Title:   Dreamcatcher 
Author:  dtg
Rating:  R
Category: case file, sequel to Tabula Rasa
Keywords: xfile, msr, amnesia fic, MT, ST
Archive: Just let me know so I can visit
Author's Notes: at the end
Disclaimer: The characters you recognize belong
to Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox. The rest are mine.
No copyright infringement is intended.

* * * 

Dreamcatcher by dtg





Prologue


Cold moonlight turned the snow to diamonds
and the shadows to midnight blue velvet. It
squeaked under the tires, and then beneath two
pairs of feet; the first pair stumbling before
the second, driven by the threat of what would
happen when they stopped. Across a frozen lake,
into the woods beyond, wrists bound behind her
back, no longer pleading for a life that was
already lost.

One mind paralyzed with terror, but clinging to
faces and voices that were fading too soon; the
other, filled with images of what was to come:
of things planned and hoped for and sometimes
obtained, but always at a terrible price.

Justice, exacted without mercy or hesitation.
Pain drawn out for the pleasure of it. Tears
that would never be enough.

A few more steps.

Stop.

Here.

Now.



Chapter 1

November 3rd, 3:30 pm


Their tiny 50-seat jet had lifted off from
Dulles into a china blue sky, and landed in the
middle of a Pittsburgh ice storm that closed
the airport for three hours. The final leg of
the flight was an even tinier turboprop that
lurched through thirty minutes of rough air to
Bradford Regional Airport where it deposited
its passengers, sans jetway, into a mini
blizzard.

Inside the compact terminal building, there
were four boarding gates, a snack bar and a
single car rental counter tended by a woman in
a bright yellow uniform.

Scully tried with limited success to revive her
frozen fingers as she watched Mulder charm the
rental agent out of a car they hadn't reserved
and a map with door-to-door directions that she
drew for him,heedless of the line forming
behind him. It was a talent that Scully had
always suspected came with the long-lashed
hazel eyes, as natural as breathing. The woman
was still smiling when he walked away.

Mulder reached for Scully's bag. "I'll go get
the car and warm it up." He looked pointedly at
her bluish fingertips.

She was too damn cold to take offense. "I'll
find some coffee."

She had her hands wrapped around a pair of
steaming plastic mugs when he reappeared,
dusted with snow, ruddy cheeked as a child. He
took one from her, and she felt half of her
fingers chill immediately.

"They let me park right out front," he informed
her with a touch of wonder.

When they stepped outside, the wind stung her
eyes and whipped icy flakes against her cheeks.
By the time she settled inside the warm car,
her nose was running and the heated air blowing
in her face felt like fire. She turned it down
a bit and unfolded the annotated map. "Turn
left onto the highway."

Mulder started the car moving cautiously,
testing the brakes on the snowy surface before
heading out onto the main road. He nodded at
the map in her hands. "She was very obliging."

Scully gave him an arch look over the map. "I
kept expecting her glasses to steam up. You
might want to dial it back a few notches if you
don't want them following you home."

He looked pleased. "You think?"

This was the way it had been between them since
the meeting this morning, determinedly casual
and focused on the moment. Mulder had already
been in Skinner's office when she'd arrived,
just in time to catch the last few words of a
conversation that had immediately changed
gears. Mulder's smile had said he welcomed her
company on this case. He wanted her to feel at
ease.

She was doing her best. It would be easier if
she weren't so acutely aware of all that was
missing.

The rear tires slipped a bit on a patch of ice,
and Scully's left foot reached reflexively for
an imaginary brake pedal on her side of the
car. Mulder noticed, and dropped his speed
another five miles an hour.

"It's not as slippery as it looks." He gave her
knee a reassuring pat.

She reached over and flipped on the radio, a
little irked at being patronized, however
kindly. Fiddling with the tuner, she slid
through the stations in search of something
soothing. When she paused too long on a country
western tune, Mulder made a face.

"No Patsy Cline, please."

Something evil made her ask, "What makes you
think you aren't a huge Patsy Cline fan?"

"Call it a feeling."

He waggled his eyebrows at her, and she bit
back a gasp. It happened all the time now,
these flashes of the past that he evoked with a
gesture or a phrase. She was getting quite good  
at hiding her reactions.

She moved the dial again and stopped on a
weather report. More snow was predicted for the
next twenty-four hours. "How do you feel about
getting snowed in?" A neutral topic, if ever
there was one.

"We should have rented a Jeep." He leaned
forward to peer up at the steel gray sky. "Or a
dog sled."

There was so much about him that was achingly
familiar, and so much that still surprised her.
He was Mulder, but not. The razor sharp mind
was there, and the lethal wit, but he seemed to
wield both with a different hand. She felt off
balance. Unsettled. Unreal. He used to tell her
that she was his link to reality. His human
credential, in his more philosophic moments.

Somehow, she had never considered that he might
be hers.

When they reached the outskirts of Warren a
short time later, it was like driving into a
Norman Rockwell painting. The main road into
town was lined with huge Victorian homes on
spacious lots. Soft, fat snowflakes drifted down
onto gingerbread roofs and dusted manicured
shrubs. Everything was pristine white and
postcard pretty.

"What are we looking for?" Mulder prompted,
eyes on the passing street signs.

She read the rental agent's note. "The corner
of Market and Main."

"There's Market Street." Mulder waved at the
sign as they sailed right past. He glanced
quickly over his shoulder to check the sparse
traffic and swung the Taurus into a 180 degree
turn. "You don't suppose there's a law against
U-turns in this--Shit."

Scully glanced at the side mirror in time to
see the police car pull in behind them. Mulder
pulled to the curb and stopped, eyes on the
rearview mirror. Scully turned in her seat to
watch the officer get out of his car and stroll
toward them.

"Afternoon, folks." He leaned down to peer into
the car. "May I see your license and
registration, please?" He touched two fingers
to the brim of his trooper hat and smiled at
them.

Scully opened the glove box and fished out the
rental agreement while Mulder dug for his
wallet. The officer glanced at the documents
and handed them back. "You folks lost?"

"We missed a turn," Mulder laid his wallet
on the seat between them and pulled out his
badge. "We have an appointment with Sheriff
Kessler." He showed the badge, and Scully
followed suit.

The officer nodded, still smiling. "Thought so.
You can follow me. I'll show you the way." He
tapped his brim again and headed back to his
patrol car at the same leisurely pace.

Mulder tucked his badge and wallet in their
respective pockets, waiting for the patrol car
to pull out. "I think we could have found it
from here." He pointed to the left, just past
the corner, and Scully saw the sign. Warren
County Sheriff.

Aside from the commercial-type glass double
doors, the building's exterior blended
perfectly with its residential neighbors. The
gold-lettered white sign out front was all that
set it apart. Even the parking lot out back was
tastefully situated behind a six-foot hedge.

Mulder followed her gaze as they walked onto
the wide front porch. "Sorta like walking into
a Christmas card."

"Except for the bodies they keep stumbling
across." It was Mulder's brand of humor, but
instead of chuckling, he looked mildly shocked.
Scully ducked past him and nearly bumped into a
uniformed man standing just inside the door.

"I'm Sheriff Kessler. You must be Agents Mulder
and Scully." The sheriff was as tall as Mulder
but probably outweighed him by fifty pounds.
His demeanor, unlike the cheery deputy, was all
business.

Mulder introduced himself and Scully, and they
shook hands all around. She was pleased to note
that the sheriff didn't seem to gentle his grip
for her smaller hand.

"I've got everything set up in the conference
room, if you'll come with me." Mulder answered
with a 'lead the way' gesture, and the sheriff
headed off down the hall. "I'm afraid there's
no spare office for you to use, so I had a
phone set up in here." He stopped in front of a
door and pushed it open, then stepped back to
wait for them.

The room was empty but for couple of long oak
tables pushed together and a 4x6 foot free-
standing whiteboard covered with notes and
photographs. An old-style black desk phone and
a stack of legal pads sat side-by-side in the
middle of the makeshift conference table.

Scully crossed to the whiteboard and began
looking over the collected documents. "Is this
everything?"

"I have some files on my desk. Be right back."
He left.

Mulder shrugged out of his coat and dropped it
on the table. "Anything there that wasn't in
the case file?" He walked over to join her at
the board.

"I don't remember this one." She tapped a
glossy eight by ten image and Mulder leaned in
to study it.

"That's Marcy Brackston." The sheriff was back
with an armful of files. "Ranger found her body
this morning, less than a mile from where the
last two were found."

He dropped the stack on the table and pulled up
a chair. "Have a seat," he waved at the two
remaining chairs, heavy library-style and
functional. "I'll run through what we've got so
far." He started dividing the stack into three
piles.

It took him a moment to realize no one was
joining him at the table. "Or, would you rather
do this alone." He stopped dealing out folders.

Mulder's expression morphed into a professional
smile. He sat down in the chair opposite the
sheriff. "Not at all. Please," he gestured for
the man to continue.

Kessler dealt out the rest of the files. "It's
only been a week since the previous murder, so
we're thinking that this guy is escalating." He
shot a glance in Mulder's direction and
received an approving nod. "Marcy was
number seven. Same M.O."

"She was from the same graduating class as the
others?" Scully asked, leafing through the file
on Jameson, Sara L. Victim number four. The
case file she'd read on the plane had mentioned
the high school link.

"Yes, but we're wondering if that's not a red
herring. We've only got the one high school, so
pretty much everyone who grew up here attended
it. There's a Catholic school in Bradford. None
of these women went there. They have other
factors in common that could also be just a
matter of geography. They lived in the same
part of town, all had children and husbands,
and none of them worked outside the home. And
they all knew each other. Saw each other pretty
regularly. At church. Shopping. Socially. And
they knew their killer."

Scully looked up. "What makes you say that?"
She had seen nothing in the file to indicate a
personal connection. The women were taken from
different locations: three from home, one from
a shopping mall, and the others most likely
pulled over in their cars on the way to
somewhere. "It could have been someone with a
weapon."

"Strangers stick out in this town. People
remember them." He nodded at the two of them.
"You folks haven't been here more than a few
minutes, but I'm betting there are at least a
dozen people who already know about it."

Scully could think of several arguments against
that line of reasoning, but let it pass for the
moment. "Then any strangers in the area have
been interviewed?"

"We've got the National Forest, brings in a lot
of tourists in the summer. And the hunting's a
big draw in the fall. This time of year, it's
pretty much just permanent residents. So yeah,
it didn't take long to check out all the
transients."

"And you have a prison nearby," Mulder
commented.

"Maximum security, over in Bradford. No
escapees in twenty years."

"What about group homes in the area? For
parolees?" Scully asked.

The sheriff gave her a patient look. "Maximum
security as in, anyone who makes it to the end
of their sentence is too old for this
particular kind of crime."

"Which part, Sheriff? The rape or the murder?"
She leveled her gaze and her voice.

The sheriff appeared to receive the message
loud and clear. He flushed slightly and squared
his shoulders. "Both."

Mulder cleared his throat and they both turned
to look at him. "Did you write the profile?"

"We've got a psychologist on the payroll part
time, but mostly for evaluating employees. Up
'til recently, our homicide rate was less than
two a year, and those were bar fights and
domestic situations."

"Michael Hobart," Mulder took a stab at deciphering
the signature on the profile. "I'd like to speak with him."

"Right. I'll have Linda put in a call." He stood
up and headed for the door. "You folks want
some coffee? Heat's been on in here all
morning. It's not gonna get any warmer." He
glanced at Scully who was blowing on her
fingers.

She dropped her hands, and Mulder smiled. "That
would be great. Thanks."

Scully noticed that Mulder had at some point
shed his coat and suit jacket, and rolled his
sleeves up to his elbows. She was still
freezing in her coat. "You think the profile
has merit?"

He shrugged. "There's a local flavor to it, now
that I've talked to the sheriff. I wondered."
He shrugged again. "It's worth a closer look,
but I need to hear from the profiler." He
started a new stack with the file in his hands
and picked up the next. "I don't see the
autopsy reports."

"You're sure they've been done?" She didn't
realize until the words were out that the
sheriff was standing in the door.

"He's part time, too, but we do have a
pathologist," Kessler commented dryly as he
came into the room. "We kept them separate
because of the video recordings. You'll have to
watch them in the media room upstairs. It's
even colder up there."

Scully stood up, removed her coat and folded it
neatly over the back of her chair. "I'd like to
see them now, if that's all right."

Mulder ducked his head, but not before Scully
caught the beginning of a smile. The sheriff's
expression was impassive. "Of course. I'll set
it up, if you'll come with me?" He turned and
left.

Scully glanced back at the top of Mulder's
head, and followed.

* * *

Some minutes later, Mulder was reading the high
school transcript of victim number five when
footsteps in the doorway made him glance up. A
woman of about thirty, medium height, slender
build, short brown hair, came toward him with a
steaming coffee mug. Mulder reached for it
gratefully.

"Thanks. Agent Scully's gone to the media room,
and I know she would be very happy to see you,
if you don't mind making the trip."

The woman stopped in her tracks, eyebrows
rising until they disappeared under her thick
bangs. "Well, that's nice to hear, but I'm not
giving you my coffee."

He dropped his hand and stood up so quickly
that the chair tipped over. The noise it made
brought the sheriff back into the room with his
hand on his holster. "Everything okay in here?"

Mulder could feel the heat in his face. The
woman was chuckling merrily. "It's okay, Will.
Agent Mulder here was just introducing
himself." She put down the coffee mug and
extended her hand to Mulder. "I'm Michael
Hobart. You asked to see me?"

Mulder shook the woman's hand. "It's a
pleasure, Ms. Hobart. You wrote the profile."

"Just Michael is fine. And I'm anxious to hear
what you think. Your reputation precedes you."

Sheriff Kessler chuckled. "The name fools
everyone. Sorry, I should have said something."
He turned back to the door. "I'll just leave
you two to get acquainted." He gave Mulder a
vaguely disturbing wink and left.

Mulder reached down and picked up his chair. It
gave him something to do with his hands, but
bending over renewed the flush in his cheeks.

Michael Hobart pulled out Scully's chair and
sat down. "I'm used to it, Agent Mulder. Please
don't be embarrassed."

He sat down and looked at her. "And you enjoy
it just a bit, don't you?"

She smiled, and they sized each other up for a
moment. Mulder picked up the profile. "You've
made some interesting assumptions about this
man. I'd like to hear your reasoning." Back to
comfortable ground.

Michael Hobart's wide brown eyes regarded him
levelly. "Defend it, you mean."

"No, I mean I'd like to hear your reasoning."
He settled back in his chair and folded his
hands on his stomach.

She gave him a long look. "Where would you like
me to start?"

"Start with why you think the victims knew
their killer."

"Because no one who grew up in this town would
let a stranger get close enough to do what this
guy did. After the first murder, it would have
been even more unlikely that an unfamiliar face
could go unnoticed in any public place."

"People make mistakes. Maybe this is a very
charming stranger."

Michael shook her head. "I might accept that
with the first victim, but not the rest. Not
after word got out."

Mulder nodded. "The sheriff agrees with you."

"Will is a very perceptive man." There was a
genuine fondness in her tone. "He's half the
reason I got into this profiling business. Gave
me my first consulting job, too."

"He must have been pleased with the outcome."

She looked surprised. "I caught the killer. Why
wouldn't he be?"

The woman had gone from earnest to arrogant in
the space of a heartbeat. Mulder was familiar
with both attitudes, but not in such quick
succession. "Overconfidence can be a handicap,
or so I've been told."

She laughed out loud. "Not if you can back it
up."

* * *

Upstairs, Scully had heard a noise that sounded
like furniture getting knocked over, and she'd
gotten halfway to the stairs before she heard
the laughter. Whatever Mulder was doing down
there, he had a friendly audience. She returned
to her seat and hit the rewind button for a few
seconds.

The sheriff was right. It was so cold in here
that her fingers were going numb, and she was
only halfway through the first autopsy video.
It was an amazingly good quality tape. Coupled
with the extensive typewritten notes, it was as
good as attending in person. Well, almost. She
had always been a tactile person, and getting
her hands into things got her mind in gear.

At the moment, however, the thought of sinking
her hands into a cold corpse made her shiver.
When this tape was finished, she would ask the
sheriff if she could take the rest to the
hotel.

A little less than ten minutes later, she set
out to find the sheriff. He was in his office,
on the telephone. She caught his eye, then
waited in the hall for him to complete his
call. It sounded personal, so she took a few
steps away. Laughter drifted down the hall from
the conference room. Mulder and a woman.
Eyebrows rising, she took a few steps in toward
the sound.

"Agent Scully? You wanted to see me?" The
sheriff poked his head out of his office,
eyebrows raised in question.

She told him what she needed, and he was very
accommodating, even to having one of his
deputies take the box of tapes and a video
player out to the rental car. Scully thanked him
and went to find Mulder.

She obviously walked in on the end of a very
amusing story. A young woman was sitting with
her back to the door. Mulder was looking at her
wearing a very appreciative grin. It took him a
few seconds to notice that Scully had come into
the room. When he saw her, he stood up and his
chair fell backward with a familiar clatter.

"Hey, Scully. This is Michael Hobart. She wrote
the profile."

The woman stood and turned to face Scully.
"It's a pleasure, Agent Scully."

"We've been discussing her conclusions, and I
think we've got a lead. She grew up with the
victims." He was giving the woman a look that
said she'd impressed him, which impressed
Scully even more.

She shook the woman's hand and gave her a
speculative look. Attractive, in an outdoorsy
way. Short thick hair. No make-up, or very
little. Intelligent brown eyes that seemed to
gravitate to Mulder.

She smiled at Scully. "I just told Agent
Mulder that I'd like to take you both to
dinner. We don't have a lot of choices in town,
but there's a great place about an hour from
here that will give you a little local flavor."

Mulder quickly added, "It's on the other side
of the Allegheny Forest, and we could take a
side trip to the crime scene."

Scully turned her speculative look on him.
"It's a little dark to see much."

"I thought it would be helpful to see it the
way the killer did. The bodies were dumped at
night," Michael Hobart offered.

Scully's hot bath receded into the distance.
"That could be worth the trip," she agreed.

"Great!" The woman clapped her hands together.
"I'll go call for reservations."

Mulder rolled down his sleeves and grabbed his
jacket. "You must be starved, too. I called to
make sure our rooms are being held." He pulled
on his coat. "You don't mind going to dinner,
do you?"

It was a little late to ask that question. "I
did want to review the rest of the tapes
tonight, but it can wait."

He looked relieved. "Good, good. Well, let's
get going." And he was out the door.

He was holding the door for Michael Hobart when
Scully walked into the lobby. He let it close
behind him without a backward glance.

Scully paused for just a beat, then gave it a
brisk shove and followed them out into the
gathering dusk.


* * *


Chapter 2

Chapman State Park
Clarendon, PA
8:40 pm


Marcy Brackston's last moments on earth had not
been spent where her body was found. The huge
quantity of blood that must have resulted from
her wounds was shed elsewhere. Someone who
didn't want his vehicle sullied with gore had
wrapped her in a black plastic tarp and driven
past scores of anonymous dump sites to leave
her here, just inside the park's main entrance.

Shivering in the icy wind, Mulder and Michael
Hobart continued the debate that had begun over
dinner. Scully made a quick, but thorough, tour
of the site and retreated to the warmth of Ms.
Hobart's Jeep Cherokee to wait them out. The
most recent victim's autopsy had yet to be
performed, and Scully intended to handle it
herself. Until then, there was little she could
contribute to the discussion, especially when
they seemed intent on holding it in the teeth
of a thirty-knot gale.

She had actually considered joining them, if
only to prove she wasn't sulking, but it made
no sense to risk frostbite proving a point to
someone who had no idea he'd done anything
wrong.

Closing the door in her face at the sheriff's
office had not been deliberate. He wasn't even
aware she was behind him, just as he had no
clue that Michael Hobart found more than his
profile intriguing. Mulder's intensity could be
blinding, and Scully almost felt sorry for the
woman , knowing that she would soon discover
its focus was the case rather than her.

Almost.

The not-so-subtle difference this time was that
his single-mindedness seemed to have rendered
Scully invisible as well, and that had never
happened before.

She watched them through the windshield, the
woman talking with her hands even more than
Mulder.  After a particularly animated 
exchange, he turned and walked back to the
Jeep. The woman stood there for a moment, hands
now stilled and planted on her hips, before she
followed him.

Mulder hopped into the backseat and rolled his
eyes. "And they call me obsessive."

Scully pressed her lips together around a
smile. "You are. Having a difference of opinion
with your consultant?"

"You could say that."

The driver's door opened, letting in a blast of
cold air. Michael smiled apologetically. "I
didn't mean to keep you two out so late. I lose
all track of time when I'm involved in a case
like this." She glanced at Mulder in the rear
view mirror, adding a conspiratorial wink.
"We'll be back at the office in twenty minutes.
I know a short cut." She began to back out,
then paused. "Or I could just drive you to the
hotel. It would save some time, and I could
pick you up in the morning."

"I have some tapes in the trunk that I need to
look over tonight," Scully answered, "but
thanks."

The woman glanced again in the mirror, perhaps
expecting a different answer from the backseat.
When none was forthcoming, she shrugged. "Sure.
No problem."

Scully didn't know how 'short' it was, but the
route they took back to the sheriff's office
was certainly off the beaten path. Instead of
leaving by the front entrance, the way they'd
come, she took them deeper into the park, and
out the other side.

"One of the few advantages of growing up out
here. Plenty of experience with back roads."
That prompted another exchange in the rear view
mirror, but Michael seemed disappointed by the
response. She spent the rest of the drive with
her eyes exclusively on the road.

* * *

Holiday Inn
Warren, PA
9:48 pm

Their rental was icy cold, and the ten-minute
drive to the hotel wasn't nearly enough to warm
it up. It seemed that the environment was bent
on keeping Scully on the brink of hypothermia
with a permanently dripping nose. She didn't
even bat an eye when Mulder volunteered to haul
in their bags, the carton of videotapes and the
VCR.

The first order of business was to turn up the
heat in her room. The second was to call room
service for a pot of coffee, timed to arrive at
the door when she was finished with a long, hot
shower.

Scully stood under the steaming but too-gentle
spray until the shivers stopped and the mirror
was dripping condensation, then dried off with
a rough towel and climbed into flannel pajamas.
When she came out of the bathroom, she found
that Mulder had set up the VCR for her and cued
up the first tape. He'd also let in the room
service person and arranged her coffee and mug
on the nightstand next to the VCR remote. She
smiled at the connecting door and sat down on
the bed.

It felt like the first time she'd been warm
since they left D.C., and the sheer sleepy
pleasure made the thought of viewing autopsy
tapes a lot less appealing than curling up with
a good book. A cup of coffee would help. She
poured one, spiked it with sugar and took it
out onto the small balcony overlooking the
atrium pool. The scent of heated, over-
chlorinated water drifted up to her second
floor perch, strong enough to sting her nose,
and she quickly retreated inside.

Mulder was standing in the connecting doorway,
looking apologetic. "Scully, I just got a call
from the sheriff. They found another body."

She set her coffee down on the dresser. "Where
we just were?"

"In the park, yes, but four miles into the
woods. Near the southern perimeter. It looks
like this victim may have been the first, just
better hidden than the rest." He eyed her comfy
attire. "There's no point in both of us going
to the scene. You've got tapes to review for
tomorrow. And I'm still dressed."

She was nodding before he finished the thought.
"Make sure the sheriff knows that I'll be doing
both autopsies in the morning. And find out
where they'll be." She picked up her coffee and
settled in on the bed, timing her parting shot
to arrive when the door was nearly shut. "And
tell Ms. Hobart I said hello."

* * *

Forestry service road #29
Clarendon, PA
10:50 pm

Michael Hobart had been waiting for him in
front of the sheriff's department. "Will asked
me to chauffer you up to the crime scene. It's
a little remote."

Remote turned out to be an understatement. What
little sense of direction Mulder possessed gave
up after the third winding turn on the dirt
trail that Michael referred to as Forestry Road
#29.

"Who found the body, and what were they doing
out here?"

Michael swerved to avoid a pothole that would
have cost the Taurus an axle. "This road
divides the park from private property. Mark
Laskey owns it, and he was out looking for his
best hunting dog. She's in heat and I guess she
wandered off in search of romance."

"And he was afraid she might find it out here?"

Michael chuckled. "Wolves, Agent Mulder. Lots
of them. She's a very expensive dog."

They rounded a curve and found emergency
vehicles lining both sides of the road. Michael
parked behind a fire department rescue squad
rig with its rear door standing open.

"I'd say that's the crime scene." She indicated
a cluster of flashlights off to the right, some
twenty yards inside the woods. They got out and
started walking. "This isn't the park side.
It's Mark Laskey's property."

Mulder looked back at the dirt road, which had
identical stands of trees on either side. "I
don't see how the killer could have known he
wasn't still in the park." He stopped and
looked at Michael. "How do you?"

Michael tossed him a patient look but kept
moving. "Before I switched to psychology, I was
a forestry major. I worked out here. Now come
on, before they remove the body. I'll tell you
my life story over a drink when we're done."

Sheriff Kessler was crouching next to a covered
form on the ground. He got to his feet as they
approached, dusting his hands on his thighs.

"Not much left to look at." He bent down and
picked up a corner of the black plastic sheet.
"The local wildlife found her long before we
did."

Mulder squatted next to the body and pushed the
sheet back to the victim's waist, shining his
flashlight on the denuded bone of the right arm
and shoulder. "Gnaw marks?"

Michael crouched on the other side. "Looks like
wolves." She touched the marks with gloved
fingers, probing gingerly at the bits of flesh
and muscle clinging to the joint. "It's been
cold enough to slow decomposition, but I'd put
the time of death at least a month ago."

Mulder shone his light on the victim's face. "I
take it this isn't a local resident. There was
no mention of a missing person."

The face had somehow avoided predation, but it
definitely bore the characteristic slash at
each corner of the mouth. The features would
still be recognizable by anyone who knew her.

Michael shook her head. "She's not from around
here. Will?"

The sheriff crouched next to Michael. "Nope.
And her outfit's definitely not local. I'd say
Jamestown, maybe even Pittsburgh. Looks like
she was dressed up to go clubbing someplace a
lot fancier than she'd find around here." He
got wearily to his feet once more. "We were
waiting for you, but I'd really like to get her
taken care of. She's been out here long 
enough."

"I'll just need a few minutes," Mulder told him
as he pulled the rest of the sheet away.
Whatever had been feasting on the body seemed
to have favored the long bones of the legs. As
his stomach did a slow roll, he wished 
fervently that he hadn't talked Scully into
staying at the hotel.

Two men with a gurney stood a few feet away
looking wearily patient. Mulder gave them a
thumbs-up and got to his feet. "All yours." He
stepped back, directly into someone who grunted
in disgust before Mulder could apologize.

"You people done with me, too? I'd like to get
home sometime before the sun comes up."

Mulder turned to find himself eye to eye with a
man holding the leash of a sleek spaniel dog.
"You must be Mark Laskey." Mulder held out his
hand, and the man shook it briefly and without
the faintest hint of warmth.

"Yeah, and you must be the guy from the FBI."

"Lighten up, Mark. You called us out here,
remember?" Michael Hobart stepped between the
two men and crouched down to ruffle the dog's
ears. The dog obviously loved it.

"I called the sheriff to let him know about the
body. I didn't invite a full scale invasion."
He waved at the assemblage of vehicles and
personnel tromping this section of his land to
a muddy mess.

"We'll be out of here shortly, Mr. Laskey, but
I'm afraid you'll have visitors in and out for
a few more days, gathering evidence. If you
have a few minutes, you can at least get my
questions out of the way." Mulder offered.

"My dog found the body. I found the dog. I
don't know the woman and I haven't been out to
this part of my land since last spring. 
Anything else?"

Mulder eyed the man for a moment. He was
roughly Mulder's height, weight and age,
interestingly enough. With at attitude that
could be righteous indignation, guilt-inspired
bluster, or plain bad manners. "For a man whose
land abuts the dumping site of a serial killer,
you don't seem very concerned with seeing him
caught." He was probing for a reaction, and he
got one, but not from Laskey.

Michael Hobart chuckled and stood up, giving
the dog a final scratch on the muzzle. "Agent
Mulder, Mark Laskey is an officer of the court.
He's our local prosecuting attorney."

The two men were toe to toe. "I can assure you,
Agent Mulder, I'm extremely interested in
seeing this man caught. My job depends on it,
actually, so I wish you'd direct your focus
where it belongs." He turned to Michael. "You
know where to find me." He turned and walked
straight into the woods with his dog at his
heel.

Mulder gave Michael a narrow look. "You might
have shared that bit of information a little
earlier."

