Matrix by Humbuggie Based on an idea by Roxcatje (c)2001 Situation: This story has been written for 'Virtual Season Nine' and basically ignores everything after Season seven's 'Je Souhaite'. Rated R for some explicit language Type: Profiling X-File, M/S UST Background: In previous stories (to be found on my website http://www.sv-tales.com) I have introduced Terence Davis, Mulder's former boss at the VCS. In this story he plays his (small) part as well. Story: New York City's Finest cannot stop a serial killer from running havoc throughout the city, leaving his mark on the city. Fox Mulder is contacted by an old friend and asked for help, thus turning the killer's attention on him, and forcing him into a deadly cat & mouse-game across town. But the agent has no idea the price he has to pay is very high. Disclaimer: Do I need to remind you that our beloved FBI-duo are not mine? They belong to CC. But since he's not using him to the best of his abilities, the XF-fanfic-writers are. Disclaimer Lyrics: All lyrics used in chapters are taken from Dido's 'Slide'. First we'll take Manhattan, Then we'll take Berlin -- Leonard Cohen ...So I read to myself: A chance of a lifetime to see new horizons On the front page A black and white picture Of Manhattan Skyline -- A-Ha And everything I touch Turns to Stone -- Radiohead Matrix Day One, December 15, 2001 Even on a day like this when you're crawling on the floor Reaching for the phone to ring anyone who knows you anymore It's all right to make mistakes, you're only human Inside everybody's hiding something New York City For the occasion he drove a white '89 Chevy, a car no one would pay attention to. For the occasion he had also left his comfortable home outside of town to drive up to her house in Manhattan. Crossing the George Washington-Bridge he found himself staring at the skyline. Every single time he got impressed by the sight of it, even though he had practically grown up in this city, even owning a small apartment near Central Park, which he used on occasion. But today his attention was not focused on the beauty of the city; it was focused on murder. The Chevy was a second-hand one he had picked up some time ago in Boston. He had flown over there especially, just to make sure that the fake license plates would not be tracked down easily. He had given the salesman false credentials, signing it with the fake signature on the passport he showed. He had paid in cash. He had made sure not to talk with his ancient New York-accent, even though he was sure the salesman must have recognized it. He drove the car back to New York, following every traffic rule, keeping himself to every speed limit. He had to make sure that they would not wonder why a man like him was driving from Boston to New York in a vehicle that would be considered inappropriate to him. If someone spotted him and recognized him from his television performances, it was over before it even began. Details like that were never easily forgotten. He could not risk showing cops his false credentials. They would spot it immediately. Care and discretion were the most important things right now, even when it meant driving back into town at 50 miles per hour. He smiled when he came to realize who he really was. Despite the decent clothing, money and tools that he used to live with, he was a fake. He would never be able to cover up he was the son of a prostitute and murderer, despite all the fake credentials and papers that he now owned. It had taken him over forty years to figure out he was his mother's son. But while the old lady had rotted in some jail in the middle of nowhere, he made sure he would never get caught. He had always been very careful. Plus, he had never killed before. He had used his abilities to get where he was now and the next step would be taking over the mayor's chair. But he wanted to do the kill himself. He wouldn't hire anyone else. He needed the thrill, just like his mother. He had no respect for the one was going to kill first. She would be the attention drawer. She would bring the crowd to the city and make sure they feared him. She lived her life in splendor, drawing the audience's attention to her life. She was a wealthy beauty, and one that could not be ignored by anyone. They loved her or they hated her, but she touched their hearts one way or the other. She lived in Manhattan, the heart of the rich city. She had an expensive house, spending her life at charities and funds, benefits and brunches. She didn't work for a living. Daddy had done that for her. She was spending the money he had earned during his lifetime, living it up. She had never married. All the men in her life had been lovers that spoiled her rotten during their time with her, believing one by one that one day she would marry one of them and make him rich too. They called her an investment but she declined every single one of them, leaving more enemies than Marilyn Monroe had during her short-lived life. The last time he slept with her, he knew she would be the first to go. It was meant to be like that. After all, he knew everything about her. He knew her every move, her every action. He knew when she jogged and got home and showered. He knew when she got home too and it was then that he would strike. He wouldn't take her out during her night's out, even though it wouldn't even be that difficult to do so. No, he would take her and everything she stood for out at once. She was a whore after all. He left the car two blocks from her house underneath the trees. He walked towards the grand, restored house and watched and waited across the street until the Jaguar pulled up the driveway. It was a cold night and he knew she would not get out and open the garage manually, like she sometimes did during summer nights. Instead she used the remote control that usually lay in the glove compartment. Immediately the garage door opened automatically. She drove inside, turning off the engine. She parked the Jag next to the BMW, her other little fetish. She had told him once that she would love to do it in one of her cars, with her body pressed against the dashboard, going hard for it. She loved rough sex. But they had never done so. He waited until she had turned of the engine. The garage door was already closing again when he slipped into the darkness of the large space, hiding himself for one moment behind the Beamer. He dropped the bag soundlessly on the floor, and waited until she opened the car door, sliding his own body from behind the Beamer until he stood right after her. She didn't even hear or see him coming. Unexpectedly he grabbed her by the arm and wrist, pulling her further out of the car. His other hand went over her mouth and nose, taking away the oxygen she needed to survive with the leather glove that cut off all oxygen until she stopped writhing and simply passed out. Unconscious she lay in his arms. One of his hands kept her like this until she blinked her eyelids again. The unconsciousness was slow lived and later on she would regret not having passed out throughout the entire ordeal. "Start walking," he hissed in her ear, planting her firmly on her feet. Pushing her forward towards the door he watched her every move, knowing there was an alarm set and that she would need to type in the code to get inside. "Open the door," he ordered. Her hands were shaking when she opened the door, tapping in the code as quickly as she could. He watched her put it in and memorized it. Then she used her key to open the back door, giving him the access he needed. He pushed her inside, closing the door quickly behind him. He suddenly let go of her, shoving her inside. She stumbled and gripped herself to the large glass kitchen table. She grimaced as if she had hurt herself by falling forward, pushing her slim body against the glass. She turned around quickly, as if she was afraid to show her vulnerable back to him. "What the hell are you doing?" she asked as she caught her breath. "Have you gone mad?" Her accent irritated him. She pretended to be half-English but he knew she came from Milwaukee and faked her background to make her sound more interesting for the Press, who willingly played this game. She wore an Armani under her burgundy overcoat. The black suit and gray turtleneck sweater flattered her features. His eyes looked down at her feet. Black, high heels gave her ankles the look of class and style. Four rings on her fingers, three bracelets, and a necklace combined with gold earrings that she wore graciously. His gloved fingers touched her beautiful ears and he wondered what it would feel like to lick them, to scent the flavor of them against his tongue. The coat fell open as she leaned backwards. He caught a glimpse of her torso underneath the suit. Her chest went heavily up and down, as if she had difficulty breathing. Her blonde hair was wrapped in a ponytail, giving her a very young look. She didn't look her 34 years. He could imagine what her lovers and admirers would say when she died. They would remember her naked body that she had used to her own advantage. They would reminisce on the sex they had with her and think she was a great fuck. But they would not say what a great person she had been. For after all, she had been worth less than the money in her purse. And the one man that she had been bound to please tonight, would have to wait an eternity for her to show up, for she would not survive this day. "Susannah," he said softly, caressing her hair and face with his leathered hand. How he longed to touch that face of hers with his bare fingertips, but he knew it would be too risky. Despite it all, he still craved her badly. Deliberately using the soft English accent that sometimes lured him into using his old dialect again, he said, "How sweet you are. How soft and sweet." "What do you want?" she said as she tried to hide the fear from him, still hoping she would be able to free herself from him. "Why did you force your way into my house? You should know by now that my door is always open for you. If you want sex, you should have called me. But I'm expecting another visitor tonight and he'll be here any minute." "I'm sure your bed already awaits him," he responded, smiling. He knew perfectly well that she was lying. After all, she always picked them up herself. He would not show up here without an invitation, and her nervousness clearly showed she had not invited him in just yet. She blushed and then used every bit of sensuality she had in her to get him to respond to her. She stroked his face with her hand, something he permitted for a while before pushing away her hand. Her smile vanished, and then she said, "I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement, can't we? You shouldn't try to force yourself upon me. You should know that doesn't work unless I want it to." He slowly nodded his head. "I'm afraid you've got it all wrong, lovely Susannah," he whispered in her ear. "I didn't come here for the sex this time. I came here to get other pleasures." He sighed deliberately and raised voice calmly. "Why couldn't you have been content with one person to satisfy, Susannah? Why couldn't it have been me?" She paled and swallowed away the lump in her throat. "Because I'm not that kind of person." Her soft voice changed its tone. For the first time in her life she knew she didn't have the power over someone that she thought she would forever have. She became afraid. "You should have been," he said. "With all your fancy clothes and shoes and jewelry, your money, your wealth. You should have stuck to one person who could have taken care of you." "But it's not too late," she said. "Is it?" He sighed. "I'm afraid it is." She turned around and pushed against the kitchen door leading into the large den that she had decorated so beautifully. The last time he had been here he had admired the Picasso replica and the fake Monet that her father insisted was 'The Real Thing'. No one could tell the difference. The 19th Century mahogany desk and the early 20th century wooden chairs appealed to him. He had always wanted them. It would be a shame to destroy such treasures. But they had to go because they belonged to her now. He paid attention to her again, watching her going fast for the front door, as if to force him to get out. Her hand was already on the doorknob when he swiftly moved towards her and forced her to let go. She moaned and cried out as his hand lay around her wrist, slowly pushing the blood supply away from it. She wouldn't have made it. He was fast. As if she had been waiting for it, she pushed her lips on his, forcing her tongue inside of his mouth. He flavored her scent and taste, and then roughly let go, hurting her by doing so. She groaned and let go, wiping her mouth with her hand. Her eyes spoke of concern. Why didn't he respond to her? Slowly she brought her hand to her lips and her fingers lingered there for a bit before she slowly came to realize he wasn't here to rape or damage her, but to kill her. Immediately her attitude changed. She became a cat, fighting for her life. Her fingers clawed at him as of to scratch him, and with one snap he broke the wrist he was still holding on to. She screamed with pain and anguish, gripping to hold on to her life. He could see the bone through the skin. She was fragile. "No, please," she whispered, her voice changing its tone. She almost sang. He smiled. He wanted this to last as long as possible, but knew he couldn't let that happen. He didn't have much time left. He looked into her eyes, staring into the fear. He concentrated on her thoughts, captured them with the powers that made him so special. Then he went into her mind and caught the name of the person that she thought of at that exact time. She screamed because his intrusion cut through her brain like a knife. Her head seemed to burst and her agony was so strong that she forgot for one second she was going to die. And he smiled. "Thank you," he said, "you just gave me my next victim." He suddenly let go of her again, shoving her against the mahogany desk he loved so much. She fell, hurting her broken wrist even more, and screamed in pain as the anguish in her brain combined with her damaged wrist. He didn't care if anyone heard. He knew no one would care enough to come over to save her. He loved the sound of her voice like this and he smacked his lips as he felt his manhood throb. He wanted her so badly, but he needed to compose himself. This was not the time for sexual feasts. She struggled and crawled to get up, and then hurried through the den again, towards the kitchen. He was faster than her again, pushing her body so that she fell and landed hard on the marble floor. She lay there numb until he picked her up, forcing his hands around her throat. She crawled and cried as he squeezed the life out of her. Then she moaned again and passed out in his arms as the lack of oxygen caught up with her. This time the unconscious would remain for a while. But she wasn't dead. He wouldn't kill her like this. He didn't want to strangle her and have it over with. He had something else for her in store. Carefully he placed her body on the couch, and watched her seemingly lifeless form. Her breath was shallow, but she was still alive. She would wake up in a few moments maybe, and then watch her fate develop. He returned to the garage and took his bag with prepared goodies. In the living room he finished his small surprise for her, going about it with quick movements. He had learned to set his little trap on the Internet. A fellow 'student' had taught him a few tricks. He made sure nothing was left to fate. No matter what she touched or what she did, it would become her end. And what an end it would be. Grand enough to turn the town he would one day run upside down. When he was finished, he walked over to the couch, kissed her softly on the lips again, saying goodbye to her sleeping form, and then left the way he had come, using the code to seal off the house. His leathered hand pushed the automatic garage door button. He walked outside and breathed the fresh air. Then he waited for the garage door to close again before he left in the night. Inside the house the telephone was ringing loudly. Susannah vaguely became aware of a sound outside of her dreams. She hated the noise; it hurt her head. She forced her eyes open, reaching immediately for her sore throat, moaning when she moved her damaged wrist by accident. Oh god, she remembered it all in an instant. Her head felt dizzy, she had to claw into the fabric of the couch she was lying on. Suddenly it all became aware to her. She remembered the leather gloves sucking the life from her. Her face showed panic as she forced herself up on the couch. Was he still here? Was he around, waiting for her to wake up? Was he rummaging through the house, not knowing she was still alive? Quickly she lay back again and closed her eyes for a second, listening to any noises in the house. There was nothing. He was gone and she was alone. And the phone rang constantly. She had to pick it up, tell whoever was on the other side that she was in danger and needed help. She pushed herself up again, and let herself slide from the couch, as her legs couldn't carry her anymore. She had to let them know. She crawled over to the mahogany desk and reached for the phone. She didn't notice the wires going from the phone to the kitchen to the back door to the front door. She didn't even hear the small click when she picked up the phone, ready to shout out her fears to whoever was on the other side. The last thing Susannah heard was a deafening noise in her ears, and the last thing she saw was the immense fire that blew up in her face. A sharp sound protruded her ears and a pain, worse than anything she had experienced ever before came to take her away. Then her body blew up with the rest of her house, leaving nothing but shattered pieces of flesh and bone and fabric all over the place. Leaving her with nothing but blinding loneliness where there was nothing left for her but death. Day 2, December 16, 2001 Staring at the same four walls, have you tried to help yourself? The rings around your eyes they don't hide, that you need to get some rest It's all right to make mistakes, you're only human Inside everybody's hiding something Washington DC, Federal Bureau of Investigation Special Agent Dana Scully knew they were in desperate need of holidays but it would still be another ten days before Christmas arrived, and even then it wasn't so sure they would actually be enjoying some time off. It was about time though, she thought. It seemed forever since they had some time to their selves. Last week she was still trying to stop Mulder from going insane, and now - despite the fact it was rather quiet at the office - it felt as if they couldn't simply wind down and relish the fact they were both still well. Funny, how time passed so quickly in these offices. Even more funny how quickly they both recuperated after going through such ordeal. It seemed to easy at times that it frightened her. Sooner or later they wouldn't be this fortunate and they would not forget. But last night at Mulder's, it had seemed as if all was back to normal and they were both passing through the motions like last week's disaster. It was behind them and once again they were moving on. But now she ached for vacation. It was the time of year of course. Christmas was always a difficult period but not as difficult as the days before, when the streets were already filled with cheery people, Christmas lights and a lot of things going on. Mulder had joked last night, telling her he was still trying to get used to the fact he had someone to go to a party with now. In the past he had spent his parties at home, watching old movies and eating popcorn or Pizza, the usual. This year she wasn't so sure yet on what they had planned. But that was something that would come up during the next few days. It would be worth a bit of bantering, she thought as she once again went through the newspapers, trying to find something interesting for them to occupy themselves with. She couldn't help but smile when she remembered yesterday's meeting with Skinner. Despite the fact Skinner both gave them hell for not being with their thoughts at the meeting, it had been a funny situation. Mulder had been sitting forward, slumped a bit as if he had half fallen asleep while Assistant-Director Kersh gave his rundown on a case that got closed just the day before. "Agent Mulder, are you with us?" Skinner had suddenly asked, and Mulder had shaken up, awakening from his stupor. But Scully, who had drifted off just as much, thinking of their complex relationship while listening to Kersh' monotome voice, had been just as surprised and partly fell off her chair, stopped only by Mulder's strong hand around her arm. As a result both agents had almost fallen on the floor as the two chairs wobbled before standing up straight again. Kersh had stopped his explanation, frowning his eyebrows while asking if he could amuse the two agents long enough to stay awake. Scully had flushed immediately, remembering where she had spent the night, and then apologized herself. Mulder muttered something and continued to look very bored. And Skinner had frowned and not said anything. But when they got outside, the AD had warned them both that they shouldn't be pushing Kersh into reprimanding them. Their position at The X-Files was in jeopardy. "When wasn't it?" she muttered wry. The phone rang, shaking Scully up as her thoughts had once again drifted off. "Scully," she said, listening to Kim who invited her and Mulder to come see Skinner instantly. "Mulder's not here," she explained, "but I'll leave a note." She hung up, scribbled a note that she left on his desk and hurried to Skinner's office. Anything was better now than boredom and she would grasp any opportunity at hand to have her hands on an interesting case. She arrived at Skinner's office just as Mulder stepped out of the elevator and walked over to her. He seemed distraught and tired, probably just like she was. They really did need to catch up on their sleep. "Hey," she said, putting her hand on his wrist for a second while glancing nervously down the hall. Her little gestures could give their relationship away but she couldn't help but touching him. That single gesture always told him how much she cared, and when he smiled back, she knew she had just made his day. "Hey," he said back. "Skinner wants to see us?" "Yeah, you were pretty quick. Did you beat the world-record reading little notes and running up stairs to get here?" He smiled. "I didn't go to the office. I just bumped into Kim at the reception that told me. Do you know why he wants to see us?" "No idea, but if it's something interesting, I'm game." He grinned. "If you're feeling bored, Agent Scully, I can always give you a case of a headless monkey born out of the belly of a dog with paranormal powers." She stuck out her tongue before opening the door to the small reception-area, "No thanks. I'll take Skinner's case at any time." "I wouldn't be so sure of that, Agent Scully," Skinner said from the doorway as he watched his agents enter. "Come in. We don't have much time." "We, sir?" Mulder asked, curious as to who else would be waiting for them inside the man's office. Skinner invited them in. Mulder smiled as Terence Davis got out of his seat and offered his hand. But Scully's smile faded, knowing that they weren't going to do a regular X-File but a Violent Crime Section-case. A profiling case. She sighed deeply, recalling the times they had done this before. These were the hard cases, the ones where they were forced to step inside someone's head, hoping that there would be a passageway out. But Terry Davis was a nice, decent man that was always there for them. And he wouldn't come here if he didn't need their help. "Sir," Mulder said, shaking the man's hand. Terence smiled and shook Scully's hand as well. "Glad to see you two are doing fine," he said. "Agent Mulder, I think I might have an interesting case for you. I have run through the file with AD Skinner and he has confirmed to me he's willing to 'lend' you for a couple of days to sort this thing out for us." "What kind of case?" Scully asked, already dreading the answer. "Serial killer?" "Not exactly." Terence shoved the file in Mulder's direction, catching the agent's eyes as Mulder opened it surprised. He wasn't prepared for the first photo and blinked a couple of times before closing the file again. He hadn't eaten yet and this wasn't exactly what he needed to sooth his stomach. Davis saw him wince and nodded, "I had the exact same reaction when I first saw it. It's horrible, I know." Scully reached for the file and opened it. She too felt a knot in her stomach as she stared at the photo of what appeared to be a deformed corpse, missing bits and pieces as it had been blown to smithereens. The body was black and hardly in one piece. There was nothing left of it to declare it human. Yet it could be identified instantly as a corpse. "Lovely," Scully muttered. "A bombing?" "Yes. Right in the center of New York, can you believe that? The city is turned upside down. Everyone is in uproar because of this. People are talking political bombing again. They want blood. Fortunately we could calm them down a bit by stating we would put our best men on it." Terence smiled. "Didn't you hear about this on the news last night and this morning?" "I didn't listen to any news," Mulder said almost at the same time as Scully. The two glanced at each other. "I'm sorry," Mulder said, "why exactly are you coming to us with this? If this is a terrorist action, shouldn't their Task Force be doing this?" "This isn't a terrorist action," Skinner said. "This was murder." "With a bomb?" Mulder asked surprised. "Yeah," Terence said. "With a bomb. There are no terrorists involved, Mulder. The target was a civilian, a woman that had many admirers and enemies. Someone chose her for this repulsing death but not because she was of political importance. The mayor knows that by now, as does the Senate. But this is already a highly profiled case and you will be watched from the moment you step in it. You should be aware of that." "That still doesn't explain why you come to us with this case," Scully remarked. Terence smiled. "I know, Agent Scully. This is officially not an FBI-matter ...yet. There's someone else that is interested in solving it but he specifically asked for you even though he's in charge. He sought FBI-assistance and came to me to request you. He thought you were still working with the VCS, yet he claims to be an old friend of yours." "Who?" Mulder asked curiously as he leaned forward a bit. His interest was caught, Scully saw, and she feared that he would take a case that wasn't even theirs to begin with just because it fascinated him. She could tell by the way he glanced at Davis. "Jack Campbell." This time Mulder's attention was caught and won over by Davis. Slowly the agent rose out of his chair and said, "No way." Davis couldn't help but smile with Mulder's enthusiasm, remembering how Jack Campbell was one of the few FBI-agents who had left the Bureau to join the NYPD. Usually it was the opposite around, but Campbell, ex-VCS-agent had resigned stating that he couldn't do enough good here. He had been one to work outside, in the field. He hated being a profiler and had said he wanted to make the move before the victims fell, not afterwards. Both Mulder and Davis had been in touch with the man during the following year, and then Campbell had taken off to Australia and hadn't been in touch with them ever since. Mulder had lost all track of him, at times wondering what ever happened to the man that started out at