Title: Ancient Corridors
Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@iname.com<
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is
intended.
SPOILER::::

~~~~
Ancient Corridors
~~~~

Chapter One

~~~~

"Sometimes in the night I feel it
Near is my last breath and yet untouchable

Silently the past comes stealing
Like the taste of some forbidden sweet

And every ghost that calls upon us
Brings another measure in the mystery

Death is there to keep us honest
And constantly remind us we aren't free

Down the ancient corridors
And through the gates of time
Run the ghosts of days that we've left behind."
--Dan Fogelberg, "Ghosts"

~~~~
Georgetown Apartment
1: 03 am
~~~~


Taking in a sharp breath, Dana Scully pushed herself away from the
kitchen counter, blinking rapidly to control the dizziness.

The stereo blared Carly Simon at top volume, so that the neighbors were
calling and complaining.

She laughed and notched it down a bit, but sang and sang and sang,
trying to rid herself of the demons in the back of her mind.

"You're So Vain" started up, the strings strident in the background,
Carly Simon's rich throaty alto was smooth and alluring. It reminded her
an awful lot of Mulder, but Mulder wasn't what her memories wanted to
dwell on.

Instead, her thoughts attacked her with images of her father, and her
sister, and a little girl that should have been her daughter.

Her father's proud face captured her eyes, even though she knew she was
really staring into the television, but nothing seemed to divert her
attention.

The music boomed and softened, trilled and mourned, but she was spending
a night with her ghosts, and the ghosts weren't letting her go anytime
soon.

Scully dropped into the couch, curling her body around a cushion, and
closed her eyes.

Oh Daddy. . .I'm so sorry.

~~~~

When Mulder pulled into her apartment lot, he parked illegally, of
course, and cast a worried glance to her window. Light blazed
brilliantly from its depths and he wondered if she had left for some
reason, without telling him.

He'd been calling for the past hour, but finally decided he ought to
come check on her.

It was the anniversary of her father's death. . .as if deaths were so
happy as to merit anniversaries.

She hadn't talked much, and he had understood that completely, but he
needed to let her know he was leaving in the morning.

A sudden lead had come to warrant further investigation - the kind of
investigating that couldn't be done from home.

The elevator swallowed him whole, then spit him up on her floor, leaving
him feeling like Jonah, surprised, frightened, and cautious.

He crept forward, hearing the music muffled and feeling the bass through
his shoes. The hall seemed endlessly long, but when he got to her door,
and knocked, there was no answer.

And a surprising quiet.

He knocked again, and realized that some song had simply ended and the
CD was being cycled through again. She had it on repeat play.

He jiggled his cary keys in one hand, debating, chewing on his lip for a
moment. She had made him promise.

No more ditching.

Her key stuck fast in the lock, and he had to crank it hard around to
get it to pop open with a scratching crunch.

He slid inside, noting the living room lights bright and blinding, and
the stereo lit up from its black tomb.

She was curled up on the couch, sleeping easily, her breath regular and
pleasant, calming him.

Mulder moved to the stereo and thumbed it off before another song could
start, then turned down the volume, in case she forgot about this little
adventure and wanted to play her stereo.

Then he clicked off a few of the brighter lights, leaving the room
bathed in a healthy though dim glow from the end table lamp.

She didn't even stir, so he walked back over to the couch and bent low
over it, smelling her sleeping-dreams and her workday-weary perfume.

He ran a light finger down her cheek, but she didn't wake.

Usually, that was all he had to do, run the back of his finger down her
cheek just like that, with the softness of her skin like peach fuzz from
a newborn.

But she was heavily asleep.

He wondered if he even ought to wake her, but she had made him promise,
and that promise had wrenched a lot out of him.

This was what she'd asked for.

"Scully?"

His whisper came out harsh because of the leftover cold shadowing his
voice, but she still did not move, nor did her eyes open.

He kneeled beside her to ease his already tense back muscles, and sighed
loudly over her.

Scully's hands were pressed into the cushion she held, and her lips were
parted slightly to breathe better. She had caught that cold from him, he
knew, and felt bad about it.

Shaking his head, Mulder ran his thumb down her cheek again, hoping for
a response. Her head moved into his touch, just as it usually did, but
she did not wake.

"Scully, wake up, for a second. . ."

He took her shoulders in his warm palms and gentle shook her body,
looking closely into her face.

Her eyes slid open slowly, unlike her usual wakings, and he admired the
faint sense of sexuality that stirred in those dark blue depths.

"Scully?"

She raised her head, then glanced around her apartment, wincing.

"Mulder?" she said, as if she was trying to make sure he was real.

"Yeah. . .I came to let you know I'm going to be out of the office for
awhile -"

"What?" she said, raising up to look at him closer.

He leaned back, pushing into the coffee table and shifting it a bit.

She touched her shoulder, a sharp twinge from sleeping on it. "Where are
you going?"

"Maasachusetts."

She blinked and noticed her stereo was turned off, and her apartment was
only lighted by one solitary lamp to ward of the darkness demons.

"I'm coming."

He regarded her silently, then nodded.

"Okay."

"Are you visiting your mother?" she said softly.

"No, it's a kind of a case. For a friend, darlin'."

His tiny grin of amusement didn't make his crack any less pathetic, but
it made her feel better about how solemn she felt.

"What's with darlin'?"

He shrugged, still giving her that small smile.

"Are you going to tell me what I've gotten myself into?"

He smiled again. "Naw."

She faced forward so that her feet touched his thighs, sitting up as
best she could with the cushion in her lap and his body in front of her.

Mulder pushed away the pillow and laid his hands calmly over her knees,
forgetting himself for a moment.

"Some strange murders have occured lately. Doors locked, rumors of
ghosts."

She nodded. "So?"

He felt like smiling at her attitude, but instead, rocked back on his
heels, balancing himself by bracing against her thighs.

"So, a dectective I know asked for our help. One woman who managed to
survive the attack is telling some strange stories. Apparently someone
tried to warn them, but it was too late."

She frowned and chewed on her bottom lip, worrying over his information
just as he wanted to take her hands and make her stop moving so
much.

She was restless against his touch, but not moving away really, just
darting her eyes, sliding her hands through her hair, along the hem of
her thin tank top, and twitching whenever she thought.

This had more to do with why she'd gone home so late that day, why she'd
turned up her music and fallen asleep with every light blazing on like
fires camped to ward off the boogey man.

"Scully? You okay?"

She nodded. "I'm fine, Mulder."

Glancing to his dark eyes and remembering a promise, she shook her head
softly.

"I'm really fine, I swear. Trust me."

He didn't though.

"What've you been doing up here, huh, Scully?"

She smiled at him. "Thinking about my father."

He sighed. "Yeah. Like what?"

She was surprised. Since when did Mulder pick up on her moods?

"Like. . .like how we used to talk about things that no one ever wanted
to talk to me about. . .books and poetry and the future."

"Ah, I see. You trusted him. . ."

She nodded. "And. . .and, I told my dad when I was four that I wanted to
be a worker at McDonalds."

Mulder grinned. "I think every little kid wanted to work there."

She laughed. "You wanted to work at McDonalds too?"

He nodded softly, perched on toes like some kind of stalking bird, his
eyes dark and animal-like in their intensity.

She smiled. "Yeah. I told him I wanted to be the drive-thru girl."

Mulder leaned forward, then slid to sit next to her on the couch. "What
did he say to that?"

"He said I could do anything I wanted to. But he also told me to make
sure I was certain."

Mulder quieted and thought about her father, a man he'd seen in photos
and in her eyes.

"I guess. . .I guess I was thinking about this job, and how disappointed
he was, that I was throwing away my future like that."

"You have, Scully. I almost wish, for your sake, that you had listened
to him."

Scully glanced sharply at him, feeling a tight rip as if something had
slashed her like gutting a fish.

Then he took her hand.

"But for my sake, I'm glad you stayed."

She smiled. "He told me I could be whatever I wanted, and he meant it.
And I'm sure of this, Mulder. I think he knows. . .somehow, that I'm
sure of this."