She was still chuckling. "You didn't warn me
that you were going to accuse the county
prosecutor of serial murder on his own land."

Mulder waved toward the woods where Laskey had
disappeared. "Where is he going?"

"His house is about half a mile from here, on
the other side of that stand of trees. I'd say
he's going home."

Will Kessler came back from following the body
to the van, and Mulder remembered the question
Scully wanted him to ask. "Agent Scully would
like to perform the autopsies on the two most
recent victims. Where will they be?"

"Warren County Hospital, just across the river
from downtown. You can't miss it. There's a
helicopter landing pad right out front."
Kessler yawned widely. "We're gonna clear out
now. You two can hang here as long as you like,
but the lights are going with us." He headed
back to the road.

Mulder looked around and realized that most of
the crowd had dissipated. And he was slowly
freezing where he stood. "I'm ready any time
you are," he said to Michael Hobart.

She hooked her elbow around his. "You look like
a man who could use a drink, and I know just
the place."

"I could use a drink, but the only place I'm
going is back to the hotel." He didn't pull his
arm away, though the urge to do so nearly
overcame good manners.

"No problem. I understand they have a bar,
too."

* * *

11:34 am

Scully hit the button on the final tape and
finished her notes as it rewound. Overall, the
medical examiner's work was impeccable, and she
intended to ask him to assist with the 
autopsies she would be performing in the
morning. He could provide valuable insight, but
Scully had experience on her side, particularly
with the type of mutilation the victims all
exhibited.

The Mostow case had been on her mind from the
first time she'd seen the facial cuts, and it
was a memory she was glad Mulder didn't share.
His approach to profiling was much less 
personal now, and it was better for her sanity
as well as his.

The tapes had provided one surprise, and that
was in a particular type of marking each victim
had somewhere on her body. The cuts that made
them were more like scratches. A spider web
design, finely drawn with the tip of a thin
bladed knife, or possibly a scalpel, and not
deep enough to bleed for more than a moment or
two. The medical examiner had mentioned them
and had taken close up videos of each one, but
only in passing. Scully devoted an entire page
of notes to what they might signify, but she
needed more information. The pattern was
familiar somehow, but she couldn't place it.

The tape stopped humming and the machine shut
off automatically, ejecting the tape. Scully
closed her laptop and got up from the bed,
feeling the fatigue in her bones. She extracted
the tape and added it to the box along with the
case notes, glancing at the clock as she did.

Mulder should have been back by now. She was
sure she would have heard him come in, but
walked over to knock on the connecting door,
just in case. There was no response, and she
picked up her cell phone before good sense made
her put it down. Instead, she picked up the
coffee carafe and jiggled it. There was enough
left for a nightcap. She unscrewed the cap and
poured it into her cup, then took it out onto
the balcony and settled into the plastic chair.

With the lights out in the atrium, and the
chlorine smell somewhat dissipated, it was
actually quite restful . Water circulating in
the pool pumps had an oddly familiar, 
comforting sound that it took her a few moments
to place.

Mulder's aquarium. That's what it reminded her
of. The watery green glow from the underwater
light of the atrium pool added to the pleasing
illusion, and it made her smile.

* * *
Holiday Inn
Tootsie's Bar & Grill
12:14 am Tuesday

Tootsie's was situated just off the lobby of
the Holiday Inn, behind a grandiose padded red
vinyl door decorated with brass studs. Mulder
decided that the door must be left over from a
previous decor since the interior was pure
country and western, right down to the longhorn
steer head on the wall above the bar. There was
a pool table at one end, wooden booths along
three walls, and a small dance floor in front
of the jukebox.

The bar was empty except for an older couple
sitting in a corner booth. Mulder and Michael
Hobart sat at the bar, sipping cinnamon brandy
the bartender was pushing. It would chase the
chill, he promised. It did.

At first, they talked about the case. Michael
was eager to resume the debate they'd started
at the first crime scene. Mulder said that the
latest body found outside the park proved that
they needed to look at a larger pool of 
potential suspects, including residents of
larger towns nearby or anyone passing through
on a regular basis, like truck drivers or
traveling salesmen.

Michael was just as certain that they would be
wasting valuable time if they didn't focus on
local people. Much as it pained her, she said,
all evidence pointed to someone these women
trusted implicitly. That in itself presented
some frightening possibilities, not the least
of which was that it might be someone in law
enforcement, or the clergy.

"I'm not disagreeing with you," Mulder told
her. "I'm just saying that you can't safely
omit strangers from the pool of potential
suspects." He was frankly tired of the subject
and way past ready to move on.

Michael must have heard the irritation in his
voice. She offered a rueful smile. "Will tells
me I've got all the subtlety of a chain saw.
You have to tell me when I start to get on your
nerves."

"The sheriff seems to think quite a lot of
you." Mulder took another long sip of the
cinnamon-y brandy and felt the warmth spread to
his fingertips. He had agreed to one drink.
This was number three, and he was feeling
generous and sleepy.

Michael's eyes turned soft at the mention of
Will Kessler. "He was my father's best friend
for thirty years. I guess I'm sort of the
daughter he never had." She sipped her own
drink. Number four, if Mulder's count was
accurate. "The feeling is mutual."

Mulder noted the past tense. "Your father has
passed away?"

She nodded. "He had a stroke last spring. I
moved back here to take care of him. He died
June 12th, and I stayed on to handle his
estate. That's when Will offered me the 
consulting position with the department. He
also recommended me to the Jamestown Police.
I'm part time there, too. The pay isn't great,
but I don't really need the money."

"Was your father with the sheriff's department?"

"Thirty-two years. He was the sheriff himself
for ten of them." She smiled at the memory. "I
was the typical sheriff's kid in school, always
the first to get in trouble, trying to prove I
was like everyone else. It was usually Will who
bailed me out, sometimes literally. Probably to
keep my dad from skinning me alive."

Mulder could feel the buzz from his drinks.
"And despite your best efforts, you wound up
working for the good guys."

Michael chuckled and drained her glass. "So it
would seem." She squinted at her watch. "We
have an early start tomorrow. I should let you
get to bed."

"One more question."

Michael turned her stool to look at him. "Fire
away."

"If this last body was really the first victim,
it means the other victims' connection to one
another is really a matter of coincidence."

She considered that for a moment. "Or it could
mean that the first victim was practice. Or she
has a connection we don't know about."

Mulder gave her an appraising look, and an
appreciative smile. "You sound like my 
partner."

Michael gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I'll take
that as a compliment." She stood up and pulled
on her coat. "Do you need a hand getting back
to your room? I get the impression that you
don't normally drink."

Mulder got to his feet and swayed a bit before
he found his balance. "No on both counts, but
thanks for the offer. Will you be attending the
autopsies tomorrow?"

She shuddered visibly. "Poking at the bodies is
one thing. Watching them dismantled is quite
another. No, I'll get my information from the
notes." She hooked their arms together for the
second time. "Come on, I'll walk you to the
elevator."

* * *

Scully finished her coffee, feeling relaxed and
sleepy and ready for bed. She stood up and had
her hand on the sliding door handle when she
heard Mulder's voice. It took her a moment to
place the source.

She approached the railing and looked down.

Mulder was walking toward the bank of elevators
with Michael Hobart's arm hooked through his.
Scully recognized the slightly loopy smile on
his face and knew immediately that he'd been
drinking, though he certainly didn't appear to
require Ms. Hobart's steadying hand.

She watched them walk to the elevator and saw
Mulder push the button, too stunned to think
that they might look up and see her standing
there. After a moment, the elevator dinged its
arrival, and Michael Hobart resumed her walk to
the exit. Mulder held the door for a moment,
watching her go. Then he walked into the car
and let the door close behind him.

Scully watched until the woman opened the exit
and left the building before she went back into
her room.

* * *

Chapter 3


Warren County Sheriff
Tuesday, Nov. 4th
8:10 am

Will Kessler came through the side entrance 
stomping snow from his shoes onto the polished 
hardwood floor. "Where the hell's the mat?"

Linda Mercer planted both hands on her hips and 
frowned darkly. "Jack has them in the basement 
drying in front of the furnace. He did, 
however, leave one outside the door you just 
came in."

"Yeah, I walked over it on my way in." She 
rolled her eyes as he took off his coat and 
hung it on one of the brass hooks next to the 
door. There were already four other jackets 
there, and two black trench coats. He tapped 
the nearer one, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Agents Mulder and Scully have been here for an 
hour. They asked to see you as soon as you got 
in... whenever that might be." She nodded 
toward the conference room.

"Do I have time for a cup of coffee?" 

Linda held out his mug, filled and ready. "I'm 
way ahead of you."

"You always are." Will accepted the mug and 
winked at her, angling for a smile.

He got another eye roll instead, and a small 
snort. "By the way, Jessie won't be in. He said 
he's on his way to the doctor, and he'll call 
you in awhile."

Jessie Kendall was the most relentlessly 
cheerful man Will had ever known, and he was 
never sick. "Did he say what was wrong?"

Linda shrugged. "He just said he needed to see 
the doctor. I didn't ask for details." 

Will nodded and headed for the conference room. 

"Oh, and Michael wants you to call her. She 
left a message on voice mail."

"She'll just have to wait 'til I find out what 
the FBI wants," he told her without slowing 
down.

He found them faced off, arms crossed, in front 
of the photograph array. "Morning, agents. 
Linda said you wanted to see me."

They looked mildly startled, especially Agent 
Scully. Will had the distinct impression that 
he'd interrupted something. "Should I come back 
later?"

"Not at all," she responded quickly. She sat 
down at the table and gestured for the sheriff 
to join her.

Will took the chair across from her, and Agent 
Mulder sat at her side. 

"Sheriff, I found something in the autopsy 
tapes and wondered if the coroner had mentioned 
it to you. There's only one photograph," she 
slid a 5x7 across the desk, "but the same 
pattern appears on all of the victims."

Will turned the photo around, glancing up at 
Scully. "This is a close up?" He could see 
nothing but skin around the mark. It was 
impossible to tell what part of the body he was 
looking at.

"Yes, of the third victim's lower back."

"Third victim *found*," Mulder clarified. "We 
won't be certain until Scully does the autopsy, 
but we believe the woman you found last night 
was the first victim. Michael thought the time 
of death looked to be about a month ago."

That earned him a sideways glance from his 
partner. Will watched the by-play, wondering if 
the 'discussion' he'd interrupted had been 
entirely congenial.

"Of course, Scully will verify that," Mulder 
added.

Will turned to Scully. "I sort of expected you 
to hop on that first thing this morning."

She returned his gaze levelly. "The coroner 
won't be ready for me until 9am. I thought the 
time would be better spent here. Do you 
recognize the marking?"

He looked back down at the photograph. "Like 
you said, it looks like a spider web. Mac did 
mention it-- that's Ellis McKenzie, the 
coroner-- but he didn't know what it was, 
either." He stood up. "If that's all, I've got 
some phone messages to return."

Agent Scully checked at her watch and stood 
also. "Thank you for your time, Sheriff. If you 
happen to remember anything about the marking, 
I'd appreciate a call."

"Sure thing. Will you stop back here after 
you're finished with the autopsies?"

Scully nodded. "It won't be until mid-
afternoon."

Will looked at Mulder. "Find anything 
interesting at the crime scene last night, 
Agent Mulder?"

"You mean, aside from the fact that the body 
was found by the prosecutor in his own front 
yard?"

That drew a look from Scully that told Will she 
was hearing this for the first time. "Yeah, 
Mark told me you two met. I gather you found 
him as annoying as we all do."

Mulder smiled slightly. "I imagine he's been 
run through the usual elimination process, 
despite his position?"

Will tamped down a flash of irritation. "He's 
been eliminated as a suspect."

"You've verified his whereabouts even for this 
last body? We don't yet know the date of her 
death," Mulder pointed out.

While Will was formulating a less hostile reply 
than the one that had jumped to mind, Agent 
Scully cut in. "I didn't see him mentioned in 
the case notes. Perhaps if you could let us see 
the transcript of his interview, it would 
help."

Will gripped the back of his chair with both 
hands and did a mental ten-count. "It wasn't a 
formal interview, Agents. I've known the man 
since he was in grade school, and he was only 
questioned about what he might have seen. You 
can't tell me that you seriously consider him a 
suspect."

The agents exchanged a glance. Mulder answered, 
"You said it yourself, Sheriff. The man is not 
likely to be a stranger and may well be someone 
in a position of trust. Everyone is a suspect 
at this point, including Mark Laskey."

It took effort, but Will Kessler nodded. "I'll 
have him stop by this afternoon."

The tension in the room eased, and Mulder 
started to gather up the files they'd spread 
over the table. "We'll stop back after the 
autopsies." He met Will's direct gaze. "I know 
this is difficult for you, Sheriff. We 
appreciate your cooperation."

"Since I'm probably on your interview list, 
too, you might as well call me 'Will'." He 
turned and headed for the door. "Just let me 
know when you want to talk with my deputies. 
I've got one out sick today, but the rest can 
be here whenever you want," he called over his 
shoulder, and received an acknowledging nod 
from Agent Mulder.

Linda held up a pink message slip when he 
passed her desk on his way to his office. He 
snagged it without comment.

"It's from Michael. She's very anxious to talk 
to you, from the sound of it," she volunteered.

"I'll call her after I talk to Mark Laskey. Get 
him on the phone for me, please." He had a 
pretty damn good idea what Michael wanted, and 
he didn't have time to indulge her right now. 
Besides, she wasn't going to like the answer. 

Will sank into his chair and closed his eyes. 

* * *

Warren Community Hospital
Autopsy Room #2
10:30 am


Seeing his partner with Jane Doe's body gave a 
whole new meaning to the words 'up to your 
elbows in work'. It was, quite literally, where 
Scully was at the moment, creating squishy wet 
sounds that drove his attention back to the 
case notes in self-defense.

This latest victim brought the toll to seven 
over a period of five weeks and had earned 
Warren top billing on the network news this 
morning. It was a hell of a way to get the town 
on the map. Along with the spotlight would come 
a whole lot of heat to get this guy before he 
killed again. It was anybody's guess just how 
much time he was going to give them to do it.

The graduating class of 1990 had consisted of 
118 students, a little more than half of them 
female. Mulder's growing list of intended 
interviews included every woman from that class 
who still lived in the area. It was the most 
obvious link among the victims, and following 
it would consume time they couldn't spare. 

"Did you doze off over there?" Scully's raised 
voice snapped his head up from the file. She 
was peering at him over the top of her mask.

Mulder put down the folder. "Sorry, I was 
thinking."

"So I gathered. I asked if you knew how Michael 
Hobart managed to guess the time of death so 
accurately."

He stood up and came over to the table. "She 
was right?" The surprise in his voice was 
genuine. He'd mentioned the woman's comment to 
Scully, but never considered it seriously. It 
was too great a reach for the perfunctory exam 
they'd been able to do in the field in the 
dark.

"Close enough to be impressive. Before the 
ambient temperature dropped low enough to kill 
them, there were insects developing in the 
body. About two weeks worth of activity, as a 
matter of fact." She pulled the body cavity 
flaps back and pointed with gloved fingers. "I 
checked on the weather when I was working 
through the autopsy tapes, and it's been sub-
freezing here for twelve days."

Mulder looked long enough to see what she was 
talking about, one hand over his mouth and 
nose, then stepped back. "Lucky guess?"

An eyebrow rose into the surgical cap above it. 
"A lucky guess that made no sense given the 
known facts at the time?"

He shrugged. "I thought she was just showing 
off."

"For your benefit." Quiet disapproval, clearly 
expressed.

"For my benefit."

Pause. "Then, I think you need to find out how 
she did it."

It took him a moment to pick up on her 
implication. "You're not suggesting that she 
had some inside information."

Scully regarded him levelly. "I think you need 
to ask her."

He was half-listening, half replaying the rest 
of last night's conversation in his head. 
Michael had said something else--

"Earth to Mulder."

"Wolves."

"Excuse me?"

"Wolves. She said that before she switched to 
psych, she'd majored in forestry. She worked in 
the park. She could have based her guess on the 
amount of damage done by the wolves, not the 
insects." He felt oddly relieved by this 
conclusion. 

Scully, apparently, was not. "There are too 
many variables, Mulder, an unknown number of 
predators being the most obvious. You need to 
ask her now, before we include her in any more 
case discussions."

He suppressed a weary sigh. "I'll get her phone 
number from the sheriff." He dug his cell from 
his pocket as he headed for the door.

"You don't have it?"

The emphatically casual tone turned him around 
to find Scully focused intently on the body 
before her. When he didn't respond, she looked 
up, and he met her gaze solidly. "No. I don't."

She studied his face a moment longer, then 
nodded. "I'll be another few hours finishing up 
here. Go work." 

A heaviness he hadn't realized was there seemed 
to lift as she turned back to her task. 

"On my way." He gave her a little salute on his 
way out the door and saw her eyes crinkle in a 
smile.


* * *

Miller's Restaurant
Tionesta, PA
10:15 am


Ellis McKenzie took a bite of bacon and chewed 
thoughtfully for a moment. "For the profiler, 
sure. Not being familiar with our little inbred 
circle might put him at a disadvantage. But the 
pathologist? I don't see it."

Michael put down her coffee. "Would she have 
been able to correlate the level of predation 
on the body to an elapsed time the way I did? I 
doubt you'd find an applicable study in any 
text or journal. You have to know the area for 
that."

"True, but an FBI pathologist is going to know 
a lot more than I do about everything else. And 
for the local wildlife, I've got you. That's 
why I asked you to join us this morning." He 
waved at their surroundings. "But instead, 
we're having breakfast in the next town."

Michael leaned forward, resting her arms 
alongside her untouched plate. "I had dinner 
with them last night, Mac. My impression is 
that she doesn't like me. I doubt she'd be very 
happy to see me in your autopsy bay." 

He quirked an eyebrow at that. "Since when has 
anyone's opinion stopped you from doing what 
you wanted?"

She leaned back and picked up her fork, probing 
gingerly at a mound of scrambled eggs. "I have 
a confession."

"I'm all ears."

She looked up at him. "There's a personal side 
that I don't quite know how to handle. Agent 
Mulder and I went for drinks after we left the 
crime scene."

Both eyebrows went up. "I don't think I have to 
tell you how ill-advised this sounds."

"I know, Mac. I know. But he's a nice guy and 
he needed someone to talk to. I just don't want 
it to affect the case, and I think that means I 
need to avoid his partner."

He raised both hands in mock horror. "Please! 
No details. The last thing I need when I meet 
them for the first time is this soap opera 
running through my head." He looked at his 
watch. "In fact, I need to get moving if I want 
to attend the second autopsy." He stood and 
pulled on his jacket. "You're still welcome to 
come with me, but it's your call."

Michael smiled and shook her head. "Let me know 
how it goes, Mac."

"Sure thing."

She watched him go to the register and pay the 
bill. He said something to the cashier that 
made her laugh. Michael looked at her watch and 
sat back in the booth to finish her breakfast.

* * *

Warren County Sheriff
10:30 am

Mulder's call to the sheriff went unanswered. 

"I haven't seen him since you left," Linda 
Marshall told him. "He's been in his office on 
the phone the whole time."

"Just tell him I'm on my way to see him." 

Kessler was still on the phone when Mulder got 
there. From the booming tone of his voice, 
someone named Kendall was getting his or her 
ass chewed royally. 

The door was jerked open a moment after the 
yelling stopped, and Kessler poked his head 
out. He nodded curtly to Mulder, then turned to 
Linda. "Send somebody over to talk to Jessie in 
person. He won't tell me what the hell's up, 
and I want to know. See if Lenny has time." 
Back to Mulder. "We're having a strange morning 
here, Agent. What brings you back so soon?" He 
stepped into his office, motioning for Mulder 
to follow.

Mulder took a seat in front of Kessler's desk 
without removing his coat. "I need to get in 
touch with Michael Hobart."

The sheriff stopped halfway into his chair and 
gave Mulder a decidedly odd look. "Well, that's 
an interesting coincidence. She's on her way 
here to see me." He settled into his chair and 
folded his hands on his belly. "What's on your 
mind?"

"Several things. I want to start interviewing 
this morning, and I'd like to start with the 
surviving members of the victims' graduating 
class who live in the area. Can you help me 
arrange that?" 

"Sure. The list is already compiled. I can have 
Linda start calling them right away. Do you 
want them to come in or...?"

"I'd prefer to see them in their homes, if 
possible."

He picked up the phone and relayed Mulder's 
request to his assistant. "What else?"

"While the interviews are being set up, I'd 
like to see your deputies." Knowing this was a 
sensitive subject, Mulder kept his voice even 
and as non-threatening as possible.

Kessler nodded. "Already got them alerted. 
They'll come back whenever you say the word."

Mulder smiled his appreciation. "Now, if you 
don't mind. I'll need about fifteen minutes 
with each one."

"I can arrange that. You want to use my 
office?" The sheriff's expression remained 
cordial, but there might have been just a hint 
of sarcasm at the end.

"The conference room will be fine."

Kessler picked up the phone and paused with the 
receiver to his ear. Mulder took the cue and 
stood up. "I'll be in the conference room."

Kessler nodded and punched in a number. "Please 
close the door behind you."

Linda gave Mulder a sympathetic smile when he 
walked out of the sheriff's office. "He's had a 
lot of inquiries from the national media this 
morning, among other things. Will doesn't like 
the spotlight."

Mulder returned her smile. "That makes two of 
us."

"Do you want me to just start sending the guys 
in to see you? It shouldn't take long to round 
them up."

"That would be great, thanks."

Forty minutes later, Mulder looked up from the 
notes of his fourth interview to find a 
familiar face in the doorway. 

"Thought you might need a caffeine break."

"You mean that cup's really for me this time?" 

Michael Hobart smiled. "I'm not interrupting?"

"Not at all. A break sounds good." He waved her 
in and accepted the cup she offered.

She took the seat next to him. "Will said you 
wanted to talk to me?"

Mulder sipped carefully from the steaming mug. 
"I wasn't ready for you quite yet, but sure. 
I'll make the time if you can do it now."

Michael watched him over the rim of her cup, 
her eyes twinkling with some unshared joke. "No 
place I'd rather be."

* * *

Chapter 4


Warren Community Hospital
Autopsy Room #2
11:20 am


Scully sutured the incision and sent Jane Doe's 
body back to the morgue minus the usual tissue and 
fluid samples, stomach contents and fingernail 
scrapings. She had no expectation that any new 
information would be forthcoming. Serial killers 
usually maintained a specific pattern, but this 
one was obsessed with perfection, right 
down to the length of the facial lacerations. 
It told her he did not work in the dark, and 
that he took great pains to avoid revealing 
anything more about himself than that. 

The only real difference among the victims had
been the semen traces. Jane Doe was only the second
victim to test positive. The rulings of sexual assault
in the other victims had been based on physical trauma 
and the clothing that had been removed. This new sample would be 
compared to the first, but Scully expected no surprises. 

No additional surprises, she corrected herself. 
Michael Hobart's amazing guess at the victim's time 
of death certainly qualified as one. If Mulder had 
quoted the woman correctly, she had accurately 
assessed-- by way of a cursory examination in 
the dark-- that Jane Doe was the first victim, 
and that her death had taken place 
approximately five weeks ago. That fact alone
made Scully want to know more. A lot more.

"Dr. Scully?"

She was expecting the attendant with Marcy 
Brackston's body, but she turned to find a 
middle-aged man in street clothes leaning in 
the door. "Yes, can I help you?"

He grinned and came toward her, hand 
outstretched. "I'm Ellis McKenzie. Glad to see 
you started without me.

She shook his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet 
you. I spent most of last night reading your 
notes. Excellent work, doctor." She meant it.

"Not what you expected from a simple country 
doctor, eh?" he teased. "Thanks. That's high 
praise, coming from the FBI."

The squeak of rubber wheels outside the door 
was followed by a discreet knock. 

McKenzie turned back to the door and pulled it 
open. "Come on in, Jerry. We're ready for you."

So that was his name. He'd come and gone so 
quickly earlier that she hadn't had a chance to
ask.

He met McKenzie's eyes with a wide smile.  "I 
saw you come in, Doc. Did Michael ever get hold 
of you? She left messages all over the place." 
He wheeled the gurney into the room and over to 
the table.

McKenzie stepped to the opposite side and 
helped him lift the body onto the stainless 
steel surface. "Had breakfast with her."

"She's not coming down to assist?" Jerry's 
glance met Scully's finally, and the chill in 
his eyes surprised her. 

The coroner shook his head. "Thanks, we'll take 
it from here." 

Scully had the impression that he wanted to 
change the subject. Jerry evidently took the 
same hint. 

"Sure thing. Just holler when you're done." He 
favored Scully with another icy glare on his 
way out. So, she mused, the coroner had 
breakfast with Hobart, and the morgue attendant 
thought she should be here instead of this FBI 
intruder. It answered some questions, and posed 
a few more.

"I assume you finished the Jane Doe? Anything 
noteworthy?" McKenzie pushed the gurney against 
the far wall, then crossed to the cabinet where 
the gowns and gloves were kept.

"She tested positive for semen. Other than that,
there was nothing remarkable. Even the facial lacs 
are the same length."

He snapped on a pair of gloves and donned a 
gown. "And the predation marks?"

"Massive tissue loss. Gnaw marks on the long 
bones consistent with a large predator. 
Probably a wolf or panther. Agent Mulder told 
me what Michael said about wolves in the area, 
so I would have to agree that wolves are the 
likely predator. I also agree with her estimate 
that death occurred approximately five weeks 
ago." She watched for his reaction. "Given the 
conditions under which she did her exam, I'm 
impressed that she could be so precise."

He removed the sheet from the body, exposing 
Marcy Brackston's ghastly smile. "She's an 
impressive woman. One of the finest minds I've 
had the pleasure to encounter. Insatiably 
curious about everything, too." He smiled to 
himself. "That's a pretty potent combination. I 
tell her all the time she should go on that TV 
game show, Jeopardy. They'd be hard pressed to 
come up with a category she didn't know enough 
about to blow everyone else away."

"You've known her for a long time, then." She 
kept her tone casual, but Ellis McKenzie paused 
to give her a long look.

"She worked for me one semester as an intern."

Scully's eyebrows rose in unison. "Doing post 
mortems?"

He chuckled, and his guarded expression 
relaxed. "Assisting, yes. We don't allow college 
students to do autopsies, not even out here in 
the sticks." He selected a scalpel from the 
instrument tray. "Want to sit this one out? 
These have become pretty routine."

If he was patronizing her, she couldn't detect 
it. "If you're sure, I could use the time to 
get some interviews scheduled."

He waved expansively. "Go. Interview. I'll have 
the tape copied and sent to you this 
afternoon." 

There was no hint of an agenda in his voice or 
his expression, she decided, and gave him a 
smile. "Thanks, Ellis." 

He waved absently, already immersed in his 
work. She closed the door quietly behind her 
and pulled out her cell phone.

* * *

Warren County Sheriff
11:20 am

"I've heard of it," Mulder agreed. "Students 
from a university forensics program studied pig 
carcasses left outdoors to document various 
stages of development. The evidence has been 
validated in a number of court cases. You've 
done something similar with predation marks?"

Michael smiled. "In a way, but I included more 
than marks. Gnaw marks can be used to identify 
the type and number of predators involved. Once 
that's established, you can extrapolate the 
length of time the food source was utilized."

Mulder grimaced. "'Food source' meaning the 
body."

"Exactly."

"And you established your benchmarks the way 
the students did in the insect study? Putting 
pig carcasses in the woods and seeing how much 
was eaten over a period of time?" Mulder was 
reasonably certain his pork-eating days were 
over.

"Pigs, yes. And deer. Whenever one was killed 
in a highway accident, the rangers always gave 
me first dibs." 

Mulder suppressed a shudder and added venison 
to the list along with pork. "You should 
publish your findings."

Michael's smile faded. "I tried, actually. No 
one was buying."

Mulder saw the anger in her eyes; heard the 
futility in her voice. "A prophet goes 
unrecognized in his own land." 

"Or hers? That almost sounds like the voice of 
experience"

He shrugged. "Yes, and no. It's a little hard 
to explain." A masterpiece of understatement 
that he was suddenly sorry he'd brought up. 
"I've been reading lately about someone with   
similar issues."

"So, we have even more in common than I 
thought." Her eyes warmed as they locked with 
his. Or tried to. She reached across the table 
and gently took his hand.

Though she'd been touching him all along, there 
was something different about this one. 
Dangerously different, if his instincts were 
finally reading the situation correctly. He 
cleared his throat and disengaged their hands. 
"Michael, I think we need to talk."

One eyebrow quirked up. "That certainly sounded 
dire."  Her tone was teasing, her expression 
open and guileless. 