the FBI with him. But like it always happens with old friends, he never really attempted to get back in touch with Campbell, and Campbell hadn't gotten in touch with him. "I thought he was in Australia," Mulder said surprised. "He was, until about a year ago. He came back because it didn't work out there." "I wonder why he even left for Sydney in the first place. I thought the NYPD was his life?" "I don't know," Davis said, "you should ask him, since he's coming over to see you this morning. In fact, I think he might already have arrived and is probably waiting at your office right now." "He is?" Mulder asked even more surprised, "he flew over from New York this morning?" "Yes. When I called him last night, I told you him had changed office eight years ago, and believe me, he was even more surprised than you when he found out what you are doing right now. I told him he would need a damned good case to convince you and so he booked an early flight out to come and see you. His flight landed around nine. He should be here at any time. I told him to go to your office and meet you there." "I still don't understand why he wants me there," Mulder said. "That is a question you should also ask him," Davis said. "I gather that you are taking this case?" Mulder didn't respond, but his eyes glanced with the knowledge that he would see a lost friend again soon. Day 2, December 16, 2001 Washington DC, Federal Bureau of Investigation A tall, slim man with blonde hair sat at Mulder's desk, looking at the office that seemed strange to him. He had heard rumors that Mulder had been involved with paranormal activity, but he had never thought it were true. Yet when he called Davis the night before, using old strings to get the man's attention, Davis had confirmed it. "Mind you," Terence had said, "Mulder has not changed a bit. His mind is still as brilliant as ever and he has solved more cases than anyone at the Bureau. And he's still a damned good profiler too. But you'll have to keep in mind that his mind is open to alternative options and he might overwhelm you at times with his theories. If you can cope with that, he's the man you should talk to." Jack Campbell was a man of impulse. Ten years ago he had changed his FBI-outfit for an NYPD-outfit, choosing New York because he was born and raised there, and the police department because he felt he was doing no good at the FBI. Before he had been recruited for the Bureau, he was destined to become a cop anyhow. His father had been one, and his grandfather before him. When he was recruited, his dad had been very disappointed, claiming the FBI was no good to anyone. But Jack had learned a lot during his short time at the Bureau and he had learned to see things differently than most cops. He had used his profiling skills to catch killers and rapists, and he had been promoted to Detective within the year. He had been very good at his job, and then he had moved to Australia. No one had understood why he did it, and it still was his little secret. He had spent seven years there, working as a cop in Sydney. His transfer had been hard and difficult and when he came back, the NYPD had acted even more difficult. But in the end his track record showed he was worth the effort and he gotten a promotion again within the year, this time running six other detectives in his own little Homicide Investigation Unit. He was a very secluded man. His time in Sydney had changed him. He had become a stranger amongst strangers, a 'Yank' in a team of Australians that refused to accept him at first but embraced him in the end. His return to New York had been the most difficult, but it was something he had to do. He had lived in Sydney as a guest and it had been time to come home, to a city that had become more dangerous and violent than ever before. He leaned backwards in the seat and wondered why there weren't any pictures on the desk. There was nothing personal that could tell this office belonged to Fox Mulder. There was just the nameplate. He hadn't asked Davis any personal questions about the agent. He didn't know whether he was married or seeing someone. And he had no idea if Mulder had changed as much as he had; if the two men could still get along and find friendship. Finally the door opened but instead of Mulder, a petite redhead female agent entered first. She was talking to Mulder and then stopped, surprised that their guest was sitting at Mulder's desk. Campbell knew her name was Dana Scully and that she had been Mulder's partner for years, but he stopped at her attractiveness and candor. He liked her instantly and when her eyes caught his, he knew she liked him too. Then Mulder got in behind her and Campbell smiled, almost in relief, as he recognized his old friend instantly. "You see, Scully?" Mulder quipped, "I knew there was a reason to keep my New York Knicks T-Shirt." Campbell grinned widely and fished inside his pocket, delivering three tickets that he waved in the air. "I knew I could still bribe you the same old way," he smiled. Mulder stepped forward and embraced his old friend. Jack accepted the embrace and patted his friend on the back. "Next time you shouldn't wait ten years to pay off your debts, Campbell," Mulder grinned, tucking the tickets in his pocket. "Yeah well, it took me a while to pull some strings for these seats," Campbell answered as they let go of each other. Mulder turned slightly and said, "Jack Campbell, meet Dana Scully. Scully, this is Campbell, the terror of New York." "Nice to meet you," Scully said, shaking his offered hand. "I can't say I've heard much about you though. In fact, your visit comes as quite a surprise." "To all of us, Agent Scully," Jack said as he leaned comfortably at the edge of the desk. "Believe me, I didn't know I was going to be here yesterday either, but I do need your help and I had to find a way to stop you from refusing." "You just should have asked me over the phone," Mulder said. "Of course I would have come over. Now that you're here though, tell me what's going on." "If you don't mind, I'd like to discuss the case with AD Davis and your boss at the same time. It's a long story and quite difficult to explain and we don't have much time to go through the details. Our flight leaves at two. I know I might have gone too far in assuming you are going but I couldn't wait for the bookings. This case is too important and needs your help." "That sounds serious enough," Mulder said, "and if you truly have a bomber on your hand, I can understand the urgency. I'll see if Skinner and Davis have time right now." "Let me do it," Scully said, picking up the phone. Campbell smiled gratefully and glanced at Mulder. "You haven't changed much," he said, "how's everything going?" "As good as can be expected," Mulder said, who couldn't help but stare at Scully standing right in front of him. Campbell caught the glance, feeling a sting in his belly. He too glanced at someone this way years ago. And now that person was dead and he was on his own again, wondering how he could change his life for the better. Campbell blinked and shook his head slightly. He shouldn't be wondering off like this. That was then and this was now, and now he needed to solve a case as soon as possible. "They're expecting us," Scully said. "Let's go." Campbell smiled at Scully's actions and opened up the door for her. Mulder followed, looking at Campbell's changed features. The man looked great but there was a haunting look in his eyes that could not be explained. He hid a secret; that much was certain. But what kind of secret could change a man forever? Walter Skinner immediately took a liking for Mulder's college friend. Jack Campbell was Mulder's size, a slim but firm built man who liked to take the time to jog and work out. His blonde hair was cut short. His blue eyes seemed as if they were constantly asking questions. He frowned when he couldn't understand a certain gesture and never made a secret out of his issues. He was a bit rough in his actions yet knew perfectly well how to treat a woman. Jack did his utter best to like the coffee he was presented but his nose wrinkled as he drank some of the black, artificial substance, causing Mulder to smile. In some ways Campbell hadn't changed a bit. He still liked his coffee 'natural' and pure. "If I had known you would come over, I would have made you a fresh pot," he quipped. Jack put down the cup. "Let's get to the point, shall we?" Earlier that morning Davis had used scanned prints of the murder scene but now Campbell opened his map with the original photos. There were six photos, all taking different angles from the damage done to the house and victim. "Her name was Susannah Delany, age thirty-four. Her father was a real estate agent for the rich. He died of a heart attack leaving her rich. He had gotten a divorce four years before his death. Her fund is worth millions because daddy also happened to be the heir to another fortune." Jack shoved another picture in Mulder's direction. "This is her when she was still alive and kicking. And this ..." yet another photo going into Mulder's hands, "this is her when she died. Not a pretty sight, I can tell you that." "You are handling this as a murder case now?" Mulder asked, "you told Davis that they were first talking terrorists?" "Yes. Fortunately I could calm down the mayor's office and the Senate. They practically freaked out. The explosion could be heard miles away. The house was blown to Kingdom Come, taking two other houses with it. There were no victims there. The bombing was most definitely focused on Susannah. The bomber used an inventive wiring system to trick her. She was trapped inside her own home. When she picked up the phone, she triggered the bomb and left nothing of her." Mulder glanced at the photo of the beautiful woman who smiled into the camera. She looked like the All-American girl. She seemed to have everything going for her. Yet someone had viciously killed her in the cruelest way possible. For someone to do that, he or she must have had a huge resentment for her. "She was a well known figure in New York Society," Campbell said. "I met her a couple of times as well. She was popular amongst a certain crowd but she was also nicknamed 'The Slut' in certain circles. It was no secret that she did older men who bought her gifts for her favors. It could well be that our suspect is one of New York's finest men or women. Right now I have a team of my best exploring her past. But when I left this morning, it also became very clear that this is not going to be an easy task. Susannah Delany has leaded a complex life." "So what your ideas then?" Mulder asked. "Surely you must be following a certain direction?" "Right now we're still exploring, Mulder," Campbell confessed, "but we need a profiler on this case and I thought of you instantly." "Why me?" Mulder asked. "We've got a few profilers working in New York." "I know, but I wanted you for the job because I know your style and how you think. I believe that together we might have this solved within a few days. If I have to work with a profiler I'm not familiar with, it might take a while and we might be grasping at straws. With everyone breathing down my neck, I cannot afford this. So basically, I need you Mulder." Campbell smiled. "And of course you knew those tickets didn't come cheap." Mulder didn't smile back, still wondering what Campbell was concealing from him. It was strange that he would come back for him after ten years, believing he was still doing the same job at the same office as if these past ten years hadn't existed. And how could he still remember every detail of his work while so much had happened in between? No, there was a catch. But Mulder would find out soon enough what it was. He could tell that Campbell was eager to talk to him in person without others watching them. "Okay," Mulder said, "I'll do it." Scully opened her mouth to protest, wondering what she could use as an objection to stop her partner from going to New York. But she couldn't find anything to say or do, and hadn't she stated before herself that she was eager to get her hands on something? Then her eyes caught the photos and she stared at the ones taken from the scenery. It was shocking. She remembered other photos of bombings she had seen. The memories to that office building in Dallas still sprung to mind. She didn't like cases like this. But how could she refuse when this scenario could repeat itself soon? From the outside there was nothing left but the walls. All windows and doors were blown out; glass lying everywhere. From the inside the house was one big pile of debris. Photos were taking from the house as well. The furniture was unrecognizable. The pictures on the wall were burned or broken. Glass lay everywhere. The piano standing in the living room was broken in half when a concrete pole had dropped on top of it. It was heartbreaking to watch. "We've got ourselves a madman, Agent Scully," Campbell said softly, "and my gut feeling tells me he has just begun. A man who does this will not stop with one kill. He will go on. That's what my profiler instincts keep on telling me. We need to go through details today before tomorrow he kills another one. He knew this woman, yet he killed her. Shouldn't we stop him from going through his list of 'friends' before -" "Wait a minute," Scully said, "he knew her? How can you be so sure?" "There was an alarm set. She couldn't have done it because she was trapped inside the house. He knew the alarm and set it before he walked out again. He could only have done that if he knew her. She never gave out that code to anyone. It was part of the triggering device. If someone had come in from the outside, trying to open the door with that alarm still armed, she would have died too. He had all the bases covered." Mulder glanced at his watch. It was nearly noon. In two hours their flight would leave. He thought of the overnight bag he had used when he spent the night at Scully's. It was set to use. He got up and looked at Scully. "You are free to stay here, Scully," he said formally, "but I'm going to accept this case. This is a profiling case but I could use your help for the autopsy and details." Scully got up, knowing she would not let Mulder go on his own. "Let's go then," she said. Campbell smiled and said his goodbyes to Skinner and Davis. Then Skinner got up as well and followed the agents outside. Mulder looked surprised at him as he said, "I'm going too." "Sir?" Mulder asked surprised. Campbell grinned at Mulder's surprise. "Your boss gave his permission on the condition that I would book him a ticket too. He's in charge." Mulder looked aside and spotted Skinner's serious look. Then he knew his boss took charge because of Kersh. If something went wrong, it would be Skinner who took the slack, not them. He felt pleased for his boss' acceptance of responsibilities and smiled gratefully. Skinner nodded in understanding. Two hours later two agents, an Assistant-Director and a New York-cop got on a flight out to the Big Apple, where a killer awaited them. Day 2, December 16, 2001 New York City He sat down in front of the television and watched as the news report on Susannah Delany unfolded. He smiled. The attention would take their minds off the immediate danger. Everyone would be focusing on her killer and not on who might be killed next. Ignorant people, he thought. You will all see the light in the morning. For tonight he had already chosen his next victim. No, Susannah had chosen him. Her mind had given him the way to the man that might have been the only one she ever truly loved. Why else would he have been the last person on her mind before passing out? He knew the man by name and in person. Stephen Wells was his name. He was forty-seven years old and a bachelor. He lived near Central Park in a spacious apartment where he invited guests on a regular basis. He was known for his generosity. He was a kind man, in fact, the opposite of what Susannah had been. He didn't deserve this death. Yet it could not be avoided. He deserved it just for fucking her. It would be more difficult to kill this man, especially because he lived in an apartment. It would be trickier too. The blast would destroy the entire building. He could not afford that. So he had to look for other ways to trap him. Wells lived in luxury but to an extent. He worked for an office at the other side of town where he always worked late. There he would die. Every morning he arrived there around ten o'clock after his daily jog. At night he often stayed until nine, unless he was entertaining or invited to a party. He didn't have many other hobbies than that. In the short time he had, the killer had found out a lot about the man. He supported charities and benefits, and he too had been at the Franklin Mason Benefit. Then again, everyone with a bit of name and meaning in town had been there. On the Internet there was a web page dedicated to his goals. He had a few supporters in town, dating from the time he was running for the Senate. Back then he had lost because he hadn't found the way to make name yet. Now that he did, it came too late. The office wasn't too difficult to gain access to. It was a building that held about ten companies. Visitors needed to check in at the reception, but since everyone came for a different office, it wasn't so difficult to pretend you actually worked there. That morning he had walked in as if he were an employee of the Accountancy Firm on the third floor, but instead had taken the elevator up to the tenth floor where Wells worked. There he had taken a quick look around and muttered an apology to the receptionist when he got caught about being on the wrong floor. He had hurried back down and knew that tonight he would come back around eight, when everyone was at home except for Wells. Anyone else that would be there was out of luck. For the building would be the subject of a bombing that would end the life of eligible bachelor Stephen Wells. Then the local news reporter said that New York Detective Jack Campbell had called in the help of the FBI and was now handing over charge to Assistant-Director Skinner. He also mentioned an FBI-profiler was now on the case and would be called in to determine the killer's whereabouts. The killer smiled when he saw a tall, blonde guy whom he recognized immediately. Jack Campbell had actually spoken a couple of times to him during a few benefits they both attended. Campbell's father had been honored during his tour of duty, and now it seemed his son was heading the same direction. The interview with Campbell had been taped the night before, just outside Susannah's shattered house. The killer raised his glass and got out of his seat, tapping it against the television screen. "Here's to you and your profiler, Jack. May the best man win." Then he picked up his readymade bag and left for the office. He had some work to do before he would visit Stephen Wells' office to kill him. Tonight would indeed be a victorious night. Day 2, December 16, 2001 New York City They sat next to each other with Skinner and Scully sitting behind them. Mulder had hesitated at first before slipping in the seat next to Jack's. He had wanted to set next to his partner and hold her hand, but there were too many eyes focused on them and he needed to control his feelings. Sitting next to Jack would help him to do just that. "Now tell me, Jack," Mulder said as the flight took off, "why did you really contact me?" Jack looked aside, not even surprised with the question. "You really cannot accept that I picked you out because of your expertise, do you?" "You didn't even know I had changed departments," Mulder said. "And it's been ten years. No, I don't believe you." Jack sighed and rubbed his head, trying to escape the headache that seemed to come and go during the day. He knew he wasn't meant to lie to Mulder, but how could he explain his reasoning when he didn't even understand it himself? "I knew you weren't a profiler anymore," Jack suddenly whispered. His voice spoke softly as if he didn't want the others to find out. "I've been following your career for ten years, Mulder. I knew you were assigned to The X-Files because you were looking for your sister. You gave up your career because you cared for a person, like I have done because I cared for one too." Mulder glanced aside curiously. "You knew?" he asked. "Then why -?" "I thought that you, with your expertise in the paranormal, would understand me better than anyone else. I didn't ask you for your profiler skills, but because of your paranormal expertise." Mulder leaned forward and whispered, "Are you saying this is an X-File?" "If you want to call it that way. Yes and no, I don't know, Mulder. I really don't. There's something about this case that I can't explain. I know we have the bombing. The evidence is there. The murder happened in a natural way. She died because of that bomb. Yet there's something I can't put my finger on. I don't know what it is. It's been bugging me since I got the call yesterday about her death. It happened around eight in the evening and ever since I've been bothered with this." "Why didn't you tell anyone?" Campbell laughed. "Come on. You know that would destroy the case. You of all people should know what it's like to fight against prejudice." "What makes you think this is paranormal?" Mulder asked. "You said it yourself: All the evidence is there. There's nothing abnormal about the case, and -" "Look." Campbell glanced behind him, hoping that Skinner and Scully wouldn't hear it. He didn't know them well enough to confide in them just yet. He wanted to keep his little secret between them. "There's something you should know, Mulder. Something that might change the way you look at our friendship in the past." "You're a woman," Mulder said. Campbell laughed. "No, it's not that bad." Mulder grinned. "So you can't surprise me anymore. Now tell me." Campbell sighed deeply and looked forward. "I was recruited for the Bureau, not because of my skills or expertise or brightness, like you. I was recruited because I had visions as a child, teenager and young adult and they knew about it." Mulder leaned forward even more. "You're psychic?" he asked surprised. "I used to be." "Come on, Jack. Once a psychic, always a psychic. Spill the beans." "Alright," Campbell admitted. "I am still psychic, if that's what you want to call it but it's not strong. It just happens, usually at night. I dream about things. People say I'm good at what I do. If they knew I use ninety percent of my instincts to catch my killers, I wouldn't be so believable anymore." "And you had a vision about Susannah Delany?" "Yes, I had. I went to that house and I had a vision of her being trapped in there with a man - her killer. He did something to her that I cannot describe. He seemed to pick her brain and then he went away. The vision was very blurry and strange, and I don't know how to describe it any different than that. I believe that he too is psychic in some way and that we connected somewhere. I picked something up from his actions." "And because you can't use that vision, you turned to me, hoping that I could," Mulder remarked. Jack smiled. "I know, it sucks, but that's how it is." "I see," Mulder said slowly, trying to figure out what to do next. His first urge was to convince Jack to have his ability further explored but he knew his friend would not go for it. Somehow his sudden move to Australia had something to do with it as well. He could tell by the way Jack still kept certain things to himself. "All I ask of you, Mulder, is that you treat this case as a profiler. But I would advice and ask you to keep an open mind on things and use whatever I have seen to solve this case. And I can only hope that you don't think any different of me now that you know." "I won't," Mulder vowed, "but you need to realize and accept that your ability is not a curse but a gift. And anything that you see, you must tell me if it affects this case. If not, we're through." Jack promised and watched as Mulder opened the file and started making notes to profile their killer. The two words that sprung to mind were "cold-blooded" and "vindictive." Those words alone made Jack shiver. He knew for certain he had never done a case like this before. Day 2, December 16, 2001 New York City The Federal building in downtown New York carried 25 floors and a lot of FBI-agents. New York was a major city after all, and one of the most important crime cities of the country, which wasn't that abnormal considering the population it held. Skinner didn't have difficulty arranging a few joined offices at the VCS. AD Norris who ran the New York-division, was a good friend of Davis and had foreseen their coming. Of course everyone knew the stakes. The FBI-spokesperson already had her hands full with calming down the press. Fortunately no one of the press tried to stop them when they drove up. Using the intercom, Campbell was allowed in the visitor's parking lot. The FBI-offices looked like a beehive. Hundreds of agents walked in and out, and every bit of space was used to put a desk on. "This building is too small," Skinner remarked, clearly showing he missed his office in Washington. Jack was known at the FBI. At the reception they gave him a visitor's badge and a pass through the building. He had been - after all - one of them. Mulder and Scully used their own passes as did Skinner. "This way," Jack said, walking to the elevators. He pushed the button to the eleventh floor and lead the agents to two smaller, joined offices to the right where they were awaited by an agent who was assigned to provide them with all the necessary information. A man in his fifties awaited them as well and got up when they got in. "Good to have you back, Jack," he said, shaking hands with Campbell. Skinner recognized the man from a few previous meetings and didn't need introduction. "Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, may I introduce you to Assistant-Director Donald Norris ?" Jack said as Mulder and Scully stepped forward. "It's an honor, agent Mulder," Assistant-Director Norris said. "I've heard quite a lot about you." "You have?" Mulder asked with a hint of surprise. "I wouldn't believe everything they told you, sir." Norris smiled, and invited them to sit down, explaining to them they could use these temporary offices to get settled in during the next few days. His own office was on the tenth floor but he would always been at their service if they needed any help. The office was bright and gave a magnificent view to the city. The sun lit the city yet it was freezing cold out. The heating was running day and night to keep the offices warm. There was one large desk with a leather chair and two visitor's chairs. A small table could be used for conferencing. Doors lead to a similar office with two desks. A secretary walked in, offering them coffee. She came back with five cups of coffee, all adjusted to everyone's liking. She left them alone and shut the doors behind her. AD Norris took a seat at the conferencing table and after a bit of shuffling everyone finally got a seat. AD Norris seemed a busy man. Whenever he spoke he glanced at his watch. He talked fast as if he wanted to blurt out as many words as possible in order not to forget anything. Later on, when Scully visited his office for information, she would find that his desk was loaded with paperwork. He was one of the few men in charge to run the entire New York Field Office and that kept him busy day and night. Norris was responsible for a eighty-four percent solving rate within the VCS in his district and reported on a daily basis to AD Davis who ran the VCS throughout the Eastern District. He had twelve agents working