Title: Mortuus Iterum

Author: Skinfull

Rating: NC 17 

Classification: Case file for VS 13--complete with all 
gory scenes

Feedback : skinfull@undergroundtales.com

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, no harm.

Summary: Various Murders are occurring in the DC area 
with a hint of familiarity to them.

Mortuus Iterum (Dead Again)
By Skinfull

1/3

Scarborough Apartments
Washington.

After unpacking the TV and VCR, and pulling a few cushions from one of 
the cardboard boxes that the moving men had dropped on any flat 
surface they could find, Sandra settled down to watch a movie with her 
glass of wine. The story on the screen played out easily before her 
but her eyes wandered around the room, mentally decorating her new 
home and paying the movie no attention.

Until a knock on the door dragged her back to reality. She placed her 
glass on the windowsill and cautiously went to the door. This was her 
first night in her new apartment and she hadn't met any of her 
neighbors yet, so she wasn't expecting a visitor.

"Hello?" she called out, reminding herself to get the spy hole put in 
first thing in the morning. "Who is it?"

"I'm your neighbor. I live in apartment 7H. I saw you moving in 
earlier and I just wanted to welcome you to the building." The voice 
was pleasant and friendly enough and she felt a fool for hesitating to 
open the door, but something inside her wanted to keep it closed, 
savor her first night alone, and enjoy the peace she had been striving 
for. "I have a bottle of wine to welcome you--but I'll leave it out 
here."

She heard the sound of the bottle being placed on the floor against 
the door and the few steps of her new neighbor walking away. Feeling 
silly she shook away her misgivings and opened the door.

"Hi. I'm Sandra Carson." She extended her hand to his, which he 
returned with a crooked smile.

"Hi. Welcome to the neighborhood."

She let him in and he picked up the bottle of wine on his way. His 
smile seemed genuine as he passed by her in an aromatic wave of soap 
and mild aftershave.

"Let me get you a glass."

"Thanks." He opened the bottle of wine with the corkscrew that was by 
her own drink and was ready to pour by the time she rejoined him. "Did 
you have any trouble moving your stuff in?"

"No. There wasn't much to move anyway," she laughed self-consciously, 
scanning the room for open boxes that might be displaying her meagre 
belongings.

"You're not from DC are you? Is that a mid western accent I detect?" 
he queried, leaning on the sill as she perched on the corner of a 
wooden box that held her 'Pottery Barn' collection.

"Yeah. I grew up in Ohio. Moved out here for my post graduate degree."

"Georgetown University?" he asked and she noticed his dark brown eyes 
crinkled at the edges as he smiled.

"Yes. The degree is in Microbiology but it's boring, you don't want to 
get me started on that." She laughed again then saw the bag of 
groceries on the counter that she forgot to put in the fridge. "I'll 
be right back."

In the kitchen she fumbled with the milk and eggs and shoved them 
quickly into the fridge. She turned the corner from the kitchen and 
stood in the doorway to the living room as he approached with her 
drink in his hand.

"It's a lovely apartment you have." He sipped at his wine and walked 
towards the hallway that led to the bedroom and bathroom. "Do you mind 
if I use your bathroom?"

"Not at all."

When he was gone, she took the opportunity to make the room a little 
more presentable. She draped some throws over a pile of boxes and 
aligned the cushions on the sofa. After a few minutes passed and he 
didn't return she became suspicious. She listened for the sound of 
running faucets but heard nothing. Venturing down the hall, she was 
about to call out his name when she realised he hadn't told her what 
it was yet.

"Excuse me--are you okay?" she knocked lightly on the closed bathroom 
door but there was no response. "Hello?" the metal door handle was 
cold as she turned it to open the door, only to find the room empty. 
Startled, she backed out of the room into the hall where the only 
other door was the one to her bedroom.

She took two careful steps over to the door and slowly pushed it open. 
It was too dark to make anything out, but she needed to walk further 
into the room to reach the light switch. With her feet barely past the 
doorframe she stretched her hand along the wall and fumbled with the 
switch, blinking away the intrusion as the light covered the room.

He stood by the end of her bed, completely naked, his clothes puddled 
in a heap by the open window and he stood like he was in a trance, 
ready to jump.

"What the hell?" she mumbled as she backed away, her thoughts swimming 
in confusion. "What are you doing?" she yelled.

"I didn't want to get any blood on my clothes." He said simply as if 
it was the obvious explanation for him standing naked in her bedroom. 
He had taken her robe off the chair by the bed and was pulling the 
cotton belt free from it. After winding it around each hand in tight 
loops, leaving a foot length hanging loose between them, he walked 
towards her, snapping it soundlessly.

"Get the hell away from me!" she yelled, the power of her legs coming 
back as she tried to run away but he chased after her, grabbing hold 
of her around the neck with her robe belt and dragged her backwards 
into her bedroom. Her legs kicked and thrashed as she struggled to get 
a foothold but he was too strong and too tall. Her fingers scratched 
at her neck pulling at the taut skin to get hold of the ever 
tightening belt but it was no use.

When he reached the bed he tossed her onto the bare mattress and 
rolled her onto her back. She coughed and wheezed when the release of 
his grip brought a sudden surge of hot air into her lungs, but as he 
fumbled with the tie on her sweats, the horror of the situation came 
crashing down on her chest, crushing her lungs and her ability to 
breathe.

"No, no please no!" she fought as he pulled her sweats off over her 
knees and left them around her ankles, trapping her feet with them. 
She kicked her legs wildly, the instinct for survival still strong in 
her until his fist came down in a crashing blow to her face, stunning 
her into silence for a moment.

It was then that she noticed his face. It wasn't the face of the man 
she had let into her apartment. His eyes shimmered black and cold, 
suddenly emerging green instead of the chocolate brown she had noticed 
earlier. His cheeks seemed to shake and move, his skin tautening 
around his face and suddenly she was looking into a face she never saw 
before.

He held her still with one hand against her neck, pulling her against 
him, and the other cutting off her air supply. She soon became weak 
and surrounded by darkness. Her face flushed with warmth as the 
trapped blood flooded her cheeks. She invited the darkness in when her 
only other option was to see his face contort with rage.

The limpness of her lifeless body did nothing to distract him as he 
focused on his raging need. Replacing the cotton rope with his hands, 
he circled her neck and cried out pleasure as he slumped over her.

For a few moments he didn't move, focusing on his breaths that came 
fast and shallow. With a sigh he rolled off her and stared up at the 
white peeling paint on the ceiling. The neglect and disdain for the 
room suddenly making him disgusted, and he jerked away from her body.

Standing back he looked down at her pale skin, a stark contrast to the 
dark mattress.  Her body was slim but with the curves he had so 
admired when he spied her moving in, now exposed in full glory before 
him.

He felt the growing desire churn in his stomach again and he stepped 
closer to touch her, but decided against it. He dry washed his face, 
rubbing his hands gingerly over his cheeks, pressing the heel of his 
palms into his eyes. He felt the discomfort of his skin moving again 
but shook it off.  Crouching to his knees he fumbled through his 
clothes and searched the pockets of his jeans. With his fingers 
finally curling around what he was looking for he moved swiftly to the 
body and got to work.


***

FBI Headquarters Basement Office.

Dana Scully slowly ambled through the narrow hallway and entered the 
office with a curved, knowing smile. Friday at last, she thought with 
a sigh of satisfaction. It had been a long slow and monotonous week of 
paperwork and creative editing of Mulder's reports. His somewhat 
sketchy explanations of how the last bureau issue car had been 
totalled needed a few extra touches, and his receipts were all filed 
under miscellaneous.

But finally Friday had arrived. Although no fanfare greeted her this 
morning as she walked through the building, she felt like she was 
walking through a parade. Her heart beating excitedly at the prospect 
of a lazy weekend, her smile a little brighter than normal and then 
there was the small apple Danish she'd treated herself to when she 
bought her latte.

At her desk, she set the coffee down and next to it carefully she 
placed her treat. After shrugging her coat off and hanging it onto the 
stand by the door she sat at the desk and ripped open the deli paper 
bag. The bitter taste of the latte was perfect with the sweet apple 
from her Danish. She sighed contentedly with every bite, sitting a 
little deeper into her chair each time. There was only one bite left 
when Mulder walked in, his expression somewhat darker then her own. 
He'd been gone before she had woken for some reason, so she had 
anticipated his dark mood to greet her this morning.

His jacket had already been shed and the sleeves of his blue shirt 
rolled up past his elbows. Scully watched him cross the room and 
scramble through the files on his desk before finishing the Danish.

"Couldn't sleep last night?" she asked, commenting on the empty space 
he had left her to wake up to this morning.

"I was sleeping fine until the sirens started," he muttered, his bad 
mood infecting his sombre voice even more.

"Sirens?" She pushed herself away from her chair and walked over to 
where he still fumbled around his desk.

"There must have been a burglary in one of the houses on our block. 
The alarm woke me then with the sirens blaring and I couldn't get back 
to sleep."

"So you went for a run?" She had tripped over his sweats that had been 
carelessly discarded on the bathroom floor on her way to the shower.

"Yes but I was too riled up. So I came in to do some work." His voice 
was strained as he moved the heavy monitor to get it out of his way.

"You should have woken me Mulder." She reached out to rest a hand on 
his back and but he moved out of her reach.  He pulled out a thick 
manila folder from under his pc monitor, leaving it lilting to the 
side. "What are you looking for?"

"This." He held it up and flicked through the pages until he came to 
what he was looking for. Through squinted dark eyes he glanced at his 
watch. "Skinner wants to see us by the way."

"A case?" her voice was an octave over her normal timbre as her lazy 
weekend dissipated before her. Goodbye Friday night bath, she mused, 
hello Saturday morning in the airport, or a crappy motel in Nevada, or 
the morgue.

"Maybe. Agent Daly asked me for consultation on a case file yesterday 
and I had a look--but it seems my services are not required--" his 
voice trailed off.

"What case?" He passed her the file folder as he rolled his sleeves 
back down and fastened the cuffs.

"A woman was raped and beaten in her apartment. She died during or 
prior to sexual assault and there were no signs of forced entry."

"Boyfriend, husband, ex?" Scully queried as she flipped the page of 
the file over and started at the grotesque picture of the victim. He 
guided her to the lift with a hand on her back as she quickly read 
over the file.

"She was single. Just moved into the city. Didn't know anyone. Lived 
in an apartment building on the northwest."

"There is something else Mulder. What is it? Why does Skinner want to 
give us this case?"

"On the body they found--a note."

"From the killer?"

"Of sorts--" He reached for the file and flicked through the pages 
until he reached the end. "A quote. It was carved into the victims 
forearm."

"Carved?" Scully held up the file photo and examined the picture more 
closely. "How?"

"It's not clear. The coroner thinks with a tattooing needle but it's 
too clean."

"'I did this not as a sex act . . . but out of hate for her," She read 
from the file, "It's signed by Albert De Salvo?"

"The Boston strangler," he answered her unspoken question. "Alleged 
Boston Strangler. Depending on who you ask."

"A copy cat killer? After all these years?" she doubted as she reread 
over the autopsy results preformed by the M.E. on the victim.

"Insanity has no time constraints," he replied tersely as he preceded 
her through the hall to Skinner's office.

AD Skinner sat behind his desk, his eyes fixed on the pages before 
him, without looking up to greet his two agents he gestured them 
towards the chairs before him. They sat silently and waited for him to 
speak. Slowly Skinner closed over the file he had been reading and 
looked up to face them fully. His fingers formed a temple before his 
lips and he rested his thumbs under his chin.

"I don't have time to ask the careful questions Mulder, so I want you 
to tell me straight." He pushed back on his chair and stood, letting 
his hands find a comfortable spot on his hips. "Why did Agent Daly 
send this file to you? Without speaking to AD Larkin or myself," he 
added tersely turning away from his agents to take a deep breath.

"He called me yesterday morning and asked me to look through it. Agent 
Scully was at the Coroners office filing reports and I was at a loose 
end so we met and discussed the case."

"Simple as that?" Skinner barked whipping his head around to face 
Mulder.

"Yes sir." Mulders voice was flat, his frown deep and his eyes glazed 
over in thought.

"I've spoken to AD Larkin and he is adamant that you have nothing to 
do with this case. Can you explain that?"

"No sir." Mulder shifted on his seat meeting his boss's eyes for the 
first time, but it wasn't enough to hide the discomfort he was 
feeling.

"Why did Agent Daly circumvent the usual channels to bring this case 
to you?"

"I don't think it was like that sir, it wasn't a conscious decision to 
bypass AD Larkin. He asked me to look at it and I did."

"Have you prepared anything for the case?" Skinner asked abruptly.

"I was working on a profile," Mulder began feeling Scully's gaze burn 
into his cheek. "But I've only had the case for one night. I would 
need more time. I have nothing but conjecture."

"You have no more time. AD Larkin is on his way up here-"

Before Skinner could continue there was a light knock on the door and 
Kim entered softly, AD Larkin on her heels. He was one of the oldest 
Assistant Directors, somewhat jaded with too many crimes and killers 
under his belt.

With thinning grey hair and a portly stomach he strode across the room 
determinedly, his eyes locking on Mulder over the top of his half 
glasses.  He was wearing a fashionable dark navy suit with a pale blue 
shirt and a plain black tie but it didn't hide the tiredness in his 
face or the anger in his eyes.  As Kim closed the door after her, AD 
Skinner invited Larkin to sit down.

"No thanks. It's simple Mulder. Stay away."

Larkin held his hand out, palm open and facing the ceiling, gesturing 
for the file in Mulder's hand.  With only a quick glance in Skinner's 
direction where he confirmed the slight nod, Mulder handed the file 
back.

"I have more then enough agents to handle this case," Larkin blurted 
out, flicking through the pages in the file as if he were checking to 
make sure it was full. "I don't need your people making the situation 
any more aggravated."

"We would only offer the assistance required, but if you feel like you 
don't need it then fine." Skinner's lips were pulled so thin Mulder 
could hardly see them as he crossed his arms across his thick chest. 
"But you know there are no better agents more qualified to tackle this 
case then Agent Mulder and Agent Scully."

"It's not a damn X file Skinner!" Larkin roared angrily, "You have no 
jurisdiction over this case."

"Agent Mulder was consulted on this case."

"Well consider him un-consulted." Larkin shoved the file under his arm 
and walked towards the door without offering them a further glance.

***

Whitley Guest House Washington.

Out of all the rooms Michael Wilson was asked to clean at the Whitley 
Guest House, the Basement was his favourite. The room had one bare 
bulb hanging from the low ceiling and only two small windows, whose 
light was blocked by overgrown ivy. But the task of sweeping and 
mopping the old stone floor could be stretched out to last most of the 
day.

If anyone had asked him, which they hadn't he grumbled, that if they 
wanted this house to look older by putting in the old stone flooring, 
they should add to the effect by not asking him to mop it out as 
often. But he preferred it to standing in the kitchen getting shouted 
at by the chef, and he damn well wasn't getting paid enough to deal 
with the public.

Down here with only his Ipod for company, he could imagine he was 
someplace else and not worry about mopping. So far this morning he had 
managed to stay down in the chilled basement for almost two hours 
before the heavy thud of the door startled him. Choosing to ignore the 
faint voice he could hear calling him though his earphones, Michael 
mopped vigorously at the stone floor.

His head rocked back and forth with the rhythm of the music, while his 
fingers danced over the handle of the mop as if across the fret board 
of his guitar. He daydreamed of the matt black Gibson he was saving up 
for and that image alone helped him push the mop around.

"Michael!" he heard, the voice getting closer and angrier, but he paid 
no attention but jumped back as the heavy hand slapped the back of his 
shoulder.

"What the hell!" Michael yelled as he tugged the earphones off his 
head and twirled around angrily. "Christ Jason, what ya do that for?"

"Kevin wants you up in the kitchen." Jason smiled at his visibly 
shaken friend.

"What for, I'm not finished mopping up down here." Michael argued 
indignantly as he swept his arm around the small basement.

"He says the wedding party is finished dinner and he needs a hand 
washing dishes."

"Alright," he replaced his earphones and grabbed his mop roughly. 
"I'll be up there as soon I drain this mop bucket."

His voice rose over the music and he turned to reach for the bucket. 
Jason thumped his back and raced back up the stairs. Stumbling from 
the friendly but exuberant thump, Michael tipped the bucket over and 
spilled its contents on to the cream tilled floor.

"Shit!" he exclaimed as he reached for it and pulled it back into 
place. The water spilled across the floor and he chased it with his 
mop as best he could. Without really caring, he banged the mop into a 
stack of chairs and jumped back as they suddenly toppled to the floor. 
"Crap," he muttered looking around to see if Kevin, the hotel manager 
had heard the clatter.

As quick as he could manage, he picked up the chairs and started to 
stack them again. He hurried to get them back into place before 
someone came looking for him again, and pushed them up against the 
wall but found their pathway blocked. Hunching down onto all fours, he 
held his face to the ground so he could look underneath, then he saw a 
bundle stuck between the legs of the chair and the wall.

With his arms outstretched and his chest flat on the cold floor he 
reached under and grabbed it. Pulling it out roughly, he kicked it 
aside and slid the chairs back into place. Grabbing his mop and bucket 
he turned to walk away, but stopped suddenly as he noticed the dark 
stains on his hands.  The light was too dim to recognise it for what 
it was, but the wet feeling on his skin chilled him. He turned back to 
the chair and slowly walked over to the bundle he had kicked away so 
carelessly only moments ago.

It was brown cloth and coarse like a potato sack, tied several times 
around with blue twine. Looking closer, Michael noticed the same 
stains on the cloth as his hands as he reached out for it. It was 
heavy and uneven and there was a strong unrecognisable smell 
surrounding it, clinging to the rough cloth, so he dropped it quickly 
on an old discarded table that hugged the wall.

"Michael, you still down here?" Kevin yelled from the top of the 
stairs. "C'mon I need you up in the kitchen."