"You're sure of this job?"

She shook her head. "Not so much the job, just the partner I have. He's
kind of a nut, but I like him."

Mulder grinned and squeezed her hand.

"A nut, huh? I bet he's brilliant."

She shrugged. "No. Not really, just. . .Spooky."

Feigning hurt, Mulder elbowed her ribs and glared at her.

"Up to Fall River, Massachusetts, Scully?" he said, sounding as
threatening as possible.

"Yeah. Is this vacation time?"

He nodded, then smiled secretly at her. "I already got you off, darlin'.
. ."

Her hand stilled on the phone, where she'd been about to call and ask
Skinner off from work, even if it *was* three in the morning.

"Ah. . .you did huh?"

He nodded.

"Hm. Smart man."

Mulder grinned and stood up from the couch.

She was trying to ignore that darlin' he kept using.

"Get packing, Scully. I'll meet you back here in an hour."

She frowned. "It's three o'clock-"

"I know. But these murders are happening every night, and whole families
are being slaughtered."

She froze. "Kids too?"

He nodded. "One hour."

She sighed. "Right. One hour."

He locked the door behind him and left her standing in her living room,
trying to blink away tears.

Ghosts never wanted to leave her alone.

~~~~

Watuppa Travel Lodge
Fall River, Massachusetts
8:03 am
~~~~

She was staring at something when he walked inside her motel room, her
entire body frozen in place, hands clutched in fists at her sides.

"Scully?"

"Did you do this?" she hissed, turning to him with fear and fury in her
eyes.

His gaze slid to the flower arrangement on her motel room dresser, the
daisies dancing in the draft from the air conditioner.

Frowning, Mulder moved forward to look at them, irked that someone
*else* was sending her flowers.

"No."

She grew agitated and chewed on her bottom lip, shaking her head.

"What's wrong, darlin'?" he said, knowing what was making *him* upset
about the flowers, but hardly thinking it was the same for her.

He wanted to be the one sending her flowers. Not anyone else.

His little nickname rolled right off her again. But she was getting
tired of the supposed initmacy behind it, the way he grinned and winked
at her whenever she rose an eyebrow at his darlin'.

"They're daisies."

His eyebrow rose. "Remind me not to ever send you daisies, huh?"

She sighed and dropped to the bed.

"It's just that. . .my father loved daisies. He used to give them to my
mother when he came home, and instead of traditional holly on Christmas,
we got daisies."

Mulder laughed. "Your father had a favorite flower?"

Scully glared at him. "Never mind. They just startled me. I'd been
thinking about him and then these come."

"Maybe the motel gave them to you complimentary."

She raised her own eyebrow, sliding her eyes around the cheesy,
low-budget room, then back to him.

"Right."

He shrugged. "Okay, maybe not."

"There's no card," she murmured, looking back over at them.

Mulder watched her for a moment, then felt he had to break the tension
and anxiety building in the room.

"Did you want me to send you flowers, Scully? 'Cause I certainly could
do that. I mean-"

She turned to glare at him.

He smiled. "Don't sweat it. If we see some strange creep hanging around,
I'll go beat him up."

"Mulder, you are not going to beat up anyone."

He wiggled his eyebrows at her and made one of those 'I'm a guy' kind of
faces, then stepped back to the connecting door.

"I'll let you sleep for a few hours, then we're going to the police
station."

Scully nodded, still looking at those daisies, as if she were trying to
understand their mysteries.

He shrugged and moved back into his own room, yearning for sleep.

~~~~
~~~~

Chapter Two

~~~~

And every ghost that calls upon us
Brings another measure in the mystery
--Dan Fogelberg, "Ghosts"

~~~~
Fall River Police Department
1:00 pm
~~~~

The detective from the Fall River Police Department herded them into an
interrogation room, apologizing at the lack of conference rooms
available.

He grabbed two coffees from another ploiceman, then a fistful of
creamers and sugars, and settled all onto the hard metal table with a
slight grin.

Scully immediately took him up on the offer, remembering her tortured
sleep and knowing that in an hour or so, she'd be ready to crash if she
didn't get some caffeine.

Mulder shook his head and the detective shrugged and fixed the remaining
one for himself.

He introduced himself to Scully. "I'm Dale Stover; met Mulder when we
were four. Our mothers did charity work together out of Martha's
Vineyard. But I'm sure Mulder hasn't told you any of that."

Mulder grimaced and pushed forward in his seat.

"Why don't you tell us about this case, Dale? In your own words, not
from the official reports."

Stover shrugged. "Well, there have been eight families murdered in the
last eight days. It's so sudden, that we looked for a long time at other
crimes where families were murdered to see if there was some kind of
pattern, but we couldn't find anything."

"This started eight days ago, spontaneously?" Scully said, frowning.

Serial killers like this had to have a start somewhere, but usually it
was next door neighbors or dogs down the street. Something close to
home, and not all at once.

Stover sipped at the hot liquid before him, then nodded slowly.

"It has me freaked. . .that's for sure. The whole set up is like those
ghost stories you tell as a kid, where the people get murdered with all
the doors and windows locked from the inside. The kind that make you sit
up at night listening for Jack the Ripper outside your door, sure that
your parents are already dead."

Mulder glanced over at Stover with amusement, then shook his head.

"You think it's ghosts?"

Stover gave a short bark of laughter. "No. But I think someone's preying
on these people's fears."

"How's that?"

"There were little notes or presents sent before the killing, in each
case. We didn't know this, didn't look for it until the woman who
survived told us what happened. You're not going to believe her story."

"What does she say happened?" Scully asked.

"Mandy Carlton says a little girl walked through the crack in their
doors with her stuffed bunny in one hand and an axe in the other."

Scully gaped at him and Mulder's brow rose threateningly high.

"What? Why wasn't this in the report?"

Stover looked at him carefully. "Because she's obviously in shock,
delusional. The doctors said so."

"That doesn't mean she's not telling the truth."

"A little girl? With a bunny?"

Scully quickly jumped in, relieving some of the building tension.

"Explain the notes and presents the families got."

Stover glanced to her and nodded.

"Well, each family received gifts. Antagonizing gifts that caused rifts
in the families. Flowers for the wife that weren't signed. Toys for the
children that were gruesome and dangerous. Even a lace teddy for one
man, who'd had three previous affairs, but was trying to work on
remaining faithful."

"So the killer sent them presents to cause tension? Maybe to heighten
the emotional distress and give himself a lift. . ." 

Mulder's rumination caused Stover's eyes to light up.

"Hey, that's good, Mulder. I hadn't thought of that. I was thinking
maybe he might have put little secrets in them, like the Trojan horse or
something. But that really didn't make sense because they usually threw
out the gifts."

Mulder frowned, then glanced to Scully.

"How did you find that the seven other families had received gifts?" she
asked.

"Well, we interviewed neighbors again, asking specifically about gifts.
Every time we hit something. The family would have fights about it, the
wife or husband would come talk to a neighbor. The kid would play with a
friend and word would spread."

Scully nodded and jotted that down.

Mulder surprised her by suddenly ending the conversation.

"Dale, if you woud give us directions to the crime scenes, we'd like to
head on over there right now."

Stover looked to Scully first, then shrugged and pulled paper and pen
from his jacket pocket.

Wordlessly, he handed over the hand written instructions, gazing at
Scully for a long moment, then sighing.

"Let me know if you find anything new."

Scully smiled and nodded, then walked out of the interrogation room,
Mulder following closely behind her.

