimmerman raised his eyes. And when he did, the beam of light aimed straight and true, and bore a hole directly through the book that the old man had clutched to his heart. St. Gertrude's Church Chicago, Illinois Saturday, April 14, 2001 9 a.m. The church was dappled with colored light from the sun streaming in through the stained glass windows. Dust motes danced freely in the beams of red, blue and gold and gilded the pews with a heavenly fire. Father Mick Nelson grasped the aging wooden folding ladder in both hands and carried it over to the far alcove of the church. Only one statue remained to be uncovered and the long season of Lent would be over, at least as far as the outward appearances went. Tonight, a hundred candles would light the altar as the holy water for the next year would be blessed and the newly converted would receive the sacraments after a year of study and prayer. Mick remembered a time when he was new to the priesthood, back when at least a dozen or so women would be cleaning the floors, dusting the pews and uncovering the statues. Back when Holy Saturday was the official 'work day' of any parish. But times change, and most young women were now working mothers, with Easter eggs left to dye and the perfect gloves and hat to match the perfect Easter dress left to find at the mall. The Rosary Society now consisted of women not much younger than Mick himself, a spry 70 years old. He chuckled slightly, secure in the knowledge that he was still capable of preparing the church, even if the ladies of the parish were elsewhere occupied, or too frail to take up the task. If he had time, he'd run Mrs. Mulligan's feather duster over the tops of the statues, but it usually seemed that not much dust accumulated in the wake of the just three year old heat pump/air conditioner that the parish council had installed in the church. Still, it was the principle of the thing -- everything should be new and sparkling clean for Easter. He heaved the ladder more firmly in his hands. Dratted thing was getting heavier. The old wood must be turning to stone. He was certain the ladder had been there even before the church was erected. It had probably somehow escaped the great fire that burnt the city almost to the ground in the late 19th century. Mick would never admit it was his own body growing weaker, and not the ladder growing heavier. Finally, both ancient artifacts made it to their destination and he set the ladder at the foot of the last statue. The rickety old ladder groaned under his weight as he reached over the edge to grasp the purple velvet covering the statue. Michael the Archangel. Of course, as an image of his patron saint, Mick had immediately taken a liking to the marble edifice the first time he'd stepped foot in St. Gertrude's, almost 20 years ago. It was a fiery Michael, one to strike terror in the hearts of anyone thinking they might have an equal footing with God. The sword in his right hand was held high, too high to cover completely with the purple cloth. Only the rest of the body was covered, leaving the penitent the impression that even during the long 40 days of Lent, Michael was still ready to defend the gates of heaven against all would-be invaders. Mick smiled as he thought of how he'd missed those intense eyes, carved into the marble in such a way that they followed him as he made his way up the aisle of the church on Sunday mornings. He always felt Michael to be something of a protector to himself, personally. He'd always been proud of the fact that he was named after the guardian of the Kingdom of Heaven. The velvet was slippery, and from his precarious perch on the old ladder, Mick shifted his weight, so as not to topple either the ladder or the statue. One hundred-year- old marble statues imported from quarries just miles from the Vatican were not that easy to come by, especially when the roof of the church needed new shingles. He was concentrating so hard at his task that he didn't see the cloud that apparently covered the sun, for the just recently brightly lit church was suddenly plunged into darkness. Rain on Easter weekend? His mother's voice echoed in his ears, foretelling of rain for seven Sundays after if a drop fell on Easter morning. It was his mother's voice in his head that was the last sound the old priest heard. Behind him was a flash of light so intense that it blazed a shadow on the plaster wall behind the statue, melted the lead glaze that held the stained glass of the window and singed the wooden sill. A flash of light so bright that it burned right through the body of a 70-year-old priest, cauterizing the wound even as it vaporized his still-beating heart. A look of surprise on his face, the corpse fell to the ground, still clutching the purple velvet that had been draped over his marble protector. The velvet caught for a moment on the statue's shield, causing it to drift down and gently cover the deceased in a purple shroud. A form stepped out of the shadow, a man about 6 feet tall with coal black hair and eyes that seemed to glow red. He calmly walked over to the body hidden under the purple velvet. With a smile of triumph on his face, he leaned over and tenderly tucked the cloth around the body, then turned and left by the front door of the church. The statue of Michael stared on, frozen in horror at the murder he'd just witnessed. ACT I Office of the Assistant Director Walter Skinner Friday, September 21, 2001 10:45 a.m. Walter Skinner looked up from the folder on his desk and waved the two agents toward the waiting chairs. "This won't take long, Agents." Mulder stepped aside to let his partner take her 'favorite chair' just to the right of his. He'd often wondered if he'd been a Freudian what he might make of her almost obsessive need to be to his right. As it was, he'd gotten too used to their normal positions in this office to care. "It's good to see you back in the office, sir," Scully said, "How are you feeling?" Skinner looked up and said, "I'm beginning to feel more like myself," and gave just a hint of a smile. Mulder chuckled outright, however, and said, "Welcome back, sir." Skinner smiled more broadly in acknowledgment of Mulder's recognition of his small joke about their last X-file. Just as quickly, however, he returned to his AD persona. "I just received this from Violent Crimes," Skinner said, extending a file folder across his desk toward Scully. "It's a potential serial murder case. Different cities, same mode of death. The most recent murder occurred just two days ago, a Lutheran minister was found dead at the site of a prayer service that was to open the beginning of classes at the parochial high school he headed up. "The medical examiner in Chicago states that the priest was killed by use of a laser," Scully said, reading directly from the file. "Sir, the first two victims died of the same cause, within a week of each other." She handed the file over to Mulder. "Nobody thought to connect them until just recently?" Skinner shrugged. "The first murder in New York State wasn't reported immediately. It occurred in an Orthodox Jewish Temple and wasn't reported until the most recent murder of the student made the press." "One priest, one Hassidic rabbi, and one Lutheran minister," Scully noted. "All members of the clergy," she mused more to herself than to the two men sitting with her. "Are they filing charges for obstruction of justice? They didn't report the first murder for five months, why not?" Mulder asked, flipping through the pages. "No charges that I'm aware of, Agent Mulder. The death was immediately reported to the Rockland County Sheriff's Department, and the medical examiner was called in as well. He apparently signed off on a visual examination, but no investigation was made because the M.E. concluded at the site that the death was not a result of foul play." Skinner paused momentarily before continuing. Hesitantly, he continued, "It appears that there was some feeling that the death was not... of an earthly cause." Skinner craned his neck, obviously uncomfortable with the reasons for the lack of a report. "The statement of the person who found the first murder victim says he believed it was supernatural causes," Mulder corrected, reading from the statement. "Evil causes," he added with a lifted eyebrow. "In any event, there have been three murders in just over five months and the VCS has asked for the case to be referred to the X-Files Division," Skinner said, looking directly at Mulder. "They've had it less than a week. Seems like they might at least 'try' to find a reasonable explanation," Scully said with a deep sigh. "Nah, Scully. Not when they've got 'The Spooky Patrol' to take all the really difficult cases off their hands," Mulder answered with a smirk. "I know those jokers in Violent Crimes. Work to them is a four letter word." "I think you know what to do on this case, Agents," Skinner interjected impatiently. "If you don't mind, I have my own work to do. I'll be expecting a report when you've got something to go on." The two agents stood in tandem and Scully followed Mulder out of the assistant director's office. He was reading the file folder all the way to the elevator, and Scully had a hard time keeping the grin off her face as he deftly sidestepped oncoming traffic. She knew a great deal of his talent at this game was his peripheral vision, honed to a razor's edge after years spent on many basketball courts, but to the layman, or other agents, it just gave more fuel to her partner's now titanic reputation. "What's so funny, Scully?" he asked, jolting her from her thoughts. She must not have been too successful keeping that smile off her face. She made a note to start practicing that art again in front of the mirror at home. "Nothing, Mulder. So, what else does the file say?" she asked, changing the subject in the direction she knew he would want it to go. "The third victim was a Lutheran minister who teaches at a small private high school in Missouri, about forty miles southeast of St. Louis," Mulder resumed reading. "He was setting up for an outdoor prayer service before the beginning of classes and was found with the same burn hole through his chest. Well, at least this guy doesn't seem to hold too many prejudices. Next, he'll probably go after a Buddhist Monk." They had arrived back at the basement office and Mulder took a few seconds to shed his jacket, drape it over the back of his chair, and sit back with his feet on the desk. He tossed the file back to his partner. "All members of the clergy, as I was saying upstairs," Scully mused thoughtfully as she flipped through the pages again. "Gee, Mulder. Maybe the devil's doing it," she teased. But something about one of the crime scene photos, the picture of the last victim, the Lutheran minister, caught her eye. The man's face was clearly shown in the glossy black and white photograph and the look in his eyes caused Scully to blink and look closer. A chill ran down her spine. This person had seen something. Something that could only be described as pure evil. She'd seen pure evil before, and she didn't know if she was ready to go after it again. " ...surgical laser. So basically, the guys over at VCS just didn't look very far. I think this one's pretty easy, Scully." She looked up, startled, when she realized she'd just missed half a conversation. "I don't know, Mulder. Three different cities, three victims, and how many people can just stick a surgical laser under their overcoat and then use it to kill a person. Those things are pretty bulky!" Mulder's feet hit the floor as he stood to come over next to where she was standing. She was feeling unnerved by the photo and her partner's nearness unnerved her even more. She held back a flinch when he took the file back and started pacing. "Scully, medical technology is moving forward at the speed of light. Why, just the other day I was reading an article where surgical lasers are becoming smaller and smaller. I think it's not impossible to find one that could be used. And remember, all these men were killed in seclusion. There was no one else in the temple, the church, the school grounds. And before you say it, we both know there is always a back door that can be jimmied open." "But Mulder, there is no mention of a jimmied door. Most churches these days have security systems unless there are several people around," Scully countered, moving over to perch on the edge of the desk, just to stay out of the path of his pacing. "And where did you read this article about surgical lasers?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. He smiled sheepishly. "Ah, did I tell you your Journal of the American College of Surgeons came in the other day? I think it's somewhere on my desk." He moved over to a pile of papers nearly a foot and a half high and started digging through it. She shook her head and stilled his hand. "Forget it, Mulder, I'll buy a new one. It's simpler. But that still doesn't explain . . ." "Scully. If we take all the grunt cases from VCS, we won't have time for our cases," Mulder said firmly, taking the file folder and tossing it on the only open space on his desk. "I think it's time we stopped being the 'whipping boys'. I'm going to give this one back to them." Scully chewed her lip for a minute. In the pit of her stomach, that was exactly what she wanted. The photo of the minister's eyes was still haunting her. But another part of her, the curious part that was only happy when they were on a chase, didn't want to let this one go that easily. Besides, she couldn't believe her partner was willing to toss it aside, either, even though that's exactly what he was proposing. "You don't want it because they're religious," she accused suddenly, realization brightening her eyes. Mulder gave her a blank stare and then shook his head in disgust. "Scully, do you really want to start this? Because I'm beginning to hate this game." "What game?" she shot back. "The 'you're a good Catholic and I'm a dirty atheist' game. I really hate it. Look, just because I don't go to church every Sunday and you do doesn't mean I hate religion." "Mulder, you have told me, flat out, that you don't like organized religion," she replied evenly. "And I've never called you a 'dirty atheist,'" she added, her voice betraying the pain of that accusation. He stood there for a full minute, looking like he was going to try and prove her wrong. Then he dropped his head to his chest. "Look, I admit there is some drawing power to this case. The whole concept that someone might be delusional to the point of feeling they are acting as 'God's Avenging Angel.' The Good vs. Evil, and I would be willing to bet that in each and every case, the killer feels that the victim is somehow the evil one. I love that kind of shit, Scully, I eat it up with a spoon and you know it. But is it really an X-File?" He had her stymied. She couldn't pinpoint exactly when he had taken control of the argument and brought it back to the only point that mattered, but he'd done it. Damn him, she always liked to do that. But grudgingly, she had to agree. As interesting as the case might be, if the answer could be found in the most recent JACS, there probably wasn't much there for the X-Files Division. Fighting it every step of the way, a small smile grew on her face. "You're right, Mulder. This very likely is not an X-File. And for the record, you owe me this month's issue of the Journal." "So, I give this back to the bad boys at VCS?" he asked, not hiding his own grin in the least. "We have real mutants to catch, Scully." "Speaking of which, I have a date at Quantico. They're backed up and called for reinforcements. I'll be gone the rest of the afternoon." "We still on for tonight?" he asked hopefully. She couldn't decide whether she wanted to kiss the little boy look on his face, or scrub it off with a scrub brush. She did neither. "We are, but remember, my turn for the movie. I fully intend to get something I want to see," she warned, picking up her coat and briefcase as she headed for the door. "I'll make sure the pizza gets