"Kevin!" Michael called without taking his eyes off the bundle. "You 
better get down here right away!"

"What's going on?"

"Come down!" Michael yelled out angrily and listened to the heavy 
thudding footsteps of his boss approaching. "I found something you 
should look at."

Kevin stood annoyed behind him, his hands on his hips and his brow 
furrowed angrily. "I have 45 guests out there waiting for dessert, 
this better be good," he muttered in a low impatient voice.

"I found this, hidden behind the chairs."

"What is it?"

"Dunno, but I think--I think it's covered in blood." Michael held up 
both his hands showing the dark staining on his skin. With careful, 
disgusted movements he pulled at the twine to loosen the package and 
pulled the sides apart.

The smell seemed to explode into the room like rotting meat and his 
stomach lurched.  The air in his mouth was stale and hard to swallow 
but he wasn't about to take a breath, the stench grew sharper still, 
making them both cover their mouths.

Kevin held his tie over his nose and mouth and gagged as Michael 
pulled his tee-shirt collar up to cover his own. Carefully reaching 
down with slow movements he removed the last piece of cloth to reveal 
two human feet; two hands and another unrecognisable piece of meat. 
The flesh and muscle were decaying and the bones at the joints were 
jagged where they had been sawn free of whoever the victim was. Blood 
stained the cloth on the inside and had leaked heavily though the 
material but it was obvious there was little of it left, although 
neither of them could tell how long this grim package had remained 
hidden where it had been there.

Michael turned away and managed to crouch over the mop bucket, before 
his stomach protested the smell and rejected the small breakfast he'd 
eaten earlier.

Looking down at his hands he suddenly realised what the dark stains 
were.  His stomach lurched again as he turned to see Kevin examining 
the dismembered limbs closely. But as his boss turned to him, he saw a 
revulsion that matched his own and then he noticed not only the feet 
and the hands but also the size of them. They were so much smaller 
than his own.

He looked down to his blood stained hands and somehow, suddenly, his 
brain realised that the severed limbs belonged to a child.

***

FBI Headquarters Basement Office.

The remainder of the day at the office was muted with a tremendous 
silence that smothered the air and seemed to suffocate them both. She 
sat at her desk looking at him from the corner of her eyes, but could 
offer him no more comfort then he had already rejected.

Watching the clock flick past four o' clock Scully sat back in her 
chair and sighed. The idea of her bubble bath lingered in the back of 
her mind but the black mood that Mulder was permeating was stopping it 
from forming into a full notion.

"You want to know why Agent Larkin hates me?" he said suddenly, 
dropping his pencil onto his desk and dragging his fingers loosely 
through his hair as he revived the question she had brought up a 
moment ago.

"Yes," she replied bluntly, focusing her eyes back on her screen.

"It's nothing really. Just a decaying hatred he has built up for me 
over the years." He stood to rifle through his case files, but she saw 
the movement as his offering of the proverbial olive branch. "You'd 
think a man of his age would be trying to bury the hatchet instead of 
keeping it festering."

"Festering over what?" Turning on her chair she faced him fully, her 
interest peaked.

"It's stupid--it's nothing." He shrugged it off but his refusal to 
meet her eyes intrigued her. "He'll be retiring soon and I won't have 
to deal with it anymore!" he added.

"You make it sound like you stole his woman!" she said laughing but 
stopped suddenly at the look on his face. "Mulder?"

"There may have been a member of the fairer sex involved--but I had no 
idea she was--with him."

"I can't believe this!" She tried to cover her smile with her hand but 
it wasn't working. "When did this happen?"

"A long long time ago. My second year in the bureau." Mulder admitted 
with a slight blush. "He was a big man on campus back then."

"Was it his wife?"

"His wife? No Scully!" he laughed at the preposterousness of the 
conversation but his mirth was cut off by the shrill sound of the 
phone. He snapped it up from its cradle. "Mulder."

After a short one-sided conversation Mulder hung up and grabbed his 
jacket from the back of the chair.  "That was Skinner. They found a 
new body. Looks like they need us after all. Ready for an autopsy?" 
Scully stood with him and followed him out to the stairwell without a 
word.

At Quantico the Lab had already been set up and AD Larkin met them in 
the lobby. His tie was missing and the top two buttons from his shirt 
had been undone. His face was clammy with a tinge of green lurking 
behind the surface. Scully walked in first and he extended his hand. 
She shook it carefully, not missing the fact that he swiftly put it 
back into his pocket as Mulder approached.

"It's in here," he said tersely, walking ahead into the lab allowing 
the agents behind him to exchange curious glances.

"It?" Mulder queried as they approached the large metal table that had 
been draped with a blue tarp.

"Gender is indistinguishable at the moment."

Beneath the coarse blue material she saw two feet, hands and another 
piece of flesh she couldn't recognise. Turning the small delicate hand 
in her own, she was physically sickened by the size of it. Having 
worked on so many cases, so may bodies and corpses she was able to 
control the urge she suddenly felt to flee.

The tiny fingers that she imagined didn't have the strength to defend 
against attack; the small feet that she thought had kicked out in vain 
only to fight a loosing battle. She gently placed the hand back onto 
the table and carefully touched the small foot.

"The body, or rather dismembered limbs of the body were found in the 
basement of a local guest house," Larkin sighed as he pinched the 
bridge of his nose to dispel the impending headache.

"Has the rest been located?" Mulder asked fearing the answer he was 
about to hear.

"Partially. The skull and scapula bones were found buried in a shallow 
grave behind the hotel." Flicking through more pages he kept his eyes 
on the jumble of words rather then the remains on the table.

"The body--" Scully couldn't from words to finish her sentence.

"It was fed to the wedding guests." Larkin said coolly, leaving Mulder 
and Scully speechless, their mouths agape.

"What?" Scully managed to choke out.

"It seems that a delivery of meat the hotel were expecting was 
cancelled unbeknownst to the chef, who arrived to work this morning to 
a fridge full of fresh meat." Larkin walked across the room to the 
stainless steel counter where he had placed the file. He pulled out 
the photos of the basement where the limbs had been found, from the 
back and reluctantly passed them to Mulder.

"Why would he bury the skull and save the feet and hands?" Scully 
queried, trying hard to tamp down her growing horror.

"Maybe he was saving them for another trip?" Larkin suggested chancing 
a glance at the table but looking away quickly.

"The chef accounts for 40lbs of meat that was ingested by the wedding 
party but even with the skull, scapula, feet and hands there is still 
a considerable a amount missing." Scully said mentally calculating it 
in her mind.

A hot uncontrollable wave of fury washed over her, boiling her blood 
and clouding her vision. Her trained fingers ran over the roughly 
jagged edges from where the foot had been severed when it caught her 
eye.

"There is something written here--"She reached overhead to fix the 
light and pulled it down closer to the smoother flesh of the remains. 
Across the flat, dismembered flesh, they tried to make out the small 
black text.

""He told me so often how good Human flesh was, I made up my mind to 
taste it."" She read aloud.

"Albert Fish," Mulder said by her left ear.

"Who?" Larkin asked stepping back as Mulder pulled on some gloves and 
gingerly touched the writing. He watched as Mulder examined the text 
as if he could derive something of the writer from it.

"Albert Fish. He was a serial killer in the 1920's. The basis for the 
Hannibal Lector movies."

"1920's?" Larkin was clearly annoyed at Mulder's fractured thoughts.

"The last quote was from Albert De Salvo. He was active during the 
1970's."

"These remains are fresh. Core temperature is still relatively high 
and decomposition has only just begun. I'd estimate it in the last 25 
- 20 hours." Scully pulled off her jacket and reached for the lab coat 
that hung on the stand by the door.

"There are agents already going through recent reports of missing 
children." Larkin said stepping back to give her more room as she 
donned headgear and a fresh pair of gloves. "We're still trying to 
identify the--the child."

"This guy isn't thinking about the victims. I don't think the victim 
is important." Mulder's voice was low and Scully wasn't sure if he 
meant to say it aloud or not.

"Maybe not to you Mulder, but there's a parent out there who is 
missing her child-" Larkin said tersely almost eager to disagree with 
him. "But you wouldn't care about that," he added coldly and Scully 
instinctively knew that comment had nothing to do with this current 
case.

"It's not about the child, or the lady in the apartment. It's about 
the killers. Albert De Salvo, Albert Fish." Mulder walked around the 
table as if he hadn't heard Larkin, peering closer at the severed 
limbs. "Ted Bundy, Charles Manson--Jeffery Dahlmer--John Gacy--"

"Where the hell are you going with this Mulder?" Larkin asked angrily 
his face flush with the effort of remaining calm.

"It seems to me that he isn't interested in who he is killing but more 
how he is committing these acts."

"That doesn't help us discover his identity."

"No, not yet. But obviously he is trying to understand some of the 
most notorious killers in history. Get into their heads. Did you know 
that over 80% of all known serial killers were at some point employed 
for some sort of Law Enforcement?"

Scully tried to catch his eye. Tried to stop his diatribe but it was 
no use; he was no longer seeing the room, the autopsy lab or the other 
people with him. All he was focused on was the body, what was left of 
it. The decaying limbs, the severed foot, the plain black text.

"I think you were right about these." Mulder pointed to the limbs on 
the table. "They weren't buried with the skull because he was saving 
them."

"Saving them for what?" Larkin asked, not entirely interested in 
Mulder's reply.

"He said it himself here--He told me so often how good Human flesh 
was, I made up my mind to taste it."" Mulder stood up straight and 
fixed his eyes on Larkin's angry stare. "Maybe he was going to eat 
it."


***

Georgetown University Library Carpark

Janice Smith juggled the heavy literature books in one hand as she 
tried to locate her keys from her pocket with the other. Finally her 
fingers brushed against the cold metal of her car key and she tugged 
on it to free it from her jeans pocket.  She winced at the scratching 
she could feel against her thigh as the jagged metal dragged across 
the inside of her pocket.

"Damn jeans, I knew they were too tight!" she muttered under her 
breath as she reached her car and dumped her books onto the roof. With 
both hands on the job now she pulled the keys out easily and quickly 
unlocked the door. She hurriedly placed her books onto the back seat 
and slipped out of her jacket and tossed it over them.

Glancing behind her, she dispersed the familiar chill down her spine 
that seemed to creep over her whenever she walked though the car lot 
alone. Only one other car sat in the lot and she knew it belonged to 
the Librarian. Jumping into her old Nissan she locked the door behind 
her and let out a little breath.

"Home James," she breathed aloud as she turned the key in the ignition 
and listened to her engine splutter to life. The small car shuddered 
in protest as she shoved the gear stick into reverse and pulled out of 
the space. She had parked right outside the doors to the library as 
usual, but it meant she had to travel the length of the car lot to get 
to the gate. With the sidewalks lined with trees and tall bushes, she 
always kept one eye on the road ahead and one eye on the pathway.

"Too many horror movies Janice!" she chastised herself as she reached 
the gate in safety. She settled into her seat and fumbled with the 
radio before checking the traffic and slipping the car into drive. 
Then she saw him.

Across the road with his leg in plaster up to his hip and a pile of 
books spilt out on the sidewalk before him, she recognised him from 
the library and had seen him there many times before. They had 
exchanged smiles and glances but no words had been uttered in the 
silent sanctuary of the library.

He had balanced one of his crutches against the wall as he tried to 
pick up his books, but even from across the road Janice could tell he 
was having terrible trouble. She glanced at her watch and saw it as 
nearing eleven thirty. Jack would be waiting, she argued with herself 
but she as watched his other crutch fall out from beneath him she 
sighed in resignation.

Driving quickly across the double lane road Janice Rolled her window 
down and smiled warmly.

"You look like you could do with a hand," she said unlocking the door 
and slipping off her seatbelt. Slowly he looked up and she saw his 
face red and sweaty with his efforts. He smiled in recognition and 
stood up fully.

"I'd prefer a foot but whatever you have to offer would be great,"

Janice jumped out of the car and quickly gathered his books. He passed 
her a backpack and she saw the broken zip through which they had 
fallen.

"Do you have another bag?" she asked.

"No, but it's okay. I'm getting the GUTS to Rosslyn station." He 
helped her bundle the books into the bag and tried to hold it closed 
as best he could

"Rosslyn Station? That's near Moore?"

"Yeah just around the corner."

"Let me give you a ride," Janice said suddenly much to her own 
surprise. "I'm going right by it."

"No I couldn't do that," he argued as he leaned back to reach for his 
crutch. "I couldn't impose."

"Please, I can't leave you struggling like this. It's only a few 
blocks."

"Are you sure?" he looked warily at her car.

"It's a tank!" she admitted sensing his concern about her car. "C'mon, 
get in."

She took his book bag from him and walked around to the passenger 
side. Dumping his bag onto the back seat, she held the door open for 
him and watched as he slowly made his way around to the seat. She'd 
pushed it back as far as it would go and he still had trouble fitting 
his cast in. But eventually, and with only a little pain he seemed 
settled.

Janice hurried around to her own seat and was soon buckled in next to 
him. She noticed immediately how his aftershave filled the car with 
that gorgeous masculine smell. Soap, aftershave and men, was there a 
better smell? She queried silently, casting him a sideways glance.

She gunned the engine, as a form of reassurance that it was still 
there and still needed, before pulling carefully out onto the road. 
Traffic around the university was light at this time of night and it 
wasn't long before she saw the bright lights of the metro station.

"That wasn't too hard now was it?" she said smiling as she pulled up 
near the entrance.

"It was a lot easier then I thought!" he admitted, shifting on his 
chair and facing her as much as his cast would allow.

"Do you need a hand up into the station?" She was looking out the 
window to the large entrance where a row of steps led to the ticket 
kiosk.

"No that's okay. I think I'll be staying here."

"Sorry?" she looked around to see him holding a small gun in his hand. 
It was nestled against his torso and out of view of passers by, but 
the barrel was unmistakably aimed at her head. "--What?"

"I want you to drive."

"Drive?" Her confusion was wild and she looked out to the metro 
station again. "Where?"

"Just start the car and drive. I'll let you know where to."

With shaking hands Janice pulled away from the curb and drove straight 
on Moore Street to Lynn Avenue, then continued north across the river 
back towards the university. It was all too soon that the familiar 
sights had disappeared; taking with them the small sense of hope she 
had been burgeoning since this nightmare began.

To her dismay they passed the university grounds and turned west onto 
Benton Street. He pointed towards the small garden park known as White 
Haven parkway and urged her to pull in silently. Janice killed the 
engine and kept her hands on the wheel. Her knuckles were white with 
tension as she turned slowly to see him. The hand holding the gun was 
lifted higher as he tugged on his cast and to her horror, she watched 
as it fell away from his leg.

"Get out of the car," he said tersely. Pushing open his own door he 
stepped out and quickly came around to meet her. "Move!"

He grabbed her elbow and dragged her towards the small park, pushing 
her through the broken hedge and following her with a sneer on his 
lips.

"What do you want?" Janice said suddenly finding the need to fight, 
the need to defend herself. "My boyfriend will be expecting me, he'll 
have called the police by now!"

"Yeah, sure." He pushed her further into the darkness and she looked 
up to the night sky. She could hear what little traffic there was on 
the surrounding roads but she doubted there was any hope that they 
would hear her. "Over there!"

He pushed her towards a group of willow trees and under the hanging 
branches. In the darkness he threw her to the ground and twisted her 
onto her back. She looked up to him with glistening eyes as he put the 
gun down and straddled her across her thighs. She wanted to buck him 
away but she was frozen in terror.

He smiled and ridiculously, she couldn't help but notice how nice and 
clean his even white teeth were. A dimple appeared on his left cheek 
and his eyes warmed, but as his hands fumbled at his belt she started 
to cry.

"No! Please! You have to let me go!" she wailed. "Please!"

She began beating her hands off his chest and twisting beneath him but 
he gripped her tightly with his knees and grabbed her hands. He held 
them up over her head stretching his torso along hers as he did. His 
nose brushed gently over her mouth, her cheek and across her eyes.

"Do you like it rough?" he whispered against her ear.

"Please--no," she whimpered, her tears flowing over her cheeks as she 
turned away from him.

He sat up again still holding her hands over her head and removed his 
belt. She screwed her eyes tightly shut as she prepared for his 
invasive touch but it never came. He released her hands and sat 
further up her torso, then lifted her head and slipped the coarse 
brown leather belt around her neck. He fed it through the buckle and 
tightened it around her neck forcing her to face forward.

She kept her eyes tightly shut to save herself from the horrible 
image, but as he tightened the belt they shot open wide with surprise. 
He forced her hands to rest alongside her body and pinned them there 
with his knees.

As she gasped for air and he tightened his belt she watched his smile 
deepen, darkening his chocolate brown eyes and lighting his whole face 
up.  Then she watched dumbly as his eyes turned a light shade of blue 
and his cheeks puffed out. His skin ruffled then smoothed out to make 
a different face.  Even his hair seemed to change colour to a sandy 
brown.

It all seemed so unreal until her lungs burned in pain and begged for 
release. Her legs kicked out fruitlessly and her mouth opened for the 
scream that would never come.

His eyes locked almost hypnotically with hers as he tightened the belt 
further, and one hand reached down to her abdomen to feel the rapid 
beating of her heart as her life fought the resistance.

Janice wanted to close her eyes, shut out the horror, but for some 
reason she couldn't. She held them open gasping for the air she so 
desperately wanted, until finally the darkness overcame her.


***


Mulder & Scully's Duplex

The sound of the phone was enough to wake her. It took a moment longer 
for her to roll towards the bedside table where the cordless set lay, 
but the ringing stopped before she could reach it.  But it was too 
late. She was awake now and she knew she wouldn't get back to sleep. 
It was only then that she realised she'd woken to an empty bed again. 
Patting the pillow and the bedclothes she felt they were still warm.

Scully sat forward and pushed the duvet from her legs. She slowly got 
off the bed and padded around the room out to the hall, grabbing one 
of her partner's tee shirts from the chair and slipping it over her 
head.  From the top of the stairs she could hear Mulder's muffled 
voice coming from the kitchen. Slowly she made her way downstairs and 
listened as his voice went quiet then heard him coming towards her.