for him, amongst them three profilers. The other Field Agents were in charge of different departments. His specialty was kidnappings. He had solved one of the cities' high profiled cases about a year ago when a prominent banker was abducted for ransom. He had solved the case within two days, bringing the banker back in one piece. That is, missing two fingers. If there was one thing that Norris despised, it was child murder. When a case like that landed on his desk, he put in every agent he could to catch the killer, and he didn't mind if the killer ended up dead. He was for the death penalty and didn't make a secret out of his feelings. But he was also integer and would give everyone an honest chance. Jack was convinced Edward Norris could have reached the Bureau's top by now if he hadn't had such a bad personal reputation. Twice divorced had left him in the hands of several younger lovers and the Bureau knew about his taste for young flesh. That alone stopped him from being the new J. Edgar Hoover. But Norris didn't care. He wanted the best of both worlds and that was exactly what he got right now. "I know this case is not up your alley, Agent Mulder," Norris started, coming straight to the point, "we're not talking about an X-File here but a profiling case. There is no paranormal activity involved and there are no monsters that killed Miss Delany. Are you sure you want to do this?" "Sir, as Assistant-Director Davis must have told you, I've been involved in several profiling cases over the past few years with a high success rate. With AD Skinner's permissions I have divided my time between the VCS and The X-Files to assist AD Davis whenever he needed me. I understand this is not an X-File but I am willing to put in time and effort." Norris didn't even blink, proving to Mulder he was trying to test him. "What about those X-Files-cases? There were serial killers involved there as well, weren't there?" "Yes, sir. But you cannot call these mainstream cases. The serial killers we dealt with all acted out of different reasons, mostly involving survival. In 1993 we have solved the case of Eugene Victor Tooms, a man that extracted human livers in order to hibernate. This was a serial killer that had been active for over a hundred years. There was also a man named Virgil Incanto who lived on the fat of obese women in order to satisfy his hunger. And -" "I think I get the picture, Agent Mulder," Norris interrupted. "As long as you understand that this case involves a regular man, I'm okay with it." Mulder glanced at the man in surprise, realizing he actually believed him and didn't wave away these stories as crap like most people at the Bureau did whenever they read one of his reports. Were there actually people working at the Bureau that still believed in him? Norris got up and put his hand on the file that lay on the middle of the table. "I have a meeting in about ten minutes," he said, "so I'm going to leave you to your devices. Walter, you know where to find me should you need one of my men. Just let me know how we can help you. Of course you can also contact AD Davis for questions or information." "I appreciate that, Edward," Skinner said, shaking hands with his colleague again. "We'll keep you informed." "Oh yeah," Norris said as he walked towards the door, "you've been on the news again, Jack." "I have?" Campbell asked surprised, recalling only last night's short interview with a local reporter. "It seems that CNN is keeping an eye on this case as well, as are the other big stations. They want to know why someone is planting bombs in New York and they're eager to have a talk with you. I'm afraid that you won't be able to keep the population calm if they keep this up." "Damned reporters," Jack muttered. "Why can't they do other, more important things?" "It's their job," Norris said, closing the door behind him on the way out. Campbell turned towards the others. "I suggest that we start working. What do you want to do first?" "I'd like to autopsy the body tonight if possible," Scully said. "I suppose it has been held for me?" "It has," Jack confirmed, "even though the coroner's office wasn't too pleased with that. I had to pull a lot of strings to persuade them to wait." "I'd like to see the crime scene first," Mulder said, "get a feel on what happened." "We can do that," Jack said, "but we also need to make a courtesy call to the mayor's office. We need to settle some issues there before the mayor steps in and takes over. He has the power to make our lives miserable if we don't act discretely." Jack glanced at his watch. It was after five. If they were going to act, they didn't have much time left before dark. "I'll call the mayor from the car and set up the autopsy for you, Agent Scully. I suggest that we profit from the little time we have left before it gets too dark." "I'll stay here," Skinner said, "and get in touch with the other authorities. Remember, I'm only here on an administrative base. This is your case, but I'm backing you up should the heat get on." "We understand, sir," Mulder said. Day 2, December 16, 2001 New York City The house was one big pile of debris to put it mildly. Absolutely nothing was left of the Victorian home, except a couple of walls in between which lay the remains of the first and second floor. The fire department had supported the walls and was still cleaning up the mess when the agents got there. "Most of the evidence has been taken to a police compound," Jack complained. "We're trying to go through details there because it's too dangerous to hang around here. One might get debris on his head. There are still pieces falling down all the time." Across the street a crowd had gathered to watch the proceedings. The night before the crowd had been double its size and people had watched how Susannah Delany's body had been removed from under the debris. People had whispered and wondered. Mulder took a look at the neighboring houses and noticed they too had suffered greatly under the bomb, but they were not beyond repair. "We asked the inhabitants to find a temporary new setting," Jack explained. "The mayor's office has offered support and help and the house will be repaired as soon as possible. But I'm afraid this one is gone. A shame really if you see what effort has been put into restoring it years ago." "Are the walls going to be torn down?" Scully asked. "Yes, as soon as we have gathered all the necessary evidence. That should happen in a few days." Jack carefully made his way through the debris and stepped inside what was left of the living room. The cracked piano that had been on one of the photos still stood there as a memento to a woman's life that had been completely ruined with a crushing bomb. "Where did they find Susannah's body?" Scully asked, following in Jack's footsteps. "Over there." Jack pointed towards the remains of a wall covered by a whole lot of wood and stones. From his pocket he got out a map of the plan, provided to them by the architect that renovated the house only five years ago. "The area in which she was found was the former living room. It had an L-shaped form, you see? Here was the living area. You can still see the remains of the couches, the TV, stereo, all that stuff. All the electrical equipment exploded in the fire. The short end of the L was her dining room. It was a large room with two steps leading to the front door. There was also a stairwell in the back, going to the first and second floor. She didn't use the second floor. The kitchen had another stairwell, probably used by her housekeeper." "She had a live-in housekeeper?" Mulder asked. "No, there was a woman that came over twice a week and spent a whole day at the house. Susannah didn't want to be disturbed by her and they had made very particular agreements on her work." The agents stepped through the living room and watched as one firemen went through the ruined kitchen where the counter still stood up but was now painted black after the fire that started after the bomb. "The kitchen had been a spacious, modern room," Jack continued, showing them photos of how it used to be. It had two doors leading outside; one going to the back, which was being used as a service entry door. And there was a second one leading up to the garage. Both doors had an alarm." "Was the garage secured?" Mulder asked. "Automatic door?" "Yeah. She had the automatic door installed after the renovations. The garage could two cars, which were both counted for. She drove a Jaguar and a compact BMW. According to the housekeeper she changed the alarm once a week and she was the only one that knew it. When the housekeeper came over, she had to ring the front door and was allowed in by Susannah. If Susannah wasn't at home, the housekeeper couldn't get in." Jack waited as he watched Mulder think. "We believe that the killer made his entry through the garage door. He probably slipped in and waited until she got out of her car to grab her. He must have used her for the alarm. She probably didn't know what hit her." "Was there a silent alarm?" Scully asked. "No. The alarm did block after three attempts, setting off an alarm at the security agency," Jack said. He had gone through the report so many times by now that he knew exactly what the style and layout of the house had been." "You mentioned earlier that the alarm had been set off by the telephone. Did the bomb squad examine the device yet?" "They have," Jack said, glancing at the one of the firemen that looked very curiously at him. "But I suggest that we discuss this on our way to the mayor's office. Have you seen enough for now?" "I have," Mulder confirmed, thinking about the details he would put in his report. He had seen enough to know that the killer was indeed heartless and cold-blooded and could have been someone in love with her. Most murders happened out of unanswered love or passion. When something like this happened, the people involved usually saw their love replace for pure hatred. On the other hand, he thought, the killer might have been making a point. A kill like this was bound to get into the news. He might have wanted to draw the attention, to have people know he existed. To have the people fear him. Right now anything was still possible. "Destroy and mutilate," Mulder mumbled, kneeling down. He touched parts of the debris with his bare hand, trying to see either the distress or pleasure the murderer was in. There wasn't a signature of the killer left. But there was the bomb. And there was a sense of sexuality that seemed to be the trigger inside the killer's head. He could feel it like a cold blanket that lay inside this once beautiful house. "Our killer definitely gets off on what he's doing," Mulder said, looking at no one in particular. "He takes his time placing the device, making sure his victim is not in the way when he's setting it up. He probably drugged her or knocked her unconscious while he was at work. She must have been because she didn't know he was triggering the house. She wouldn't have picked up the phone had she known he was setting his trap." "Go on," Jack said, listening to Mulder's nearly monotone voice. He could see the man was talking without thinking, as if he wanted to say it before it was gone out of his mind. "He wants us to admire his handy work, that's for sure. He had two reasons to use this bomb. He wanted to destroy everything that was dear to her; not alone her physical being but also the place she had put her stamp on, as if he wanted nothing left of her to be remembered. He probably tapes all the news reports and watches them over and over again, because he's proud of what he's done." "Do you think he's a serial killer?" Jack asked, remembering the strange vision he'd had about the man whose face he could not see. There had been something so cold about that vision, so very cold. Mulder looked at the others. "We'll know soon enough." Mulder's words shocked the other agents, realizing he was right. Right now there was no way of telling if the killer had already chosen his next victim. There was only the knowledge that they would have to fight against time should there be another murder, proving that they indeed had a serial killer on their hands. Jack rubbed his eyes, trying to ignore the headache that now pounded against his skull. He hated headaches like this; they were usually a foretoken that a vision was about to come his way. "Let's get out of here," Scully said. "Can you two drop me off at the coroner's office?" "Sure," Jack said as they made their way back to the car. Across the street still stood a crowd gathered to see who the people were that were rummaging through the debris. Mulder saw a few cameras and reporters. He spotted them a mile away and knew they would want to get answers soon. "Can you get those reporters to hand over printouts of the photos taken last night?" he asked. "Might come in handy." "Sure," Jack said, "you're thinking that he might have come back to see his handy work?" "Yeah. It's a long shot because, to be honest, I think he's too smart for that. But you never know." "I'll find out which reporters were here last night and get those pictures for you soon enough," Jack said. "But you'll probably have to give an interview in return." "If that's what it takes," Mulder said, "I'll do it." Scully and Jack made their way out but Mulder stopped before the outer wall, turning and staring at the debris. Suddenly he was back at the bombing in Dallas. Back then the bombing had taken place to cover up several deaths. What if this bombing had taken place for the same reason? If not to destroy one's life, why would anyone plan such a horrible death? "Mulder?" his partner asked, approaching him carefully. Mulder blinked his eyelids and turned towards her, placing his hand on her arm. "Scully, I want you to check for anything out of the ordinary when you do that autopsy. Check particularly if she had any diseases or signs that showed she might have been sick or something right before her death. I know it's a long shot but I've got the feeling we need to find something here that has got nothing to do with the bombing." "What are you looking for?" Campbell asked. "I don't know," Mulder muttered. "That's just it. I don't know. But I've got this feeling that it's something important." Preliminary reports showed that the bomber was an amateur. The device was set up with native means, working on a trigger setting off by a certain move. He didn't use new, sophisticated technology to get the job done "He must have had help to do this," the expert said as he explained how the device worked. "That, or he used a handbook on how to set a bomb." "What about the Internet?" Mulder suggested, jotting down remarks. "There are chat rooms and forums for just about anything. There probably are on terrorists and bombs as well." "How to create the perfect, destructive bomb," Mulder said. "It's sick, but it can." "It shouldn't be too difficult to find that out. I'll have someone do a search on the Internet. Who knows, we might get lucky." Day 2, December 16, 2001 New York City The office building was dark, just like he had expected it to be. The reception area was empty but the outer doors were still open. He would need a badge to go up now, and he didn't have one. He pushed the button of the tenth floor and waited until a male voice asked, "Yes?" "Stephen," he said, "it's me. Can you let me in?" There was a silence on the other side and then the man that worked on the tenth floor said, "Sure." The killer smiled, knowing Wells didn't know whom he was letting in but didn't think anything strange of it. After all, he had used Stephen's name, taking the risk that he was by himself. Outside he had seen that all the floors were still lit, but it was the evening saving's lights. There would probably be a security guard walking about too. Tough luck for him. He pushed the button of the tenth floor and walked in. The office at the end of the corridor was brightly lit. That was Stephen's office. He had seen that this morning while making his stroll through the building. Stephen was there, busy at work, and now he would die at his office. He held the bag in his hand. It felt heavy. Stephen looked up when he walked in and said, "Excuse me, do I know you?" "Of course you do, Mr. Wells," he said, "we attended several benefits together, haven't we?" "Of course we have," Stephen said hesitant, offering his hand. "How are you? What can I do for you? I'm sorry, I thought I let one of my colleagues in." "I know," he smiled. "I took the risk of coming here, hoping you would be by yourself. You are alone, aren't you?" Stephen seemed uncomfortable now, wondering what this man was doing here at this time of night when everyone should be at dinner or doing something else than work. He was used to being here alone at night. "I'm sorry but you still haven't told me what you're doing here." "We need to talk, Stephen." "About what?" "About things that you've done. About people that you've been with." He took a seat at the edge of Stephen's desk and took a paperweight off the desk. It felt heavy in his hand. He toyed with it as his eyes focused on Stephen who became anguished now. "What are you talking about?" Stephen asked. "What things have I done?" "Why are you at work, Stephen, when you should be morning Susannah's death?" "Susannah?" Stephen Wells laughed bitterly. "Is that what this is all about? You're here because of Susannah? You're a reporter, aren't you? You came here because you found out about us and now you're trying to get a story out of it. Get out!" "I'm not a reporter," he said calmly. "Are you trying to blackmail me then?" Wells muttered as his face turned red in anger. "Get the hell out before I call security. How dare you come in here right after her death and do this to me? We had a good thing going. You can't use that against us. Get the hell out before I kick you out myself!" He smiled. "I'm not leaving, Stephen. I've come here to kill you." Wells' eyes changed expression when he saw his 'guest' wore leather gloves. The man's eyes were as cold as ice. And his facial expression was numb. Suddenly Wells felt an excruciating pain inside his head, and he screamed as he moved away from the chair, putting his hands up his head as he screamed. It felt like someone was cutting into his head with a knife, taking out all the thoughts and dreams. His eyes locked with the killer's and it felt like he would never be the same again. Then the pain stopped suddenly and the killer smiled. "Thank you for handing out my next victim." Wells stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over his chair as he came to the realization he had signed his own death warrant. And then the paperweight went up and knocked him over the head, cutting deep into his skin and flesh. Wells slumped backwards, pulling a stack of paper on the floor with him. There he remained out cold. The killer removed the man's cellular phone and tucked it in his own pocket. He would leave that outside the room where Wells couldn't use it. The killer moved quickly now, shutting the office door and switching off the lights so that only the dim night lights remained on. Using the same MO he had used on Susannah, he triggered the phone and fax. Then he wired the rest of the room. Closing the door he placed the bomb right outside the room. Every single action the man did would kill him. And if someone tried to save him, he would still die. A few minutes later he was downstairs and left the building in utter darkness. Inside the room Stephen Wells woke up slowly, reaching for his bruised head. He sighed deeply as he tried to grasp at what had happened to him. The world danced before his eyes. He touched his temple, feeling the deep cut of his own paperweight. Then he remembered. He knew who that man was! That struck him the most. He had seen him before and knew of his political ambitions. And he was also a killer. He had to tell someone! His hand reached automatically for his cell phone that should be sticking in his jacket pocket. It wasn't there. He moved up, touching the side of the desk. There was a vague sound, like a phone ringing. The sound seemed too loud in his bruised head. His fingers reached for the phone, picking it up. Then there was a sharp, high sound that pierced his skull. He stared at the wires that ran down the phone and then it was over as the bomb outside the room went off and sent everything in it to kingdom come. When the fire ended, the entire top floors of the office building had gone to hell. Underneath the debris on the ninth floor, which had suffered too during the blast, lay the unconscious body of the security guard. Day 2, December 16, 2001 New York City The mayor's dizzied with activity as Mulder and Campbell arrived. It was seven-thirty yet all the personnel still seemed present. Some of them were dressed in evening gowns and tuxedos. "There's an AIDS-benefit tonight," Campbell said. "I was supposed to go too but with all that's been going on, it's not going to happen. Not that I'm unhappy with it; I hate these events." "Don't let your father hear you say that," Mulder remarked, remembering the former Police Chief whom he had met twice. The man had said once that living in a city like New York and in an environment that thrived on parties, dinners and benefits, it was one's obligation to make you as much seen as possible. Jack had not stepped into his father's footsteps. That is, as little as possible. "Detective Campbell," the mayor's secretary said Jack knocked on the glass door that lead to a small but beautifully decorated reception area. "The mayor is expecting you." "Thank you," Jack said as they walked in. Inside another, classically decorated office, a man in his late forties awaited both men. Mulder had seen the mayor on news bulletins and in newspapers. Rumors had it that he was going to try for the Senate during next elections and that the eligible mayor's seat was up for grasp. Once, during an interview with Time, the man had stated that some day he would run for Presidency, as his great-great grandfather had once done. He lived for politics, like all the members of his family did or had done. It was no secret the mayor was a very cocky man that didn't like it when things didn't go his way. He wanted to have say at the NYPD and FBI and when he found they outranked him in decisions, he became difficult and sometimes downright obnoxious. But his entourage liked him and would do everything for him. "Close the door, Ellen," he said, "and tell David that I'm going to be running late. He should warn Congressman Mitchell." "Yes, sir," the secretary said as she shut the door. The mayor didn't offer them coffee. He made it very clear he didn't want to spend much time discussing the case with the two men that were supposed to solve it soon. "Look, Campbell," the mayor said, ignoring the fact for now he saw this man on a personal basis as well and at times even liked him, "I'm not going to beat around the bush here. I want results and I want them now. I appreciate you bringing in the FBI but you're slowing things down. What are you doing to get this guy?" "We have gathered all the evidence and are exploring Miss Delany's past, sir," Campbell said politely, knowing damned well he didn't have to use their past 'friendship' in this room. "We will get him, but you must understand that this doesn't happen today. It takes time." "We don't have time. Everyone's breathing down my neck. They all want to know how this could happen in my city. They believe that we're all in danger and that some crazy bomber is terrorizing the city. I have a press conference in the morning to tell them this is not the case. Please tell me this is a one-thing event, Jack." Jack opened his mouth to speak but stopped when Mulder interfered. "There is no telling, sir," he said quickly. "We might have a serial killer on our hand. But he's not a terrorist. I guarantee that much." "How can you guarantee that?" the mayor asked, angrily accepting the answer he didn't want to hear. "There's not much you know about him yet, is there?" "That is correct, sir," Mulder said. "That's why I'm here. I guarantee you that I will do everything in my power to grab him." "Good," the mayor said, "because if you do not, I'll make sure you never work at the Bureau again." "Is that a threat, sir?" Mulder asked cold. "No. Call it warning. I know the Director quite well." "So do I, sir. And I can tell you that he will not appreciate the remark you just made. You need us more than we do you right now. I suggest that you keep that in mind too." Mulder rose from his chair and turned his back towards the mayor who sat numb in his seat, not able to utter another word. Quickly Jack left as well, shutting the door behind him. "What the hell was that?" Campbell asked, suddenly bursting into laughter at Mulder's serious features. "You don't really know the Director, do you?" "Of course not," Mulder said calmly, "but don't think the mayor's going to contact him either. He needs us and he knows it. He needs the FBI to keep his city calm right now. If he screws that up, he loses all credibility himself." "You like to taunt people, don't you Mulder?" Jack asked. "You haven't changed a bit." Mulder's smile faded. "There's a lot you don't know about my past, Jack," he said seriously. "You have no idea what it's been like to work at the Bureau, knowing that everyone there wants to get you fired out of the Bureau. They've been laughing at my work and making it ridiculous it because they don't understand it. I'm so tired when that happens outside the Bureau. That man in there doesn't have reason to threaten me, but he thinks he can because he runs this city. So it's my job to set the record straight." Jack patted Mulder on the back. "I know what you mean," he said. "Believe me, I do. Let's get out of here and go see Scully. She should be working on that autopsy right now." "I hope she's finished," Mulder grinned. "She loves to slice and dice, but I don't like to watch." "Don't tell me you're squeamish about this." "Of course I am. Every regular person should be." The two men walked outside to Campbell's car and got in. Suddenly Jack froze, rubbing his eyelids forcefully as he sunk deeper into his seat. Mulder looked aside but didn't disturb him as the detective sat quietly in his seat. Finally Jack relaxed and looked up. "You had a vision, didn't you?" Mulder asked. Jack nodded and looked aside. "I can't be sure," he said as drops of sweat poured down his face, "but I think there's been another one." At the same time Jack's cell phone went off. Both men knew why. Jack sighed deeply and picked it up, as a cold hand embraced his heart. A voice on the other side told him what he didn't want to hear. And Mulder knew it was going to be a long, long night. Day 2, December 16, 2001 New York City Mulder called Scully on the way down to the office building that had been under attack and asked her to arrange for a rental car and come over too. She agreed and said she would be coming over in about an hour or so, after finishing the autopsy. She still had some work to do. The two men sat quietly in the car, not wanting to discuss the second murder. But Jack wanted to talk about the vision. "It was that man again," he said, "I can't help but think that we somehow are on the same level. I see what he's doing but I can't see where or when. It's like I'm picking up some of his thoughts; the ones that he perhaps wants me to see." "Do you have any idea if he looks familiar to you?" "I can't see his face. I don't know who he is. It's all too blurry. This vision doesn't work at all, Mulder. It's just a nuisance. It's a joke." "It's not," Mulder said, trying to calm his friend down. "Look, you said that the FBI