~~~~

Fishers' Residence
1224 Old Oak Lane
Fall River
1:45 pm
~~~~

The Fishers place was large. . .and that was an understatement.

"What's that saying again, Scully? Money doesn't buy happiness?"

She nodded, looking impressed with the tiled front walk, the huge
fountain running through the inner courtyard of the home, and the
waterfall and river that hedged the front porch.

"This is crazy," she said, shaking her head at the extravegance.

"Come on, Scully. Surely it's every woman's dream to have a waterfall?"

She snorted and walked through the front door he held open, pushing away
the initial awe, and switching to the scientific mind and cold outlook.

The doorframe had been reinforced with two-by-fours to keep looters from
getting inside. The police had found the house locked tight when they
arrrived, and so they'd had to bust down the door in order to get
inside.

Mulder walked up the stairs slowly, his eyes more on Scully's back as
she headed for the kitchen, the site of the first body the police had
found.

It didn't keep him from noticing the gashes in the walls and steps,
where an axe had no doubt sunk deeply into the plaster and wood. Blood
and tissue mangled one spot on the handrail and Mulder carefully avoided
touching anything.

He could see where someone had been running upstairs, perhaps to try and
get to the children, when the axe-weilding killer had stood above and
slain the victim.

His footsteps echoed hollowly on the wood.

When he reached the children's bedrooms, Mulder felt an unusual
revulsion spread over him, but forced himself to open the first door.

Blood splattered in wide arcing patterns along the walls, as if some
child had been playing in the paint, and had spun around in circles to
let the color fly from the brush in random streams.

Mulder closed his eyes for a moment, regaining his composure, trying to
understand where his sudden squeamishness was coming from.

He'd seen worse than this. He had walked up countless staircases to be
confronted with senseless violence, and not once had he felt this
overwhelming sickness.

Mulder opened his eyes to the horror.

Large grooves in the wooden floors gave evidence to the hacking motion
of an axe, and the bloody handprints of a small child spoke of a brief
struggle to escape.

He sat down hard in a corner of the room, from where he could survey the
entire scene, could even picture the awfulness as it occurred. . .the
high pitched death screams of a little boy, the scramble backwards along
the floor, eyes darting from the blade of the axe to the door, panic
reacing up like a hand to cut off any more thought.

The door opened and Scully walked inside slowly, her own eyes darting to
the blood splattered walls and back to him.

"Mulder? I called you and you didn't answer."

He glanced up to her, head between his hands.

"Are you all right?" she said softly, moving closer to him.

Her concern was like a balm, and he nodded faintly, trying to push
himself back up.

She got to him just as he slid up the wall, and her small hand reached
up to touch his forehead.

"You seem a little flushed, Mulder."

"I'm okay now. It's just this room. . ."

She followed his eyes to the handprints, and when it registered what she
was loking at, he heard her gasp.

"They found the little boy hacked to death here, in this room," Mulder
said softly.

"The father was on the stairs, most of him anyway. He was trying to make
it up here, save his kids."

Mulder nodded.

She sighed. "The little girl almost made it."

Mulder shook his head, frowning. "How'd she get downstairs?"

"It looks like she was hiding, that's all I can figure. The killer made
it inside somehow, possibly from the upstairs, since the boy was killed
first, then the father, then the mother, and then the little girl."

"Okay, so she enters from-"

"She?" Scully raised her eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest.

Mulder looked over at her with a sudden smile. "The ghost girl with her
bunny."

"Mulder. . ."

"All right, all right. The killer enters from the upstairs, somehow.
Comes in straight to the little boy's room. He wasn't asleep, must have
been playing with his toys. Killer hears the father coming up the
stairs, goes out to chop him up too-"

Scully placed a hand on his arm, shaking her head. "Mulder. . .these
were people. Not vegetables."

He looked down at her, ashamed of his crude words and hapless
presentation.

"Yes. . .but it's already getting to me too much, Scully."

She took his hand in her smooth, warm one, and squeezed softly, looking
directly into his eyes.

"I found where the little girl was murdered," she said softly.

Mulder's eyes told her he didn't want to know, but he asked anyway.

"Where?"

"Right next to the mother, in the doorway between the living room and
the kitchen."

He swallowed painfully. "You mean, she probably saw her mother getting
murdered before the kiler turned on her?"

She nodded softly.

He felt sick. He really felt sick. This wasn't any good. 

"Let's go, Mulder. We can't do anything more here. We know what happened
here. Now we have to catch this guy."

She pushed him out of the little boy's room and to the stairs, keeping
her hand in his and her eyes on his back, knowing that this had affected
him much deeper than he liked to admit.
~~~~

~~~~
Watuppa Travel Lodge
9:33 pm
~~~~

Four autopsies in one day and still, there were more.

Another little family waiting, somewhere.

She hoped they would be in time to stop it, but she knew they wouldn't.
The killer would be there tonight, watching his victims through a
window, maybe, or sneaking in the open upstairs window because the
little girl forgot to close it.

The man would lick his lips and glance around the room, noting the
child's penchant for dark purple, the way her teddy bear looked ragged
and worn, while the white bunny her grandmother had gotten her was still
crisp and clean.

Favorites. That's what the man would see. Childhood favorites.

Scully closed her eyes and wished she was not seeing this, but it stuck
in her head like a broken record.

Presents sent, flowers in glass vases that upset-

Taking in a hard breath, Scully looked at once to the daisies in her
bedroom.

Flowers that upset, caused tension. . .screaming at Mulder this morning,
how awful to be reminded of her father's death, not understanding where
they could come from, his looks of disapproval.

She wondered if they'd been targetted.

It was a silly and irrational thought and she shook it from her mind.

Mulder rapped softly at her door, then entered when she met his greeting
with silence.

Unspoken tradition still standing, he came to her bed and pushed away
the sleeves of her suit jacket, then let it drop to the floor. 

She sank into the bed on her stomach, feeling the warmth steal over her
as his hands worked into her stiff muscles.

They spent the first twenty minutes in silence, Mulder respecting her
need to unwind, and Scully soaking in his need to give back.

She took nothing from him but this.

"They were all killed by blood loss."

She knew he noded, even though she couldn't see it, and felt his hands
tense along her back, then smooth with acceptance of her words.

"How long did they lie there?"

She licked her lips and closed her eyes. "The little girl laid there for
two hours. The father died immediately. Son too. The mother. . .she
might have been alive for an hour."

A tremor went through her body that he could feel, but he said nothing,
only imagined the looks of fright and despair passing between mother and
child as they died slowly, grimly, blood slick and bright before them.

"Their eyes were open, the little girl and the mother. They were
watching each other die," she said.

Mulder wished she hadn't told him, but he moved away from her shoulders
and sat there silently.

She turned over, now on her back, watching him and taking deep, steady
breaths.

"The medical examiner told me that in all seven of the other families,
one member watched another die."

Mulder blinked rapidly, telling himself that this case was no reason to
cry, trying to push himself past the gut wrenching pain of her face, and
of the story.

"This . . .this is awful, Mulder. I can't believe. . ."

He nodded and stood up, licking his lips in such a way that reminded her
of her vision earlier. She shivered and rubbed her arms briskly.

"I'm going to take a hot bath, then get ready for bed."

He nodded again. "When you're ready, come on over. I've been doing some
research."

She smiled and watched him leave the room, then slipped her shirt over
her head.

The motel room air raised goose bumps along her arms and stomach, and
she quickly moved into the bathroom to twist on the hot water. The taps
were cool to the touch, but warmed once the stream of water got going,
and she added bubble bath as an after thought.

She hadn't had a real bubble bath in a long long time.

Stripping out of her suit pants and underwear, Scully kept checking the
temperature, making sure it was perfect. When it was hot enough, she
slid down into the white foamy depths and let out a long breath as the
bubbles sheathed her skin.

It was like heaven: clouds and light and brilliance and rest. Eternal
rest.

She toed off the water and immediately, the soft strains of a familiar
song wafted to her through the open bathroom door.

It felt relaxing.

Mulder. 

She smiled. 

It had to be his doing. He knew she liked music with her bath, had 
perhaps turned on her clock radio while she'd been in here, wishing to
surprise her.

Sometimes he did things like that.

In Florida, on the drive back from their 'nice little trip' to the
forest, he had given her a plastic Betty Rubble figurine he had gotten
at a Kwik-Stop on the highway.

She had it in her carrying case still, secreted in the pocket and
reminding her of how good he could someitmes be.

The music hit a familiar chord and she strained to recognize the piece,
hearing faint bass growling, or maybe that was something else.

