Date: Thu, 25 Jan 2001 17:11:05 GMT
From: syn_tax6@yahoo.com
Subject: New: All the Way Home by syntax6 9/17

XxXxX

Chapter Nine

XxXxX

There was a light snow falling by the time they
reached the town of Bakersfield, Ohio -- population
six thousand.  "And two," Mulder added as they
crossed the border.

Scully squinted out the window as she drove, taking
in the sparse number of buildings on the main drag.
"Hopefully we won't be here long enough to count."

"What's the matter, Scully?  You have something
against small-town charm?"

"I like charm just fine," she answered as she pulled
into the driveway of the Bakersfield Inn.  The engine
cut out.  "But let's face it, Mulder -- we're not going
to catch this guy here.  Even if these murders were
committed by the same man we're searching for,
he's long gone from this place."

"Ah, but the clues remain."  They retrieved their
overnight bags from the car and headed for the
entrance to the Inn.  He held the door open for her,
and they both stamped snowflakes from their shoes
on the mat inside.

"Welcome," said a round-faced woman behind the
front desk.  She put aside an Agatha Christie novel
to greet them.  "You all must be the FBI, right?"

"Right as rain," Mulder agreed.  He brushed off his
overcoat.  "Or snow, in this case."

"First of the season," the woman said.  "You're
lucky you made it in before it hit."  She took out
her ledger and consulted.  "Let's see...I can give you
separate rooms on floors one and two, or else I've
got two rooms together on the second floor that
share a common bathroom.  Which do you prefer?"

Mulder glanced at Scully, who said, "The joined
ones are fine."  She returned his look.  "I'll just
make sure to lock the bathroom door."

"Okay, if you'll just sign here," the woman said.
"Oh, wait, and I forgot.  Pete Lydell dropped this off
for you earlier."  She handed then a thick manila
envelope.

"Great, thanks," Mulder said.  "Is there anyplace to
grab something to eat around here?"

"No, sir, I'm afraid everything is locked up tight as a
drum."  She thought for a moment.  "Let me see if I
can have Patsy rustle you up something from our
kitchen.  It won't be much, but it'll take the edge
off."

"That would be wonderful, thank you," Scully said.

His bag slung over his shoulder, Mulder had the file
open before they reached the stairs.  "Lydell says
he'll meet us in his office tomorrow at eight-thirty,"
he reported as they climbed.  "And these seem to be
copies of the reports on two murders he told me
about over the phone."

Scully paused outside her door.  "Anything new?"

"Susan Perry's body was found here in Bakersfield,"
he reported, scanning as he flipped through the
pages.  "Dee-Ann Tucker was found in Kirby,
where she apparently lived."  He glanced at her.  "I
wonder how far away that is from here."

"About ten miles back on Route 80," Scully
answered.  "We passed signs on the way into town."

"Huh," Mulder said, eyeing the folders again.  "I
would have expected them to be closer together."

Scully smothered a yawn in the sleeve of her wool
coat.  "You can give me the rest of the highlights in
a few minutes.  I've got dibs on the shower."

He nodded absently and let himself into the room.
Tossing his bag in a chair, he stretched out on the
bed and turned on the nearby lamp.  As he held up
the top folder, a series of photographs slid out onto
his stomach.  The first one was a color portrait, air-
brushed and matted, showing a young woman with
a wide smile and mischievous hazel eyes.  Her pink
blouse was open at the collar, and he could just
make out a delicate necklace that spelled out
"Susan" gold script.  A senior year portrait, he
guessed, taken only a few months before she died.
Just eighteen years old.

Reluctantly, he traded the bright and happy picture
for those that followed -- black and white crime
scene photos showing her bruised neck, scattered
clothes, and mutilated toes.  When he held it up next
to the light, he detected tooth marks on the side of
her left foot.  Her little toe had been chopped off.

The photos from the second murder looked much
the same.  Dee-Ann Tucker died on or about
February 3, 1982, having been reported missing by
her mother the previous day.  The search team
found her body propped under a tree in the local
schoolyard -- raped, strangled and missing both little
toes.

He had read both files front to back by the time
Scully entered from the bathroom a half hour later.
Her hair was wet.  He gave an appreciative glance at
the curved, bare legs that stuck out from under her
robe, and an even more appreciative glance at the
sandwich plate she held in her hand.

"Courtesy of Patsy downstairs," she said, joining
him on the bed.

"Thank God," he said as he sat up.  "Man does not
live by peanuts alone."

She tucked her legs under her and took one of the
sandwiches from the plate.  "Anything else of
interest in the files?" she asked.

"Looks like the same guy from DC," Mulder
answered with his mouth full.  "Both of the
murdered girls had toes missing."

"Did they have any suspects back at the time of the
original investigations?"

"Nothing that panned out.  The local boys chalked it
up to a drifter who had moved on to another town."

Scully looked thoughtful.  "Could be possible, I
suppose."

"No, our killer is a nice, corn-fed Midwestern boy,
all right." he replied.  "From a small town where
everyone knows everyone.  All we have to do is
find out who knew this animal twelve years ago."

"Great," she said with a sigh.  "There are only six
thousand people.  Should take us no time at all."

He shook his head.  "There are two people who
knew him for sure," he said, tapping the folders next
to him.  "We can start there."

XxXxX

Scully fell asleep halfway through "M*A*S*H,"
curled in her fuzzy robe with the blue light flickering
over her face.  He muted the television and watched
her for a few minutes, letting the gentle rhythm of
her breathing wash over him like waves.  At last he
rolled out of bed and padded on bare feet to the
closet, where he found a worn cotton blanket.  He
took it back to the bed and sat by her hip as he
tucked it around her, stretching across and caging
her body with his own.  She opened her eyes, and
he froze in place above her.

"Mulder?"

"It's okay," he murmured, reaching up to stroke the
curve of her face with his finger.  "Go back to sleep.
I'll take your room tonight."

She blinked at him a moment longer, then stretched,
arching under the blanket and brushing his belly
with her own.  He sucked in his breath as she
released a sleepy sigh.  He swallowed with difficulty
and leaned down to kiss her temple. "Night, Scully,"
he whispered.  As he moved to pull away, she
stopped him with two hands on his chest.  His face
hovered inches from hers.

"No, wait," she said.

Breathless, he waited.  "What?"

"I think..."  She shifted under him, her hands sliding
up so her fingers splayed across his cheek.  "I think
the bed..." Her face tilted up to his.  "...is crashing."

Her hands fell away as their lips met, brushing first
at one angle, then the other.  They connected only
with their kiss.  Mulder quivered just above her, his
fingers digging into the bed sheets.  He tasted her
mouth and smelled her skin and felt her twisting
with need beneath him, her breath hot against his
face.