recruited you because of your visions. Did they know about it?" "I don't know. What I meant is that they thought I had insights no one else had. They were right of course. But I wasn't tested on those visions nor did anyone discuss them. I just felt like cheating when I used them. I thought that by joining the NYPD I could have better use of them, but there too I discovered that it always came too late." "Why did you go to Australia?" Mulder asked. Jack laughed. "Can you believe that I really don't know? I have no idea. There was an opportunity to escape and I seized it. I couldn't handle these visions anymore. I questioned my goals in life and realized I needed to go somewhere where I could figure out my future. There was someone I cared for a lot. A woman. She came from Sydney. She was an actress. I met her at one of those dreaded benefits. We became involved and she asked me to go back with her. I had already decided that I would do so when I found out she had Alzheimer's. She was only thirty years old Mulder and yet she was already dying. I went back with her and took care of her until the day she died. The years with her were the happiest of my life. But when she died I knew I could no longer hide for myself and so I came back, only to find out nothing really had changed. Believe me, I have regretted going back several times but I stuck it out. I knew this is where I belong." "I understand now," Mulder said, "but that still doesn't change the fact that you can do some good with that psychic ability of yours. You have the power to help people, Jack. And believe me, I know what you are going through. Not so very long ago I had something happening to me. Suddenly I could hear voices. I heard millions of voices and they were all in my head. I could read everyone's minds and that drove me nuts because I wasn't prepared for it. But there was this young boy that had the same ability, and he handled his ability with ease. He knew how to benefit from it. I know you can benefit of your power too." "You call it a gift, a power," Jack said somber, "but I call it a pest." "You shouldn't because you don't know how you can use it yet," Mulder said. "I can help you do that, if you allow me." He grinned. "In that field I have quite some experience you know." Jack looked aside. "I know what you're trying to do," he said. "But I'm not sure that I'm ready for that yet." "You won't be until you let me help you." "Let me think about it," Jack said. "Okay?" "Fair enough," Mulder said, feeling victory was almost in. Then the agent looked before him and muttered, "Jesus." Before them stood the ruined office building. It was a miracle there was still a part of it left, because a bomb had ruined most of its top floors. "What the hell," Jack muttered, parking the car right in front of it. Dozens of people were running about. Several fire department vehicles already stood there. There were police cars and ambulances. It looked like World War III. Mulder and Campbell rushed out. All hell had broken loose and it seemed nothing would ever be the same again. Day 2, December 16, 2001 New York City Quietly Mulder walked alone through the rummaged tenth floor. In the back office the remains had been found of Stephen Wells, the apparent victim of the second bombing in two days. Just like Susannah Delany before him, Wells had become the target of a vicious murder that ended his life. And just like with Susannah, his belongings had been destroyed. The bombing had been carefully planned. The killer had come to this office, taken out Wells long enough for him to set the trap, and probably watched from the outside when the floor had been blown to bits. The man's death was just as horrible as Susannah's had been, allowing Mulder to believe that he deliberately chose out this man to die. But what was the connection between Delaney and Wells? Why would he choose two people that apparently had nothing in common? "There was a second victim," Jack reported as he walked towards Mulder. "They found the security guard a floor lower. He's hurt but not in any danger. He was making his rounds when it happened." "Have they found out how this man got in the building yet?" Mulder asked. "He must have had a badge or something." "The security system is still to be examined, but at first sight it seems that Wells let him in. He must have known him." "There was no one at the reception?" "There never is at night. The receptionist leaves around seven and there's only the security guard. Everyone who works here late at night has his or her own badge. So when there's a guest at night, he or she needs to be allowed in." "Is the badge system checked?" "Yeah," Jack confirmed. "They'll go through the badge-lists tonight to see if anyone gained access this way. But at first sight it seems that this is not the case." Mulder nodded. "He would give himself away instantly. He wouldn't do that." "So Wells must have known him." "Most likely," Mulder said thoughtfully as he stood in the center of what had been Wells' office. The bomb squad confirmed the phone had been wired, alongside the fax machine and door. Wells' cell phone had been found on one of the other desks. It was obvious the killer had wanted his victim to pick up the phone. "What are we going to do, Mulder?" Jack whispered, "we've got a deadline now. If he kills again tomorrow, we need to be there to stop it." "Go do some good old fashioned police work and work your way through the details and suspect-list," Mulder said. "Scully will pick me up here. I'll make the profile tonight. I think I might have enough information to work with." "Are you sure?" "Definitely," Mulder said. "Can you do me a favor and book us into a hotel in the city? Just give me a call and let me know what you came up with." "Okay," Jack said, saying goodbye to his friend. Mulder looked at the firemen who were still cleaning the floor and turned his back towards them, concentrating on the scene. More and more he became convinced the killer had a reason for destroying his victims like this. It was just the viciousness. There was something else. "Hello?" A man tapped on what remained of the doorpost and walked in. "I'm sorry, I'm looking for Detective Campbell." "He just left," Mulder said. "Sorry, you are -?" The man walking into the room was dressed in a tuxedo and seemed completely out of place in the destroyed room. He was in his late thirties and good-looking. His bright dark blue eyes took in the environment and he seemed nervous to be in the room. It seemed to be the last place he wanted to be at. "I'm sorry," he said, "my name is Alec Thompson. I'm a friend of Jack's and work for the mayor. I was on my way to a benefit when I found out what happened. The mayor's assistant called me and told me." Thompson smiled wry. "I guess he thought I would find out more than the mayor did." "I'm Special Agent Mulder," Mulder said, shaking the man's hand. "I'd be more than happy to tell you how our investigation is going but the mayor already knows everything he needs to know." "I gathered as much," Thompson said. "Can you tell me if Jack is around?" "He went downtown." "Oh. I'll call him then." Awkwardly Thompson remained in the room, staring at the debris. "How could anyone do this to another human being?" "Good question," Mulder said. "One that I cannot answer for you." "I'm sure you can't. Well, it was good to meet you. Goodbye." "Goodbye." Mulder watched as the man left, wondering about this strange visit. He made a mental note to check out this man. One could never know. Mulder walked to the staircase and walked down. In the reception area he bumped into Scully who was just about to go up. "You just saved me a long walk up," she said. "How was it up there?" "Horrible," he said. "Let's get out of here, Scully." "Where to?" "The FBI Field Office. We need to talk to Skinner and put together what we've got. There are a lot of things to discuss." "I agree," Scully said. Mulder glanced at her curiously, knowing she had something to tell. Day 2, December 16, 2001 New York City It was nearly midnight and two of the three persons in the room had eaten. Scully had grabbed a sandwich at the coroner's office and Skinner had eaten with Norris. Mulder's hunger had passed during the unexpected visit to the office building but now he was famished. The day had been quite long but the night would become even longer. The second murder had clearly shown they were working against a time limit they had to keep in mind. The profile that rested in the agent's head still needed to get on paper. And there were a lot of details to discuss. But Scully was first and got to explain the details shown during the autopsy. Her voice sounded professional and her words were to the point, yet Mulder could see how repulsed she must have been while slicing and dicing. "You were right, Mulder," she said, "There was more going on than just the bombing." "Oh?" Skinner said surprised, leaning forward interested while supporting his elbows on the desk. "Susannah Delaney showed massive brain tissue damage; damage that could not be caused by the bombing. Believe me, it took me a while to figure this out. Her face and head were damaged beyond recognition, as you could imagine. Her face was practically blown away. But when I took a sample of the brain, I saw that all the small blood vessels had exploded as if she had been subjected to something that could cause this." "Something like what?" Skinner asked, "a machine?" "No," Mulder said. "Not a machine. To a person." "Excuse me?" Skinner said. "Can you explain yourself, Agent Mulder?" "I know this might sound difficult to accept, sir," Mulder said, "but I have reason to believe our suspect is psychic, or at least has psychic abilities that allow him to do this. He uses these abilities for some reason that I'm not aware of yet, literally causing the explosion of the brain cells before the actual death." "That would leave his victims dead before the explosion," Skinner said. "Wouldn't it, Agent Scully?" Scully hesitated and glanced at Mulder. She had no idea why he came up with this, and she had no reason to believe his theory. Yes, the victims suffered from brain damage that might have eventually caused their untimely deaths, but to state that the killer did this with psychic abilities? That was stretching it a bit too far. "Scully?" Skinner repeated, "Could this be possible?" "If you ask me they could have survived this sort of ordeal, then I'd answer yes. But if you ask me if this is caused using psychic abilities, I'd have to decline." "I knew you were going to say that," Mulder said, not angry with her at all. She wouldn't go for his theory and he had to defend his without revealing Jack's secret. He had promised to do so. He groaned lightly and shifted in his seat. "I have more proof to validate this theory, sir," he continued, "but I can't use it. You are going to have to trust me on this one." "What do you want me to say, Mulder?" Skinner said as he got up and put his hands in his pockets, turning his back towards the agents. "Do you want me to go to the Deputy Director with this story? Do you want the press to find out about it?" "No, sir. Officially I'd go with the crazy bomber story. Unofficially I would find out if this man is truly psychic and if this case falls in our X-Files-department. But I'm pretty sure that - if and when we catch him - we will know that he indeed is not a regular serial killer." Scully glanced at her partner, not knowing whether she should be angry or not with him. He held back something for them and she wanted to find out what it was. It had something to do with Jack. She knew that. But how was she going to find out? Mulder looked at her and gave her a warning look. She knew better than to argue with him. She didn't feel like doing so. It was too late in the evening and they were not one step further than they had been in the afternoon. "I suggest that we break up for tonight and proceed in the morning," Skinner said. "It's late and we're all very tired. Agent Mulder, I suggest that you give your theory a rest for now too." "Yes sir," he said. On their way to the Field Office in the rental car Jack had called and said they were all booked into a Holiday Inn. He gave Mulder the address and told him he would pick them up in the morning. He too was on his way home even though his mind wasn't set to sleep. Too many events still lingered in the back of his mind. Skinner took his own rental car to the hotel and followed Mulder and Scully in theirs. At the hotel they booked into three separate rooms. Before Skinner's eyes the partners said goodnight, but Mulder knew he would see her again that night. After taking a shower, Mulder dressed into sweats and a T-shirt and turned on his laptop. The events were still fresh in his mind and he knew he could not sleep before he had put his profile on paper. In the back the TV was playing. A soft knock startled him and as he opened the door Scully stood there, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. "Hey," he said, letting her in. She smiled and kissed him as soon as he closed the door. It wasn't a hungry kiss. They weren't in the mood. Tired she glanced at the laptop and said, "Shouldn't you be resting?" "I can't," he said. "I still have some work to do." "Can I help?" "No, you've done enough for tonight." His voice sounded serious. She knew he didn't like it when she worked late, like he did at times. She also knew he was working on his profile, something she couldn't help with. Hesitant they stood opposite each other. She cupped his head in her hands and kissed him again, softly and smoothly this time. "Would you mind staying?" he suddenly asked. "I still need to finish this, but I would love it if you could keep me company." "Sure," she said, retreating to the bed. She laid herself down, throwing off her shoes. Leaning on it in a comfortable pose she watched him as he sat by the table and typed his profile. Finally she flipped channels and read a magazine a previous guest had left. Around two she finally fell asleep. He looked up and found her asleep. Carefully he put a blanket over her and stroked the hair out of her face, taking in her features. She looked so innocent; too innocent perhaps to do this line of work. Only four hours earlier she had been cutting up a victim. In the morning she would do the same thing with another one. And then she moved on as if nothing happened. Yet she didn't like it when Mulder worked on serial killers and tried to get into their heads. She believed that one day he would not return out of the abyss. Mulder sighed deeply and wondered how in the world they would ever combine this relationship with their professional careers. Then he smiled and realized they had been doing exactly that over the past years. They might not have been sharing their beds for that long, but their affaire had been going on for quite some time. They both would lie if they denied that. The agent took a deep breath and returned to his work, only to finish up around four. Startled he glanced at his watch, put off his shoes and socks and slid underneath the blanket with her. Scully groaned in her sleep, turned and embraced him in her sleep. He fell asleep with her face next to his, her nose almost touching his. She was the last thing he saw. She would also be the first thing he would spot in the morning. Four miles away the killer stayed awake and watched the news. He was content with the way things were going. The kick of killing was only starting to grow. Day Three Take time to catch your breath and choose your moment Don't slide New York City Early in the morning Mulder woke up on his usual hour, only to be surprised by Scully's glance. Her face was still very close to him and it seemed that they hadn't moved a wink during the night. They were still entangled in each other's arms. "I have to go," she said as if they had just shared a valuable night and were forced to say goodbye. "Jack will be here soon to pick us up." "I know," he responded with regret, but there was no objection. It was too soon to let the world know. Right now there was just their attention for each other. It was too precious to throw away with a single wrong movement. She slid off the bed and knelt down, kissing him goodbye. "See you in a few," she said and left the room with her keys in her hand. He looked at the door, wondering if she would come back. But she wouldn't. There were silent agreements between them and they both lived up to them. Mulder washed up and brushed his teeth. Around eight he turned on the local TV-channel, only to be surprised with the amount of press interest. There was a ten-minute story on last night's events. The mayor was interviewed at last night's benefit, and his right hand, a man named David Lane, explained to the gathered press that they had faith in the FBI and police working together. Suddenly Mulder stared at the screen, recognizing him as the center of a profile, set up by the news station overnight. His college history and track record were mentioned; as were previous cases he had helped in as a profiler. There was also a slight mention of The X-Files. Humored Mulder finished dressing, wondering how long it would take before the press got their hands on him and forced him to give statements he didn't really want. Before long Skinner stood before his door. He had already warned Scully as well that Campbell was waiting in the lobby. They would take a quick breakfast and be on their way. Campbell looked worried when they came downstairs. When they were eating breakfast, Campbell explained. "Your hotel leaked out to the press. They're eager to talk to one of you," he said. "I'm not really for it. I don't want to alarm this guy. But I guess it can't be avoided." Jack handed Mulder a document that the computer spit out the night before. "I've done a bit of tabloid-research," he explained. "Susannah Delaney was kept track on, and it seems that Stephen Wells has been spotted with her several times during the past few months." "They had an affaire?" Scully asked. "Looks like it. But ironically enough this was one of the relationships that could be discussed out in the open. If you were to read all the other articles on her, you would see that there are some highly profiled people on that list, going to the Senate and the mayor's office." "We're still assuming someone she dated killed her?" Skinner asked, glaring at Mulder whose facial expression didn't change. "Is that what we are going to tell the press?" "It's a good story," Mulder said. "But it's not the entire story." The three others looked at him curiously. Campbell knew what he was talking about and blushed. But Skinner looked annoyed and worried at the same time. He was afraid Mulder would spill the beans on his psychic-theory. Mulder only smiled and turned his face to Skinner. "Don't worry, sir," he said. "I'm not going to screw things up. I'll make sure the FBI is not discredit or damaged by my story." Mulder straightened his back and walked outside, immediately surrounded by several reporters that all fired their questions towards him. "Agent Mulder," a woman said, pushing a microphone under his nose, "you're on a live television. Can you tell us how the progress on your investigation goes?" "I can't tell you many details about our investigation," Mulder said politely. "I have created a profile on our suspect that will be distributed to all law enforcement agencies. We have reason to believe there was a strong connection between the deaths of Susannah Delaney and Stephen Wells, and that they were not chosen randomly." A short silence followed. Then everyone tried to shout his or her question. "Is this the work of a terrorist?" "Is the killer going through New York's High Society?" "Did Miss Delaney have an affaire with Mister Wells?" "Did Mister Wells kill Miss Delaney before committing suicide?" Mulder didn't answer any of the questions, simply excused himself and walked past them. Then a man grabbed his wrist and he turned around. The reporter who had touched him asked, "Do you think the killer is challenging the FBI with his actions? After all, there have been bombings before against law enforcement agencies." Mulder stopped and thought over his answer carefully before turning towards the camera as if he wanted to look straight into the killer's eyes. From where she stood Scully could clear see her partner's eyes as he coldly said, "I know how he's doing it. Now it's just a matter of stopping him." Then Mulder simply walked further until he reached the rental car. Fishing out the keys Scully had given him the night before he got in and waited until Scully slid in next to him. Jack Campbell used his own car, as did Skinner. "Why did you challenge him?" Scully asked. Mulder raised his shoulders and shook his head. "People like that should know they cannot get away with murder." "He already has, Mulder." Yes, Mulder thought, he already has. But if he got the message, he knows by now that I know how he's doing it. Sitting before his television set, the killer felt anger bottle up inside of him. The agent knew. He could tell by the way he looked into the camera. It had been a message for him. A message to let him know he was on to him. The killer nodded slowly. If this was a challenge, he was up to it. From now on he had but one opponent: The Profiler. Day Three New York City "Are you okay, Mulder?" "Hmm?" He looked aside only to find his partner looking worried at him. She had that look in her eyes again that proved she was worried about him. He didn't want her to worry. There was no need for it. But he had been sitting quietly in the car and now she wondered where his usual smart remarks were. "I was just thinking about these two victims," he said, "I wonder if they knew why they were killed." "We will only know that as soon as we find their killer. He's the only one that knows that right now. But I'm guessing that they knew. People usually die for a reason, Mulder. Isn't that what your profile states as well?" "Of course it does," he answered, "but human nature keeps on surprising the hell out of me. At times I just wonder why someone does what he does. And I just want to know why we're here. Why this person is doing the kill the way he is. And why I'm here setting up a profile and why you're performing yet another autopsy while we should be having fun." She smiled. "Isn't this your idea of fun? I thought you were such a workaholic?" He grinned and looked aside, letting his mind drift away from the traffic for a second. "Since I've got more than my share of you, I've grown into other ideas of enjoyment." She smiled, tracing the line of his mouth with her finger. In the solitude of the car it didn't matter what they said or did, and he responded by resting his face against her hand for a second, as if the warmth of her flesh comforted him more than any of her words could. She felt like teasing him but knew better than to do so. Instead she pulled away her hand reluctantly when they arrived at the Field Office. "Damn it," Mulder said, as the parking lot seemed closed up. A guard walked over to them and looked inside. "Sorry, Agents," he spoke, "we've got mechanical problems - can't seem to get the system to unlock this morning. There's a reserve parking lot around the back though. Just go around the corner and drive up the small parking lot to the left." "Thanks," Mulder muttered, doing as the man had said. When he parked the vehicle a second car drove up the lot. Campbell had followed them and drove up behind him. The two Chryslers stood next to one another. "Make sure you get the right car tonight," Scully said. Jack pulled a face. "Hey, I've got the luxury edition. Let's go." The agents walked to the front entrance of the building, hoping that there wouldn't be any press waiting for them here either. Fortunately the guards had chased most of them away. "Before I forget to mention it again, Jack," Mulder said as he used the badge to make his way in, "someone came to see you last night at the Wells' crime scene. A guy named Alec Thompson. He said he was an old friend of yours and works for the mayor." "That's right," Jack said surprised. "But I haven't seen him for ages. And he came to the Wells' site?" "Yep." "That's odd." Campbell stepped into the elevator and pushed the button. "Why would he come and see me there?" "Perhaps he had something to tell you," Mulder said. "I wouldn't have a clue as to what that might be, but I'll give him a call." Jack leaned back against the glass and stared in front of him. It was obvious he was wondering about that unexpected visitor. Mulder glared at Scully, hoping that she might not ask too many questions. She understood his look and excused herself when they got out of the elevator. The night before she hadn't asked Mulder about Jack. She knew her partner would tell her when the time was right. "What's going on, Jack?" Mulder asked as they walked down the corridor to the offices at the end. He closed the door behind them and watched as Jack walked straight to the window and looked outside, his hands tucked in his pockets like Skinner always used to do. "I had another vision last night," he said. "They come more often now and they frighten me. I feel like they're trying to tell me that we're running out of time and that we're getting close. Somehow those visions that I have fears me because they're not there in a good sense. In the past I felt like I could help people with what I saw. Now I can only guess at what is happening." "You are the conduit," Mulder tried to explain. "It's through you that we must proceed in finding him." "But what if he uses me the same way?" Jack asked desperately. "What if he too has those visions and only allows me to see what he wants me to see?" "We can only assume that you alone have those visions, through some connection that you have with him," Mulder said slowly, suddenly realizing he had been through the same years ago with John Lee Roche. The connection had been there, and it been two-ways. "No," the agent said out loud, "we cannot assume that." Mulder took a deep breath and concentrated on Jack. "Tell me what you saw." "It's complicated." "Just try." "There was a large building and a lot of people inside. They were all dressed in tuxedos and evening dress. It was some sort of party, or benefit. There was a huge sign upfront. It was a sign for the AIDS-benefit. He moved and then stopped and looked around. There were a lot of different people that I saw; all very blurry faces. I couldn't make them out. But there was a female hand that stretched out. I didn't see her face but I caught a glimpse of her dress and the ring on her finger. It was a special ring." "Do you think you would be able to recognize that ring and dress?" "I think so." "He chose his next victim," Mulder said. "He was at the AIDS-benefit and picked out the victim Wells gave to him. He's moving forward. If the past two days are any indication, tonight he will try to find his third victim." "Wells?" Jack asked surprised. Quickly Mulder explained his theory on the psychic ability of their killer. Jack listened in surprise, realizing at last that he couldn't grasp what was going on. No one really could. He sighed deeply and rubbed his head. He was so tired of these visions. All he wanted was to lead a regular life and forget he ever saw anything inside of his mind. Mulder put his hand on the man's shoulder and said, "You did well, Jack. I promised you help and I will give it to you. Just hang on for a bit longer and try to see the best of it." Wry Jack smiled. "You're forgetting I'm not so experienced with this paranormal stuff. You're the expert." "You're learning quickly," Mulder responded. "Now then, can you get us a list of attendees