there on time this time, Scully. See you later." Mulder's Apartment 6:55 p.m. The doorbell rang and Mulder rose off the couch to retrieve his wallet to pay for the pizza that awaited them on the other side of the door. He went into his bedroom and returned with a ten, a five, and a few singles. That was Scully's influence no doubt. There was a time when he would have handed over $15 to cover the cost and tip for a $13.99 large, extra cheese pizza. The first time Scully saw him do that, however, she'd gasped and immediately ran to pick up her purse to add a few singles to the payment. The delivery boy looked at her with an expression something akin to love at first sight, and then muttered, "Wow, I hope he keeps you around," and then in a clearer voice, he expressed his thanks. So now, Mulder had learned his lesson and automatically produced the appropriate number of singles to cover a tip that Scully was no longer embarrassed by. The amazing thing was, it had become second nature to Mulder. Guess you could teach an old dog new tricks. "Grab some beers, will ya Scully?" called out Mulder as he carried over the hot pie to the coffee table. "Sure," she replied and made her way into the kitchen. She grabbed a couple of bottles that were chilling in the refrigerator and returned to the couch where Mulder had put down a couple of paper plates. "You know, that case from this morning has some interesting aspects to it, Scully." "No." "No?" he echoed. "No talk of cases tonight, Mulder. I want this to be a nice, relaxing time together. Please." "Relaxing, eh?" he said with his patented leer. "Yeah, big boy," she retorted, "relaxing." "Oh, Scully, if it weren't for the fact that I was starving at the moment, I'd be happy to help you relax," he said as he picked up a slice of the steaming, gooey pizza. "Gee, Mulder, it's not often I can say you're thinking with your stomach instead of your--" she began. "--Damn! It's hot!" he exclaimed as he tried to pick up the first slice. "Well, we'd just complain if it arrived cold, right?" she asked with a wry smile. "Be patient, it'll cool off soon enough, Mulder." "Yeah, but I'm hungry now," he replied. The fact that his stomach chose that very moment to growl loudly threw both partners into a fit of laughter. "See? The stomach don't lie, Scully." "No, I suppose not. Let me try," she said as she deftly removed the first slice with the help of a butter knife. "Here you go, Mulder. Feast!" Scully took one for herself and then the two of them settled back to enjoy a video Scully had rented. "Now, ya wanna tell me again why I want to see this film, Scully?" "It's called "House of Mirth," Mulder, and it's a very poignant story that is universal in its attempt to tell of how greed can be the downfall of all who crave money without earning it," she explained. "Um, right, but Scully, Caddyshack does the same thing and we would have had some laughs while watching it, too." "Mulder, c'mon! You chose the movie last week. You didn't hear me crabbing when we watched Road Trip for the seventeenth time, did you?" "Okay, okay, I'll be good, but Scully, they're wearing hats and gloves and stuff," he pouted. "Mulder..." she uttered with a warning tone. Mulder closed his mouth around a bite of pizza. "HOT!" he cried out immediately, although the utterance wasn't quite that clear. He dropped the pizza back into the plate as he reached for his beer to take a cooling swig. "You okay?" Scully asked with some concern. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered. His tongue felt like it had swelled to twice its size in a matter of moments. "Damn, 'dat was hot!" "Poor baby," Scully cooed. "Want me to kiss and make all better?" "Oh, 'Cully, 'dat's the ni'tet t'ing you could ever 'tay to me." Scully, of course, burst out laughing. Scully managed to scarf down two of the large slices and two beers, while Mulder polished off three beers, three slices, and was eyeing a fourth. "You do realize you're going to explode if you do," Scully said as she watched her partner wage an internal war with himself. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Besides, if I eat it now, what'll I have for breakfast?" "Oh, you're such a gourmet, Mulder!" replied Scully with a giggle. "Yeah, that's me. Hey, c'mere," he said softly. "What?" "You've got some cheese on your sweater," he said as he pointed to her collar. Just as it appeared that Mulder was going to reach over with his fingers to pluck the piece of cheese up, Mulder leaned in quickly and devoured his partner's neck while also managing to scoop up the cheese with his tongue. She squealed in utter surprise and in utter delight. "You taste good, Scully. A whole lot better than pizza," he said through alternating kisses and licks of the skin exposed just above her collar. "How good is that?" she asked in a breathy tone and wondered if she'd be able to maintain any kind of composure. Wondered why she would want to. "Oh, good, Scully. Really, really good." And with that he stood up and scooped her up in his arms. "But I think there are other parts of your anatomy that I want to taste even more." "Only if I can join in this little dessert, too, Mulder." "Sure, Scully, I learned to play nice in the sandbox with my playmates," he responded. And so did she. He nibbled at her neck, just under her chin and then slowly worked his way down to the hollow area of her neck just where her cross lay. Scully lifted her chin up a bit to allow Mulder better access and sighed in delight when he continued his explorations. And groaned when he stopped. Why did he stop? "Mulder?" "Shh, listen," he said in a whisper. "Listen to what? I don't hear anything," she pouted as she reached around his head in an effort to prod him back to her chin, and her neck, and her chest, and her... "That's just it, Scully. I don't hear anything," he agreed with a tone of wonder. "No phone ringing, no doorbell buzzing, no gunshots through the window..." "Mulder!" she cried out slapping his arm in quick reaction while he laughed aloud. "Think about it, Scully. This has got to be a sign. It's got to be some kind of omen." "Mulder, shut up and get back here, now!" she growled with a hint of a smile. "Simmer down Agent Scully," he said with a chuckle, "no need to pull out the weapon yet." "Oh, no?" she said with a lecherous grin, as she snaked her hand down the front of her partner's pants. "It seems to me the weapon is very much in need of being pulled out." Mulder managed a low, very needy, groan before he was able to replace his lips on just the parts Scully desired. And then some. Mulder's Apartment Saturday, September 22, 2001 5:45 a.m. It was barely dawn when he reached over and lightly touched her bare leg. He reveled in how good it felt to be able to reach over and touch her at will. Her skin was so soft, so smooth... Well, usually. Mulder smiled when he realized how mortified Scully would feel if she knew that he was playing with the light hair on her legs. Maybe he'd offer to help her shave them, or wax them, or whatever women did to make their legs feel silky smooth. All he knew was right now Scully felt wonderful to him, and he was perfectly content to have her in his arms, hairy legs and all. Slowly his fingers wandered towards her navel, and he made small, loving circles around it before he found himself moving up toward his favorite part of his partner's anatomy. He listened to Scully sigh contentedly. She always knew Mulder was a breast man. Slowly, Scully placed feathery touches on his knees and thighs, which remained wrapped comfortably around her legs like a Christmas present's ribbon. As his fingers reached more urgently for her, she answered with her own fingers in kind. Mulder felt his urgency build slowly at first, but the anticipation grew and the excitement caused both of their bodies to respond without inhibitions. Their mutual desire to satisfy one another was their first priority, and as a result, their breathing soon came in pants and quiet cries of blessed release. Scully reached around to draw him into a soft, but very passionate kiss. He loved her back as he knew she loved him. "Go back to sleep," he quietly urged. "It's still so early." "Mmmm," she murmured and prepared to snuggle into him more comfortably. "Just a minute, Dana," he whispered, as he unraveled from her. "Mulder?" she asked with her eyes still closed. "Go back to sleep." He slowly got out of bed and went into the bathroom. By the time he'd finished with his shower and dressed, she'd fallen back into a fairly deep sleep. He bent down and placed a light kiss on her lips. "Sleep now?" she asked. "I have to go out for a little bit. We'll talk later. You sleep." He reached over and kissed her again. He walked out of the bedroom into the kitchen to set up the coffeepot for her. After he set the timer, he jotted a quick note and leaned it against her mug. He lightly danced his fingers over the note one last time and then he left, locking the door behind him. Mulder's Apartment 8:45 am "Mulder?" she called out as she stretched catlike amid the rumpled sheets. She crawled out of bed and wondered how long he'd been up. She realized it was quite possible he was out jogging, though after this morning's extension of last night's wondrous activities, she wasn't certain how he had the strength. She knew she sure didn't. She went into the bathroom and took care of her morning business, and made sure to run her toothbrush across her teeth. She didn't even remember which of the dozen times she'd been over when he'd been injured that she'd left it there. The only thing worse than kissing Mulder with morning breath was trying to drink coffee with unbrushed teeth. She went into the kitchen, led by the aroma of the coffee that had brewed only a short time before. "Mulder, if ever there was a reason I loved you, this has to be it," she murmured aloud as she picked the pot up. She noticed the note by her mug and picked it up as she poured. Next, Scully carried both the steaming cup of coffee and the note into the living room and sat down on the couch. She pushed aside the box of leftover pizza over to place her mug down. Scully unfolded the note and managed to decipher Mulder's small, scrawling handwriting. "SHIT!" She read the short note again. "SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!" she cried out. "Damn it, Mulder, what the hell do you think you're doing? And why the hell didn't you tell me?" She threw the note down onto the coffee table, while at the same time opened up the pizza box and picked up a cold slice to munch on. A little comfort food was called for, as Scully needed to fortify herself before she called Quantico to ask Mulder why the hell he got himself assigned to that damned case. Mulder's Apartment 4:35 p.m. Scully was still fuming as she unlocked the door to Mulder's apartment. She didn't bother to knock. She only hoped he would be standing close enough that the door would slam into him when she burst in. That would serve him right, the bastard! She hadn't spent the entire day looking for him. No, she vowed as she munched cold pizza, deliberately leaving greasy fingerprints all over his leather couch, only to wipe them clean after taking her shower, that she was not going to run after him like some crazed fish wife. But as she went to the cleaners and picked up her clothes, went to the market and stocked her rapidly depleting supply of feminine products and nonperishable grocery items, went to the computer store to see if her new power cord had arrived, she couldn't shake the feelings that were invading her thoughts. Sure, this was not technically a ditch. Even she had to admit that. He had told her exactly where he was going. He had even stayed in the same time zone. She knew his approximate location all through the day, and for once, she was relatively certain that he was safe from physical harm. But that was the rub. He might have been safe from physical harm, but that wasn't the only harm Fox William Mulder was known to encounter and Scully knew that painfully well. He wasn't taking this case as an X-File. Which meant he wasn't expecting a nice, paranormal reason behind these murders. In turn, that meant he knew, as only he could know, there was a person behind these deaths. Someone truly vile and depraved, someone hard to catch, making the journey to follow him that much more difficult. This was a John Mostow, a John Roche, a Luther Boggs, a Lucas Henry, dare she even think it to herself, this was a Bill Patterson. Sometime around 3, she was sitting at a stoplight when a memory hit her so hard and so real she had to pull off the road. It was an image of her partner, her lover, finally, and he was lying in a hospital bed in the psychiatric ward, hands and feet bound to the bed rails. "Scully, you can't tell me that after all these years, you didn't see this coming." Sure, at the time it was a jest, but more so an accusation. Yes, she had stood by and said very little each time he plunged himself into the 'abyss of darkness' as he waxed poetic in their field report. But each time, she noticed with horror that it was getting harder and harder for Mulder to find his way back out of the darkness. His greatest fear, besides losing her, was losing himself to that darkness, becoming another Patterson, the negative of the man he aspired to be. And here he was, running headlong into a situation that could very possibly fulfill that self- made prophesy. The door squealed open and hit the wall with the force of her entrance. The bang resounded loudly, but it was met by silence. Only the fish tank created any white noise. Then she heard a dresser drawer open and she headed resolutely for the bedroom. He looked up expectantly when she entered. "Scully, where ya been? I tried your apartment but the machine picked up." "What are you doing?" she demanded, hands on her hips. For a moment it occurred to her he might mistake her question. She meant both in general, with this case, and specifically, as he was taking clothes out of his dresser and putting them in his suitcase. "There was another murder, just today in Biloxi, Mississippi. The task force is meeting first thing tomorrow morning. Tom booked me on a flight tonight, I've got to be out at Dulles in half an hour." He glanced at his watch. "Shit, make that 25 minutes. Hey, this morning, did you see my razor in the bathroom?" She blinked at him. He had no idea how angry she was at that moment and apparently it wouldn't really matter if he did. She willed herself to calm down. "Did you check on the floor next to the sink?" He grinned at her and gave her the thumbs up as he hurried across the hall. "Bingo!" he cried triumphantly. "I really need to get one with those shower holders, like you have," he grinned again and stuffed the razor in his travel bag. "Good thing you're here. I don't know if I need long term or short-term parking. Give me a ride to the airport?" Realizing it was her only chance to talk to him, she took it. "Sure. But Mulder, I really want to talk for a minute." "Twenty minutes on the Beltway, Scully. That enough time?" He grabbed the suitcase and his briefcase and headed into the hallway. She was following behind him, a position she always hated. Not so much because of its submissive role, but because she was never sure if he was listening to her when she couldn't see his face. "Mulder, why didn't you tell me you'd gone to VCS and offered your services?" "I tried to tell you, Scully. Last night," he tossed over his shoulder as he locked the door. "Remember, you declared no shop talk." She bit her lip to keep from screaming. She had meant general, run of the mill debate on the merits of a case, not announcements of transfers, no matter how temporary. But, of course, Mulder wouldn't see the significant difference there. "Besides, I didn't call them. After you left yesterday, Tom Alexander called me." Scully thought hard and finally remembered, Tom Alexander, the new head of VCS. At her furrowed brow, he supplied more information. "Tom and I shared a room at the academy." "He asked