She sat up straight and still when she recognized the music, her skin
growing chilled and clammy.

Beyond the Sea.

He wouldn't. He wouldn't.

A sob left her throat and she jumped up from the tub, slipping on the
floor and knocking her head into the door frame as she tried to wrap a
towel around her body.

"Daddy," she whispered.

Reeling from the blow, she staggered away from the door, only to crash
into the sink, her lips going numb from the shock, and her fingers
slowly releasing the rough towel.

She collapsed as the blood trickled down her forehead.

~~~~

Mulder heard the dull crack from his motel room, and he stiffened,
listening for her reassuring 'I'm fine' to echo through the walls.

Silence, then a thud.

He jumped up, running headlong through the connecting doors with his
service weapon drawn, his eyes darting around the room.

She was in a crumpled heap on the threshold of the bathroom, a tiny line
of dark blood stained to her forehead.

He settled his Sig on the bedspread, carefully clicking the safety back
on, then crawled to her side, feeling confused.

"Scully?" he whispered, letting his eyes take in her body.

No other signs of trauma, except for a nasty bruise on her ankle. 

Apprehension crept in and he tucked the towel around her, then picked
her up gently, moving her to the bed.

Her eyes began to flicker when he laid her down, and she suddenly bolted
up, panicked and breathing fast.

"Scully. . ."

"The music. How could you?" she whispered.

He looked at her, bewildered.

"What music?"

The cut was forgotten, and she pushed up off the bed with a shake of her
head.

"The music that was just. . ."

She trailed off as her ears clued her in on the silence.

He was watching her intently.

"I'm *not* crazy," she said angrily.

He laughed. "Never said that, darlin'."

She glared at him, hesitating again at the nickname. "But you were
thinking it."

He shrugged. "Not seriously."

"I heard music, while I was taking a bath. I thought you. . .it was
Beyond the Sea."

His face blanched, then his eyes grew haggard.

"You thought I did that?"

She refused to look at him.

"You know I'd never hurt you like that, Scully."

She nodded and summoned the energy to look in his eyes.

"I know."

"You got daisies too."

She blinked, then found the subject he had so easily switched too.

"Yes. And. . .and. . .I think I saw him," she whispered, too humiliated
to look at him than anything else.

"Your father?"

She appreciated his openness now, of all times, the way he didn't judge
or jump to conclusions.

"Before you came over to tell me about the case, I thought I saw him, in
my apartment."

Mulder nodded. "Do you think your father's trying to warn you?"

Scully couldn't believe she was saying this, talking about this with
him. The one person who would blow this all out of context, and she had
told him.

"No. It's not friendly. It's *scaring* me," she said finally.

For a moment, neither of them moved or spoke.

Then Mulder slowly nodded and took her hand.

He didn't ask, simply pulled her up and moved her through the connecting
door and into his room.

She let him settle her on the extra bed, then stayed absolutely still as
he washed her face of the blood, his hands gentle and strong.

He left for a moment, then came back with her pajamas and her overnight
kit, giving them to her wordlessly.

Her towel was wrapped loosely around her breast, and she realized it
didn't cover or hide very much at all.

Instead of being embarassed, she was suddenly hyper-aware. Mulder's eyes
followed her to the bathroom, and she could almost feel his need to
touch her.

When she came back out, the bed had been turned down and Mulder was
already propped up in his own, watching the muted television and
flipping channels listlessly.

She ignored the extra bed and slipped to his side, sitting up against
the headboard.

Mulder turned to her in surprise.

"I don't think I'll be sleeping any time soon."

He nodded, seemingly nonchalant, but moved an arm around her and let her
fall to his chest, rubbing her skull with langerous strokes.

She closed her eyes and realized she had lied.

Sleep was quick in coming.

~~~~
~~~~

Chapter Three

~~~

"Death is here to keep us honest,
And constantly remind us we aren't free."
--Dan Fogelberg, "Ghosts"

~~~~
Watuppa Travel Lodge
Fall River, Mass.
11:34 pm
~~~~

For two days there was nothing, and it puzzled Mulder.

Granted, it was a good thing that no one else was getting massacred, but
the pattern had changed, indicating behavior that was *not* psychotic in
nature. Killers who were mentally unbalanced usually had repetitive
actions, behaviors that mimicked real life, or important rituals they
adhered to.

Long years of nothing, then eight days of death, and now, two days of
nothing.

More and more, his mind leaned toward the idea of a ghost.

Scully had talked numerous times to the surviving woman, Mandy Carlton,
wife and mother to the seventh victimized family, and although she was
weak and hard to hear, she insisted on the story she had originally told
the police.

He was inclined to believe her.

Scully was on edge, nerves frayed as little things kept reminding her of
her father. Mulder secretly wondered if the ghost was targetting her,
but he kept that observation to himself.

She could see it though. See the concern and fear in his eyes, the way
he herded close to her, never let her stay in the motel room alone for
too long, or glanced down at her as if deeply sorrowed.

The third night, after accepting a tiny ship in a bottle that had been
waiting for her outside Mulder's motel room door, Scully pushed open the
connecting doors and strode inside.

"What's your theory on this, Mulder?" she said, sweeping her hand to
gesture at the now drying daisies, the ship, the copy of "Moby Dick",
and the Navy medal that bore a strinking resemblance to the one her
father had been given.

He simply looked at her.

"This can't be the killer, Mulder. This started before we got here.
Those seven families all got gifts, every single member in the
household. You haven't gotten anything, neither has my mother."

He felt a strange tightening to his chest as she said it. She thougt of
him as *family*.

She was trying to deny her coonection to the case, even though the look
on her face told him she had already figured as much herself.

Mulder shook his head and pulled out a box from under the bed, his hands
shaking and causing the pieces inside to slide around.

Scully stopped breathing for an instant.

"I found Stratego under my pillow this morning."

"It was there when you woke up?" she said, coming to sit beside him on
the bed.

He nodded.

"I don't think it's my sister trying to communicate to me Scully. I
don't think it's your father trying to reach you either. This is too
cruel."

She glanced up to meet his eyes, but they were hooded and clouded with
memories.

"Have you gotten anything else?"

"Yeah. When I got out of the shower, my gun was on the floor, instead of
the dresser, where I had put it, and in its place was a copy of my
hypno-regression therapy. The one about Samantha."

Scully shivered, but she had more to add.

"I called my mother, to check on her I guess. She said that my father's
medal was missing. That made me start thinking, and I asked her to see
if she could find my old ship-in-the-bottle that my father and I built
when I was six. It was gone too."

"So. . .these gifts are just things from home?"

Scully shrugged. "I think so. Mulder, I wanted my mom to rent a motel
room, but she wouldn't. I don't like her being there alone, in a house
that someone has already sneaked inside and stolen things from."

"Scully, I don't think it's a someone. I think it's a ghost."

She peered up at him, then rolled her eyes.

"How else could it have gotten inside our locked motel rooms, placed a
board game beside my head while I slept. . .do everything else?"

"Murder 32 people with an axe?"

He shivered.

"There's got to be something about these dates, Scully. Eight days of
killing and now nothing. But. . .it looks as if he's preparing us."

She glared at him, then sighed.