at that party?" "Of course," Jack said tired. "We need to concentrate on that ring and dress. First priority now is to find our victim. Do you think that ring was custom-made?" "It must have been," Jack said, "I had never seen anything like it." "Can you try to get a list of jewelers in town that could do this?" "I'll have one of my men on it. He's quite good at that sort of thing. I'm sure he'll find it quickly." "Good," Mulder said, "because time is running out on us. Can we compare the list of the guests of last night's benefit with the guests of others that occurred just recently - let's say during the past two months?" "Of course," Jack said. "Mulder, what exactly are you thinking? Is our killer a high profiled man? Is he attending all of those benefits as well, choosing his victims amongst his friends?" "The victims let him in. He knew their habits. He was most likely a friend or acquaintance. It does make sense. He most likely had an affaire with Susannah Delaney too. Since that list is quite long, it might take us a while to go through all the names, and then we can only hope that their romance was known." "Is all of that in your profile, Mulder?" Jack grinned. "Most of it," the agent responded. "Let's see if we can pass the profile on, shall we?" Within half an hour Mulder's profile had been approved by Skinner and sent out by email to all the law enforcement agencies in town. Every FBI-agent knew what kind of person they were looking for. But that still didn't make things easier. The most confidential note in the profile was that the killer most likely lived in the 'better circles' of town, probably leading a double life. Mulder had not mentioned the Jekyll & Hyde syndrome but had referred to it. Skinner was more than satisfied with the preliminary report and profile. So was Washington. But the killer was still on the loose and as noon passed and snow began to cover the streets, everyone felt the tension grow. Day Three New York City Around eleven, Scully had left for the autopsy of Stephen Wells. "Here I go again," she had muttered while leaving. Mulder and Campbell worked like crazy going through the lists of attendees of several benefits. It was no good. Several names popped up on every list, including the mayor's. Another team was going through the tabloids trying to gather a timeline on Susannah Delaney's love life. Jack also placed several calls with different newspapers and a society-reporter who told him whom Susannah had been seen with. So far about nine names had popped up. There were different timeframes that couldn't be accounted for, and since her hunger for one-night-stands with young studs was no big secret, everyone could only guess at the correct amount of men she'd had. From the timeline six names appeared on the guest list of all the benefits as well. Skinner called it a long shot but worth a look. None of the names meant anything to him, but both Jack and Mulder uttered a surprised shout when Alec Thompson's name popped up again. At one of the benefits he had taken Susannah as a guest. "So Alec knew her," Jack muttered, looking up as his eyes darkened. "Don't you think you should have a word with him?" Mulder asked. "I guess so," Jack said. "Who could have thought this would ever happen." Mulder didn't understand why Jack was so upset but let his friend be. There were other things to consider now. Before long Scully returned and on her hair danced snowflakes. "It's freezing out there," she said, blowing in her cold hands. Her nose had turned a red tint as well. Mulder looked at her and his heart made a quick jump before he was able to concentrate on his work again. Finally, around three o'clock Jack's colleague Chris Morgan called and said he might have found the ring. From his vision Jack had made a rough sketch that he had faxed to his colleague downtown. With that sketch Chris made his way around New York's most expensive jewelers, hoping that the ring had been a product of The Big Apple. "Are you sure?" Jack asked. "Definitely." "Let's go then," Jack said, grabbing his jacket. Mulder and Scully followed. Out in the cold the three pulled their coats tighter and rushed through the snow to the parking lot. The cars were covered in snow. "There's our car," Scully said, pointing to the Chrysler that was parked near the exit. "Just follow me," Jack waved before he got in. Mulder and Scully got in the other car and waited for the detective to leave, but he didn't. Instead he got out and took a look at the left tire. He waved with his hand towards the agents. "What's wrong?" Mulder asked. "I've got a flat. Damn it! I'll have to get that fixed." "I'll tell the guard," Mulder said. "He can fix it." Mulder walked to the guard and explained him what had happened. The guard nodded and said he would make arrangements. At Mulder's persistence Jack slid in behind the steering wheel and drove while the agent sat in the back. At the jewelry store Chris Morgan waited for them. "The jeweler is pretty sure he made that ring," Morgan explained. "I showed him the sketch and he has a photo of the original that looks a lot like it. I suggest that you take a look at it." The jeweler was polite and showed them a picture of a ring he had especially designed. Jack took one look at the photo and knew that was the ring he had seen. "This is the one," he said. "Whom did you design it for?" The jeweler seemed uncomfortable to give away personal information but he had two FBI-agents and a cop standing before him. How could he refuse? "I designed it for Congresswoman McPherson," he said. "She's one of my regular customers and inherited the diamond. She wanted a unique design for it. Her husband gave it to her as an anniversary gift." Jack looked at the others. "If what we think is right, she might be the next victim." "Or it might have been a waste of time," Scully said, hoping she was wrong. "We have to get in touch with her and put her in protective custody," Jack said as they walked out, "but what story are we going to use? We can't just go up there and tell her we feel she might be in danger." Scully asked Jack, "Do you think you might find out if she was involved with Stephen Wells?" Jack hesitated before saying softly, "No. She couldn't be involved with him." "She's his sister, isn't she?" Mulder said. "Stephen Wells had a sister, Sophia. She's the one he's after now. He wants to kill her too." "That's right," Jack confirmed. "She is his sister." Mulder felt a shock surge through him as he suddenly realized how the victims where chosen. Now he had confirmation. "He picks out the last person in one's mind before death occurs," Mulder said slowly. "That's how he does it. He feeds on people's emotions, choosing that one person that means more to you than anyone else; the one person you would think of before dying." "Wait," Scully said, ignoring Chris Morgan's stunned look. "Are you now officially calling this an X-File, Mulder?" "It has been since the day it started, Scully," Mulder said. "And now we have the proof." "Why? Because he goes after the sister after killing the brother? What proof is that? It means nothing, Mulder. There is a connection between all these people and it's down to earth. Don't go looking for things that aren't there. We need to pursue this the logical way. We cannot afford to turn this into an X-File." "It is an X-File," Jack said as he stepped forward. He glared at Morgan, knowing he could no longer keep his mouth shut. "We need to pursue it that way. When we find Congresswoman McPherson, we will find him." "Fine," Scully said softly but not discontent, "I just don't want to be the one to tell Skinner." Mulder smiled, knowing he had practically won her over. The evidence was there. Now all they had to do was put the pieces together and see how it could go further. "Track down Congresswoman McPherson," Mulder said. "We need to talk to her before he finds her and kills her." Day Three New York City That night, when night settled in, everyone waited in tension for more bad news to come. But it didn't. There was no new attempt. There was no new bombing. In a safe house Congresswoman McPherson waited with her husband. She knew she would not see her bed that night. They had persuaded her, convinced her that she was in mortal danger. And she had run while her heart was filled with grief over her brother's death. He had died by the hands of the man that was now going to try and kill her, they said. And so she had not thought it over. She simply did what they told her to do. That night her house stayed empty. There was no one present but the police officers that kept an eye out, hoping that he would show up. But he didn't. Because he had known they were there. He had heard through his office. Anger had settled in his heart when he stayed at home that night, seeking revenge. He wanted to punish the man that was after him. He wanted to stop him. And finally, when he went to bed in his rental apartment in town which he at times used when meetings ran out too long and he was too tired to go home, he knew he was going to kill him. And he had found just the way. Day Four Even at a time like this when the morning seems so far Think that pain belongs to you but it's happened to us all It's all right to make mistakes you're only human Inside everybody's hiding something New York City After dropping off Jack at his apartment about two blocks from the hotel, Mulder and Scully arrived around midnight at the hotel. Skinner was already at the hotel but nowhere in sight. He had probably gone to bad after debating for a long time with the mayor and his assistant. The two agents had a light meal together. Again it was too late to eat properly. Scully sighed when she ate her salad, plucking at the vegetables on the plate. It was the only meal the kitchen had to offer them at a time like this. They sat alone in the dining room and the constant chatter of the female cook and one of the waitresses sounded monotone in the back. The two agents said quietly together at first, both too tired to do much. It seemed that it was going to be a very short night once again. "What is it?" Mulder asked. She didn't respond at first but finally she put down her fork and looked at him. "I've got a bad feeling about this," she said. "I feel like we're being watched. Our every move is being recorded." "That's the press for you. They know where you are and what you're doing. Fortunately it's just a one-time thing," Mulder said lightly, realizing he too wasn't hungry anymore. They were all very tired but at least they could rest assure that tonight's victim had not died. "I'm not talking about the press," Scully said. "I'm talking about him." "Do you feel he's watching us?" "Yeah, and it gives me the chills," she admitted. "Mulder, in all these years we've seen a lot of gruesome things. We saw murders that were beyond humanity. I know there are bombers out there that don't hesitate to kill off hundreds of people if it serves their political purpose. But it's just hard to grasp that some deliberately does this to make a person suffer. Every bit of humanity inside that man is gone. He doesn't feel anything anymore. He uses his intelligence and financial means to do this, and he has the freedom to do this. I can't rest properly until I know he's behind lock and key." "I know," Mulder said, placing a hand on hers. "It's difficult to work on this case, but it's going to be worth it when we get him. And I promise you that vacation. Okay? When we get out of here, we're taking off. I don't care what anyone says about it. It's going to be our vacation." "As long as you don't take me to Vegas, I don't care where we're going," she smiled. "It's a deal." He smiled and his fingers lingered long on her hand. "Let's go," he said. They shoved the chairs backwards and walked to the elevators. When the doors closed behind them, Scully felt her partner's lips on hers and she opened her mouth eagerly. They knew they weren't going to spend the night together. In the morning Jack would come to the hotel to drive to the police station with them, where the search for the killer continued. But it was after one and they needed the rest. At Scully's door they said goodbye. With regret Mulder shut the door behind him and took a shower. He glanced at his watch. He was awake and not eager to get to sleep. Sighing he settled down on the bed and went through the file for the fourth or fifth time. He knew it by heart now. He knew every single detail on the killer and couldn't help but wonder where they had missed out. But they had a list now of potential 'candidates'. In the morning they would contact all the suspects and go over their stories one by one. There would be a break soon. The killer would slip up. In the morning he would go for a run; that always cleared his head. Central Park was nearby. He had his jogging outfit and running shoes with him. Yeah, a run would do him good. With that thought Mulder finally fell asleep, only to wake up around six-thirty. He got changed and scribbled a note that he slipped under Scully's door. Jack was picking them up around eight so there was still plenty of time. It was freezing cold out. For a second Mulder regretted having gone out but his body adjusted quickly. Warming up to a smooth pace he left the hotel around the front, passing the parking lot where a car with running engine stood besides his. The man inside the vehicle glanced at him as the vehicle drove off. All the cars at the parking lot were frozen, except for the one that just took off. In the dark the vehicle's lights pierced into Mulder's eyes for a second. Mulder picked up the pace and jogged to Central Park. Scully woke up around seven-thirty, for a while having difficulty to remember where she was. She had slept like a log from the moment she put down her head on the soft pillow until she woke up just now. She opened the curtains. It was still dark out but slowly dawn was breaking. She switched on one of the bed lights and looked at something that lay in front of the door. She yawned and slipped out of bed. Mulder had written her a note that he was out for a jog. Great, Scully thought. He hardly sleeps and jogs while he should be resting, and I'm a lazy person. What a combination! She smiled at the thought of living together one day. Then she blushed. There was no way they would move in together just now. They had hardly come to terms with their newly found feelings yet. Moving in seemed like something still too far away to consider. And besides, she still liked that little space she had to herself. It was going perfect the way it was right now. She washed up, brushed her teeth and combed her hair. Mulder should be back soon. Jack would be coming over around eight. She put her things together and sat down on the bed. Mulder's feet could hardly keep up with the pace he was forcing upon himself in Central Park. He couldn't remember how long he had been running like that, going so fast he could hardly catch his breath. His body was warm despite the freezing cold, but he didn't remove his sweater, knowing that could be lethal to a runner. His mind drifted away from everything he was working on. He forced himself to keep up the pace, passing a few other joggers on the way when dawn finally arrived. His head suddenly spun, his body reacting to the strain he had put himself under. Someone watched him as he made his run through the park, sitting on the bench. He had followed him from the hotel, when their paths had crossed as well. The man's glance followed him as Mulder slowly approached him. The agent was slowing down now. The killer got up slowly and walked towards him, making sure their paths would cross. Mulder suddenly stopped, breathing heavily in and out. He leaned forward, putting his hands on his thighs as he forced his body to relax. He opened his mouth as his head pounded and his lungs filled with cold air. His back and legs were sore from exhaustion. The man passed him nearby and for a second his hand touched Mulder's back. The touch was so light it could have been ignored. It was like wind brushing through one's hair. Then the touch was gone and the man walked forward. Mulder blinked and looked up and started walking again towards the exit. Before he reached the hotel Jack walked towards him. "Thought I might find you here," he smiled. "You're still a runner, aren't you Mulder?" Mulder had caught his breath again and smiled. His eyes blinked. The run had done him good. He had to change quickly now before he started shivering with cold. Jack picked up the pace and walked with him. "We need to talk, Mulder," he said before they entered the hotel. Mulder stopped and looked at him. "What about?" "This case. The way we're handling it. Your input." "You're not happy with my input?" Mulder frowned. "Of course I am," Jack said, "it's just that - I've got this feeling you're taking things very personally. I was thinking about it last night and I'm not so sure that I've done the right thing getting you here." Jack's excuse sounded weak, Mulder thought. He wondered what his friend was really trying to say. "You look tired Mulder," Jack continued. "You don't sleep that much, do you? Have you eaten anything at all last night?" "What are you - my mother?" Mulder muttered as he started walking again. The hotel lobby was busier now than before. Mulder ignored the other guests and walked to the elevators. Jack had difficulty following now. "Look," Jack said, "I've been talking to Davis last night. He called me for a report and asked me to keep an eye on you. It seems that you've got this habit of getting in too deep and I don't want that on my conscience. I asked you here because you are a fantastic profiler but I don't want you hurt." Mulder pushed the elevator button. "No, you asked me for advice. You got me in on this case knowing it was an X-File. Legally that means that I could take over, but I'm not. It's your case and I'm helping you out. You still have to live in this town, Jack. I go home when it's over and I'll watch from a distance how you will get your promotion. And I'll also watch when you refuse to give in on your ability to do more good than you're already doing. Since you've already made your decision about ignoring your gift, there's not much more I can say, is there?" "What's that supposed to mean?" Jack asked. He paled, realizing Mulder was right. He hadn't come here to persuade Mulder to take it easy. He came here in order to find an excuse not to proceed with an ability he had tried to ignore most of his life. "You know what it means," Mulder said as the doors shut behind them. "You do what you want with your life, Jack, but if you have another case like this because of your visions, I suggest you seek other ways to go about it." "Are you accusing me of abusing our friendship?" Mulder leaned tired against the glass. "Call it what you like. I'm not in the mood to argue while we should be out there finding our killer. So if you came here to tell me I should back off, think again. You asked me to do this case with you and I am at the best of my abilities. You don't know about my habits or the way I work. Davis knows that. You should too. If you don't like it, you can always send me back to Washington, but I'm expecting that you won't. You need me too much right now." Jack paled even more and didn't walk out the elevator with him. "I'll wait downstairs," he said as the doors closed behind him. Day Four New York City Scully waited patiently until he returned to his room. She could hear him slamming the doors, and then there were noises coming from the adjoined bathroom. He was in the shower. She decided not to disturb him, but left for the lobby instead, leaving a note on the door that she was waiting downstairs. Jack was downstairs as well, looking very glum. She could tell there had been an argument. She walked over to him. "Hey," she said. "How's it going?" "Besides from the fact I'm an ass, everything's going well," he said. "Where's Mulder?" "Getting changed. Did you have a fight with him?" "Let's just call it a pathetic attempt at trying to avoid my responsibilities. Jack sighed as his fingers touched his temples. "I'm sorry, Dana. I should have known better but I'm just tired and took it out on Mulder." "He'll forgive you," she said. "We've got other things to concentrate on right now. We've got a long day ahead and hopefully our killer by the end of it. Are you driving with us?" "Yeah. My car is fixed - I got a call from security. I hope you guys don't mind." "Don't be silly. Skinner should be down any minute now too." Scully turned and saw Skinner and Mulder come downstairs. At the breakfast table not a word was spoken. Mulder was still angry but Scully could see he was calming down when he noticed Jack's apologetic glance. At the end of breakfast they were talking again. "We're going to work on that list of suspects this morning," Mulder said, taking out the printout he had made the day before with the names of men that might have been involved with Susannah. "Sir, if you can, we need your help too." "Of course," Skinner said. "I suppose we're splitting up in two groups?" "That's right," Jack said. "I have my team going through the extensive list of attendees at the benefit as well, hoping that they might bump into a coincidence. This afternoon I will be talking to Congresswoman McPherson to see if there are mutual acquaintances she has with her brother that might be considered enemies." "Good," Skinner said. "We're progressing. Mrs. McPherson will remain in protective custody?" "Yes, sir," Mulder said. "We are assuming she's still high on the hitlist. But if he changes his MO there's not much we can do about it." "I'll always have a word with Alec Thompson," Jack said. "He's an old friend of mine and I need to find out what he was doing at the Wells' crime scene. The whole situation is quite odd and he might be awaiting my call." "Good," Skinner said, "let's get to work then." The four got up and walked to the reception area. Before getting out the hotel manager walked over. "We will arrange your cars for you," he said. "They'll need defrosting." "That's very kind of you," Mulder said, "but not necessary." "Please, we insist. Unfortunately we don't have an underground parking lot and we always serve our guests." "Alright then," Mulder said, handing over the keys. Skinner did the same. Two bellboys hurried out with warm coats to warm up and fetch the cars. Scully had already gone outside and was walking while on the phone with the coroner's office. She had a meeting in about an hour to discuss the final results. Mulder watched as she walked over to the car. Mulder turned to the manager. "You don't have an underground parking lot?" he asked. "That's right, sir." "So basically every car that is parked here at night has to be frozen?" "I guess so," the manager said surprised. Mulder frowned. "Is or was there a guest here that drives a black Sedan and left early this morning?" "I can check, sir," the manager said, "is there a problem?" The manager hurried to the desk and checked the pc-file with guest entries and vehicles registration numbers. All the vehicles that stood on the parking lot were signed in. He looked up at a very nervous Mulder. "Jesus Christ," Mulder said as he glanced towards the bellboys that had reached the two cars. There had been a car standing next to his rental earlier that morning. It hadn't been frozen and it wasn't from any of the guests. "Jesus Christ," he repeated as he rushed out to Skinner's and Jack's surprise. Mulder practically flew out, shouting Scully's name. She was still on the phone and didn't hear him at first. In the back the bellboy had gotten into the car, putting the key in the ignition. "Scully!" he screamed as his tired legs refused to go any faster. She turned, still holding the phone in her hands. Her eyes looked at him surprised. Then she was in his arms as she dropped the phone and he dragged her with him, making the decision to save her. It was too late to warn the bellboy. The car started. Mulder thought he could actually hear the click as the device armed. Then there was another click, followed by an enormous blast that knocked them to the ground. He threw himself over her as they hit the ground hard. The blast was so big that Mulder could feel the flames in his back, but they didn't scourge him. There was a strange numbness in his body. Scully lay deadly quiet underneath him. The next moment the world seemed to be on fire, and then it all went black. To be concluded ... Matrix II Situation: This story has been written for 'Virtual Season Nine' and basically ignores everything after Season seven's 'Je Souhaite'. Rated R for some explicit language Type: Profiling X-File, M/S UST Background: In previous stories (to be found on my website http://www.sv-tales.com) I have introduced Terence Davis, Mulder's former boss at the VCS. In this story he plays his (small) part as well. Story: New York City's Finest cannot stop a serial killer from running havoc throughout the city, leaving his mark on the city. Fox Mulder is contacted by an old friend and asked for help, thus turning the killer's attention on him, and forcing him into a deadly cat & mouse-game across town. But the agent has no idea the price he has to pay is very high. Disclaimer: Do I need to remind you that our beloved FBI-duo are not mine? They belong to CC. But since he's not using him to the best of his abilities, the XF-fanfic-writers are. Disclaimer Lyrics: All lyrics used in chapters are taken from Dido's 'Slide'. Day Four New York City There was panic all around as the bomb went off. Campbell and Skinner watched the blast from a distance. They had run towards the vehicle as well, but when the device went off, both men were thrown against the cold ground as well. Campbell put his hand protectively over his eyes, closing his eyelids automatically when the explosion occurred. When he looked up he saw Skinner lying beside him. The Assistant-Director looked up dazed. Several people rushed outside from the lobby. The manager cried out he had called 911. There was a lot of confusion and devastation. Guests gathered outside or in the lobby, shocked at the site of the burning car. Jack got on his feet and stared at the vehicle. Then he rushed forward, followed by Skinner, as they hurried to the two people on the ground, seemingly unmoving. The heat could be felt, even at a distance of about twenty feet, where Mulder and Scully lay down for the count. Jack knew no one could help the bellboy anymore. "We have to get them out of here," Jack said, kneeling beside Mulder who still lay over Scully like a protective shield. Jack couldn't possibly know who had suffered the worst but he was afraid Mulder might have to pay for his action. "Mulder ..." Skinner said as they turned the man around. One side of Mulder's face was covered in blood. His clothes were torn but the warm overcoat seemed to have taken most of the blow. There was blood on his arm and leg and several smaller burns all over his body. The agent looked deadly pale. Skinner knew there might be severe internal damage, but they couldn't afford leaving him here. Underneath him lay Scully, just as pale. She was bleeding from the back of the head. Apart from that she didn't have any scars on her. But she was unconscious and breathed very shallow. Debris lay everywhere. Some of the pieces were still burning. Metal was melting and lay spread all over the parking lot. "We have to move them gently," Skinner ordered as several men rushed to the scene. There were sirens to be heard in the back. Skinner made the orders as Mulder's body was lifted from the ground. "Support his neck and back. Gently with that leg and arm." With united forces the male agent was lifted