Mulder felt slightly sick. "My, uh, personal 
life is a little complicated right now. What 
I'm trying to say is that it's not a good time 
to complicate it any further."

"I'm not sure I follow."

*Spit it out, Mulder* He took a breath. "I'm 
getting the sense that I may have given you the 
impression that I'm looking for a personal 
relationship." He leveled his gaze. "I don't 
want you to think that's the case."
For a moment, she just looked at him. Then she 
pressed her lips together in a thin line and 
looked down at her hands.

When her shoulders began to shake, he felt like 
an asshole. He was wracking his brain for 
something to say when she looked up at him 
again, and he realized with a jolt that it 
wasn't sobs she was suppressing. It was 
laughter.

She pressed one hand to her lips to muffle a 
peal of chuckles, but her eyes were alight with 
mirth. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mulder. Don't look so 
stricken. I promise you, I'm not having 
hysterics." After a moment, she pulled an 
exaggeratedly serious expression. "Or, maybe 
you would prefer *Agent* Mulder?"

Stunned silence for a moment. "Well, don't I 
just look like an egotistical jerk." He felt 
the heat in his cheeks. 

"Please don't." She stopped chuckling, but the 
smile remained. "I lived in New York for five 
years where it's rude to even meet a stranger's 
eyes, yet I'm still riddled with small town 
schmooze." She stood up. "You have a couple of 
nervous deputies waiting to be interviewed, and 
I'm holding you up." Indulgent smile. "Forget 
the past few minutes ever happened. I already 
have." She breezed out the door before he could 
react.

His cell phone rang a moment later and he 
fished it out of his jacket pocket. "Mulder."

"Hey, Mulder. It's me."

Her voice made him smile. "Hey, Scully." He 
looked at his watch. "Finished already?" 

"Yes. Would you like some help with the 
interviews?"

"Always. I'll come pick you up."

"No, I can walk. It's only a couple of blocks. 
See you in a few minutes." She hung up.

"Are you ready for me, sir?" A young deputy 
stood at the door, hat respectfully in hand.

Feeling inexplicably lighter, Mulder waved him 
in. "Have a seat, deputy. This won't take 
long."


* * *

Michael kept the smile firmly in place all the 
way to the front door. Linda Mercer's eyes 
followed her. She could feel them boring into 
her back. 

"Michael, Will wanted to see you before you 
left."

*Hold it together* She pushed the door open but 
paused long enough to call over her shoulder, 
"Tell him I'll call him later. I'm late for an 
appointment." She let the door close on the 
woman's response and bolted for the car.

* * *

Strong sunlight bouncing off acres of snow 
cover blinded her for a moment. Scully paused 
in the shade of the ER entrance's canopy until 
her eyes adjusted, noting gratefully that the 
wind seemed finally to have quieted down.

The sidewalks in front of the hospital were 
clean and dry with a sprinkling of ice melt 
that crunched beneath her shoes. Boots would 
have been a nice, but she'd been too rushed to 
consult the weather channel for packing tips.

When she reached the bridge, things got a bit 
trickier, and she had to step carefully to keep 
her balance.

Rather an apt metaphor for her life these days, 
actually. Treacherous ground with a thin coat 
of safety that crumbled noisily with every 
step.

She wanted to go home. The autopsies were just 
something to keep her occupied. Whatever key 
the killer had left behind that would help them 
catch him wasn't in the bodies he'd savaged. 
Her real job here was to watch Mulder, and that 
was the last thing she wanted to be doing. It 
just hurt too damned much. 

It wasn't that she seriously thought he was 
interested in Michael Hobart, though that 
certainly would have hurt. It was that she felt 
superfluous. Worse than that, conspicuously 
unnecessary. 

Outside the Bureau, Mulder was in no danger of 
encountering someone he should know but didn't 
recognize. There was nothing wrong with his 
short-term memory. It was only the past that 
posed a threat. She'd been unable to convince 
Skinner of this, which was why she was here.

And now, it looked as if there would be 
nothing in the autopsies that any competent lab 
assistant couldn't handle.

He didn't even need her help with the profile, 
not with Michael persistently at his beck and 
call. *Relentlessly* at his beck and call.

Scully turned the corner and sighed. Speak of 
the devil... 

Michael Hobart was coming briskly down the 
front steps of the Sheriff's office, head down 
and arms pumping. A woman in a hurry. Scully 
had to sidestep quickly to avoid a collision.

Michael's head came up with a surprised gasp. 
"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't see you." She skidded 
to a stop inches from Scully. "I, uh, I'm late 
for an  appointment. I can't stay." 

Scully caught a whiff of expensive perfume and 
felt her jaw tighten. "Something to do with the 
case?"

The woman shook her head, eyes downcast. "No, 
not really. I...I'll see you later." She fled 
to her car and pulled away from the curb fast 
enough to squeal the tires.

Scully went inside, shaking her head.

She found Mulder was in the conference room 
talking with a uniformed man whose back was to 
the door. His eyes warmed when he saw her, and 
the man he was interviewing turned in his seat 
to follow his gaze. 

"Deputy Kendall, this is my partner, Agent 
Scully." Both men stood. The deputy held out 
his hand.

"I'm Jessie Kendall, Ma'am. It's nice to meet 
you." He smiled, shook her hand, and sneezed. 
"Sorry," he sniffled.

"That's okay." She retrieved her hand and tried not 
to inhale.

"We'll be in touch if we have any more 
questions. Thank you for coming in," Mulder 
told him, resuming his seat.

"No problem." Deputy Kendall nodded to Scully. 
"Ma'am." 

Scully waited until he closed the door, then 
took the seat he'd just vacated. "Isn't he the 
one who pulled us over yesterday?"

Mulder was making notes on the legal pad in 
front of him. He nodded absently. "Yeah. He was 
the last deputy on my list. I still have to 
talk with the sheriff." He put down the pen and 
looked at her. "So, how were the autopsies?"

"Autopsy. Singular. I bailed after the first 
one."

That raised his eyebrows. "Seriously? What 
happened?"

"The coroner finally showed up, and he offered 
to take over. There's nothing remarkable about 
any of the bodies, Mulder, except for the fact 
that they're not remarkable."

He tipped his head to the side and crossed his 
arms. "Meaning...?"

"Meaning that the wounds and markings are so 
similar that they could have been done on an 
assembly line."

"Yeah, Michael's profile said the same thing. I 
meant to ask her about it." He bent over his 
notepad and jotted something down.

"Did she explain how she came up with her time-
of-death estimate?"

"The wolf-tooth equivalent of tool marks gave 
her the number of predators. She estimated how 
much that number of predators would consume in 
a given period while the flesh was still 
edible." He frowned. "But it occurs to me that 
counting tooth marks in the dark seems a little 
implausible."

"I was just going to say the same thing."

He made another note. "I'll ask her, if she 
comes back."

"*If* she comes back?" 

He leaned back and scrubbed at his face with 
both hands. "Yeah, I, uh, made an ass of 
myself. She took it well, but I got the 
impression that working with the great FBI 
profiler has lost some of its charm."

She quirked a questioning eyebrow. Mulder 
sighed.

"I thought she was coming on to me, and I told 
her I wasn't interested. Nicely. She laughed in 
my face." 

That hardly fit the impression she'd gotten 
just a few minutes earlier. "She laughed?"

He gave her a narrow look. "Sure, rub it in."

Scully shook her head. "I didn't mean it that 
way. I saw her on my way in, Mulder, and she 
was not amused. Actually, she looked like she 
was about to cry. I was going to ask you what 
happened."

He looked at her blankly for a moment. Then, 
recognition seemed to dawn. He leaned forward 
and buried his face in his hands, elbows 
propped on the table. "So, have I always been 
this dense?"

She smiled at the top of his head. "I assume 
that's a rhetorical question."

He peered at her over the tips of his fingers. 
"She faked me out, and I bought it."

"It happens to the best of us." She patted his 
arm, ridiculously relieved. "She'll get over 
it, Mulder. Just act vaguely uncomfortable when 
she's around. Her dignity will be safe, and so 
will you."

"That should be easy. I'm uncomfortable now 
just thinking about working with her."

"And you'll get over it, too. Do we have some  
interviews set up this afternoon?"

Mulder flipped back the page he'd been writing 
on and handed her the legal pad. A list of 
names and times was printed in a feminine hand. 
He shook his head at the question in her eyes. 
"Linda wrote it."

A quick rap on the door made them both turn. 
Sheriff Kessler strode into the room holding a 
sheet of paper in the air. "We got a hit on 
Jane Doe." He handed the paper to Scully who 
angled it so Mulder could see the faxed 
photograph. "Jacqueline Acres, age 34. A 
psychologist from Scarsdale, New York."

The photograph did resemble the woman Scully 
had worked on this morning. "Did they send you 
dental charts?"

Kessler smiled. "Fingerprints. She worked for 
the State. I sent them over to Ellis McKenzie. 
He'll have an answer for us within the hour."

Mulder looked up. "Your medical examiner is 
also a fingerprint expert?"

"We wear a lot of hats around here. It's a small 
town." He headed for the door. "Now, I gotta 
make flight reservations and go talk to her 
next of kin."

The multi-talented Michael Hobart was from New 
York, Scully recalled, and Scarsdale was a 
suburb of New York. She smiled. "Sheriff, I'll 
take care of that for you."

Mulder objected immediately. "I need you here."

The sheriff hesitated in the doorway. "I'd sure
appreciate it, Agents, but not if it's going to 
hamper the investigation here."

Mulder opened his mouth to respond, but Scully 
cut him off. "Michael can help, right?" she asked
brightly, noting Mulder's gloom from the corner 
of her eye. "And you're needed here, as is Agent
Mulder. That leaves me."

Her logic was irrefutable. Mulder nodded, and the
sheriff smiled broadly.

"And I may be able to shed some light on matters
when I get back." That those 'matters' included 
Michael Hobart, she would keep to herself. 

For now.


* * *


Chapter 5


Holiday Inn
Room 212
1:20 pm


Mulder had insisted on driving her back to the 
hotel to pack. Since Bradford Regional's only 
flight to New York would be leaving in forty-
five minutes, she didn't have time to argue. 

"How long will you be gone?" He was leaning 
against the connecting doorframe, arms crossed 
over his chest.

Scully breezed past him carrying her cosmetics 
bag and hair dryer. "It depends on how many 
leads develop out of the first interview. You 
know that." She tossed the items into her 
duffle, then opened the top dresser drawer and 
grabbed a handful of lingerie. "Two days. 
Three, at the most." She tucked the lingerie 
into a corner of the bag and headed for the 
closet. Living out of her suitcase was a way of 
life, but some nesting urge had made her unpack 
it all last night. It would have saved a lot of 
time if she'd stuck to tradition.

"There's another flight tomorrow. You could go 
with me on some of these interviews.

She stopped pawing through the closet and 
looked at him. He was focused on the carpet at 
his feet. "I'm sure Michael would be happy to 
go with you."

He looked up then. "Not funny."

"It wasn't meant to be. She knows these people. 
They might be more open if she were with you."

He shrugged, and she went back to her packing. 
When the suitcase was filled and zipped, she 
set it on the floor and picked up her coat. "I 
can still take the shuttle. You could get 
started on your interviews an hour sooner."

"I want to drive you." He came over and took 
her suitcase, then headed for the door in a 
familiar round-shouldered sulk. He really 
didn't want her to go.

"Mulder, what's wrong?"

"You're gonna miss your plane." And he was out 
the door.

She let an exasperated sigh escape, and 
followed him to the car.

They didn't exchange more than a dozen words on 
the ride to the airport. When he pulled up in 
front of the terminal building and left the 
engine running, she realized he wasn't going to 
come in with her. It appeared, in fact, that he 
wasn't even going to look at her. Scully 
checked her watch. She really didn't have time 
to indulge his mood, but he was starting to 
worry her.

"Mulder, I'll call you from the hotel."

He nodded, and reached for the trunk release. 
"I'll be out doing interviews. You can leave me 
a message." Eyes on the windshield.

Oh, for heaven's sake. "Don't tell me this is 
all about Michael."

"It's about your eagerness to ditch me at the 
first opportunity."

What? "Mulder, it's my job. One of us has to 
follow up on this, and I'm the obvious choice."

She touched his arm, and he finally met her 
eyes. Their gazes held for a moment. Finally, 
he smiled. Faintly. "I'm just feeling a little 
inadequate in the intuition department. Ignore 
me."

So, it *was* about Michael. "My impression is 
that she's a very talented actress who's used 
to getting what she wants. Don't beat yourself 
up too much."

His eyes warmed. "She didn't get past you, I 
notice."

Watching other women salivate over her partner 
was nothing new. Karen Berquist. Detective 
White. Phoebe Green. Diana Fowley. Marita 
Covarrubias. Mulder's record for misreading 
women was legendary, and unbroken. "It's easier 
to spot the subterfuge if you're not its 
target." 

"Just hurry back." He hit the trunk release 
button and opened his door. "I'll get your 
bag."

And for once, she didn't grumble a bit.

* * *

Marcy Brackston's home
3:30 pm

The kitchen was exactly as she had left it two 
days ago, spotlessly clean and lemon-scented. 
Her favorite coffee mug sat next to a stack of 
unopened mail on the counter. A laminated card 
with her prized recipe for New England pot 
roast waited on the wrought iron stand next to 
the stove. Dinner would have been ready at 
6:30, just like always.

Instead, the three-pound rump roast in the 
refrigerator had passed its prime and was 
headed for the trash whenever Ken Brackston got 
up the energy to move it there. He had gotten 
home from his Elks meeting Sunday night to find 
the house dark and the expected scent of beef 
and potatoes noticeably absent. Mild annoyance 
had rapidly become panic when he'd called his 
in-laws and found that his wife had failed to 
come pick up their two sons without calling to 
explain why. Frantic calls to her cell phone 
and various friends had yielded nothing. Eight 
hours later, the sheriff was at his door with 
the bad news.

Mulder kept his questioning as brief as 
possible. His instincts regarding predatory 
women might be lacking, but he was having no 
problem reading Mr. Brackston. The man was near 
collapse over the loss of his wife. Ruling him 
out as a suspect-- a necessity no matter what 
the apparent circumstances-- was a no-brainer.

"Just one more question, Mr. Brackston. Do you 
know of anyone who might want to do your wife 
harm?"

Hollow, red-rimmed eyes regarded him sadly. "I 
can't imagine anyone who knew her wanting to 
hurt her. Everybody loved Marcy." His voice 
hitched on her name as it had every time he'd 
said it.

The kitchen door opened, and two little boys 
came in on a puff of icy air, stomping snow 
onto pristine blue and white vinyl tile. They 
noticed Mulder sitting at the kitchen table and 
stopped in their tracks. "Daddy?"

Brackston's smile was immediate. "It's okay, 
guys. Agent... Mr. Mulder was just leaving." He 
stood up, and so did Mulder. "Go on and get 
changed. I'll be up in a few minutes."

The two boys gave Mulder a wary glance as they 
scooted past him and out into the hall. A 
moment later, he heard the thunder of feet 
running up the stairs.

"I told them we'll be going to see Mom 
tonight," the man said faintly. "The funeral 
home," he explained.

An unexpected rush of empathy for this man and 
his motherless son's tightened Mulder's throat. 
"I won't take up any more of your time, Mr. 
Brackston. You've been very helpful. I know how 
hard this had to be for you." He offered his 
hand, and Brackston shook it absently. 

"Whatever you can do to get this animal off the 
streets... " Barely-controlled tears choked his 
voice down to a whisper. 

"We're doing everything possible, I can promise 
you that." He took his coat from the back of 
the chair. "I'll just see myself out." He got a 
faint nod in response.

Mulder closed the front door behind himself 
with a guilty sigh of relief. He'd been 
prepared for the grieving husband, but not for 
the man's young sons. The bewildered loss in 
those wide, innocent eyes would be with him for 
a very long time.

* * *

Scarsdale, NY
3:30 pm

Jacqueline Acres' next of kin was her brother, 
Jeremy Grissom. Scully had arranged to meet him 
at his sister's apartment, so she was extremely 
surprised to find him waiting when she got off 
the plane. He'd described himself to her over 
the phone, but it was the "Agt. Scully" sign he 
was holding that clinched it. They made eye 
contact, and she walked over to him.

"Mr. Grissom?"

He tucked the sign under his arm and held out 
his right hand. "And you must be Agent Scully." 
His handshake was firm and brief. "I started 
thinking about the directions I gave you and 
decided this would save us both a lot of 
aggravation."

"I was going to take a cab, but thanks." He was 
reaching for her bag, and she let him take it. 
"Do you have a car?"

His smile was charmingly crooked. "Uh, I left 
it at the train station in Scarsdale. We'll 
take a cab to the train."

He was younger than she'd imagined from his 
mellow voice over the phone. Early forties, at 
most. Dark hair going gray at the temples. Blue 
eyes that crinkled ingratiatingly when he 
smiled. An honest face. About Mulder's height, 
maybe an inch or two taller. Stunningly white, 
even teeth. Altogether a pleasant surprise.

He was also quite a conversationalist, as it 
turned out. By the time they got off the train 
in Scarsdale, she knew more about this stranger 
than she did about many people she'd known for 
years. He made his living selling real estate, 
which didn't surprise her, and he was first 
violin with the community symphony part time, 
which did. His sister Jacqueline had been his 
only living relative, and the two of them had 
dinner together several times a week. It was 
when she failed to meet him for one of their 
regular dinners that he had reported her 
missing. 

The sadness in his eyes when he talked about 
his sister was so much like Mulder that it 
startled her.

"My car's right over here." He picked up her 
bag once again and headed off across the 
parking lot toward a shiny black Lexus sedan.

They drove for twenty minutes through gently 
rolling blocks of luxurious homes and condos 
set back from the road. He turned right into a 
wide driveway flanked by iron gates with fancy 
scrollwork. At the end of the drive was an 
impressive Georgian brick mansion.

Scully gave him an eyebrow, and he smiled. "I 
found this for Jackie five years ago. The rent 
is a lot more reasonable than you'd think."

"Rent?" It certainly didn't look like any 
apartment building Scully had ever seen.

Grissom parked at the front door and popped the 
trunk. "Six two-bedroom apartments, two four-
beds and a penthouse." He grinned. "If the 
third floor can be called a penthouse." 

Inside, it still looked more like a private 
residence than a multi-family dwelling. There 
was a discreet bank of brass mailboxes along 
the right-hand wall, and brass-plate numbers on 
two doors along the left. Wide carpeted stairs 
rose along the right wall and curved into a 
balcony that ran the width of the entryway at 
the second floor level. It was tasteful and 
quite lovely.

"Jackie's apartment is this way." Grissom led 
her up the stairs and through a door at the 
left side of the balcony. He fished a key ring 
from his pocket and unlocked the door, then 
stepped back to let her go first. "Let me make 
some coffee, and I'll take you to her study."

Grissom put down her bag just inside the door 
and headed off toward the back of the 
apartment. Scully looked around, trying not to 
stare.

The main room was huge, but nothing like the 
rest of the house. In fact, it reminded her so 
strongly of Mulder's apartment-- on a much 
larger scale-- that she couldn't stop staring.

Dark walls, mismatched furniture, eclectic 
prints on the walls and venetian blinds on the 
windows. Hardwood floors with throw rugs. The 
faintly dusty ambiance of a room that served 
only to hold belongings. A stopping off place, 
not a home. 

"Not quite what you expected?" Jeremy Grissom 
stood in the archway to the hall, watching her 
with obvious amusement.

Scully realized her mouth was hanging open. "It 
doesn't quite fit with the rest of the house," 
she admitted.

"Neither did Jackie, but that was part of her 
charm." He turned and gestured for her to 
follow. "Come on, I'll show you the real 
Jackie."

She followed him a short distance down the hall 
and through an open door on the right. This 
room was much smaller, even darker and seemed 
filled floor-to-ceiling with boxes. Grissom 
flipped on a lamp and she could see that the 
boxes didn't quite take up the entire floor 
space. There was room for a computer desk and 
chair. 

Grissom pulled the chair out for Scully and 
switched on the computer. "Whatever you want to 
know about my sister, you'll find either on 
this computer or somewhere in the contents of 
this room. Everyone she ever met will have an 
entry somewhere." He indicated the area behind 
Scully. "Or a picture."

Scully turned around and actually gasped. The 
entire wall was covered with news clippings, 
photographs, scribbled notes, pages out of 
magazines. No "I want to believe" poster, she 
was relieved to note. Otherwise, it was 
Mulder's office, to a 't'. Scully cleared her 
throat. "Your sister was interested in the 
paranormal?"

"Research, she called it. As long as I can 
remember, she's been collecting this stuff. 
About six months ago, she started corresponding 
with a man who claimed to be an expert. Someone 
in law enforcement, I think. She said he put 
her onto a lot of covert information. Some of 
it's actually valuable, but most of it is 
nothing but junk." His jaw tightened. "But it 
was *her* junk, and I can't imagine throwing it 
out now."

Scully had a sudden flash of a little girl's 
room on the Vineyard, preserved intact for 
twenty years, and of the look in Mulder's eyes 
when he had showed it to her. 

Grissom's mood lightened quickly. "Have a seat, 
Agent Scully. I'll give you a quick tour, then 
you can wander to your heart's content. If 
there's anything to find, it will be here in 
this room."

Scully looked back at the array of boxes and 
files. "I have no doubt. I'm just not sure how 
long it's going to take to find it."

"You can take all night, if you want. I have no 
problem letting you stay here. I could even 
stay and help, if you like."

That was certainly unexpected. "It's very 
generous of you, Mr. Grissom, but I have a 
hotel reservation."

"I'll charge you the going rate, if it will 
make you feel better. You're right about how 
long it would take to go through all of this. 
And frankly, I'd appreciate having someone else 
do it." He took a slow breath. "I've known she 
was dead for five weeks now. I could feel it. 
Having it confirmed was just a formality. I've 
been trying to work my way up to going through 
her stuff for a while now. You would be helping 
me, too."

There was a wistfulness in his voice that was 
oddly touching. "Maybe just start with showing 
me the layout." She sat down at the computer, 
and he leaned over her shoulder to work the 
mouse.

"I was here this morning, looking for her 
address book, when I ran across it. I would 
never have given it a second glance if not for 
the phone call I got at the precise moment I 
was scrolling past the name."

That would have been the call asking him to 
come down and identify the photograph from 
Warren, Pennsylvania, Scully knew. "What did 
you find?"

He nodded at the monitor display, and the file 
that was highlighted.

"Warren PA," Scully read aloud, both eyebrows 
rising. 

"Told you it was interesting."

"I thought you said she didn't know anyone in 
Warren?"

"As far as I know, she didn't. And this doesn't 
seem to have anything to do with the town 
itself anyway. I looked at some of the text 
files. It's all correspondence from her 
contact."

She looked at him over her shoulder. "His name 
is there?"

"He calls himself 'M'. Nothing more. And she 
didn't save his email address anywhere I could 
find."

Scully took command of the mouse and clicked 
the folder open. A man whose name begins with 
"M" who may be in law enforcement and claims to 
be an expert in the paranormal. It wasn't 
possible... A long list of files appeared, many 
of them jpeg images. A few were Word documents. 
Scully scanned the names, but most were number 
and letter combinations that revealed nothing 
of their contents. 

That was, until she reached the "M's". Her gasp 
was audible, and Jeremy leaned almost into her 
lap in response. 

"What? What do you see?"

"Mostow," she read aloud. "John Mostow." At his 
blank look, she added, "It was a case my 
partner and I were involved in a long time ago. 
The murders in Warren... the killer uses the 
same... technique."

Grissom's jaw dropped. "Then, you know who 
killed my sister?"

Both Bill Patterson and John Mostow were still 
in prison, and would be until they died. What 
else it could mean, she wasn't ready to 
consider. She shook her head. "It can't be the 
same man."

"How can you be sure?"

"It can't be the same man," she repeated. She 
clicked the image and held her breath while it 
opened. It wasn't until later that she realized 
how traumatic it would be for Grissom to 
witness.

There, in full color, was an image from a 
living nightmare six years in the past. The 
night she'd come upon Mulder holding his gun on 
Agent Patterson in John Mostow's studio.

Agent Nemhauser, partially encased in gray 
clay, his mouth split into a hideous, gaping 
smile.

* * *

Chapter 6


Warren County Sheriff Dept.
Tuesday, Nov. 5th
5:50 pm

"We were hiking all afternoon. When we got back 
to the car, there she was lying alongside the 
path at the trail head." Rob Lambert had the 
weary air of a man who'd told this story too 
many times.

"And you're certain she wasn't there when you 
passed the first time?"

Lambert gave him a patient look. "A naked woman 
lying two feet away? I would have noticed." He 
crossed his arms, glancing at his wristwatch in 
the process.

Mulder jotted a few notes on his legal pad, 
then put his pen down and mimicked the man's 
posture. "And your hiking companions...?"

"...were three ten-year-old boys who luckily 
saw nothing. I took them home as soon as I saw 
the body, then called the sheriff on my way 
back. There wasn't another soul around that day 
because of the weather. My boy and his friends 
were doing a hike for their Boy Scout badges, 
or we wouldn't have been there, either." This 
time, he made a point of looking at his watch, 
then back at Mulder with a questioning eyebrow.

"That will be all, for now. If you think of 
anything that might be helpful, please give me 
a call. My cell number's on the card." Mulder 
handed one to him, and they both stood up.

Lambert tucked it into his shirt pocket. "I 
told you everything I know. Believe me, if I 
could find the guy myself, I'd do it. And I can 
tell you, there wouldn't be enough of him left 
to prosecute." 

"I can appreciate your frustration."

The man snorted. "I don't think you have a 
clue, Agent Mulder. My wife knew all of the 
women who've been killed. She's afraid to go to 
the damn bathroom by herself." He closed his 
jacket and zipped it shut. "Now, if you'll 
excuse me, I'm sure she's chewing her nails to 
the quick waiting for me to get home." He gave 
Mulder a curt nod and walked out, closing the 
door firmly behind him.

Mulder sat down and let his head hang forward, 
rubbing gingerly at the knots in his shoulders. 
The man was right. He didn't have a clue. What 
was worse, he had no idea what to do about it. 
He was asking obvious questions and getting 
equally obvious answers. There was no technique 
involved; no experience to draw from. It was, 
for all practical purposes, his first field 
investigation. And it showed.

*Come back, Scully. I'm in way over my head.*

It was too bad he didn't have the balls to tell 
her that. Too bad for him. Too bad for the 
case. Too bad for the whole damned town.

His cell phone lay on the table to his right, 
obstinately silent, no matter how many vibes he 
sent toward New York.

After a long moment, he packed up, pulled on 
his coat, and headed back to the hotel.

* * *

Scarsdale, NY
5:50 pm

"What in God's name is that?" Jeremy Grissom 
took a few stumbling steps backward the moment 
the image became visible on the monitor. 

Scully hit the off button and the screen went 
blank, but not soon enough. "I'm sorry, Mr. 
Grissom. I didn't think." She stood up and 
walked over to where he leaned woozily against 
the wall, his eyes wide with shock. "Are you 
all right?" When she touched his arm, he jerked 
it away and turned his horrified gaze on her.

"Is...is that what he did to my sister?"

The photograph Sheriff Kessler sent out had 
been retouched to remove the mutilating slashes 
on the victim's face. "Mr. Grissom, I'm not 
sure it's in your best interest to hear the 
answer to that question."

"I have to know." 

He seemed to be making a concerted effort to 
steel himself for her answer. Unfortunately, 
her rash actions had erased any hope of 
breaking it gently. "Please, sit down."

"Just tell me the truth." His voice shook, but 
his gaze was rock steady.

Scully let out a slow breath that puffed her 
cheeks. "Yes. The killer did the same thing to 
your sister." 

His knees abruptly unlocked and sent him 
sliding down the wall, but Scully was ready for 
it. She took him by both biceps and steered him 
out into the hall. There was a bench to her 
right, and she lowered him onto it. "Where's 
the kitchen?"

He waved down the hall. "Back of the apartment. 
That way." He was swallowing hard.

She hurried down the hall and into the spacious 
kitchen, snatched a glass from the drain rack 
and filled it with tap water. When she got back 
to him a moment later, he was leaning back 
against the wall with his eyes closed. "Here. 
Drink this." She put the glass in his right 
hand and waited until he looked at her. "Drink 
it, and we'll talk."

He drained it, then handed her the glass. "When 
was someone going to tell me about this?"

"The details of your sister's injuries will be 
in the autopsy report, but it's not usually 
given to the next of kin, for obvious reasons." 
She studied his face for a moment, relieved to 
see some color returning. "I can't tell you how 
sorry I am that you had to find out the way you 
did."