for your help," she said flatly. "He reminded me that I owed him one. And I did. He pulled my ass off a roof in Hogan's Alley that was about to collapse. I could have been laid up for weeks with whatever broken bones I would have acquired. He never collected, so I agreed to give him a hand here." "Mulder, you know how these cases affect you!" Scully cried out in frustration as the elevator doors opened and they entered the car. "Scully. Relax. I'm one of the profilers. I'm not even the main one! Tom has a new kid, a little wet behind the ears, but all the makings of a really good behavioral scientist. I'm just there to, well, as Tom put it, potty train the kid." "Like you were just there to help out Bill Patterson?" she asked, her voice sounding like an accusation even to her own ears. Mulder took a long look at her. She could see him trying to figure out what the problem was, and failing miserably. "Is this about this morning, Scully? Because I made coffee. I even left a note," he pointed out as the elevator doors opened and he took off down the hall toward the outer door of his building. "No, Mulder, this has nothing to do with leaving me in bed this morning," Scully said with a heartfelt sigh. The man was so dense at times, his brilliance was like finding diamonds in a dark cave. "This is about why you left VCS to take over the X-Files. This is about how wrapped up you get in profiling. This is about your sanity -- or, in this case, your lack thereof!" Mulder stopped so abruptly she had to sidestep him to keep from plowing into his back. He turned toward her and the look on his face chilled her to the bone. It was a look of utter betrayal and she tried to remember every syllable she'd just uttered that would have invoked such a response from him. "You think I'm crazy, Scully?" he asked in that deadly calm voice she'd learned to both love and despise. She loved it when he directed it at anyone he was interrogating. She despised it when he directed it at her. "You know better than that," she shot back, when she recovered sufficiently from his glare. "You think helping out on this case is going to drive me over the brink?" By this time they were standing outside her car and she dug through her pocket for her keys. "Mulder, I think every time you take a profiling case, it's playing with fire. Each time it's harder and harder for you to find your way back. And don't stand there so sanctimonious and try and tell me that's not true. That is what I'm afraid of. I'm afraid for you!" She watched him as he visibly tried to get his anger in check. He took several deep breaths. Then he swallowed and looked down at her, his eyes clear and just like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, a small smile broke out on his face. "Eight years and I'm still getting used to having you cover my back," he said tenderly. He pulled her over into his arms for just a moment, placing a kiss on the top of her head. "I'll be good. I'll be careful. And most of all, I won't get in too deep. I promise." "But I won't be with you," she countered and tried very hard not to sound like the whiny fishwife image she'd been fighting all day. She unlocked his door to avoid looking at him. "Scully," Mulder sighed. "Somebody has to stay behind and keep the home fires burning. I really don't think this is going to take that long. I'll watch the kid, give him some pointers, and tell Tom our slate is clean. With luck, we'll catch this bastard quickly. But either way, once the kid is up to speed, I'm history." He got into the car and reached over to unlock her door. She got behind the wheel and buckled her belt before speaking again. "You honestly believe that you will leave an open investigation, with the perpetrator at large?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the road as she pulled away from the curb. "You think I can't?" he shot back. "I've never seen you do it, Mulder. Not once. Not once in eight years. That's a pretty long track record." "Yeah, but look at us. Who would have thought last night or anything like it would happen after eight long years," he countered with a devilish smile. She wasn't buying and he shook his head in exasperation. "Scully, things can change. I want them to change. I don't want to be known as 'Spooky' for the rest of my life." She stared at him, almost making him reach out to take the wheel before she turned back to the road. "OK, I probably will. But I don't want to go crazy. That is not something I put on the list of things I want to do before I retire." "I don't like this, Mulder. I want that on the record." "Duly noted, Agent Scully." He reached over and squeezed her leg just above the knee. "I'll call, really. And if you think I'm losing it, you have my permission to use my credit card, buy a plane ticket, come to wherever I am and kick my ass, now, how's that?" "If that comes to pass, Mulder, you better be prepared. Because I'm flying first class," she muttered, but let the subject drop for the rest of the drive to the airport. Biloxi, Mississippi Sunday, September 23, 2001 8 a.m. Mulder should have felt more rested, having gone straight to the motel room the previous night, but he didn't sleep. His mind was already on the case, and he was anxious to finally meet with the team and see what they'd come up with. The kid managed to get a flight out that morning and was already at the Biloxi Bureau Office when Mulder arrived. "Gotta stop thinking of him as that," muttered Mulder to himself as he entered the hastily set up meeting place. Surprisingly, Tom Alexander was the first to greet him. "What the hell are you doing here, and who's running the shop back at Quantico?" asked Mulder with a smile. "I decided someone had to watch and make sure you remembered how to profile, Mulder," Tom replied with a hearty handshake. "Good to see you again. Sorry it couldn't be under more pleasant circumstances." "Yeah, but you know I'm happy to try and help you guys out," replied the agent. "I know, Mulder, and I do want you to know I appreciate it. I got a call from your AD; he was none too pleased with me and made no bones about it," informed the VCS head. "Yeah, well, Skinner is a bit of a mother hen when it comes to his people," Mulder replied with a laugh. "You gotta forgive him, he's not used to people overruling his directives." "I wouldn't overrule your AD's directive," responded Tom immediately, and then as sudden realization hit, he practically moaned, "Damn it, Mulder, you didn't--" reacted Tom. "Yeah, 'fraid I did, but don't worry about it. Skinner's gotten used to it." "Remind me to send the man a nice bottle of wine, Okay?" "Tom, there is a definite reason you were promoted to head of VCS," Mulder retorted, smiling. "But, it's cost me half my salary to pay for the Grecian Formula to cover all the gray hair guys like you give me," Tom replied in kind. "C'mon, let's go meet the team. I also want you to meet Kenny." "Kenny?" "Kenny Andrews, our up and coming profiler extraordinaire," Tom reminded. "Oh, the kid," Mulder muttered more to himself than aloud. Tom heard him anyway and simply laughed. "Feeling your age a bit, eh, Mulder?" "Don't remind me, Alexander, okay? C'mon, let's go put 'the kid' through his paces." When Tom pointed out Kenny Andrews, Mulder wasn't sure if he should be working with the guy or taking him to the playground and push him on the swings. He looked around twelve years old. Mulder couldn't help but wonder if he _ever_ looked that young. "Remind you of anyone, Mulder?" Tom asked interrupting his thoughts. "Should he?" "Mulder, everyone had the same reaction to you when you hit VCS." "Reaction?" echoed Mulder. "Oh c'mon, Mulder, is your memory that short? Patterson had been touting you as the VCS savior. Now of course, I knew you were just a mere mortal, having seen you in your underwear and all, but these guys figured you were their new superman and in you walk, looking about as old as their teenage sons. I thought the guys in the bull pen were going to lose their lunch!" he said laughing at the memory. "You mean, much like I feel about now," Mulder retorted. "Jeeze, Tom, how old is the kid?" "Old enough, Mulder, but for your information he's turning 25 in a few months." "Twenty-four? The kid is 24 fucking years old?" Mulder repeated in amazement. Tom paused momentarily and then said, softly but with a seriousness he held in reserve, "Look, Fox, the kid's good. Real good. But there's one little problem." "Problem?" "Yeah," Tom answered, "a problem. He reminds me of you." Mulder knew Tom wasn't joking at this point. "He gets in deep?" "Yeah. He can get himself in real deep. I need you to show him the way out, Fox." Mulder drew in a deep breath and then let it out in one loud blow. "Sure, Tom. Let's go teach the kid a thing or two about how to be spooky and still keep your marbles." "That's why I knew you were the man to call, Mulder," Tom replied as he clapped his hand on Mulder's shoulder. Tom turned his face away from Mulder's and as he continued to walk him over to where Kenny Andrews was sitting, Tom could only wonder who was going to help Mulder keep his? As they drove to the site, Mulder tried to keep calm. He knew the kid was nervous; he was meeting his idol or so he'd said about a dozen times, so it wasn't surprising that Andrews kept sputtering and tripping over his words. Each and every time he tried to offer a piece of data regarding the latest information, he stuttered and found it impossible to get it said without stopping and starting countless times. Mulder could only wonder how the hell this 'child' could ever remind Tom Alexander of him. If there was one thing Spooky Mulder was, he was smooth in his delivery of the facts to the point of being glib, which was one of the reasons he'd developed a goodly number of enemies in the VCS bullpen. No one liked a wise ass, particularly a wise ass who was almost always right and made everyone around him look like an idiot. The only thing that saved Mulder was that as he got deeper and deeper into a case, he'd become less and less talkative as he got deeper and deeper into the profile. Once that happened, everyone knew there was no talking to ol' Spooky, since he was no longer just himself. He was more the UNSUB than he was Spooky Mulder, and very few people had the stomach to deal with him when he got to that point. It was one of the reasons he knew he had to get out of VCS. He knew, since there was no one person who was willing to cover his back a hundred per cent of the time when he was profiling, he had to save himself. Patterson didn't like it, but Patterson didn't like anything that went against his way of thinking. Mulder was glad Tom Alexander was the new head of VCS. He was a good man. He was the type of man who would look out for his people in a way that Bill Patterson could never look out for Mulder. Kenny Andrews would be okay if he got himself in too deep. Though at the moment, Mulder couldn't for the life of him figure out how Kenny Andrews ever became a profiler. He hadn't shut up the entire time they were driving to the site, which was approximately a twenty- minute ride. Mulder was never so grateful to feel the car stop so he could get out and escape the kid's incessant talking. As he stood up, Mulder took a look all around him to see what the area looked like. It was pretty much an open field that had a large tent set up with several cars and trucks parked to the rear right side of it. There were a couple of local police cars parked in the location they'd just parked. Mulder assumed it was to keep curiosity seekers beyond the taped off section of the murder site. The driver of the car, Agent James Sandborne was a native of the area. He said hello to the two local law enforcement officers and introduced Mulder and Andrews. "So, Jimmy, you think you really need all the big guns in here to solve this one?" asked Officer Jeremiah Thompson. "Well, Jerry," Agent Sandborne began, "I tell ya. It was a bit of a surprise when the reverend passed on, dontcha think?" "Could be it was just his time," offered Thompson's partner, Officer Avery Millstone. "That's true, Avery, that's true. But we just want to make sure that was the only reason he died and moved on to his place in heaven, ya hear?" Agent Sandborne explained. "Well, we hear ya, Jimmy. Y'all let us know if there's anything we can do for ya," Officer Thompson offered. "Well, that's right kind of you, Jerry. We sure do appreciate that," Agent Sandborne said. And with that the three agents began moving toward the taped off site. "Agent Andrews, I want you to know you just witnessed the work of a master," stated Mulder emphatically. "Excuse me?" asked Andrews. "Andrews, Agent Sandborne is a master of diplomacy." Mulder took a quick glance at the older Sandborne and observed him turn a couple shades of red. "Thank you, Agent Mulder. Thanks for noticing," acknowledged Sandborne. "Right," muttered Andrews who was obviously still unsure of what the hell Mulder was talking about. "Agent Andrews, Agent Sandborne here just let the local PD know that we are on their side, and we're not trying to steal anyone's thunder or glory. He's also let it be known that we don't consider ourselves supermen and that we don't necessarily have all of the answers and that we would be happy to turn to them as the experts of the area for help if we need it," Mulder pointed out. "Oh." Andrews stood silently for a moment, and then said, "I guess it's important to establish some kind of rapport with the local police, isn't it?" "Yes, Agent Andrews, it is. And if you don't know how to do it, or you know you don't do it very well, then you don't ever hesitate to allow a master to do the deed. I know of only one other person who's as good as Agent Sandborne," Mulder said with a hint of a smile, "and I've learned over the last several years to stick with what I know best. "This time, whether you know it or not, Agent Andrews, we were both smart enough to keep our mouths shut and let Agent Sandborne do what I have never been able to do, and that's make nice with the locals." Mulder offered his hand to Sandborne and said, "Thank you, Agent." Sandborne took Mulder's hand and shook it firmly. "You're welcome, Agent Mulder," he said and felt a kind of pride he hadn't felt in a long, long time. As soon as they entered the tent Mulder sensed it. It wasn't anything he saw, but rather, it was a chill that went right through him. He felt himself involuntarily shiver as he placed his hand to his cheek, as a way of measuring the temperature. His fingertips felt like ice. It was a balmy 74 degrees outside. Suddenly, Mulder felt slightly dizzy and somewhat overcome with the wave of stench that permeated the air. He looked at Agent Sandborne for an explanation, but to Mulder's surprise, Sandborne appeared as if nothing was unusual. "Oh, goddamn!" rasped out Kenny Andrews. "Do you smell that?" "Smell what?" asked Sandborne, "I don't smell a thing? I mean it's warm and everything, but it's not hot enough for the body to decompose in less than three hours. So, what exactly is it you smell, Agent Andrews?" "But, it's vile," he began, and then added, "Why is it so damn cold in here?" "What the hell are you talking about, Greenhorn?" Sandborne asked and then he turned to Mulder and practically chuckled in amusement, "Kids, right?" Sandborne shook his head and informed Mulder that he was going to check in with the other pair of local law enforcement to see if there was any new information that he could wheedle out of them. "Good idea, Agent," Mulder agreed quickly. The men nodded and Sandborne was off. "Agent Mulder, I'm not crazy," Andrews implored. "I know." Andrews looked surprised momentarily, and then he sighed with relief. "You smell it, too?" Mulder nodded and Andrews asked with a bit of hesitation, "What the hell is it?" "I don't know, Agent Andrews, but it appears it's going to be up to us to find out, doesn't it?" Mulder began his survey of the area. As was his usual procedure he began at its perimeter and moved slowly inward toward its core. As