Stopping two steps from the bottom, she placed her hands on each side 
of the stairs, watching as he approached. Delighted to see him wearing 
only his black boxers, she smiled at his ruffled bed-hair.

"Morning," he said standing at the bottom of the stairs and pulling 
her a step closer, his hands on her bare thighs. His fingers brushed 
the edges of her tee shirt and he was thrilled to see that she wasn't 
wearing any underwear. "What has you up so early Agent Scully?"

She circled his neck and leaned against him as his hands cupped her 
butt. "Early? What time is it?" she asked as he kissed the bottom of 
her neck.

"Quarter past five."

"Five?" She pulled away from him and looked out towards the window 
where the sun was leisurely making it's presence known. "Who was 
calling at five in the morning?"

"Skinner." His hands moved up her back pulling her against him tighter 
and he felt the tension intersect the muscles in her back across her 
shoulders.

"Skinner?"

"Yeah." Resigned to the fact that they had work to do, Mulder slapped 
her playfully then turned her round and followed her up the stairs. 
"AD Larkin called him and told him about another body."

"Why did he call Skinner?" she asked as an after thought as she went 
into the bathroom and flipped on the shower, before pulling towels 
from the hotpress.

"He may have accepted our help on this case but I don't think he's 
ready yet to ask for it outright." Scully stepped into the shower and 
quickly washed herself down, lathering her hair with shampoo. With her 
eyes closed and her fingers knotted into her hair she didn't see 
Mulder stepping in behind her and only realised he was there when his 
fingers replaced hers in her hair.

"You never did explain to me why he hates you so much." She teased, 
tilting her head back so he could reach her better.

"Didn't I?" He brought her head under the warm spray and rinsed it off 
and she realised he was stalling.

"So? Aren't you going to tell?" she asked as they swapped positions 
and he stood under the water.

"There is nothing to tell really." He tilted his head back and let the 
warm water caress his face.

"I'll find out sooner or later Mulder so you may as well tell me now!" 
Stepping out of the shower Scully draped a warm towel around herself 
against the chill and watched as he pretended he hadn't heard her. He 
lathered his hair with closed eyes as she sat on the closed toilet and 
waited.

"You still here?" he jibed playfully when he turned off the shower and 
stepped out to grab his own towel.

"C'mon Mulder!" her eyes sparkled as his cheeks flushed and he knew it 
was a loosing battle. "Sharing is caring!"

He laughed out loud, a raw chortle at her angelic expression as he 
soaped his face up with shaving cream. Standing in front of the mirror 
he could see her watching him from the other side of the small 
bathroom, a determined smile embracing her lips and lighting her eyes.

It had been too long since he had seen her like that. Too long since 
he had put that expression on her face and as he turned his own smile 
faded.

"I love you Scully," he said suddenly serious, causing her smile to 
falter for a second, then it returned if somewhat faded.

"Don't try to weasel out of this one Mulder," she chuckled glancing at 
her watch as she stood and walked towards the door. "Don't make me go 
Special Agent on you!" she added over her shoulder as she went to 
their room to dress.

By the time Mulder had finished shaving he heard Scully pottering in 
the kitchen. No doubt making toast and coffee that she'd force him to 
have.  He smiled, wondering how he would explain that he had been up 
for ages and had already eaten three of the bagels she was saving for 
lunch.

Looping his tie around his neck he raced downstairs and snatched a 
slice of buttered wheat toast off her plate before she could offer it.

"We have twenty minutes to get to Quantico," he informed her around a 
mouthful of breakfast.

"We?" she queried finishing off her last slice and putting the plate 
into the sink.

"Well I'll drop you at Quantico." He fixed his tie as they walked 
through the kitchen and took the coat she handed out.

"And you?"

"I'm going out to the precinct to meet Detective Brice who called in 
the murder."


***

14 Thomas Street

The dull grey of the computer screen was the only illumination in the 
room. With the heavy curtains drawn and all the windows shut, the air 
was warm and stale with the smell of rotting meat permeating every 
crevice. But he didn't even notice it anymore. It was part of him. 
Part of what he had created. The smell of victory, he decided 
chuckling to himself as he raised the cold glass of milk to his lips.

He had been staring at the computer screen for so long that the words 
had become jumbled, insincere. After arriving home on such a high last 
night he got immediately to writing, but that had been over eight 
hours ago and the adrenaline rush had worn off. He typed the last 
sentence over and over again, until the words held no meaning and he 
knew his train of thought could not be recaptured. He templed his 
fingers before him and concentrated on the text he'd written in an 
urge to encapsulate the feeling he had lost. Then started to type 
again.

He was a handsome, charming, urbane and extrovert graduate, who did 
charity work and campaigned for the Republican Party in the USA - Ted 
Bundy did not fit the bill as a serial killer.
 
And that was his great advantage.

"You feel the last bit of breath leaving their body. You're looking 
into their eyes. A person in that situation is God."

God? Through the creation of life we can ourselves feel godly but with 
death will it be the same? Do I take the role of the almighty deity?

He read aloud what he had just typed and smiled.

Saving the word file, he pushed the chair away and stood up with 
curling limbs as he stretched the aches away. He lifted the now empty 
glass from the desk and brought it out to the sink where he rinsed and 
left it on the sideboard to dry.  Checking the clock over the stove he 
noticed he still had another hour before classes began so he strolled 
to the bathroom and started the shower. Undressing in the total 
darkness of his bedroom he grabbed a towel from the press and stepped 
into the steam filled room.

After thoroughly washing himself down he wrapped the towel around his 
waist and stood before the mirror to shave. Slowly and with 
well-practised ease he pulled the straight razor across his cheeks 
until it was as smooth as he desired. He splashed warm water over his 
face and rubbed in the moisturiser.

He took his time choosing his shirt and tie and finally decided on the 
white shirt with dark red tie.  It contrasted wonderfully with the 
black Jacket and trousers, he thought as he carried his shoes 
downstairs. In the kitchen he glanced at the kettle as he tied his 
laces and decided against coffee. Wanting a latte instead, he thought 
he'd grab one on the way. Opening the fridge he tried to ignore the 
rotten smell as he took a swig of milk from the carton before grabbing 
his keys and sauntering down the steps of his front door. The sun was 
high and bright today as he walked through the morning pedestrian 
traffic.

On the corner of the block was the coffee shop he frequented so often. 
He no longer had to ask for his order. As soon as the waitress spotted 
him walking in she prepared his latte and wrapped up a slice of marble 
cake. He winked at her as he handed over a few bills and told her, as 
usual, to keep the change.

"Can I offer you a lift sir?" He'd just stepped outside into the light 
and was blinded for a moment by the brilliance of the sun. The words, 
the simple gesture of kindness caused his heart to beat a rapid rhythm 
in his chest. He held up his hand to shade his eyes from the sun and 
spotted Carrie Goldman in a sporty red car by the curb.  She watched 
him with a flirty smile as her hair cascaded around her face." 
Professor Brown?" she purred when he didn't reply.

"Carrie, good morning," he managed to say as he deliberately slowed 
his breathing and tried to ignore his heart's lurch into his stomach.

"I'm just on my way to the university. Can I offer you a lift 
Professor?"

"No that's ok. It's only a couple of blocks. I'll enjoy the walk."

"Your parents told you not to take lifts from strangers?" she said 
laughing as she started the engine smoothly and slipped on a pair of 
sunglasses; not noticing that he didn't laugh with her as she pulled 
away from the curb.


***

Washington DC Police Dept Idaho Ave

"Suspect?" Mulder queried, his voice high with surprise as they 
entered the exam room next to an occupied interview room.

"No. He called us last night to report his girlfriend missing." Mulder 
looked through the interview window to the young man who was nervously 
sipping luke-warm water from a plastic cup. "We told him to come by 
this morning and file a report."

"He hasn't officially identified the body?" Mulder asked looking 
through the pictures in his hand of the crime scene that was 
discovered early this morning.

"No but as he was waiting at the reception area, Detective Pearson was 
carrying the evidence bag from the murder scene and he recognised her 
belongings." Mulder closed his eyes and bit off a curse.

"Do you mind if I talk to him?" Mulder asked, remembering to ask 
before barging in and taking control of their investigation. He smiled 
inwardly with the knowledge of Scully's influence and slipped the 
photos back into the file folder on the table.

"Not at all."

Mulder nodded at Detective Brice and slipped out of the room. He 
paused a moment by the interview room door and took a breath. As he 
opened the door the young man looked up, his eyes red raw from the 
unshed tears and his arms hugged tightly to his body as if racked with 
a chill.

"Mr Jack Douglas?" Mulder extended his hand and waited for him to 
shake it. He took a seat across from him and leaned forward, 
interlocking his fingers before him. "I am special Agent Fox Mulder 
from the FBI."

"FBI? What the hell? FBI? Where is she? Why won't they tell me 
anything?" His speech was slurred and rapid, quivering with the 
emotion he was experiencing.

"When did you last see your girlfriend?" Mulder asked allowing him to 
take a breath before answering.

"Last night." Jack wrang his hands together then wiped his palms on 
his jeans. His eyes darted from Mulder to the large mirror that was on 
the wall. "I got in from work at seven and we chatted for five minutes 
before she left."

"Where did she go?"

"She always goes to the university library on Friday nights. A study 
group." He gulped down the last of his drink.

"She attends one of the local universities?"

"Georgetown. She's just finishing her degree in Chemistry."

"Do you know who is in that group with her?" Mulder pulled a notepad 
from his breast pocket and prepared to take the names down.

"Three of her class mates. Jerry Conway, Matt Wilson and Kate Young."

"What time does she usually return home?" Mulder walked over to the 
dispenser and poured himself and Jack more water.

"Usually around eleven but she has stayed as late as 1am, usually only 
if she has an exam coming up. She was supposed to be home last night 
though."

"Why do you say that?"

"We had booked theatre tickets. For the late show. The AMC were 
showing the Star Wars triple bill starting at midnight."

"When did you call the precinct?"

"A little after midnight. At first I was just mad at her for 
forgetting, but I called Matt's place and he said they all left just 
before eleven and that she was speaking with the librarian."

"So you began to worry?" Mulder inferred urging him to continue to 
speak.

"I tried calling her cell but it kept going to that damn message 
minder." He sipped his drink and Mulder sympathetically watched as 
more tears welled up. "I thought maybe she had car trouble but I 
figured she would have phoned or texted. So I called the police. They 
said I had to wait 24 hours before I made a report." He sneered and 
rolled his eyes looking at the mirror with contempt.

"So you came down first thing this morning?" Mulder prompted.

"Yeah. I couldn't sleep much so I was down here by five this morning. 
They made me wait a couple of hours and as I was waiting I saw a cop 
carrying in Janice's backpack."

"You are sure it was hers?"

"Yes. I made it. I'm a graphic designer," he added at Mulder's quirked 
eyebrow. "It has a design of a dragon on the back of it and some 
Chinese writing on the side."

Mulder looked at the mirror and nodded. Within ten seconds there was a 
light rap on the door and it was immediately opened. Zip locked in a 
large evidence bag was a navy blue backpack; the dragon design just as 
Jack had described on the back. He pulled the bag closer and began to 
open the evidence bag.

"I'm afraid we can't let you do that. It is still being processed," 
Mulder said kindly, placing his hand over Jack's to stop him tearing 
open the plastic barrier.

"Processed?" the expression of confusion on Jack's face was so 
innocent that Mulder had to look away. He removed the bag from the 
table and passed it back to the officer who carried it in, swallowing 
hard.

"This morning at four fifteen there was a female body discovered at 
Whitehaven Parkway."

"A body?" Jack barely whispered as he slumped back in his chair and 
Mulder watched as the color physically drained from his face.

"The physical description matches that of Janice Smith. Her car was 
found a few blocks away."

"Can-- can I see her?" Jack's tears fell loosely about his face, 
streaming across his cheeks and blurring his vision. His voice cracked 
as he sat up and tried to regain control of his emotions but Mulder 
could see he was fighting a loosing battle.

"Of course."  He patted his arm sympathetically, " I'll arrange 
everything."

The scraping sound of the chair disguised Jack's sobs as Mulder pushed 
away from the table and left the room. Detective Brice was waving at 
him to join him from across the room.

"Agent Mulder, we might need your help with this one!" Detective Brice 
said as he held his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and lowered 
it from his angry face.

"What's that?" Mulder asked as he crossed the bullpen towards him.

"Library security won't release footage till we get a warrant." Brice 
handed him the phone and Mulder took it with a grimace, wishing 
immediately that Scully was here to smooth out this stuff.

"Hello?"

"You need a warrant to get it, I don't care," Came the terse reply 
from the other end of the phone.

"This is Special Agent Fox Mulder with the FBI."

"I don't care if you are the godammed Pope. Call me when you get your 
warrant." To Mulder's surprise the phone suddenly went dead. With a 
bewildered smile he passed the receiver back to Brice who was shaking 
his head slowly.

"He said we should call back, with a warrant."

"And with a few more choice words too I'm sure! What an asshole." 
Brice rolled his eyes heavenwards.

"I'll sort out the warrant and collect the footage. I want to see if 
maybe librarian will remember Janice. Can you get someone to call 
these three? Apparently she was studying with them last night." He 
ripped out the page of his notebook and handed it to Detective Brice.

"Sure. I'll take Douglas to the morgue to officially identify the 
body."

"Okay. Will you call Agent Scully first to make sure she's ready for 
viewing?"

"No problem."


*** 1/3

2/3

Quantico Autopsy Lab

Dana Scully pulled the latex gloves off quickly and tossed it aside. 
Rushing over to the counter, she grabbed a notebook and pen and 
hurried back to the cold body on the slab. She pressed the record 
button on the recorder again and reached overhead to aim the light for 
a better view of the text then carefully she jotted it down it down.

"You feel the last bit of breath leaving their body. You're looking 
into their eyes. A person in that situation is God!" she read aloud. 
"The text is clearly written in a soft text that appears was tattooed 
on with great care. No residual bleeding on the fresh wound either 
suggesting it was post mortem. " She turned to find her phone when it 
began ringing and smiled as she spotted his name on the ID display.

"Mulder, how do you do it?"

"Pure skill mixed with raw unadulterated manly talent," came the quick 
reply.

"I was just about to ring you." She said glancing down at the page in 
her hand.

"You found something?" She could hear he was driving; she hated 
talking on the phone with him while he was driving.

"Yes. On her belt buckle I found some calcium sulphate CaCo3.1/2H2O. 
According to the local police chief I spoke to a moment ago there were 
traces of it in her car too."

"And that would be?"

"Plaster of Paris."

"Did she have a broken bone?"

"Not according to her recent medical records."

"What else?" He asked knowing she was holding more.

"Another quote," she said, and then read it aloud for him.

"Ted Bundy," he came back immediately.

"Where are you going Mulder?" she asked finally, realising he was 
still driving.

"Back to the Hoover building. I need to get warrants to secure video 
footage from the university library. There is a young man coming to 
identify the body soon. Will she be ready?"

"Yes. I'm done here." Scully glanced sadly over at the body on the 
table and mentally calculated the time she'd need to make her ready 
for viewing.

"Okay I'll pick you up on the way to the library."


***

Georgetown University

The students filed out quickly, racing through the corridors to make 
it to their next lecture. Michael Brown watched them silently making 
sure each student dropped their report on his desk as they filed by. 
Most of the girls cast hopeful smiles in his direction but he paid 
them no heed, watching the reports pile up instead.

"Professor?" turning slowly to his right he saw Aimee Traxler 
approaching his desk rather sheepishly. She clutched her folder to her 
chest and fixed her eyes on a point on his cheek, refusing to make eye 
contact with him. "Sir, I was wondering if I could get an extension."

"Extension?" He toyed with her, enjoying the way the muscles in her 
face scrunched up with nerves.

"I didn't get time to finish my report. I've been working so hard at 
the paper this month that everything got away from me." She knew she 
was babbling now and she tried to stop the flow of clumsy words that 
cascaded from her dry mouth but she couldn't help it.

"Is my class too difficult for you Aimee?"

"No sir, it's just the time-"

"You had no time put aside to do your report?"

"I had sir, but the paper kept calling me about the bodies they found 
in the city, they needed articles on it and its my job, I need the 
money to pay the rent." Aimee's cheeks burned hot under the curious 
gazes of her fellow students as they watched her squirm.

"The report was due today. You have until 3pm to have it on my desk. 
No later."

"Sir!" Aimee began but he had gathered up the pile of pages and turned 
to leave the room.

"3PM Aimee. No Later or you will fail my class. Now run along."

"Yes sir," came her soft defeated reply.

Michael Brown stepped through the corridor, his face clear of the 
thrill he was feeling. He loved his job, the constant interaction with 
students, and the mixture of emotions of fear, happiness, joy and 
confusion that emanated from the students on a daily basis.

He stepped into his office and locked the door behind him. Folding all 
the reports he held, he neatly fit them into the trashcan before 
sitting at his desk and reaching for the red folder from the bottom 
drawer.

Slowly he opened it and flicked through the pages towards the end. 
With an orange highlight marker he ruled lines across a name on the 
list -- Ted Bundy, then added yesterday's date and a computer filename 
after it.


***

Georgetown University Library

Scully climbed out of the car and took a deep breath of fresh air into 
her lungs. After being in the autopsy lab all morning she welcomed the 
stinging breeze that tickled her throat and wafted through her hair.

"This guy was on a major power trip this morning," Mulder said 
mockingly as he fiddled with the warrant in his hand and pulled his 
badge out of his pocket.

"He was within his right to demand a warrant Mulder."

"Maybe, but when its someone's life, its annoying as hell."

They walked through the main doors and Scully stood back a little as 
Mulder slapped the warrant purposefully on the reception desk and held 
his badge out to the baffled looking receptionist.

"Special Agent Fox Mulder with the FBI. I'm here to collect the video 
footage from your CCTV cameras."