She whimpered, and he was lost, crawling over her
even as she urged him into bed with eager, stroking
hands.  The blanket slipped to the floor.  He panted
in between frantic kisses on her lips, her ears, her
eyes.  The ends of her hair were still damp, and he
took the curled tips in his mouth, sucking off the last
sweet drops.  He wanted to taste her everywhere.

His cock poked around inside his sweat pants, and
when she parted her legs he rubbed himself between
them.  "Oh, yes," she murmured, her eyes drifting
shut.  She slipped her hands under his shirt and
stroked the length of his back, her nimble fingers
finding the sensitive skin on the sides of his ribcage.
"Scully," he whispered against her mouth, and she
swallowed the sound as she wrapped her legs
around him.

Arching away from her, he tugged open her robe,
releasing her body heat and clean, spicy scent into
the air between them. Her fingers curled into his tee-
shirt, tugging upwards, and he obliged her by
shrugging it off.  She returned her touch
immediately, tracing his ribs down to his belly as she
planted tiny kisses along his jaw.

He tried, he tried not to go from zero to fucking in
sixty seconds.  The avalanche of need inside him
almost didn't care that it was her hand on his cock,
pumping so sweetly.  But he forced himself to open
his eyes.  To see her.  To remember the shadow
curve of her waist, the warm weight of her breasts,
the feel of her pointed hot tongue on his skin.

Her breathing grew light and fast as touched
between her legs.  He stroked her gently before
trailing hot and wet fingers down her thigh.  Her
hips jerked under his hand, and he returned to his
purposeful rhythm at her center.

She turned her face away, her cheek pushed deep
into the pillow as she panted in little "oh" shaped
breaths and followed the movements of his hand. He
was prepared to rub her this way for as long as she
needed, trying to give her the time to let go.  But
Scully clenched around him after only a few
seconds, gasping and shaking under his fingers.

He kissed the pulse fluttering at her throat, and she
twisted her fingers in his hair.  "Good," she said,
licking her lips.   Her eyes were still closed.

"Take your time," he said as he rolled next to her.
He traced a circle around the nipple closest to him
and tried to control the spasms of his hips against
her thigh.

"Time," she answered, tugging down the waistband
of his pants.  He slid them down and off in one
motion.  They kissed face to face for several long
moments before she rolled herself on top of him, the
terry cloth robe slipping down to her elbows like a
wrap.  Her breasts peeked out from between the
folds, and he watched her eyes as he took both
nipples in his fingers and rolled them gently back
and forth.


Her lips parted, her eyelids heavy, she reached
behind her to stroke him from root to tip.  After
another moment, she shifted onto her knees.

He squeezed his eyes shut briefly. "Slow," he
warned through clenched teeth.

"Yeah, yeah," she agreed, positioning him between
her legs.  She slid downwards a couple of inches,
then stopped, and he forced himself to hold back a
groan.

"Okay?" he asked.  He could feel himself pressing
tight inside her.

"Mmmm."  She closed her eyes and wrinkled her
forehead the way she did whenever she was
thinking hard about something --her lips pursed, her
skin flushed.

Thinking about fucking me, he thought, and nearly
went over the edge right then.

"Oh," she said, a sound of surprise and delight as
she opened up and he slid all the way inside.  She
leaned down and kissed him softly, then drew away
to look into his eyes. "Well?"

He kissed her back, once hard.  "Mayday," he said,
and then gripped the bed as her laughter rippled
through him.

She reached up and matched her palms to his,
folding their fingers together.  He bumped his hips
against her, and she made a small, choked sound of
pleasure as she bore down with an answering push.
They made love slowly at first, her cheek against
shoulder, his hands caressing her smooth back under
the robe.  Then her fingers found his nipples with a
light scrape, and he began to sweat.  She licked the
side of his neck.

"Can't," he said, more to himself than her, as the
tempo started to carry him away. "Can'tcan't."  He
was pumping himself into her with smooth, short
strokes.

"You can," she whispered back, her breathing
uneven.

She sat up, bringing him deeper, and he groaned.
He held her hips as she rose and fell, until the pulses
of pleasure began shooting down his spine.  She
swooped down and kissed him, and he hugged her
tight as he shook and shook.

When he opened his eyes again, his heartbeat
slowing, Scully was draped over him with a
satisfying dead weight.  He mapped the individual
ridges of her vertebrae with his fingers, learning
every velvet ridge.  Her skin was every bit as peach-
fuzz soft and smooth as it had been under his hands
seven years earlier, when she had dropped her robe
for him in the candlelight.  He felt a lump form in
his throat at the small reminder of her innocence
back then, amazed that the same star-bright, cocky
young woman was the Scully he now loved.

He kissed her ear, and she tightened her arms
around him.  Her hips, he noted, were still bucking
against his at odd intervals.  The inner clenching sent
shivers though him, but he softened and slipped out
of her all the same.  She twitched and murmured
something into his shoulder.

"More?" he breathed, reaching down to stroke her
lightly.  She buried her hot face in his neck and
nodded, already pushing against his fingers.  He let
her set the easy pace.  His need assuaged, this time
he could pay attention -- feel the edges of her teeth
against his shoulder, hear the hitches in her
breathing.  He urged her on with whispered words,
the damp threads of her hair tickling his lips.  She
came with a quick yelp and a long, shuddering sigh.

Afterward, they drifted in a pile of heavy limbs and
lazy kisses.  Through sleepy eyes, he noted the
grainy shadows dancing on the ceiling, and he
chuffed against the fragrant hollow of her throat.

"What?" she murmured.

"We left the TV on," he explained, amused.

She kissed the back of his neck.  "So turn it off,"
she said.

So he did.

XxXxX

Sheriff Lydell, as Mulder and Scully discovered, was
actually the county sheriff and worked out of the
neighboring town of Kirby.  The six inches of snow
had been cleared overnight, so Scully had no
problems on the roads.  Even the cows were out,
twitching their tails at the side of the road as they
rooted around under the snow for something to eat.
At the Kirby town border, they passed a small sign
that read "Ohio Is For Lovers."  Scully smiled.  She
kept her eyes focused straight ahead, but when she
stretched her hand across the seat, she found
Mulder's fingers there, waiting.

They parked outside the gray concrete building
where Sheriff Lydell's office was located.  He
greeted them inside with hot coffee and a pair of old
leather chairs on rickety wheels.  "Sit, sit," he
insisted.  "I'm glad you were able to make it despite
the storm."

Not the usual phenotype for a small-town Sheriff,
Scully thought as they sat.  Pete Lydell was perhaps
four inches taller than she was, with thinning hair,
wire-rimmed glasses and a caterpillar moustache.
He chewed it for a moment before launching into
his explanation of why he had contacted them.