he observed his surroundings he noted as many details as possible, and relegated those details to his memory for future reference. The experienced agent caught a glance of his young protˇgˇ as he carefully examined the body of the victim. Mulder was very curious to hear his findings and more importantly, to hear his impressions. Mulder suspected that Tom Alexander was right; Agent Andrews had the intuitiveness to be a damn fine profiler. Only problem with that was, it could also be his downfall. As Mulder walked the circumference he noted how the grassy path in the aisle on the right side of the tent was worn away, almost as if the grass died in that particular area. Mulder found it curious that the rest of the grounds appeared to be rather healthy; it was only in that particular area, the right aisle on the edge of the tent, that it was eroded away. There were many brown patches as well and several, albeit small, totally bare sections. Mulder knelt down and with a gloved hand pulled up some of the deadened grass. Surprisingly, the grass felt warm, and when Mulder raised it to his nose to sniff it, there was a faint burnt smell. He suddenly flashed on a darkened shadow hovering above him. Mulder had no idea as to what it was, but it startled him and he quickly jumped up from his kneeling position. He looked to see if anyone else saw what was standing right before him, but the others walked around, business as usual. The agent took a deep breath and quickly placed the sample into a plastic evidence bag and moved on in his circular investigation. At one point Andrews and Mulder crossed paths and the men found themselves taking opposite routes. They stopped and stared at one another briefly. Mulder's eyes had grown dark and focused; he was not surprised to see the younger man's do the same. There was no need to talk at this point. Discussion and comparison of observations would come later. Both men needed a chance to absorb and assimilate the crime scene. Andrews traveled toward the outer circle of the murder site, while Mulder moved within a couple of yards of the victim. Again, something flashed before Mulder. He couldn't decide if it was in his mind's eye, or if it was something actually present at the scene. He looked around quickly to see if anyone else was reacting to the black cloud of a shadow that blocked his path to the victim. He wondered if the kid could feel it and wanted to call out to him to look. But he couldn't. His voice remained suppressed in his throat and all Mulder could do was shudder with a feeling of both fear and disgust. As suddenly as it appeared, it disappeared and Mulder found himself walking quickly toward the victim. He knelt down again and this time touched the black minister with his gloved hand. Flashes of images quickly took a foothold in Mulder's mind and he couldn't shut them off. "Amen, Brothers and Sistas," cried the Reverend Abraham Stewart, otherwise known as Reverend Abe. "Let me hear an AMEN!" "AMEN!" cried out the congregation. "This is to tell our God, our Lord, Jesus Christ, our Savior that we trust in him and that we KNOW that if we have faith in Him, He will save us!" "AMEN!" responded the crowd, their cries even louder than before. Mulder felt something on his shoulder and then someone was shaking him. "Agent Mulder? Agent Mulder, are you okay?" asked Sandborne anxiously. "What?" Mulder shook his head as if to get rid of some cobwebs that had suddenly taken up residence. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he said even though he didn't believe a word of it. "Are you sure? You looked kind of out it," probed Sandborne. "Yeah, I'm sure." Mulder stood up, and felt his bones crackle a bit. Damn, he thought to himself, I am getting too old for this shit. "Well, then if you're okay, would you mind going over and seeing if the greenhorn's all right? He's acting a little funny over there too." Mulder looked over to where Kenny Andrews stood. It was the right aisle of the tent and Mulder could see the younger man was almost swaying with his eyes shut tight. "Shit," he muttered aloud. Mulder moved as quickly as he could to Andrews' side. "Agent Andrews!" Mulder called out and then grasped his shoulder and shook him. In a low, but firm voice, he ordered, "Andrews, come on back. Now, damn it." Andrews opened his eyes and uttered very softly, "Amen." The drive back to the bureau office was a quiet one. Sandborne had tried to make a little small talk at first but soon realized that neither Agent Mulder nor Agent Andrews were up for any chitchat. He pulled into the Bureau parking lot and watched as they both got of the car in tandem; Mulder exited from the front passenger side and Andrews from the rear. Their movements mirrored one another's and Sandborne felt himself shudder just a bit at the sight. They left without looking back or saying a word. "Do you drink coffee?" asked Mulder. The younger man shook his head and Mulder smiled for the first time in hours. "Well, if you're going to become a first class profiler, Andrews, you're going to have to find a caffeine source." "No problem, Agent Mulder," he said as he hoisted a small duffel bag up from the corner of the office. He pulled out two twenty-four-can cases of Coca-Cola. "And there's plenty more where these came from." Kenny exhibited his first smile in a few hours as well. Both men breathed a small sigh of relief, though neither had been aware of any real tension between them. It was more of the situation; it was the crime. It was the fact that they were able to see things no one else had been able to see. The kid was scared to death about it. Mulder was resigned. "So? Tell me what you're thinking, kid," Mulder said. The younger man blushed a bit; he wasn't sure if his hero was making fun of him or not. He wanted to be taken seriously, but if Mulder was going to treat him as if he were a schoolboy, then there was no sense in even bothering to share his thoughts. "Listen," Mulder hesitated. Some might think Mulder was able to read Andrews's mind, but the older agent would have been quick to point out there was nothing magical about being able to read someone who wore his heart on his sleeve. Hell, Scully had been able to do that with him often enough. He was able to keep everyone else at an emotional distance, but not her. Never Scully. "Listen, Andrews," he began again, "when I call you kid, it's not an insult, okay? Shit, I'm the 'old man' in this little alliance we got going, so let's not walk on eggshells with one another, okay?" Andrews nodded, and said, "Well, old man--" "--Let's not get carried away, Kid, okay?" Andrews noted the small smile on Mulder's face and continued, "It was damned near one of the oddest experiences I've ever had." "How so?" Mulder probed gently. "I felt like I was seeing flashes of the scene. I mean, before the guy was murdered." "Yeah," Mulder acknowledged. The kid looked at Mulder with his head cocked and wore a puzzled expression. "What?" asked Mulder. "You're not going to even question it? I mean, you're just going to accept it at face value?" he asked incredulously. "No one's ever accepted what you have to say without giving you an argument?" asked Mulder. "Screw that! I'd love an argument; it's the out and out dismissals of my ideas that piss me off." "Yeah," Mulder said with obvious affection in his voice, "arguments can be a very good thing. Keeps you honest." Andrews nodded at that and then asked, "You believe me. You saw them, too, didn't you?" "Now I know why Alexander picked you out of the lot as someone to watch," Mulder said with a smile. "Yeah, I had some flashes, too. You tell me about yours and I'll tell you about mine," he said lightly. The kid laughed and nodded his head in agreement. "I kept seeing this black thing hanging around me, and it was cold. Damn, Agent Mulder, it felt so damned cold every time it appeared." "I saw that too. Oh, and it's just Mulder, please." Kenny nodded and then Mulder asked, "What happened just before we left. What were you seeing then?" "Everything, I think." "Such as?" Mulder probed. "The people were sitting in the seats. The reverend was standing up on the stage and whipping those guys into a frenzy. And that's all. The next thing I remember you were standing next to me and telling me it was time to come back here." "That sounds like something similar to what I experienced," Mulder acknowledged. "You're kidding," Andrews reacted incredulously. Mulder assured him that he was not kidding, so the kid said, "This is incredible, Mulder. I mean, what the hell does it mean? Why were we the only ones to feel this... this... damn! I don't even know how to describe it! How the hell am I supposed to put this into a report?" Andrews expressed with pure frustration. "Don't worry about that. The facts will present themselves, Andrews and we'll have a report, with or without our so-called icing on the cake details," assured Mulder. "Now, tell me your impressions of the crime scene." And he did. Kenny Andrews spoke for a solid thirty minutes before Mulder was able to even ask a question. Mulder shook his head in admiration. The kid was good. Really, really good. And it scared the hell out of Mulder because he knew just where that ability was going to lead the poor guy. "So, based upon the scene and the attributes you've described, tell me your first impressions of our UNSUB," Mulder encouraged. It was the first time all day that Kenny Andrews appeared speechless. "Talk to me, Kenny," Mulder encouraged quietly. "It's just you and me in here." "I don't know," he began hesitantly. "I don't know if I want to know." "I know, but if we're going to prevent this from happening again, we're going to have to start profiling this..." "Thing," interjected Andrews. "This entity," he practically spat. "Mulder, the preacher was described by witnesses as a good man. They said he had some inflexible religious views as is often the case with a fundamentalist sect, but, basically, they said he was a good man. "He was seared through his heart, Mulder. Straight through his heart. This looks like something out of God Damned Star Wars, but it's not that, Mulder. I know it's not that." "How do you know?" Mulder quickly asked. "I... I don't know, I just do, damn it! C'mon, this is no technological genius we're dealing with, and you know it! This is evil, Mulder, this pure evil." The younger man stood off in a corner with his arms wrapped around his own body to prevent the involuntary shudders from traveling through his body. Mulder looked away for a moment; he needed to regain control of his own body's reaction. The kid was good, Mulder had to admit it. He agreed with everything he'd stated. Now, what to do about it. Mulder looked at his watch and realized he was going to have to check in with Scully soon. He knew she was going to ask about the progress of the investigation and how the kid was getting along. He knew he was going to have to tell her something. He also knew he was going to have to lie through his teeth in order to buy himself some time. Act II Office of the Assistant Director Monday, September 24, 2001 8:15 a.m. Scully rapped on the glass so as not to startle Kim as she sat listening to the voice mail on her phone. Kim smiled and waved her to the couch against the wall opposite her desk. Scully thought about standing but thought better of it and sat on the edge of the cushion. She hadn't been totally surprised when a message on her own voice mail told her that the assistant director wanted to see her the minute she got into the office. She even expected the fact that her superior's voice would hold that strained quality it usually had when he was considering the options of a life sentence for killing her partner, or just 10-20 for attempted murder. But that didn't make it any easier to wait for the chewing out she was expecting. One of these times, she vowed silently as she waited, she was going to tape one of these sessions and force Mulder to listen to it, all day long, if necessary. Kim finished getting her messages and looked up at Scully. "Boy, I don't know what your partner did this time, but I lost a coffee mug this morning because of him," she said with an exasperated huff. "I'll make sure he replaces it, Kim," Scully assured the woman, just as the inner office door opened and Assistant Director Skinner loomed in the doorway. "Scully. Now." Without waiting for her to join him, he returned into his office and took his place behind his desk. Scully couldn't resist a quick peek in his wastebasket, situated next to his desk as she passed it on the way to her seat. Sure enough, the colored remains of a light brown coffee mug littered the bottom of the can. "Don't bother sitting, Agent. This won't take long," Skinner growled and Scully resisted the urge to cringe at the sound of his voice. Instead, she straightened her back, squared her shoulders and waited for the coming storm. "I assume you were informed of your partner's recent defection to Violent Crimes Section?" Skinner asked, low and menacing. It was a double-edged sword. A yes meant she knew before the AD and that was bad for her. A no meant that Mulder hadn't even bothered to tell his partner, and that would be even worse for Mulder. "I found out on Saturday, sir," Scully answered honestly. "I heard from him briefly last night. He and the other profiler were putting together a preliminary profile. Everything seemed fine." "It would have been nice of him to at least give me a heads up, after I called SAC Alexander following our meeting Friday and explained that the X-Files Division was much too busy with its own cases to offer assistance on this one," Skinner intoned evenly. Scully could see the little vein throbbing at his neck and wondered how close he was to red-lining on a blood pressure scale. "Sir, as Agent Mulder explained it to me, this is a personal favor to SAC Alexander. They have a new profiler, and Agent Mulder agreed to come in strictly on a consulting basis. Once the new agent has his feet under him, Agent Mulder will be leaving the task force and returning his attention to his own division. In the meantime, I am pursuing the other cases that the division is currently investigating." Skinner was unearthly still for a good minute. Then his expression softened somewhat and he drew in a deep breath. "Off the record, Scully. This is a profiling case. I really hate to think he's working this without..." Scully didn't need a road map to know that the AD was disturbed that she wouldn't be providing her partner with back up, professional or otherwise. "I have expressed my own concerns to Agent Mulder, sir," she assured him. "He seems intent on helping VCS out, but only in as far as the new agent needs assistance getting started. He is aware of the potential hazards this case poses." To her great relief, Skinner's expression told her he was able to read between the lines. She was going to be on top of this, all the way. "You will be keeping in contact with him?" It was more of a statement, worded as a question. In other circumstances, it probably would have been issued as an order. "Absolutely, sir," Scully responded, nodding for emphasis. Skinner still wasn't happy, but he seemed to relax a little. "Next time, Scully, remind him that I can be reached off hours and if something like this comes up, that's exactly how I would prefer it be handled." "I will do that, sir," Scully said, rising to leave while the conversation was on relatively neutral ground. Before she got to the door, Skinner called her name. "Scully, that goes for you, too." Scully didn't say anything, just nodded. Message received, if she had any problems with Mulder or detected any problems, she was to bring them to Skinner first. She just hoped it wouldn't come to that. Dana Scully's apartment 8:15 p.m. The bag of groceries held out until she got the door unlocked. As she stepped into her apartment, the bottom ripped out and the contents, including a dozen eggs and a sixteen-ounce tub of yogurt, spilled out onto her hardwood floor. Anger would have been her first