"You'll need to speak to Kip, let me call him." With trembling fingers 
she dialled through to the security office and spoke quickly. After 
replacing the receiver she looked up to Mulder and nodded. "He is on 
his way down."

Mulder turned to Scully and took a few steps closer.

Kip. He mouthed soundlessly in her direction, and then rolled his 
eyes.

"People in glass houses...Fox!" she replied and he grinned.

Just then a small door to the left of the entrance opened quickly and 
a small stout man with receding hairline and an expanding waistline 
marched over to them. Mulder held his badge out stiffly and handed him 
the warrant.

"We need to collect the footage immediately. Any hesitation on your 
part will result in immediate arrest."

"This way." Kip stiffly led them through the door and into the 
security hub where a bank of televisions covered one wall.

"Can we see the footage from last night?"

"What time?"

"From 10 pm to 4 am," Scully butted in and leaned forward, resting her 
hands on the console to get a closer look.

The footage whizzed by and at precisely 11.24 the unmistakable figure 
of Janice Smith left the library and hurried to her car. Scully 
watched the monitor as the body she had been examining all morning was 
brought to life on the grainy black and white screen. She was seen 
unlocking her car getting in and driving off the scene towards the 
gateway.

"Nothing. You?" Mulder asked.

"No."

"Do you have anything from a different angle?"

"No sir, we cover the door and the grounds, but nothing else on the 
entrance."

"I need that tape."

Kip ejected the tape and passed it over to Mulder with a crooked 
smile.

"Sorry about earlier but we get a lot of crank call from the 
students."

Mulder grudgingly grunted his acceptance then left, Scully smiling in 
his wake before following him quickly. She found him leaning against 
the tall reception desk speaking softly with the librarian.

"She was in here last night with four students. Left at about 11.30. 
Do you recall her?"

"No, I'm afraid not." The librarian was visibly shaken and Scully 
appreciated the soft tones Mulder took with her, easing her through 
his questions. "Has something happened?"

"We're just tracing her whereabouts. So you don't remember her?"

"I'm afraid we get so many students in this time of year. With thesis 
studies and exams on..." her voice trailed off and Mulder slipped his 
card across the marble surface.

"Well if anything comes back to you, let me know."

"I will."

Mulder smiled and turned to walk out the large double doors. However 
instead of climbing into the car, Mulder walked away from the building 
towards the entrance at the road.

"Mulder?"

"If she made it to her car safely, then how did he get in her car?" he 
mused aloud to no one in particular. "The plaster was in her car so he 
must have been in it before the murder. If it was afterwards he would 
have driven the car further away."

Scully followed him and they both walked the short distance to the 
gateway. Across the road they spotted the bus stop and little else. 
The buildings were mainly residential with little or no security 
measures in place.

"You know Ted Bundy used to have a fake cast. He would put it on his 
leg and pretend to be injured to lure women into his car, under the 
guise of helping him."

"You think that's what he did?"

"We saw her get into her car. She made it. There was no delay when she 
got in that would indicate someone was waiting for her in the 
backseat." He watched the traffic for a break then raced over to the 
bus shelter, Scully in tow. "It's possible he was waiting here for 
her."

"Mulder maybe in the 70's you'd stop to help a stranger but not now a 
days."

"Maybe he was someone she knew. Maybe that's why she stopped." 
Stooping low on the ground he spotted two white marks that looked like 
chalk on the pavement "See this?"

Scully rubbed her fingers off them and brushed the tips of her fingers 
against each other. She glanced up at Mulder with a knowing look, then 
took a tissue from her pocket and brushed it roughly over the 
markings. As she slipped the tissue into a concealed evidence bag 
Mulder pulled out his cell phone and called for a crime scene unit.


***

FBI Headquarters

Sitting in the meeting room, Mulder swivelled gently from side to side 
on his chair watching the door and waiting for Agent Larkin to make 
his entrance. Next to him Scully was reading over her autopsy report, 
knowing she would be asked to go over it aloud, dumbing it down for 
non- medically trained agents.

"Do you think this is for my benefit?" he asked softly, leaning 
towards her and resting his elbows and forearms on the table.

"Don't be so hedonistic," she said without looking up. "He is trying 
to make an entrance, assert his authority. But I don't think it is 
purely for your benefit."

"Maybe not," Mulder conceded, leaning back on is chair to swivel some 
more.

Just then the door swung open admitting AD Larkin's confident gait. He 
had shed his jacket and had rolled his sleeves up past his elbows but 
his tie remained securely fastened to his collar.

"Okay, what have we got? Autopsy, Agent Scully?" he said as he crossed 
the room to the top of the table, his eyes focusing on the sheets of 
paper in his hand. He offered no one a look and barely gave the 
impression he was listening.

"Janice Smith died of asphyxiation. She was strangled with a leather 
belt with a steel buckle. I found bruising on her torso and abrasions 
on her hands to suggest that she was restrained with her arms by her 
side. Possible he straddled her while choking her." Scully spoke 
loudly and clearly, looking straight at AD Larkin.

"Any text on her body?" Larkin asked glancing up at her over the rim 
of his glasses.

"Yes sir. A Ted Bundy quote. "'You feel the last bit of breath leaving 
their body. You're looking into their eyes. A person in that situation 
is God.""  Scully let her words sink in before continuing. "Also on 
her belt and in her car I found traces of calcium sulphate 
CaCo3.1/2H2O." She saw the bewildered looks on the agent's faces then 
added, "Plaster of Paris."

"Ted Bundy used fake leg casts," Agent Daly supplied.

"We obtained the security footage from the University Library this 
morning and confirmed Janice Smith left at 11.24pm. She got into her 
car and drove away from university property safely," Mulder spoke up.

"However across the street at a bus stop Agent Mulder found traces of 
calcium sulphate on the pavement. We called a CSI unit immediately."

"On the Scene?" AD Larkin looked over to Agent Jones who was heading 
up the CSI Unit.

"We found the calcium sulphate but little else. Cigarette buts and 
hair samples we took are being processed for prints and DNA but it was 
a public bus stop, so there is no guarantee they belong to our perp."

"We interviewed several drivers from different bus routes who would 
have been at the bus stop between 10.30 and 12 and some of them 
remember seeing a man on crutches." Agent Holwel added. He pulled from 
his folder a photofit picture and passed copies around the room.

"Approx. 6 foot 2. 120 pounds. Light brown hair well trimmed and well 
dressed. He had his left leg in a cast from hip to ankle and was 
carrying a backpack of books. He didn't get on or off any of the buses 
and was leaning against the wall."

"He was spotted at 10.20 by a bus driver named Damien Wright but 
wasn't there at 10.10 when Maggie Marks drove by."

Mulder stared down at the picture before him. There was nothing 
remarkable about this man. No distinguishable scars or marks on his 
face that would make him easily spottable. His eyes were open, wide 
and Mulder stared into them intensely wondering what made him do the 
things he did.

"So what's next?" AD Larkin asked the room.

"I'm meeting with Detective Brice in half an hour. He was interviewing 
her study partners," Mulder offered.

"We are waiting for results to come back on the prints and DNA."

"Okay then. Get to it." Larkin stood up and watched as the agents 
gathered their files and left the room. "Agent Mulder, a word."

Mulder cast Scully a wary glance before turning back to the table. He 
dropped his files on the table but refused to sit down. When the last 
Agent had left the room and closed the door behind him leaving them 
alone, AD Larkin slowly took his glasses off and folded them into his 
breast pocket.

"If you ever go over my head to authorise a warrant and a CS Unit 
again, I will have you busted down so quickly...." Larkin ground out 
angrily, his hands spread out on the table before him and his eyes 
boring into Mulder's.

"Sir?" Mulder faltered.

"You continuously try to undermine my authority and I won't have it. 
Once more Mulder...just try it again and you'll regret it."

Larkin stood stiffly and stalked from the room, leaving Mulder staring 
dumbfounded after him. He leaned back against the table and watched as 
Scully re-entered the room.

"What was all that about?"

"He just wanted to chew me a new one for getting a warrant for the 
video footage and calling the CS unit without his authorisation. A job 
he should have done but didn't. "

"What?" Scully said surprised leaning back next to him.

"He's just not going to let it go."

"Let what go Mulder. What did you do? Why does he hate you?"

Mulder looked over to her and knew it was time to tell her. Regardless 
of how embarrassing it would be.

"Okay. I'll tell you on the way to the precinct."

Mulder led the way silently to the car and pulled out into the midday 
traffic without uttering a word. Scully let him drive a couple more 
blocks before turning to face him.

"Well?"

"Huh?" he said in mock confusion glancing at her sideways.

"Tell me Mulder. Spill."

"Okay." He pulled up at a red traffic light and drummed his fingers 
rhythmlessly on the steering wheel. "It happened years ago."

"Yeah, yeah I heard this bit...second year in the bureau...what 
happened?" she teased, smiling at his obvious discomfort.

"It was at the Directors Christmas Ball. Back when I was still out to 
impress and attended those god awful events."

Scully laughed, knowing his disdain for those nights now.

"I attended with a friend of mine from the academy but she quickly 
hooked up and left me to fend for myself."

"Poor you."

"I know! Well I was at the bar, I started talking to a woman and she 
actually fell for my clumsy attempt at conversation. We laughed and 
talked for a while then I asked her to dance. I'm not sure why. It 
must have been the whiskey talking."  Behind them a car beeped them to 
move with the traffic and Mulder slipped the car into gear and took 
off. He concentrated on driving for a while longer then continued 
talking.

"We pretty much danced for most of the night and as everything was 
rolling up to an end, I felt a finger tap my shoulder."

"AD Larkin?" Scully guessed.

"Agent Larkin at the time...wondering if he might spend some time with 
his date..."

Scully covered her mouth with her hand in mock shock.

"Right in the middle of the dance floor," Mulder said, "She started to 
explain how she had attended the ball with him only as a friend and 
now wanted me to escort her home."

"Oh Mulder!"

"Needless to say AD Larkin was livid. To his credit he didn't do 
anything further that night but ever since he has had it out for me."

"And you and this mystery heart breaker?" Scully inquired teasingly, 
"did you make it worth her while?"

"I never kiss and tell Scully!"

Scully laughed sensing there was more to that story than he was 
letting on. More to the mystery woman than he was willing to reveal 
but she didn't push, Mulder looked embarrassed enough. Even more 
surprising was the childish grudge of a grown man like Larkin.


***

Fort Totten Park

Michael Brown watched from the back of the crowds. His eyes scanned 
the room for the long silky blonde hair he craved. He could already 
feel the silky strands between his fingers and he felt himself 
hardening at the prospect of making it real. Thankful for the cover of 
darkness as he ambled through the park, he worked his way through the 
crowd that had gathered for the midnight concert by the local 
orchestra.

The music was soulful as it drifted through the still night air. Most 
people had brought blankets to sit on but some hovered near the back, 
content to listen to the sounds while standing. The carefully executed 
performance across the grand piano stalled even Michael's thoughts as 
he halted a moment to immerse himself in the haunting music.

Then he saw her.

She sat alone on a red and blue chequered blanket with tasselled 
endings. Spread out on it next to her was some music sheets and 
notebooks that she scribbled things down whenever the mood struck her.

Michael circled slowly around her in a wide perimeter to get a better 
view. From the front he could see the pale complexion of her 
beautifully clear skin. Her eyes he couldn't make out but decided to 
examine them closer when he got the chance. Her hands moved fluidly 
along the music sheets as she noted down the sounds that drifted over 
her, the riffs that touched her and the thoughts they provoked.

Perfect, Michael thought, wondering how he would sit next to her, 
strike up the conversation and get her alone. Then with a sinking 
heart he watched as another man approached her, with two glasses of 
wine in his hands he crouched beside her and proffered one glass 
towards her. He couldn't hear their words but from the surprised 
expression on her face it wasn't an expected intrusion. She declined 
his offer of the glass of wine and gestured towards the work she was 
doing, before smiling warmly at him as he turned and left.

Michael wasn't sure if he was glad that she was still alone or worried 
now that he might get the same reaction. For a moment longer he 
watched the crowd, then as the couple that were sitting next to him 
rose to get some more wine from a vendor behind them an idea struck 
him.

Quickly he gathered up their blanket and walked away from the crowds. 
Back at his car, he took a notebook and a pencil from the glove box 
and folded the blanket carefully under his arm. Shedding his coat, he 
loosened his shirt collar and tie and made his way back to the park in 
a seemingly random route. When he approached her from behind, he 
avoided all contact with her and secured a spot on the grass to the 
left and just in front of her.

Laying the blanket out before him, he took the notebook out and 
started to line the pages with the five recognisable lines for music 
notation. When he had the page fully lined, he summoned up all the 
musical lessons he could remember and started to take note of the 
melodies that played around him.

He had filled the first page and was beginning to line the second page 
when her voice called out to him softly.

"Excuse me?" He ignored it the first time and concentrated on lining 
his page as best he could, delighting in her persistence. "Excuse me?"

"Me? Were you talking to me?" he half turned to her inquiringly.

"I see you are taking note of the music."

"Trying to. I forgot my music note book, so I'm trying to make do."

"I can give you some sheets if you'd like." He turned fully towards 
her with an easy smile and watched as she pulled out some pages of her 
notebook and handed them out to him.

"Thank you, that would be great."

"No problem. Nothing worse then the homemade music bars!"

"I'm Joe by the way." He took the pages and held out his hand.

"Stephanie."

Feeling he was near her limit of intrusion he smiled warmly at her and 
turned back to his work, hoping she wouldn't want to compare notes at 
the end.

When the orchestra had finished playing and the crowds began to slowly 
dissipate, Michael took his time gathering up his things. He couldn't 
help but notice that she was stalling too.

"Beautiful wasn't it?" he ventured as he folded his blanket clumsily.

"Yes. They played a lovely rendition of Brandenburg's concerto."

"Quite."

"Do you play?" she asked.

"I play piano and dabble in violin but I wouldn't say it is suitable 
for human consumption." He laughed and she smiled with him. "You? Do 
you play?"

"I used to play violin with the national orchestra in New York but not 
anymore."

Without realising it they began to walk away from the park towards the 
bank of cars near the entrance. Michael deliberately slowed their pace 
hoping the crowds would be lessened by the time they got there.

"Oh? Why not?"

"I was in a car accident a couple of years ago. Broke my hand and 
severed my nerves." Her voice was steady as she spoke but he caught 
the glint of regret in her eyes.

As they crossed the car park, she fumbled in her pocket for her keys 
and opened the driver's door.

"It was a pleasure talking with you, Joe."

"And you." He watched as she climbed in and buckled her seatbelt, then 
screamed inside with triumph as she rolled the window down.

"Is your car here?"

"No I'm staying in a hotel a couple of blocks away. The Plaza."

"Can I offer you a lift?"

"No, that's okay I couldn't impose."

"It's no problem. It's the least I can do for a fellow music lover."

He climbed in beside her and smiled as she drove off. She parked 
across the road from the hotel and accepted his offer of a nightcap in 
the hotel bar. They claimed two comfy seats near the back of the room 
and sat close sipping wine and talking softly. The bar staff topped up 
their drinks without being asked and soon Stephanie was surprised to 
see the creeping rays of daylight color the city streets outside.

"Oh my, it's late."

"Or early," Michael added, moving his hand from her knee, where it had 
rested most of the night, to her cheek.

"I better go," she said softly but made no move to do so.

"Stay," he whispered, kissing her cheek where his fingers had just 
stroked. "Stay with me."

One arm snaked around her shoulders pulling her closer and the other 
crept up her knee to her thigh and circled her waist. She slid easily 
onto his lap sitting sideways with her head on his shoulder. He bent 
slowly and kissed her warmly. His mouth was warm and wet against her 
lips and she sighed into the kiss, parting her lips for him and 
allowing him to kiss her deeper.

"Will you come upstairs to my room?" he asked in between the butterfly 
kisses trailing her neck as his lips covered as much of her skin as he 
dared in this semi public area.

"Yes," she panted.

He slid her off his lap onto her feet and followed her closely. Taking 
her hand, he led her through the empty bar and lobby to an elevator 
behind reception. Once the door closed, offering them more privacy 
than they had all night, he pressed her to the elevator wall and 
pushed his body against her.

She couldn't help the desire that coursed through her as he squeezed 
her breast through her blouse, nipped at her ear lobe and licked her 
neck in small teasing strokes. The elevator ride was all too short to 
the fifth floor. He all but pulled her out of the confines and along 
the hall to his room.

Once inside, all the resolve disappeared as they hungrily shed 
clothes. His shirt and tie fell next to her skirt and blouse. Her 
underwear came off so easily, the silky material slipping against her 
satin skin to the floor in a luxurious puddle.

"Joe," she breathed softly.

"Shhh," he urged as he dropped the rest of his clothes and peeled off 
his socks. "Don't say it. I'm not used to the passion you bring out in 
me. I've never done anything like this before."

"Me neither."

He knew they were he words she wanted to hear. The words she longed 
for of reassurance.

"Lets not ruin it!" he urged his smile crooked and hopeful as he let 
his finger trace an invisible line from her chin to her navel. She let 
her head fall back as he stepped closer and covered her body with his 
tongue. His hands stroked her back, cupping her buttocks and pulling 
her against him and his obvious desire.

"Can I..." he gestured to her hair that she still had tied back in a 
loose pony tail. "take your hair down?"

"Of course," she said breathlessly.

He moved around her back and let his hands cover her breasts as his 
lips found the sensitive spots on her neck. Slowly and teasingly he 
pulled on the loose tie that held it all in place and let her silky 
blonde hair cascade down her back. His fingers ran through it 
opulently and moved it over her shoulder so his lips could continue to 
kiss her.

"Oh Joe," she sighed trying to reach around to touch him but he evaded 
her finger light caress.

"No Stephanie, I won't be much use for very long if you do that," he 
said laughingly. Then taking her hand he led her over to the bed and 
pushed her back gently against the mattress. He rested over her, 
balancing his weight on his forearms as he started to kiss her 
heavily, urgently. Without volition from him, her legs parted and she 
wrapped them around him, pulling him closer, deeper.