"Susan was the first murder I investigated," he said,
clearing his throat.  "So far, Dee-Ann has been the
only other one.  You can see then why I
remembered them.  I almost couldn't believe it when
I read your bulletin off the wires yesterday."

Mulder pulled out the files he'd brought with him.
"It does seem like your two murders here fit the
pattern we've seen in our case.  I think it's likely that
we're looking for the same perpetrator."

"Sonofabitch," Lydell murmured.  "After all these
years."

"What I need from you is anything not found in
these files," Mulder said.

Lydell gnawed his upper lip again as he thought.  "It
was a long time ago," he said slowly.  "And I don't
think there's too much that didn't make it into the
files.  Susan was just eighteen years old, you know,
and Dee-Ann had a three-year old daughter at
home.  We wanted this guy bad, looked at every
angle we could."

"I think the killer probably knew these girls,"
Mulder said.  "At least casually.  And it's possible
that he knew them from the same place.  I know
they lived in different towns, but were you able to
come up with any connection between the two of
them?"

"See, that's the thing.  We looked at that."  Lydell
shook his head.  "They didn't go to school together,
didn't work together, didn't attend the same
church...didn't even have any mutual friends that we
could find."

Mulder frowned, and Scully held out her hand for
the files.  "May I see those?"  He gave them to her.

"What about the smaller things -- repairmen,
hairdressers, that sort of thing?" Mulder asked.

"Nope."  Lydell sighed.  "We checked out those
folks, too, and every one of them came back clean."

Scully noticed that both victims had work addresses
on Sycamore Street, and pointed that out to Mulder.
"Are these two places close to one another?" she
asked Lydell.

"They're about three blocks apart, yes.  Susan was a
checker at Byron's Pharmacy, and Dee-Ann worked
part-time at Lucille's Restaurant."

"Is that near here?" Mulder asked, already getting
up from his chair.  Scully rose, too.

"Sure, it's our main shopping area.  Just down the
street and around the corner."

"Then let's start there."

They side-stepped the icy patches on the sidewalk as
Lydell led the way to Sycamore Street.  The
shoppers were already out and about, bundled in
thick winter coats with their noses buried in their
collars while they hurried from store to store.
Lydell jangled a cow bell as he opened the door to
Byron's Pharmacy.  He took off his wide-brimmed
sheriff's hat and approached the young man behind
the counter.

"Morning, Steven."

"Hey, Sheriff.  You here for more of those cold
pills?"

"No, I'd like to talk to Jerry, if he's around."

Steven nodded to the rear of the store.  "Sure, he's
in back doing the ordering."

Jerry had a large belly and an easy smile.  He
pumped Lydell's hand several times before scraping
several chairs across the room so Lydell, Mulder
and Scully could sit, too.  "What can I do for you
folks today?" he asked, eyeing the strangers with
curiosity.

"It's about Susan, Jerry."

The older man needed no further clarification.
"Oh," he said, the light dimming from his eyes a bit.
He shuffled some papers on his desk.  "Is there...is
there some new information?"

"This is Agents Mulder and Scully from the FBI,"
Lydell explained.  "They think the man who killed
Susan may be in Washington, DC now."

"I see."  His mouth tightened.  "Killing more little
girls, right?"

"Not if we can stop it," Mulder answered gently.
"That's why we're here."

"Jerry, we need to know who else worked here at
the time Susan did," Lydell said.

The other man's eyes widened.  "You think it was
one of my people?  No way anyone I knew could
have hurt that sweet little girl."

"Probably not," Lydell soothed.  "But just for the
record, who was working with Susan back then?"

Jerry leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin.
"Well, let's see now.  I don't have need for a lot of
people.  Back then, it was Susan and Nick Greer
and Martha Vilbin."  He frowned.  "You can't
possibly think Nick had anything to do with this."

"Nick Greer is one of my deputies now," Lydell told
Mulder and Scully.  "I don't think he could be
involved.  For one thing, he still lives right here in
town.  Never been to DC as far as I know."

"No short-term workers you might have hired
around that time?" Mulder asked.

Jerry shook his head.  "Sorry, no."

"Thanks, Jer," Lydell said as they rose. "You've
been a big help."

"Sure thing."  Jerry glanced from Mulder and Scully
to the Sheriff.  "You'll let me know if..."

"I promise," Lydell assured him.  "Anything I hear,
you'll be the first to know."

They left the shop, and as they walked down the
blocks to Lucille's restaurant, Lydell said, "Susan
was Jerry's niece.  Her death about ripped him
apart."

At Lucille's Restaurant, the owner, a man named
Bud Lovett, also vouched for every single one of his
employees.  Most still lived right in the area, and he
couldn't imagine any of them hurting poor Dee-Ann
Tucker.

Outside on the street, Lydell sighed.  "I was afraid it
would turn out this way.  We interviewed most of
these folks at the time of the murders, and nothing
popped out even then."

"Maybe he didn't work with the women," Mulder
replied, scanning the storefronts.  "Maybe he
worked near them."

Before Scully could reply, Mulder was stalking
across the street, his open coat flaring in the wind.
She followed with Lydell close on her heels.

"You going to go store by store?" he called,
sounding confused.

"Not necessary," Mulder answered without looking
back.  "Tell me -- what kind of shoes were Susan
and Dee-Ann wearing when they disappeared."  He
came to a sudden stop on the sidewalk.

"Susan had been dressed up for a holiday party,"
Lydell answered.  "And Dee-Ann was a bridesmaid
in her sister's wedding the day she was killed.  So
they were both wearing fancy-type shoes, I would
say."

"Exactly," Mulder murmured, tipping his head back
to look at the store sign hanging over their heads.
Scully followed his gaze.

SILLIMAN'S SHOE SHOP

Scully turned around and faced the street.  With a
chill, she realized she could see both the pharmacy
and the restaurant from where she was standing.

"You won't have too much luck asking in there
now," Lydell said.  "Silliman's changed ownership
about six years ago, when Norma Burnheardt
retired."

"Does she still live nearby?" Mulder asked.

"I think she moved to Indiana to be with her kids.
But we can try to get her on the telephone."

The wind blew then, swinging the wooden sign
above their heads.  "The sooner, the better," Mulder
said grimly, and they began the walk back to the
office.

It took them a half an hour to track down Norma
Burnheardt in Indiana, but she was friendly and
eager to help.  They put her on the Sheriff's speaker
phone.

"I'm especially interested in any young men you
might have had working with you in late 1985 or
early 1986," Mulder said.  "Perhaps someone who
left the area soon after that."

"Oh, sure," she said immediately.  "That would be
Carl Quinten.  But you can't be looking for Carl. He
used to give lollipops to the kids and spent hours
with the ladies, helping them pick out shoes.  He
was a quiet boy, a nice boy."