Grissom's horror was rapidly changing to 
outrage. "This animal is on the loose, and 
you're worrying about my feelings? Jackie would 
laugh her ass off, and then she'd kick yours."

Scully felt her throat tighten. He was trying 
so hard to hide how much her thoughtlessness 
had hurt him. "We're doing everything we can to 
find him, Jeremy." Her use of his first name 
was deliberate, and it seemed to take the edge 
off his anger. 

He took a deep breath and released it slowly. 
"So, what happens now? When do we leave for 
Warren?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm going to Warren with you. When are you 
heading back?" 

He stood up, towering over her in a very 
familiar way. She looked up into stormy blue 
eyes and decided against trying to reason with 
him right now.

"For the moment, I'm not going anywhere. If 
your offer to let me stay here still stands, 
I'd like to spend a few hours looking through 
the rest of your sister's files."

"Of course it still stands. You're doing me a 
favor, remember?" His smile was a bit shaky, 
but the glassy shock had left his eyes. "I'm 
not sure my stomach's up to it, but I could 
even make you something to eat, if you like."
 
"That's really not necessary." Not to mention 
that having him cook for her was a bit too 
familiar for comfort.

"I don't mind. It'll give me something to do 
besides hover over your shoulder." He gave her 
a lopsided grin. "and you won't have to tiptoe 
around the files to avoid shocking my tender 
sensibilities." 

He had a point. "Okay, then. But please don't 
go to any trouble. I'm really not hungry." She 
had gotten a good whiff of the coffee, though, 
on her brief trip to the kitchen. "I would like 
some of that coffee you made." She offered a 
smile that was part apology, part olive branch.

They agreed that he would make dinner while she 
worked, and she would share with him as much 
information as she could without compromising 
the investigation. He agreed only grudgingly to 
the latter, and only after she insisted.

Finally alone with the computer, Scully turned 
the monitor on and studied the image more 
closely. It was Nemhauser, of that she had no 
doubt, but how had Jackie Acres gotten hold of 
it?

The most obvious answer was Mulder. But if he 
had been her contact, why the secrecy? It 
certainly wouldn't be the first time he had 
consulted over the Internet, and he had never-- 
to her knowledge-- made any effort to hide his 
identity. What would be the point?

And what were the odds that a woman Mulder met 
over the Internet would turn up as the first 
victim in a serial murder case he was assigned 
to investigate? 

Grissom had said that anything she wanted to 
know about his sister was in this room. Scully 
decided to begin her search with the mysterious 
Mr. M.

She closed the image of Agent Nemhauser and 
clicked on the email icon, then waited while 
the program labored to populate a list of over 
two hundred unread messages. The oldest was 
dated September 29th, the day Jackie Acres had 
left for the conference in Pittsburgh. Scully 
scrolled back past the unread items until she 
reached the oldest saved message, dated June 
6th. Nothing jumped out at her. She sorted the 
list by email address, looking for any of 
Mulder's usual aliases. Still nothing.

Finally, she searched the text of all messages 
for the word "Warren" and for the file name of 
Nemhauser's image, but got no hits. 

Having spent as much time as she had watching 
the Gunmen work their magic, Scully had picked 
up a trick or two. It didn't take long to 
satisfy herself that there were no deleted 
files of interest, nor any hidden folders.

She moved back to the "Warren" folder and 
clicked on the date column, putting the oldest 
files at the top of the list. It seemed the 
best approach, since the file names themselves 
were too cryptic to be useful.

The first file was a jpeg image from May of 
last year. Scully scrolled down until she 
reached a group of images from early September 
with similar file names. She highlighted the 
group and right-clicked the thumbnail function 
to display previews of the images.

When they came up, she wanted to slap her 
forehead. It was always so obvious after you 
knew the answer.

Dreamcatchers. The fine, intricately patterned 
cuts that had seemed familiar when she found 
them on the victims looked exactly like the 
webbing on the Navajo dreamcatcher images now 
arrayed before her. That Jackie Acres had 
placed the images in this folder, and a short 
time later had become a victim bearing those 
very marks--it was beyond eerie.

Navajo dreamcatchers, a small town in northwest 
Pennsylvania, and Mostow-like facial mutilation 
produced absolutely no meaningful connection. 
Yet, the first victim had put them together. 

The question was: how and why?

She pulled out her phone and dialed Mulder's 
cell.

* * *

Holiday Inn
Warren, PA
Tues, Nov. 4th
6:40 pm


Mulder was coming out of the bathroom when he 
heard someone in the hall outside his door and 
turned back to open it. He was expecting the 
pizza he'd ordered for dinner. Instead, he 
found Michael Hobart bent over a package on the 
floor. She stood up quickly and gave him an 
apologetic smile.

"Agent Mulder! I didn't know you were home." 

So, we're back to *Agent* Mulder. "I just got 
here." He jerked his chin at the package that 
was still on the floor. "Is that for me?"

She bent quickly and picked it up. "I made some 
changes to the profile after we talked."

He accepted an envelope that looked large 
enough to contain a manila folder. "Thanks, 
I'll take a look at it." He did not want to 
invite her in, but she showed no sign of being 
ready to leave.

Michael cleared her throat. "Look, I know this 
is awkward for you, but we still have to work 
together. I'd really appreciate a chance to 
clear the air."

She was doing it again. Putting him on the 
defensive when there was nothing to defend. He 
tucked the envelope under his arm and closed 
the door another inch to signal his intentions. 
"There's nothing to clear, Michael. I'll see 
you tomorrow."

She reached out and pressed her palm against 
the door. "If that's true, then you won't have 
any problem letting me come in to show you the 
changes I made to the profile."

It was rapidly getting to the point where 
standing his ground would make matters worse. 
He stepped back and opened the door wide. "I've 
got a pizza coming. We can talk until it gets 
here."

She stepped past him with a wry grin. "Not what 
I'd call a warm welcome, but I'll take it." 

Mulder followed her to the little table under 
the windows and they sat down. She took the 
envelope back and opened it, fanning the 
typewritten sheets out before them. "I marked 
the sections with yellow highlighter, so 
finding them isn't the problem. I really wanted 
to hear your take on what I've done." She 
selected one of the pages and handed it to him 
with a shy smile. "I'm coming around to your 
side on the question of whether this guy is a 
stranger or not. I think he might be."

Mulder skimmed the highlighted paragraph, once 
again impressed with the lucid flow of the 
thoughts expressed. Oddly out of character, 
though, now that he knew the author a bit 
better. "What changed your mind?"

"Well, the first victim being from out of the 
area, for one. Maybe he followed her here, or 
brought her here. The area may appeal to him 
because it's remote and unsophisticated. Less 
chance that he'll be caught before he decides 
to move on." She leaned closer, pointing to her 
comments on the paper as she spoke. 

"Warren is certainly less threatening than New 
York, if he followed her from there," Mulder 
agreed.

Michael's head came up so abruptly that he had 
to jerk back to keep their heads from 
colliding. Her eyes were wide. "She's been 
identified?"

"Well, yeah. You haven't talked to the 
sheriff?"

"No. I've been home since this morning, working 
on my profile. She's from New York City?"

There was something decidedly odd in her 
reaction. "Scarsdale. It bears out your theory 
about her clothing, doesn't it?" She had said 
'Pittsburgh,' but the sentiment was the same. A 
large town rather than one like Warren. "You 
don't look very pleased about being proven 
right."

His cell phone started to ring, and Michael's 
relief was unmistakable. Mulder got up and 
grabbed the phone out of its charger on the 
dresser. The display said it was Scully.

"Hey, Scully. How was your flight?" He turned 
away from Michael and took a few steps across 
the room.

"Fine. Mulder, I'm not going to the hotel, and 
I probably won't be coming back until Thursday, 
at the earliest." 

All business. Okay, then. "What changed your 
plans?"

"I'm staying the night at the victim's 
apartment in Scarsdale. Her computer is here, 
and a room full of notes that I have to 
review."

"Anything promising?"

Pause. *Long* pause.

"Scully?"

"I don't know how much to tell you over the 
phone." Her voice was tentative. 

It occurred to him that she might not be alone. 
"Is someone there with you?"

"Jacqueline Acres' brother, Jeremy Grissom is 
here, yes. He's the one who showed me the 
files."

"Is everything okay?" She sounded odd. Not in 
danger. Just odd.

"Everything's fine, Mulder. I'll bring you up 
to date when I call tomorrow afternoon."

Two sharp raps on Mulder's door signaled the 
arrival of his dinner. Michael jumped up from 
the table. "I'll get it for you."

"Mulder, who was that?" Her tone said she 
already knew.

"Michael's here. We're going over some changes 
she made to the profile."

"In your room?" 

He could lie, but decided against it. "Yes." 

"I see. I'll talk to you later tomorrow. Have a 
good night, Mulder." The line went dead.

Mulder clicked off his phone just as Michael 
came back with the pizza. 

"I gave him a buck." She balanced the box on 
one palm and gathered the papers up with the 
other.

Mulder took the box from her hand. "I'll take 
care of that. We can talk more tomorrow."

She stopped picking up papers and looked at 
him. "You want me to go."

He hefted the box. "I didn't really get enough 
for company. Sorry." And he wanted to call 
Scully back and talk to her, preferably without 
an audience.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but did your 
partner go home?"

He heard hope in the question. "She went to New 
York this afternoon to talk with Jacqueline 
Acres' family."

Her expression flashed something that could 
have been alarm, but it was gone almost 
immediately. "Then, she'll be back."

"With some answers, I hope." He put the pizza 
box down on the cleared table and looked at his 
watch.

Michael not only took the hint, she seemed 
eager to leave. "I'll let you get to your 
dinner." She went to the door and let herself 
out without a backward glance.

Mulder picked up his cell phone as soon as she 
was gone and punched in Scully's number. The 
call went immediately to voice mail. He tried 
again with the same results. She had shut off 
her phone.

* * *

Scarsdale, NY
6:50 pm


Scully closed the cell phone and placed it on 
the desk with exaggerated care. It was her way 
of suppressing an urge to throw it across the 
room. A moment later, she picked it up, but 
just long enough to shut it off completely. 

Several deep breaths later, she got up and 
headed for the kitchen. The absence of any 
aromas other than stale coffee told her that 
dinner was either something uncooked or totally 
nonexistent. The latter would be fine, because 
her appetite had vanished with the sound of 
Michael Hobart's voice.

She found Jeremy Grissom seated at the square 
oak table with his elbows propped and his head 
in his hands. There were two opened wine 
bottles in front of him, one empty and one only 
three-quarters full. "Jeremy?"

He looked up at her, and his bleary, red-rimmed 
eyes told her where the wine had gone. He tried 
for a smile and failed miserably. "I thought I 
was prepared for the truth, but--" He shook his 
head. "I'm sorry. I should go." He pushed the 
chair back and stood up, swayed a moment and 
sat back down just as Scully reached his side.

"You can't prepare for something like this. No 
one can." The coffee pot held a sludgy residue 
that looked totally undrinkable. "I'll make us 
some coffee, if you'll tell me where to find 
it."

"I should go," he said again.

"You're in no condition to drive. Besides, you 
shouldn't be alone."

He gave her a loopy grin. "Don't have to drive. 
I own this building. My apartment's the 
penthouse." He employed the overly precise 
enunciation of the thoroughly inebriated.

"Okay, then you're in no condition to walk. And 
I could use some coffee myself. Where is it?"

He waved at the cabinets to his left. "Right 
there, next to the pot."

She kept an eye on him while she started a 
fresh pot, realizing too late that she should 
have moved the wine out of reach first. He was 
halfway through another glass of it before she 
rejoined him at the table. "That isn't going to 
help, you know."

He lowered the glass and studied her face for a 
moment. "You look like you could use this even 
more than me. I. Whatever." He nudged the 
bottle her way. "Glasses are over there." He 
waved at a wrought iron wine rack that held a 
dozen or so bottles and a collection of glasses 
suspended upside down.

Suddenly, the thought of a gentle buzz was very 
appealing. She got up and fetched herself a 
glass. When she came back to the table, he 
picked up the bottle and filled her glass.

He raised his glass. "To justice." 

Scully took a long swallow and let the loose 
warmth flow from her throat to her fingertips.

"To justice." 

* * *

Chapter 7


Scarsdale, NY
Tuesday, Nov 4th
8:00 pm


"She had a car reserved at the Pittsburgh 
airport, but she never picked it up." Jeremy 
Grissom took a sip from his recently refilled 
glass, made a face, and set it back down on the 
table. "This tasted a lot better an hour ago."
He eyed Scully's empty glass. "You didn't like 
it, either," he pronounced sadly.

"It was fine, Jeremy. One is my limit." It was 
one *more* than her limit, actually. "Did the 
police check with the cab companies?"

"No record of anyone picking her up." His eyes 
widened. "The killer took her from the 
airport?"

"Or she went with him willingly. It seems 
unlikely that she could have been forcibly 
taken from such a public place."

"Then, you think she knew him?" 

This was sensitive ground. The list of suspects 
would naturally include Jeremy himself. "Yes."

He studied her face for a moment. "You'll need 
to eliminate everyone she knew, then. Including 
me."

"Yes," she said again. "Can you account for 
your whereabouts on the day she disappeared?" 
Scully had to work to find her interrogator's 
voice. The guilt from having brutalized his 
emotions with that photograph was still fresh.

"She flew into Pittsburgh on Labor Day weekend.  
I was here working on a plumbing leak that had 
everyone's water shut off for two days. My 
tenants will remember it, I'm certain of that." 

Scully smiled. "I'm sure they will. You know I 
will have to verify that."

"I understand." He was silent for a moment. "I 
don't want you to waste any time chasing the 
wrong suspects. Anything I can do to help you 
find everyone you need to eliminate, just let 
me know."

The subject matter seemed to have sobered him 
up considerably. He took a deep breath. "Guess 
it's time to put away the alcohol and make some 
coffee." The illusion of sobriety lasted until 
he stood up-- too quickly, as it turned out.

Scully was on her feet and around the table in 
time to avert disaster. She held onto him while 
he found his balance, her right arm around his 
waist and her left hand gripping his forearm. 
It wasn't until she looked up into surprised 
blue eyes that she realized how intimate the 
contact must have seemed to him. She released 
him immediately. "I'll make that coffee for 
you." 

While she was measuring and pouring, she could 
feel his gaze on her back.

"That looked like a reflex, Agent Scully." 
There was a teasing lilt in his voice, but with 
something beneath it that felt warm and   
dangerous. "You've had a lot of practice saving 
somebody's ass, I'd say. Your partner?"

Scully spent an inordinate amount of time 
wiping the counter before she turned around. He 
was watching her with a smile that matched the 
honey in his voice. Mulder was the last topic 
on earth she wanted to be discussing with this 
man. "I have to get back to work. And you need 
to get some sleep."

Jeremy's sigh was resigned and slightly amused. 
"I heard that. Loud and clear." He took an 
experimental step with his hands held out for 
balance. "I don't suppose you'd like to walk me 
to my door."

She smiled and shook her head.

"Well, good night, then. Thanks for the 
sympathetic shoulder. I mean that." 

She smiled, nodding her thanks. "I'll have to 
speak with your tenants in the morning."

He shrugged. "They'll all be home. Retirees, 
except for Jackie and me." He said her name 
this time without the tremor in his voice. "If 
you want copies of anything from her computer, 
there are plenty of diskettes in the bottom 
right drawer."

"Thank you, Jeremy. I'll take a cab to the 
train station when I'm finished. I appreciate 
your cooperation." She waited for him to renew 
his insistence that he'd accompany her back to 
Warren, but it never came. She walked with him 
to the front door, then went back to the 
computer room.

Her cell phone's blank display stared up at her 
from the desk like a silent rebuke. She turned 
it back on, and felt disappointment edge out 
relief when the 'message waiting' icon failed 
to appear. If she called him now and got *his* 
voice mail, her imagination would take over, 
she knew. No, she would just leave the phone 
on. If he needed her, he would call. 

She signed onto the Internet and typed in the 
Bureau's search engine URL. When the site came 
up, she entered Michael Hobart's name and 
waited.

* * *

Warren, PA
Wednesday, Nov. 5th.
11:00 am

Mulder tripped over his own feet getting to the 
phone and still caught it on the first ring. 
But it wasn't Scully's voice on the other end 
of the line.

"Good morning, sleepyhead." Michael chirped in 
his ear. "You keep banker's hours, I see."

"I'm setting up interviews for this afternoon. 
It's quieter here. And warmer." And he wanted 
privacy when Scully called. "What's up?" 

"If I said 'a suspect', would it take the gloom 
out of your voice?"

Evidently, a smile wasn't the only expression 
that could be heard in one's voice. "You're 
saying you have a suspect?"

"I'm saying I might. I'd like you to interview 
him with me, if you have time."

His first interview wasn't until 2:00. "Here in 
town?"

"I'm afraid not. He lives in Jamestown, not far 
from my office. It's about twenty miles, so 
maybe an hour there and back."

Plus whatever time it took them to find and 
talk to the suspect, Mulder thought darkly. All 
of it in the company of the wrong woman. "How did 
you come up with this guy?"

"I'll tell you on the way. I promise, you won't 
be disappointed."

He was already disappointed. And skeptical. It 
would be an amazing coincidence if Michael had 
managed to turn up a viable suspect, mere hours 
after Mulder had all but thrown her out of his 
room. It felt too much like a counterstrike for 
comfort. On the other hand, he couldn't afford 
to ignore a potential break in the case, given 
his dismal lack of success.

"Where should I meet you?"

She chuckled. "I'm pulling up next to your car 
as we speak. And I've got some hot coffee for 
you, too."

"I'll be right out." He shut down his laptop, 
ran careless fingers through his hair, and 
grabbed his coat. He was pulling the door shut 
when he remembered his cell phone and had to go 
back for it. Michael was walking toward the 
building when he came out the back door.

"I thought maybe you changed your mind and 
decided to duck out the front." She said it 
teasingly, but her expression was pure relief 
as she turned and headed back to her car.

When he got in, she was holding a travel mug 
out to him. "Fresh and hot. Drink up and I'll 
tell you all about my hunch." 

Mulder accepted the mug and took a careful sip. 
It was definitely hot, but tasted burned. 
Bitter. "You wouldn't happen to have cream, by 
any chance?"

She reached across his knees and popped the 
glove box latch. "Never leave home without it."

Juggling the open mug and the little travel 
packets of nondairy creamer took all of his 
concentration. When he looked up again, they 
were on the main road, heading north. His first 
sip of the lightened coffee was only slightly 
better than the original. "Who is your 
suspect?"

"I don't know why I didn't think to do it 
before, but last night, I went through my 
patient files looking for anyone who matched 
the killer's profile. I found Harold Coster, 
age 35, referred to me by the Jamestown 
Sheriff's department last January. I only saw 
him one time, and I'd forgotten all about 
him... until I read my case notes. He fits the 
profile so well, I might as well have written 
it with him in mind."

"Did you?" He asked because she seemed to be 
expecting a response. "Subconsciously, I mean."

Michael shrugged. "I guess it's possible. 
Either way, he fits both your profile and mine 
in several important areas." She looked over at 
him and smiled. "And the really interesting 
part is, he's both the stranger you suggested, 
and the local that I did."

Cryptic. Deliberately so, if he could count on 
his faltering intuition at all anymore. He took 
another distinctly unsatisfying sip of coffee 
and vowed silently not to rise to the bait. His 
phone chose that moment to ring, and he dug it 
out of his breast pocket with a grateful sigh.

"Mulder."

Silence for a moment. "Mulder, it's me."

A surprising pang of loneliness spread through 
his chest. "Hey, Scully. How's it going?"

"Better than I expected. I have a few leads to 
follow up, but I should make the 4:20 flight 
back to Pittsburgh. That would put me in 
Bradford around six o'clock tonight."

Just the thought of having her back made him 
smile. "I'll pick you up at six, then."

"Wait until I call. If something comes of the 
leads, I might still stay another night. I just 
wanted to give you a heads up." Pause. "How did 
you do with the interviews yesterday. I forgot 
to ask last night."

Yeah, because you hung up on me before I could 
say anything. Out loud, he said, "I'll tell you 
when you get here." Pause. Deep breath. "Hurry 
back, okay?" 

He winced in the few seconds of silence that 
followed. Then her voice drifted across the 
miles, all the stiff formality melted away.

"I'll see you soon." There was another second 
or two of comfortable silence before she 
clicked off the call.

"So, she must be on her way back?" 

Michael's voice disintegrated the mood and left 
him abruptly, unaccountably irritated. Mulder 
closed the phone and put it back in his pocket 
before he looked at her. "Yes, she thinks so." 

Michael nodded at the windshield. "Is she 
having any luck, then?"

He took a long sip from his coffee, then 
addressed his response to the side window. "I 
won't know that until she gets back." 

The scenery whizzing by outside his window was 
making him dizzy, so he shifted his gaze to the 
windshield. "How long until we get there?"

"About twenty minutes." She gave him a sidelong 
look. "You could catch a few winks, if you're 
sleepy. You look like you had a long night."

That was an understatement. "Too much 
caffeine." He gave the coffee mug a baleful 
look and closed the lid. "I think I've had 
enough."

Michael shrugged. "You should drink the stuff 
during the day, not at night."

Yeah, whatever. He set the mug on the floor and 
went back to watching the scenery. "If I nod 
off, just nudge me when we get there."

She gave him a fond look that made his skin 
crawl. "You know I will."


* * *

Upper East Side
Manhattan, New York City
Wednesday, Nov. 5th
11:20 am


Scully had spent most of the morning reviewing 
files on Jacqueline Acres' computer before 
finally deciding to take a copy of the whole 
hard drive back to Warren with her. There was 
just too much information for the time she had.

Talking with Jeremy Grissom's tenants had told 
her exactly what she'd expected. He was a nice 
guy who kept the property in wonderful shape, 
and he had spent Labor Day weekend working on 
the plumbing. And of course, his rent was too 
high. 

Jeremy did ask again if he could come back to 
Warren with her, but he'd seemed to know the 
answer before she gave it to him. She asked him 
to go through Jackie's papers over the next few 
days and contact her if he found anything at 
all unusual. He agreed, and then drove her to 
the train station.

She debated the wisdom of her next move all the 
way to Grand Central Station. Even now, 
standing in front of Michael Hobart's last 
known address, she was warring with herself.

Mulder would understand this investigation even 
less than he had her probe into Diana Fowley's 
checkered past, and that was saying a lot. And 
it wasn't as if she even knew what she expected 
to find. There was just something about the 
woman that invited suspicion, and not all of it 
had to do with Mulder. 

She would talk to a few neighbors, purely as a 
background investigator. If nothing turned up, 
that would be the end of it. 

She started with the doorman who had been 
watching her pace back and forth in front of 
the building. When she approached him 
displaying her badge, he raised an eyebrow. 

"I might have pegged you as a stalker, but not 
a member of law enforcement. Appearances can be 
deceiving, can't they?" He had the bearing and 
tone of a snooty maitre d'.

"Do you remember a tenant by the name of 
Michael Hobart?"

The man's superior expression changed to mild 
concern. "Of course. Is she in any trouble?"

"That's an odd question, Mister...?"

"Masterson. John Masterson."

"Mr. Masterson, why would you think Michael is 
in trouble?"

He shrugged, the supercilious eyebrow back in 
place. "You're with law enforcement. What else 
could it be?"

"Just a simple background check, Mr. Masterson. 
Nothing sinister. What can you tell me about 
Ms. Hobart?"

Masterson shifted his attention to a smartly 
dressed woman approaching the door. Smiling, he 
touched two gloved fingers to the brim of his 
hat and opened the door with a flourish. "Good 
morning, Mrs. Templeton."

"Good morning, John." She cast a suspicious eye 
at Scully and entered the lobby.

The man's smile vanished instantly. "Do you 
have a warrant?"

Scully smiled thinly. "This is not a criminal 
investigation, Mr. Masterson. I'm just asking 
if you can tell me anything about a former 
tenant."

"Then, I'd prefer not to answer."

Knowing the likely response, she asked, "Would 
you allow me into the building so I can speak 
with her neighbors?"

He snorted. "Hardly."

The door opened behind them and a tall man 
exited the lobby. He stopped in front of the 
doorman. "I just saw Maggie Templeton in the 
elevator. She says there's a woman out here 
asking about Michael Hobart." He turned to 
Scully. "Would that be you, by any chance?"

Scully held up her badge and introduced 
herself. "And you are...?"

"Mike Castle."

"Did you know Michael Hobart?"

The tall man chuckled. "You could say that. We 
lived together for four years. How does that 
concern the F.B.I.?"

"It's just a background check. May I speak with 
you for a few minutes?"

"I was just on my way out. You can walk with 
me, if you like." He glanced at the doorman. "I 
can guarantee that John here won't let you past 
the door. I'm going to be your only option."

They started walking.

"What has she done to merit this kind of 
attention?"

"Ms. Hobart is assisting me and my partner on a 
murder investigation in Warren. Since she's not 
a Bureau employee, it's a normal procedure to 
verify some facts." It was a lie, but a small 
one. 

Castle looked impressed. "Well, that ought to 
have her on cloud nine."

"What do you mean?"

"Her father was the center of her universe, and 
all she ever wanted to do was make him proud. I 
gotta believe working with the F.B.I. ranks 
right up there for a cop's kid."

They stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the 
light to change. "Is there anything you can 
tell me about Michael that would be cause for 
concern in a murder investigation?"

"Not unless there's a prize for first place. I 
never knew a more competitive person in my 
life, and I've worked with the biggest sharks 
on Wall Street. They're no match for Michael. 
She could have made a fortune if she'd gone 
into finance."

Scully shrugged one shoulder. "I wouldn't call 
that a character flaw, exactly.

The light changed, and they crossed the street. 
"I didn't say it was, but Michael tends to take 
things to the extreme. If you've worked with 
her at all, then you should know what I'm 
talking about. Once something catches her 
interest, she's like a pit bull on speed." He 
stopped. "I'm turning here. Where are you 
headed?"

"LaGuardia."

"Let me get a cab for you." He stepped to the 
curb and whistled at an approaching cluster of 
yellow cabs. One screeched to a stop at his 
side, and he opened the door for her. "Tell 
Michael I said hello." He turned on his heel 
and disappeared into the crowd.

Scully gave the driver her destination and 
leaned back in the seat. The only way she could 
tell Michael hello for him would be to admit 
what she'd been up to, and that wasn't likely 
to happen anytime soon. 

She tried Mulder's cell standing in line at 
security, then again while she waited for her 
flight to be called. Both times, she got his 
voice mail.

Pittsburgh was an hour and a half away. She 
would try again from there.

* * *

Chautauqua County Jail
Jamestown, NY
4:00 pm

"Thank you, Mr. Conner. I apologize for the 
inconvenience. I'll see you tomorrow at 2 
o'clock." Mulder clicked off the call and 
stuffed the phone back in his pocket. Six calls 
in a row had his ear heated up, right along 
with his temper.

Michael looked up from her magazine. "I know 
what a pain it is to reschedule, but I have a 
really good feeling about this."

Mulder looked at the clock. "You're sure he 
hasn't been locked up for any of the murders?"

She gave him a patient look. "You don't think I 
would have verified that before I dragged you 
out here?"

He huffed noncommittally and folded his arms. 
"If we can't get clearance soon, I'm leaving. 
Scully will be coming into the airport in two 
hours." Five freakin' hours waiting for 
Coster's attorney was about four and a half 
hours more than he'd wanted to spend.

"We're closer to Bradford here than we were in 
Warren." Her expression brightened. "I could 
pick Scully up and bring her here. That way, if 
you get to see Coster sooner, we won't have 
wasted all this time."

He considered it for a moment. "How soon would 
you have to leave?"

"Well, if her plane is coming in at six, I 
wouldn't have to leave for another hour or so."

Mulder nodded. "Good. Maybe we'll be through by 
then."

They weren't. A guard came to get them at 
twenty minutes past five o'clock, just as 
Michael was heading for the door. "I should be 
back with Scully by seven, and we can all go to 
dinner."

*Oh, yeah. Scully's gonna love that.* Mulder 
forced a nod. "That's up to Scully." He turned 
and followed the guard without waiting for a 
response.

* * *

Bradford Regional Airport
Wednesday, Nov. 5
6:10 pm


Scully had tried Mulder's cell phone twice more 
and gotten his voice mail both times, so she 
fully expected to be taking a cab back to the 
hotel. That was until she spotted Michael 
Hobart smiling and waving the moment she 
stepped into the terminal building.

"How was your flight?" 