He pushed himself off the mattress and angled his body for deeper 
penetration and she gasped in delight. Bracing his legs off the 
footboard he took the weight off his arms and roughly fondled her 
breasts. She arched her back to get closer, to push her breasts 
against his palms and pressed her head back into the mattress.

The position was perfect he decided. He could feel her muscles tensing 
and the rhythm of her hips accelerating and her breaths quickening. At 
that precise moment, his fingers clamped around her throat. When her 
mind and body were filled with ecstasy his grip tightened.

For a moment the sensation was numb to her as her body cascaded over 
the foreign falls. But as her breathing slowed she realised she 
couldn't take in any air. Her eyes flew open and with hazy vision she 
looked up into his cold dark eyes. The beautiful smile she had admired 
so much earlier, the soft lilting laugh that filled her with desire 
were all gone. In its place was the cold expression of concentration, 
of evil. Green eyes and a stranger's face stared back at her. She 
watched in horror as his face shimmered before her, his cheeks moving 
and his muscles contracting wildly like shifting sand.

Her body jerked against the mattress as he pushed into her furiously, 
His breathing became labored and the lighting in the room faltered 
before her oxygen starved brain. Her hands still tingling from her 
orgasm, grappled with his but it was no use. The darkness was 
enveloping her, pulling her down, heavily and quickly.

Michael watched as the light dimmed from her half closed eyes and 
finally her hands fell limply to her sides. His fingers that had 
pressed so hard were cramping now along with his body as he pushed 
against her one last time before falling flaccidly over her.

***

Plaza Hotel

Detective Brice paced the floor of the ornate lobby until he spotted 
Mulder and Scully walking in, he shook both their hands and gestured 
for them to follow him. They all took the elevator to the fifth floor 
where a smaller lobby greeted them. There was no receptionist at this 
one only a phone, a fire extinguisher and several shelves of towels 
and pillows for guests use. Also to the left of the elevator were two 
doors marked with the familiar male and female signs for restrooms.

"The body was found at 11.03am today, by another guest." He opened the 
door to the female restrooms and stood before the middle stall. The 
door had been removed off its hinges and was leaning against a 
different wall. The entrance was blocked off by yellow police tape.

From her pocket Scully pulled out a pair of latex gloves slipped them 
on easily. Mulder held up the tape for her to step under and she 
crouched low over the body.

The body was completely naked, twisted and contorted around the 
toilet. The ligature marks on her neck was unmistakable, so much that 
Scully could make out the individual finger marks.

"According to the night staff she arrived with a man, who had a room. 
Joseph Toucan at about 1am. They went into the resident's bar and 
stayed there till about 4. By that time they had gotten real pally, if 
ya know what I mean."

Mulder turned towards the opening door to see AD Larkin stride in.

"The receptionist has ID'd the photo fit as Joseph Toucan. But all 
research point to that as an alias." Larkin's words were loud and 
hurried, his anger at being so close, bubbling to the surface over the 
calm exterior of his FBI persona.

"Do we have an ID for her?" Mulder asked reaching to lift the tape for 
Scully to step out.

"Hotel surveillance has them walking in from across the street There 
is a car out there that they might have arrived in. We're running the 
plates right now."

"She died from asphyxiation. He placed his hands around her neck, both 
hands, strong and brutal. There are eight finger marks around the back 
of her neck and two thumbs on the front at her larynx. But she hasn't 
been dead that long. It couldn't be more then a couple of hours."

"Any text like the other victims?"

Scully looked carefully over the body again and on the inside of her 
thigh she found the small black lettering.

"For me a corpse has a beauty and dignity which a living body could 
never hold . . . there is a peace about death that soothes me" She 
read aloud.

Just then the cell that was clipped to Brice's belt crackled to life 
startling them all.

"Brice here, what is it?"

"We ran the plates and found the owner."

"Wait a sec..." Brice switched the phone over to speaker. "Okay go 
ahead."

"Stephanie Adams. The license picture is of a female, five foot eight. 
120 lbs. Blonde, brown eyes."

Brice looked up to Scully who was nodding slowly in confirmation of 
the description.

"Lock up that car, don't let anyone get near it."

Mulder was already out the door; he skipped past the elevator and 
raced down the stairs. He had made it across the street and was 
already leaning into the car when Scully and Larkin crossed the road 
behind him.

"Mulder don't contaminate that scene. I have the CS unit on the way 
and I don't want to waste any time tracing DNA from your god damned 
hair!" Larkin yelled at him.

Mulder ignored him and continued to check the contents of the car, his 
trained eyes scanning quickly over the discarded letters and pages 
until they fell across the leaflet that rested on the dashboard.

"Midnight Concert by Washington Orchestra at Fort Totten Park," he 
read aloud, pulling himself out of the car and standing up straight 
next to Scully. "This was last night. If she didn't arrive at this 
hotel until after one then maybe she met him here."

"That's about 9 blocks away," Scully said, already pulling the keys 
out of her pocket and backing away.

"Lets go," Mulder walked away and stopped only when Larkin grabbed his 
arm.

Silence bristled between them as the tension crackled, but Larkin 
nodded slowly and released him.


***

Fort Totten Park

The park was deserted with only a few remnants that the concert ever 
happened. Scattered flyers advertising the concert, discarded food 
wrappers and other detritus with two park rangers cleaning it all up.

The car lot was empty and Mulder ran across the grass to the nearest 
ranger to speak to him. He produced his badge and held it up.

"Fox Mulder, FBI." From the inside his jacket he retrieved a folded 
copy of the photo fit sketch and a grainy photo from a security camera 
and passed it to the ranger. "Did you see this man here this morning?"

"Yes I did!" He watched as Scully joined them and flashed her badge.

"Where?"

"He came in through the north gate and got into a car over there. Then 
he drove off...looked to be in a real hurry too."

"You're sure it was him?" Scully asked.

"Yes. I noticed the car when I got in this morning, only one here. He 
looked kind of odd too, troubled. I like to people watch. Interesting 
hobby, that's why I remembered."

"What time was that?"

"About eight thirty. We like to get this park real clean before anyone 
else gets here. And with the concert on last night we knew the place 
would be a mess.  His car really caught my eye, ya know. It was a 
vintage."

"What make?" Scully asked opening her notebook.

"1967 Ford Mustang, midnight blue."

"Did you get the license?"

"Yes." He watched both agents as Scully jotted the license plate down 
and smiled her gratitude. They exchanged glances and seemed to have a 
whole conversation without uttering a word. "What's all this about?"

"Thank you for your time." Scully cut in as they backed away and raced 
over to their Taurus. Mulder was already running the engine and 
spinning out of the park while she dialled Larkin's number. She 
quickly relayed all the information they had and waited on the line as 
he barked orders in the background at the crew who stood around him. 
She heard him shout at two agents to locate the owner of the Mustang 
and bring him into the local precinct, then he came back to her to 
tell her the body of Stephanie Adams was en route to Quantico.


***

14 Thomas Street

Michael Brown latched the door behind him and rested back against it. 
His breathing was heavy and labored as he moved through the room and 
raced into the bathroom. In the mirror he watched as his face 
contorted back to his own familiar features and laughed. A deep 
throaty laugh that gurgled up from the pit of his stomach and shook 
his shoulders.

He could still feel the pressure of her neck, the thrill beating of 
her pulse beneath his fingers and he stared down at them in 
astonishment, unclenching them from the fists they had been during his 
transformation. Crossing the room to where he kept his PC, he booted 
it up and began typing.

'John Reginald Halliday Christie was a typical "repressed" lust killer 
who could achieve satisfaction only through rape, murder, and probably 
necrophilia.

Christie's motives were sexual; he admitted strangling one of his 
victims during intercourse. He related how he had invited women to the 
house and having got them partly drunk, sat them in a deck chair, 
where he rendered them unconscious with domestic coal gas. He then 
strangled and raped them.'

Michel leaned back on his chair as he typed, reliving the moment over 
and over in his mind, then slowly the Cheshire grin spread across his 
lips like a slash from a blade.

"For me a corpse has a beauty and dignity which a living body could 
never hold . . . there is a peace about death that soothes me."

He interlocked his fingers at the back of his head and sighed 
satisfactorily. The words flew out of him in a way he had never 
experienced. Never before had the passages for his writing been so 
succinct, and accurate. Never before had he felt the rejuvenation of 
life course through his body like a river.

Ever mindful of his work he saved it and closed the file. As the 
sensations began to fade he went over to the fridge and selected the 
bag of meat he'd was saving. Saving for moments like these, moments 
when he needed to feel it and maintain that precious high for a little 
longer, a littler stronger.

The pan was already on the stove, greased and dirty from the last use. 
He thought of cleaning up a bit but decided against it. When the oil 
was at boiling point he dropped the meat into the pan and stood back 
as it splashed up hot sparks of fat.

He knew it wouldn't be long now. He knew he'd been sloppy and 
careless, but that was the way it had been done. Bundy, Christie and 
Fish, they all left hair, DNA, semen and other evidence behind. His 
dissertation wouldn't be valid if he had cut corners, changed the 
routines.

He grabbed the TV remote and switched it on. Flicking through the 
various channels until he found the news, he waited. Waited for the 
report he knew was coming.

His meat feast was almost done when the newsflash appeared. The 
picture of the muted newscaster suddenly changed to the onsite 
reporter who stood across from the Plaza hotel. Michael turned up the 
volume and waited in anticipation for the bulletin.

"The body was found in the public restrooms on the fifth floor. Police 
have yet to release any information on the victim until next of kin 
can be contacted but we have Special Agent Mulder from the FBI with 
us."

The camera panned to the left where Mulder stood, a grim expression on 
his face. In his hands he held a small file and Michael stared at it, 
the smile on his face widening. Absently he stirred the meat in the 
pan and inhaled the delicious aroma of cooked flesh.

"We have gathered considerable evidence today." Mulder admitted 
vaguely as the newscaster asked more questions.

Michael turned back to the stove and forked the meat onto a plate. 
Moving across the room he perched himself on the edge of the couch and 
took a bite of his meal. It was medium rare, and he loved the pattern 
the blood had left on the plate, mesmerising him as though an ethereal 
message was held within the gruesome image.

He observed Mulder as he spoke with clear confident tones, the agent 
avoiding eye contact with the camera, instead addressing the 
interviewer.  More questions were fired at him but Mulder offered 
little or no information, opting instead to excuse himself from the 
interview.

The reporter continued speaking into the camera but Michael's eyes 
moved with Mulder who had moved with large strides into the background 
to converse with a small red headed woman who he assumed was another 
agent.  Michael smiled, chewing on his next odious mouthful.

She's perfect. It won't be long now, he thought.


***

 The Plaza

The garage of the plaza was strewn with SWAT members and CSI Agents. 
AD Larkin was standing over the table upon which a map of DC was 
spread out. Scully stood with Detective Brice at the doorway and 
turned as Mulder approached, offering him a sympathetic smile.

"What have you got?" Mulder asked Brice, nodding at the pages he was 
showing Scully.

"We've run the plates and turned up a name and address. Michael Brown 
14 Thomas Street."

"Professor Michael Brown? Professor in psychology at Georgetown 
University?" Scully said then added, "SWAT Team is ready, and AD 
Larkin wants to speak with you," Scully told her partner as she fixed 
on her bullet proof vest, slipping her suit jacket over it.

Mulder accepted the vest she handed him and carried it with him as he 
crossed the room to where Larkin was barking out last minute orders to 
the SWAT members standing around waiting.

"This has to go smoothly, quickly and without any screwups." Mulder 
cringed at the stereotypical moral boost but made no comment. The 
desired effect seemed to be working as the SWAT members fanned out to 
their various units.

"Sir?" Mulder said as he pulled off his jacket and draped it on the 
back of a chair. "Agent Scully said you wanted to speak with me?"

"Yes, I need you to go back to the Hoover building and copy this 
warrant." Larkin held out the folded page and waited for Mulder to 
take it.

"Sir?" Mulders fingers stalled over the Velcro strap he was fastening.

"Judge Waterman failed to provide us with enough copies." Larkin 
sneered smugly, watching the battle of reactions play out on Mulders 
face.

"But sir the-"

"Agent Mulder, are you disobeying my direct order?" Larkin stood up a 
bit straighter and spoke loud enough to be sure to be overheard by 
other agents.

"No Sir," Mulder said firmly after a moment's hesitation. He took the 
warrant with a tight smile and walked back to Scully, angrily tugging 
his vest off on the way.

"Mulder you have to put the vest on."

"No I don't." he dropped it onto the chair beside them. "I'm not going 
on the raid."

"What?"

"AD Larkin wants me to go back to the Hoover building to sort out this 
warrant."

Before Scully could ask any more questions, Larkin called for 
attention from the entire room. He barked out the orders to each team 
leader and stressed the importance of this raid. Mulder stood at the 
back of the room watching with growing anger. When the time came the 
men and woman all poured into the waiting vans. Scully followed Brice 
to the police car and shot a look back at Mulder. His eyes were sad, 
underlying worry making them bright. She nodded her assertion to his 
silent plea to keep safe then shut the door and buckled up.

The garage cleared so quickly that Mulder found himself standing in 
the swirl of dust the vans kicked up in their wake, his feet glued to 
the floor and his anger palpable.


***

14 Thomas Street

Michael stripped down to his boxer shorts and raced through the hall 
to the fire escape. He hurried down the metal stairs and ignored the 
sharp pains in his bare feet as he pushed on to the floor below him. 
The fire door was stuck and he roughly shoved his shoulder against it. 
Finally on the third attempt he managed to swing it open, bashing it 
against the wall inside.

Moving quietly through the hall he counted the doors down to Apartment 
7. He took a moment to smooth out his hair and slow his breathing 
before knocking carefully on the door.

"Who is it?" came the frail reply.

"Mrs Leeson? It's me, Professor Brown. I seem to have locked myself 
out of my apartment. I know you have the set of skeleton keys."

"Michael? Is that you?"

He waited as the shuffling footfalls came closer to the door. The 
latch on the door rattled as she released the chain. Michael braced 
himself for the push and watched as the door handle moved. With all 
the force he could muster he pushed himself off the opposite wall and 
rammed into the door.

With a scream Mrs Leeson fell back from the door, smashing her head 
against the wall behind her and falling to the floor. Michael rushed 
in after her and slammed the door shut behind him. He dragged her 
dazed body to the bedroom and laid her out on the bed. She struggled 
to come too for a moment but then passed out.

Michael went back to the door and waited.

***

Outside the unmarked vans screeched to a halt on the curb and all the 
agents poured out. Scully followed the lead team into the building as 
the others secured the surrounding area. The vest she was wearing 
constricted her breathing but it offered her the comfort she needed to 
continue. She followed the orders of the team leader and hugged the 
wall to the elevator. With her gun outstretched she covered the 
hallway as the other agents got into place.

They raced up to the first floor in a well- trained fluid execution 
and held position at the bottom of the stairway to the second floor. 
They had all studied the layout of the building on the way over here 
so everyone tensed as they started the ascension towards Brown's 
apartment.

Scully covered the stairway again as the various agents silently 
stepped up into position. She waited for her signal to go and moved 
swiftly and silently when it was her turn. Radio silence was kept 
throughout the manoeuvre, the team relying solely on hand gestures and 
trained instinct.

As they curled around the apartment Agent Smith stood to the side and 
gestured for the battering ram to be readied. He slammed his fist 
against the peeling paint and called out.

"FBI, open up."

After a few seconds when no reply came Smith stood aside and watched 
as two agents rammed the door open and let the SWAT team barge in. The 
room swam in pandemonium as the agents cleared out the small 
apartment.

"Living room, Clear!"

"Bedroom, Clear!"

"Kitchen, Clear!" Came the quick replies as they swept through the 
apartment. Scully stepped aside as they went through the quick process 
and followed them through at the end. The first thing that hit was the 
foul stench that clung to the air.  She coughed and covered her mouth 
with the back of her hand as she stepped further into the apartment.

"No one here," Smith relayed to her. He pulled the radio from his 
pocket and called to the other teams to report in.

Scully checked slowly through the room; trying desperately to ignore 
the disgusting odour, she switched her trained eyes on her 
surroundings.  She noticed the PC with the empty shell where his hard 
drive should be, the plate of half eaten food on the floor beside the 
couch. With her latex gloves in place she bent closer to it and 
touched it. It still felt warm.

Her mind reeled in horror as her eyes studied the meat. The curved 
bite marks, the sharp rips where his teeth had cut into the flesh and 
the pink colour of the half cooked meat.

It wasn't meat, she realised suddenly, it was human flesh.

Fighting revulsion as she put it back down she stepped back and found 
herself in the small kitchenette. The smell was stronger now as Scully 
forced her legs to step further into the room. It seemed to be 
permeating outwards from the fridge.

With her mind screaming in protest Scully pulled the fridge open and 
swallowed back the taste of bile that exploded into her throat. Each 
shelf was packed full with bags and bags of unrecognisable meat. The 
bags were tied loosely and Scully could make out the rotting flesh 
from the groundswell of smell they were creating, infested with 
maggots and lying in pools of congealed blood.

She slammed the fridge door shut and stepped out of the kitchen. In 
the living room Agent Smith was rearranging the other teams to start a 
search of the building. They all seemed to be oblivious to the stench. 
No one made a comment about it or covered their mouths. Smith asked 
Scully to team with Agent Bryson and told them to start on the first 
floor.

The relative fresh air in the hallway was a welcome relief. She took a 
few lungfuls as they descended the stairs to the first floor. She 
noticed that Bryson looked a little green around the edges too and 
smiled.

As they approached the first door Scully pulled her gun free from it's 
holster and held it rigidly by her side. Bryson crossed the door and 
nodded to her that he was ready.

He lifted a fist to the door and knocked on it heavily. "FBI OPEN UP!" 
he called out. It opened partially and Scully glanced to see a small 
elderly man peering fearfully through the gap.