up and moved fifteen feet. The distance to the lobby was too far. Someone had gotten blankets and put them on the ground. Mulder was lifted onto them and another blanket went over him to keep him warm. A few moments later Scully lay on another pair of blankets. She moved slightly and then went quiet again. In Skinner's car the second bellboy sat numb and quietly. It took the helpers all their efforts to get him out. His eyes were focused on the burning car and his body shivered uncontrollably. His best friend had just been blown to pieces and he had watched it happen. He too needed a lot of help. "They're breathing," Skinner said as he turned hopelessly to the others. "Where the hell are those paramedics?" As if they had heard him, several ambulances drove up the parking lot and rushed to the scene. There were fire department trucks and police vehicles. Jack looked down at Mulder, praying for his friend to open his eyes. But Mulder stayed just as quiet as Scully as his body went into shock underneath the thick blankets. Then the paramedics were there and took over, examining the agents before preparing them for transfer to the nearest hospital. Mulder suddenly opened his eyes with a startle. He looked up to the skies as the paramedics shifted an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth and strapped him onto a gurney. His eyes sought something. His left hand and arm were immobilized but he could move his right one. "Mulder, don't move," Jack said, making sure his friend saw him. "You're going to be fine. It's okay." "Scully?" The name was nearly unrecognizable but there was so much worry in his voice that Jack felt a knot in his stomach. "She's fine," he lied, "she's right here beside you. Look." Mulder moved his head slightly so he could see Scully's body. Skinner was next to her, holding her hand supportively. Somehow that relaxed Mulder and he let himself be strapped down, closing his eyes again as he slid back into the abyss. Jack knew Mulder was aware of his surroundings. His sub consciousness would not rest until he knew she was safe. He felt anger well up inside of him. So the killer had accepted the challenge. He had chosen new victims. He had picked out his enemies. They were close. Jack knew it. Why else would he take this risk? The cop bit his lip as Mulder was shifted into the ambulance. Scully was taken to another ambulance. "Take them to the same hospital," Skinner ordered. "If they wake up, make sure they can see each other. It's important. Jack, you go with Mulder. I'll stay with her." Jack sat inside the ambulance beside the man on the gurney. He could hear the agent's efforts to breath deeply. It didn't seem to work. He coughed and groaned at the same time as the shock wore off and his body was struck with pain. They hadn't left yet. The doors were still open. Skinner let go of Scully for a moment and stepped inside the ambulance as Mulder looked up. His voice sounded gentle when he said, "Mulder it's alright. You're going to be fine. Don't try to fight it. We'll be at the hospital with you." Is this what happens when Scully cannot perform the task? Jack thought. Does Skinner take over then to care for his agent? How many times before did something like this happen? The cop was numbed up. He wanted revenge. It was a stupid thought at a time like this, but he wanted revenge. He couldn't afford to waste any time. But when Skinner's eyes met his, they begged him to stay with the agent to calm him down. Jack nodded silently and let the doors of the ambulance close. Mulder had closed his eyes again, drifting away. "What's wrong with him?" Jack asked the man sitting next to him. "His body got a serious blow," the paramedic explained, "this is a way for his body to deal with it. I don't think he has any serious injuries but he's got several smaller burns and his shoulder is dislocated. He's lucky. Had he stood forward facing the bomb, he might have been killed. The chest can't take a blow like that." Mulder felt the hand on his wrist. The touch got through to him even in his hazy state. He wanted to sleep again and forget that his body was aching all over. But his mind wouldn't let him pass out. There were too many confused memories. Scully! He could still feel her body under his. He saw her knock her head hard on the pavement. There was blood in her hair and she had passed out in his arms. He could feel her go limp under him and then his body seemed to be on fire. But Jack had told him she was fine. He wouldn't lie to him. He would tell if she had died. But what if he did lie? She couldn't be dead! Mulder blinked his eyelids and stared at Jack. His friend was there, talking to the paramedic. They were discussing him. He listened to their voices. They didn't talk about Scully. "She's dead," Mulder said underneath the oxygen mask. His voice sounded hoarse and he could barely speak up as his throat burned. Jack looked at him and he closed his eyes again as the insides of the ambulance became part of a very blurry picture. Day Four New York City Skinner sat patiently next to the bed but looked up immediately when there was movement. His agent opened his eyes and looked at the white ceiling. It took a while for him to come to terms with the situation. The first thing Mulder was aware of was Scully's absence. In the past they had always sat by each other's bedsides. She had been there so many times for him, and he had been there for her. But now she was not there. "Where is she?" he asked hoarsely. There was a small tube stuck under his nose to help him breath. His throat ached and his chest seemed to burn. His entire body felt stiff and sore as if he had run a marathon within two hours. "She's alright," Skinner said. "She's resting." "Has she woken up yet?" "No. Don't think of her right now, Mulder. Concentrate on your own well being." Mulder attempted to smile. "I practically killed her, didn't I? She hit her head. I remember. You don't have to lie about it, sir. I know she's in bad shape." "She's not," Skinner repeated, "the doctor's are very positive she will woke up at any moment and she doesn't need you upset over her. Concentrate on yourself first, Mulder." Mulder turned his face away from Skinner. His left shoulder and arm were immobilized. He had dislocated it. He could feel by the dull pain that struck him every time he tried to move. His legs were covered with a sheet but he knew he had hurt his left leg as well. There was a scorching pain, like a knife cutting into skin and flesh. His temple was bandaged and there were several smaller burns that turned red underneath their separate bandages. His chest hurt but Skinner said that that was normal according to the doctor. He had no internal damage. "How long?" Mulder groaned as he tried to find a watch. "It's two in the afternoon. The ... accident happened around eight-thirty." "I remember." Mulder put his hand to his head and looked at Skinner again. "You're not lying about her?" "I'm not. She will wake up. She's got head trauma but her vitals are looking good and first results showed there is no serious damage. She'll have a hell of a headache when she wakes up, but all in all she's in a better state than you are." Mulder leaned back against the pillows. Skinner got up from his chair and and looked outside. From the window he could see the hospital entrance where a crowd of reporters and interested parties had gathered for the latest news. The attempt had not gone unseen. Everyone knew about it by now. Skinner sighed deeply. When and where had this case gone to hell? "How did you know?" he finally asked as he turned around to face Mulder again. "You knew this was going to happen. You saved Scully's life. But how did you find out?" "It struck me when the hotel manager spoke about those cars. There was a car when I went out for a run. I couldn't see who it was. I found it odd. The bellboy is dead, isn't he?" "Yes. He never stood a chance. When he started the engine the bomb triggered. You were supposed to start the car, Mulder. If you had, you would not be here right now." Skinner spoke softly as if he couldn't realize it yet himself. He had nearly lost his two agents and there would have been nothing to do about it. Awkwardly he stood in the middle of the room, not knowing how to proceed now. The case was over for his agents. He would not allow them to proceed under these circumstances. He would pull out and hand the case to Jack's team. But where was Jack? Day Four New York City Alec Thompson sat pale and quietly on his chair in the small office assigned to him at city hall. Jack Campbell's fury struck him like a hammer. Less than five minutes ago his friend had stormed into the room, accusing him of murder. Thompson's features had changed into disbelief. Was Jack actually accusing him? "Why were you at the office building?" Jack snapped at him. "You knew Susannah Delaney, didn't you? Were you fucking or just seeing her? Why Agent Mulder, Alec?" Alec froze up when the mayor himself entered the room, demanding to know what the shouting was about. Jack calmed down and glared at the mayor. "Two fine people are in hospital because of this case," he said. "They're my friends and I'm sick and tired of chasing a phantom." "I'm sorry to hear about your friends," the mayor calmly said, "but to come in here and accuse Alec is a bit far-fetched, isn't it?" "Is it?" Jack bit back. "My buddy here has a lot of explaining to do." Jack was tempted to slam the door in the mayor's face but didn't. Instead the man that ran the city turned and raised his hands, ordering his right hand David Lane to take care of business. Lane looked surprised at the scene in Alec's room and asked calmly if he could do anything for them. "Yeah," Jack said, "leave us alone." This time he did slam the door, causing Lane to jump backwards at the last minute. He could hear Lane curse at the other side of the door but ignored him, turning his attention back to Alec. "Start talking." Alec got up and sighed deeply. "Look, I know my sudden interest came over strangely but there is good reason for it. First of all, I am very worried about this bomber because everyone is at uproar. You know it's my job to keep the population happy. David Lane might be doing just about anything the mayor orders him to, but I need to make sure no one ever knows the whole story." "You mean that you need to cover up the shit," Jack said. "That's right." Alec tucked his right hand in his pocket and dug out a cigarette. "Damn it," he mumbled, lighting it. "I'm so tired of this damned bomber. I haven't slept for days now. It's getting to me." "You're not the one lying in a hospital bed," Jack snapped. "I don't give a damn about how you feel. If you're withholding evidence from me, I'm going after you Alec. You have the means to find out things in that damned high society of yours. I don't have the time to be polite. I have someone to catch and right now I'm on my own. I want blood and I'm going to get it." Alec frowned. "So you think I'm lying to you?" "You're sure as hell not speaking out." Alec sat down again, savoring the taste of his cigarette. He had only started smoking again the day he started working here, for a man that was more interested in who he would find in his bed at night instead of the business of the day. "Susannah Delaney was a deluxe prostitute, Jack," he said. "She might not have gotten paid hard money for her services but she sure as hell got away with a lot. Tell me, is the mayor on your list of interests yet?" "The mayor?" Jack repeated. "You must be joking. He wouldn't go for a highly profiled woman like her. He goes for younger flesh." "At times he had women picked out for him by Lane. Don't you think our mayor might have been tempted to get rid of her if she started blackmailing him?" "Was she?" Jack asked. "She might have been." "I see," Jack said slowly. "So she was blackmailing them. The mayor probably wasn't the only one. But what for? She had enough money to live two lifetimes." "She did it for fun," Alec smiled. "She told me so herself when I was ordered by Lane to pick her up for a party. She was supposed to be there but she wasn't allowed to spend any time with the mayor. Yet he wanted her there because he wanted to see her whenever he felt like it. She was there at his command and she waited all night for him to speak with her. She liked the mayor but after that night something changed between them. She was upset because he refused to acknowledge her. So the next day she called him and said she was going to spill the beans. And the next day she was dead. Funny coincidence, isn't it?" "Are you saying the mayor ordered her death?" Jack asked. "That he sent someone to kill her?" "That's exactly what I'm saying." "What about Stephen Wells?" "He was her lover. She probably told him what she was doing. And he might have told his sister. Rumors have it that you got her in a safe house. It's true, isn't it? And it all adds up." "Or you might have killed her and are now trying to put the blame on others," Jack said. "Why would I do that?" Alec said. "Give me one good reason why I would want to kill her. I hardly knew her. I met her that night and we talked on a very shallow level. She wasn't interested in me because she already had the mayor in her bed. I was too low-leveled for her. But I can tell you this - the mayor is going to run for the Senate. Do you think he wants this out in the open?" "They'll know you talked," Jack said. "I'm resigning," Alec said, getting up and taking his jacket off his chair as if to support his words. "I'm fed up with the way things work around here. I'm out." "Do you think it's going to be that easy?" "It has to be." Alec attempted to smile. "I'll come in and make an official statement. I'm through covering for them." Jack nodded slowly. "Who do you think killed her, Alec?" Jack's old friend smiled wry. "It doesn't matter who planted that bomb. The mayor killed her. I'm as certain of it as of anything I have ever done in my life. That pompous man, sitting out there in his pompous office, has done more damage to the city than good. I'm tired of defending him to the outside world." Alec opened the door, only to bump into David Lane who tried to stop him. Lane's voice sounded hard when he said, "We need to talk before you walk." "You can go to hell, David," Alec said, pushing him aside. Jack and Alec walked out together. When the elevator doors closed, Jack caught a glance of Lane's face. There was anger in his eyes. There was something familiar about the man. He might be the one. Outside Alec took a deep breath as if he had just been released from prison. "I'm a free man," he said with a wry smile. Jack couldn't help but laugh, despite the situation they were in. "Grab a cab and go to the station," he said to Alec. "Give your statement and tell them I'll be coming over in about an hour. I've got some things to arrange now." Alec nodded. Jack got on the phone with Chris Morgan and asked him to run a checkup on David Lane. He might be their guy. Morgan's surprise was great. Lane was considered a possible candidate for the next elections. If this got out, it would alert the press instantly. "Keep it low-profile," Jack said. "Don't tell anyone. Try to find out if he's got a dirty history. Bring him in for questioning and check his alibi, and get a search warrant for his apartment." "What are you going to do?" Morgan asked. "I'm going to get changed at home and then head out to the hospital." Jack looked down at his dirty clothes. There was blood on them. Mulder's blood. His throat felt dry. Day Four New York City Now he knew it was going to be over soon. They were on to him and soon he would rot in jail. But he would not allow that to happen. If they were coming for him, he would go out with a blast that would be remembered for a long time. It would be a blast like the one that should have killed the two agents. He took a deep breath when someone knocked on his door less than twenty minutes after the cop had left. It was Chris Morgan. "You're caught," Morgan said. "I shouldn't be. I'm paying you enough to keep me out of that police station, aren't I? After all, you did such a good job getting rid of my mother's records as well, didn't you?" "Yeah well, you didn't tell me that you were putting bombs all over town, were you?" Morgan said, sitting down angrily. "You're in trouble man, and there's nothing I can do about it anymore. Campbell is on to you. He's going to bring you down." "Then I'll just have to make sure that he won't live to tell, now will I?" David Lane just smiled. "Just give him a call and you'll see what happens." Day Four New York City On the way to the hospital in a cab Jack got a call from Morgan. "I found interesting things on our man," he said. "I think you should come to his apartment straight away." "Have you got a search warrant?" "Yeah. Judge Fairchild handed it out. Meet me there." Morgan got off the phone. Jack tapped on the cabby's shoulder and asked him to turn. With any luck he would have good news before heading for the hospital. Day Four New York City She didn't move an inch when he touched her hand. He sat in the wheelchair looking up at her form. She could have been dead. But the monitors said that she wasn't. Her head was wrapped in thick, white bandage. She had stitches, the nurse said. Scully wasn't lying in the ICU but in a semi-guarded ward where a nurse could keep an eye on her. Her life wasn't in any danger. The doctors were optimistic about her improvements. What improvements? Mulder thought wry. She's still out cold. There's nothing to show for her recovery. Skinner had protested when Mulder insisted on being taken there. His agent could barely stand on his feet yet he insisted on seeing her. Mulder had gone as far as threatening his boss. Skinner knew he didn't mean a word he said of course and understood perfectly well it would only do the agents good to see each other. Finally the AD gave in and went to fetch a wheelchair, against the doctor's approval. But Mulder had insisted. With his left arm in a sling and a blanket covering most of his cold body, Mulder was wheeled to the other side of the hall where Scully stayed in a room similar to his. Mulder hadn't even realized he too had been under observation until all of the wires and tubes were removed. Only the IV stayed. Skinner excused himself as Mulder's wheelchair stood next to her bed and left the room. He had a strange knot in his stomach as if something was about to go wrong. The morning had started literally with disaster being blown up in their face. Now it seemed as if there was more disaster to come. He reached for his cell phone, only to be reprimanded by a nurse. He walked to the nurse's station and dialed Jack's cell phone number. The cop didn't respond. Skinner cursed under his breath and called the local Field Office, asking them if he was there. When they said no, the sense of unrest grew. After calling the police station and talking to Jack's direct boss who didn't know where he was, Skinner knew he had to find the man quickly. He walked back to Scully's room, suddenly startled by Mulder who opened the door. The man stood in the doorway barefoot with the IV-bag in his hand. He looked deadly pale. "Mulder, what -?" Skinner started, only to be stopped by his agent who grabbed the doorpost. With two steps Skinner stood beside him and helped him back into his wheelchair. The effort had exhausted the agent. He had difficulty breathing. Skinner pushed the emergency button and glanced at Scully who was still unconscious but didn't seem changed. She wasn't in any danger. But Mulder grabbed Skinner's wrist and groaned, "Where's Jack? He's in trouble." "I don't know," Skinner said desperately. Suddenly Mulder let go and sunk back in his wheelchair. He looked forward as the color of his eyes darkened and his body tensed. "He's dead," he said. "Jack's dead." Skinner opened his mouth to protest. Jack couldn't be dead. But a nurse walked into the room and said there was someone on the phone for Skinner, wanting to speak with him urgently. Skinner glared at Mulder. The agent slumped forward a bit, staring at his hands. And then Skinner knew too that Jack Campbell was dead. Day Four New York City The moment he entered the apartment building, Jack knew he was close to resolving the case. He would see what Morgan had to show him. Chris wasn't there when he arrived. Following the book Jack called him. Without the search warrant he couldn't get in. But Chris didn't respond. Jack hung up, not knowing what to do. Then he tried the door, which was unlocked. He pushed open the door and glared inside, his gun ready. He stepped forward. Then he felt something cold and steel against his temple. In a flash he stepped into his attacker's mind and watched as a hand pressed the barrel of a gun against his face. It was a setup, he thought. And then the world turned into everlasting darkness. Day Four New York City The body of Jack Campbell was found shot to death, lying face down in a dumpster behind a large apartment building, about three blocks from the hospital. He had been moved there after his death. One bullet to the head had effectively put him down. The bullet had entered the skull from the side. Jack had probably never known what happened to him. He had been taken out from the side, not even facing his killer. No matter what Skinner did, he couldn't keep Mulder inside the hospital. With Scully still unconscious, there was no one to stop him. Against medical advice the agent discharged himself from the hospital. When Skinner confirmed the news, Mulder practically collapsed. He refused to show Skinner what he was feeling. He simply got out of the wheelchair, effectively ignoring the pain that had settled into his body like a constant companion and limped on foot to his own room. Nothing could keep him there, not even Scully. His first priority now was to find Jack's killer. And so Skinner had no choice but to contact AD Davis and ask him to come over. He needed help. With Jack and Scully out of the picture, they were running out of resources. Davis didn't let Skinner finish, promising to come over instantly. Skinner knew he would book himself on the first flight out and would be there within three hours. After making the necessary calls, Skinner returned to the agent's room. Mulder was partly dressed. A doctor and nurse stood in the room, watching him. The doctor tried to talk him out of going but Mulder didn't listen. Stubbornly he continued to dress himself. The nurse had removed the IV. He does look like shit, Skinner thought. The agent was extremely pale and obviously in pain. His arm still rested in a sling but the nurse helped him to pull a sweater over it. There was a haunted look in the agent's eyes Skinner didn't like. He wished Scully would wake up and tell her partner to stop doing this to himself. Skinner knew his agent wouldn't listen to him. "Let's get out of here," Mulder said, dressed in a set of clothes that seemed too big for him. Skinner had picked up clothes during a short run to the hotel. Mulder was now wearing a jeans and black sweater that made him look even paler. His temple was still bandaged and he limped when they walked down the corridor again. "What about Scully?" Skinner asked as they entered her room. "Are you going to leave her to her devices?" Mulder hardly heard what Skinner said. He moved forward and leaned over Scully, kissing her softly on the lips. It was a kiss so tender that Skinner for a long second wondered what the hell was going on between his agents. Mulder stroked her face and touched the bandage over her hair and whispered something into her ear that only she was supposed to hear. Then he looked up and said, "She'd want me to go after the man that did this. It's my duty to do so." "She'd want you to heal and stay with her." "I can't. Jack's dead because I -" Mulder stopped with a bitter taste in his mouth. "I challenged that bastard and this is where it got us. I'm the one to blame." "You didn't put that bomb in that car," Skinner said hard. "You didn't pull the trigger on Jack. You were doing your job." "And look where it got us," Mulder spoke bitterly. "Jack's dead, and Scully's hurt. I always played by the book during this case, but now I'm through. I'm going after him with every means I've got. He's going down." "You were hurt too," Skinner said, wondering if Mulder actually realized that. "You shouldn't be doing this. It's not your job. Let us worry about catching him. You have to worry about her." "I can't do anything for her here. I can't sit back and wait until she wakes up. I need to be out there and find the guy that did this to her. If I'm staying, then I'm admitting that I'm weak. I can't let him stop me. That's exactly what he wants. He wants to toy. I'm not going to let him." Mulder's voice changed tone as he looked at Skinner, hoping for some understanding. The numbness inside of him changed into pain and desperation. Skinner put his hand supportively on the agent. "I understand what you're going through. But you can't be of any use like this. Rely on us. I'll help you as much as I can, but you need to trust in me. I need to know everything about this case - about Jack. We can work from here if you like." Mulder's anger subsided but he shook his head. "I need to see Jack." "I'll take you there then." Mulder turned and looked at Scully. A nurse entered the room. She promised to call them as soon as there was any change. An agent from the Field Office would come over to stay with her so that she wouldn't be alone when she woke up. Day Four New York City Jack's body had been transferred to the same hospital where it was resting on a slab at the morgue down in the basement. Mulder felt a shiver run down his spine as they walked through the cold hallway. Skinner didn't speak a word knowing he wouldn't be able to get his agent to change his mind. The coroner waited for them and brought them to a separate small room where the detective would be autopsied. Standard procedure, so the coroner explained. The body was covered with a white sheet and stripped off all its clothes. Things happened quickly once you were pronounced dead. The autopsy would take place in the late evening, but it was obvious Jack had been shot to death. Mulder nodded and the coroner removed the sheet. The agent looked down at the porcelain face of the man that had been with him earlier that morning to assure him all would be well; the man, who had confided in him only days ago about his psychic ability; an ability that had not saved him. The man who had lived in Australia with the woman he had loved, giving up everything he had here to take care of her. That extraordinary man was now gone. Mulder touched his face. There was still some warmth on his skin. He had only been dead for a few hours. It was a miracle his body had been found so quickly. Jack seemed to be asleep if it weren't for the bullet hole in his temple and the blood on his face and hair. The bullet had been effective. And Jack's spirit was gone, leaving his body a shell. There was nothing about him now that seemed recognizable. Nothing that could remind Mulder of the man he used to be. And Mulder had felt him gone. He had felt Jack's spirit slip away from him, as if the man's last effort had to be to warn his friend that this had happened to him. That he would not be able to help him any longer. And that their friendship had stopped before it had the chance to pick up again. Mulder turned his back to the slab and closed his eyes. They left the room without saying a word. "I'm sorry, Mulder," Skinner said. "I can't tell you how sorry I am." Mulder nodded and allowed his boss to take him upstairs. He was in a trance, and Skinner didn't like his