"It was fine, thanks." She quickly scanned the 
small crowd. "Is Mulder here with you?"

Michael's smile was apologetic. "I hope you 
don't mind, but he asked me to come pick you 
up. He's going to be tied up for awhile and 
didn't want you to have to take a cab."

"Where is he?" They walked toward the parking 
lot, Michael in the lead.

"Jamestown, interviewing a suspect at the 
county lock up. We're going to pick him up."

Scully stopped, and waited for Michael to turn 
around. "A suspect? Who?"

"A former patient of mine. I'll tell you about 
it on the way." She started walking again, and 
Scully followed.

Michael's Jeep was parked right out front. She 
unlocked the passenger door and walked around 
to the driver's side. Scully tossed her bag 
into the backseat and got in. The seat was 
pushed back all the way which told her Mulder 
had probably been the last passenger. It made 
her smile.

"I need to take a short detour, if you don't 
mind. There's someone I need to see for just a 
minute or two," Michael said, her hand resting 
on the key in the ignition as if waiting for 
permission to start the car.

Scully suppressed a weary sigh. "I'm sure 
Mulder won't mind waiting another few minutes."

Michael nodded happily and turned the key. "I 
hoped you'd feel that way. Thanks."

"No problem." Scully leaned back in the seat 
and closed her eyes.

* * *

Jamestown, NY
8:14 pm

Coster was a headcase of the first order, but 
unless Mulder had completely lost all touch 
with his profiling ability, the man was no 
serial killer. It was true that he wasn't able 
to account for his whereabouts on the critical 
dates, but even his attorney was unconcerned. 
Five minutes into the interview, he had taken a 
phone call and left them alone.

Seven hours, wasted. 

And where the hell was Scully?

Mulder tried her cell phone and got voice mail 
immediately. Again. He'd called the sheriff a 
half hour ago to get Michael's cell number, 
tried that, and got the same results. 

"Hills block the signal. You might as well save 
the battery," came a weary voice from the 
reception desk.

Mulder looked up. "Excuse me?"

The middle-aged woman at the desk gave him a 
patient smile. "The hills block cell signals. I 
don't know why anybody bothers to carry those 
things around here." She waved dismissively at 
the phone in Mulder's hand, then went back to 
her paperwork.

He was slipping it back into his pocket when it 
rang. "Mulder," he announced with a triumphant 
glance at the receptionist.

It wasn't Scully. "Agent Mulder, it's Will 
Kessler. I'm afraid I've got some bad news."

A rush of adrenaline sent his heart hammering 
and drove him to his feet. Scully. "What is 
it?"

"We found Michael Hobart's Jeep in a ditch off 
Route 62 a few minutes ago. Michael was barely 
conscious, but we got that somebody ran them 
off the road."

Mulder ran his tongue over lips that were 
suddenly parchment dry. "Is Scully all right?" 

"She's not there, Agent Mulder. Michael said 
that when she came to, your partner was gone."

* * *
 
Chapter 8


Route 62
Wed. Nov. 5th
9:24 pm

"It won't be long now. Maybe ten minutes," 
Carol Allison announced with a quick glance in 
his direction.

Mulder nodded mutely, his repertoire of polite 
small talk having run out ten minutes after 
they left Jamestown. He'd been only too eager 
to accept the receptionist's offer to drive him 
here, but that was before he knew she'd expect 
to hear his life's story on the way.

He needed the time to think. When he reached 
the crime scene, he'd have to hit the ground 
running, and that meant sorting through the 
chaos in his head before he got there. 

Scully was gone. Wrapping his head around that 
fact alone was almost more than he could 
handle. That her disappearance might well be 
due to his inept handling of Michael Hobart 
made him physically ill. That her rescue might 
depend on him threatened to immobilize him with 
sheer terror. 

No matter how he turned the pieces around, the 
only combination that fit had him squarely at 
the center. Michael was infatuated with him, 
that was obvious. Michael was relentlessly 
pursuing him every chance she got, no matter 
how clearly he signaled that he wasn't 
interested. Michael arranged an interview with 
a bullshit suspect, then volunteered to pick up 
Scully. And Michael was allegedly the last 
person to see Scully before she disappeared. 

All he could say was Michael better have some 
goddamned good answers to some direct fucking 
questions or there was gonna be blood on the 
walls. And that was a promise.

"That must be it." Carol Allison slowed as they 
came around a curve to find the road ahead 
crowded with emergency vehicles. Flashing 
lights turned the snow blood red and bright 
blue by turns.

He had his hand on the door handle, poised to 
jump out as soon as the car stopped. Carol 
maneuvered around an ambulance with its rear 
doors standing open. An empty gurney, mired in 
the snow just behind it, taunted him.

Carol touched his shoulder gently. "I hope 
she's all right."

"Thanks. I hope so, too." His voice was tight. 
Every muscle in his body was tensed for 
whatever he was about to learn. Things could 
have changed while he'd been in transit from 
Jamestown-- driving through the 'no service' 
hell Carol had told him about back at the jail. 
Scully could be on her way to a hospital, for 
all he knew. He refused to consider the darker 
possibilities.

They navigated the maze of police cars and 
rescue vehicles and stopped next to Michael 
Hobart's Jeep tilted nose-down in a shallow 
ditch. A dozen men with flashlights prowled the 
snowy field beyond. 

Mulder opened the door. Paused. "Thank you," he 
said again.

Her eyes were soft and kind. "Good luck, Agent 
Mulder. I'll be praying for you."

He nodded again and got out, stepping into snow 
that came up to his ankles and spilled into his 
shoes. He closed the door and waited while she 
turned the car around, heading back to 
Jamestown and her waiting family. 

"Over here, Agent Mulder." Will Kessler 
motioned to him from across the road. He looked 
like a man with more bad news to deliver.

Mulder looked at Carol Allison's taillights 
receding into the distance, then crossed the 
road to join the sheriff. "Did you find her?"

The sheriff shook his head. "We're thinking she 
might have been disoriented and wandered off. 
There could have been tracks, but the rescue 
team trampled all over them before we got 
here." He waved his flashlight at the men 
searching the field. "The brush is too dense to 
show much once you get a few yards away."

Mulder walked around to the passenger side of 
the Jeep, digging his own flashlight from his 
pocket. The door was open, and he moved his 
light around the interior. Scully's duffle was 
on the backseat. The sheriff leaned in through 
the driver's door and added his light to 
Mulder's. There was no blood. No sign of a 
struggle.

"I've got a search team coming out with dogs, 
but it's gonna be another half hour or so 
before they get here."

Mulder looked across the seat at Kessler. "Can 
someone give me a ride to the hospital? I want 
to talk to Michael Hobart."

The sheriff frowned and stood up. "Michael's in 
no shape to help you, Agent Mulder."

Mulder came back around the car and joined the 
sheriff, totally filling his shoes with snow in 
the process. "What's her condition?" 

Kessler shrugged. "Don't know the specifics 
yet, but the EMT's said she was barely 
conscious. I doubt they'll let you see her 
until tomorrow."

Mulder leveled his gaze. "She's the only 
witness to the apparent abduction of a Federal 
Agent. I'm going to talk to her."

The standoff was brief. Kessler sighed and 
stuck his flashlight in his back pocket. "Give 
me a minute." He strode off toward the search 
team, waving one of the men over to him. They 
spoke for a moment, then Kessler came back to 
Mulder holding out a bundle of keys. "Take that 
car. Just follow this road south and you'll go 
straight into town," he explained, but Mulder 
had taken the keys and was already moving.

He called back over his shoulder. "Call me the 
second you find anything."

* * *

Warren Community Hospital
Emergency Department
10:04 pm

"The doctor is with her now, Agent Mulder, but 
you can go in for a few minutes. She's been 
asking for you," the young nurse told him. 

He followed her down the hall to a door marked 
"Trauma 1". Inside, Michael Hobart lay propped 
on a gurney surrounded by beeping equipment. 
The doctor he'd spoken with a few minutes 
earlier looked up as they entered, clearly 
displeased at having her orders overruled by 
her own patient. 

"Michael, I'm going to ask Dr. Wallace to 
review your x-rays, then we'll come back to 
talk with you." She patted Michael's hand and 
walked over to Mulder. "Five minutes." She 
stepped around him and left the room. 

The nurse gave him a sympathetic smile and 
followed the doctor out.

Michael held out her hand to him. "Mulder, I'm 
so sorry. I don't know what to say."

He came over to the bed and took her hand. "Are 
you all right?"

She shrugged, and then winced at the effort. "I 
have a headache, but I guess that's normal." 

Mulder put her hand back on the bed. "What 
happened?"

"I never saw him coming until it was too late." 
She took a shaky breath. "I was knocked 
unconscious. When I woke up, Scully was gone." 

"Who is 'he', Michael?"

She looked surprised. "Why, the killer. Who 
else would it have been?"

He studied her for a moment. "Did you see what 
kind of car it was?"

"All I saw were headlights bearing down on us. 
It's all a blur. They say I told someone we 
were run off the road, but I don't remember 
saying that."

"You don't remember saying that." He repeated 
her words slowly.

"No, but Dr. Adams said that was normal. I 
might never remember those last few moments."

Mulder shifted his gaze to the wall behind her, 
hands on his hips. "Why would the killer come 
after you and Scully? And why would he only 
take one of you?" He waited a beat before he 
looked at her. "It doesn't make any sense."

"You're right," she agreed quickly. "It doesn't 
fit his pattern, unless this time was different 
because Scully wasn't alone. The other women 
were alone when he took them." 

"Exactly. Why would he risk taking on two adult 
women at the same time? Particularly when one 
of them is armed."

"Maybe he didn't know." Michael's voice took on 
a dreamy quality, as if she'd forgotten Mulder 
was in the room. "Maybe he means for her to be 
his final victim. Ending the way he began..." 
She trailed off, pressing both hands firmly to 
her temples.

"Michael?"

The door opened behind him, and Mulder turned 
around. Dr. Adams came in with a middle-aged 
man he assumed to be Dr. Wallace. They moved to 
opposite sides of Michael's bed, and Dr. Adams 
gave Mulder a pointed look. "You'll have to 
leave now."

Michael didn't move or look up. Mulder nodded 
to the doctors and walked out of the room.

Sheriff Kessler was waiting for him in the 
hall. He anticipated Mulder's question, then 
asked one of his own. "We haven't found 
anything. I'm here to take you to the office to 
file a missing person report."

"First, I want you to post a guard on Michael's 
room." 

Kessler's mouth dropped open. "What the hell 
for?"

Mulder took the man's arm and tugged him away 
from Michael's door to a less traveled section 
of the hall. 

"What the hell for?" Kessler asked again, with 
a bit less volume.

"Have you talked to her at all yet?" Mulder 
jerked his head toward Michael's room.

"No, I've been busy at the accident scene. 
Why?" 

Mulder looked down at the floor, choosing his 
words. This needed careful handling. When he 
met the sheriff's gaze, he found curiosity 
leavened with caution. "Michael has no visible 
injuries, yet she claims to have been knocked 
unconscious and to have no memory of the event. 
She's even recanting her story about being run 
off the road."

"Her *story*? What the hell is that supposed to 
mean?"

Mulder kept his voice level. "It means I'm not 
convinced she's telling the truth."

Kessler's color rose to beet red, but he was 
making an obvious effort to restrain himself. 
"Look, Agent, I'm trying to cut you some slack 
here because of the circumstances, but you are 
*way* out of line. Why the hell would she lie?"

"That's what I'd like to know."

The sheriff's mouth opened, then closed. After 
a moment, he said, "I don't know what you think 
happened out there, but I can tell you this 
much: that girl in there has no reason to lie 
about it."

He'd suspected it was a losing battle going in. 
And there was still the possibility that the 
sheriff was right. "Michael thinks the killer 
took Scully." 

That earned him an incredulous look. "And you 
don't?"

"I didn't say that. But I think Michael knows a 
lot more about what happened than she's willing 
to say."

"That's absurd."

"Did you see any sign of damage to her Jeep? 
Did you see any skid marks on the road? Any 
evidence whatever to substantiate her story?"

Kessler folded his arms. "I saw no evidence to 
contradict it. You think she's protecting 
someone? That she knows who the killer is and 
just doesn't want to say?" 

"Something like that, yeah."

He snorted dismissively. "That's about the 
craziest thing I've ever heard, and I don't 
have time to listen to any more of it." He 
turned to walk away.

"Sheriff Kessler." He waited until the man 
turned around. "I'm willing to consider the 
possibility that you're right. All I'm asking 
is that you do me the same courtesy."

Kessler dropped his chin to his chest with a 
heavy sigh. He walked back and put both hands 
on Mulder's shoulders. "Son, I couldn't be any 
more certain that you're wrong if you told me 
*I* took your partner." 

It was a lost cause. Mulder nodded. "I'd like 
to go back to the hotel."

The sheriff gave Mulder a fatherly pat on the 
back. "I'll take you."

The doctors were coming out of Michael's room 
as Mulder and the sheriff approached. Kessler 
stopped to talk with them, and Mulder stood 
silently by, absorbing every word. They weren't 
able to find any sign of a head injury other 
than the reported period of unconsciousness, 
but they would keep her overnight for 
observation. She was very lucky, they said.

It wasn't as good as having a guard posted, but 
Mulder would take what he could get. For the 
moment, at least, she was out of circulation.

Kessler dropped him off at the Holiday Inn's 
front door ten minutes later, then waited until 
he walked into the lobby before he pulled away. 
Mulder walked straight through the building and 
out the back door to his car.

* * * 
Wed. Nov. 5th
11:10 pm

Walter Skinner was sitting down to his usual 
microwave dinner when his cell phone went off-- 
never a good omen at this time of night. He put 
down his fork and walked out to the desk. The 
caller ID told him it was Mulder.

"Skinner."

"Scully is missing."

Just like that. No preamble. "What happened?" 

Skinner listened with increasing alarm to 
Mulder's report. The flat delivery worried him 
almost as much as the content. Experience told 
him what it said about Mulder's stress level.

"Agent Mulder, I'll contact the Pittsburgh 
field office and get you some assistance. 
They'll have someone out there by tomorrow 
morning. Until they arrive, I'm ordering you to 
stand down." 

"I can't do that, Sir," came the expected 
response.

Five minutes of arguing produced a grudging 
commitment from Mulder that he would restrict 
his activities to the sheriff's department 
offices or his hotel room. "If I hear you've 
done more than that, it'll be a cold day in 
hell before you get out in the field again." 

It wasn't much of a threat, given that Scully's 
life could be at stake, but it was the best he 
could do on short notice.

As soon as Mulder hung up, Skinner dialed the 
Bureau operator and asked to be connected to 
the field office in Pittsburgh. While he 
waited, he signed onto the Internet travel site 
to see how much time he had before the next 
flight to Warren. 

* * *
11:50 pm

'Standing down' in his hotel room lasted for 
all of twenty minutes. Even at that, Mulder 
suspected it was twice as long as Skinner had 
really expected. 

He relocated to a dark corner of the hospital 
parking lot that afforded a clear view of the 
front door, and he waited, debating with 
himself the wisdom of talking with Michael 
again so soon. He already regretted sharing his 
suspicions with Sheriff Kessler. The last thing 
he wanted to do was tip his hand and give her a 
chance to cover her tracks... whatever that 
might mean. 

The truth was, he had no clear idea what it was 
he suspected her of doing. Or of knowing. All 
he could say for certain was that her story was 
total crap. 

What he didn't know was why.

Whatever her involvement in Scully's 
disappearance, there was no way in hell she was 
getting out of his sight until he figured it 
out.

* * *

Warren Community Hospital
Trauma Room 1
11:55 pm

Dr. Adams sighed and looked at her watch. She 
should have been on her way home fifty-five 
minutes ago instead of standing here trying to 
talk sense into Michael Hobart. It was time to 
throw in the towel.

"I think you're making a mistake, but it's your 
choice. I'll have a nurse bring the AMA release 
for you to sign, and then you can leave."

Michael smiled. "I'm sorry to be such a pain in 
the butt, but there are some things more 
important than a little bump on the head. I 
feel responsible for what happened to Agent 
Scully. I can't just lounge here while she's 
still in danger. I hope you understand."

"That may be, but the unconsciousness you 
experienced could mean serious damage, no 
matter what the x-rays turned up. I just want 
to make certain that you understand the risk 
you're taking."

"I promise that I do."

There was no point in pursuing it further. "The 
nurse will be right back. You can get dressed."

Michael waited until the door closed behind Dr. 
Adams before she threw off the blanket. "Jesus, 
talk about *persistent*!" She stretched her 
legs, wiggling her toes to get some feeling 
back into them after so long on her back.

Her clothes were in a plastic bag under the 
gurney. Michael shed the worn blue hospital 
gown and dressed quickly. 

There was a pay phone out in the lobby, but she 
needed privacy. There was a chance the calls 
made from inside hospital lines were tracked, 
but she would have to risk it. 

She picked up the trauma room extension, dialed 
nine for an outside line, and punched in Jesse 
Kendall's cell phone number.

* * *

Scully woke lying flat on her back in total 
darkness with the worst headache she could ever 
remember. The blackness was so complete that 
for a brief, horrifying moment, she thought she 
was buried alive.

Straining to see something-- anything-- made 
the headache worse, but she was finally able to 
make out the faint outline of windows. Shaky 
with relief, she redirected her energy to 
figuring out where the hell she was.

Her face was freezing cold. The rest of her 
body seemed to be encased in something that 
felt soft and faintly damp. The air was frigid 
and smelled of old wood smoke, pine needles, 
and mildew. The mildew, she realized, was 
coming from whatever was wrapped around her. 
The cloth tickled her nose and made her want to 
sneeze. It also reminded her of something.

Sleeping bags. Her brothers had been Boy Scouts 
years ago, and they kept their sleeping bags in 
the basement. No matter how often her mother 
took them out to the clothesline to air them 
out, the smell they picked up from the basement 
remained. It smelled just like the material 
that now surrounded her from chin to toes.

An experimental wiggle of her hands and feet 
revealed that she was bound with something that 
felt like duct tape beneath the sleeping bag.

She found she could raise her head from the 
mattress, but that was all. Her legs were held 
fast and her hands rested on her chest inside 
the bag.

That answered a few questions, but not the 
important ones, like how the hell she got here. 
Wherever 'here' was.

*Start with the last thing you remember,* she 
ordered her racing mind to focus.

Michael Hobart picked her up at the airport, 
that much was clear in her mind. Why Michael? 
Where was Mulder?

Michael was there because Mulder was with a 
suspect. A patient of Michael's. What else? 
Michael wanted to stop somewhere on the way to 
wherever Mulder was.

Stop. They had pulled off the road. Something 
about the car. A flat tire?

The pain in her head was making her sick. Deep 
breaths cleared her head but dried out her 
throat and made her cough. Coughing multiplied 
the pounding in her head.

Think, dammit.

They pulled off the road and... The rest was a 
blank. They pulled off the road, and she woke 
up here.

Here, wrapped in a sleeping bag, bound hand and 
foot, and slowly freezing to death.

Waiting for whoever left her here to come back.

* * *

Chapter 9

Thursday, Nov. 6th
12:02 am

Jesse Kendall was a block from home when his 
cell phone rang. He let it go to voice mail and 
kept driving. It rang again as he was pulling 
into his driveway. He sighed, dug it out of his 
pocket, and squinted blearily at the caller ID.

*Warren Comm Hosp*

Feeling reasonably confident that he wasn't 
about to be called back to work, he pressed the 
talk button and brought the phone to his ear. 
If it *did* turn out to be Will, he was in for 
an unpleasant surprise.

"Yeah, Kendall."

"Jess, it's me."

The sound of Michael's voice had its usual 
effect. Jesse felt the warmth start somewhere 
in the pit of his stomach and spread steadily 
outward until his toes-- among other things-- 
were tingling. He smiled at the windshield. "I 
was beginning to think you lost my number."

There was a shaky sigh on the other end of the 
line. Even with six beers under his belt, Jesse  
could tell a passionate sigh from one that 
shouted *trouble*. His grin vanished and he sat 
forward, gripping the wheel tightly. "What's 
wrong?"

"Will hasn't called you?"

*Warren Community Hospital* His heart thudded 
against his ribs. "I've been at Lacey's since I 
got off work." He always shut his phone off 
when he was at his favorite bar. She knew that. 
"Michael, what's wrong?"

He heard her take a shaky breath. "Something 
terrible happened tonight. I'm okay, but the 
woman from the FBI was kidnapped out of my car. 
We think it was the killer. They're releasing 
me from the hospital, and I'm... afraid to go 
home."

He knew what it cost her to admit that. "Jesus, 
baby. I'll be there in ten minutes. Just hang 
in there."

* * *
A Jeep Wrangler drove into the parking lot too 
fast, its rear tires slipping on the icy 
pavement so that the driver had to wrestle for 
control. Mulder watched it pull up to the front 
entrance with no more than passing interest, 
until the driver got out and looked in his 
direction.

It was Jesse Kendall. Mulder hunkered down in 
his seat, purely out of reflex, before he 
realized it was too dark for Kendall to see him 
anyway. 

"What's he doing here?" It was unlikely that 
Sheriff Kessler had decided to send a guard 
after all, particularly since Kendall was out 
of uniform. No, this was something else. 
Something personal? Michael certainly wasn't 
the only patient in the building, but it would 
be an amazing coincidence if Jesse were here to 
see anyone else.

A moment later the question was answered-- and 
many more were generated-- when Jesse walked 
out of the hospital with his arm around Michael 
Hobart. They got into the Jeep and pulled away. 

Mulder waited until they reached the main road, 
then followed, keeping as much distance as 
possible between the two vehicles and leaving  
his lights off.

Following them through the picturesque streets 
was one thing, but they soon headed out of 
town, past Warren's only shopping mall, and 
then west into the heart of the national 
forest. 

The winding, two lane road complicated the task 
of trying to keep the Wrangler in sight without 
being seen. At any moment, he expected to come 
around a curve and either find the Jeep 
directly in front of him or vanished up one of 
the narrow trails leading into the woods.

Twenty minutes after it began, the trek ended 
in a small cluster of single-story homes set 
into a hillside. The Wrangler pulled into the 
driveway of a white clapboard house in the 
center of the group. There were no streetlamps, 
but all of the houses had bright mercury vapor 
lights mounted on utility poles that left few 
shadows to hide in. Mulder hung well back, but 
close enough to see Jesse and Michael go into 
the house together through the side door.

Mulder turned off the car and stared at the 
house as lights came on inside. Kendall came 
out the front door a moment later and walked to 
the mailbox out by the street. He extracted a 
handful of envelopes and flyers and went back 
into the house. Nothing in his posture or his 
actions suggested anything other than a man 
home from work, going about his normal routine. 

Did he actually believe Scully was in there? 
Was it possible that the sheriff's department 
profiler and one of its deputies had conspired 
to kidnap a Federal agent? Because the profiler 
had a crush on the Federal agent's partner?

Mulder let the scenario play in his head and 
imagined himself explaining the theory to 
Sheriff Kessler. Or to a judge, asking for a 
warrant. Or to A.D. Skinner.

*You're losing it, Mulder.*

*I'm not sure I ever had it to begin with.*

The lights at the front of the house went out, 
and another toward the rear came on. A few 
minutes later, the house went completely dark.

* * *

1:40 am

Jesse strained and sweated above her, fumbling 
at her body with rough and clumsy hands. His 
breath on her face reeked of beer and cigarette 
smoke. Michael turned her face into the pillow 
and closed her eyes. 

*This is the last. Just hold on.*

It always took a long time when he'd been 
drinking, but she could be certain when it was 
over that he would sleep like the dead for 
hours. She needed him to do just that, and 
almost any price was worth paying if it bought 
her the time she needed.

When he finally stiffened, then collapsed upon  
her, she slid out from beneath him and wiped 
his stickiness from her thighs with a corner of 
the musty sheet. 

"Don't go, baby." He was already on his way to 
sleep, but one paw reached for her in the dark.

"I'm going to the bathroom, Jess. I'll be right 
back." She forced herself to stroke his cheek 
until he relaxed. When the snoring began, she 
slipped out of bed.

She grabbed her purse and her clothes from the 
floor, slipped into the bathroom and turned on 
the light. She dug the plastic bottle from her 
purse and held it against her body as she 
squatted over the toilet, catching his fluid as 
it drained from her. After a moment, she 
recapped the bottle and put it back in her 
purse. The shower might wake him, but she could 
not bear to feel his sweat on her skin another 
moment. She stood under the steaming flow for 
as long as she dared, then dried herself and 
dressed quickly.

When she came out, Jesse was still sprawled 
across the bed, sound asleep.

His keys lay on the dining room table next to 
his gun. It was tempting to take the gun, but 
even a man as dimwitted as Jesse Kendall would 
catch on if she did. Michael pulled on her coat 
and went out into the frigid night.

* * *

Mulder was midway to the house when the front 
door opened. If he hadn't happened to be 
passing the only shrub on Jesse's front lawn, 
it would have been all over. As it was, he 
barely managed to duck out of sight before she 
glanced his way. He held his breath as she 
paused, seeming to focus right on him. Then, 
she pulled the door shut and walked to the 
Jeep. 

He waited until she had backed down the drive 
and out into the street before he moved. His 
car was a hundred yards away, but if she drove 
back the way they had come, she would certainly 
recognize it. 

She didn't. Wherever she was going, it was in 
the opposite direction.

When she disappeared around a curve down the 
street, Mulder ran to his car.

The road narrowed to barely a lane and a half 
as he followed her from a quarter mile back. 
With his lights off, he knew he was all but 
invisible at this distance, but the darkness 
made it extremely hard to stay on the paved 
surface. Every time she vanished around a 
curve, he held his breath until he caught sight 
of her taillights again. 

There was no question in his mind now that she 
was lying about what happened to Scully. Either 
she had taken Scully herself, or she knew who 
did. The why of it no longer mattered. All he 
cared about was finding Scully alive, and he 
could only hope that Michael was going to her 
now. 

The road wound around another curve and Mulder 
slowed to a crawl. When he came to the other 
side, the road lay pitch black and empty before 
him. The Jeep was gone.

He stopped the car and peered into blackness. 
It was so complete that he literally couldn't 
see his hands on the wheel. Off to the right, 
he thought he caught a brief flicker of 
something through the trees, but it disappeared 
before he could focus.

He could either sit here until the sun came up, 
or risk using his lights until he picked up the 
Jeep's trail. In this total darkness, even a 
momentary flash of his headlights would be 
visible for miles-- if anyone was looking his 
way-- but he didn't see any alternative.

Mulder reached for the switch and pulled it out 
one stop to the parking light setting. The 
instrument panel lights came on along with the 
outside lights, and he blinked at the faint 
glow, blinding in contrast to the total 
darkness of a moment before. He found the 
dimmer switch and turned the panel lights off 
completely. When his eyes readjusted to the 
darkness, he found that the parking lights gave 
him enough vision to see the road.

The Jeep had only been out of his sight for a 
few seconds. Wherever it had turned off had to 
be very close. Mulder put the car in gear and 
crept forward.

He saw the turnoff almost immediately. A path 
into the woods on the right looked recently 
traveled, and he followed it. A few yards 
farther along, the contrast between snow and 
trees was strong enough that he decided to try 
it with his lights off. After his eyes 
adjusted, he found he could see well enough to 
keep moving.

Up ahead, a brief glimpse of light through the 
trees told him he was on the right track.

* * *

Scully saw the lights outside a moment before 
the sound of the engine reached her ears. In 
the reflected glow, she finally caught a 
glimpse of her surroundings. It was a cabin, 
and she was lying on a cot right under a 
window. Before she could register much more 
than that, the vehicle outside came to a halt 
and extinguished its lights.

She heard a car door slam, then footsteps 
squeaking across frigid snow. When the cabin  
door opened, her heart rate tripled. 

A flashlight beam found her face and stayed 
there. It was impossible to see beyond it.

"I see you're still here." 

A woman's voice... chuckling.

"Who are you?" Scully used her command voice, 
but a tremor spoiled the effect.

"Hang on a minute, and I'll get us some light," 
came the cheery response, and this time Scully 
recognized the voice.

"Michael?" It briefly crossed Scully's mind 
that this might be a rescue. "What are you 
doing here?"

"Patience, Agent Scully. Patience."

A scratching sound preceded a strong scent of 
sulfur, and a match burst to flame. It 
reflected Michael Hobart's face as she lit two 
oil lamps on a rough mantle over the stone 
fireplace. When she had the flames adjusted to 
her liking, she turned to Scully.

"There. Now we can talk." She dragged a wooden 
chair next to Scully's cot and sat down. "What 
do you want to talk about?"

"Untie me, Michael." Her voice was steady this 
time.