emotion, but she was just too tired. Instead, she kicked at the mess with her foot and trudged off toward her bedroom, shedding her suit jacket and pants as she went. In jeans and a sweater, she returned to clean up the mess. Six of the eggs were history, but that still left enough for an omelet on Saturday. She sighed to herself. If Mulder was finished playing 'big brother' to the new guy in VCS, maybe she could make that a nice six egg omelet and share it with her partner next Saturday morning. That thought made her smile. The rest of the contents of the bag were relatively unscathed, so she scrubbed up the egg yolk and yogurt and put the groceries away. Dinner consisted of the contents still clinging to the inside of the tub of yogurt, which she would never admit to anyone. "Five-second rule, Scully," Mulder had once enlightened her. "It takes germs at least five seconds to infect something when it lands on the floor." At the time, she'd been appalled that her partner could eat food that had fallen on the motel shag carpet, but as the case they were on grew longer and the runs to get food grew fewer and farther in between, she found the economic sense in his actions. Besides, she was just too tired to cook. She glanced at the phone at least four times before deciding she needed a soak. She hadn't had a good bubble bath in... She couldn't remember how long it had been since she'd had a good soak in the tub. It was once a Friday night ritual, when the two agents weren't on a case. But since she'd been spending Friday evenings with Mulder, she'd traded her bubble bath for something more engaging. She smiled as slipped into the tub and let the bubbles tickle her chin. She and Mulder had finally crossed the line, that invisible line they'd drawn in the sand over eight years ago. She drew in a deep breath, thinking how nice it would be for him to surprise her, sneak in her apartment and join her in the tub. There was enough room, more than enough. She lay there until the water grew cold, waiting for him. It was with a touch of disappointment that she climbed out of the tepid water and toweled herself off. It was only 10 p.m., but she was dead tired, and now deliciously warm, so she crawled into bed and drifted off to sleep with the image of Mulder's arms around her, holding her close. She was running through an empty airport. It looked almost like Dulles, but it could have been any of a hundred airports she'd been in all across the country. She couldn't help wondering where all the people were. But more than anything else, she knew she had to find her partner. The gates flashed past her as she ran, and the end of the hall seemed to be getting further and further away. She was certain that Mulder was just in front of her, at some gate she was running toward. Outside, dark clouds engulfed the runways and lightning flashed, illuminating the concourse in eerie shadows. She saw him, finally, probably no more than fifty yards away. She called out to him and he turned toward her, started to come forward to greet her. A dark shadow formed between them, and Mulder was obscured from her view. She called his name and heard him call back to her, but his voice sounded farther away than she knew him to be. His voice sounded muffled, and then she heard him yelling, telling her to run, to get away. She was about to turn, figuring that he would follow. When she didn't hear his footsteps behind her she looked over her shoulder and saw him struggling. He was fighting with the shadow, which had taken the form of a human, much taller than her 6-foot partner. The shadow was at least 10 feet tall and Mulder was quickly losing his battle. Scully watched in horror as the shadow took hold of Mulder's neck with long arms and with one quick twist and a loud snap, Mulder's eyes went wide, his body went limp and he dropped to the floor. She couldn't tear her eyes from his lifeless expression as she started to scream. Sirens were blaring and she couldn't move, nor could she break her gaze from the man lying now mere yards from her. The shadow seemed to grow even larger and was bearing down on her when the sirens grew so great that she had to clasp her hands over her ears... It was the phone! Catching her breath, she frantically glanced around her darkened bedroom, finally realized she'd just had one hell of a nightmare. The phone went silent for a moment, then started ringing again. She fumbled with the receiver and finally picked it up with a shaking hand. "Yes, Scully," she panted, her voice cracking almost as badly as her hands were shaking. Cradling the phone against her shoulder, she wiped at the tears still wet on her cheeks. "Scully, you OK?" She almost cried out in relief. Mulder. Just the person she needed to hear from most. She took a moment to draw in a lungful of air and calm down. She didn't want him to know she'd been crying in her sleep. Or what she'd been crying about. "I'm fine, Mulder. I was asleep." "Asleep? Scully, it's 11:25 at home. Since when do you go to bed before the late news is off?" Mulder asked, trying to keep his tone light but failing to hide his concern completely. "You sure you're OK?" "Hey, you know how paperwork wears me out. I was exhausted when I got home. I took a bubble bath. . ." "Stop right there, Scully. I know all about your dirty little secret. You get in a bath and you're out for the night. And I'd rather not talk about you soaking in a tub of bubbles unless I'm there to partake in the festivities." "Awfully presumptuous, aren't you G-Man?" she teased. It was so good just to hear his voice. Her dream was fading with each breath she heard him take over the phone line. "I mean, who said my tub's big enough for the both of us." "I can squeeze in there somewhere, Scully," he shot back and she didn't try to hold in her laugh. "So, did you get the new kid straightened out?" she asked. Hearing his voice, she wanted him home more than anything. The dream was fading, but the anxiety it produced was still ripping through her veins. She didn't like Mulder being hundreds of miles away with no one but a wet behind the ears newbie watching his back. It was too easy for her to remember her own experience with a raw recruit. Her side still ached from time to time to remind her. "Kenny? He's a good kid, but I might have to hang on a couple more days. Hey, I need a favor," he said, deftly switching the subject. "Ah, Mulder," she groaned. "I hate your favors!" "Scully! You haven't even heard this one! Give me a chance, please," he whined. "Yeah, Mulder. One chance. Like the one chance I gave you in Chaney, Texas, and the one chance I gave you in Arcadia Falls, California, and let's not forget the one chance I gave you in Pentwater, Michigan..." "Hey, hold up there! This one is nothing like those other times, Scully, I swear." "Spill it, Mulder. What's the big favor?" she asked dryly. "Run up to Monsey, New York and get an exhumation order for the rabbi who was killed in April." "Mulder! That rabbi was Hassidic!" "Yeah, so? They didn't do an autopsy, Scully. We need that information for the profile. Besides, Hassidic Jews abide by the same laws and authorities we all do." "Oh, well, then why don't you 'run up to Monsey, New York' and get the exhumation order, Mulder?" she taunted. "Because you're much harder to turn down, Scully," he replied quickly and she could almost see the leering smile on his all too handsome face. A smile she would have dearly loved to scrub right off his kisser at that moment. "Oh, all right. I'll go. But they have every reason to deny this request, Mulder. You have very little to go on and the other autopsies haven't given you any additional leads," she reminded him. "I know, Scully. But those other autopsies weren't done by you," he pointed out. Damn him, he was always using praise to get his way. She'd have to get him for that, someday. "So, it's late. Are you calling me before you turn in?" she asked, no longer wishing to spend their precious time arguing over exhumation orders. "Nah, actually, we just cracked open Kenny's second case of Coke and we're going to get started on the preliminary profile." "Mulder, did you say..." "Coca-Cola, Scully. That Coke. Kenny doesn't imbibe caffeine the same way you and I do. I have a pot of motel bathroom coffee and he's shootin' Cokes." "Well, remember to get some sleep, all right? You made me a promise." "One I fully plan on keeping, Scully. I'm fine. Really." Even as he spoke the reassurances, a cold chill ran the length of her spine and suddenly all she could see was the shadow snapping his neck and Mulder falling dead to the ground at her feet. She had to take several deep breaths to keep from crying out again. "Mulder..." she started. She wanted to warn him, force him back home. Short of that, she wanted to get on the first plane to Biloxi and stick to him like glue, making certain neither of them ended up in any deserted airports. "I know, Scully. I really miss you, too," he answered back tenderly, totally misunderstanding what she was trying to put into words. "But I'll see you soon. Hey, this week it's my turn to pick the movie. I'll make sure I'm home by Friday night." "Mulder, please, I just..." "Just a minute, Kenny. Look, Scully, I gotta go. The kid can't figure out how to hook up the modem on the phone in his room. I'll try to call you tomorrow. And let me know about the exhumation, we really need that autopsy." "Mulder..." "You, too. Talk to you soon." The line was disconnected before she could slip in another word. She laid the phone down its cradle and let the tears fall hot down her cheeks. Tuesday, September 25, 2001 10 a.m. As Scully punched in the touch-tones to place the call to Monsey, New York, she realized her fingers still trembled slightly. No matter how hard she tried to talk herself into thinking her dream last night was nothing more than a manifestation of her missing Mulder, she knew that it was more than that. She couldn't even call it a nightmare. It was more than that, too. A vision. It was more like that, and it scared the hell out of her. She heard the phone ringing on the other end and drew a breath in anticipation of the voice on the other side. She grasped the receiver more tightly in an effort to calm her skittish fingers. "Hello?" "Hello, Mr. Steiger?" asked Scully tentatively. She hesitated momentarily as she realized she wasn't quite certain how to pronounce the witness's first name. "Yes, this is Reuven Steiger," he responded. Oh. That's how, she thought to herself with a small smile. "Mr. Steiger, my name is Dana Scully and I'm a special agent with the FBI, in Washington. I need to speak with you to clarify some details regarding Rabbi Zimmerman's death last April." She'd realized she wasn't sure of the pronunciation of the rabbi's first name as well, 'Shmuel.' "I've already spoken with the police, Miss Scully. I don't know what else I could possibly add," he said in a soft, but firm voice. "There's always a possibility that some detail has been left out, Mr. Steiger. Please, it would be of great help if I may speak with you in person." There was silence for several moments, and Scully feared her request would be refused. "Mr. Steiger?" she asked hopefully. "Miss Scully, please understand, it's not that I wish to be difficult," he began in his soft toned voice. "Tomorrow evening is Erev Yom Kippur, the holiest of holy days for the Jewish people. I must be free to help my family prepare for it; I don't want to seem rude, but I have little time to rehash a statement that I'd already given to the sheriff. "That was a very difficult time for me; for my entire family and the congregation of our shul. Please understand if I'm reluctant to relive it." "Mr. Steiger, I do understand, and it is not my intent to intrude upon your family during your holiday. I can catch a shuttle to New York this afternoon. We could meet, and then I'll be out of your hair shortly after that. I promise." Scully wondered momentarily to herself if she weren't going to be damned to hell for lying to the young man. She was going to ask permission to exhume the body of the man's Rabbi, for heaven's sake. If that wasn't getting into one's hair, she wasn't sure what was. "Very well, Miss Scully, I'll meet you in our synagogue's office this afternoon. Do you have a time in mind?" Scully knew there was a hourly business shuttle that left Dulles on weekday mornings, so she was fairly certain that if she moved quickly she could catch a flight, grab a rental car at the airport and be in Monsey by one o'clock. Monsey, New York 1:15 p.m. As Scully entered the aging building, she couldn't help but feel the conflicting sense of peace and unrest that was pervasive throughout. She was overwhelmed with feelings of discord within herself, but couldn't account for any of it. The building resembled the one she'd been in New York City, when she and Mulder battled an unexplainable phenomena, a golem. She noticed that there were pews on the ground level, where she stood, as well as above in a balcony. She also noted lightweight, sheer curtains, which hung from the balcony pews, and wondered what their purpose was. The wooden pews were well maintained and cared for. The temple was old, but it was well cared for. "Hello?" she called out tentatively. "Mr. Steiger?" "Yes, yes, coming," responded a voice. Scully wasn't sure what she was expecting Reuven Steiger to look like, but based upon his soft-spoken tone and demeanor over the phone, she knew she'd never imagined the form that stood before her. Reuven Steiger stood at least six foot three inches, perhaps four. All she knew was that this young man certainly would tower over Mulder. He stood straight, so his posture accounted for every millimeter of his height. He was dressed formally, much more so than Scully would have anticipated, but the suit was slightly wrinkled which told her he didn't own many of them. This one was badly in need of pressing and she suspected he was getting one more wearing out of it before he traded it in for a suit reserved for the Jewish High Holy Days. She held out her hand in a gesture of introduction, but he shook his head slightly and said softly, "Forgive me, Miss Scully, but it's not considered proper. May I ask you to join me in the office. Please?" Scully nodded her head as she withdrew her hand. Though the situation could have easily made her feel foolish or humiliated, Reuven Steiger's quiet manner did neither, and if anything actually put her more at ease. When they entered the office, Scully was somewhat surprised to see a woman in the room as well. "Miss Scully, this is my wife, Rifka. We felt it would be more proper if my wife was present when I met with you." Scully felt like smacking her head; of all the utmost stupidity on her part! Of course Reuven would be uncomfortable meeting with her alone. As a Hassidic Jew he would not normally meet alone with a female officer. Scully hoped her faux pas did not hamper her interview too much. "Rifka, this is the police officer I told you about," said Reuven as he interrupted Scully's thoughts. "Mrs. Steiger, it's nice to meet you." This was received by a nod of acknowledgment by the younger woman. Scully kept her hand at her side. "I would like to clarify that I'm not with the police here in New York. I am a federal agent out of Washington DC." "Yes, I'm sorry. We do know that." "Very well, I promised to be as brief as possible, so why don't we begin?" offered Scully. At the nod of the couple, Scully began asking general questions regarding the events that led up to Rabbi Zimmerman's death and what Reuven, the first person on the scene to find the rebbe, did. "Then, as I told the sheriff's deputy, I walked into the office to see if the rebbe was still there, which I'd strongly suspected." "This was before Friday night services?" interrupted Scully. "Oh yes, well before. It was only 2:30 in the afternoon. Rivka had made some soup for Shabbat dinner, and she asked me to bring a bowl of it to Reb Shmuel since she was sure, as was I, that he hadn't left for home to eat before services." "Why