"Sir, can we come in?" she asked, showing him her badge. With 
trembling fingers he opened the door and stepped aside as the two 
agents swept through his small apartment. They spoke quietly as they 
walked carefully through the apartment, then left when they were 
satisfied it was secure.

"Thank you sir. Lock the door after us," Bryson said as they stepped 
back into the hallway. "One down eleven to go."


***

Michael Brown watched the distorted figures of the two agents as they 
entered the apartment across the hall. Through the peephole he could 
make out more then just the periphery. His body tensed as they came 
back into the hall and stepped over to the door. Scully seemed to 
glare through the peephole and stare right at him but he knew that was 
impossible. With the kitchen knife held firmly in his hand he stepped 
back from the door and braced himself against the wall.

The heavy thumping of the agents at the door startled him even though 
he was expecting it. Blood roared through his head and made his hands 
tremble. He forced them to still as the agents knocked again.

Mentally he counted to three then took in a deep breath. He held it 
in, burning his lungs and causing his eyes to water as he waited for 
them to burst through the door. As if on cue, Agent Bryson smashed 
through the door and held it open for Scully to race in. She held her 
gun up and walked trough the hallway into the living room. She checked 
the kitchen and bathroom and then stepped into the bedroom.

Spying the elderly woman on the bed, she raced over to check her 
pulse. It was weak and thready. The blood stained the pillow behind 
her head and her breathing was shallow. Scully took the cell phone out 
of her pocket and called Detective Brice.

"Brice," he said answering the call on the first ring.

"Brice, this is Agent Scully. I'm in a first floor apartment with 
Agent Bryson. I have a woman hurt and needs medical attention."

"Which number?"

"Apt 7"

"Okay, they are on the way."

As she hung up the phone she could hear him calling out orders to the 
medical squad that were standing by.

"Bryson! Get in here!" she called out as she noticed the woman's 
breathing was faltering. "Bryson!" Scully called out then looked up as 
the bedroom door opened slowly. Instead of Bryson standing in the 
doorway it was another SWAT member.

"Get over here! Where is Bryson?" Scully shouted out pulling him down 
beside her where she knelt at the bed. "Hold this!" Scully pressed his 
hands onto the cloth that was pressed against the lady's head wound. 
"Keep pressure on it."

"Bryson's gone back."

"Do you have a radio on you? Call Agent Smith." Scully pressed her 
fingers against the woman's neck to feel for a pulse but there was 
nothing.

"No I don't."

"Shit, I'm loosing her," Scully pressed her ear to the lady's chest 
and listened to the faint breaths.

Mrs Leeson stirred on the bed rolling away from the intrusive hands 
that tried to help her. Her eyes flittered open and she spotted him.

Michael Brown leaning over her. His smile was curved and cold as it 
spread across his face.

"No...nnnoo," she murmured trying to get away. Two strong hands held 
her down by her shoulders as she turned to see a small red haired 
woman standing over her. The stranger's voice was soft and gentle as 
she spoke but the fear she felt building inside stole the comforting 
words from her as she spotted her evil tenant rising.

"We're here to help. Can you tell me what happened?" Scully asked 
trying to draw the elderly woman's attention.

"No!" Mrs Leeson called out, staring wildly at something over Scully's 
shoulder. She flinched as Michael lifted his gun over his head. Scully 
turned to see what was scaring her and came face to face with the butt 
of the gun as it smashed into her temple.


***

3/3

FBI HEADQUARTERS

Mulder walked past Kimberly without a word and stalked into Skinner's 
office. The words he was ready to spew out in anger died on the tip of 
his tongue as he faced an empty room.

He swirled around on his heel and faced a bemused Kim who stood 
leaning on the doorjamb.

"Where's AD Skinner? I need to talk to him." Mulder ground out trying 
to hold back his anger.

"He is gone looking for you. Where is your cell phone Agent Mulder?"

"It's..." he patted down his pockets but didn't find it. "It's in the 
back of a police car." Kim quirked her eyebrow at that admission. 
"Where did Skinner go....I.. ?" Mulder asked but before he could 
finish his question the phone rang and Kim reached over the desk to 
answer it.

"AD Skinner's office."

Mulder waited patiently for the call to end and watched as Kim's face 
turned ashen. Her eyes slowly turned towards him and fixed him with 
such a look of sympathy and suddenly he knew that call was for him. 
His heart lurched into his throat as he stared in slow motion, Kim 
holding the receiver out to him as his pulse roared in his ears. His 
mind clammed up with a dense fog; his hands grasped the phone without 
realising it and pressed it to his ears. It was hard to form words 
over the lack of breath.

"Hello?"

"Agent Mulder." It was AD Larkin. "I was calling for Skinner."

"What happened?" Even his own voice seemed to be coming from somewhere 
else.

"He got away." Larkin sighed shakily into the phone and Mulder 
instinctively knew he had more to add. "He has taken a hostage."

This time Mulder felt the blood drain from his own face. Without 
listening for more, Mulder handed back the phone and raced out of the 
room.

He sprinted through the corridor to the FBI garage and was fumbling in 
his pocket for his keys when he heard a familiar voice calling his 
name. Turning, he saw Skinner running towards him.

"Mulder! Wait!"

Mulder tugged the right key free and unlocked the car. He gunned the 
engine and was surprised to see Skinner jumping into the passenger 
seat beside him.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" Skinner shouted pulling on 
his belt as Mulder careened out of the garage and onto the street. 
"Mulder!"

Mulder ignored him and focused on the traffic. Weaving in and out of 
the cars took more concentration then his mind was prepared to offer.

"Mulder! You won't get near this case. You're too close."

"Too close?" Mulder scoffed.

"She is going to be okay," Skinner offered but Mulder made no 
reaction.

"The area is surrounded with over fifty SWAT members. They won't be 
going far."

Mulder reached over Skinner and grabbed the cell phone out of the 
glove box. The spare that Scully insisted he carry. Thanking god she 
had forced him to keep one in the car he dialled an old familiar 
number from memory.

"It's not the geography I'm worried about." He pressed harder on the 
accelerator and sped through the streets, ignoring Skinner's white 
knuckled grip on the dashboard as he waited for a reply.

"Lone gunmen."

"Frohike I need you to get some info for me."

"Mulder! Stranger! You missed the best session- "

"Frohike listen!" Mulders urgency bit through the banter.

"What is it?"

"Professor Michael Brown. Professor in psychology at Georgetown 
University."

"What do you want on this guy?"

"Everything. I'll call you in one hour." As Mulder held the phone away 
from his face to press the end call button, he heard Frohike's 
protests.

At the apartment block he screeched to a halt and raced through the 
throng of onlookers to the perimeter. Flashing his badge the Agent on 
duty lifted the tape for him and allowed him in. Mulder found AD 
Larkin immediately and grabbed his shoulder, twisting him around.

"What the hell happened?" he shouted in Larkin's face before other 
agents pulled him away.

"Agent Mulder!" Skinner came up behind him and brushed the restraining 
agents away.

AD Larkin straightened his jacket and turned to face Mulder.

"Get him out of here!" he said coolly and quietly, staring Mulder 
straight in the eye.

"I should have been here! You bastard!" Mulder went to lunge for him 
again but the grip of Skinner's strong arms held him back and turned 
him away. With the aid of the burly AD, Mulder was forcibly removed 
from the crime scene and back towards his car.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" Skinner barked, his fury 
plain in the tone of his voice as he pushed Mulder against the door of 
the car.  Mulder didn't reply and concentrated only on his ragged 
breathing. "Do you want to get fired? Is that what your after?"

"I have to find her." Mulder's heartrending whisper cut through 
Skinner's anger like a raw wind. "I should have been with her!"

 "What the hell happened? Why weren't you on the raid?" Skinner asked 
looking over his shoulder angrily, checking to make sure Larkin was 
still across the road.

"AD Larkin," Mulder bit out the name with contempt, "sent me back to 
the Hoover building to sort out the warrant." He moved his feet, 
shifting his weight from side to side as he glared across at Larkin.

"Agent Mulder, I'll deal with him. I want you to go home. I want you 
away from this crime scene and out of harms way while we deal with 
this situation. Do I make myself clear?"

"Sir-!" Mulder started to argue but the sting of disappointment in 
Skinner's eyes crumbled his words to dust.

"I know what your thinking Mulder but you'll only make it worse. Get 
out of here and I'll call you with any new developments." Without 
offering him the solace Mulder begrudgingly expected, Skinner turned 
and walked away.

Mulder let his head fall back onto the roof of the car with a soft 
thud. He closed his eyes from the glare of the morning sky but her 
image burned there tauntingly.

"Agent Mulder? You okay?"

Mulder looked up to see Detective Brice approaching slowly.

"Been better." He straightened up away from the car and pulled the 
drivers door open.

"She called me." It took a moment for Brice's words to sink in.

"What?"

"She called me to get a medical team up to an apartment. They found 
someone who had been injured."

"They?" Mulder asked realising he was stuck in monosyllabic mode.

"She was working with Agent Bryson." Detective Brice stepped closer 
and placed his hands on the hood of the car as if he needed the help 
to stand.

"Bryson?"

"She called for medical assistance. But when we got up there she was 
gone."

"Where was Bryson?"

"They found him dead. He had been stabbed through the neck. Didn't 
have a chance. Also..."

"What?" Mulder urged. Could this get any worse?

"His uniform was gone. Brown had taken his uniform."

"That must be how he got close enough to take her." Mulder muttered 
aloud, his mind clicking into overdrive as he started to fit the 
pieces together. Clues he didn't realise he had, corners he didn't 
know he'd turned. He reached into the car and grabbed the cell again 
and hit the redial button. Brice looked on in confusion as Mulder got 
into the passenger seat and urged him to jump in to the driver's.

"Frohike, what have you got?" Mulder snapped on his seatbelt and 
pointed west.

"Nothing. This guy is clean. He has an alert on his record that was 
put on this morning but I'm guessing that was why you were calling 
me."

"Yeah. You have nothing for me."

"Nothing. He has been working at Georgetown University for the past 
four years. Exemplary record, had papers published and is considered a 
brilliant mind in the criminal psychologist field."

"What papers?" Mulder asked and turned to Brice. "Go to Georgetown 
University."

"In 1998 he published 'Criminal Serial Killers and the Forces that 
guide them', 'The mind of the Sane Serial Killer' in 2001, He goes off 
the map then for a while and emerges early last year attempting to 
publish another paper entitled 'Genetic Killers' in which he claimed 
loftily to have broken the genetic code of the mass murderer."

"Jesus, how did he move from psychology to genetics?"

"Well there was a four year gap."

"Long enough to study genetic biology and break the gene code?" Mulder 
said sceptically.

"No. His paper was never published and he resumed his position at the 
university."

"Seems he was doing more there then just teaching classes."

"Mulder I'll keep looking but it doesn't look too promising."

"Okay Frohike. Let me know if you find anything."

Mulder hung up the phone and slipped it into the inside pocket on his 
jacket. He rubbed his shoulders off the seat back and glanced at 
Brice.

"If he was an employee at the university of Georgetown then why didn't 
his finger prints come up with a match for the ones we inserted into 
the database?" Brice asked suddenly, with his head cocked to the side 
and his frown deep. "All educational employees have background checks 
and prints taken."

The question stumped Mulder, and he paused a moment in thought before 
snatching his phone again and quickly dialling a number.

"Gerry, it's Fox Mulder," he said as soon as he heard the call 
clicking into place.

"What can I do for you?"

"The prints you ran for me? What level search did you use?"

"A level four. All records including state and military as far as 
security clearance will allow."

"Does the system check for prints if the record belongs to a deceased 
criminal?" Brice looked over at Mulder at his strange question but 
quickly turned his eyes back to the road.

"No. The system was designed to move all prints belonging to the 
deceased to a separate folder. It needs to be searched separately."

"Will you run the prints again?" Mulder asked, his heart lurching a 
beat with the adrenaline boost that usually came with one of his 
spooky leaps as it coursed through his body. "Run all the prints we 
lifted from all the scenes and check them against the records we have 
dating back as far as 1900's."

There was a an incredulous pause, a sigh and then...  "Okay, I'll get 
it started right away."

"Call me as soon as you find something...anything...no matter ..."

"No matter how weird...I know Mulder. You got it.  I'll call you."

"What are you thinking?" Brice asked as he pulled the car up outside 
the university hall and looked over to Mulder.

"What if...what if the reason we didn't find a match for his prints 
was because his prints kept changing."

"Changing?" Brice looked over sceptically but followed Mulder's lead 
as he jumped out of the car and over to the University Reception.

"With each crime scene we found a lot of prints, but none of them 
linked the separate scenes. The only thing that linked the bodies were 
the quotes."

Mulder stalled a moment to scan the board of directory. He spotted the 
name Prof. M. Brown and noted the room number. Racing through the hall 
with Brice on his heel, he hared into an elevator and repeatedly 
stabbed the button for the third floor in his urgency.

"But fingerprints are...they are unchangeable Mulder! It's not like 
you can produce new ones. If anything he had an accomplice."

Mulder looked over to Brice and briefly thought of explaining his 
theory, but decided against it. When the elevator doors started to 
open he rushed forwards, exiting at the first opportunity. Brice raced 
after him, but they both pulled up short as they turned the corner and 
spotted the two Agents on guard duty outside Brown's office.

"Agent Mulder," one of them said as he approached. "We were told to 
expect to see you."

"Excuse me," Mulder said as he sidestepped around him, but the guard 
put a hand on his chest.

"We have orders not to let you in here."

"Sorry?" Mulder looked up.

"AD Larkin called and left orders."

"You've got to be kidding?" Mulder's anger flared as he started to 
argue but the Agent on duty looked away. "He is impeding this 
investigation."

"It is our understanding that you have been taken off this case," the 
larger Agent muttered sneakily.

"Taken off active duty even?" the other one added.

Brice chose that moment to step in and move Mulder aside.

"I am still on this case. And I'm pretty damn sure the bureau doesn't 
want a territory war with the local police department."

"This is an active Federal bureau case. You have no jurisdiction 
here."

"Okay, I'll call my department head and relay that Agent...what's your 
name?"

"Agent Rankson."

"Agent Rankson has actively stopped my investigation citing local 
jurisdiction as the reason." Brice started to turn but the other 
Agents swapped uneasy glances.

"Okay we can let you in but not him."

Brice looked over to Mulder, silently urging him not to argue. He knew 
the local Agents were well within their rights to deny him entry, 
given their orders. The door was opened for him and he entered, the 
larger of the Agents on guard duty followed him in and held the door 
wide open, conceding Mulder the option of watching.

Brice ran his eyes over the office and scanned the row upon row of 
files and folders.

"Has this room been processed yet?" he asked as he snapped on a pair 
of latex gloves.

"No. CSU is on the way."

"Brice, the PC," Mulder called from the doorway. "Check the latest 
files."

The pc was in standby mode and took only seconds to restart. The 
screen flickered and on came the prompt for a password.

"It's looking for a password," he said as he searched the desk for a 
trinket or photo that might give him a clue to the password. But it 
was clear of personal items. No family pictures, no snow globes or 
memorable charms from vacations, just file after file of psychological 
research.

Brice was trying more possible words but to no avail when Mulder 
called out. "Plenary!" Brice looked up to Mulder who was pointing at a 
leaflet on the notice board across the window. Pinned to it was a 
small black and gold lettered invitation for Prof Brown to attend the 
annual Plenary Award Ceremony in Ohio.

Brice hurriedly tapped it in and was surprised when the screen 
flickered to a windows desktop. He scanned through the icons displayed 
there but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Through windows explorer he 
accessed the recent documents but again there was nothing of note that 
jumped out at him. Recent emails to and from other members of faculty 
gave no clues and the recycle bin was empty.

"Nothing!" he called out to Mulder without looking back to him. From 
the doorway Mulder's eyes scanned the room but there didn't seem to be 
anything out of the ordinary. Arch lever Files lined the walls in an 
orderly fashion. On the wall was some strange artwork Mulder 
recognised but couldn't place. The large oak desk was covered and 
neatly arranged with notes and folders.

"Did you check the trash can?" Mulder called out but Brice shook his 
head. It was empty. Brice leaned down in front of the desk and pulled 
out the drawers. Thrusting his hands into the jumble of stuff inside, 
he quickly searched through them all until he came to the bottom 
drawer.

"It's locked," he said before bracing himself and roughly pulling on 
it. The drawer flew open and in it rested a red folder. Brice yanked 
it out and rested it on the desk. On the spine of the folder in small 
concise letters read "Psychology Thesis: Inside the Mind of a Killer"

Mulder went to take a step in but the Agent guarding the door held him 
back for a moment. He hesitated, looking between Mulder and the folder 
before removing his hand from his chest and letting Mulder pass.

Brice opened the folder and flicked past the index to the first page. 
Before him was a list of names on a printed Excel sheet. After each 
name were dates and computer file names and through each line were 
highlighted rule marks, crossing each one out in turn.

All but one.


***

Darkness... Location unknown.

Dana Sully woke to the stale stench of car fumes. The smell forced 
it's way into her airways making her cough. Her body screamed in 
protest as the sudden jolt of pain shot down from her temple. Holding 
as still as she could, she closed her eyes tight and slowed her 
panicked breathing. As she became more aware of her surroundings she 
realised she was in the trunk of a car. Oh god not again?

Judging from the bumps and way she was being tossed about, she guessed 
they were travelling at a high speed. Minimal light seeped in through 
the gap left by the missing left tail light but it wasn't enough to 
see much of anything.  She felt her hands bound tightly behind her 
back and her feet had been taped together with what she guessed was 
duct tape. She deliberately pressed her back to the floor of the boot 
and felt her empty holster folding against her spine.

Damn.