"You really don't think much of my IQ, do you?" 
Michael shook one finger at Scully like a 
peevish schoolmarm. "I'm disappointed, I have 
to tell you."

"I think you're an extremely intelligent woman, 
Michael. I just don't understand what you could 
hope to accomplish by keeping me here."

"I think you do." All the lightness was gone 
from her voice and her eyes.

Scully weighed her options and decided she had 
nothing to lose. "All right, then does this 
have something to do with Mulder?"

"It does now, but only because you've left me 
no alternative."

"*I* left you no alternative? Are you under the 
impression that I'm the reason Mulder isn't 
interested in you?"

"If you hadn't been here, I think I could have 
made him talk to me about the murders. I think 
he might have understood." She shrugged. "It 
doesn't matter now."

"I'd like to understand, if you'll tell me."

Michael stood up so quickly that the chair 
tipped over. "Don't patronize me." She leaned 
down and hissed the words into Scully's face.

Scully kept her voice level, but her pulse 
thudded hard in her throat. "If you didn't want 
me to understand, you would have killed me 
right away. I think you want to tell me. I 
think you're proud of the planning that went 
into this, and I think you want me to know."

Michael sat down on the cot next to Scully and 
studied her intently for a moment. "I didn't 
kill you right away because I couldn't. I don't 
give a damn what *you* think, but I had hopes 
for Mulder. Unfortunately, you've made it 
necessary for him to die, too." She shivered 
and rubbed her arms. "We need some heat in 
here, don't we? Can't work in this cold."

She stood and walked to the door. "I'll make us 
a nice fire, and we can get started," she said 
pleasantly.

Scully watched open-mouthed as the woman gave 
her a cheery smile and went outside.

* * *

The terrain was proving to be more of a problem 
than the darkness. More than once, Mulder had 
driven the Taurus into a dead end and had to 
back up a dozen yards. Even when he managed to 
stay on the right track, the deeply rutted snow 
made steering nearly impossible. 

The pressure of time slipping away, and what 
that might mean for Scully, finally drove him 
to take chances. The inevitable followed 
moments later. He lost his bearings in the 
dark, and lost control of the car because he 
kept his speed up without being able to see the 
road. The wheels on the right side of the car 
dropped off the edge of the paved surface onto 
the crumbling shoulder and pulled the rest of 
the car with them. It was a short slide, but 
that didn't matter. The car couldn't have been 
more deeply mired if he'd planned it.

"Shit!" Mulder slammed one fist into the 
steering wheel, panting with frustration. "At 
least the car's off the road if she comes back 
this way." He doubted he was even still on the 
original route.

It didn't matter. Unless he got extremely lucky 
and spotted lights in the distance, he was 
going to freeze to death out here before he 
found her anyway. Sitting in the car or hiking 
through the snow were about equal in insuring 
that outcome. But unless he got his ass moving, 
he had zero chance of finding Scully.

He smelled wood smoke as soon as he opened the 
door. Whether or not it was coming from where 
Michael was, it meant someone was out there.

Mulder dug the flashlight from his pocket and 
followed his nose into the densest part of the 
woods.

* * * 

Chapter 10



Bare branches reached for him in the dark,
snatching at his hair, his thin trench coat,
and his face. The deep snow hid a virtual
minefield of mossy logs and loose rocks that
challenged his balance with every step. And it
was all uphill.

Mulder estimated that he'd been hiking for less
than fifteen minutes, but he was ready to drop
in his tracks. Maintaining his footing took his
full concentration, taxing every muscle in his
body. It was wearing him out with alarming
speed.

The smoke smell was getting stronger. He just
wished he had the first fucking idea what he
was going to do when he reached its source. If
he saw the Jeep, it would be confirmation that
he had found Michael, too. And Scully.

Then what? What was he supposed to do?

He didn't think they would be outside in this
weather. If she'd left Scully here without any
shelter, she'd be dead by now. Michael had needed
to get back here badly enough to risk drawing
attention to herself by leaving the hospital in
the middle of the night. That meant Scully was
still a threat to her. That told him she was
still alive.

But for how long?

"Damn it!" A heavy branch snagged his coat,
ripping a hole in the sleeve. It also gouged
the shit out of his shoulder. He pulled away
from it and ripped the material again. Cold air
rushed into the gap, freezing the blood on his
skin.

He stepped to his right, aiming for a slightly
clearer path. His foot came down on something
slippery and round. Something that rolled under
his weight and increased his momentum. Log. It
was a log, he realized as he scrambled for
balance, arms flailing, snapping branches as
his center of gravity shifted too far.

Both feet were slipping now. An instant later,
the ground fell away and so did he, sailing out
into the dark, arms pin wheeling and finding
nothing but air.

* * *
Donnie Phaster had failed. Duane Barry had
failed. And Jerry Schnauz. And too many others
to count. That Michael Hobart would be the one
to finally take her life away was almost too
much to bear.

It wouldn't be long now. She had come back with
an armful of split logs and kindling, but for
what purpose, Scully couldn't guess. Certainly
not Scully's comfort. Maybe to make it easier
to mimic the killer's technique? Cold hands
would be shaky and imprecise. Precision was the
man's hallmark.

She obviously intended to make Scully's death
look like the work of the man they were
hunting. She believed Scully had found
something in New York that would implicate her.
Something that would connect her to the
killer... but what? Why would Michael protect--
or abet-- a serial killer and then pretend to
pursue him?

Scully watched her build the fire, poking at
the logs and adjusting the kindling until it
suited her before she lit the match. Precise.
Exacting.

The daughter of a police chief. A psychologist
who had tried an odd mix of other professions
first. Forestry. Medicine. Law enforcement?
Profiling was something she'd gotten into because
of Sheriff Kessler, if Scully
remembered that conversation correctly.

What had Mike Castle said in their few minutes'
talk about her? Something about her father. How
pleased he would have been to see her working
with the FBI. That pleasing him meant everything
to her.

Mulder would know how to put this all together.
He sensed things about people in a way Scully
could never do. She read facts, and he read
hearts. It was one of the things that made them
such an effective investigative team.

Except this woman had slipped under his radar
more completely than anyone she'd ever seen.
Did he even suspect her? Despite knowing she'd
been with Scully when she disappeared?

Or had he even known they were together? She
had only Michael's word to tell her that Mulder
sent her to pick Scully up.

How would he react to finding her body? The
pain would be less because he had so few
memories of her now. She should be glad for
that, but somehow it made dying even harder.
Everything they had been to each other would
die with her.

The injustice of that one fact filled her with
rage, and the rage cleared her head.

Michael thought she knew something. Use that.
Stall for time. Pick the right moment and fight
back.

Roll the dice. "Killing me isn't going to save
you."

Michael stopped poking at the fledgling fire
and stood up, dusting her hands on her jeans.
She gave Scully an indulgent smile. "I wondered
if you fell asleep." She came over and sat down
on the edge of the cot, gently pushing Scully's
legs to the side. "You spent all this time
coming up with that opening. Where do you think
you're going with it?"

"Killing me isn't going to solve your problem.
I don't care if you believe that or not, but
it's true."

"And what problem is that?"

"You know what I found in New York. And you're
afraid I told Mulder. That's why you plan to
kill him, too. But it's not going to work."

Michael's smile turned smug. "I found the
computer disks in your bag. Why do you think I
needed a fire?" She walked back to the hearth
and picked up a small stack of floppy diskettes
from the mantle, waved them at Scully and
tossed them into the flames.

Scully let her smirk for a moment. "I sent
myself some emails when I was in New York. It's
only a matter of time before Mulder checks my
computer." She paused to let that sink in. "He
may be doing that right now."

Michael studied her with narrowed eyes. "You
surprise me. Not many people do that. I
expected you to deny telling him anything and
try to talk me out of killing him. Instead, you
not only guaranteed that I will, but you've just 
told me how to prevent anyone else from finding
out what you know." Her gaze narrowed to a
squint. "Unless you're just stalling for time."

Scully weighed her chances and then plowed
ahead. "Of course, I'm stalling for time. But
I'm also telling the truth."

Michael's smile was filled with such venom that
it sent a chill down Scully's back. "You know
that I have to go back for your computer,
whether I believe you or not. Very good, Agent
Scully. I'm fairly impressed." She grabbed her
coat from the chair next to the fire and pulled
it on. "Not as impressed as you must have been
to discover your serial rapist was a woman."

She was watching Scully's face intently as she
said it, and Scully knew why. It took
everything she had to mask her reaction. She
kept her voice carefully even. "Impressed is
hardly the word."

Michael shrugged. "Call it whatever you want."
She opened the front door, then paused to look
back at Scully. "In case you were thinking that
you might try to escape, let me assure you that
you'll freeze to death before you find
civilization. You're twenty miles from the
nearest house, and the outside temperature was
fifteen degrees and falling the last time I
checked." The smile was back. "I'll see you in
a few hours. We need to finish up before
daylight."

The door closed. Scully didn't even wait for
the Jeep to pull away before she started on the
tape at her wrists.

* * *

The fall was brief, but the landing was a
bitch. Mulder hit the ground feet first and
off-balance, pitched forward by his own
momentum. Instinct made him tuck his shoulder
in and try to roll. The result was a hard,
twisting motion around the axis of his right
leg, the only part of him that had managed to
make solid contact with the ground.

Pain exploded in his ankle and knee, shrieked
up his leg into his hip and dropped him like a
stone. He landed on his face in the snow, both
arms beneath him, hands clutching his leg. Some
primitive urge to breathe made him turn his
head to the side, but moving anything else was
utterly out of the question. Movement, his
brain screamed at him, equaled pain.

*Don't move don't move don't move don't move.*

But he had to move. He had to get up and find
Scully and kill Michael Hobart with his bare
hands.

*But first, I gotta let go of the leg.*

Hanging on wasn't reducing the pain to any
noticeable degree, but he had the nauseating
sensation that his grip was all that was
keeping it attached.

*Scully needs you.*

He moved very carefully, first straightening
his left leg, then pushing himself over onto
his back, keeping the right leg as still as
possible. Even so, it generated a fresh burst
of pain. He lay on his back gasping in the
frigid air, waiting for it to ebb.

The flashlight was gone. He'd been carrying it
unlit in his right hand before he lost his
footing. If he'd had it turned on, he'd have a
chance of finding it. What was infinitely
worse: his gun had been in the other hand, and
it, too, was gone.

*Get your ass upright. Now.*

The cold was beginning to sink in. He was
coated with snow that was melting from his body
heat and would freeze solid long before it
dried.

And the path he'd been following was now an
unknown distance above and behind him.

Futility and pain filled his eyes with hot
tears. He brushed at them angrily, then pushed
both hands down in the snow and shoved himself
to a sitting position. Teeth clamped together
in determination, he half-rolled onto his left
knee. He needed something to use as a cane, and
he'd have to find it by touch alone.

He reached out his hand and there it was: a
thick branch the diameter of his arm less than
a yard to his right, buried in the snow.
Whoever was looking out for him should have
done so a few minutes ago, but he'd take what
he could get. He pulled at it and held his
breath.

It resisted him for a moment, then came loose
in a spray of dirt and snow that flew directly
into his face.

Sputtering and blinking, he turned it upright
and planted it on the slippery ground, then
pulled himself up.


Standing sent a rush of blood to his leg and
brought an answering burst of pain that dimmed
his vision... or would have if he'd been able
to see anything but shadows.

But he was upright. And moving. One step
forward with his good leg, followed by an
agonizing slide of his right, and he was still
standing.

He raised his face and took a deep breath. The
scent of smoke was still there, stronger than
before.

He headed toward it.

* * *

Michael started the Jeep and sat for a moment
to calm herself. She'd have to talk her way
into Scully's hotel room. It was doubtful that
Mulder would be in his own room next door, but
she had to be prepared for that possibility.
Even if she were only faced with the dimwitted
night staff at the hotel, it wouldn't do to act
hastily. Not with the issues she already had on
her plate.

When Mike had called her earlier today, she'd
known what he was going to say before the words
were out of his mouth. An FBI agent was there
checking up on her. No, he didn't tell her
anything. No, he didn't believe she was there
to do a simple background check. There had been
something in her eyes that made him suspect her
motives might lie elsewhere. He had just wanted
Michael to watch herself.

*Don't do anything stupid, Michael. I know how
your mind works.*

She had almost laughed out loud. No one knew
how her mind worked, that was the beauty of it.

No matter what obstacles fate tossed in her
path, she overcame them all. And anyone who
crossed her paid the price. Sometimes it took
years, but she was a patient woman.

Jackie Acres had pretended to be her friend,
helping her research the paper she was going to
publish. *Stealing* her research was what she'd been 
doing, just like that bastard Michael had worked with 
on her first project,
only she hadn't caught on in time to stop him.
In fact, she'd been sending him the final draft
of her article when she found out he'd already
published an earlier version himself, claiming
full credit for the research she had spent two
years completing.

She had been ready for Jackie from the moment
they met online. Professional newsgroups.
Professional *backstabbers*.

And still, she had almost straightened it all
out. But for Agent Scully, there would have
been only eight victims. Michael had been
prepared to 'figure it out' after the last one.
All she'd been waiting for was Jackie Acres'
body to be found. Scully was forcing her to add
one more. Now two.

In a few hours, Agent Scully would die at the
hands of the serial killer who would be caught
in the act by Agent Mulder. Agent Mulder would
regrettably die in an exchange of gunfire with
the killer who would then be identified by his
DNA.

Thank you, Jesse.

Game over.

* * *

Mulder had lost track of how many times he had
fallen. All he knew was that dragging himself
to his feet was getting closer to impossible
every time. He could no longer feel the cold,
and the part of his brain that still functioned
told him how dangerous a sign that was. His
sense of direction was gone. If he lost the
scent of wood smoke, he might as well lie down
and let the pain and exhaustion take him. The
knowledge that it would take Scully, too, was
all that kept him moving.

But even that wouldn't be able to overcome his
physical condition for much longer.

The ground had leveled out, but the constant
need to weave his way through the thick trees
was taking its toll. His makeshift cane was a
foot taller than he was, and it kept catching
on branches above his head. It was part of the
reason he kept falling down.

Seconds after that thought shuffled through the
fog in his head, it happened again. The cane
snagged on something overhead and threw him to
the left. He bounced against a tree on the way
down and grabbed at it with the strength of
desperation, halting his slide. He leaned
there, gasping for breath. And that's when he
saw the light.

Yellow, flickering light that couldn't be
anything but a fire. He squinted through the
trees, trying to judge the distance. As he did,
his eyes identified the outline of a window,
and then the dark shape of a cabin. It wasn't
more than fifty yards away, he realized with a
mixture of joy and apprehension.

What the hell was he going to do when he got
there? No weapon other than the stick he was
using as a cane. It wasn't likely that Michael
would let him get close enough to use it.

The cabin door opened, throwing a rectangle of
yellow light onto the snow. He saw the Jeep at
the same moment. Nothing happened for what felt
like forever, and then Michael appeared in the
doorway, looking back over her shoulder. A few
seconds passed, during which Mulder didn't dare
breathe. Then, Michael closed the door behind
her and walked to the Jeep.

The engine started, sending puffs of steam from
the exhaust. The lights came on. And nothing
happened. She was just sitting there.

For all he knew, Scully could be inside the
cabin, bleeding to death. She might not be
alone, but he would have to risk it. Michael
might leave, or she could just as easily head
back to the cabin. He couldn't afford to wait.

There was nothing quiet about his progress
through the trees. Gasping for breath,
stumbling and banging into trunks. Twigs
snapping like gunshots under his feet. He could
only hope that the sound wouldn't reach her
inside the Jeep.

Just as he reached the edge of the clearing,
the Jeep began to move. He leaned against a
tree, hiding behind it, and watched her pull
away. When the Jeep disappeared around the
first curve, he staggered toward the cabin.

* * *

By the time she heard the Jeep's engine fade
into the distance, Scully was already sweating
inside the sleeping bag. The effort of picking
at the layers of tape with her fingernails was
already cramping her hands. The hopelessness
was as draining as the exertion.

She was considering the logistics of rolling
off the cot to give herself more room to try to
wriggle out of the sleeping bag that was zipped
up to her chin when the door burst open.

Before she could think why Michael would be
back so soon, a familiar figure staggered into
the cabin and collapsed in a heap just inside
the door.

"Mulder! Thank God!" The words leaped out on
their own while her mind was still processing
his condition. She couldn't see him now, but
she heard him gasping for breath. "Mulder, talk
to me."

More gasping. "Gimme... a minute."

Not just breathless. Pain. He was hurt.

"Mulder, what's wrong?"

Breathless, slightly hysterical laughter
drifted up from the floor. "Now there's... a
silly... question."

Slowly, awkwardly, he pulled himself up using a
long branch for leverage. Every inch of
progress brought another grunt of pain. When he
was standing-- more or less-- he came toward
her. He was limping badly.

"Jesus, Mulder. What happened to you?"

Against all logic, he smiled. "I'm mounting a
rescue. What's it look like?"

He sat-- or, more accurately, crashed-- down on
the cot. "You okay?" He let the branch drop to
the floor and reached for her face with hands
that were raw and bleeding.

"I'm all right. Mulder, where are you hurt?"

He unzipped the sleeping bag all the way to her
feet. The room air felt icy compared to the
steamy heat from her body, and she shivered. He
pulled at the tape, which she could now see was
in multiple layers spanning a six-inch length
of her wrists and forearm. They would need a
knife or scissors to get it off.

Mulder seemed to realize the same thing. He
glanced around the room. "There has to be
something here to cut this with."

"What happened to you?"

He sighed. "I think I broke my ankle."

"Help me get out of this thing." She sat up and
bent her knees to free her legs, then swung
them around Mulder and got her feet on the
floor. Sitting up for the first time in hours
brought a wave of vertigo. It also gave her a
good look at her partner.

"Mulder, you're soaking wet. Get over by the
fire. You're hypothermic on top of everything
else."

"No. We have to get out of here *now*. My car
is down by the main road. She's gonna see it
and know I'm here."

"She has my gun, but she knows you're armed.
She won't..." The look on his face made her
heart sink. "You don't have your weapon."

"I lost it when I fell." He ripped at the tape
on her wrists, finally peeling off he top layer
by a sheer act of will. "We don't have more
than a few minutes."

He left her to work on her wrists while he
freed her ankles. The tape around her knees was
just for effect. It peeled easily away from her
slacks.

She was still wearing her coat, though its
effectiveness was greatly lessened by having
been on her body beneath the sleeping bag for
hours. Mulder, she was chagrined to note, was
wearing his light trench coat. The cold would
kill them before Michael did.

Mulder peeled the last of the tape from her
legs and tossed it away. Then, he tried to get
up. Scully was on her feet an instant later
and, between the two of them, they got him
standing. Barely.

He spoke through gritted teeth. "I can't make
it, but you can. Don't follow the road, just
head out through the trees. It's dark but--"

"NO! We go together, or we stay together. I'm
not leaving you."

There was sweat running down his face; dark
exhaustion in his eyes. He nodded. "All right.
But let's do it now. I don't know how much time
we've got."

Scully made a quick tour of the cabin, hoping
against hope that Michael had left a weapon.
There was nothing but the poker from the
fireplace. Carrying that would just slow them
down, and she needed both hands to keep Mulder
moving.

It took a few tries to sort out the walking
arrangements. Scully took his right side, her
left arm around his waist and his right arm
over her shoulders. Every step drew a hiss of
pain from his clenched teeth. By the time they
made it outside, she could feel him trembling
on the brink of collapse.

The cabin was surrounded on three sides by
dense woods. In front lay an open field. The
moonless dark might provide enough cover, and
there was no question that it would be easier
for Mulder to navigate.

They were a dozen yards into it before she
realized they were walking on a frozen lake.

If he fell, there was virtually no chance she
could get him to his feet again.

She glanced back at the cabin after what seemed
like a long time and found they had covered
barely a hundred yards. Mulder teetered next to
her, but stayed upright. Scully ground her
teeth together and strained to support his
weight as they struggled to keep moving.


* * *

Michael came around a curve less than a half-
mile from the main road to find a sight that
stopped her cold.

Agent Mulder's red Taurus hanging half off the
road, buried in snow to the axle.

For a moment, she just stared, dumbfounded.
Then, hoping that the bastard was lying in
there dead, she put the Jeep in neutral, set
the brake and got out with Scully's gun in one
hand and her flashlight in the other.

He wasn't in the car. She spent several minutes
searching the immediate area and found his
tracks heading off into the woods. If he kept
to that course, he would have been at the cabin
well before she had left. So, he either got
lost in the dark, or something slowed his
progress.

"I hope you're out there with a broken fucking
neck," she screamed at the silence, then
realized how foolish that was. He could be out
there waiting for her.

Or, he had been waiting for her to leave the
cabin so he could rescue Scully.

"Shit!" She ran back to the Jeep and turned it
around.

* * *

Chapter 11

Thursday, Nov. 6th
4:22 am

Michael stepped down hard on the accelerator 
and sent the Jeep's rear end skidding to the 
left. She fought the wheel to regain control, 
but never let up on the gas. If that bastard 
had managed to find the cabin, she was going to 
have to kill them both right there with no 
opportunity to stage the scene. It was all 
going to hell, and she was damn well going to 
make them pay for it.

What had she overlooked? She couldn't afford 
another surprise, not now. Jesse should still 
work as the killer, but what if she'd missed 
something else? 

What if Mulder had read the email Scully sent? 
What if that's why he was following her out 
here?

What if he'd told someone?

There were too many possibilities to deal with 
right now. Focus on the most urgent, and work 
from there. 

She rounded the final curve, shut off the 
headlights and coasted the rest of the way.

The cabin door was standing open. 

She stopped the car and grabbed Scully's gun 
from the seat. He'd had plenty of time to free 
her, but not enough time to get very far. 
Michael opened the car door and got out, 
flashlight in one hand, gun in the other raised 
to shoot at whatever moved. 

They could have gone in any direction. Tracking 
them through the woods would be nearly 
impossible in the dark, but she couldn't afford 
to wait another two hours for the sun to come 
up. If she could see better, so could they. 

She found the tracks leading from the cabin, 
but they didn't go into the woods. Michael 
stared at running footprints in the snow, 
following the line across the road and off into 
the distance with growing amazement. 

They had gone out onto the lake.

Why would they do that? Why choose the only 
route without a hint of cover? She studied the 
tracks more closely, moving the flashlight's 
beam slowly across the snow.

They weren't running, she realized. They were 
stumbling, or one of them was. One of them was 
having a very hard time just walking. One of 
them was hurt. They chose the flat open ground 
because they had no choice.

There was a God after all.

Michael smiled.

* * *

Mulder caught the sound of the Jeep's engine 
over the rasping of his own breath, but he 
couldn't look back over his shoulder without 
risking his precarious balance. "Scully. Stop."

"I hear it, Mulder. Keep going." Scully was 
gasping now, too, pulling the icy air into her 
lungs in searing gulps.

He felt her grip tighten, but it wasn't enough 
to overcome his resistance. "You have to leave 
me. She's gonna catch us both if you don't."

"God dammit, Mulder. MOVE!"

He couldn't see her eyes in the dark, but he 
heard the tears in her voice. "Scully, I can't. 
I've got nothing left, and you know it. You can 
make it. Somebody has to tell them who did 
this!" 

It was too much for his overtaxed lungs. 
Mulder's good leg gave up the fight, dragging 
Scully down to the ice with him. His injured 
leg folded beneath him and the pain wrenched a 
scream from his raw throat. He clutched at her 
in the dark, pleading with eyes she couldn't 
see. "Get away. Please get away."

And suddenly, he could see her face. 

Light. And the roar of an engine.

"She's coming," Scully hissed through clenched 
teeth. "You have to get up. NOW!" She pulled at 
him with desperate strength.

The ice beneath him vibrated. Mulder looked 
toward the approaching lights. Michael was out 
on the ice with the Jeep. Coming straight for 
them.

He tried. God, he tried. But there was no way. 
They were both going to die and there was 
nothing he could do to stop it. "I can't." 

Scully's arms closed around him in a fierce 
embrace.

Mulder looked back toward approaching doom. The 
cabin was invisible in the dark, but the Jeep's 
headlights told him that they'd made it farther 
than he'd thought.

Michael was rapidly closing the distance. 

A hundred yards. Fifty. It would be over in 
seconds now.

And then, she stopped.

The ice shook. Hard. 

A sound that was loud and muted at the same 
time. Soft and sharp. Mulder felt it more than 
heard it, a vibration in the surface beneath 
them.

The Jeep's headlights angled sharply upward. 
The engine revved to a scream.

Another thunderclap of sound.

Scully whispered, "The ice is breaking."

* * *

Michael tried to spot them with her flashlight, 
but their tracks extended beyond the range of 
its beam. They were a lot farther out than she 
would have expected. 

"But you can't outrun a car, you bastard."

She jumped back in the Jeep and aimed it along 
their tracks. Revving the engine, she threw the 
transmission in gear and bounced out onto the 
frozen surface. A few seconds later, she had 
them squarely in her headlights.

They had managed to make it almost to the 
center of the lake. Huddled together, cringing 
like the backstabbing cowards they were. She 
should just leave them there to freeze to 
death. It would serve them--

Wait! That was the answer! No one would find 
them until it was too late, and she could make 
up any story she--

_CRACK!_

The right rear of the Jeep dropped abruptly and 
her forward momentum halted with a jarring 
twist to the right. Shock paralyzed her for 
long seconds. 

*GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT* Her mind screamed at her, 
but all she could do was stare at the figures 
clinging to each other just out of her reach. 
She pressed down on the accelerator, spinning 
four wheels at once. 

"Climb OUT, you BITCH!" She gripped the 
steering wheel and leaned forward, trying to 
levitate the mass of metal out of its mire by 
sheer will.

Then, the whole rear end of the Jeep dropped 
down through the ice, headlights clawing at the 
sky. 

* * *

"She's going down!" Scully's triumphant shout 
rose above the shrieking engine. Her joy lasted 
a few seconds before a lifetime's worth of 
saving lives smothered it with guilt. "She's 
going to drown." She released Mulder and stood 
up.

He grabbed at her coat and pulled. "NO! Scully, 
you can't do anything. If you try, you'll go 
down with her, and I can't help you."

She hesitated, but then it didn't matter. The 
Jeep's rear wheels dropped completely through 
the ice, aiming the headlights upward at a 
steep angle. 

It was too dark to see inside, but they could 
hear Michael screaming even above the engine 
noise. Cursing. Cursing them. Cursing God. A 
voice filled with hatred and fury.

"Let her go," Mulder breathed. "Let her go."

Scully watched as the front wheels cracked 
through the ice. The Jeep bobbed for a moment, 
floating amid the chunks of ice and steam as 
the hot engine hit the frigid water. It 
sputtered, gasping for air, then died. 

In the relative silence that followed, they 
heard Michael's cries change from anger to 
terror. She was screaming for help.

* * *

She shoved frantically at the door, but 
something blocked it. Ice pressed against the 
sides of the Jeep. Water poured in everywhere, 
drenching her legs and then her hips in needle-
sharp pain that felt like licks of icy fire. 
The water rose to her waist. Her chest. Pain so 
intense that she couldn't breathe.

Panic seized her as the level reached her chin. 
She thrashed and pushed and clawed at the soft 
fabric roof. There was a latch somewhere, if 
she could find it.

"HELP ME! OH, JESUS, HELP ME!"

The water covered her face in the middle of a 
scream, and she sucked in a huge lungful of it.
Too much to cough out. Too much.

Darkness reached for her, icy fingers closed 
around her throat. Cold. Cold. Breathe. Can't 
breathe. Can't--

* * *

The Jeep floated for a moment, nose in the air, 
wedged in the icy hole. The headlights were 
still working, but the engine was dead. 
Michael's cries intensified.

And then, it shook free of the ice and sank 
like a stone. Michael's frantic, panicked 
shrieks went silent with the swiftness of a 
thrown switch.

After a few seconds, the headlights went out. 
Eerie silence, broken by his own and Scully's 
gasping breaths and the burbling sounds of air 
escaping from the sinking Jeep.

Scully knelt next to him and wrapped both arms 
around his shoulders. "We can go back to the 
cabin now, and get warm. We'll be safe."

Mulder tried to smile. "The fire's probably 
out." 

She chuckled softly. "There's a wood pile out 
front. Didn't you see it? All we need is a 
match." She tugged at him.

"Maybe it'll rain sleeping bags." He couldn't 
see her face, but he felt her jerk of surprise. 
"I was kidding."

She chuckled again, but it had a nervous edge 
that made him wish he could see her eyes. She 
stood up, leaning back to counterbalance his 
weight. "Come on, Mulder. We don't have all 
night."