reactions. But there was nothing he could right now. Day Four New York City Quietly Mulder sat next to Skinner and let him drive him to the police station. When they got out and walked in, there was a quietness that only occurred when one of their own died. The commissioner was waiting for them in his office. Jack's direct boss was there too. "I'm sorry, Agent Mulder," the commissioner said. "I know Detective Campbell was a personal friend of yours." Mulder accepted the condolences and looked through the glass at the policemen behind him. They were all discussing Jack's murder. The moment the call came in that his body had been found, the entire police squad had been turned upside down. Nobody really believed it. Even though no one really knew him, they all liked him. "I want to know what Jack did today," Mulder said. "I need to know his every move." "We don't know much. He went to see the mayor and spoke for quite some time with Alec Thompson, one of the men that worked there. Several witnesses have confirmed this. He also had a very brief chat with David Lane. He then left the mayor's office alongside Alec Thompson who went into an argument with Lane. Apparently Thompson quit his job and Lane didn't like this. We're running a check on Thompson right now. He's gone missing." "Did he leave with Jack?" Mulder asked. "We don't know. We're trying to find out if they took a cab or Thompson's car. We're tracking down Thompson as well. I've put an APB out on him." "And David Lane?" "He has already called. It's already been all over the news. He was worried and told us about the quarrel with Thompson. He said that Jack practically accused Thompson and told him to go downtown with him. That's the last time anyone ever saw them." "So Thompson killed him and dumped his body," Mulder said slowly. "Why?" "He's our man," the commissioner said. "It's as clear as that." "Thompson was a friend of Jack's," Mulder said. "He wouldn't kill him. It would be too obvious. He already showed up at the Wells' site. Jack said he might have wanted to explain something. He knew things that he wanted to share with Jack. It would be too ridiculous if he killed Jack now." "It's been known to happen," Jack's boss explained. "It's a clear-cut case now. If we nail Thompson, we've got our bomber and Jack's killer. This whole thing has been played out wrong. Jack should never have gone to confront him on his own. But they said he was angry and upset with the attack this morning. It was a judgment call and he lost." "As simple as that?" Mulder interrupted him bitterly. "It's over and done with then?" "Would you rather have our bomber walking the streets without us knowing his true identity?" the commissioner asked. "It would literally be like having a walking time bomb out there. No one would be safe." "No one is safe, sir," Mulder spoke. "I don't believe it was Thompson Jack was after. And as soon as you find Thompson's body, you'll know I was right." "His body?" "Yes sir. Thompson is dead too. It would be ridiculous to say that he's not. It will probably look like a suicide. And our bomber will step back into anonymity, happy that someone took the fall for his actions. I guarantee you that we will not hear from him again, because he has satisfied his needs for now and will move on. He'll gloat." "I think we should end this conversation now," the commissioner said, "before it goes out of hand." "Did you know that Jack Campbell was psychic, sir?" Mulder continued, ignoring the commissioner. "Did you know that thanks to this ability he has solved many cases? That he was in psychic contact with the killer but didn't dare tell you because he was afraid of his reputation?" The commissioner got up, trying to end the conversation. "I won't have you destroy Detective Campbell's good reputation, Agent Mulder, by spreading rumors about him. He was a good man and a good cop. He doesn't need you to bring your silly paranormal stories to this department. I know about your line of work at the FBI. Did you really think that you would find something for your X-Files here?" "Jack asked me because he wanted to find a way deal with it," Mulder said angrily, ignoring Skinner's warning looks. "He would have been an even better cop if he had found a way to handle it. He wouldn't have died." "He died because you screwed up, Agent Mulder." The commissioner hit his hand on the table, refusing to settle down. "You challenged the bomber and you got your wish. I hope you're happy." Mulder swayed on his feet. "No wonder you want to stop the investigation with Alec Thompson. You're too short sighted to see what lies in front of you." This time Skinner got his attention by grabbing the agent's arm before he could drop down. The Assistant-Director pushed him on a seat and forced his head forward. "Easy does it," he said and his cold hand lay in the agent's neck as a wave of dizziness came over Mulder. The commissioner settled down immediately, mumbling an apology. With feverish eyes the agent looked up, realizing he too had gone too far. Here they were, bitching about who got the blame while there would other things to consider. "I think I need to lie down," Mulder said weakly, for the first time admitting he was not well. Skinner didn't show how worried he was. He didn't give a snap remark. "I'll drive you back to the hospital," he simply said. Effectively he helped the agent on his feet. The man could barely stand up straight and looked even paler, if that was remotely possible. Slowly they made their way to the car, helped by Chris Morgan who had come in. Tired Mulder leaned back in the passengers seat and closed his eyes. By the time Skinner got him back at the hospital, driving through the dark, the agent wouldn't respond when the Assistant-Director tried to get him to say something. Skinner muttered a curse and drove the car to the ER. Within half an hour his agent was hooked back on an IV and resting comfortably in a private room. Skinner knew Mulder would have to stay in for at least a night. There was work to do but he couldn't leave him alone. He knew Mulder was bound to take off again as soon as he woke up. There had to be some middle way. But as long as Scully was still out of it, there was no one that the agent would listen to. Skinner sighed deeply when a knock on the door made him turn around. Terence Davis walked in. "I came to see Agent Scully and heard you brought him back in. Is he alright?" "He will be if he starts becoming sensible. It's difficult under the circumstances." "I can imagine. How far are you on Jack's murder?" "His colleagues are all over it but Mulder believes they're going after the wrong guy. The problem is that he's the only lead they've got right now. With Jack gone and this guy Thompson missing, we're stuck." "I see," Terence frowned. "Do you need more guys on it?" "Mulder's determined to see this case through. We both know that he'll do anything to find Jack's killer. I'm pretty sure that he'll be up and about again in the morning." "Can we afford to wait that long?" "Do we have a choice?" Skinner said worried. "I want to go back to the office and see things through, but I don't want to leave my agents alone either. They need me." "I'll go then," Davis said. "You stay here. Just give me all you've got and I'll see what I can do. I've got a pretty good idea on the progress of this case. I've read Mulder's profile. I'll talk to the mayor tonight. I know him quite well. I'll see what he knows about Thompson." "Good," Skinner said gratefully. "Thanks Terry." Davis nodded and left the room, leaving Skinner alone with his agent again. Skinner glanced at him and then left the room to walk to Scully's. The doctor told him she had shown signs of waking up. It was looking good. As if to support his words, Scully blinked her eyelids and looked up. She moved her head slightly and groaned as if she was in pain. Her eyes sought out something in the room. Skinner moved to the bed so that she could see him. She seemed to panic and opened her mouth. Skinner knew what she was going ask. "Relax," he said, "you're at a hospital. You're going to be fine. Mulder's okay too. He's resting in another room." "Where?" "On the same floor. He's fine, Scully. He'll see you in the morning." "Now," she said. "I can't do that. He's resting." "No. Take me up to see him." Skinner put his hand on her wrist. "I can't, Scully. You're not up to it. Why don't you rest now? I'll get a doctor to see you." She nodded but he could see regret on her face. He wondered about his agents again and felt a sting of jealous surge through him. The bond that these two people had was unique. He didn't belong here. But when he wanted to leave, Scully wouldn't let him. Weak she put her hand on him and said hoarsely, "Do we have him?" Skinner shook his head. He wanted to tell her the truth about Jack but knew she had to hear it from Mulder. "I'll be right back," he said and she let go. Skinner hurried out until he spotted a nurse and asked her to warn a doctor that Scully had woken up. Skinner walked back in her room. She was still awake but lay quiet with her eyes closed. There was a strange quietness about her he hadn't seen before. She didn't seem to want to talk to anyone, and she didn't ask questions about what happened. Her boss knew she remembered all the details of the bombing. And she was afraid. After a thorough checkup the doctor seemed satisfied, saying Scully was doing fine. She responded to all questions without hesitation. She remembered where she was, what had happened and what day it was. But she seemed nervous and on the edge. "You're a very lucky woman, Dana," the doctor said. "I think you'll be up and about in a few days. It seems that the worst is passed now. I'm going to give you a light sedative to sleep tonight," the doctor said. "I want to make sure you're getting your rest tonight." Scully didn't refuse the proposal but she was still agitated about Mulder, asking the doctor again if she could see him. "In the morning," the doctor assured her. That seemed to satisfy her. Skinner stayed with her until the nurse gave her the sedative and she fell asleep. He was worried about her state of mind. Again she had not said a word. He finally left her room and checked up on Mulder again, finding the agent in a deep but restless sleep. Around midnight, both agents were finally asleep. Skinner chose Mulder's room to spend the night, sleeping uncomfortably on the small couch. In the middle of the night the man on the bed dreamt restlessly. Day Five New York City You bought this on yourself and it's high time you left it there Lie here and rest your head and dream of something else instead Don't slide. The ground underneath the agent's feet was hot. He looked down and noticed that his feet were bare and he was standing on an underground of coals. The fire blistered his feet. Yet he didn't feel any pain. His eyes focused on his friend who stood before him, his hands crossed over his burning body. "You're on fire, Jack." Jack smiled and flames spit out of his open mouth, showing his white teeth as the flesh got eaten away by the fire. "Haven't you been paying attention, Mulder?" Jack said. "I'm dead already." "What is this place then? Hell? Why are you burning? You got shot, for goodness sake." Jack smiled. "Hey, this is your nightmare. And it's not hell. This is the abyss you're heading into at your own free will. You've always had this place inside your mind but now you're opening up to it. I know you're eager to jump in here with me, but you can't. Not just yet." "I need you, man," Mulder said desperately as the flames licked his feet. "I can't do this thing without you. You need to come back with me. How am I supposed to live with the guilt?" "It's too late for me Mulder. I'm already gone. But I know your destructive side. You've always had it, even when we first worked together. You stop at nothing to find your man even if it means that you have to fight off the rest of the world." Jack's burning body stepped forward. Mulder could smell the disintegrating flesh. The image was so vivid that it scared him. But he didn't back away either. "So you want me to stop?" the agent asked eagerly. "No," Jack said. "I died because I screwed up. You won't do the same even though your entire being screams for punishment right now. You were always the stronger one Mulder. You can continue and finish this." Jack laughed. "And you always had the girls too." Mulder smiled. "Look," Jack continued as he sat down on an invisible seat. "We all make mistakes in life. Don't make mine. That's what I came to tell you." "I killed you!" "No, you didn't. He did. Don't take his guilt and put it upon you. That's not how it should be. If anyone's to blame, it's him. He did this to us, not you. Now go back and get that son of a bitch." Mulder blinked his eyelids. "I can't go back without you," he said stubbornly, stretching out his hand so he could touch Jack's burning skin. It hurt! The agent withdrew his hand and stared at the blisters on his fingers, crying out his pain. "You can't take me with you Mulder," Jack said sympathetically. "It's over." "No," Mulder shouted angrily but Jack's body simply disintegrated. And then the cop was gone and there was nothing left but ashes on the spot he had been standing on. Mulder stared in shock at the coals and remained where he was. Then he opened his eyes and stared straight into Skinner's. His boss had been trying to wake him up. Day Five New York City Breakfast was a piece of toast and jam and a talk with Skinner who had checked up on Scully. She was still asleep. Mulder leaned quietly against the pillows. He hadn't wanted to spend the morning in bed but he admitted that he was still very tired. "What did you dream about?" Skinner asked. "Jack," Mulder said, chewing on the toast. "He gave me a message." "What did he tell you?" Mulder didn't respond and put down the second piece of toast he had been chewing on. His eyes stood dark and depressed. "Can I see Scully now?" Skinner took him to the room down the hall where Scully was still staying. All the monitors were disconnected but the doctor had decided not to move her. They would release her during the day if her improvements kept up. Scully was sitting at a small table finishing her breakfast. A nurse was with her and had told her that she would have visitors soon. When the door opened she looked up. For the first time her eyes lit and Skinner watched as she embraced Mulder, taking his head between her hands. He looked down on her. The moment felt too personal. The nurse excused herself and Skinner turned his back, finding an excuse to leave as well. When they were gone she kissed her partner softly. Her lips lingered long on his and then moved over his face, kissing his cheeks and closed eyelids and forehead. Last night's bandage had been replaced with a smaller version covering his temple. The bandage that had covered her head the night before was gone too. "I'm so glad you're alright," she whispered as he hoped his eyes again. "I thought -" "I know," he responded. "So did I." "What happened, Mulder? I remember being on the phone, walking to the car. And then you came and the next thing I remember was lying underneath you before it all just blacked out. I saw you and you didn't move. You were lying on top of me and I couldn't get you to move." "I thought I'd killed you," he whispered, caressing her face. "You hit your head because I pushed you underneath me. I thought you'd gone." She smiled. "You can't get rid of me that easily. I'm so glad -" He let go of her and turned his back to her. "Mulder? What is it?" she asked, stepping behind him as she put her hands on his back. To her surprise his body shocked. She turned him around. There were tears in his eyes yet he didn't cry. He just stood there and his voice broke when he whispered that Jack was dead. "No," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. "This can't be ..." He told her the whole story of what had happened during the course of the day. She listened in disbelief as he explained that he had seen his friend's body, and how he had been killed. Scully stared at the floor. She could still hear Jack's voice. She had known him for just a few days and already he had left a stamp on her. She had liked him. She had liked the way Mulder had been with him. There had been a comfort, an ease that her partner didn't have with many people. They had been friends. And now he was gone, just like that. Mulder stared before him. She looked aside as he finished talking. His story had been told on a neutral tone as if he was telling someone else's tale. And when he looked at her again, the tears were gone. He moved up. "There's work to be done." "I'm coming with you." He shook his head. "No. You need to rest. I'm going on my own." "Forget it." Scully's voice sounded determined but he was just as determined to go by himself. "I'm not letting you out there by yourself. I know you Mulder. I know what you can do to yourself." He turned his face away from her. "I've made up my mind. I want you to go back to DC. I'm finishing this case by myself." "If you think I'll let you go, you're crazy. You can't just dismiss me like I'm your servant. I'm here to stay." "You've been hurt enough, Scully," Mulder spoke desperately. "Don't you see? I've screwed up. I have to finish this but I can't do that while I'm worrying about you. You were nearly killed once. I can't allow that to happen again." "So you're sacrificing yourself instead?" "I'm not," Mulder said hard. "I'm doing what's right. I'm doing what Jack would want me to do. We're so close to him, Scully. He wouldn't have killed Jack if he hadn't figured out the truth. Jack disappeared after visiting the mayor's office. It was someone from that office; someone so high in rank that he would have the means and influence to do this." "The more reason for me to stay and help you," Scully said. "Mulder, you've never asked me to back away. Don't expect me to do so now. We're constantly in danger. This is another step along the way. If you were to ask me to stop now, I would consider that an insult. So you've got a choice. If I walk, you're walking with me. If not, we're getting this thing over with today." "Are you going to discharge yourself?" She smiled. "Of course I am." Day Five New York City He thought he was safe now. The FBI would track down Thompson and put the blame on him. The case would be closed and they would all go home. He felt relief surge through his body. He had played with fire and won. But deep inside David Lane's brain, the urgency to murder was still there. And he knew that one day he would start to kill again. Day Five New York City Jack's small office was being cleared, waiting for the next cop that could make a promotion. The place had been nearly cleaned out as if he had never been there. His personal belongings were put in boxes. The only thing that reminded them of Jack, were the stacks of files on top of the desk. Chris Morgan stood in the middle of the room and turned when the agents walked in. He had been looking at the desk. Just a few moments before he had been talking to the commissioner who proposed the promotion to him. Morgan had always known he was second in line of course. The assignments had become more important during the past six months, and Jack Campbell had increased his responsibilities. And now this was it. Mulder looked at the boxes on the floor and the files on the desk. The bomber's was on top. It was closed. Somehow he felt the department had already put a stop to it now that Alec Thompson's body had been found floating face down in the river. To Jack's colleagues he was the killer. And he had killed himself. The commissioner gratefully ignored Mulder's prediction and moved on. The press was already being informed during a carefully arranged meeting. Within the hour everyone in the country would know Alec Thompson, working for the mayor, was the bomber. He had a secret crush on Susannah Delaney and killed her and her lover. There was no mention of Stephen Wells' sister. How convenient, Mulder thought. Another case solved, another killer caught. And it was the cops that solved it, not the Feds. The commissioner could be pleased with himself. It didn't matter that Alec Thompson had a good reputation. He was dead so they could blame him. Jack had last spoken to him and confronted him with murder, and so he had killed his old friend. It didn't matter that Jack would make a screw up like that, that he would be guided by friendship and had trusted his friend so much that he would take down his guard. They said he had been upset with the bombing that had nearly killed Mulder and Scully. He had let his emotions take over, therefore forgetting all his skills. Of course no one admitted he had been psychic. That would damage his good name. Now he would get a proper burial with half the town in attendance. They would honor his work and career. And perhaps one day they would give him a statue or name a school after him. Mulder picked up the file and looked into it. As expected a report had already been typed up to close the file. Chris Morgan had signed it. Mulder looked at the cop that had helped them out before. "Are you following in Jack's footsteps?" "Yes, I am," Morgan said even though the promotion still had to be confirmed. "I'm sorry, Agent Mulder." Mulder smiled faintly. "Don't be. You didn't kill him." Morgan blushed, trying to read into the agent's eyes but he couldn't see what the man was thinking. Mulder put the file down. "It's over then," he said. "You guys closed it." "We found our killer. That's the best we could do." "It probably is," Mulder said and he turned around and left the office, still limping. Chris Morgan said goodbye to Scully and shut the door behind him. Scully followed her partner outside and watched as he picked up the phone and called the local Field Office, requesting a list of all the calls Jack made on his mobile phone the day before. Scully looked at him surprised. "They must have checked that list." "Yeah, they must have." The realization struck her hard. "Are you saying a cop was involved?" "I'm not saying anything." "What did you read in that report, Mulder?" "Lies," Mulder said. "Nothing but lies." "The case is closed. They closed it. There's nothing more we can do about it. It was Jack's authority and they closed it with his death." "This is an X-File," Mulder interrupted. "If we can prove that, I can reopen the case. It will fall under our jurisdiction." "How are you going to do that, Mulder? Jack never told anyone. He only talked to you about it. They only have your word for it and that won't suffice to convince the commissioner." Mulder's eyes lit. "I have an email. That's legal enough, isn't it?" "Enough to make a case," Scully said with a smile as excitement surged through her body. Skinner frowned as he read the email and listened to Mulder's story. He wasn't so convinced. Mulder knew he needed his approval. If not, it would be a long, hard battle. "They're not going to be happy about this, Agent Mulder," he said, seated behind the desk of the small temporary office. "You're basically rejecting their findings and reopening a sensitive file." "I have good reason to do so, sir," Mulder said, feeling very tired as he sat back in his chair. "This case has not been resolved. It has been closed. But I can tell you that one day this bomber will kill again. It's in his nature to do so. I don't want to have that on my conscience, sir." "You're taking this too personally," Skinner remarked. "I should take you off." "You can't, sir. It is an X-File." "Based on a single email?" "No, based on Jack Campbell's psychic connection with the killer. That connection has lead us very close to him. It helped us save a woman's life. We cannot deny that. This case should never have been under police investigation in the first place. It should have gone to us." "You won't have to count on their help anymore. You do know that?" "I don't care at this point," Mulder said bitterly. "As far as I'm concerned, Jack was our interface. With him gone I see no reason to go over this with them once again. They're hardheaded and blind to the obvious. I wouldn't be able to work with them if my life depended on it." "Just know what you're doing, Mulder," Skinner said as he signed his approval under the official request his agent had typed out. "It's our job to close this case in a proper way, sir. That's my first priority. The rest of it can go to hell. Yes, I take Jack's death personally. I want to do everything I can to catch his killer. But my first priority still lies with the people that have died and the killer that holds psychic abilities, which he used to murder them. I guarantee you result. If not, I will quit the Bureau." Shocked both Scully and Skinner stared at the agent. "You can't do that," Scully exclaimed. "Don't you dare put your job on the line for this!" Mulder got up and left the room with the document in his hand. Scully froze in her seat, rubbing her eyelids. She was so tired. This day had been a freakish mixture of emotions and promises that might not be kept. Skinner seemed worried. "Get some rest, Agent Scully," he said. "You shouldn't even be here." "I'm not going to rest as long as Mulder's running about." She smiled faintly. "Someone's gotta keep an eye on him." "I can do that," Skinner offered as his obvious worry became so very clear in his eyes. "No offense, sir, but I don't think he's going to listen to you at this time. As long as he doesn't have his guy, he's not going to rest. At least I'll be able to get through to him in some way. Who knows, at some point he might even listen to me." "I'm more worried about his state of mind. He's doing exactly what some people at the Bureau want to get him out. He disregards everything for a personal quest. Do you think he wants out, Agent Scully? That this is his way of being booted so that they make the final decision for him?" "I don't know sir," she said as she realized Skinner had spoken out what she had feared for some time now. "I just don't know." Day Five New York City Evening fell and the results of Jack's autopsy came in, albeit with difficulty. The commissioner got on the phone with Skinner, explaining his discontent with the FBI's official takeover of the case. All files and reports, pictures and statements were to be released. With special courier the entire file arrived at the Bureau. At first sight everything was there. Mulder scrolled through the documents and statements and read everything from the beginning to the very end. Jack's handwriting was on several documents. He had signed various statements as well. He had put his stamp on the entire file and had been in full control. Little had he known this would be his last case? Would things have been different had Jack known? Mulder wondered. Would he have refused the case or left the FBI out of it? The agent sighed deeply as he realized that what if's didn't matter anymore. Jack was gone and his legacy was still there. It was almost unbearable. Suddenly Scully rushed into the office and waved with a piece of paper. "I've got something for you that you might want to hear," she said, nearly out of breath. Mulder glanced at her, recalling her very pale features and wondered why she hadn't gone back to the hotel to rest. "What is it?" he asked. "Your phonelist shows that Jack has been in contact with a colleague before he died. And guess who that colleague is?" "Let me take a guess. Chris Morgan?" "Exactly. He lied, Mulder." "But there's a phonelist in the file as well. It doesn't show that call. Wait a minute." Mulder scrolled through the file. "Here we go. You see? The number is not on it. According to this list Jack didn't make calls all afternoon." The agent's eyes changed color when his grip on the document changed. "Wait a minute. It's been altered. You see? It's a photocopy. He erased the last line and then made a copy so it wouldn't show." "Do you think Morgan did that himself?" "Who else? Who else had the benefit of Jack's death? He takes Jack's seat. He was involved in the case. Jack contacted him and told him who it was. We were both in hospital. He couldn't have contacted us. So he called the one person that he trusted, the one that was already involved in the case and knew all the details." "But to kill a friend for promotion?" Scully asked in disbelief. "How would he have known that he was up for Jack's seat?" "That isn't so difficult to figure out. He was probably already on the shortlist when Jack made it to that chair so he knew he was up next. Murders have taken place for less, Scully." "You do know you can never wave this under the commissioner's nose. He'll bite back. They're never going to accept that one of their own is capable of doing this." "Then we'll have to convince them, won't we?" Mulder said, grabbing the phone. Within ten minutes Skinner listened to Mulder's story and set up the trap. Day Five Upstate New York Despite the late hour the city was still dangling with excitement. In his house Upstate David Lane didn't notice any of that. He had decided to go home that night and not stay at the apartment, despite the early meeting the mayor had set up in the morning. Something was about to go down. He could feel it in his veins. It buzzed through his mind like a bee swarming above his head. He listened to the buzz and knew that he was going down. His mother had once said that she too felt it when the cops came for her to put her away for good. She had explained in prison while waiting for her death sentence. He had listened and learned. Soon they would come to take him away. And he would listen to them and go with them. After all, he had nothing to fear. He wouldn't run or hide for it wasn't in his nature to do so. He had wanted excitement and publicity and they would give that to him. There was nothing to gain by running. But he wouldn't go with them. He had something set up for the FBI-agent that would come to arrest him. It would be a thrill. The feeling would be almost as good as it had been when he destroyed Jack Campbell's life, blowing his brains out. They both got what they deserved. Day Five New York City Despite the late hour Chris Morgan just couldn't drive home. Too many thoughts were rushing through his mind, making it impossible for him to calm down and relax. He trembled when he picked up his cup of coffee and drank. What he wouldn't give for a drink right now, but he couldn't give in. He had to keep his posture. Especially now that every single move would betray him. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was so tired. And Jack Campbell just wouldn't let him go. He shouldn't have told Lane about it. But what choice did he have? The moment Lane got caught he would be caught too. He was in too deep already. He might not have killed Jack himself, but he had the man's blood on his hands. And he shivered when he recalled the bloody blanket used to transfer Jack's body he had pushed into the huge trashcan that stood behind the Marriott hotel. What if someone would find it there? What if some homeless guy would pull it out and the blanket would lead straight back to him? And what if they then figured out that Jack's body had been moved in his car? A hard knock on the door shook him up. Morgan looked up startled when Mulder entered the room. The FBI-agent was alone. "Agent Mulder," Morgan said, after gathering his wits. "What brings you back here?" Mulder didn't speak at first but walked in and closed the door, shutting out the rest of the world. "We need to talk, Chris," he said friendly as he sat on the edge of the desk. "I figured I might find you here." "Really? How so?" Morgan asked nervously. "A young man in his early thirties with no family to go to usually has nothing but his job to keep him occupied. And since you've been trying to kick your habit, you wouldn't go to any bars, now would you?" "What habit?" Morgan asked. "What are you talking about?" "Come on, Chris. Jack told me all about it. He said you had some problems in the past that you're trying to deal with right now. So I figured that you're trying your best not to fall off the wagon again. Am I right or wrong?" "You're a liar," Morgan said flustered. "I haven't got any problems. If Jack told you that, he's a liar too." "Is he? Well, we can't ask him, can we? Since you killed him, you made sure the one man that knew about your problems is gone. And he made way for your promotion too. How convenient for you that he died at the right time. Did you pull the trigger or did you have someone else do it for you?" Morgan shot out of his chair, furious with anger. "Get the hell out, Agent Mulder. You're grasping for straws. I haven't killed him and you know it! Even if what you're saying is true, why would I shoot him? I liked him! He was a good cop and one of my best friends!" Mulder took a copy of the phone list out of his pocket and threw it at Morgan. "Explain to me then why you manipulated this list? But you've got a habit of doing that, don't you? You manipulated David Lane's records too. Did you really think we wouldn't find out about you, Morgan?" "You're lying," Morgan shouted hard as his face turned red. "If you're accusing me, come up with the evidence and arrest me. But you can't, can you? There's no proof." Mulder remained calm as he moved away from the desk and walked towards the window, looking down on the lively city. "One would kill for this view, wouldn't he?" the agent whispered. "Tell me Chris, when did Lane start blackmailing you? Did he meet you at a bar where you hung around passed out? Did he manipulate you at once or did it start with simple gestures, like erasing the connection between his mother and himself so that he would have a clean sheet to present to the mayor? Did you know that he was the bomber?" Tears sprung in Morgan's eyes, as he stood powerless before the desk that was supposed to become his. It was over. There was no sense lying anymore. He had been living with the lies for two years and a part of him felt relief that it was finally over and done with. At least now he could raise his head in pride and tell them he was no longer playing Judas. "He was looking for someone to manipulate and it became me," he finally spoke hoarsely. "It happened two years ago. He found me and fed me booze until I nearly passed out. He said he knew I had a problem and that he would keep his mouth shut if I did him a favor. It started with his mother's file. Then I had to do little jobs for him. I had to tell him about cases we were working on. I didn't understand why at first but then I figured out he was trying to see through our means of operation. When Susannah Delaney died, I just knew it was him. By then he had started to pay me off for my services. He said that I shouldn't work for nothing. The money afforded me things I could never afford with my income." "And you enjoyed it, didn't you?" Mulder spoke bitterly. "After all, you told him that Jack was after him. Jack suspected he was the one and he called you because you needed to find things about him. Instead of going after Lane, you went after Jack. Didn't you?" "I did," Morgan admitted, raising his head and straightening his shoulders. "I knew Jack was in the way and I lured him to Lane's apartment. Lane had gone over and killed him with a silencer. We moved the body out into my car and I dumped him in an alley. It was a huge risk we took but I enjoyed the thrill." "What about Thompson?" "Lane knew that Thompson would be the perfect patsy and I called him up as well. As it happened he was on the way to the station. I met him outside, before I was on my way to kill Jack, and I lured him into my car telling him that Lane was already under arrest and brought to another police station. He needed to go with me for his statement. When we drove off, I knocked him out. Lane killed him with the same gun and made it look like a suicide." "And you filed a report stating that you were following leads in regards to this case as Jack had requested you to do. If you hadn't manipulated the list, we wouldn't have known," Mulder said. Weakly Morgan straightened his shoulders once again, feeling very cocky now that the truth had come out. "I don't care anymore," he said. "Lane has destroyed my life and as far as I'm concerned I'll be sitting in jail watching him die at the stake. But I'll be out in a few years and lead a normal life again." "No you won't," Mulder said softly as anger left him. "I'll make sure that you'll get the maximum penalty for what you've done. You'll burn too, Morgan." Morgan's fear became obvious as his eyes focused on the FBI-agent. "I'll deny ever having given this confession then," he muttered. "You won't stand a chance of convicting me - not without proper evidence. And what have you got really? A phone list, which I'll deny having manipulated? So-called proof, that I have a drinking problem? What are you going to base your claim on? Everybody knows you would do anything to grab the killer. You would accuse anyone." Mulder smiled as he reached underneath his shirt and dug out the small wire that had sent the entire confession to a meeting room where the commissioner sat shocked with three other colleagues, next to Scully and Skinner. "I don't like these things," the agent said thoughtfully, "but in some cases they do come in handy. You're through, Morgan." Mulder turned and left the room, closing the door behind him as he walked to the meeting room. Inside Morgan looked outside at the city below and knew he would never see a sight like that again. It was a though he couldn't bear. Morgan reached for the gun on his desk and grasped it in his hand. He closed his eyes as he brought it to the side of his face like Lane had done with Jack, and pulled the trigger. In the meeting room everyone, remained shocked as the blast shook up the office. They hurried out to find Mulder standing in the middle of the hallway, turned around to face the door of the office that had belonged to his friend. The agent's face stood blank. Day Five New York City "We've got him," the commissioner said but his voice didn't sound too happy. He didn't like it when his cops made a mess of things and that's exactly what had happened just now. One of his own men had been involved and he would have to go explain that to the press in the morning. Therefore he wanted to arrest Lane tonight and get it over with. "Not yet," Skinner said, "do you know where he is?" "He has an apartment in town. We'll go there and arrest him now." "No," Mulder said. "Not like that. We need proof that he's our guy." "We've got the tape and Morgan's confession. He pointed him out. Isn't that enough?" the commissioner said angrily. "Even though this is your case, Agent Mulder, I want to make the arrest. We're too personally involved now." "You've got a confession of one criminal pointing the finger at the other," Mulder said. "That's not enough. If Lane suspects anything he'll be on the run by now. We need solid evidence that he's our guy." "And how are you going to do that?" the commissioner asked. "Knock the truth out of him?" "If needs be. I don't think he'll be here. He's got a house Upstate. I want to go there and confront him like we've done Morgan. We'll need a search warrant to search the premises and the apartment. That's all we can hope for right now." Mulder looked at Skinner and Scully. "I'm going alone." "Like hell you are," Scully groaned. But Mulder knew he would get his way. He always did. Day Five Upstate New York When the doorbell of David Lane's Victorian house rang around midnight, the owner didn't seem surprised. "It's okay, Henry," he told the butler who had come downstairs from his private quarters on the second floor to open. "Go back to bed." Reluctantly the butler obeyed and retreated as Lane walked over, fully clad as if he was about to go to a party. When he opened, he saw Mulder. The agent was alone, flashing his badge to be let in. Lane stepped aside and looked at him. "Agent Mulder, what a pleasant surprise. What brings you here this time of night?" "We need to talk," Mulder said. "Can I come in?" "Of course." Mulder looked around, noticing the finer details of the grand house. Lane had perfect taste, decorating his house with paintings that varied in style, and antique furniture, which he had selected himself. Mulder glanced through the open French doors into the living room with adjoined library. The fireplace was in use. Two leather chairs were facing it and on one of them lay a book of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. "Do you like what you see, Agent Mulder?" Lane asked amused. Mulder faced the man and realized he had been standing here for a few moments with nothing to say. The agent's mind was numb. He took in all the smaller details and realized he couldn't believe a man like this went about town setting bombs. "It's nice," the agent finally sat. Without being invited to do so, Mulder chose the second leather chair and looked at the fireplace. He felt cold. The drive through the snow had taken a while and he wondered about Scully and the others who were sitting outside in the cars. "I've come to arrest you," Mulder said as Lane took the other seat and carefully put his bookmark where he had stopped reading, closing the book before he put it down. "Really?" Lane asked with a tone of mockery in his voice. "Then why aren't you?" "We need to talk first." At ease Lane walked to the bar. "Can I get you a drink?" "No, thanks." Mulder's head dizzied of lack of sleep. He wanted to get it over with soon but there were too many unanswered questions left. He wanted answers first. "Are you feeling okay?" Lane asked with a sense of strange worry that seemed inappropriate. "Yes, I am. I found my killer." "Really?" Lane smiled. "I'm sure it must have cost you some effort." "Yes, it did. But we've got a solid case and we're taking him down." "I see." Lane poured a brandy and gulped it down. The fluid burned in his throat all the way to his stomach. To Mulder's delight the man's hands trembled when he put the glass down and turned his back away from Mulder. "So what brings you here then?" "Let's not play games about this, David," Mulder spoke. "It's time that you face your executioners, so to speak. You've toyed with everyone. You've got your wish. Now you have to pay the price." David Lane smiled and then laughed. "Are you saying I did this? Is that why you're here?" Mulder nodded slowly. "I'm here because I want to talk to you first. I told the others who are waiting outside that you would go down quietly. After all, you wouldn't give me a lot of headaches since the world knows by now you're responsible, now would you David?" The man that wanted to become the next mayor of the city of New York paled and frowned. The moment had come. That buzzing feeling inside of him had not failed him. His eyes focused on Mulder, the FBI-agent who had done everything in his power to destroy him. It didn't matter how they had gotten to him. It was no use trying to talk him out of it. And the others that came to back him up were outside, sitting in their cars. They would come in before long and take him and he would face the music. With regret David looked around and took in all the beautiful pieces he had selected over the years. He thought of all the years he had tried to fight off his inheritance, trying to deny who and what he was. He thought of his mother who had gone through the same thing. Had she fought off her executioners once she knew it was over? Suddenly David caught Mulder's eyes. The agent seemed ill. Externally his expression was one of utter control. But internally the man was trembling with anger and hatred towards the man that had killed his friend. David smiled, realizing he was still in control. Even while the agent was here to arrest him, he still had full control over the events at hand. As long as he could toy with him, he would be able to manipulate. "Are you sure you're alright, Agent Mulder?" Lane asked once again. "You seem uneasy." Mulder looked at the man he was to bring down and smiled. "I'm a profiler and have studied psychology, Mr. Lane. If there is anything you cannot do with me, it's to manipulate me. I'm here to ask you to tell me the truth. I want to know why you killed Susannah Delaney, Stephen Wells, Jack Campbell and a young bellboy named Jay Noames." "You're grasping at straws, Agent Mulder." "That's funny," Mulder smiled. "That's exactly what Chris Morgan said before he blew his brains out." Lane paled. "Who is Chris Morgan?" "You should know. You've been manipulating him for two years. He's dead, David. He couldn't keep live with the guilt and died at his own hand. Just like you now he tried to deny anything had ever happened. And just like you are about to do, he paid for his input." Mulder got up from his chair and glanced around. "You have a beautiful house, David. You had a great job and a fantastic opportunity to step into politics yourself. But you just couldn't help yourself, could you? You had to do what is in your nature to do. Your mother was a killer and so became you. You had to try it out and see what it felt like. Did it feel good, David? Did you get off on it? Did you enjoy watching those bombs explode?" Mulder's hand touched the holster that held his gun as he stepped forward as if he was trying to extract the guilt from David's mind. His eyes locked onto Lane's and wouldn't let him go. For the first time Lane felt like he was going to lose control. It was a horrible feeling. "Are you here to kill me, Agent Mulder?" he asked as he tried to stay calm. "Is that why your colleagues aren't here? Are they allowing you to take justice into your own hands?" "It would be serving justice, wouldn't it?" Mulder sighed deeply. Lane paled even more. "No, I'm not here to kill you," Mulder said. "I just want to know the truth." "Alright," Lane said. "If you want the truth, you'll get it. I killed them all, yes. Does that make you feel better Agent Mulder? Does it please you to know that I set the bombs and destroyed their lives because I liked the kill?" "Why did you choose Susannah?" "She seemed the perfect victim. And she fucked me like I was one of the others she had in her bed." "You couldn't bear that, could you? You hated the fact she didn't love you." "That's right," Lane said as his eyes left Mulder's lock. The agent had sat down again. Lane stared at the doorway and continued, "I loved the kill, just like my mother had done. It's in our blood. I needed to know how I would feel. And I liked it. So I killed again." "How did you select Wells?" Lane smiled. "Now that's a story right down your alley. After all, you're into that paranormal crap, aren't you? I'm sure you got off when you figured out I had psychic abilities, didn't you?" Mulder didn't give an answer. "Yes, I did it all," David Lane said, stretching out his hands. "And now you can arrest me and bring me in. After all, you've got your killer now, haven't you?" Mulder looked sharply at the man and got up. "Good," he said, taking out his cuffs which he wanted to place around Lane's wrists. Suddenly Lane's eyes focused on Mulder's once again. There was a sharp pain inside the agent's head, ripping him apart. Mulder groaned as the cuffs dropped to the floor and his hands automatically reached for his head, trying to get that horrible pain out of it. A strange sense entered Lane's mind as well as he received the image of a woman that looked very familiar to him. It was his partner, the small redhead that had been with him when they spoke before. She was the most important person on his mind and the one he thought of now that he thought he was going to die of sheer pain. "So you're fucking her, aren't you?" Lane said in disgust. In a flash the sharpest of pains was over, and Mulder reached for his gun, aiming it at Lane, holding his left hand against his head as he tried to focus on the here and now. The following moment something came towards him from the side. He caught a glimpse of something heading for his head from aside. The agent wanted to pull out his gun but it was already too late. The next moment he was lying face down on the soft carpet of the living room, and his blood was soaking into the fabric. The gun fell from its holster onto the ground. His last thoughts went out to Scully and the others, sitting in the cars waiting for his signal. David Lane watched as his butler Henry knocked Mulder off his feet, using the bronze statue from the hallway he had bought at an antique shop three years ago. Then he looked down at the agent lying face down on the carpet. He was bleeding from a deep gash right above the ear. Lane knelt down and touched the agent's throat. He was still breathing. "He tried to kill you sir," Henry said apologetic. "I had to do something." The butler awkwardly picked up the gun and aimed it at the agent's head. "Should I call the police?" "No," Lane said. "I'll handle this." His hand brought the gun in Henry's hand down at the unconscious man on the floor. What a mess, he sighed; realizing all too well he only had a few moments left to finish this. "Help me move him into the library." The butler nodded and turned Mulder's body, uneasy with what was going on. He had no idea who this man was or what he wanted, but he couldn't just let his employer be killed, could he? The agent's eyes remained closed as the butler grabbed him by the legs and Lane took him by the shoulders. Together they transferred the agent to the smaller library and closed the door behind them. At the same time the doorbell went, followed by a banging on the wood. Lane grabbed Henry's arm and said, "Don't open the door and get the hell out. You've been good to me Henry, but now it's time to part. You're no part of this. They're here to arrest me and I'm not going." Henry frowned as he looked down at the unconscious agent. "Is he police too?" "Yeah, he is." "My god." Henry glared at the front door again. He was ripped apart between loyalty and fear. And he still held the man's gun in his hand. "I can't go," he finally said. "I hurt this man, didn't I? They'll punish me." "Stay then," Lane said impatiently. The banging on the door persisted and the following moment the FBI and police were inside the house through the forced open kitchen door. Lane listened to the orders that were being handed out while his skilled hands prepared the handmade bomb that would finish it all. On the floor Mulder groaned and moved, opening his eyes in the process. His hand automatically touched his face as if to support his head that became too heavy with the pain that struck him like a hammer. Lane glanced at him and finished the bomb that was now attached to the door. The moment anyone would try to bust down the door, the device would go off. Lane smiled as he knelt down beside the agent, ignoring his butler all together. "The moment I open this door, it will be over Agent Mulder. You have the choice of dragging your friends into death with you or to die alone. What's it going to be?" Reality struck the agent as he nodded slowly and moved up with the startled Henry shoving a hand under his armpit to support him. The agent swayed on his feet and stared at the device attached to the door. Behind the wood he heard familiar voices. Then there was a banging on the door and he heard Scully's voice speak out his name. "Scully," Mulder answered in response with a voice that seemed too dark. "He's got a bomb in here, ready to go off. Get everyone out now. It's set to go." "Mulder," he heard on the other side, "is he in there with you?" Mulder waited for a second. "Yes, he is." "Can we reason with him?" Skinner asked through the door. "No. Get out now or you're all dead." Lane didn't speak a single word when there was an order to retreat followed by a shuffle of footsteps and a lot of noise. The men inside the small room could only imagine what went on outside. Mulder looked aside at the only window that gave access to freedom. "It's over then, isn't it?" the agent asked as he sunk back down to the ground, helped by Henry. "Yes, it is," Lane smiled, ignoring Henry behind him. "Don't worry, Agent Mulder. It's a painless death. It's over before you know it." Lane's hand touched the doorknob. Mulder's hand fell on the floor, chilling as he rested his head against a bookshelf. He looked up, his feverish eyes staring at the bomber. "You're right," he said. "It is over." It all happened very fast. The glass of the only window giving access to the room shattered and splintered, sending large pieces inside the room. The barrel of a gun aimed at Lane's back. The man turned and let go of the doorknob. The next moment one single shot rang through the library. The bullet coming out of the gun held by Henry hit Lane full in the back, sending him forward to the ground. Lane seemed to want to pull open the door in the process of falling, but a second shot stopped him in his tracks. Without giving another kick the man dropped to the floor, his eyes wide open and staring into nothingness. Mulder looked at Henry who nodded slowly at him. "In the end, it couldn't go on," Henry whispered. "Could it?" Day Five Upstate New York Through the shattered window the bomb squad entered the room and disarmed the device that would have blown up the entire house. Mulder sat on the cold floor and watched it happen. No one seemed able to move the agent. He refused to go. Then the door was pushed open and there were people all over the room, accessing the situation. The agent felt arms around him as he sat down, and her hands were all over his face, trying to get him to look at her. He looked at her but saw nothing. "You're okay," she said. "You're fine. You're safe with us." A shudder that started in his stomach rippled through his entire body like a wave crushing down on a rock. He burst out in tears and the embrace that had come from her side alone shifted. He put his arms around her and hugged her. She didn't let go, knowing he needed this. Exhausted they held onto each other and she knew he had finally found the justice he needed. It had nearly cost him everything, but now he could rest at ease that Jack's killer had been found and that his death was justified. Day Eight New York City She watched from a distance as he put a single flower on his friend's casket before it was lowered into the ground. No one else had a right to be there, she thought. This was his moment alone. But suddenly he looked at her and smiled. She moved forward until she stood by his side and he grasped her hand and pulled her near him. Together they watched as the casket came to a hold at the bottom of the grave. "It's funny," Mulder said, "but I dreamt of Jack again last night. I've always believed there's a place we go to after this one, where things are better and life is just the way you want it to be. With Jack, I'm pretty sure he's living the good life right now." She smiled. "Did he have a message to tell us?" Her partner looked at her and embraced her. "Just that we shouldn't mourn the life he left right now, but to cherish the one where he's waiting for us. I'm pretty sure that we'll see him again one day." "I like that," Scully mesmerized. "Oh yeah, and he did have another message." "What's that?" "It's about time we take a shared motel room." She grinned. "Nice try, Agent Mulder." Mulder shrugged and lifted his shoulders, kissing her as they walked to the car, finally on their way to that vacation she had promised him. - The End -