Scully felt her heart begin to pound.  She picked up
the nearest pen and wrote on a piece of paper, "Carl
Quinten is on our list -- paroled recently in DC."

Mulder glanced at the paper and nodded.  "Do you
know where Carl went when he moved, Mrs.
Burnheardt?"

"He had a cousin in Maryland, I believe."

Just then, Mulder's cell phone rang, and he excused
himself  to the other side of the room.  Scully kept
one eye on his back as she thanked Norma for her
time and hung up the call.  A minute later, Mulder
returned.

"Vee lied to you," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that this guy sure seems to think she can ID
him.  That was Grenier on the phone.  The D.C.
cops responded to a nine-one-one call at the
apartment of Jimmy Cho yesterday night and found
him unconscious with the place a mess.  This
morning he told them a guy in a Richard Nixon
mask did it, and awfully concerned about Vee."

"Where is she now?"

"No one knows.  Her mother put her on a train
yesterday afternoon, but Vee never got off on the
other end."

"Jesus," Scully breathed.  "Did you tell him what we
found out here?"

"Yeah, but we're a little too late."  His hands fisted,
and he looked away.  "They found another body
this morning."

XxXxX

continued in chapter ten.

XxXxX

Chapter Ten

XxXxX

Richard Arkin met Mulder and Scully at the airport,
where the Ohio storm had preceded them in the
form of steady rain.  In the car, he paused before
starting the engine, turning to scrutinize Mulder.
"How did you know?" he asked.  "How did you
know where to find him?"

"We haven't found him yet," was Mulder's reply.

Arkin nodded once in agreement.  "He hasn't
checked in for parole in two months.  Grenier's got
him turned upside down, but so far there's been no
sign of the sonofabitch.  Him or the girl, either."

Scully felt a rush of relief.  She'd been picturing Vee
broken and bruised, with bare feet and unseeing
eyes.  "That means she's probably still alive."

They drove into town with rain snakes slithering
down the windows as Arkin filled them in on the
latest developments.  "The most recent vic's name is
Ellen Cavanaugh.  Age twenty-seven, last seen at a
late dinner meeting around nine p.m. last night.  Her
colleagues say she was going to go back to the
office for her briefcase and then catch a cab home.
At one a.m., her fianc reported her missing.  The
search team found her body down by the river
about six hours later.  Russell's got men canvassing
over there for witnesses now, but so far nothing has
panned out."

"What about Carl Quentin?" Mulder asked.

Arkin apparently was not the type to need notes,
either.  "Carl Allen Quentin," he quoted, "age thirty-
six.  Born in Canton, Ohio.  Mother's deceased,
father is unknown.  He was released from Maryland
State Prison in September after serving eleven years
on a sentence of twenty-five to life."

"What were the charges?" Scully asked, leaning
forward towards the front seats.

"Quentin was arrested July 13, 1988 in Beltsville,
Maryland for attacking a woman in a local park.  A
local officer walking his regular beat caught the
animal red-handed in the bushes.  Three weeks later,
Quentin was charged and convicted of assault,
attempted robbery and attempted murder in the first
degree."

"Robbery?" Mulder said, twisting around in his seat.
"That doesn't quite fit."

"I had the same thought," Arkin agreed.  "So I did a
little checking.  Talked to both the vic and the
Beltsville PD officers who caught the case."

"And?"

"And Quentin had a knife when he attacked her.
He snapped her purse off her shoulder and tossed it
into the bushes, but no one can swear that he was
ever after her money.  It was just another charge to
stick him with and run up his sentence."

"So they think the true motive was..."

"Rape.  The asshole strangled her until she passed
out.  By the time the foot patrol happened by,
Quentin had her shoes and tights off.  He was..."
Arkin paused and cleared his throat.  "He was
sucking on her toes."

XxXxX

The dour clouds brought night out early, leaving
only a weak, flickering street lamp to illuminate the
outside of Carl's ramshackle home.  Mulder peered
out the car window as Scully pulled to a stop in
front of the building.  He could feel a tingling in his
fingers and toes that had nothing to do with his
tangled, screaming neurons; it was the sense that he
was close, that the evil he was chasing was now near
enough to touch.  He was about to walk the steps of
a murderer.

Mulder glanced at Scully, and found her staring that
the shadowed, run-down old building, too.  What
had once been the pride of some upstanding family
was now a crumbling front porch, a peeling shingled
wall, a boarded up front window.  "Just like the
movies," he said.

"Yeah."  Scully ducked farther down, her eyes on
the rickety, slanting roof.  "Why do I feel we're at
that part when the entire audience is yelling, 'Don't
go in there!'"

His heart was drumming, his hand already on the
door, but Mulder stopped at something in her tone.
He'd heard echoes of it before, on cases where the
investigating officers suddenly realized that when
they caught the monster, they would have to see it.
To know it.

Dale Guthrie, he remembered, had said it best.  The
old Alabama cop had come along on a bust twelve
years ago, when they grabbed a man who had been
murdering little boys, boiling their limbs and then
polishing their bones for his collection.  In the
crackling excitement, amid the swishing of the
kevlar, only Dale was quiet and standing still.

"I want this SOB's balls roasted on a stick," he'd
said when Mulder had asked if he was okay.  "I wish
I could make him live out thirteen deaths of his own.
But I'm not sure I want to know the thing that takes
apart little children like that."  He had shaken his
head.  "I'm not sure a person could ever unknow
that kind of evil."

You can't, Mulder thought then and now.  Instead
you know it over and over again, horrifying each
and every time.

He grazed the back of Scully's hand with his finger.
"You okay?" he asked.

She straightened immediately.  "Yes," she said, but
to him it sounded like she was testing her answer.
He waited, watching the pale outline of her cheek,
until she met his eyes.  "He's not even here, Mulder,
and the surveillance team is just across the street.
Let's just get this over with."

They made their way toward the dilapidated house,
Scully walking ahead and Mulder listening to the
even sound of her heels on the wet pavement.  The
front door remained unlocked from earlier in the
day, when Grenier had served the initial search and
seizure warrant.  Scully pushed it open and stepped
inside.

"Leave the lights off," he murmured behind her.  "If
he's coming back here, we don't want him to know
we're onto him."

Scully withdrew her flashlight and glanced the beam
around the living room, illuminating the opened
desk drawers, the displaced sofa cushions and the
scattered papers.  "He's going to know the instant
he walks through the door," she observed.  "This
place has been tossed upside down."

"We're not staying," Mulder said, turning on his
flashlight and pushing past her.  "I just want to see."

"See what?" she asked as she followed.  The floors
creaked under their weight.