The pain in his leg was paralyzing, but he'd be 
damned if he was going to lie out here and 
freeze to death. _Get up_, he ordered his 
exhausted body. To his surprise, it began to 
comply.

And then, the surface beneath them shuddered. 

A series of cracking, popping sounds seemed to 
come from everywhere at once. The ice took a 
sickening lurch that knocked Scully off her 
feet. She dropped to her knees at his side.

"Oh, my God." Scully breathed. "Mulder, we have 
to get off this ice." He felt her getting to 
her feet again, pulling at him.

Another cracking sound, so close that it could 
have been right under them. 

Mulder grabbed for her with a strength born of 
panic. "NO! Don't move!" 

All around them, the ice became like a living 
thing, shifting and sighing in the dark.

* * *

Crystal City, VA
5:50 am

The phone rang as he was stepping out of the 
shower. Skinner threw a towel around his waist 
and dripped his way to the bedroom. He snagged 
the receiver from the nightstand, noting that 
the caller ID showed the Bureau switchboard 
number. 

"Skinner."

"Sir, I have an emergency call for you from a 
Jeremy Grissom in Scarsdale, New York. He says 
he has urgent information for Agent Scully. 
Your instructions said to call with any word 
about her, so I thought..."

"Give me the number." He repeated it as she 
spoke, searching through the nightstand drawer 
for paper and something to write with, finally 
settling for a stub of pencil and the jacket of 
a novel he had yet to read. "When did he call?" 

"He's called six times in the past hour, sir. 
He said it was a matter of life and death. The 
last call came in just a few minutes ago."

What he'd said when he'd the office an hour ago 
to pack for the trip to Warren was to call him 
_immediately_ with any messages. Why it had 
taken six tries and nearly an hour of effort 
for this call to reach him was a matter he 
would address later. "Thank you," he managed 
through clenched teeth, then hung up and 
punched in the number. It rang once.

"Agent Scully?" A man's voice, out of breath.

"This is Agent Scully's supervisor, Assistant 
Director Skinner."

"I have to talk to her right way. Can you tell 
me how to reach her?"

"I can get a message to her."

"Agent Scully was here asking about my sister's 
murder. She told me to call her if I remembered 
anything, and I found a name. Jackie must have 
been meeting this guy the day she was killed. I 
know it's him!"

Scully had been on her way back from Scarsdale 
when she disappeared. This man was the last 
victim's brother? "Slow down. Where did you 
find the name?"

"I couldn't sleep, so I started going through 
Jackie's things and I found her boarding pass 
for the flight she took to Pittsburgh the day 
she died. There's a name written on it, and a 
time."

It wasn't likely that even a small town sheriff 
would have missed anything so obvious. "I'm 
sure it's already been checked out, Mr. 
Grissom. Why do you think this has anything to 
do with her murder?"

"No, it _hasn't_ been checked out. She wrote it 
in a code only the two of us knew. We made it 
up when we were kids. To anyone else, it would 
just look like doodles. Hell, it took _me_ an 
hour to figure it out. I haven't seen it for 
more than twenty years. For some reason, she 
didn't want anyone to know she was meeting 
him." He took a deep breath. "And then, when I 
called information and found out he lives right 
there in Warren..."

Skinner walked out to kitchen and flipped on 
the overhead light. He pulled a sheet of paper 
from the notepad next to the wall phone. 
"What's the name?"

"Michael Hobart. I can give you his phone 
number, if you like."

* * *

Warren County Sheriff's Department
Thursday, Nov. 6th
6:55 am

With network reporters sniffing around, Will 
had known it would only be a matter of time 
before the news of a missing FBI agent got out. 
He'd gone home a few hours ago to catch a 
shower and grab a few winks, fully expecting to 
find something like this when he got back. 
Still, the cluster of satellite trucks and 
local news vans was a bit daunting.

They were all over him the second he stepped 
out of his car. He brushed them off with the 
stock 'No comment at this time', weaving his 
way through the maze of microphones. When he 
closed the front door behind him, he found 
Linda holding out a cup of coffee. She looked 
much too alert for someone who'd had less sleep 
than he.

"You want the good news, or the bad news?" she 
asked brightly.

Will took the mug from her hands and sipped the 
steaming liquid. "Surprise me."

"I just hung up from talking to an Assistant 
Director with the FBI." She picked up a pink 
message slip from the desk behind her and held 
it out to him. "He said you were to call him 
the minute you got back."

Will took the piece of paper, glanced at it and 
stuck it in his shirt pocket. "What's the good 
news?"

"That _was_ the good news. The bad news is that 
he's on a Bureau jet right now, on his way 
here."

"Christ, that's all I need." He headed for his 
office.

Will sat down hard enough to rock the ancient 
chair back on its wheels. After another slug of 
caffeine, he dug the message from his pocket 
and picked up the phone. 

The call was answered on the third ring, the 
background noise so loud that Will had to 
strain to hear. "This is Will Kessler. I got a 
message to call Assistant Director Skinner."

"This is Skinner," a man's voice shouted. "I 
want you to locate a local resident by the name 
of Michael Hobart and have him available for 
questioning on my arrival. I'll be at Bradford 
Airport in ninety minutes."

Kessler puffed out a weary sigh. "You've been 
talking to Agent Mulder, I see."

The man was silent for a moment. "What _about_ 
Agent Mulder?"

Will had no desire to carry on a conversation 
at this volume. "Michael is a woman," he said 
patiently, "and she's not a suspect. She's a 
victim. I'll explain when you get here."

The silence was longer this time. "I haven't 
been able to reach Agent Mulder. Do you know 
where he is?"

"Back at his hotel asleep, I would imagine."

"Find him." The call was disconnected.

The silence left his ears ringing. Will put the 
phone down and scrubbed at his face with both 
hands. Was the entire FBI crazy? Or just these 
two? 

He punched the intercom button. "Linda, get 
Agent Mulder on the phone for me. Try his hotel 
and his cell."

"You know, you could talk to me directly if 
you'd leave the door open."

"Just get him on the phone?"

Christ, he needed a vacation.

* * *

The alarm went off, and Jesse slapped at it 
without opening his eyes. Two thoughts drifted 
through the fuzz in his head: he had to pee in 
the worst way, and the bed next to him was 
empty.

He hauled his ass out of bed and wandered into 
the bathroom to take care of the first item on 
his list. When he came back to the bedroom, he 
flipped on the light and gazed morosely at the 
rumpled sheets. Just one goddamned time, you'd 
think she would stay the night. Hell, just give 
him the illusion that he was more than a quick 
scratch for that itch of hers. 

Then it dawned on him that she _couldn't_ have 
left. She didn't have a car.

"Michael?" He went out to the living room, 
expecting to find her on the couch. She wasn't 
there. 

Walking past the front windows, he glanced out 
at the driveway. His Jeep was gone.

His whole body sagged with defeat. He stared at 
the empty driveway for long minutes, wondering 
just how he was going to explain another sick 
day. 

_God dammit, Michael. Why?_

* * *

Mulder lay in her arms, limp and silent. He 
wasn't shivering anymore. She wasn't, either. 
In fact, she felt warmer now, but Mulder's body 
lying against her felt like a block of ice. 

The damage to the ice was even worse than she 
had feared. The sky had lightened enough so 
that she could see, and she knew now that they 
were going to die here.

They were in the center of a frozen lake, 
ringed in the distance by tall, bare trees. A 
few dozen yards away was a gaping hole in the 
ice where Michael had drowned.

All around them, there were fissures and 
fractures in the ice. Black water lapped at the 
edges of the nearest one, so close that she 
could almost reach out and touch it.

Michael was going to win after all. 

Mulder had been exposed to the frigid 
temperatures much longer than she, and the 
effects of hypothermia were terrifyingly 
evident. He had become confused and disoriented 
not long after the Jeep sank through the ice. 
He'd kept telling her to leave him, refusing to 
believe her when she said there was nowhere to 
go. 

And then, he had just drifted away. She could 
still feel his chest moving, but so faintly 
now. Soon it would stop altogether.

And she knew she wouldn't be far behind him.

Scully pulled him closer, rested her cheek 
against his soft hair, and closed her eyes.

* * *

Chapter 12

Warren County Sheriff
Thursday, Nov. 6th
9:00 am

"When I have something to tell you, I'll hold a 
press conference. And if you folks would let me 
_do_ my job instead of talking about it, that 
might happen a whole lot sooner." Kessler hung 
up the phone as gently as his temper allowed, 
but he imagined there was still some wincing 
going on at the other end of the line.

He'd been on the damned phone with one reporter 
after another for over an hour now, and he was 
fed up with playing nice. It was better than 
having them here in the office, but not much. 
And he still had the Assistant Director of the 
FBI to look forward to. A horde of reporters 
would be easier to take, particularly if the 
absent Agent Mulder didn't make an appearance 
damned soon.

Will picked up the phone once more and dialed 
Linda's desk. He could hear it ringing through 
the door, but no one was answering. 

A moment later, Linda opened the door and gave 
him a weary sigh. "Yes?"

"Did you find Agent Mulder? His boss is due 
here any minute." 

"No."

"Christ, Linda, there's not that many places to 
look. What the hell have you been doing?"

She crossed her arms. "I know how much you hate 
the spotlight, but try to remember I'm on your 
side, okay?"

"Sorry," he offered, then took a deep breath. 
"Did you try his hotel?"

She acknowledged his apology with a faint nod. 
"No answer. I even had one of the guys take a 
drive past there to see if his car was in the 
parking lot. It isn't. And he's not answering 
his cell phone, either."

Will shook his head. "That makes no sense." The 
man's partner was in the hands of a serial 
killer, most likely already dead. Where the 
hell would he be? 

Linda was pulling the door shut behind her when 
Will stood up, shoving his chair back with a 
bang.

"Call the hospital."

She turned around, frowning. "You think he's 
been in an accident?"

"No, no. He was trying to talk me into putting 
a guard on Michael last night. It just occurred 
to me that he might have decided to handle it 
himself. Call and see if he's hanging around 
her room, or maybe trying to get in and talk to 
her." 

"He thinks Michael is involved?"

Will snorted. "Apparently, and now so does his 
boss." He shook his head, hands planted on 
hips. "I can't wait to hear the story Mulder 
must have handed him."

"Your wait seems to be over." She was looking 
past Will at something outside the window. He 
turned to follow her gaze.

Linda nodded at the imposing figure striding up 
the walk. "I'd say that looks like an Assistant 
Director of the FBI, wouldn't you?" She gave 
Will's shoulder a pat and headed for the door. 
"I'll hold him off while you assume the 
position."

"Very funny."

She smirked at him over her shoulder, then 
closed the door behind her.

* * *

_A world turned to ice. Crystal blue above an 
unending field of blinding white._

_The earth shudders. Trembles. Falls away._

_Rising. Falling._

"Scully!" 

Her body jerked at the sound of his voice, arms 
clutching him close before she was even aware 
she was moving. It was so hard to think, but 
she knew enough to be stunned that he was 
awake.

"Mulder?"

She felt leaden and clumsy. Her body was curled 
around his, but she couldn't see his face. 

"Mulder, can you hear me?" She tried to turn 
his head as gently as possible. Moving him was 
dangerous. It was dangerous for both of them. 
Activity would push the icy blood toward the 
heart, cooling the core temperature even 
further. 

She tried to straighten up a little. Mulder's 
body felt so cold. Heavy. "Mulder, can you look 
at me?" She could see his eyes now. They were 
open.

_Wind drives a shower of ice dust into his 
eyes. Look, Scully. You have to see this._

_It fills the sky. Silent. Dark. Unreal._

_Gone._

His lips barely moved. She leaned close and 
managed to catch the words when he tried again.

"Did you see it?"

"What, Mulder? Did I see what?"

_He hears his name, but there's another sound 
that blots it out. Roaring. Rushing._

"Mulder!"

_I'm sorry._

She watched his eyes close again. Felt hot 
tears turn icy on her cheeks. Looked up at the 
empty sky. 

"Please hurry."

* * *

"What do you mean, she's not there?" Surprise 
made the question come out a lot louder than 
Linda had intended. She glanced at Will's 
closed door and held her breath for a beat. 
"When did she leave?"

"She checked herself out AMA late last night, I 
don't know what time. Dr. Adams was not happy 
about it, I can tell you that." The woman's 
voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. 
"Does this have something to do with that 
missing FBI agent? Is that why the sheriff is 
looking for her?"

Linda's thoughts were miles away from this 
nosey admitting clerk, focused on trying to 
catch the conversation going on in the room 
behind her. "No, not at all. Will's just 
worried about her, that's all. I'll call her at 
home."

The woman's huff crackled across the lines. "If 
you say so, but I still think there's something 
going on."

Linda thanked her and hung up quickly to ward 
off any further questions. She dialed Michael's 
home number and listened to ten rings before 
she gave up. Michael's cell phone went straight 
to voice mail. 

Behind her, the voices rose again. She could 
pretty much picture what was going on, even 
without the preview she'd gotten when she had 
ushered the A.D. into Will's office. Take one 
high-powered Fed with an attitude and toss him 
in front of the very territorial Will Kessler, 
and you got fireworks, for starters. And she 
was about to make matters a whole lot worse.

She got wearily to her feet and approached the 
door. Just as she was about to knock, a phone 
rang on the other side of it. She froze. That 
had to be Will's private line. It was the only 
one that didn't come through her switchboard.

Linda pressed her ear to the door and listened 
to Will's side of a very brief conversation.

"This is not a good time." Pause. "It better 
be." Long pause. Very long pause. "I don't care 
how you do it, just get your ass in here. NOW."

The receiver slammed back into its cradle, and 
Linda opened the door. Will looked angrier than 
she'd ever seen him. Suddenly, telling him her 
news seemed like an even worse idea than it had 
a moment ago. She started to back out of the 
room.

"What is it?" He was all but shouting. The A.D. 
turned in his seat to look at her, too.

"Excuse me, Will, I... I called the hospital 
and they said that... the patient you were 
asking about has left." She couldn't remember 
ever stammering in front of Will before, but 
the circumstances seemed to merit it.

"I know that." He glanced at the A.D.'s back 
and took a deep breath, then continued in a 
slightly calmer voice. "Deputy Kendall just 
called to tell me she stole his Jeep."

"What?" 

Will waved her off. "Send a car out to pick him 
up. I've got some questions that need to be 
asked face to face." He ran a shaky hand 
through his hair. "The whole damn town's gone 
crazy."

"Yes, sir." Linda backed out and closed the 
door.

Walter Skinner watched Sheriff Kessler make an 
obvious effort to get himself back under 
control. "I think an explanation is in order."

Kessler nodded. "I agree. I wish I had one for 
you."

Just before the phone call, Kessler had been 
hotly insisting that there was no way in hell 
Hobart could be involved, Jeremy Grissom's 
evidence notwithstanding. Skinner could see 
that hard line softening, but not fast enough. 
He needed to get off the damn dime and do 
something. "How fast can you get a helicopter 
in the air?"

"I've got the Park Service helicopter searching 
the area where all the bodies have been found. 
They're coming up empty." 

Skinner stood up. "But they don't know what to 
look for, and we do."

* * *

_I won't let you do this._

Mulder's voice.

Scully raised her head and wrestled her eyes 
open.

She was lying on her side, curled against his 
back. "Mulder?" 

_You have to get up, Scully. Go back to the 
cabin and get warm._

"I'm not leaving you." She pushed herself up 
from the ice. She had to lean over to see his 
face. "Mulder?"

He wasn't speaking. He wasn't even conscious.

_You can't see a ghost and expect to see her 
alive. Both things can't be true._

Amber Lynn LaPierre.

Did disembodied voices mean the same thing?

"Mulder, wake up!" 

Her hands were so cold she couldn't have found 
his pulse, even if it were there.

She leaned down and whispered, her lips 
brushing his ear, "You're not going anywhere 
without me, so don't even think about it."

Nothing. 

Moving him was bad, that much she knew. Victims 
of hypothermia had to be handled very gently. 
Tachycardia could result from the slightest 
bump. Even if she had the strength to do it, 
even if the ice were stable enough, she 
couldn't get him to the cabin. Safety was 
within sight, but hopelessly out of reach.

_You can make it, Scully._

She looked down at his still face, stroking his 
cheek with leaden fingers. "You're not gonna 
win this argument, Mulder."

Of course, neither was she.

Sunlight streamed down through a break in the 
clouds. Scully lifted her face to the warmth 
and closed her eyes.

* * *

The terrain was heavily forested, but bare 
trees predominated. There were few evergreens, 
so they could see the ground, for the most 
part. Cabins dotted the edge of a river that 
threaded its way through rolling hills. A dam 
and its iced-over reservoir marked the 
beginning of the National Park. Beyond it, the 
hills were higher and the forest even more 
dense. 

"We've covered the area twice now," Kessler's 
voice came through the headphones in stereo.

Skinner glanced over at the man leaning against 
the bulkhead next to the open doorway. He 
pulled his mic closer to his lips and shouted 
back, "Then we need to try another area. A 
place the killer could have taken Scully and 
known he wouldn't be found." He paused. "A 
place Michael Hobart would know about."

He saw the sheriff's jaw tighten, but the 
expected tirade didn't materialize. Instead, 
the man nodded and shouted into his own mic. 
"Captain, take us west. We're gonna check out 
Iktomi Lake."

The helicopter banked to the left. "We'll be 
there in two minutes," the pilot shouted back.

Skinner sat next to the open door on the left 
side of the chopper. Sheriff Kessler moved over 
next to him and pointed. "That's Iktomi Lake."

From this distance, it wasn't much more than an 
opening in the trees. There was a snow-covered 
road directly beneath them. Skinner followed 
its path into the trees and found what he was 
looking for. He jabbed his elbow into Kessler's 
arm and pointed. "Down there. Mulder's car."

"I'll be damned," Kessler breathed. Then, to 
the pilot, "Head up to the clearing and land on 
the lake. We'll walk back to the car."

The chopper descended to almost treetop level. 
It shot out over the edge of the clearing, then 
hovered as the pilot looked for a safe place to 
set down.

"Holy shit, there they are!" One of the medics 
riding up front was pointing off to the right. 
"Two people on the ice!"

The helicopter rotated, and Skinner saw where 
the man was pointing. Two figures huddled 
together in the middle of an ice field. Neither 
was moving, but he knew it was them. Scully's 
red hair was like a beacon in all that barren 
white.

A moment later, they were hovering over the 
spot, the downdraft from the whirling blades 
ripping at the clothing of the two still forms. 

"I can't set down here. The ice isn't safe."

There was a large hole in the ice a short 
distance from Scully and Mulder, with fissures 
running out from it in all directions.

"They were trapped," Kessler observed. "They 
couldn't get to the cabin." 

He was pointing at something, but Skinner's 
focus was elsewhere. "Put this thing down 
somewhere NOW!"

The pilot's voice fired back, "We can't get to 
them across the ice. We'll have to send down 
the basket."

The two medics were already moving to the back 
of the chopper. There were four yellow body-
sized metal baskets fastened to the starboard 
bulkhead. The men quickly detached one and 
hauled it to the open door. "You'll have to 
move back," one of them shouted, waving Kessler 
and Skinner out of the way.

There was nothing to do but wait. Skinner stood 
back and watched them lower the basket over the 
side with the larger of the two medics right 
behind it. The medic who stayed behind guided 
the thick nylon cable as it unreeled, leaning 
out the door to keep his partner in view. The 
two men communicated mostly by hand signals, 
rarely resorting to shouted commands through 
their mics. Skinner wondered if they were doing 
it to keep the rest of them from overhearing.

They brought Mulder up first. Skinner got a 
look at his colorless, still face as he was 
hauled to the rear, and his heart lurched. 

The men snapped the basket into its brackets on 
the bulkhead with Mulder securely strapped 
inside. He was covered from neck to toes in 
blue plastic packs over a thick blanket. An IV 
bag the medic had been holding was suspended 
from a hook above Mulder. The two men grabbed 
another basket and headed back for Scully.

Skinner snagged the smaller man's arm as he 
dashed past. "Is he all right?"

The medic shook his head and pulled away. 

A few minutes later, the basket rose into view 
once more, this time bearing a conscious and 
very agitated Dana Scully. Her voice wasn't 
strong enough to carry over the rotor noise, 
but Skinner didn't need to hear the words to 
know what she was saying.

As they carried her toward the back, she 
spotted Skinner and finally managed to work one 
hand free. She fumbled at his coat, trying to 
pull him along.

He followed, standing aside while they fastened 
Scully's basket to the bulkhead. The medics 
each took one patient, checking vitals and 
tending to IV's. Scully kept craning her head 
back, trying to get a look at Mulder.

"How is he? Why won't somebody tell me?"

"Miss, you've got to lie still!" The medic was 
struggling to get an IV started. "You can't 
help him, but you're going to do serious damage 
to yourself if you don't stop!"

Skinner stepped in, and her wild eyes snapped 
into focus on his face. He put his hand on her 
shoulder.

"Scully, he's alive," Skinner said, not sure if 
he was telling her the truth or not. "You can 
see him when we get to the hospital." That 
much, at least, he could promise.

She studied his face for a long moment, then 
sank back and closed her eyes. Her expression 
went slack and her limbs relaxed so quickly 
that Skinner wondered if she'd passed out. But 
then she reached one shaky hand toward him 
without opening her eyes. 

Skinner took it in both of his and held on 
tight.

* * *

Chapter 13


Warren Community Hospital
Thursday, Nov. 6th 
2:50 pm

Necessity made it a multipurpose waiting room. 
Such a small hospital couldn't justify devoting 
space to dedicated visitors' lounges, so the 
ICU shared the southwest corner of the second 
floor with surgery and obstetrics. Grim, 
worried faces intermingled with joyous smiles 
as new lives entered the world alongside others 
struggling not to leave it. 

The decor tried to accommodate the room's dual 
functions. Cheery floral chintz draped windows 
that lined sedately pale-blue walls. Whimsical 
patterned throw pillows softened the lines of 
starkly utilitarian furniture. Pastel animal 
prints decorated one wall; the other, muted 
watercolor landscapes filled with bare trees. 

Skinner had become entirely too familiar with 
this particular room over the past three hours, 
waiting for word on his agents' conditions.

That situation was about to change.

One thing he knew that all hospitals seemed to 
have in common-- regardless of size-- was the 
semi-controlled chaos of shift change. On more 
than one occasion, he had taken advantage of 
that golden half-hour to gain access to a 
restricted patient right under the preoccupied 
noses of the staff. 

Since it was rapidly becoming apparent that no 
one was willing to tell him what was going on, 
he'd damn well find out for himself.

Finding the right room was no problem. Scully's 
name was printed on a pink index card tucked 
into a plastic sleeve affixed to the door. He 
glanced over his shoulder at the nurses' 
station to make sure no one was watching as he 
opened it and slipped inside.

"--listening to me. I said, I'm going to see 
him, whether you--" Scully's focus shifted from 
the white-coated man in front of her to the man 
at the door. "Sir, have you seen Mulder? They 
won't tell me what's going on."

The rush of relief put a totally inappropriate 
grin on his face. She just sounded so damned 
normal that he couldn't help himself. "I'm 
having the same problem, Agent."

"What are you doing in here?" The white coat 
turned around.

Skinner searched for a name to go with the 
face. It was the doctor he'd talked to in the 
ER hours ago. "Dr. Jacobs. Nice to finally see 
you," Skinner commented dryly, then stepped 
around the man on his way to Scully's side. 

Jacobs was not amused. "I'd like to see you in 
the hall for a moment, Mr. Skinner." He reached 
out and snagged the A.D.'s elbow. "Don't make 
me call security."

Whatever constituted 'security' in a tiny 
community hospital wasn't going to deter him, 
at least not until he got some answers. "We can 
discuss whatever is on your mind right here."

Scully pressed the button and raised the head 
of her bed. "I'm getting up, with or without 
your permission. I want to know how Agent 
Mulder is doing, and I want to see him. Now."

Jacobs studied the united front and sighed. "I 
was on my way out to talk to you, Mr. Skinner, 
as soon as I finished with Ms. Scully."

They folded their arms in unison. Skinner spoke 
first. "We're listening."

The doctor flipped open the chart he'd been 
holding at his side, referring to it as he 
spoke. "Ms. Scully's core temperature has 
returned to normal. Her heart rate is stable 
and the circulation in her extremities has been 
restored. There's no permanent damage to the 
areas that were frostbitten."

"So, there's no reason to keep me in this bed."

Jacobs closed the chart and looked at her. "The 
treatment protocol requires bed rest for the 
first twenty-four hours. It's not uncommon for 
the body temperature to fluctuate initially. We 
need to keep you quiet until it stabilizes."

"Fine. I'll sit quietly, but I'm going to see 
my partner." She flipped the sheet back to 
swing her legs over the side, revealing a lot 
more skin than Skinner was comfortable with. It 
must have showed on his face, because Scully 
tugged the hem of her gown as far south as it 
would go. "Could I have a robe, please?" She 
was all but vibrating with the need to move.

Some of the stiffness went out of the doctor's 
stance. "Very well, but I think you should be 
prepared for what you're going to see." 

His gentle tone sent a chill down Skinner's 
back. 

If Scully's expression was any indication, it 
had the same effect on her. "What are you 
saying?" 

"Mr. Mulder's core temperature is rising more 
slowly than yours, and he hasn't regained 
consciousness. That may be a result of his 
longer exposure to the cold, or it could be the 
added stress of his injuries. Whatever the 
cause, we're somewhat concerned."

Scully's focus turned to the closed door. "He 
said his ankle felt like it might be 
fractured." Back to the doctor. "Is it?"

Jacobs shook his head. "We don't think so. The 
films we've been able to take so far don't show 
anything obvious, but there is a lot of 
swelling around both the knee and ankle. I 
expect to find soft tissue injuries when we can 
do a better exam. I don't think the damage is 
severe, but it's adding stress that he doesn't 
need."

She took a deep breath. "Is he responsive at 
all?"

"No."

Skinner took advantage of the brief silence 
that followed. "When can we see him?"

Jacobs folded his arms, the chart against his 
chest, studying them both. "Since we don't know 
why he's unconscious, I'm willing to consider 
that familiar voices might help to bring him 
around. I'll allow you to sit with him," he 
spoke directly to Scully, "but only as long as 
your condition remains stable. Is that 
understood?"

"Yes."

The doctor nodded, apparently satisfied with 
her response. Skinner knew better. Getting her 
away from Mulder-- no matter what-- would take 
a hell of a lot more force than this man looked 
capable of applying. 

"I'll send a nurse in with something for you to 
wear. She'll also be bringing a wheelchair, and 
I expect you to use it." He opened the door and 
gave Skinner a pointed look. "Mr. Skinner, if I 
could have a word now?"

Skinner nodded. "Just give us a moment." He 
turned to Scully as soon as the doctor was 
gone. "He doesn't know what he's up against," 
he jerked his head toward the closed door, "but 
I do." He returned her faint smile, then got 
down to business. "Sheriff Kessler wanted to 
speak with you as soon as you were conscious. 
The doctor is blocking all contact, for now, 
but you'll have to answer some questions soon. 
Can you tell me what happened?"

Her posture changed, straightening as much as 
her position in the bed allowed. "Yes, sir. I'm 
sure the sheriff is having a hard time 
believing that Michael was the killer, but 
there's no doubt of that now. She knocked me 
out and took me to the cabin where I suspect 
she killed all of the other victims. Mulder was 
injured coming to find me. We were trying to 
get away when Michael came back and chased us 
out onto the lake. Her Jeep went through the 
ice. She probably drowned." 

She looked up at him, and he gave her a nod of 
confirmation. "They pulled her body from the 
lake about an hour ago."

"We'll need to process the cabin and Michael's 
home for evidence," she seemed to be talking 
mostly to herself, making mental notes aloud. 

The door opened. "Excuse me, but the doctor 
sent me to get the patient ready." 

Skinner gave Scully's shoulder a rare pat. 
"I'll see you in the hall." 

The nurse wheeled the chair inside and held the 
door for Skinner as he walked past her into the 
hall. She let it close behind him and came over 
to Scully's side.

"Do you need help getting into these?" She 
picked up a set of scrubs from the seat of the 
wheelchair and held them tentatively in 
Scully's direction.

Scully reached one bare arm out of the blankets 
and felt the chill instantly. Leaving her warm 
bed made her shiver at the mere thought. 
"Thanks, I can handle it. But I'd really 
appreciate a robe, if you can find one." 

She knew as well as Jacobs did that she wasn't 
totally out of the woods yet. Her temperature 
would continue to fluctuate, leaving her 
alternately shivering and sweating for the next 
several days. Bed rest really was the protocol 
she should be following, just as he'd said. But 
there were larger considerations. 