"Whatever this killer is. . .I agree. He's going to start again, and
it'll be us this time."

~~~~

~~~~
Fall River Public Library
9:07 am
~~~~


The small library held town records from a hundred years, sometimes
more. 

Tucked away in a small corner, Mulder could smell old paper and musty
letters in the air. He held a book that hadn't been opened for fifty
years, it's worn cover and threadbare spine attesting to fifty years of
handling before being given up to the library.

He sighed and wished for microfilm, despite the seasick response it got
from him. This was taking forever, and he had no right to ask Scully to
help him, not when she didn't even believe what he was doing.

Hunting for a ghost.

There had to be some enormous calamity to befall this town, something to
make it the prime site for a haunting.

Haunting. Hunting. So similar in spelling, so alike in the actual
meaning too.

He was haunting a ghost, and the ghost was hunting them.

There were no gifts this morning, but Scully had reluctantly admitted to
him that as she had stepped from the shower, her gun had been lying on
top of her towel.

The weapon had been in her dresser drawer, bound in the holster, snapped
in place tightly.

It had him frightened, that this person knew where both their weapons
were and how to pick them up, handle them accurately.

Did the ghost know how to shoot?

He had to know if the axe was significant, or if the ghost would free
herself from ritual to use their guns against them.

His trilling cellular drew him abruptly from his reverie, and he pulled
it from his coat pocket.

"Mulder," he answered, glancing back down to the old book.

"It's me," came the familiar voice, soft and quick.

He smiled. "What's up, Scully?"

"I'm at the hospital with Mrs. Carlton. She's remembered something
else."

Mulder's hair prickled on the back of his neck, the book suddenly felt
very heavy in his hands.

"What's that?"

"She says that the girl she saw. . .well, the girl had on 'old clothes'.
Those were her words. Old clothes. She said like a dress and brooch, and
those black boots. She remembers in great detail the black boots, has
nightmares about them."

"Black boots?"

"With the small buttons running up the sides, Mulder. She said she
didn't realize it was the killer when she dreamed, because it was so out
of place."

"Old fashioned clothes, Scully? Is that what she means?"

A sigh, then he could positively feel her reluctance.

"She also said that the axe was already covered in blood. . .and her
clothes."

Mulder didn't know what to say. He could give her his theory again, but
she wouldn't be likely to counter it this time, only grow more
frustrated with him.

"Mulder. . .I don't believe in ghosts," she said, but her voice sounded
more like a wail.

He licked his lips. "I know. . .I believe enough for the both of us."

She seemed a bit more relieved at that and chuckled softly.

"How's Mrs. Carlton doing?"

Another sigh. "Not good. She's got an awful infection from those wounds.
Her fever is 105. Which makes me question the validity of her
statement."

He smiled slightly. Here was his old Scully, refusing to give in to his
ideas.

"Mulder, the Fall River Police-"

"Wait."

His breath hitched and he clutched his phone tightly.

"Mulder?"

"I can't believe I never even thought about it. . ."

"Mulder-"

"Lizzie Borden."

He could just see her frown wrinkling her forehead, her mind whirling to
take the jumps that he was.

"No. Mulder, that was over a hundred years ago."

"Yeah. They had black boots then, with those buttons. Old clothes."

"Mulder."

"Stay there, Scully. I'm coming over to talk to Mrs. Carlton."

She sighed, but agreed, and Mulder clicked off the phone.

Lizzie Borden. Born and raised in Fall River, Massachusetts.

Born and raised and chopped her parents to death. Supposedly. She was
found not guilty.

Lizzie Borden.

It made him cold all over.

~~~~

~~~~
Watuppa Memorial Hospital
10:00 am
~~~~

"Hey, Mrs. Carlton. How are you doing this morning?"

She looked back at him with glazed, feverish eyes, but her glance was
sharp and pointed.

"Not good. I don't really care at this point. My family's gone. . ."

Mulder looked back to Scully, then over at Dale Stover, wishing there
was something he could do.

"Would you tell me what you told Agent Scully?"

"Sure. That girl had on old clothes, like from the nineteenth century.
1800's you know? I didn't remember that before becauseI thought it was a
weird dream. I keep seeing those shoes, right next to my eyes, black and
shiny and smeared with blood. . .mine. . .Grant's. . .the kids."

She shivered and closed her eyes, trying to push away the memory.

"I don't want to think about it anymore. I just want to die."

Mulder felt himself choking on her sorrow, her grief, as if it were his
own.

Scully gave Mrs. Carlton a pat, and her doctor moved in to reassure her,
to give her some confidence or courage, but the woman would have none of
it.

She turned her head away from them and slipped back into her mind, away
from reality and back to her fanstasy word, where her children played in
the front yard and her husband, Grant, wrapped his arms around her
waist.

Mulder turned to Scully and they left, Dale trailing along behind them.

Lizzie Borden.

It was making some awful, horrible, strange sense.

~~~~

~~~~
McDonalds
Fall River, Mass.
11:09 am
~~~~

"We've been growing up with stories like that, Scully."

Dale's affectation of Muldder's last name thing had he smiling, shaking
her head as he grinned at her.

"So you believe me?" Mulder said, careful to keep the excitement out of
his voice. Dale had been his friend before Samantha was taken, and would
have been afterward, too, if Mulder had allowed himself to keep his
friends.

Then they'd moved and the friendship was only a memory.

"No. But it could be what the killer's trying to recreate."

"Wait. Why don't you fill me in on this legend?"

Mulder waited for her to look to him, but she continued to stare at
Dale, his *friend*.

He sneered and looked away.

Dalesmiled back at her, obviously enchanted, and leaned in closer.

"Well, they say that Lizze Borden killed her father and stepmother in
their home, in 1892, right here in town."

Scully's eyebrow went up and she pegged him with her classic, 'I'm not
buying this' look.

"She was put on trial, but so many people thought of her as a sweet
little girl, always willing to help out, be a volunteer for various
charities. . .they supported her. She was found not guilty."

"She was kept in jail eight days," Mulder added, trying to grab her
attenion.

She gave him a frown, and his frustration peaked.

"Mulder. . .this person isn't Lizzie Borden, out for revenge."

Dale smiled, but his lips downturned at Mulder's furious look.

Scully snatched one of his fries and chewed thoughtfully.

"But if this killer is fascinated by her story, then it gives us
somewhere to start."

She was trying to appease him, he could tell. Mulder ignored the ache
chewing him out, the incense he felt at her openly eyeing his friend.

Mulder sighed.

Who was he kidding?

She wasn't his wife, his girlfriend, or his property. Her advances on
men had never made him this uptight before, or this outraged. 

There'd been Ed and that tattoo, of course. But he'd been confused by
her attitude than hurt, and he now chalked that one up to her knowledge
about her cancer.

The vampire sheriff had embarassed her, he could tell, but Mulder had
been more amused than anything.

So why was this one making him nervous, cagey?

Maybe because he knew Dale was a good guy, a great guy. Because he knew
that Dale could give her the stability she needed, and not his own
emotional turbulence.

He sighed and stood up.

Scully glanced at him, frowning.

"Do you mind if I drive back to the library? You can catch a ride with
Dale and I could pick you up at the police station."

She almost looked abandoned, and he wondered why.

"I can drop you off wherever, Scully," Dale said, smiling at her.

She glanced over at him, then gave a false smile.

"All right."

<Don't say I never do nothin' for ya. . .darlin'>

He walked out of the McDonalds.

~~~~

~~~~
Watuppa Travel Lodge
5:45 pm
~~~~

The room was soft when he entered, and her light was on, but he ignored
its silent offer.

She would have to come over to him tonight, ask him for company.

He was tired of always going to her for strength, tired of trying to
crack through her veneer of professionalism, only to have it positively
melt whenever some hadnsome other man came waltzing in.

He didn't even realize he'd felt like this until he had arrived at the
library earlier. Mulder had spent four hours there, just trying to
rationalize his feelings and his fears.

But it all came back to one thing.

Scully was his.

No matter how possesive and male chauvinistic he sounded, that's how it
was.

She was his, and he was having a very hard time letting her go.

Every time she was weak, she hid, and every time she was hurting, she
pushed away from him.

By now, it should have been obvious to him, but he'd always tuned it
out.

She wasn't looking for anything from him. She was his partner. Nothing
more.

He would have to accept that. It was ridiculous, he watching her from
the corners of his eyes, waiting for the moment when all of it would be
right again.

They were stuck in this together, and while he was enjoying their time,
she was waiting for the pain to stop.

Mulder buried his head in his hands, wishing it weren't true, but
knowing that, on the whole, it was.

Sure, there were some times where she looked as if she was having fun,
but there were more times where she frowned, or lost someone, or died a
but inside.

He ought to quit being so selfish.

Mulder shook his head and laid back on the bed.

The sharp ripping down his back made sparks of intense pain leap across
his eyes, and he bolted up, muffling a scream.