is that?" asked Scully. "Why is what?" "Why didn't the rabbi leave? What do you believe he was doing that prevented him from going home for a noon meal?" asked Scully. Steiger looked pensive for a moment. Scully watched his reaction closely, this question had not been asked in the earlier report on file. "He was always studying, Miss Scully. He was always trying to learn more the ways of our God." "Such as?" "I don't understand," replied a confused Steiger. "Rabbi Steiger--" Scully began. "No, Miss Scully. I am not a rabbi. I have not achieved that honor. Reb Eisenberg is our religious leader now. I am merely his assistant as I was Reb Shmuel's assistant." "Oh, I'm sorry, it's just that it seemed as if you were so aware of the inner workings of the Temple and you seem to be here as much as the Rabbi." "He was," murmured Rifka. "He was?" echoed Scully. "Rifka, please, you are here as an observer," said Reuven with firmness that Scully hadn't heard up till now. "Now, Miss Scully, if there are no other questions, my wife and I need to get ready for our holiday." Scully hesitated; she wanted desperately to follow up on Rifka's involuntary comment, but she knew the younger woman would not willingly respond if her husband did not want her to answer. Scully was also not sure if she had the nerve to make the request that Mulder had made of her. She took a deep breath and moved forward. "Mr. Steiger, there is one more question, request actually. There was never a full autopsy performed on Rabbi Zimmerman. Can you explain why not?" Reuven eyes widened slightly; it wasn't a question that he should have been surprised to hear, but nonetheless he wasn't quite sure how to answer it either. "I found him at 2:30 in the afternoon. We had a very narrow window, Miss Scully." "I'm sorry, I don't understand," interrupted Scully. "Narrow window for what?" "To bury our religious leader according to Jewish Law. You see, you can't have a funeral on the Sabbath, nor can you have one on the first day of Passover, which happened to follow the Sabbath this year. Judaic law dictates that we bury our dead within twenty-four hours. "This was our rabbi, Miss Scully," Steiger implored. "If we didn't have a service for him that afternoon, we would have had to wait till three days later, which would have also been the second day of Passover. We didn't want to do an injustice to our rebbe. We wanted to give him a proper burial, immediately." "I can't imagine that you were able to organize the service that quickly, Mr. Steiger," responded Scully somewhat skeptically. "Miss Scully, this is a very small community. It doesn't take a great deal of effort for us to all come together in a time of need. Our rebbe needed us. There was no question as to whether we would be able to accomplish our task," responded Reuven. "But Mr. Steiger, how could the police allow you to bury the rabbi without a formal inquiry. His death was untimely; it was unexplained," queried Scully. "It was anything but untimely, Miss Scully. The rebbe was a man well into his eighties. He had a long, full life in which he garnered a community of followers that would do anything for him. The timeliness of his death was not in question." "But the manner? Mr. Steiger, you reported to the police that he had a hole in his chest!" declared Scully with a hint of ire. The pathologist in her couldn't understand how the rebbe's congregation wouldn't want to know the cause of their religious leader's death. "I explained exactly what I saw, Miss Scully. I withheld no information and the county medical examiner took a number of pictures. It was quickly determined that there must have been a terrible accident that caused the burns to appear. I don't know why, but the medical examiner decided, after much discussion with the deputies involved that it would not be in the best interest of the community to conduct an autopsy. They claimed they wouldn't be able to derive any new information from it anyway. The medical examiner did evaluate the body's condition and determined the death was of unknown origin," explained Steiger. "I don't understand how the Rockland County Sheriff's Department could just allow the M.E. to conduct a superficial exam and claim an autopsy was not needed. This was highly unorthodox!" declared Scully, unaware of the pun she'd unintentionally made. Even Rifka chuckled, to which Scully opened her mouth and muttered a quick apology. "Miss Scully, if I may speak?" Rifka actually looked over at her husband for permission rather than Scully, and when he nodded slightly, she continued. "You have to understand something else about this community. It has had a difficult history in the area. We have been subject to some strife in recent history, and the people of this community are not always, shall we say, willing to cooperate with the authorities. That's not to say that we shouldn't; there is nothing in Jewish Law that says we should not cooperate with the authorities. "But understand, that many of our community members are rather sheltered; they rarely if ever leave the area. Their whole life revolves around the small area that is Monsey. The sheriff's department is not always a body that our community puts its trust in. The death of our rebbe was a shock; it also occurred right before the Sabbath and a major Jewish holiday. "That in and of itself would have been enough to set off demonstrations by anti-Jewish groups; the rebbe's death, unfortunately was welcomed by all too many hate groups. We wanted our rebbe to be buried in peace. We didn't want there to be any questions regarding the virtue and piety of this great man," concluded Rifka. "Why would anyone question that?" asked Scully curiously. Reuven stood up. "There was no reason to question it," he stated quickly in a tone that indicated the conversation was over. However Scully still needed to make her request. She remained seated and with a gentle firmness stated, "Mr. Steiger, the FBI wants to exhume the rebbe's body in order to perform an autopsy." "What?" gasped Reuven. "No!" "But, Mr. Steiger, you must understand, we need to see if there's any forensic evidence to support similarities in the deaths of three clergy members. The Catholic priest was also killed in Chicago around the same time as the Rabbi. There was a Lutheran minister killed over the summer and just recently there was a Baptist minister who was apparently killed in a similar manner in Mississippi. We have to find out what killed these men." "It would be impossible to even consider exhuming the rebbe's body before the end of the High Holy Days. Please, Miss Scully. You must understand what such a request would do to this community so shortly before Yom Kippur. Please, Miss Scully. Please do not ask us to do this now," Steiger pleaded. "I understand, Mr. Steiger. We'll wait, but understand that I can get a court order, and will do so if necessary. I'll return on Friday morning, Sir." Reuven sat down heavily in the chair and simply nodded. He stared vacantly into space and remained mute. "Are you all right?" Scully asked with concern. He nodded in response but didn't speak. "I'll speak to you on Friday morning, Mr. Steiger." Scully was about to step out the door when she turned to Reuven and said quietly, "Have a good day, Mr. Steiger, Mrs. Steiger." Reuven raised his eyes and said softly, "Thank you, Miss Scully." Rifka gave her thanks as well, and then said quietly, "I'll walk you out, Miss Scully." She turned to her husband and said, "Reuven, finish up; we need to go home soon." He nodded and numbly watched her accompany Scully out the door. "I have but a moment to speak, and then my husband will become worried that I have ill spoke," whispered Rifka hurriedly as she and Scully arrived at the door to the shul. "What is it? What did you mean before when you said Reuven didn't spend all his time here anymore?" asked Scully. "The rebbe was a wise and wonderful man, Miss Scully. He wanted to learn all that God had to offer him. That included the words of Kabbalah; that's Jewish Mysticism." Scully nodded her understanding and Rifka continued. "There was a section in the Kabbalah that Reb Shmuel began studying with great interest." When Rifka hesitated, Scully urged her to continue, if for no other reason that both women feared Reuven would discover them deep in discussion. "I see you wear the sign of the cross. Are you Catholic, Miss Scully? When Scully nodded 'yes,' Rifka said, "Then you are well aware of the history of exorcism in the Church?" Once again, Scully nodded. "Miss Scully, were you also aware that there are exorcists on the payroll of the Catholic Church even today as we speak?" "You're kidding?" Scully retorted, and then seeing the expression on her companions face realized she was doing anything but. "Rifka, how is it that you are so aware of all of this? You're obviously an educated woman; you've been out in the world, haven't you?" "Miss Scully, my full name is Dr. Rifka Steiger. I am a pediatrician with a full time practice in Rockland County. I also helped the medical examiner determine there was no need for an autopsy." "What? But how could you?" "I had to, Miss Scully. I had to protect Reuven." "Reuven? Protect him from what?" "From whatever evil did that to Reb Shmuel. The rebbe was teaching Reuven about the Kabbalah, about exorcism. The two of them would sit and study and argue all through the night, and would never stop if I didn't come to drag both of them home." "Both of them home? You say that as if--" Scully said bewildered. "I say it as if Reb Shmuel was my father. My father, for a Chassid was a very worldly man, Miss Scully. He didn't have to, but he allowed me to go into the world to learn the ways of modern medicine so I could be of service to our community. "Reuven and I loved my father very much, Miss Scully. Our community revered him, but he was traveling down a dangerous, religious path. If the elders in our religious community got wind that my father was studying about exorcism, there would have been problems. Big problems. "I did not want to see my father's name tarnished, so I convinced the M.E. that it wasn't necessary nor good community PR to order an autopsy on the beloved, elderly community rebbe," she said, and then softly added, "May God forgive me." "Forgive you for what, Rifka?" Scully asked gently. "Forgive me for letting the devil get away with murder." Biloxi Fairgrounds 9:45 p.m. The storm had been brewing over the Gulf for about two days, so when it finally hit land, it brought with it gale force winds and driving rain. Mulder stood just outside the big tent, watching the wind whip the top and billow it up into a grotesque imitation of a mushroom cloud. He jerked at his suit jacket collar in a feeble attempt to stop the rain coursing down his neck. When he'd left Washington, he'd forgotten his raincoat at the office. Not that he would have bothered to remember it this time. He was just running out to get another look at the scene. That's what he'd told Kenny and that's what he'd written in the note he left for Tom. Kenny had started to come along, but one look from Mulder and the kid had cringed and went back to the computer, searching for any possible connections between the victims, schools, military service, any thing they could go on. From the outside, and to the other task force members, the trail was beginning to grow cold. No new murders in three days and no evidence from the most recent murders to point the task force in a direction to follow. Only Mulder and Kenny felt any progress was being made. But the progress was in knowing the killer's motivations, and not necessarily in figuring out exactly who it was doing the murders. They'd stayed up all night hammering out a profile. Several sheets of yellow legal pad and about a dozen number 2lead pencils fell victim to Mulder's temper during the long hours. He cautioned Kenny on placing too much reliance on the 'feelings' they'd both had at the crime scene at the fairgrounds. But at the same time, he knew in his gut that the dark shadow and the chill he'd felt was as much tangible evidence that would lead them to the murderer as a fingerprint or a DNA sample. The burned ground had haunted his dreams, when Mulder had finally fallen asleep for half an hour just before dawn. He could see the dark shadow passing over the green grass, burning everything in its path. That dark shadow was filled with hatred and cold, an evil so all-encompassing that it took Mulder's breath away. Kenny had experienced a nightmare, too, though he wouldn't confide in Mulder. He'd been sprawled across the bed, not even having removed his shoes, when Mulder had gotten up to take a shower. When Mulder came back out, the young man was sitting up stiffly on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily. Mulder was certain he saw the tracks of dried tears on the kid's face. That just served to strengthen Mulder's resolve on what he had to do. There was no way he could let the kid face this evil. He was still too young, too inexperienced, too much of a tenderfoot to face anything so heinous and destructive. Mulder knew he'd have to face this thing himself, alone. The wind howled around him, giving the big tent the ominous feel of a giant yawning mouth, waiting to devour anyone who neared it. Mulder wiped more rain from his face and walked under the edge of the tent. The wind was blowing so hard that the tent only marginally protected him from the torrential downpour. Cautiously, he pulled out his Maglight and moved further into the tent. The images played in his head again. The Reverend Abraham Stewart was standing tall and proud on the raised platform. He didn't use the podium that had been placed there for his convenience. He preferred to be close to his congregation. He held a worn Bible in his hands, opened it with a tender caress of the gold leaf pages and began to recite. "Then the devil took Him to the Holy City;" Abraham said, his voice slow and low with emotion. "Amen, brother!" shouted many in the crowd. "And he had Him stand on the pinnacle of the temple, and said to Him, 'If you are the Son of God, then row yourself down; for it is written He will give His angels charge concerning You; and on their hands they will bear You up least you strike your foot against a stone.'" Sweat poured from his face as Abraham held the book high above his head and raised his face to the Lord. "Amen! Hallelujah!" shouted the crowd. "And Je-sus said to him, 'On the other hand, it is written, 'You shall not put the Lord your God to the test!'" The Reverend Stewart closed the book and closed his eyes. Reaching forward, he touched the head of a woman kneeling down in front of him. "BE GONE! I say, Satan! Be gone from this woman of the Lord!" And the woman began to writhe and fell backward, eyes rolling back in her head, shaking uncontrollably. The reverend kept shouting, "Be gone, Satan! Be gone, you fallen angel! You have no place in God's world. Be gone! Be gone!" Mulder stumbled under the wave of anger and hatred that rushed into him. Humiliation, despair, betrayal all warred against each other for his attention. But most of all, overriding everything else, he was filled with revenge. "Agent Mulder?" It was like coming up for a breath when he'd been under water too long. Air was sucked into his lungs not by the act of breathing, but as a vacuum is filled with the seal is broken. He swallowed hard, tried to quiet his heart where it pounded in his chest. "Agent Mulder, I'm sorry. I tried to call you on your cell phone. I think we might be out of range of a cell." "Andrews, what the fuck are you doing out here?" Mulder growled, not even sure why he was suddenly so angry. "I'm sorry. I know you wanted to come out here alone, but I needed to find you. It's important." The kid was trembling, but as far as Mulder could tell, it was probably from the wind and the storm. "Well, you found me. Now, what the hell do you want?" Kenny swallowed and licked rain off his lip. "There's been an accident." Act III Biloxi Mercy Hospital 10:30 p.m. "They