Mulder needed her. Nothing else mattered.

* * *

Skinner stepped out into the hall and found the 
doctor squared off with Will Kessler. From all 
appearances, Kessler was gaining the upper 
hand.

"You are interfering with an active homicide 
investigation."

"No, Sheriff, I'm interfering with someone 
who's bent on hampering my patient's recovery." 
He looked nervously over Kessler's shoulder, 
directing a silent plea at Skinner.

"Gentlemen, I think we should take this 
discussion down the hall." Skinner tipped his 
head at the roomful of visitors who had gone 
silent, watching the two men.

Without another word, Kessler strode off toward 
the bank of elevators. As soon as he was out of 
the visitors' line of sight, he stopped and 
waited for Skinner and Jacobs to catch up, 
picking up his narrative the moment they joined 
him, but at a noticeably lower volume. "Agent 
Scully is a material witness in a multiple 
homicide investigation. She may be the only one 
who can tell me whether we've still got a 
serial killer out there."

"Sheriff, I--" 

"You don't," Skinner cut in. "And I think you 
know that."

Kessler turned to Skinner, and the doctor 
apparently saw his opportunity. "If you'll 
excuse me, I have patients to see."

Kessler barely glanced at him. "Mr. Skinner, 
I've known Michael Hobart since she was born. I 
hope you can appreciate that I need to hear the 
facts from your agents before I accept the 
conclusion everyone else seems to have leaped 
to."

Skinner folded his arms. "Considering the fact 
that Michael Hobart kidnapped one of my agents 
and tried to kill both of them, I'd say it's 
not much of a leap."

"Maybe not to you, but--" He broke off, looking 
past Skinner back toward Scully's room.

Skinner followed his gaze and found Scully 
coming out of her room in the wheelchair.

Kessler stepped around him and headed straight 
for her.

The temptation to grab Kessler's arm was 
strong, but Skinner decided to let Scully 
handle him herself. With her focus on seeing 
Mulder, he knew she would make short work of 
the man.

The exchange was brief. From his vantage point, 
Skinner heard her confirm that Michael was the 
serial killer, and that she had tried to kill 
both Scully and Mulder on the ice. The details, 
she promised, would come after Mulder was out 
of danger. And with that, she took command of 
the wheelchair, leaving both the nurse and 
Sheriff Kessler to stare after her.

Skinner watched as she covered the short 
distance to an open door that he guessed must 
be Mulder's. She disappeared inside. A moment 
later, the door slipped shut.

* * *

Scully stopped just inside the door, taking a 
moment to release the latch that held it open. 
There would be no need for anyone else to keep 
an eye on him now. She was here.

The scene before her was yet another variation 
on a repeating theme: banks of monitoring 
equipment clustered around a fragile, damaged 
body working its way back from the brink. 
Mulder seemed to be spending more than his fair 
share of time in the starring role these days.

Scully wheeled right past him to the window 
where she fumbled through folds of heavy fabric 
looking for the wand that would open the 
drapes. "If they want you to wake up, keeping 
the room dark is the wrong approach."

They should have the television on, she 
thought. A radio, at least. He needed the white 
noise to calm his mind, whether he was trying 
to sleep or wake up. 

She found the pull for the drapes and opened 
them wide. His window faced the rolling hills 
behind the hospital, a snow-white landscape 
striped with the shadows of leafless trees, 
topped by a stark, blue sky. Somewhere beyond 
those hills was a lake... She rubbed her hands 
up and down suddenly chilled arms and turned 
back to Mulder.

He lay on his back, his head turned slightly 
toward the window so that the sun fell on his 
closed eyelids. If he opened them right now, it 
would hurt. "Here, let me help you." She moved 
close to the bed, then discovered she couldn't 
reach his face. It took a moment to find the 
controls and lower the bed. 

"There, that's better." She touched him for the 
first time since they'd been rescued, laying 
her fingertips gently against his cheek to turn 
his face back toward the door, away from the 
glaring sunlight. Chilly as her fingers still 
were, his skin felt cool beneath them. He 
didn't react to her touch or the movement.

Sitting here with the sun beating against her 
back felt wonderful, but she needed to be where 
he could see her. With more reluctance than she 
was willing to admit, she wheeled herself 
around to the other side of the bed to take up 
her vigil.

She parked the wheelchair against the bed and 
set the brake. Then, she carefully picked up 
his limp, right hand and brought it to her 
cheek, seeking as well as offering comfort.

"You have to wake up, Mulder. I'm supposed to 
be in bed myself, but I'm not moving from this 
spot until you tell me to. How's that for 
laying on the guilt? You see, I'm willing to 
use any and all means necessary to get your 
attention." That was a little too close to the 
truth, she realized. Especially given their 
recent circumstances.

"But I guess you really don't know that, do 
you? It's hard for me to keep that in mind, 
sometimes, that you don't really know anything 
about me anymore." Again, too much honesty. 

The case. Neutral territory. "I wonder how you 
figured out that Michael was the killer. How 
you knew to follow her out there. You saved my 
life, Mulder. Again." She smiled at his still 
face, hoping against hope for a response. "I 
guess I should thank you, but I prefer to have 
your full attention when I do it. That means 
you have to be awake."

His hand was getting very heavy. She lowered it 
gently to the bed, wrapping it in both of hers. 
For long minutes, she just watched him breathe. 
There was so much strength in him, even like 
this. He seemed to exude it in great, warm 
waves that always gave her such a sense of 
peace and safety... Oh, how he'd love to hear 
*that* thought expressed aloud.

But she couldn't afford to tell him, could she? 
It wasn't the way they operated. Ever.

But... why? What was the point of continuing to 
hide from someone who was no longer looking?

"We hide from each other because that's who we 
are," she whispered the words to herself, loud 
enough for him to hear, if he wanted to. "It's 
the only way we know."

But that wasn't true, was it? It was the only 
way *she* knew. Even after she'd stopped 
pretending she didn't love him, that part 
didn't change. 

Mulder had never really tried to hide from her. 
In the beginning, he had been cautious, and 
with good reason-- but he had never pretended 
to be something he wasn't. "If anything, you 
need to practice a bit more discretion. It's 
not always necessary to say everything that's 
on your mind, you know." 

But that wasn't true, either. He wouldn't be 
Mulder without that brash honesty. "You might 
spend less time in hospital beds," she told him 
with a wry smile, "but the fire that makes you 
unique is fueled by your flaws as much as your 
gifts."

He was fire, and she was... ice?

He was open to extreme possibilities, and she 
followed along behind him, closing doors.

He was passion, and she was...

Stop it. He loves you.

Or, he did.

He does.

When things had changed between them-- God, she 
still had a hard time even *thinking* the 
words-- when they had become lovers, it had 
come about so naturally that there hadn't been 
time to second guess herself. It was afterward  
that she had started to ask the question that 
still tormented her.  

She had been afraid for a long time that it was 
just the thrill of the chase that held the 
attraction for him. She had been certain that 
once she gave in to his silent seduction, the 
only lure she had would be spent. 

It was impossible to imagine now how she could 
ever have thought so little of him. 
Mulder had had no problem making the transition 
from best friend to bedmate. He'd approached 
their evolving relationship the way he did 
everything in his life, with the same 
unrestrained passion and enthusiasm; the same 
hell-bent, no-holds-barred tenacity that drove 
him to seek the truth at any cost. 

Being the focus of such energy was intimidating 
as hell. As much as she loved him, trying to 
match his intensity was sometimes too much to 
contemplate. 

And then he lost his memory, and some small 
part of her enjoyed a fleeting instant of 
relief that was immediately smothered with 
guilt.

*Nothing like twelve years of Catholic school 
to hone that mea culpa reflex.*

She could hear those words in Mulder's voice so 
clearly that she glanced up at his lips, 
expecting to see them in motion.

"Twelve years of Catholic school is no joking 
matter," she answered her own thought. 

And then, he really did make a sound. A soft 
hum, deep in his throat, followed by a faint 
movement. His head turned very slightly toward 
her. She gave his hand an adrenaline-fueled 
squeeze that elicited another moan. This time, 
it was unmistakable.

"Mulder? Can you hear me?" She moved from the 
chair to the edge of his bed and leaned in 
close. "Mulder, it's me." She stroked his cool 
cheek and spoke softly, lips brushing his ear. 
"Come on, sleepy head. You need to wake up so 
we can go home."

She remained in that position, her cheek 
against his, listening to his breaths quicken 
and grow shallow with returning awareness. The 
heart monitor's beeps speeded up, and she 
smiled against his neck. "You can't play possum 
when you're hooked up to the monitors, Mulder."

He cleared his throat with a soft rasp. "I was 
really getting into this true confessions 
moment," he told her in a husky whisper that 
was warm against her cheek.

Scully straightened up to get a look at him. 
Deep green eyes peered at her between droopy 
lids. 

"Welcome back, Mulder."

"Cold." He was losing the battle with those 
heavy lids.

"I know. Me, too. It will get better in a few 
days."

Mulder shook his head faintly. "Share body 
heat. Both feel better." He pushed at the 
blankets, and she knew exactly what he was 
asking.

"Mulder, your leg is injured. I don't want to 
hurt you." 

His eyes were closed again, but he was smiling. 
"You won't."

*But I have, so many times.*

"Scully, stop thinking."

She actually startled. "Mulder, stop reading my 
mind."

He lifted the blankets on the left side of his 
bed. She walked around and got in.

"They're going to throw me out of here, you 
know," she told him as she stretched herself 
against his left side. He was still a long way 
from warm.

"Better not," he mumbled, already halfway back 
to sleep.

"I'll tell them you said so," she whispered 
against his neck, pulling the blankets up to 
cover them both. She matched her breathing to 
his, and followed him into sleep.

* * *

Epilogue - Author's notes at the end


Monday, Nov. 10th
1:20 pm


"There's Kessler's car. That must be the house." Mulder 
points with his chin. His hands are busy fiddling with the 
velcro straps on his brace.

Scully pulls into the circular drive and parks behind the red 
Cherokee. Everyone in Warren, it seems, drives a Jeep. 
"Wait, Mulder. I'll come around and help you."

But he already has the door open. "It hurts less if I do it 
myself." His voice is tight; his full concentration on 
hoisting his leg onto the driveway. The thigh-to-toe brace is 
heavy and awkward to maneuver. Even with the seat 
pushed all the way back, there's barely enough room. 

They should have taken Skinner up on his offer. A Bureau 
jet would give him room to stretch out, even elevate his leg. 
Mulder didn't want that, for whatever reason. 

"Got it," he huffs, turning in his seat to put both legs on 
terra firma. He reaches into the backseat for his crutches. 
"Scully, I told you, I'm fine. Don't make a big deal out of 
it." He jerks the crutches into the front seat, pokes them out 
the door, and hauls himself upright. 

Apparently, not making "a big deal" of it is worth the 
misery of a commercial flight. 

Fine.

He closes his door hard enough to make her ears pop.

Scully opens her door and gets out, making a point of 
closing it calmly.

Mulder is already making his way up the broad front steps 
to the porch. At least part of his mood, she knows, is 
leftover from their debate this morning, despite the fact that 
he'd won. It is why they are here. 

*Kessler's just asking us to stop by for a few minutes and 
take a look around. I don't see the problem.*

*And I don't see the point, Mulder. What does he think this 
is going to accomplish?*

Mulder had given her a wearily patient look that made her 
want to throttle him. *Michael was like a daughter to him. 
He's looking for answers, Scully. I guess he's hoping we 
can provide some.*

*And looking at her house is going to do that? How?*

Scully catches up with him at the front door just as Sheriff 
Kessler swings it open. He nods to them and steps back to 
let them enter.

The house is a rambling Victorian with multiple turrets and 
dormers stuck here and there as if it had been built in stages 
over a period of years with no thought to how the pieces 
would eventually fit together. The end result is a sprawling 
curiosity surrounded by sedate, Georgian brick dwellings. 
The front hall where they are now standing is long, dim, 
and empty. On the right, a steep staircase climbs to the 
second floor through a high, arched ceiling at least fifteen 
feet above them. To the left and right are sets of double 
sliding doors with inset brass pulls. The floor is bare, 
polished hardwood.

"Thanks for coming," Kessler begins, eyeing Mulder's 
crutches. "I think we'll skip the second floor."

Mulder straightens a bit. "I'm fine. If there's something up 
there we should see--"

Kessler waves him off. "Not really." He walks to doors on 
their right and pushes them apart. "Take a look."

Scully is closest, and she takes a few steps into the room. 
It's big, high ceilinged like the hall, and empty. The 
windows are covered with heavy drapes. She turns back to 
Kessler and Mulder, who haven't moved from the door. 
"It's empty."

Kessler steps around her. "Not quite."

Mulder follows him to the entry and stops. Kessler walks to 
the nearest window and parts the drapes. Dusty sunlight 
streams through the opening, illuminating the far wall. 
Kessler points, but Mulder and Scully are already moving.

"Dreamcatchers." Mulder leans heavily on one crutch to 
free up a hand. He fingers the nearest wall hanging. 
"Dozens of them."

Scully leans in close to inspect one of the more elaborate 
specimens. "It smells... old." The turpentine scent of pine 
boughs still clings faintly to the bent wood, but it's mixed 
with dust and age. The webbing is intricate, interspersed 
with turquoise stones and ancient, fragile feathers. "These 
look genuine."

The sheriff nods. "I thought so, too. And they're 
everywhere."

Mulder turns to look at him. "Everywhere?"

"Every room in the house, except for one. Not a stick of 
furniture except for Carl's room. Not even the kitchen." He 
moves to the door and out into the hall. 

They follow him through the other set of double doors and 
find themselves in another large room, as sunny as the 
other was dim. The far wall is lined with windows that 
stretch from the polished floor to a coved ceiling, but the 
drapes here are thrown wide. The walls are papered in a 
floral print that matches the drapes and the upholstered 
chairs flanking the fireplace. A neatly made hospital bed 
and assorted equipment occupy the left half of the room.

Mulder hobbles over to the bed and runs a hand over the 
sheets. "This was her father's room? He's been dead for six 
months. If there's no other furniture, she must have been 
sleeping in his bed."

"I stopped by once a week while Carl was laid up, but 
yesterday was the first time I'd been back since the funeral. 
I had no idea..." He makes a sweeping gesture at the room, 
shaking his head.

Scully moves around the room, touching two fingers to the 
spotless surfaces. Even the mantle is immaculate. Michael 
must have cleaned it the day she died. Planning her ninth 
and tenth murders, and she found time for housework. 
"Was the house empty before her father died?"

"I don't know." The sheriff's face is lined with regret. "Carl 
was my best friend, but I could count on one hand the 
number of times I've been in this house. Before he had the 
stroke, it had been years." He scans the eerie perfection 
surrounding them. "This is like a goddamn shrine."

"That's exactly what it is." The words are out before she's 
aware of thinking them. Both men turn to look at her. And 
suddenly, she is about to reveal an aspect of her trip to New 
York that she never intended to share. "I talked to a friend 
of Michael's in New York. From what he said about her 
relationship with her father, I don't think this would 
surprise him at all."

Mulder's expression is unreadable. "You talked to a friend 
of Michael's in New York." It's a statement, but his tone 
makes it a question.

She keeps her gaze steady, fixed on his, and lies. "It was a 
hunch, Mulder. I didn't say anything because I had no 
proof."

He studies her eyes for a long moment. "I see." More than 
she would like, she's sure.

"She worshipped her father. Everybody knew that, 
including Carl." Kessler shakes his head. "But you 
suspected her of eight murders, and got in the car with her 
anyway?" His incredulous tone suggests that he doesn't 
believe she would do any such thing.

"The point is," she is choosing her words, "that her 
obsession could have been either the source or the result of 
her psychosis, but his death triggered the violence. The 
plagiarism was an excuse." Scully had given them her 
theory about Michael's collaboration with Jackie Acres as 
part of her statement. "The timing is right."

Kessler huffs out a breath at the floor, hands on hips. When 
he looks up again, he trades glances with Mulder, and then 
focuses on Scully. "She wasn't crazy."

Scully's eyebrows rise in unison. "You prefer to believe 
that she made a lucid decision to kill eight people over an 
academic paper?"

"I prefer, Agent Scully, to know what really happened. You 
don't have all of the facts yet." The sheriff is looking at 
Mulder as he says this.

Mulder is chewing his lower lip in a very familiar way. It is 
now obvious to Scully how he spent those two hours with 
the sheriff this morning while she was dealing with discharge 
paperwork. "Mulder, you have something to add?"

He shrugs, not an easy motion with crutches. "I talked to a 
couple of Michael's close friends this morning. I think 
you've met them? Ellis McKenzie and Jerry Atchison."

The hospital orderly who had grudgingly helped her with 
the autopsies. And the medical examiner. "We've met."

Mulder tilts his head at the sheriff. "They agree with Sheriff 
Kessler that the change in her was dramatic and very 
abrupt. It's only in retrospect that they were able to pinpoint 
the time." Mulder gives the sheriff a nod, passing the verbal 
baton.

Kessler nods, "We didn't really put it together until this 
morning. She went to New Mexico to do research just 
before Carl had the stroke. She was living in New York at 
the time, and we only heard about it after she'd been living 
here for a while taking care of her dad. We think that's 
where she got involved with the dreamcatchers."

Mulder is giving her a significant look. New Mexico. She 
lifts one brow. "And...?"

"Michael was researching serial killers who claimed 
insanity as a defense." Mulder tips his head at Kessler. 
"Will helped her set up some interviews at the state prison 
we drove by when we first got here. Those interviews 
formed the basis of her paper. It's how she obtained the 
grant to pursue it."

"I told Agent Mulder about the dreamcatchers I found, and 
he told me what they might have meant to her. About how 
they could have affected her."

Scully decides that following this conversation is a lot like 
watching a tennis match. "And that is...?" She turns to 
Mulder. This ought to be good.

"More than just a totem," Mulder begins. "The common 
belief that dreamcatchers trap the user's nightmares has a 
basis in Native American religion.  There is a belief that the 
dreamcatcher summons an entity who not only traps 
dreams, but can make them come true-- and not always in a 
way the dreamer would like."

The two men have moved from their original positions to 
face her, standing shoulder to shoulder. Scully crosses her 
arms and studies their eager expressions for a moment 
before responding. "An entity.  So... you're suggesting, 
what? That she was possessed?" 

Two pairs of eyes fix on hers. Two heads nod. "Yes." They 
even say the word together. 

There's something reassuringly familiar in this debate. 
Scully drops her head to hide a smile. When she looks up at 
them again, her expression is carefully neutral. "Okay. Say 
that were true. How would you prove it, and what possible 
difference would it make if you could?"

Kessler looks both disappointed and surprised. "Would it 
make a difference to you whether Agent Mulder here was a 
monster or a victim?"

"The jury's still out on that one," Mulder chuckles, but 
without a hint of humor.

Scully starts to respond, but the sheriff holds up both hands, 
warding her off. "I know I'm asking a lot, after what she did 
to you. You have no reason to want to find an excuse for 
her, but that's what I'm hoping you can do." He shrugs, 
looking once more in Mulder's direction. "Either you will, 
or you won't." He looks at his watch. "I won't keep you any 
longer. You've got a plane to catch."

And he ushers them out of the house. When he shakes their 
hands, he lays his left hand on top and adds a brief shoulder 
touching hug. Scully is oddly moved by the gesture after 
the mood a moment ago. When she says good-bye, there's a 
tightness in her throat that should feel wildly out of place, 
but somehow does not.

Scully is careful not to hover as Mulder gets himself back 
into the car. She is equally careful not to comment on the 
theory he has just espoused solely, she assumes, for the 
benefit of the sheriff with whom he is suddenly on a first 
name basis. 

It's guilt, she decides. Mulder, in his own inimitable way, 
has concluded that he failed to identify Michael as the killer 
in time to save her from herself. He feels the sheriff's pain, 
and this is his way of soothing it. Scully can relate. Her 
instincts about Michael were right, but for the wrong 
reasons. Perhaps, if she hadn't been so focused on personal 
issues, she might have been able to interpret the warning 
signs in time to do something.

The flight home is even worse than she anticipated. By the 
time they reach Dulles, Mulder has dropped all pretense of 
being 'fine'. When she tells him to wait while she gets the 
car, he just nods. They haven't talked much since they left 
Michael's house, though she can see the wheels turning 
every time she looks his way. Fingers drumming on the 
armrest, chewing seeds nonstop.

She leaves the engine running to keep him warm when she 
stops on the way home to buy groceries and fill his 
prescriptions. When she comes out of the store, he is 
sleeping and doesn't wake until she parks in front of his 
building.

She settles him down on the couch and puts the groceries 
away. "I'll make us something to eat," she tells him, and he 
doesn't object. It's just after six o'clock and they haven't 
eaten since breakfast. Macaroni and cheese isn't something 
she would normally choose, but it's one of Mulder's 
favorites, and she feels the need to indulge him.

They eat from paper plates and watch Jeopardy in silence. 
She tidies up afterward, finally giving up on the hope that 
he's going to voice whatever it is she keeps seeing in his 
eyes. "I'll stop by tomorrow after work and make you some 
dinner. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

He nods at the television, and Scully smothers a sigh. He 
holds his fire until she's almost out of range, one hand on 
the doorknob, fishing for her car keys with the other.

"You're really gonna make me ask, aren't you?"

"What?" She turns around to look at him, but his eyes are 
still on the television. "Mulder, what did you say?"

He aims the remote and silences Alex Trebek mid-answer. 
"I said, you're going to make me ask."

"Mulder, what are you talking about?" She crosses the 
room and plants herself in his line of sight.

It takes him a beat to look up. "I didn't get it until today. 
This really is just the way we operate." 

His voice is calm, matter-of-fact; it's his eyes that give her 
a hint of what's coming. 

"I'm not following you." She's wracking her brain for what 
could have put him in this mood.

"Bullshit."

"Excuse me?" She honestly can't believe her ears.

"You heard me." He leans back, fits himself into the far 
corner of the couch, and waves her to the other end. "Have 
a seat. Since you're going to make me ask, we may as well 
get comfortable."

"Mulder, I'm not doing anything until you tell me what's 
going on." 

He chuckles, but his eyes are emerald ice. "You've really 
got that righteous indignation routine down pat, don't you?" 
The smile vanishes. "Sit down, Scully."

She approaches the couch as if she expects him to leap at 
her, not altogether convinced that he won't. Taking her seat, 
she lifts one hand, palm up. "I'm sitting. Now what the hell 
has gotten into you?" 

Long pause while he studies her face. "The interview with 
Jacqueline Acres' brother was just an excuse to get you to 
New York so you could check out Michael Hobart."

"That doesn't sound like a question."

"Humor me."

She crosses her arms. "Okay. Then, the answer is 'no'. I 
went to interview the victim's brother. The side trip to 
Michael's old apartment was secondary. Have you been 
stewing about this all day?"

"Let's just say it started me thinking, and suddenly all the 
pieces fell into place." 

He may not remember, but Scully has seen him use this 
approach on suspects more times than she can count. He 
thinks he's got her cornered and is amusing himself until it's 
time to spring the trap. 

"Okay, Mulder. Enough. Why don't you just come out and 
tell me what it is you think you know?"

He relaxes his posture, like a lion pretending not to notice 
the gazelle strolling nearby. "You know, I couldn't figure 
out why you wouldn't want me to get my memory back. 
When you gave me that speech in New Mexico about how 
this was my chance at a new life, I thought 'so, the old life 
must be even worse than she's saying'. I mean, we were 
lovers, right?" He snorts. "Or maybe I wasn't very good at 
that, either."

This is part of his technique: change the subject and keep 
the suspect off balance, scrambling to keep up until she 
loses track and spills everything. And it's working.

"Mulder, would you mind coming to the point, if you have 
one?" Counterthrust.

"I'm a blank slate. Tabula rasa. You can write a whole new 
story. If I don't remember any more than I do right now, 
you get to start your own life over, too. No more politically 
incorrect x files.  No pesky personal entanglements with 
your lunatic partner." He waves his hands in the air. 
Abracadabra. 

But Scully has stopped listening. Mulder's apartment fades 
around her, and she's sitting in a cozy adobe house, two 
thousand miles west and five months in the past, with a 
searing New Mexico sun pouring in the windows.

*The aliens can't give him his memory back because they 
didn't take it in the first place.*

*What man wouldn't be tempted by the possibility of a new 
life?*

Helen Minton's words had made no sense to her then. They 
do now. 

"Scully?" Mulder sounds worried, and she can imagine 
how she must look: mouth hanging open, blank stare. 

Everything she has done since then has been meant to give 
him room. To allow him to remember or not, if he chooses. 
For his own good, not hers. God, not hers. But now she can 
see how it must have looked to him. 

It never occurred to her to just talk to him about what she 
was doing. They never talk about the things that matter to 
them. The more personal a topic, the further in the 
background it gets pushed. Even as lovers, they never 
discussed what they were doing. Where it might lead. How 
it might end. 

*This really is just the way we operate.*

"Scully, talk to me." There's a tremor in his voice now, and 
she feels his hand wrap around both of hers where they are 
balled into a single fist in her lap.

*Not this man,* she had told the woman. *Not our work.*

It was true. But the alternative is almost too terrifying to 
consider. He would never have willingly, consciously or 
not, wiped out his own past. No matter what the aliens did 
to him, Mulder would have hung on. 

No, the threat had to be to the only thing that mattered to 
him more than his life's work. 

It was her. Whatever happened that night in the New 
Mexico desert had been about Scully. Not just a threat to 
her life. Something much worse. Something beyond 
imagining.

And Helen Minton had known it. Somehow, she'd known. 
That was why she had asked Scully about their relationship. 
God, it was all so obvious. How could she have been so 
blind?

"Scully!" Panic, raw and pure.

Her focus snaps back to the present, to the wide frightened 
eyes fixed on her own.

The words tumble over one another as she struggles to tell 
him what she's learned, watches a kaleidoscope of emotions 
transform his expression: first relief, then surprise, and 
finally understanding. He still hasn't let go of her hands, but 
his grip is gentle now. 

The hardest part is telling him what she thinks has taken his 
memory away. The magnitude of what must have happened 
to them both that night. She thinks she is prepared for any 
reaction, but not the smile he gives her at last.

"We have to go back," he says with utter conviction.

Her first reaction is to ask if he has heard a word she said, 
but she tamps it down. They don't operate that way 
anymore. "I know. But there are some things I need to tell 
you first."

He raises his eyebrows. "There's more?"

She smiles and pulls her hands gently from his, giving them 
an affectionate squeeze in the process. "You've read all of 
the case files, and your journals, but there's a lot you don't 
know."

His grin is wide and adorable, if a bit shaky. "No kidding."

"I can remember exactly how I felt the day I knocked on 
your office door for the first time. And what it was like the 
first time we made love." He blushes, and she smiles. "I 
want to tell you about that, Mulder. And everything in 
between. Not just what happened, but how we felt about it. 
What it meant to us. I think it's about time."

He reaches for her hand, and she lets him take it. They sit 
side by side, watching each other, looking away when they 
have to, laughing, crying, listening. Talking. 

When it gets late, they move to the bed. She helps him 
undress, and he watches while she puts on one of his tee 
shirts and climbs in next to him. 

They prop themselves up against the headboard with half a 
dozen pillows, and Scully resumes the story of their lives, 
leaving out nothing. Every so often, she sees his eyes light 
up with recognition. Not of the event itself, but of the 
remnants he's relived in dreams that-- until this moment-- 
had no meaning.

When there is no way they can keep their eyes open a 
moment longer, Scully turns off the lights and rejoins him 
in their bed.

* * *

End (14/14)

* * *
Author's Notes - Finally! If you made it this far, I hope that 
means you've enjoyed this journey as much as I have. We 
have one more story to go, but I think it we could all use a 
break. Look for the final installment sometime this fall.

First and foremost, thanks go to my patient, supportive, and 
immensely talented beta team: Dawn, Sally, and xdks. I 
truly couldn't have done it without them. Any typos, plot 
holes, or other miscellany that remains are entirely my own 
doing. 

Thanks also go to Tali for her relentless pokes and prods 
that kept me moving when the thought of sitting down in 
front of this blasted computer one more time was about as 
appealing as a root canal. She truly is Queen of the Stalkers 
and we owe her big time for all the fic that would never get 
finished but for her tireless encouragement and support.

And last, but never least, thanks to everyone who took an 
interest in this story and its predecessor, enough to hang in 
there with me through the long dry spells. You're the reason 
we write. Your enthusiastic encouragement means more 
than you can possibly know.

~deb  -  May 31, 2004