Mulder navigated a careful path through the
overturned chairs and the scattered books, the
powerful beam of his flashlight catching the tattered
green drapes and the faded paisley wallpaper.  In the
dining room, there was a velvet painting of a basset
hound hanging on the wall.  He paused as some
newspaper crinkled under his feet.  "This is where
interior decorators go to commit suicide, Scully."

Her gentle snort floated back to him in the darkness.
"Did you see the ceramic frog in the corner?"

They walked through the kitchen, where Mulder
stopped to check the open drawers.  "No
silverware," he noted.  "If there were knives here,
Grenier must have bagged them earlier."

Scully peeked into the pantry, then opened several
of the overhead cabinets.  "Not much in the way of
groceries.  Just a few cans of soup and a box of
Cheerios."

"Let me see that."  He shone his beam over the
empty, dusty shelves.  "The bedroom must be
upstairs," he said a moment later.

He led the way up the narrow staircase, using the
worn wooden banister as a guide.  "What are you
looking for?" Scully asked over his shoulder.

"I don't think he brings them here, Scully."

"What?"

They reached the bedroom, and both trained their
flashlight beams inside, criss-crossing over the
rumpled bed and dishevled piles of clothes.  "Where
are the shoes?" Mulder asked softly.  "There was no
mention of them in Grenier's report."

"You think he's learned not to keep them?  Eleven
years in prison could have taught him not to hold on
to the evidence."

"He wouldn't be able to help himself."  Mulder
shook his head, stepping into the room.  "No food,
no shoes...look how few clothes there are here.  The
drawers are completely empty, but there's only one
pair of pants on the floor."  He went over to the
closet, which emitted a whine as he opened it.
Inside, bare metal hangers waved with the slight
breeze.  "Check it out," he said, motioning to her.
She joined him at the door, and he pointed out the
empty shoe rack.  "Not even one pair."

"He doesn't live here," Scully murmured.

"I don't think so, no.  I think it may have been a
convenient address to give the parole officer his first
couple of weeks outside, but this street is crammed
with houses.  There's no way he could bring the
women here."

"So much for the surveillance out front," she said.

Mulder cast his beam toward the cracked ceiling.
"It couldn't hurt.  He's been here before and might
have some reason to show up again, but I think
we'd do better to figure out where he's headed
next."

"Well," said Scully.  "We know that part.  We just
don't know where she is."

Vee, he remembered.  Their reluctant witness.  "She
must be getting ready to come in from the cold by
now," he said.  "I assume Grenier has some people
watching her house."

"And Jimmy's place," Scully answered as they left
the bedroom.  "But it's a bigger waste of time than
the van we've got outside of this place."

Mulder stopped on the stairs to turn and look at her.
"Why do you say that?"

"Because there is no way she'd lead this guy back to
someone she loved."

"Well, then...has she got any enemies?"

Scully answered with a trace of smile.  "Now that
you mention it, Detective Johnson might want to
watch his back."

They took one last look around the apartment,
Mulder standing in the middle of the living room as
Scully lingered in the front doorway.

"Mulder?  Are you coming?"

"Yeah."  His feet felt glued to the floor even as his
mind raced ahead, sorting what he knew so far.
There was something else that hadn't turned up at
the house -- the mask.  It nagged at him, grinding
the gears in his head, but he couldn't quite grasp *
why* this bit of information seemed so crucial.

"Mulder?" She shone her flashlight at his knees.

The invisible tethers snapped loose, jolting him back
to the present.  "Yeah," he said again.  "I'm
coming."  One foot in front of the other, he followed
his partner's light back into the open air.

XxXxX

The soft white of her hallway walls blurred before
Scully as she yawned on her way to her front door.
Her ankles hurt from standing, and the weight of
her briefcase seemed to multiply with every step.
At her door, she yawned again, automatically raising
the leaden briefcase so she her mouth with her
elbow, despite the fact that no sane person would be
awake and wandering the halls at one fifty-six a.m..

I'm too old, she thought, contemplating the white-
paneled door with slow blinks, to always be waking
up in one state and going to bed in another.

But then she remembered where she had awakened,
with Mulder's hands whispering over her thighs and
the gentle scrape of his stubbly cheek against her
shoulder.  They'd had only ten minutes, her eyes on
the clock as his long fingers stroked between her
legs.  Thinking oh-I-can't-can't-come-this-fast-but-
please-oh-don't-stop-oh.  Her skin flashed hot at the
memory, tingling away her fatigue.

Flushed, she glanced around at the empty hallway,
thankful there had been no one there to catch her
standing, eyes closed and mouth open, clutching her
keys in front of her own door.

The door.

There was something different about it, she realized
now that she was more alert.  She frowned and bent
to study the lock.  Faint scratches in the metal made
her set aside her briefcase and draw out her gun.
All traces of fatigue gone, her heart picked up speed
as she slowly inserted the key into the lock.

The click of the tumblers pierced the silence, and
Scully winced, sliding the door open without further
sound.  Her living room was dark, but she could
make out something black and rumpled on her
couch.  She inched towards it, her finger already
poised on the trigger.  Peering over the edge of the
sofa, she saw it was...

...a coat.

She lowered the gun and cocked her head, listening.
There were muffled sounds coming from her
bedroom.  She walked to the short hall and found
blue light slanting through the cracked door.  The
adrenaline rush that had gripped her in the living
room began to fade.  With a small sigh, she switched
her gun to her left hand and pushed the door all the
way open with her palm.

Vee startled on the bed, nearly upsetting the can of
Coke she had in her hand.  "Hi," she said.  "I didn't
really think you'd be in the book.  Nice place."

Scully folded her arms, gun and all, and said
nothing.  Vee looked sheepish.

"I didn't know where else to go," she said after a
moment.  She stretched a pizza box across the bed.
"Pizza?"

Scully narrowed her eyes, then leaned out for an
experimental sniff.  "What kind?"

XxXxX

He hadn't eaten in two days.  At night, he saw her
face in fitful dreams.  The voice inside him said,
"She will be your ruin," and he would clench his
hands to strangle the voice until all was silent again.

He went to the park.  Mud clogged his boots as he
stood in the dripping bushes, watching her tree.  He
had not come this far to fail now.

XxXxX

continued in chapter eleven.

XxXxX

Chapter Eleven

XxXxX

They sat on her bed in mirroring positions, propped
on pillows with their legs tucked beneath them.
Scully took a bite of the spicy garlic and tomato
wedge Vee handed her and had to admit that, for a
person with a pierced eyebrow, Vee did have pretty
good taste in pizza.

"You lied to me," she said to the girl a few moments
later, and Vee turned her eyes to her lap.  "You did
see his face." Scully remembered what Mulder had
said about the Nixon mask not making sense with
the rest of Quentin's profile and considered the
possibility that Vee had invented that part, too.
"Was there ever a mask?" she asked.