Turning, feeling blood course down him, Mulder saw the blade, positioned
down deep in his rumpled covers, sticking straight up, shiny with his
blood.

He gaped, felt the floor spinning beneath him, looked down and saw it
crashing to meet him.

"Scully!" he yelled, and stumbled for the door, blood loss and shock
battling his body.

The pain was like fire licking his skin, and he abhored fire, feared it
with a kind of crazy intensity.

"Scully. . ." he moaned, and collapsed at the connecting door just as it
opened.

"Oh my God!"

He slipped into darkness as small hands firmly landed on his already
screaming back.

~~~~
~~~~

Chapter Four

~~~~
"Down the ancient corridors
And through the gates of time
Runs the ghosts of dreams
that we've left behind."
--Dan Folgelberg, "Ghosts"
~~~~

~~~~
Watuppa Travel Lodge
6:06 pm
~~~~

She fought the panic rising in her and reached for his bedside phone,
having to step over the prone body of her partner.

The blood was welling up like pretty gurgling streams, a sickening
contrast to the horror of it.

The axe glinted under the light and she shut down on the panic starting
in her.

The absence of a dial tone in her ear was an omen, and she rushed up and
through the doors to her phone, feeling small and helpless despite her
medical training.

Nothing.

No lines out.

She fumbled through her suit jacket for her cell phone, wasting precious
time with dialling 911, then hearing nothing.

Nothing. Not even static.

Frustrated, frightened, she grabbed the sheets off her bed and brought
them to where Mulder lay, wrapping them tightly around his chest.

He was still breathing, and she took great care in moving him, propping
his chest and head up with pillows. They were soon blood-soaked, just as
the carpet.

Scully unravelled the sheets, and took a longer look at his injuries. It
seemed that he had laid down on the axe in his bed. . .then sat up,
shredding the skin at the small of his back.

It wasn't too deep though. She just had to control the bleeding.

Wrapping the sheets around him tourniquet style, she tried not to let her
fingers shake, or her mind dwell on the blood seeping from his wound.

"Mulder?"

When he stayed pale, eyes closed, she rummaged around in his suit jacket
for his cell phone, wishing and praying for it to work.

Nothing again.

Fighting disgust and fear, Scully checked to make sure he wasn't moving,
then ran to the door, tugging on it hard.

It didn't budge.

She whimpered and used all of her body's weight to hang on the doorknob
as she twisted.

It was locked.

From the outside?

She ran to her own motel room, just in time to hear a deadly click as a
lock slid into place.

Panicked truly now, Scully jiggled her doorknob, pleading with the
person outside to let her out, to call for help.

"Please. . .unlock it. There's man bleeding to death in here. . ."

There was a faint crazy sound of laughter, and then nothing.

Her blood froze and she turned to the window, the long thick curtains
hanging in folds across the view outside.

She could feel it, as if the very presence of evil was just on the other
side, smiling, grinning, laughing at her and Mulder.

She felt alone.

Alone and incredibly vulnerable.

Slowly, as if Death waited on the other side, Scully lifted aside the
drapes, breath catching in her thraot.

A face pressed to the window, a girl grinning cruelly at her, eyes
locked into her stare.

Axe at one side, bunny in hand.

Scully stumbled away, panting for fear, tripping over the table beside
the window.

She ran for Mulder's side, begging him to wake up, even as she knew.

She knew.

They would be the next to die.

~~~~

~~~~
Fall River Police Department
6:15 pm
~~~~

Dale Stover walked through the halls with an impatient frown covering
his face.

He slammed his cell phone into his trenchcoat pocket, frustrated with
the woman's attitude.

All day, as he'd taken her around the city, Agent Scully had been a cold
fish with him, nodding politely, but not smiling or offering anything.

He had taken her down to see the graves of the Bordens, where they'd
been buried just over a hundred years prior, their children eventually
buried beside them.

Everyone in town tried not to play up the double homicide, and usually
forgot about it being this town, this place, where this couple had lost
their lives.

When they'd arrived at the tombstones, both had single red roses propped
against the cool marble, fresh and recently cut, their vibrant color
looking out of place among the long dead.

Now, as he tried her motel room for the fourth time, he wondered what
was going on between his old friend and Agent Scully. They seemed so in
synch, so tuned in to each other, that he could hardly beleive they
weren't together.

Mulder had told him they were simply partners, but he didn't believe it.

Still, he wanted to get to know this woman, Dana Scully, without the
trappings of agent and FBI. He wanted to get to know her as a friend.
And if it became more, well, he was a lucky guy.

Standing at his office desk now, Stover wondered where they hell they
were.

Neither answered their cell phones, the motel switchboard said they
weren't answering. . .

Surely they weren't making out on government time. . .

~~~~

~~~~
Watuppa Travel Lodge
6:45 pm
~~~~

It was a kiss of life.

Scully bent once more to breathe into Mulder's lungs, her tears sharp
and bitter against his lips, against her own tongue.

When she felt his heart catch under her hand, then the soft trickle of
breath start up, she slumped beside him in relief.

"Mulder. . .Mulder. We have to get out of here."

His head shifted a bit, and she kept him on his back, some part of her
hoping that the pain would intrude on his unconsciousness and wake him
up.

But, really, she needed him where she could make sure he was still
breathing.

His heart sped for a moment, then groggy eyes opened to meet hers.

He winced and made a noise of pain before she could even dare to hope.

"My back. . ." he whispered and closed his eyes again.

"Mulder. You need to stay awake for me."

She was faintly surprised at how calm she sounded, how in control her
mood projected at him.

She didn't wait for him to agree, merely pulled him up, off his bleeding
back and into her arms.

"Mulder, there's a girl with an axe-"

"Lizzie Borden. . .but why us?"

"Mulder, it's not Lizzie Borden. It's a girl; she's real. She's outside
our motel rooms right now. She's locked us in."

"Locked?"

Scully nodded, feeling the panic in her rise again.

"We need to break out one of the windows and try to escape, Mulder."

"You should try it, Scully. I can't hardly stand."

Scully shook her head. "I'm not leaving you. . ."

"You have to, Scully. Hand me my weapon. I don't think it will help
much-"

"Our guns are gone."

His breath hitched and he looked into her eyes. 

"Gone? She took them?"

"I don't know how-"

"I just had mine. I had it on when I came in the room."

"Well. . .I was in my room part of the time, trying to call an
ambulance. Maybe she came in-?"

"Scully. . .it's a ghost. . ."

She shook her head emphatically. "I saw her, Mulder. Just outside. Very
real."

"What's she doing now?"

"I don't know. . .waiting for us to come out maybe."

"Waiting? What's she planning?"

Scully's face paled and she darted for the window, carefully drawing
aside the curtains.

"She's gone."

Mulder tried to raise himself from his sitting position along the bed,
but she threw him a glare and he slumped back.

"Where'd she go?"

His eyes went wide.

"Dale."

Scully winced. "Dale?"

"She's gone for Dale. She thinks she's got us trapped, so she's going
for him."

"What does Dale have to do with us?" she said, frowning.

"You were with him all day. . ."

Scully dropped to her knees beside Mulder's shaking body, trying to ease
him back to the floor.

"We need to get out of here, Mulder. We'll call Dale from the hospital."

Scully moved to the drapes, then pulled them apart with a tug at the
off-white, stale smelling cord.

The girl's evil grin mocked her, her nose pressed to the glass, eyes
staring into Scully's soul.

She made a choked noise and hastily backed away from the window, jumping
when Mulder's hand latched around her ankle.

A can of gasoline was in the girl's hand, and she held a lighter with
the other.

Mulder idily wondered where her axe was.

Scully dropped to her knees, beside Mulder, her hand coming to her back
for a weapon that was not there, protective of him.

He watched in horror as the lighter flicked on, the flame bright and
deadly.

"Scully, run-" he choked out, as the lighter dropped to the ground
outside.

A wall of flame rose from the gasoline soaked shrubs, concealing the
girl.

It was eating through the walls like a hungry beast, hot breath and
deadly lick.