Determined not to focus on the negative, she took a deep breath and 
started to worm her hands away from their bindings. She could feel the 
thin twine rubbing her skin raw but it was a pain she welcomed. At the 
same time she blew hard on the tape across her lips, wetting her lips 
and trying to create a gap. Eventually she managed to wet it enough to 
loosen the glue that fastened it to her skin. Trying to ignore the 
stale smell and the rough texture of the trunk carpet, Scully rubbed 
her face along it to try to catch the seam of the tape.

It was loosening; she realised in delight and kept rubbing it.

Eventually the glue gave way and she managed to peel a corner off. 
With her mouth and tongue she loosened the rest and peeled it away 
with her shoulder. Determined now and with the victory of the tape 
removal boosting her, she pulled harder on the rope that held her 
hands in place.

Just then the car stopped.

She froze. A front car door opened and she could hear soft gravel 
footsteps and across loose pebbles to the rear of the car. Frantically 
she yanked on her hands and pulled harder. But it was no use the knots 
were too tight.  Please don't let history repeat itself... please, her 
mind railed in panic.

A key fumbled in the trunk lock. The sound of it clicking open before 
the lid was lifted and the bright sunlight burst in, blinding her. She 
turned away from the light and held her eyes closed.

"Well, well, you've been busy." The voice was familiar. "C'mon, out 
you get."

With two strong hands hooked under her arms, he lifted her out of the 
trunk and rested her carefully on the ground below. Scully blinked 
away the water in her eyes as they became adjusted to the light. She 
noticed a small red brick house across the wide yard with a taller 
shed behind it.

It was a farm, she realised. Through squinted eyes she took in the 
plush green land that rolled away behind the buildings and the lack of 
other residences in the area.

"Up we get." He lifted her up again this time holding her close to his 
body, one arm behind her back and supporting her head as the other 
lifted the crook of her knees, as if wanting to protect her more then 
harm her. It was then she recognised the uniform he was wearing. The 
black SWAT combat trousers with heavy combat booths, a black tee shirt 
and bulletproof vest. Across the name tag over the Velcro fastening 
was the name Bryson.

"Who are you?"  Her voice sounded dry and scratchy as he carried her 
across the stone yard towards the small house. "What did you do to 
Agent Bryson?"

"Who am I?" he laughed; a deep smoky laugh. "Professor Michael Brown. 
And you?"

"You still have a chance to get out of this," she said ignoring his 
question.

"Get out of this? And ruin all my hard work?" With his elbow extended 
he pressed it against the front door and pushed it open.

Inside on house was a large living room. It seemed to be the only room 
in the house Scully noted, as she spied the fold up bed packed in 
beside the fireplace. Another wall was lined with kitchen cabinets, a 
fridge and a sink, and then next to the front door was a small table 
with two seats.

Gently and with the utmost care, Michael rested Scully down on the rug 
before the fireplace.

"What are you doing?" Scully struggled to sit up but he leaned over 
and pushed her back down again, her back against the floor. He held 
her shoulders down for an instant.

"I just have one more chapter to write." His eyes flickered with 
something incomprehensible when he spoke, as though it was the most 
everyday thing. Perfect conviction in his words. He opened one of the 
kitchen press's and pulled out a small laptop. He booted it up and set 
it on the table by the window.

"Chapter?"

"Final chapter. Law Enforcement...or rather the resistance thereof." 
He seemed oblivious to her presence for a moment as he configured his 
PC and accessed the desired files.

"You're writing a book?" Scully asked trying to recall her hostage 
negotiation rules. Number One, gain his trust...or just keep him busy 
so he doesn't kill me, she thought.

"A book?" He laughed again, this time it was harsh. "No Books are for 
people who can't think. This is a thesis."

Scully saw the gleam in his eye. Heard the pride in his voice as he 
conversed about it an knew that he would need no more prompting to 
reveal more. She was right.

"Inside the Mind of a Killer. The intellectual perfect paper. My 
paper. It's going to be so pertinent as a resource to understanding 
the criminal mind. From child to sexual predator, to cannibalistic 
killing, the final fascinating chapter is the confrontation with law 
enforcement."

"So instead of researching the material you decided to act it out? 
Study your own reactions thus knowing precisely the mind of a killer?"

"Very good. It'll be a benchmark of publication for everything that 
follows." Michael tapped a few more keys on his laptop then checked 
the progress and turned to face her. "Did you ever hear of the name 
Mathew Nicholson?" he asked her almost non-chalantly.

"No." she concentrated on worming her wrists out of the knots as best 
she could without drawing his attention.

"Mathew Nicholson was the son of a local Sheriff back in the 1800's. 
He grew up in this very house. His father was as corrupt as they come, 
taking bribes, framing people for murder and generally causing more 
trouble than the criminals themselves." Michael stood up and went over 
to the kitchen sink where he poured out a glass of water for himself. 
Retaking his seat back at the table he continued to talk.

"So Mathew grew up in this environment where it was okay to hurt 
people, kill them even to get what you want. Can you imagine what that 
does to a kid?"

He paused as if waiting for a reply but Scully offered him none.

"He killed first when he was twelve. It was a deputy from his father's 
own precinct. The story goes that the boy caught the deputy stealing 
from his father and tried to blackmail him. When the deputy dismissed 
the boy's attempt he was stabbed fifteen times in the stomach His 
throat was slashed and his fingers were cut off."

Scully's eyes widened and she stared back at Michael. Her hands 
stopped their wriggling as she focused on his words, realising 
suddenly this was a prophecy of what was about to happen to her.

"At twelve he commits murder. Knowingly and willingly taking another 
person's life. It didn't end there. He moved through the sheriff's 
office killing anyone who dared defy him, and by the time he was 
sixteen he had slaughtered over twelve deputies."

Michael approached Scully and lifted her head. Supporting her at the 
neck he let her sip from the glass he had filled from a tap on the 
sink, letting take her fill of water, before gently replacing her head 
onto the rug.

"It was on a stormy night in June that he committed his last and most 
heinous crime." He stood up over her and looked down. The dimming 
daylight casting threatening shadows onto his face, while his voice 
washed over her with a lilting yet confident tone. "While his father 
slept, he crept into his room," Michael said lowering his voice to a 
whisper, moving over her. Slowly he came down to her face level and 
knelt over her.

"He stood over the bed and doused a cloth with ether. Holding it over 
his father's mouth he waited for it to take effect. Then with a small 
knife he sliced his father's belly open." Michael dragged the top of 
his fingers across her stomach mimicking the slicing motion, making 
her flinch, both from his touch and his fetid breath.

"Next he attacked the legs, sawing them off from just below the knee, 
the arms were severed from above the elbow. He bound the wounds so the 
bleeding was slowed but left his father's belly open. Then he waited 
for the ether to wear off. He sat by his father's bed and watched as 
he came to."

Scully gasped in horror at the image he created and his fingers 
touched her elbows and knees. Lifting her shirt out of her pants he 
exposed her belly and ran his flat palm across her trembling skin.

"Still suffering from the effects of the ether and no doubt the loss 
of blood his father didn't realise what had happened. As he came to, 
there was a knock at the door. The story goes that Mathew stood to 
slash his father's throat but before he could finish the job one of 
the Sheriffs deputies walked in, saw what had happened and shot Mathew 
before he could kill his father."

Michael paused; his breathing was ragged and labored as he spoke this 
time, breaking his words as he panted. He sat back on his heels and 
let his hand linger on her exposed belly. His eyes watched the play of 
his fingers moving across her pale soft skin. He seemed to be 
elsewhere, his mind was scattered and his eyes glazed over.

Scully lay on her back still, trying to keep her breath from 
stuttering with fear. She summoned up all her control; knowing she 
would need that. Her eyes facing the ceiling, her mind raced through 
the possibilities of getting out of there alive. Without her noticing 
it the room had darkened considerably as low-level storm clouds 
blocked the sun. A cool breeze wafted in through the open window. She 
watched as he stood to close it, and then stepped over her as if she 
were a sleeping dog to light the fire.

Michael left the lights off, preferring the eerie light from the 
flickering flames.  It would be a strong storm like this that could 
kill his remote connection to the PC at his office, so he watched the 
progress bar on the screen, willing it to complete the download of his 
unfinished paper to his laptop.

Scully wormed her body back away from the fire and closer to the 
table, small movements that he didn't appear to notice. From her 
vantage point on the floor she could see the screen. Guessing what 
would happen when he was finished working on his laptop she was 
dismayed to see it crawling past 90%

Closing her eyes for a moment, she slowed down her breathing and tried 
to calm her racing mind. When she opened them he was standing over 
her, watching her with a soft expression on his face. She flinched as 
he bent lower and knelt beside her.

"Don't be afraid," he hushed, speaking softly as he reached over to 
brush her hair out of her face. Looking up to his features, Scully 
watched in horror as his skin rippled and changed before her eyes.

His cheeks tightened and became gaunt and his hairline receded back at 
the top of his forehead creating a widows peak of hair in the middle, 
shortening and turning a bright blonde color. Scully shut her eyes 
tightly, hoping the hallucination would disappear when she opened them 
but instead it had settled. His eyes were a dark rich blue now instead 
of brown. She stared back into the face of a teenager.


***

Highway 341

After reading the name Mathew Nicholson on the file, Mulder called 
Frohike and asked him to do an immediate search for an address. 
Frohike came up with nothing and for twenty agonizing minutes they 
waited.

Finally when it rang Mulder pounced on his cell phone. Frohike spelled 
out an address that Mulder didn't recognise but Detective Brice knew 
immediately.

Brice raced out to the car and jumped in. Without checking to see if 
Mulder had joined him he shoved the gear into drive and took off 
through the university campus at breakneck speed. Luckily Mulder had 
anticipated his dash and had made it into the car in time. Thanking 
Frohike, he pulled his belt on and glanced over at Brice who was 
pulling frantically at the police band CB receiver.

"10-17 This is Detective Brice Car 4-2-3-Bravo- Delta on route to 
Front Royal. I need immediate backup. Repeat immediate back up. Over."

"This is Precinct 42. What seems to be the situation? Over."

"I am in pursuit of a Murder suspect who we believe to be at Whitmore 
Farm in Front Royal. Over."

"Okay sir we'll get them out there ASAP. ETA 14 minutes. Over."

"10-4. Over and out." Brice tossed the CB radio back towards the 
console, not caring if it sat in place or not. It was then that 
Mulder's phone cut through the silence, making him jump.

"Mulder," he barked immediately without looking at the caller ID.

"Agent Mulder," It was Skinner. "Where are you?"

"Sir, I was just about to call you. We know where he is. We know where 
he's taking her."

"You have an address?"

"A place called Whitmore farm. It's in Front Royal."

"Okay, I'll get a team out there." Skinner pushed on with the next 
question Mulder was dreading. "Where are you?"

"We are about 4 miles east of Front Royal. 2 minutes away from the 
farm."

"Jesus Mulder!" He heard Skinner cursing under his breath. "You are 
trying to get fired! If AD Larkin knew you were-"

"If AD Larkin let me do my job in the first place and watch my 
partner's back I wouldn't be in this situation!" Mulder countered and 
Skinner had no argument. He knew Mulder had been treated unfairly but 
a direct order from an Assistant Director wasn't something any Agent 
should dismiss. "Sir, he has her and he is going to kill her if we 
don't stop him. We need immediate back up out here."

"I know Mulder," Skinner's voice softened for a moment then all of a 
sudden he was back to all business and harsh commands. "I'll have the 
SWAT chopper there ASAP. Don't go in and don't attempt to engage the 
suspect. Wait on the boundaries of the land for the tactical support 
to get there. Hear me?"

"Yes sir."

"I mean it Mulder."

"Yes sir."

As Mulder ended the call and quickly replayed the info to Brice his 
phone trilled again, coming to life in his hand as it rang loudly.

"Mulder."

"Agent Mulder, it's Gerry in forensics."

"You found something," Mulder prompted.

"Yes. I found a match for four sets of prints." Gerry spoke lowly as 
if afraid he might be overheard.

"One match for four sets?"

"No...four matches." Gerry coughed nervously. "Four matches, one from 
each crime scene."

"Who?"

"The first scene we uncovered was at the apartments on the southeast. 
Those prints aligned perfectly...100% perfectly," he repeated for 
emphasis. " And get this... to a set that was taken from Albert De 
Salvo in 1936."

Mulder let the words hang between them, not wanting to interrupt he 
urged Gerry to continue silently.

"The second set was lifted off the rope that bound the body parts at 
Whitley House. They matched up to prints taken from Albert Fish in 
1903."

"And the third?"

"This will blow your socks off, the third we lifted off the inside of 
the victims car."

"Ted Bundy?" Mulder guessed, the sinking feeling in his stomach 
churning up a storm.

"...Well...Yes."

"And the fourth?"

"None other than John Reginald Christie. Arrested in 1953."

"Okay, thanks Gerry."

He turned to Brice and thought of explaining his theory; his thoughts 
on how Michael Brown had escaped capture for so long, but it seemed 
fruitless now and precious time was running out. It didn't matter how 
he had done it or who might believe him. All that mattered now was 
finding him and finding Scully. Before she became his next victim of 
design.

At the farm border, Detective Brice killed the siren and pulled the 
car to a slow stop off to the side of the road. The small dirt road 
was lined with shoulder high embankments and a trail of long rye grass 
ran down the centre of it.

From the trunk Brice pulled out two rifles, tossing one to Mulder and 
a pair of binoculars, plus a box of rounds. He lifted the trunk carpet 
to reveal a second compartment that housed the bulletproof vests. He 
slipped his on easily then passed a second to Mulder. Checking his 
equipment and running a quick glance over Mulder's, Brice walked 
halfway up the embankment and peered through the binos.

"I see the farm." He passed the binos to Mulder who came up alongside 
him "See the car?"

"Ford Mustang. Classic American wheels. It's his car. Lets get a 
closer look."

"Aren't we supposed to wait?" Brice followed Mulder who scrambled over 
the embankment and crouched low as he ran through the scattering of 
trees to follow the taller agent.

"I'm not waiting for him to kill her." Mulder hissed, his eyes 
resolute.


***

Whitmore Farm

Scully closed her eyes and tried desperately to close her lungs. But 
it was no use. Her instinct to survive overpowered her better 
instincts not to breathe.

Michael crouched over her, his feet planted on either side of her head 
as he watched her squirm. The rag he had doused with ether was pressed 
carefully against her mouth, covering her nose as well. At first she 
struggled, but with his restraining hand on her shoulder he held her 
in place and waited for the ether to take effect.

Her lungs burned with the need for oxygen and she had to give in. 
Slowly she took in a shallow breath, inhaling the bare minimum but as 
the sweet smell of the toxin washed over her the muscles she was 
controlling so strictly suddenly relaxed, leaving her airways wide 
open. The ether swam through her nasal pathway and saturated her 
lungs. As she began to lose consciousness she mentally prepared 
herself for the effect of the ether. "(CH3CH2)2O," she murmured. 
"Molar mass: 74.12 g/mole; Boiling point: 34.5 degrees Celsius...sweet 
vitriol." Michael watched in awe as she fought the strength of the 
ether until she finally succumbed to the gas and passed out. He 
checked his watch and knew he didn't have much time. Tossing the 
doused rag aside he sat her up and removed the twine that bound her 
hands. Seeing the raw bleeding skin where she had tried to squirm 
free, he felt a pang of regret for her discomfort but it quickly 
dissipated as his excitement grew. Mulder pressed his back to the 
front wheel of the mustang and took a few deep-steadying breaths. The 
rifle felt cumbersome and heavy in his hands compared to the sig saur 
he was used to. Silently he cursed Larkin again for his ill made order 
to remove Mulder from this case. Something he planned to address 
officially or unofficially depending on the outcome here.

Brice arrived beside him and peered over the hood of the car. The 
house looked empty but the tell tale smoke that rose from the 
chimneystack clued them otherwise.

Silently Mulder signalled for Brice to wait where he was and he braced 
himself on the loose gravel as he ran stealthily towards the house. 
Brice waited for the signal then raced over to another window. 
Crouched below the sill they both took deep breaths before peering in.

Michael slowly removed the tape from her ankles and laid her limp legs 
back onto the floor. He had removed her blouse and vest and had angled 
her arms out from her body. After tossing the balled up tie aside he 
gently removed her shoes and reached up to undo her pants.

Her small figure yielded easily under his strong hands as he lifted 
her hips to pull away her pants.

Mulder took a deep breath and slowly moved over the sill to peer 
inside. The room was dark, but by the flickering light of the fire he 
could make out the dark shadows in the centre of the floor. Scully's 
almost naked, unconscious form was sprawled out while Brown stood over 
her carefully folding her clothes.

The serial killer turned away from Scully to place her folded clothes 
onto the table but out of the corner of his eye he caught the movement 
by the sill. Surreptitiously he slid a gun out of his jacket that hung 
on the chair in front of him, and turned his back to the window. 
Hiding the gun from prying eyes he cocked it and braced himself.

It was too early for interruption, he wasn't quite ready. He clamped 
his teeth down on his lower lip and spun around just as Mulder peered 
over the sill again. Michael squeezed the trigger and the shot rang 
out loudly in the small confined room.

With a yell Mulder fell back and Brice jumped up. He swung his rifle 
into position and aimed it through the small window. But Michael was 
too quick. His gun was already aimed and the trigger already pulled.

Brice jerked back as if he were on a wire and lay motionless on the 
gravel. The storm clouds that had been threatening to break all day 
shuddered in the sky and shattered what was left of the cool evening. 
Rain fell harsh and sudden, washing rivulets of blood across the 
gravel where the fallen man lay.

Creeping over by the window Michael clutched his gun to his side, 
ready to shoot again. The sky had darkened enough to block his view 
but he could still make out the fallen figure of a cop. Looking left 
and right for the other figure Michael was surprised to see nothing.

Quickly he backed away from the window. Crouching lower he bent beside 
Scully's still body and glanced at her, as if checking that she was 
still there.

Outside in the pounding rain Mulder secured his hand over the small 
bullet hole that pierced the skin over his left shoulder. It had 
caught his flesh and ripped straight through the muscle and out the 
other side. He ripped of the sleeve of his shirt and balled up the 
thin cloth to press it harder. Somehow how he had managed to roll away 
from the house and flattened his body against the wall around the 
corner.