Vee's chin came up.  "I told you there was.  And I
didn't  lie.  I didn't see his face that night."

Scully shifted, setting aside her pizza.  "Wait a
minute -- you saw him more than once?"

"Well, that's the thing."  Vee hesitated.  "Is Jimmy
okay?"

"He's in stable condition in the hospital.  The doctors
say he should be able to go home soon."

Vee released a long breath.  "Thank God."

"But it's not going to be okay for him to go home
until we can be sure he won't be attacked again,"
Scully continued.  "Not to mention the fact that
you're in serious danger right now."

"Yeah, I guess so."  She turned away from Scully
and began shredding her paper napkin into long
strips.  "The night that the girl was killed, that
happened exactly like I told you before.  I saw him
bring her into the bushes, and he *was* wearing a
mask."  She glanced at Scully, defiant and
demanding her belief.  Scully wasn't prepared to
give it just yet.

"Go on."

"The next night I was busted in the park, and
apparently it was one hell of a show because a
million people showed up to watch."

"A million," Scully repeated, deadpan.

"Well, maybe twenty."  She paused.  "That's when I
must have seen him, I guess."

"What do you mean you 'guess' you must have seen
him?"

Vee shrugged.  "There was a guy standing near the
gate with a bunch of other people.  He wasn't
wearing the mask, but he seemed kind of familiar to
me.  Like the way he was standing -- kind of
hunched around the shoulders.  And his coat was
the same."

"Jesus," Scully breathed.  "Why the hell didn't you
tell us this before?"

Vee seemed taken aback.  "I didn't know for sure it
was him.  He could have been just another creepy
guy in the park."

"But he wasn't."

"I guess not."  She hung her ahead again.  "I'm
sorry for all the trouble.  I guess maybe I didn't
want it to be him, you know?"

"Yeah," Scully said, leaning back against the pillows.
"I know."

XxXxX

They all sat around the table -- Mulder, Scully,
Grenier and Russell each with a mug of coffee.  Vee
held a make-shift photo line-up comprised of Carl
Quinten's 1988 mug shot and five other similarly
scruffy convicts.  No one was moving.

After a few silent minutes, Grenier leaned over to
Scully.  "I thought you said she could ID this guy,"
he said in his best stage whisper.

Scully ignored him and inched her chair closer
towards Vee.  "Take your time," she said.

Vee looked up at her.  "He's in here, right?  The guy
who killed all those women?"

"You tell us," Mulder answered.

"Well," she said slowly, eyeing the photos in front of
her again.  "This one *could* be him, I guess.  I
only got a quick look, though, and it was dark."

"How sure are you?" Grenier pressed.

"I don't know."  Vee sounded irritated, and she
glared at him.  "Number three looks the most like
the guy I saw, okay?  That's the best I can tell you."

Scully glanced from the picture Vee had indicated to
Mulder. He gave her a small nod.  Grenier
apparently picked up on it too, because he snatched
the photo line-up off of the table.  "Thank you, Miss
Kroener.  If you'll just wait here for a few minutes."

He strode out of the room, and Russell followed.
Scully looked at Mulder, her eyes phrasing what she
could not say aloud:  you know him...what the hell is
going on?

Mulder's eyes answered with a look she knew well:
how the hell should I know?

"We'll be right back," Scully murmured as she and
Mulder rose in unison.

Outside, they found Grenier pacing the hall.  Russell
did not look pleased.  "It's too risky," she was
saying.  "And there's no way in hell the mother
would agree to it."

Grenier came to an abrupt halt. "Quentin has not
checked in for his parole in two months," he
snapped.  "He has no known whereabouts or
associates.  Don't even try to tell me he's been living
in that house we tossed yesterday, because we both
know that's not the case.  The only picture we have
of him is twelve years old.  Tell me, Amelia, just
how do *you* think we should go about catching
him?"

"You cannot expose a sixteen year-old girl to this
kind of danger," Russell replied.

"She's already exposed!" Grenier roared.  "I'm
trying to get her *out* of danger!"

"What's going on?" Mulder asked, and Grenier
shifted his scowl.

"Nothing you need to worry about, Mulder.  You're
no longer on this case."

Scully blinked, and Russell gasped.  "Adam, what
are you doing?"

"Exactly what I should have done when we had this
girl the first time.  We know he'll come out for her."
All three agents looked at him in silence.  "What?"
he said after a moment.  "You want to wait until he
kills another one?  You *know* this is the best way
to go.  I'm the only one with the balls to admit it."

"It's not legal," Scully said quietly.  "And even if it
were--"

"It's legal enough if we get the mother's okay.  Jesus
Christ, I'm not talking about putting her on the
streets by herself!  There will be three dozen highly-
trained FBI agents looking out for her.  It's probably
safer than anything else we could do for her right
now."

"What about...what about a decoy," Russell
suggested.  "Someone who looks like the girl instead
of Vee herself."

Grenier paused.  "Could work," he admitted a
moment later.  "Especially if we put the real thing
out there for a few minutes and then make a
switch."

"Where are you planning to do this?" Mulder asked.

Grenier's eyes flicked over him, as if he was
debating even answering the question, but
eventually he said, "The park."

Mulder shook his head.  "Too exposed."

"You are off this case, Mulder," said Grenier
through gritted teeth.  "Good-bye, sayonara, go
back to playing in the basement.  There is no way
I'm taking a brain-damaged agent along on this
bust."

Scully felt the words like a slap, but Mulder didn't
even flinch.  "It's not safe," he said softly.

Surprised at his even temper, Scully felt the heat
well up in her as she prepared to do battle in his
defense.  She frowned at Grenier.  "There is no way
you can justify--"

"It's not safe," Mulder interrupted, stilling her.  "But
it might work."

She turned to him.  "Mulder, she's underage and a
civilian."

"Use the decoy," he said.  "Do it someplace that is
more contained than the park."

"Mulder..."

"He's right, Scully," Mulder murmured.  "We can't
wait around for Quentin to kill again.  This is the
best move we've got."

"I'm going to talk to the mother now," Grenier said,
turning to walk down the hall.  He stopped, turned
back and pointed a finger at Mulder.  "You," he
said.  "Stay out of it from now on.  I mean it."

As he walked off, Russell sighed and rubbed a hand
over her eyes.  "There's no way in hell her mother
will agree to this.  I mean, seriously.  'Can we please
use your sixteen year-old child to trap a serial
murderer, Mrs. Kroner?' I don't think so."

Scully saw a dark flash in Mulder's eyes, and he
reached out to grip Russell's wrist.  "If she does
agree, don't go to the park.  Do it somewhere else."