He gripped Scully's arm hard, not realizing what he was doing, and
hauled himself up.

"Scully, get out of here!" he screamed, and pushed her to the door.

She grimly held on to his arm, refusing to let him shove her aside.

"You're coming with me."

He shook his head even as he collapsed under weak legs and pulsing pain.

"Leave. . ." he whispered, even as he blacked out.

Better to not know death when it came.

~~~~

When Dale heard the report, he sprinted to his truck, leapt through
first and third gear like a racer, and sped down the choked rush hour
streets with his lights blazing.

Fire.

He knew Mulder hated fire. Hated it ever since he was tiny.

Dale's tires squealed as he parked in the lot, then he was on the ground
and running forward, realizing he had arrived before the fire trucks.

The high pitched whistle of a blade cutting through the air was his only
clue, and he ducked, managed to avoid the first blow.

He felt it graze his shoulder though, and bite into his muscle, the
blood suddenly thick and warm down his arm.

Dodging, Dale pulled his gun with his left hand, awkwardly running
across the pavement, twisting and dodging the blade.

He turned quickly, gun ready, and fired.

The blade slashed down and gutted him, ripping through his bowels like a
fish hook in a carp, and he spit up blood and horror, firing even as he
collapsed.

~~~~

Scully heard the gunshots, the scream of pain, the sickening silence.

She battered into the door harder, using her fear and fury to add
strength to her assault.

The door remained locked and secured.

Mulder was crumpled on the bed, where she had managed to catch him after
his fall.

Strangely, the axe was gone.

She looked at the wall of flame that danced before the window and licked
the frame, wondering if they could escape that way.

But she knew that if she broke the window, the air inside would suck the
fire into the motel room, catching her in its haste, burn her in a
painful death before she could even back away.

She could smell the burning plastic and wood, but it hadn't caught hold
of all of the walls, otherwise the place would have collapsed by now.

She wondered if part of the framework was fire retardant, or even fire
proof.

But she wasn't going to count on that.

What else was there? 

She battered again at the door, hearing a crack of wood and praying it
was not simply the fire getting through instead of her.

~~~~

Dale could hear sirens through his haze of pain and panic, and he told
himself -- only a bit longer.

Looking up from the rough pavement, he searched for the girl.

Nothing.

She was gone.

~~~~

Scully froze as she felt it behind her.

Her hair rose and she shivered, then felt the edge of a hard blade
against the small of her back.

"You never loved my father. . ."

Scully's tight intense fear bloomed inside her stomach like an atom
bomb, and she turned around slowly, eyes wide.

The girl stood before her, blade dangerously cloes to her belly now,
wavering there as if the axe was almost too heavy.

Scully shook her head.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The girl motioned for Scully to move, and she was forced back to
Mulder's side.

She could hear the fire raging outside the walls, slowly eating through.

"Please, let us go. He needs help. He's hurt."

The girl's face flickered.

"*You're* the one who hurt him!" she screamed, thrusting the axe
forward.

"No. No. There was an axe."

"You've hurt him. You never loved my father."

"Mulder isn't your father. . ."

"You kept lying to him. You kept telling him I was bad, getting me in
trouble."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" she said, rising almost.

A harsh flick of the blade brought it across her throat, and Scully sat
back down next to Mulder, holding one hand to her neck in stunned fear.

"Please. Just let him go, okay? Don't hurt him."

"You both deserve to die. He listened to you, he trusted you. He was
stupid enough to believe you. Not anymore. Not anymore."

"What's your name?"

"I'm your stepdaughter! Don't act stupid. I know who you are. You keep
lying to him, poisoning him against me!"

Scully's face washed in horror. "Lizzie?"

"What? I'm going to kill you both, show you how much you hurt me, how
much you made him hurt me."

"If you love him so much, why don't you let him go, Lizzie? Just let him
go."

Scully felt Mudler shift beside her and touched the top of his head with
her fingers, praying he remained unconscious long enough for her to
ensure his safety.

"I can't let him go. He listened to you. He was tricked by you."

"Just let him go. Let him get to safety. Please, please. . .I just don't
want him to die."

"You don't love him! Stop trying to confuse me!"

Scully could hear sirens and she morbidly decided that the roof would
crash down on them while she tried to outmanuveur the teenager raging
before her. . .and before the fire trucks could make it.

"You're wrong. I do love him. I just want him to be okay. Just let him
go."

The girl shook her head and lunged for them.

Scully felt the hands on her throat, the heavy weight of the axe as it
slipped from the girl's grip and snagged her thigh.

She struggled to get away, but Mulder's body was caught up in her
attempt, and she was trying not to hurt him as she choked and writhed.

The girl's face came within centimeters of hers.

"You never loved my father. Don't lie."

"I'm not lying. . ." she choked out, trying to breathe with the weight
of the hand on her neck and the girl pressing her into the matress.

Mulder seemed to be coming back around, his moans intruding into the
girl's concentration.

"What did you do to him?"

Scully shook her head, her hands busy searching for the axe, for
anything.

"You hurt him. . ."

"No, no. I didn't. He's my partner. I didn't hurt him."

"You always hurt him. He's my father, and you always have to hurt him."

"No," Scully gasped, feeling her head start to swim with the lack of
oxygen.

Mulder opened his eyes and saw her staring right at him, her face blue
and her lips a deep purple. Just as he returned to conscious, she faded
from it.

He sprang up, despite the ripping he could feel along his back, and then
shoved into the girl.

"Stop it!" she screamed.

Mulder lay collpased on top of Scully, his hands eagerly reaching for
her throat, to check her pulse.

She was breathing again, and soon she came around.

The girl looked at them, then slowly picked up her axe again.

Mulder didn't move. He didn't think he could. He stayed between Scully
and the murderous girl before them, shaking his head.

"Stop this. You can stop this," he said, wincing.

Scully sat up, then pulled Mulder back with her.

As she stumbled to the wall next to the dresser, she caught sight of a
dinner knife.

It was just under the bed, forgotten after a late night dinner.

She had to get to it.

Licking her lips, she propped Mulder against the wall, glancing to the
floor, then back to the girl.

But Mulder held her back, keeping her pinned to him with one strong
hand.

"I'm going to show you that you don't love her really. You really don't
love her."

She grunted as she swung the axe.

Mulder pushed them both to the floor, giving Scully the time to grab the
knife and tuck it into her grip.

The thunk of axe against the wall reminded her to start breathing again,
and she gasped in lungfuls of oxygen, needing to clear her head.

Mulder didn't know if he could get up again, but he felt Scully lunge
out and up, the knife flashing in her hand.

The blade caught the girl in the chin, and Scully yanked it free, felt
the axe blade swipe down her arm.

She teetered backward, blood slipping free of her skin and dripping to
the carpet.

The girl gurgled low in her throat, then dropped like a rock to the
floor, her blood pooling in a dark stain beneath her.

Mulder caught Scully before she could collapse, and she stiffened in his
arms.

"Fire," she whispered, and he glanced to the open door.

Flames lept along the air like fairies dancing under a full moon, but
this was bright and deadly and hypnotizing.

They crept low to the floor, breathing through their noses, over to the
door, the smoke thick and noxious above them.

Her arm was shaky and threatening to collapse.

He felt the heat sear his face and turned away.

"I can't do this," he whispered.

She took his hand and looked to the incredible walls of flame leaping
and dancing.

"We have to get out of here."

She stood and yanked him up with her.

Coughing immediately, he didn't feel her small hands go to his back,
didn't feel them carefully stay away from the blood.

All he felt was the sudden push, and then the fire on every side,
surrounding him.

She had pushed him into the flames.

He screamed at the pain.

~~~~
~~~~

Chapter Five

~~~~

"talkin alien invasion as the only chance for unity
well sorry to interrupt you caller
but that's a physical impossibility. . .
Don't sound so detached this is you and me."
"Emperor Penguin" The Tragically Hip

~~~~

She watched him disappear into the flames and choked back her own
feelings of sickened fear.

The fire was hot and scratchy along her eyes, like tiny cat claws as it
scaled a tree, poking and digging and making her bleed.