said the accident happened sometime around 9. The car was struck head-on by a drunk driver," Kenny explained as they got off the elevator. "The other driver?" "Dead at the scene. Mulder, we haven't been able to get hold of the next of kin." Kenny chewed on his lip and looked all the more like a kid of 24. Mulder stopped and shut his eyes, rocking back on his heels. It hurt. He didn't think it was possible to hurt this much when it wasn't even... "I'll make that call. But first, I want something to go on." Kenny nodded and pointed in the direction of the nurses station. Mulder pulled out his badge and showed it to the nurse behind the desk. "I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder with the FBI. I understand another agent was brought in tonight. Thomas Alexander." The nurse took a minute to consult her computer screen. "Yes, Mr. Alexander was brought by ambulance. I'm afraid I can't give you much information, except to tell you he's been taken to surgery." Mulder nodded his thanks. "Is there a pay phone nearby?" The nurse smiled and pointed to a bank of phones just across the hall. Mulder headed over, picking up the first receiver and closing his eyes again before dialing a number by heart. "Sally? It's Mulder, Fox Mulder. Yeah, long time for sure. Sally, you need to get down here to Biloxi. Tom's been hurt." Biloxi Mercy Hospital Wednesday, September 26, 2001 6:15 a.m. Mulder paced the small waiting room. Other agents had arrived shortly after him and Kenny, but he pointedly ignored all of them. Sally Alexander was booked on a 5:30 flight from Falls Church, Virginia. She was due at the Biloxi airport at 6:45. Mulder hoped she'd get there in time. More than once he'd started to call Scully, but had stopped himself. What could she do but offer her sympathy? He missed her voice, wanted to hold her in his arms, but that felt like it would be comfort for himself and he wasn't the one needing comfort. Sally needed comfort. He needed to be strong for Tom and his wife. He hadn't seen Sally since the wedding. Tom's brother had been the best man, but Tom had asked Mulder to stand up with him as a groomsman. Sally had tried several times during the reception to hook Mulder up with her cousin, but he'd managed to escape that fate. Now, he couldn't even picture the girl in his mind. "Mulder, want some coffee?" Kenny was standing there, a Styrofoam cup in one hand and a familiar red can in the other, looking way too much like a hopeful puppy begging to be patted on the head. Mulder stamped down the urge to smack the kid across the room and shook his head. "No, thanks." "Do you think..." "We don't know anything, Andrews," Mulder spat out, but when he saw the wounded look on the young man's face, he struggled to get hold of his temper. "Look, Kenny, the doctors don't know anything right now. He made it through surgery. That's the good part. But with the kind of head trauma he sustained, well, let's just say a coma might be the lesser of two evils." "It all happened so fast. One minute he'd called from the police station telling me he wanted to look at our profile and then next minute the hospital was calling. The phone number to my motel room was the last number he'd dialed on his cell phone," Kenny said miserably. "Don't blame yourself, kid. You had nothing to do with this. It was an accident." "Still, he was thinking about the case. Maybe his mind wasn't on the road..." "Stop it, Kenny! I mean it. Just get off that track right now. You had absolutely nothing to do with this." Kenny was silent for a minute, then he squared his jaw. "Yeah, but if I'd given him a good profile, we'd have closed this case already and he never would have been on that road." Without giving Mulder a chance to reply, he turned on his heel and left the waiting room. Mulder closed his eyes again and trembled with the effort it took him to keep from putting his fist through the wall. A hand on his shoulder brought him around to reality. "Fox, it's been a long time." Sally stood beside him, looking a little older than when he'd last seen her. She was still blonde, what most people would call 'perky,' but there was a fear in her eyes that he would have given anything to replace. "Yeah, too long. Sally, I don't know what to say," he muttered as he drew the petite woman into a loose hug. She drew away quickly and wiped at her eyes. "I just talked to the doctor." He didn't want to know. But he had to ask. "And?" Slowly, she shook her head. The tears left little tracks on her cheeks. It was everything Mulder could do to keep from wiping them away. But that wasn't his place. He bit the inside of his lip to keep from crying. She started to say something else, but someone called her name -- one of the doctors Mulder vaguely remembered from seeing earlier in the night. He was coming toward them with a very serious look on his face. Suddenly, Sally froze. The doctor hadn't gotten within 10 feet of them and she was shaking her head back and forth. "No. No, it can't be. No." She started walking backward and ran right into Mulder. "Mrs. Alexander, I'm very sorry," the doctor started to take her shoulder, but Mulder waved him off. He turned Sally in his arms and held her while she cried. Kenny watched helplessly from his seat near the wall. A noise startled him and he realized Mulder's jacket was ringing. He reached over and dug out the older agent's cell phone. "Hello?" he said, hesitantly. "Um, Agent Mulder's phone." "Who is this?" asked a terse voice on the other end of the phone line. "This is Agent Kenneth Andrews. Now, who is this?" Kenny shot back. "Agent Scully, Agent Mulder's partner. Where is he?" Kenny looked across the room. Mulder had managed to get Sally over to a bank of chairs on the opposite wall and was holding her while she sobbed uncontrollably. "He's indisposed at the moment. Can I take a message?" He had to hold his hand over his ear as the P.A. system went off paging a doctor. "Where are you? Are you at the hospital? What's happened? Where's Mulder? Is he hurt?" She was asking the questions so fast and furious, Kenny almost couldn't get a word in edgewise. "Hey! Agent ...Sculder? Calm down! No, he's not hurt. Yes, we are at the hospital. There was a car accident. SAC Alexander... he was in a car wreck. He, uh, he... he didn't make it." Kenny felt his throat close up and croaked out the last words. He didn't want to cry, but he wished he were anywhere else so he could break down. "Tom? Tom Alexander's dead?" came the voice on the phone. "Oh God, Mulder must be devastated," she said with a sad sigh. "Well, right now he's pretty busy trying to calm down Tom's wife," Kenny told her. "I better get down there," Scully announced. "I don't know when I'll be able to get a flight, but I'll be there as soon as I can." Biloxi Blues Motel 8:12 a.m. Mulder exited the rental and slammed the car door. Hard. Kenny jerked in reaction and immediately clambered out of the driver's seat to follow him. Mulder didn't want to deal with the kid at that moment. He couldn't. He'd just finished holding Tom Alexander's widow in his arms in a vain attempt to console her, but all the while berating himself for selfishly wondering if he would be able to solve this case without his friend's steady hand. Tom knew when he'd agreed to have Mulder join the team what they were both getting into. Mulder was going to do his damnedest to find the killer, and Tom was going to do his damnedest to keep Mulder from going insane. Tom had seen it happen all too often while both were working under Patterson in the early days. Bill would pass out serial cases for his people to profile; only Mulder always seemed to get twice as many. Maybe because Mulder could solve 'em twice as fast. The problem with that was that Mulder would never have any down time. More than once Tom had found his former roommate holed up in a tiny office in the VCS dungeon at Quantico staring into space. More than once Tom had been tempted to call for an ambulance, and only when Tom had screamed threats of just such an action, did Mulder snap out of his trance-like state. But now Tom was dead, and Mulder's immediate tether to sanity was dead too. His true lifeline was miles away and on the trail of more information for the case, so he couldn't count on Scully at that point for comfort. All he had was a profiling newbie who was probably going to get himself killed because he had no idea what the hell they were dealing with. And the last thing Mulder wanted to do at that moment was try and explain it to the kid. Tom's death hurt. It wasn't only because Tom was a steadying force for him on this case. Nor was it just because Mulder had lost a friend; Tom was someone Mulder was able to associate with a pleasant memory from his VCS past, a rarity in and of itself. But Tom's passing, coupled with Mulder's seemingly inability to console Sally Alexander over her husband's untimely death reminded Mulder of something. No matter how good of a profiler he still was it didn't negate the fact that he was still a mere mortal and subject to the same rules of life, and death, as all men were. And the combination of Tom's death and the gut feeling he was getting about this case made that epiphany all the more frightening to Mulder. Mulder was scared to death, and that did not bode well for either him or the kid in this case. Fear could work for you in that it could make you cautious and wary of taking foolish steps. However it could also work against you; it could freeze you from taking the necessary steps to prevent another killing. Mulder was at a crossroads. He was ready to stand frozen in place, but then the kid spoke. "Mulder, wait! You're right! There was nothing I could do to have prevented this. It was a damned drunk driver, and Tom was in the wrong place at the right time. But Mulder! Damn it Mulder, look at me!" he screamed as the older agent had continued to walk away from him. Mulder halted and turned to look at the Kenny. "Mulder, you couldn't have done anything either. There was nothing you could have pieced together to prevent that drunk from slamming into Tom." "What the hell are you talking about, Andrews?" Mulder asked tensely. "You KNOW what I'm talking about. You KNOW!" he practically screamed. And the truth of the matter was, Mulder did know, but what disturbed him most was that the kid knew too. He'd already sensed that Kenny had the makings of a good profiler; he hadn't realized that Kenny had the makings of another 'Spooky' Mulder. But for the kid's sake, Mulder knew he couldn't let on that Kenny was on the right track. That would be too dangerous. "Andrews, I don't know what the hell you're talking about. I'm going to go into my room and get some shuteye. I suggest you go into your room and do the same." And with that he turned and left Kenny Andrews staring at him with his mouth slightly agape. As the door to Mulder's room slammed shut, the younger agent remembered he hadn't told him that his partner had called and was on the way. The way Mulder was acting, it could wait. Mulder entered the small motel room and prayed Kenny wouldn't decide to play nursemaid and knock at his door. He practically held his breath as he listened for the slam of the door to the room next door. When he did hear it, Mulder sighed with relief and sat down on the bed that was covered with files and papers with scrawls of notes. Though he was practically dead on his feet, Mulder had no intention of sleeping. There was a killer to be caught, and Mulder knew that he was the only one who had a chance of doing it. He didn't understand how he would accomplish this as yet, nor did he understand why, of all people, it should be him to do so, but neither of those mattered. What did matter was that there was a killer, an entity that was capable of picking off people at will and leaving them dead with a hole in their heart. As Mulder felt himself become emotional at the thoughts of his victims, he knew he had to keep himself in check. He needed to pull himself back from the case and begin to think more objectively. He stood up and stretched. He looked for something to use as leverage to crack the vertebrae in his back. What he wouldn't give for his stickball bat. When he couldn't find anything he placed his hands firmly on the small of his back and bent backwards. He experienced some relief and then bent forward touching his toes. He did some stretches to both sides and then tried to relax his neck and shoulders. His head felt somewhat clearer and he allowed himself to get his mind back on the case. There were still so many questions that he had no answers for. What was the UNSUB's motivation? The victims were all clergymen, but why those particular men. There seemed to be no commonalties among them other than they were leaders in their respective religious communities. What were the common traits among the victims that would lead the UNSUB to pick those particular men. The reverend was in his 40s, the priest was in his early 70s, and the rabbi was in his 80s. There seemed to be nothing these men's backgrounds that indicated a common ground. The rabbi was a widower, the reverend was married, and the priest was celibate. He knew he was beginning to clutch at straws. Mulder began to pace around the room as thoughts began to form. He held a pen in his hand and a yellow legal pad in the other. He began scratching the words down as his mind brainstormed leaps of seemingly incongruent thoughts. Beliefs. Common. Teachings. Religious. Renegade. Religious renegades. Mulder looked at the pairing of those two words and wondered why that made sense to him. What would make a man be considered a religious renegade? How could men in their 70s and 80s be renegades? What were their beliefs? Beliefs. It came back to that again. "Damn it! Damn it! What the hell was I thinking!" he cried out as he flung the notepad to the floor. Mulder began to furiously pull at the papers on his bed. He picked up file after file, paper after paper, index card after index card of copious notes until finally, he found the part of the report that held a seemingly innocuous piece of data. The paper was from the Zimmerman file. It was an accounting of the body as it was found in the synagogue. Though Mulder had reviewed and reviewed the details, few as there were due to the lack of an autopsy, the one item Mulder did not concern himself with was what Mulder now believed was the key that would unlock the door to the reasons behind the murders. The elderly rebbe had been clutching a copy of the Sefer ha-Razim, a book of ancient writings otherwise known as the Book of Secrets. It was a book of magic, written by a Palestinian Jew of the Talmudic period, dealt with the forgotten field of Jewish magic. Apparently Reb Zimmerman had been looking to rediscover it. Mulder then searched frenetically for the next piece of information that he hoped would tie these men together. Father Michael Nelson, 70 years old was the parish priest at St. Gertrude's for almost twenty years. There was nothing out of the ordinary about that, but Mulder knew there had to be more. There had to be... "Holy shit!" he exclaimed aloud. There it was. The details were finally starting to fit together. Mulder read the long list of Father Michael Nelson's cleric duties. They included the normal activities associated with a parish priest. He said Mass, visited the sick, taught at the Parish School of Religion, helped out at the local soup kitchen run by Catholic Charities. All normal priestly activities, but in addition to all of that, Father Nelson's included one other job description. It was the small, tiny notation in the last line of the section of official duties that held Mulder rapt. It was a position that few probably would have taken the time to take note of, given all of the mundane job descriptions that preceded it. Exorcist. Father Michael Nelson was on the Church payroll as an exorcist and had been apparently for the last thirty years. Mulder suspected business must have been at an all time high when the Linda Blair movie came out in the 70s, settled