Russell looked down to where his fingers were
biting into her skin.  "I'll see what I can do," she
said, pulling free.  "But you know how he is."

"Yeah," Mulder said as she walked off after Grenier.
"That's the problem."  Scully waited, watching him,
and as he turned away, he gave the wall a swift kick.
"God dammit."

"I'm sorry," she said.  "It's really your collar,
Mulder.  We wouldn't be here if it weren't for you."
She took a step closer towards him, running her
fingers lightly down to his elbow.  "We could go
over his head," she murmured.  "You deserve to be
there."

"No," he said, shaking his head and not looking at
her.  "If he goes through with this, the last thing that
girl needs is two agents engaged in a pissing match."
He turned to her.  "You're going along?"

"I -- he didn't say."

"Go.  Someone needs to look out for Vee."  He
gave her arm a brief squeeze.

Scully held his gaze, searching for whatever it was
he wasn't telling her.  "There's still something
missing, isn't there?"

He hesitated.  "Maybe not.  Maybe I just can't
believe that we're this close to ending it."

"But we are."  She smiled a little and took his hand.
"Thanks to you."

His fingers tightened around hers, his mouth set in a
grim line.  "Tell me tonight," he said hoarsely.
"When it's over."

XxXxX

Prison, thought Carl, and shuddered as he always
did when the word came to mind.  Prison was a
horrid, smelly place where everyone had to dress
the same and the shoes were worn-out old sneakers.
He had survived only by remembering the shoes
from his past.  The pointed toes, the velvety suede
pumps, the sharp stiletto heels.  With buttons and
bows and sequins, he had counted the girls in his
mind.

And he had learned some things.

Alvin Wayne Goodacre, for example, had taught
him better technique.  No more fumbling around on
the neck for the best place to squeeze.  Carl now
knew about the carotid arteries, and how to make a
woman pass out in under a minute with just some
steady pressure.  If it looked to the cops like it still
took him some time to choke the life out the
girls...well, that was because Carl liked to do it that
way.  After.

He took his glinting knife and cut himself a fresh
length of rope.  This one he planned to choke for a
long time.  He thought of her wheezing, gasping as
her terrified eyes realized that it still wasn't over.
That he could bring her to the very edge and then
yank her back again as often as he pleased.

A song came on the radio as he worked.  Carl
turned it up and sang along.

XxXxX

People who didn't believe Einstein's theory of time
relativity had never been on a stakeout before,
Scully thought.  Her inner world had gained speed
throughout the day, to the point where her brain
was on a constant hum.  Outside, the minutes ticked
by with plodding, elephantine slowness.  The
brambly bushes that defined her hiding spot grabbed
at her hair, scratched her cheek and shook water
over her every time the wind blew.

No joggers allowed that night.  No teenagers out for
trouble.  The park was as silent as a grave.

Scully shifted, peering through the leaves as best she
could. A few tray drops fell onto her eyelashes, and
she blinked them away.  "Not the park," Mulder had
said, but here they were anyway.  Scully had been
punished for voicing his concerns by banishment to
the far side of the park, stuck babysitting a tiny side
entrance while Grenier's team circled the decoy Vee
where Quentin had appeared the last time.

Earlier, Daniel Rubin from VC had passed around a
mock mug shot, during their ten minute sandwich
break.  "I hear this is the guy we're looking for,"
he'd quipped, handing her a piece of paper with
Nixon's face pasted into the usual background of
height markings and ID numbers.

Scully shivered, listening for any sounds of scuffling,
twigs snapping or footfalls on the walkway.  They
were only fifteen minutes from 1 a.m., Nixon's usual
witching hour.

XxXxX

Mulder returned to play in the basement, as ordered.
There was no way he could go home until he heard
one way or another what happened in the park.
When the phone rang, he snatched it up before it
could complete one full trill.

Relief surged in his veins.  It was over.  "Mulder,"
he said, but it wasn't Scully on the other end.

"Agent Mulder, it's Rob Kitchens from the tech lab.
They told me you were still here."

"Yeah," Mulder agreed, leaning back in his chair and
rubbing his eyes.  "I'm on stakeout.  What's your
excuse?"

"Um," the younger man sounded confused.  "I've
been working late on the reconstruction that Agent
Scully sent us.  I, uh, I don't think you're going to
believe what we found."

"Try me," Mulder said, his mind still in the park.

"It's, well...can you come see for yourself?  I have it
up on my computer now."

Mulder checked his watch.  Five minutes to one.
How long would Grenier wait out there, he
wondered?  "Sure, I'll come right now."

"Great."

Mulder checked his cell phone, making sure it was
on, and headed out the door.  A few minutes later,
he found Kitchens sitting in the lab, staring a
computer monitor with his arms folded across his
chest.  "Okay, I'm here," he said.  "What have you
got?"

"We scanned and isolated the discolored patches
from the brain slices that Agent Scully gave us.
Then we recombined them into a 3-D image like
this."  He swiveled the monitor so that Mulder could
see.  Mulder squinted at the image.

"It looks almost like a face," he said, surprised.
"Like one that's been stretched in a fun house."

"Exactly what we thought," Kitchens agreed.  "But
you have to remember we're dealing with brain
images, and human brains don't track everything on
a one to one relationship with the outside world.
So..."  He hit a couple of keys on the computer.  "I
corrected for the distortion as much as possible.
This is what I got."

The image loaded slowly, adding lines like an old
dot-matrix printer.  "Oh my God," Mulder said,
moving closer to the monitor.  It was a more like an
imprint than a photograph, as though someone had
pressed his face into the sand and they were looking
at the after effects.  But the lines were clean and
clear.  Mulder traced them with one finger, trying to
pick out Carl Quentin's image, but he was working
with a memory of an eleven year-old photograph.

"Don't ask me to explain how it got there," Kitchens
said.  "Like it was burned on her brain or
something.  I've never..."

"Can I access my files from here?" Mulder asked
suddenly.

"Sure."

Mulder brushed him aside and waited with little
patience as the network chugged along.  He
exported Quentin's old mug shot from his database
and downloaded it onto Kitchens' desktop.  "Can
you tell me if this is the same face as the
reconstructed image?"

Kitchens' looked doubtful.  "I can overlay them and
tell you if the lines match."

"That's fine, do it."  He watched as Kitchens
imported Quentins' mug shot into a photo
manipulation program.  Kitchens resized the shot to
match the reconstructed face.  A few minutes later,
he was edging the two images closer together.
Mulder leaned in for a better look.  "Well?"

"Let me enlarge it."  The faces doubled in size, and
Mulder felt his stomach drop to his feet.  "Nope,"
Kitchens' said.  "Not too far off, but you see the
eyes are father apart on your guy.  The forehead is
bigger, too."