She knew she had to jump after Mulder, had to try and pass through the
rite of passage that had once been the motel room door, but her head was
starting to feel dimmed.

As if all the light had suddenly gone out.

It was dark and bright at the same time, too silent and roaring loud,
and then everything shifted and it was smoky and filling her with tears.

She moved to where the door had been and knocked her head sqaurely into
a wall, feeling the pain explode like fireworks behind her eyelids, hard
and sharp.

She whimpered and moved for the door again, a bit to the right.

The heat of the flames should guide her, should direct her to the place,
but it was smoke and it was more smoke and intense heat all inside her,
like the very air she breathed was fire.

She panicked and scrambled forward, screaming now for someone, anyone,
to pull her from hell.

Mulder, where was Mulder?

She could almost hear him whispering her name, calling her darlin', as
he had jokingly begun.

Oh. Oh, she had pushed him.

Oh God, had she pushed him through the door. . .or into an inferno?

Oh God, please, please, get me out of here.

She crawled forward and felt a breath of cooler air, like a sudden slap
of freedom to a prisoner convicted to the gas chamber.

And then a horrible groan issued from the bowels of the motel. She felt
the fire falling around her in waves, like snow and sleet, with the soft
ash and the hard sparks raining raining raining.

She was crushed.

~~~~

Mulder's eyes flickered once and then he found himself with the help of
the pain beating his body into submission.

"Scully. . ."

His voice came out cracked and hoarse, probably from screaming so
intensely as he'd passed through the fire.

He was safe, right?

Arms came around him and dragged him away from the motel's remains.

Remains.

"Scully!" 

He yelled her name like a man condemned and wrenched free of the
paramedics' grip, throwing his weight back and forth until he was
running, and running for the flames again.

Only Scully's own peril could make him encounter the fire again.

"Scully. . .Scully. . ."

He reached the edge and looked in, seeing the beams still burning, the
remains of the second floor room, which had been evacuated and almost
burned completely before falling in.

"Scully?"

He dodged the outstretched arms and lept back into the pile of hell and
ash, pleading with God for just one more chance.

One more chance.

An arm.

Pale and smeared with ash.

"Scully!"

He jerked away the burning board on top of her, pulling apart debris
even as it scalded his fingers and twisted his flesh.

She was encased in a fine layer of soot and he realized that she had
somehow crawled into the bedspread, protected herself.

He supported her head as best he could and scooped her into his arms,
then hunched over and tried to shield her as he turned around.

Now he had to make it back out of the trembling pieces, and hope that
the entire thing didn't fall in on them.

~~~~

She woke later to find his eyes on her.

He was sitting up, sitting proudly away from the back of the chair in a
blue hospital gown.

"Hey," he whispered and nudged her arm with his elbow.

"Can't touch," she whispered.

"Right. Hands hurt."

"Sorry," she said, feeling her throat constrict with the ache of it.

The fire had scorched her vocal cords and her trachea, but they were
slowly healing.

"I understand. You surprised me."

She nodded.

"Coulda warned me, darlin'."

She looked over at him again, frowning.

What was it with this new nickname of his? Darlin'? She was hardly that.

"Couldn't warn you. You'd have frozen up and gotten stuck in there."

He sighed. "Suppose so."

She wished he'd talk to her.

"I know you're afraid of fire."

He nodded. "You were supposed to follow after me."

She licked her painfully dry lips.

"Um. . ."

"I should have made you go first. . ."

She shrugged it off. "It's okay. I'll be fine."

He nodded and sat there for a moment, unsure of what to say.

She wished they'd really talk, but he was afraid of that too. Same as
her.

Talking led to ugly revelations. Those led to hurts and paiinfully
truths that just didn't need to be said.

"The girl. . .her name was Rebecca Borden. A relative of Lizzie Borden.
Her parents were found locked in their basement, both severely
dehydrated. Apparently she was trying to work up to killing them. They
said she had a fascination with history, and the stories of Lizzie
Borden. They thought it was only morbid curiosity."

Scully shivered. "So. . .no ghost."

"Guess not. Although, I think maybe the spirit of Lizzie Borden helped
her some. How could she have gotten into your apartment? She didn't know
about us until later."

Scully frowned. 

"The police confiscated some of her journals. She wrote that she felt
that Lizzie Borden's spirit had possessed her."

Scully shrugged. "Something possessed her."

"Dale. . .uh, Dale was found in the parking lot, Scully."

He frowned furiously and Scully felt her insides contract harshly.

"He died. . .the axe punctured a lung and ripped his stomach to shreds."

"Oh. . .I'm so sorry. . .Mulder."

She reached for his hand before thinking, then snatched it back, feeling
burned.

He rubbed a hand along his face grimly. "I think I'll stop letting
friends call me in on cases. They always seem to get killed."

He was thinking about Reggie, and the born again man who'd wanted to
hurt Mulder, wanted to kill all his friends. He was remembering his old
mentor, and the twisted dive into a psychopath's mind.

She wished there was some way to make him not feel so guilty, but she
had given up on trying long ago.

Mulder had run out of things to say now.

She closed her eyes.

"I'll let you sleep," he said and moved to go back to his own bed.

She grabbed for his sleeve, forgetting her hands.

Wincing, she shook her head. "Stay here."

He carefully laid her hand, palm-up, on the bed, stroking away the lines
of pain on her forehead with his thumb, just about the only thing that
wasn't covered in bandages.

"I'll stay."

She nodded in relief and he gently took her elbow in his cool hand,
running his fingertip along her skin.

She smiled.

"Just sleep Scully. I'm here."

Letting out a breath, she slipped away, knowing she was forgiven.

~~~~

She still had a thin light line at the top of her neck, where the girl's
axe had slit her throat, but it wasn't really noticeable. The doctor
promised it would fade.

She didn't really care so much.

She was alive. It was more than she had hope for, in the desperate
moments as the walls had crushed her down.

She remembered feeling them fall and rolling away, maybe. . .and feeling
the thick comforter at the floor, from her scuffle with the girl,
Rebecca Borden.

Mulder said he'd found her wrapped in it tightly, and she hadn't asked,
but she wondered.

He'd gone back inside?

Her arm was still painful to move, and her burns were kind of achey at
times, but she felt good.

Good to be living.

"What's that sigh for?" 

Scully looked down to where Mulder lay on his couch, his head propped up
so he could see her behind it.

"Nothing. Just thinking."

"Didn't I warn you about that?" he snorted.

She raised an eyebrow and stalked around the side of the couch to stand
in front of him.

Mulder gave his best innocent-me look and patted his couch.

"Come sit. Relax for once."

She surprised him by agreeing, and sat in the space provided, snug
against his waist as he still laid there.

His arm drew around her hips in a lazy embrace and he tugged on her
shirt.

"I still think it was partly a ghost. . ." he said, stubborn still.

She rolled her eyes and leaned down to look at him.

"You wish. Wasn't it bad enough, Mulder?"

He grunted and pulled on her waist, trying to knock her over.

She grinned and pulled back. "I don't wanna wrestle."

He gave a fake laugh and shook his head, then finally managed to make
her lay down.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" he said, his voice rumbling in his chest
like angry bees fleeing the hive.

She smiled and glanced up at him. "Guess not."

He nodded with pride and rubbed her back with a knuckle, trying to keep
from scraping his still raw hands.

Her palm lay flat on his chest, her fingers light and hesitant, as if
she still weren't sure what was going on, or what he wanted.

Slowly, as if she were a horse he had to keep from spooking, he tilted
his head down and pressed his lips into her hairline.

She sighed and settled against him.

Just as he thought it was best to stop, to wait until she'd gotten used
to this, Scully pressed a quick kiss to his chest, her nose rubbing his
shirt.

Placing a hand posessively on her back, Mulder closed his eyes.

He was going to do this right, do this slow and sure.

Glancing to the clock, he noticed it was about one in the morning.

"Night, darlin'," he whispered, grinning.

She snorted against his chest and they both began to laugh.

~~~~

end all
adios
RM