Peering around he watched Brice lying still in the pounding rain. He 
willed him to move and blinked past the heavy drops that hit his face. 
In the distance and over the rain he could barely make out the sounds 
of choppers approaching.

No close enough, he murmured, his chest heaving.

Mulder dropped the rifle and pulled his own FBI issue gun from its 
holster.

Michael rubbed his sweaty forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and 
fumbled through the kitchen. For the first time since he had started 
his plan he felt like he was loosing control. So many conflicting 
thoughts raced through his mind but he resisted the urge to lunge for 
his laptop to record them all.

Finally his fingers curled around the edge of the knife he was 
searching for. With razor sharp serrated edges the stainless steel 
blade was perfect. He pressed his fingers to his captive's carotid 
pulse. It was a slow but strong pulse, just as he hoped for.

Crawling on his knees away from her head and along her body, he 
carefully lined the knife up against her leg. Bracing the left limb 
with one hand, Michael rested the serrated edge of the blade against 
her skin, and drew it back slicing it open.

Mulder crept along the outside wall, pressing his back to the jagged 
bricks. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder he tightened his grip on the 
gun and crouched by the door. He could tell it wasn't locked by the 
way it rattled in the stiff wind so slowly he pushed it open, wincing 
at the creek it made. Pausing for a moment Mulder took a breath to 
holdback the searing pain that ripped through his shoulder and 
carefully peered around he edge of the wooden door.

And found himself looking into the barrel of a gun.

"C'mon in." Michael stepped back to give Mulder the room he needed to 
crawl further into the room. "You're a little early but that's okay."

Nudging him with the gun Michael urged Mulder across the room towards 
the table that sat in the corner by the window. On the floor Mulder 
saw the blood pouring freely from the open wound that sliced across 
his partner's shin just below her kneecap. He felt sick to the core. 
He wanted to run over to her, cover her up, take her so far away, but 
the persistent gun that prodded his wounded shoulder told him 
otherwise.

"What are you doing to her?" Mulder asked through gritted teeth, the 
sting in his shoulder racing down his arm and across his back, sending 
shots of electric pain to his skull.

"Get comfortable, and watch."

Thoughtless of his wound Michael bound Mulder's arms around the leg of 
the table. He smiled at the Agent's discomfort and made his way back 
to Scully's side, setting the gun down he grabbed the knife off the 
rug.

She moaned.

"Wait! No!" Mulder called as he saw Michael grab the knife again and 
brace Scullys leg. "Don't!"

He watched as Scully's head fell to the side and her lips parted. She 
took in a slow breath and released it. With a soft barely audible moan 
she moved her head again.

"Sorry, you're not part of this script," Michael said without looking 
up. "You don't get to interfere."

He took a tighter hold of her leg and realigned the knife to match up 
with the slice he had already made.

"You fucking son of a bitch!" Mulder pushed his shoulder against the 
underside of the table and lifted it off the ground before throwing 
himself towards Michael. The table flew up and Mulder managed to loop 
his hands under the leg. With his wrists free but still bound he 
charged at him, trying to dodge the knife that was now aimed at his 
heart.

Michael turned to face Mulder's charge and braced himself on the 
ground before lunging up, swinging the long blade in his wake. With a 
guttural roar he slammed his fist into Mulder's shoulder and followed 
it through with his other hand to stab the furious agent in his side, 
but Mulder jerked away from the knife, causing it to only graze his 
skin painfully.

Mulder's bound wrists smashed into the side of Michael's face causing 
it to shimmer and change. Mulder stared at his hair as a streak of it, 
about an inch wide, turned brown from his forehead to the nape of his 
neck. His cheeks rippled as if facing a strong wind.

Michael smiled at Mulder's shocked expression and drew the knife back 
to stab him again.

The thudding sound of the chopper blades cut through the howling wind.

Mulder lifted his arms to block the knife but Michael was too quick. 
The knife slipped into his left side, slicing through skin and muscle 
as if it was butter.

"AARRGGHH!" Mulder yelled out in pain, throwing his head back, he 
gnashed his teeth together and felt his head swimming. His eyes rolled 
back into his head and he fell limply onto the floor.

Michael stood back, panting and weary. He looked over to Scully who 
was becoming more and more lucid. She moaned as her head moved. Her 
eyes blinked rapidly, shaking off the effects of the ether, she tried 
to lift her head but found it too heavy.

The killer rushed over and slammed her head back against the floor, 
stunning her for a moment. He turned back to her knee grabbing it 
roughly this time. His blood curdled and boiled though his body as the 
need for urgency increased.

Scully moaned in protest as he straddled her feet, holding her still 
while he groped for the knife that lay just out of his reach. Scully 
watched in horror, his fingers touching the blade but unable to grab 
it. She found her body heavy and unresponsive to the fighting urges 
she had. Even her throat was constricted and raw.

"Stop moving!" Michael yelled out, his anger inflaming as she tried to 
squirm out from under him. Her fingers scraped the carpet, inching 
ever closer to the knife.

Behind him she could see Mulder lying still and lifeless on the floor, 
a pool of blood seeping out ominously wider and wider beneath him.

Seeping is good, Scully thought groggily, seeping means his heart is 
still pumping...for now.

The sound of the helicopter was louder than the wind and the windows 
rattled harder then before. Outside the leaves danced heartily, 
pattering against the windows in a swirl of dust and pebbles.

Scully felt stronger now as her hand moved up from her side, slowly, 
as if through water. She grabbed the front of her assailant's shirt 
and tried to push him away. But it was no use.

The heavy sound of footsteps raced across the pebbles outside and 
Michael felt his plan falling apart before his eyes.

"NOOOOOO!" he yelled out, slamming his fist down into Scully's face 
with desperate fury and lunging once more for the knife. His fingers 
finally curled around it as the door flew open. Ignoring the men that 
poured in behind him Michael grabbed the knife with both hands and 
raised it up high up above his head, aiming for the centre of Scully's 
chest.
  
She stared up in horror as his face shimmered again; his cheeks 
rippling as if they were alive, his features changed and his face took 
on a whole different identity. The faces of five different men stared 
back at her. It swirled and rippled like a lake in winter and Michael 
felt a burst of energy that exploded in his chest and he started to 
laugh, a manic uncontrolled laugh that tore into her ears.

"Put down the weapon!"

"FREEZE!"

The two SWAT members that charged into the room shouted demands 
simultaneously, but Michael ignored them all. Without a glance back a 
roar erupted out from the pit of his stomach and swung the knife down 
in a smooth arc.

Scully's eyes watched the knife fly towards her, the blade glinting in 
the firelight but before it could pierce her chest the gunshots rang 
out. One bullet hit Brown in the upper chest and the other cut through 
his shoulder, embedding itself in the plaster wall over the fireplace.

Michael fell limply over her body his blood pouring freely over her 
chest, but with no strength left to move him Scully had to wait for 
the SWAT members to remove his dead weight him.

As they eased him off her and placed him carefully onto the rug beside 
her, Scully shakily sat up and grabbed her blouse from the chair. With 
trembling fingers and a pounding headache Scully managed to crawl over 
to where Mulder's lifeless form lay.

"Get an EMT over here now!" she yelled but was unsure of how loud her 
voice was, it seemed thunderous in her head.

She ripped open his shirt and fumbled her shaky hands down his side to 
the massive stab wound. Without the right equipment Scully needed to 
improvise. She pressed her ear to his right side of his chest and 
listened to the shallow sounds of his lung inflating. But when she 
pressed it to his left side there was nothing.

Holding her own breath she listened again but still, nothing.

Just then the EMT's arrived. Scully scrambled to her feet, oblivious 
to her state of undress and explained to them how he'd been injured. 
Standing now she felt light-headed and tired, but before it could wash 
over her fully a strong pair of arms encased her shoulders. As the 
darkness swam over her, engulfing her mind she looked up into 
Skinner's concerned face.

***

Howard University Hospital

Walter Skinner stood at the hospital desk waiting for the nurse to 
turn to him. She had steadfastly ignored him and his badge for the 
past ten minutes and he was quickly running out of patience.

"Skinner!"

He turned on his heel surprised at the casual use of his name, even 
more so when he spotted AD Larkin marching up to him.

"Your report?" Larkin demanded crisply.

"Sorry?" Skinner's face started to turn red as his eyes narrowed and 
he turned to face Larkin full on. annoyance radiating from every pore.

"As agent in charge of the raid on Whitmore Farm I will be expecting 
your report."

"My report," Skinner said with barely controlled anger, "will be sent 
in when all aspects of the raid have been cleared up and I've done a 
little side investigation of my own."

"Now we have a dead suspect-"

"A dead suspect?" Skinner roared cutting into Larkin's tirade. "You 
wouldn't even be near him if it wasn't for Detective Brice and Agent 
Mulder."

"And I don't want this case to roll over because a few people delayed 
reports," Larkin continued as if Skinner had never spoken.

"Listen to me, Larkin," Skinner took a step closer to him and lowered 
his head. "I know well how you treated Agent Mulder on this case, I 
know how you abused your position-"

"I did no such thing!"

"-to satisfy your own personal vendetta. Now because of Agent Mulder I 
have a good Agent recovering instead of lying dead on a slab in the 
morgue!" Skinner's low growl grew in intensity as he spoke and his 
face reddened.

Larkin stammered for a moment, knowing he was beaten, he opened his 
mouth to say something but clamped it closed instead.

"So I am about to go and check on their well- being but first I want 
you the hell out of here. The case is yours, the claim is yours. Take 
it." Skinner turned his back on Larkin and slammed his badge onto the 
reception desk.

The nurse who had watched the altercation with interest looked up at 
him, startled.

"What can I do for you sir?"

"The room for Dana Scully please, and be quick about it."

Scully woke slowly and naturally curled over onto her side, her arm 
groping for Mulder's familiar warmth. But instead a sharp sting in her 
leg that shot across her shin woke her suddenly, fully. It was then 
she became aware of the overly starched sheets and pillows, the 
medicinal smell that permeated the air and the small friendly nurse 
that stood at the end of her bed.

"Good morning Ms Scully," the nurse reassured, smiling wider as she 
approached the head of the bed, Scullys chart in her hand. "How are 
you feeling today?"

"Today?" Scully almost squeaked as she looked around, finding the 
window with the slowly rising sun creeping over the buildings outside. 
"Mulder! Oh my god, how's Mulder!" she cried suddenly, pulling the 
bedclothes off her legs to get out.

"Careful now!" the nurse admonished her, grabbing her and pulling her 
back onto the bed.

"Agent Scully?"

They looked up to see AD Skinner standing at the door. He let it close 
softly behind him as Scully was pushed back against the pillows and 
covered with bedclothes gruffly by the nurse, who was no longer 
smiling.

"Sir?" Scully asked trying to sit up but the nurse was firm. "How is 
he?"

"He seems to be doing fine. Now."

"I want to see him."

Scully brushed the nurse's busy hands away and sat up. With a little 
effort she threw the sheets off her legs and swung them over the side 
of the bed. It was then she noticed the thick bandage over her left 
knee and halfway down her shin.

"What happened?" Gingerly she reached out and prodded the bandage, 
feeling the tingling sting across her leg.

"You don't remember?" Skinner asked tentatively glancing at the nurse 
who quietly left the room to get the doctor.

"No sir, it's all a bit blurry." She looked up and waited for him to 
fill her in on the gaps.

"Your leg was...cut. Some ligament damage but nothing major. Doc says 
you're to stay off it for a couple of weeks."

"And Mulder?" She reached out for the crutches that rested against the 
wall behind him. Skinner passed them to her and watched as she slid 
off the bed, resting her weight on the two cumbersome sticks.

"His lung was damaged and he lost a lot of blood." Skinner walked 
alongside her slowly, surprised at how agile she was on the crutches.

They made their way through the halls into the surgical department 
where Skinner led the way to a private room near the end of the 
hallway. Falling heavily into a chair, tired and weary Scully rested 
the crutches onto the ground at her feet and reached over to take 
Mulder's hand. Here they were again. She fought back the tears that 
suddenly threatened.

Skinner watched the silent exchange with a sinking heart. It was all 
too often he found himself in this position, with either or even both 
of his agents too close to death's door. He watched as Scully's 
delicate fingers brushed Mulder's limp hand but Mulder made no 
response.  She limped to the end of the bed and picked up his chart to 
study his medications.

"What happened with Brown?" she asked wearily without looking up from 
Mulder's sleeping figure as she replaced the chart in its holder.

Skinner hesitated. "He was brought to the ER. He sustained two gunshot 
wounds, one of which perforated the aorta."

"He's dead." Her voice was flat.

"Yes. It was called about forty minutes ago."

"His face...what about his face?" she asked closing her eyes at the 
sight of his rippling features.

"Sorry?" Skinner stepped closer.

"His face was...different. It moved." She spoke slowly, afraid to air 
her thoughts without the opportunity to review them, to filter them 
into a report she could present.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. A folder from his office 
implicates him in every single murder including 2 we hadn't uncovered 
yet."

Scully, tired of standing, weary from the effort, closed her eyes and 
shook her head. She felt Skinner's heavy hand on her shoulder and the 
gentle squeeze of reassurance he offered her.

"Get some rest Dana," he said and when she had opened her eyes he was 
gone.

Claiming her seat by his bed Scully took her lover's hand again and 
watched his chest rise and fall with the slow careful movements of 
sleep.

"We're here again, Mulder." She glanced around his body at the heart 
monitor, the tubes and EKG pads that snaked their way out from under 
his gown, and the nasal oxygen cannula that circled his face. 
"Sometimes I think you just fake these injuries so you can get some 
time off."

Scully wiped the rogue tears that stained her pale face with the back 
of her hand and squeezed his hand again. She stilled and held her 
breath when his fingers squeezed back.

With a gasp she turned her watery gaze up to his face and watched as 
his eyes flickered open. With a groan of pain as she leant too hard on 
her leg, Scully stood off the chair and leaned down closer to his 
head.

"Mulder?" she cooed softly, brushing his hair with shaky fingers. His 
eyes were closed again but she could see them moving beneath the lids. 
"Hey."

"Scully?" his voice croaked out into the silent room.

"I'm here," she said as the moved her head into his line of sight. 
"Hey."

"Are you okay...you're leg," he whispered, panting and breathless.

"Shhh Mulder, I'm okay. Just a scratch," she said with a smile, wiping 
more tears away.

"Brown?" he croaked, trying to ignore the pain as he spoke.

"He's dead," she said simply, no sign of sorrow or regret tingeing her 
voice.

"His face Scully...did you see his face?" Mulder implored sending 
himself into a fit of coughing.

Which one? Scully thought silently but said nothing. At her silence 
Mulder turned his head slightly to face her.

"You did see it didn't you?" he coughed again and Scully shushed him. 
She reached over his head and pressed the call button for the nurse.

"Mulder, calm down, it's okay. I'm here and I'm not leaving. You 
sleep. Heal. " She pressed his shoulder back as he tried to sit up.

The door swung open and the room filled with two nurses and the on 
call doctor rushed in. One nurse gently led Scully over to the chair 
and then joined the others at Mulder's bedside. They thoroughly 
checked his wounds and vitals and asked him loads of questions before 
becoming satisfied with his condition. The nurses' left and the doctor 
smiled over at Scully.

"You'll be fine Mr Mulder. You just need plenty of rest and some TLC 
from this nice partner of yours." He winked at him and walked back to 
the door and stood there for a moment. "No water just yet, I'll send 
in some ice chips for you."

"Okay," Scully said with a smile when she caught Mulder's face as he 
let his tongue loll out over his lip.

"Yummy, Ice chips. My favorite." Mulder quipped when the doctor had 
left, then added "You saw didn't you?"

"Saw what?" she asked non-commitedly.

"Oh c'mon Scully, I saw it too. His fingers prints, we ran them 
against the old database and came up with four matches."

"Four matches?" Scully said confused.

"The folder we found in the office, it details everything that he used 
to feel during the murder...including the invigorating rush he felt as 
his face changed." Mulder coughed again and Scully rested a hand on 
his chest as she waited with him for the painful spasms to pass.

"Mulder shush," she soothed. "He died. His body is in state custody 
now and they won't authorize an autopsy. There is enough evidence to 
prove he was our guy so they don't need to."

"Then we'll make them authorize one! Contact Skinner!"

"But there is enough evidence-"

"Forget about the evidence Scully! What about the truth?" he coughed 
again and sat up slightly but the pain was too much, pushing him back 
down onto the soft bed. "What about finding out how he manipulated his 
own fingerprints, his own skin and changed his hair colour at will!"

"Mulder it's over. Relax," she pacified him but her gentle words only 
riled him further.

"No Scully it can't be." He urged her with his eyes, the only part of 
him that wasn't aching.

"It has to be," she said more sternly than she expected then added 
with a whisper, "I can't look at his face anymore."

Mulder looked over to her wet face and tear filled eyes. For the first 
time since he woke up in the sterile room he noticed the blue green 
hue that tainted her pale skin. The bruised swollen side of her cheek 
was raw and looked sore.

Gently he reached up and cupped her cheek. With his thumb under her 
chin, he turned her to face him fully and looked deeply into her sad 
distant eyes.

"Hey," he said softly, urging her closer. "Hey, look at me." Her eyes 
fluttered open and she bit back a sob. "Come here."

Mulder opened his arms and pulled her into a tight embrace. Carefully 
but with a jolt of pain through his side he managed to shift over onto 
the bed, making room for her to climb up beside him. Curled up by his 
side, she let go of the fear she as held the panic she was barely 
controlling and the tears she never was. Her arm draped over his chest 
and gripped his shoulder and he held her close and kissed her hair.

"Now it's over, I love you." he whispered, his lips ticking her skin 
as he spoke against her forehead. "Now it's over.

And she whispered, "Love you too."

The End.

Skinfull June 2005.