down as soon as the furor of the movie died. He couldn't believe there was actually an official position within the Church. He almost laughed. Almost. The final puzzle piece was the reverend. Once again the profiler did a furious search of the multitude of papers that lay strewn across the bed. He picked up the papers he sought and began to read the notes of the Reverend Stewart's last sermon. Though Mulder realized that as an evangelical preacher, Stewart probably rarely followed his sermons to the letter, the notes were still a good indicator of what the man's ideology was. He read through paragraph after paragraph, wondering if perhaps he was wrong in his thinking, until he got to the third paragraph on the fourth page. "And I say onto you, Brothers and Sisters, that we have the power to rid ourselves of sickness, to rid ourselves of accidents, to rid ourselves of those which we seem to have little control! How can we do that, you ask, if we do not have the control? "We can, because I know what is in control and I know that we must be rid of it and I say to you, Brothers and Sisters, I know HOW to rid ourselves of the evil. I know how to give you back the control you so desperately need, so desperately want. I know, Brothers and Sisters, who the evil culprit is that wants to control our lives, and that evil is none other than Satan himself! "How do we obliterate our lives of the malfeasance that threatens our lives and our children's lives? And how do we do this? We must work together, my brothers and sisters, to excise the depraved entity that wants to work its way into our souls. We must be willing to open our hearts and our minds to the knowledge that we can exorcise this demon from our lives and I ask you all for an Amen! "Amen! "Amen! "Amen!" There was a sudden pounding on the door that shocked Mulder back into an awareness of his surroundings that was missing only moments before. "Mulder! Open the damn door! Now!" screamed Kenny, "Mulder! Please, open the damn door before I shoot it open." It took Mulder several seconds to get his bearings and then he looked around. He wasn't in a revival tent; he was in a motel room. He wasn't standing amidst hundreds of people swaying together in an emotional show of support for their spiritual leader, but rather he was standing beside a bed strewn with files and reports and notes. The lamp had unaccountably fallen from the night stand and now lay in several pieces at his feet. For some reason, his throat felt raw. He walked haltingly toward the door. He opened it and Kenny pushed his way into the room. "What the hell is going on in here, Mulder?" the young agent asked angrily. Mulder almost smiled to himself; suddenly the kid didn't sound like a kid any longer. When Mulder didn't answer, Kenny began a tirade of his own. "I don't know what the hell you think you're doing by keeping me out of the loop, Mulder, but it's not going to work. It's not going to work, do you hear me?" Kenny observed the disheveled appearance of the man whose reputation he so admired and envied. Now, Kenny Andrews wondered how this man, given his current condition, was going to solve this case, and was he going to allow Kenny to help him solve it? "You doing some redecorating, because I don't think the Bureau will pick up the tab," he added, pointing to the broken lamp. Mulder stood absolutely silent and still. Andrews had no idea if the man had heard anything he'd just said. "Mulder, what were you doing in here?" he finally asked as evenly as possible. Andrews realized he had to remain calm and rational in order to counterbalance Mulder's erratic behavior if they were to get any further on the case. He waited patiently for Mulder to respond. He'd wait all day and all night if he had to, when finally Mulder spoke. "I was looking for links between the victims. I was looking for possible connections," he said in an almost toneless voice. "It sounded like you were trying to raise the dead in here, Mulder," Kenny said with a hint of humor. Mulder recognized the younger man's efforts to lighten the mood and smiled slightly. It appeared to Kenny that Mulder was finally beginning to relax; of course, the inexperienced agent knew nothing of Mulder's ability to deflect and camouflage. "I was reading the reverend's last sermon. Guess I got a little carried away," he responded, though in reality Mulder had no memory of reading the sermon aloud. "Jeeze, Mulder, you are the master of the understatement, ya know?" The agent responded with a wry smile and nodded. He then said, "Look, I really am kind of tired. I think I need to lay down and sleep a bit, okay? We'll meet for a late lunch, early dinner and talk more of my findings." "But, Mulder--" Andrews tried to contradict, but Mulder would hear none of it. "I'm dead on my feet, kid. A good friend of mine is dead, and I've got a really strong feeling that we're going to have a fourth victim real soon if we don't get our acts together. I need to sleep. We'll get something to eat in a little while." Of course, if the younger, less experienced agent had the knowledge and insight that Dana Scully had, or even the late Tom Alexander had, Kenny Andrews would have known immediately that something was definitely wrong with that picture. Scully would have told Kenny that Mulder never eats when on a profiling case. Alexander would have told the kid that Mulder never sleeps while on one either. Mulder was bluffing the kid big time, and the kid fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Kenny told him to knock on his door when he awoke from his nap, to which Mulder replied, "Will do." Mulder picked up his pen and began scribbling notes on the first piece of paper that he could find. When he ran out of paper he moved on to the next convenient writing surface, the wall. He stood in front of the wall, writing and writing some more. His theory was starting to come together, and his profile took the shape he knew that it could. Mulder identified his one aspect of his theory and listed every fact he could that supported it. After each and every point was bulleted, he then moved on to the profile itself. Mulder knew this was the trickier of the two; he was able to explain with inextricable, but at the same time indisputable facts, how the three victims were tied together. Mulder also came to the realization it wouldn't matter one way or the other whether Scully was able to gain permission to exhume the rabbi's body; it wouldn't give them any more information than they already had. He wrote as such on the wall as a reminder to call Scully and tell her as such, so the rabbi's family wouldn't needlessly be put through that particular trauma. The notes consumed him and he wrote continuously on the wall for the next hour and a half. Much of what he wrote was jumbled and chaotic, but given the right interpreter, the words fit together like the pieces of an intricate jigsaw puzzle. The words came out of him as if going through a sieve; in no particular order but none of the waste, much like the salted water would cascade through a colander leaving only the ingredients for a meal offering sustenance. As the weary agent came to his final words of his profile, Mulder's sense of time and place began to wane. As he lost track of his surroundings, his mind suddenly focused solely on one fact. He inexplicably knew there would be a fourth victim very soon. And just as suddenly, he knew, without a doubt, the identity of the killer. Without a doubt, Mulder knew where the killing would take place. Without a doubt, Mulder knew who was to be killed. "I have found my new vessel," intoned the agent in a trance-like voice. "I have found my new bridge to the upper world who will do the acts that will save my soul. You have done battle with me in the past, Agent Mulder... but fighting silly school board members and preachers with a fetish for snakes were mere skirmishes. Now, you must deal directly with me. And this is a war that I will win." And with that, as if in some kind of hypnotic state, Fox Mulder picked up his jacket and keys to take off for the next site of his latest victim. He would need to arrive as soon as possible, as he needed to achieve his goal before the descent of the sun or he might not find the strength to succeed. It was time to deal with a new enemy of Hell. "MY enemy," murmured Mulder. Kenny heard the door slam. He never hesitated; he simply picked up his coat, keys, and opened the door. He saw Mulder walk to his car and though the younger man called out to him repeatedly, Mulder never responded. Kenny ran to try and get in front of the car and block him, but at the last second Kenny had to jerk out of the way as Mulder would have certainly run him over. Kenny noticed an older couple drive up to the office entrance of the motel. He ran to the car, waving his FBI identification and commandeered their 1993 Ford Taurus. As the shocked couple looked on, the agent drove off with a screech. He had no idea if what he did was legal or if he were going to be written up from now till kingdom come. All he did know was he had to keep his eye on Mulder. The man was not acting like himself; it was as if he'd taken on an entirely new persona, and Kenny was scared shitless that his mentor was going to kill himself because of it. He tailed the rental and wondered if Mulder realized he was being followed. It seemed impossible to Kenny that Mulder wouldn't sense it, as Kenny made no pretensions of trying to conceal himself. But if he were aware, Mulder gave no indication. He drove straight and true with no attempts made to lose Kenny on the highway. The younger agent soon realized their destination was the airport. "Where the hell do you think you're going, Mulder?" he asked himself. Mulder pulled up to the United Airlines terminal and simply left the car. When a security officer approached him, Mulder pulled out his ID badge and wordlessly moved on. Kenny hoped that approach would work for him as well. He stepped out of the car and immediately pulled out his ID badge, though his fingers weren't nearly as dexterous as he fumbled with the cover. "Official business," he said just loudly enough to be heard, and he continued on his way. The security guard appeared somewhat incredulous and muttered something about, "Damn bureaucrats," and then made the decision to move the damn cars himself. Meanwhile, Mulder walked the path that led him directly to the ticket agents for departing flights. Kenny called after him, but once again, Mulder refused to acknowledge him. The younger agent couldn't understand what was going on. When he finally came to Mulder's side, Kenny asked, "What in the hell is wrong with you?" Mulder looked at Kenny but said nothing directly to him. He simply turned back to the ticket agent and said, "New York." "We have a flight that's scheduled to depart shortly and land in LaGuardia at 4:27 p.m.," the pert young agent replied. "Nothing that lands sooner?" Mulder asked. At the shake of the young woman's head, Mulder said, "Fine, book it please." "And what about me, Agent Mulder, or have you forgotten that I'm working on this case too?" asked a disgruntled and confused Agent Andrews. "Not this time. You stay here and mop up," was Mulder's terse reply. "Like hell!" declared Andrews, and he turned to the agent. "Book a seat for me too, and put it on his card." The ticket agent looked reluctant until Andrews whipped out his FBI ID again, this time smoothly presenting it, and the ticket agent seemed convinced. She issued the ticket and Kenny quickly walked in pursuit of his obviously ailing mentor. The two men displayed their weapons and badges to the flight attendant at the door and boarded the plane almost immediately but were not seated together, which didn't seem to phase Mulder in the least. He totally ignored Kenny no matter how many times Kenny tried to get his attention. Finally, the man seated next to Mulder asked the younger man politely, but firmly, to kindly let his seatmate alone, as it was obvious he wasn't in the mood to chat. "Perhaps once the plane lands, your partner will be more open to making up with you," he offered. Kenny returned to his seat red-faced, as it was obvious the stranger mistook Kenny's pleas as those of Mulder's gay lover apologizing over some kind of lover's spat. He was too embarrassed to try and talk with Mulder again at that point, and he also realized the likelihood of Mulder willingly opening up to him once they landed was practically nil. Andrews needed backup. He picked up the telephone that was nestled into the seat in front of him. The wonders of modern technology were a given to this young man, but nevertheless he did appreciate them. Andrews placed a phoned call to the only person in a position of authority that he could think of at that point. "Hello, I'd like to be connected with Assistant Director Skinner please. This is Agent Kenneth Andrews calling with regards to the Biloxi murder case." When Skinner finally got on the line, Andrews explained as clearly but as calmly as possible the situation as he now saw it. He expected Skinner to be at the very least surprise, and the very most incredulous over his agent's behavior, but Walter Skinner seemed neither surprised nor incredulous. If anything, he seemed resigned. Skinner asked what time his plane was scheduled to land and Kenny told him. He then informed Kenny that he was going to catch the next shuttle to New York and that Kenny was to do whatever was in his power to detain Agent Mulder at the airport until his arrival. With a bit of luck, Skinner shouldn't be too far behind them. Andrews quickly agreed and felt grateful to the man who was ready to take ownership of this new problem. Mulder had no overhead luggage, nor did Kenny, so disembarking was relatively painless. Kenny continued to follow the older agent until he saw Mulder approach the escalator that led upstairs. "Mulder, please! Wait for me!" Kenny pleaded. Now Andrews knew there was no doubt he felt terrified for his fellow agent. Mulder was not acting anything like himself, and he didn't understand why. All he did know was that he had to find a way of keeping Mulder at the airport until AD Skinner arrived. "Agent Mulder, I need you to explain what your next step is," Andrews stated in an attempt to get his companion's attention. Mulder, however, simply ignored him and was about to take a step onto the moving staircase. "Mulder, you can't leave! We have to wait here; we need backup, Mulder! Don't you understand? We can't do this alone," Kenny pleaded as he grabbed onto Mulder's arm with as much strength as he could muster. Mulder, however, was not to be deterred. Now having the strength of twenty men, he easily threw the younger, weaker man off of him. He took a quick look around and set his eyes on a new destination. He knew the younger man, determined now, would follow him. As Mulder turned down a corridor that led to little-used offices in the terminal, Kenny once again tried to grab him and hold him still. "We've got to wait here, Agent Mulder. We're getting reinforcements, but we have to wait here until he comes." "Until WHO comes?" asked Mulder through clenched teeth. "The AD I called the AD from the plane," Kenny confessed. The expression Mulder wore upon hearing this information frightened Kenny. It was almost as if the real Mulder had reemerged momentarily, and the older agent's expression showed a fear that Kenny knew exceeded even his own. "Walter Skinner?" Mulder rasped. Kenny nodded his confirmation. "No!" came the dissonant voice so quickly that it startled Kenny that it caused him to flinch. Which gave Agent Mulder just enough time to remove his service revolver from his holster and promptly fire toward the now shocked Agent Andrews. As Kenny Andrews slumped, bleeding to the floor, Fox Mulder replaced his weapon and headed toward his original destination. He had his next victim to attend to. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ To Be Continued in the Season Opener of I Made This! Productions, Virtual Season 9, coming July 2001