"It's not him," Mulder whispered.  Then he
remembered the park.  "It's not him!"

And he began to run.

XxXxX

continuned in chapter twelve.

XxXxX

Chapter Twelve

XxXxX

"I know he's on a fucking stake out," Mulder said
into the phone as he swept through the halls.  "But
he's looking for the *wrong man*."

"I'm sorry," said male dispatcher on the other end.
"I have specific orders -- no calls through to Agent
Grenier at this time."

"Get me Russell then."

"Agent Russell is unavailable.  I'm sorry, sir, but..."

Mulder hung up with an angry snap.  As he
rounded the corner to the requisition office, he hit
the memory key for Scully's number.  Her phone
rang unanswered.  "Dammit," he muttered, both at
the phone and at the locked door of the office.   The
flat, gray night lighting was on, but he couldn't
detect anyone inside.  He pounded on the door
anyway.  "I need a car!"

In between the painful beats of his pounding heart,
he heard remnants of his dream.  The dead, wet
leaves at his feet, the snapping of the branches, the
scream that he was struggling to keep inside.
Scully.

Danger, danger -- the word shattered his head,
leaving pinpoints of white light dancing before his
eyes.   He had to get to her, had to let her know.
A car, where's a car?

XxXxX

Scully squinted at her watch in the bushes, trying to
tilt it so she could catch some light from the street
lamp.  Past one-thirty.  She rubbed her cold hands
together a few times, peering out at the dark, empty
walkway.  There was not a soul in sight.

She clicked on her walkie-talkie.  "Position one, this
is position eight," she said, careful to keep her voice
low.  "There's been no movement on this end.  How
much longer are we going to stay out here?"

After a moment, Grenier's voice crackled back at
her.  "Hold your place.  He's coming."  A pause.  "I
can feel it."

His words sent a shudder through Scully, as if she
could feel it, too.  She took a step towards the
opening of the bushes, and the wind blew, moving
shadow people all around her.

XxXxX

His left side felt panicked, hot and sweating,
vibrating with energy; his right side was sweating,
too, but cold and numb.  Weak.  Mulder tried to
coordinate them both as he dashed through the
darkened halls toward the parking facility.

Too fast on the stairs.  He slipped, catching himself
on the railing before he could fall.  "The mask was
wrong," he muttered, resuming his frantic descent.
"I knew it was.  Someone else knew.  Knew some
but not enough.  Dammit, dammit."

A woman, cleaning the stairs with a broom that
looked like a furry white animal, pressed herself
against the wall with surprise as he passed her.  He
lurched to a stop.  "Do you have a car?" he asked.

She blinked, holding the broom handle to her chest.

"A car, a car," he repeated impatiently.

"Si, yes.  I have a car."

"I need to borrow it," he said, and she blinked again.
"Please, it's urgent.  It's an emergency."  He pulled
out his badge, barely repressing the trembling his
right hand as he showed it to her.

"Is old," she said, frowning.  "My car."

"I don't care.  Please, can I borrow it?"

She pursed her lips, then dug a set of keys out from
the large pocket on her dress.  "It's red Toyota on
the second floor, space two twenty-two."

"Thank you," Mulder breathed, snatching the keys
from her.

"My shift is finished in three hour!" she called after
him.

He waved the keys over his head in answer, barely
registering the statement as he pushed the door
open to the parking garage.  Jogging through the
rows of cars, he called up Scully's number again on
his phone.  "Answer, c'mon, answer."

Her voice-mail came on, and Mulder suppressed a
curse as he levered himself into the car.  His knees
pressed almost to his chest in the tight space
designed for a much shorter driver.  Pushing the
seat back as far as it would go, he started the engine.
His tires squealed all the way out of the garage.

XxXxX

Russell shifted behind her curtain of branches,
frowning as the sleeve of her windbreaker caught
her on a prickly limb.  Jenna Cullam, the agent
selected to play Vee, paced about twenty feet away.
Russell could see the other woman's  breath misting
in the air, her rapid white puffs a mirror to Russell's
own growing anxiety.

"Position one," she said.  "This is position three.
Can you read me?"

"What is it?" Grenier sounded tense.

"Any sign of activity from your end?"

"Not yet, but let's give it until two."

The moon disappeared behind the clouds, darkening
her hiding spot, and Russell squinted through the
bramble toward the gate.  Her pulse skipped a beat.

There was a shadow, long and human-like, edging
its way into the park.

"This is position three," she said over the main
channel.  "We've got company."

*

Across the park, Scully grabbed her walkie-talkie.
"Position one, please advise."

"Hold your positions," Grenier ordered.  "We go on
my say so.  Position three, can you confirm the
suspect's identity?"

Scully waited out the following beats of silence,
frozen in place with her heart pounding out the
seconds.  At last, Russell's voice crackled over the
line.

"It's a male," she said.  "The right height and weight,
but I can't see his face.  Wait...he's moving in on
Cullam!  He's going for his weapon!"

Scully emerged from her place in the bushes,
prepared to run.

"Now!" hollered Grenier, and Scully felt a hand
clasp over her mouth.  Her walkie-talkie slipped to
the ground.

*

Mulder recognized Cullam immediately, but the
confusion on her face said she had not placed him.
"Agent Mulder," he said, reaching for his badge.
"Where's Gren--"

Like lightning, she had a gun pointed at his chest.
"Stay where you are!"

Mulder froze in place as the bushes seemed to come
alive around him.  Agents rose up like something
from "MacBeth," with weapons drawn and leaves
sticking in their hair.  "Wait," he called.  "Wait."

"Get down!" yelled a voice he recognized.  Grenier.

"It's Mulder," he insisted, but the other man didn't
seem to hear.

"Get the fuck on the ground before I blow your
fucking head off!"

*

She struggled, wriggling and trying to find his ribs
with her elbow, but his grip was iron strong.  His
hands closed around her neck, and within seconds,
her breath evaporated...her head growing fuzzy and
the park faded from view.

He unclasped her mouth.  "Help," she called weakly.

But it was too late.

*

Mulder lay face down in the cold dirt.  "It's me, *
Mulder*," he said again, and this time Grenier
seemed to pause.

"Get some light over here," he commanded, and
Mulder squinted as three high-beam flashlights
shone on his face.  "God damn it," Grenier
muttered.  "What the hell do you think you're
doing?"

Mulder got up slowly, breathing hard and shielding
his eyes from the harsh light.  "Carl Quentin did not
kill Elizabeth Kinney."

Grenier seemed to snap.  "God damn you..."  He
lunged at Mulder, but Russell slipped between them.

"Adam, stop."

"I told you to stay the hell out of this!  I *ordered*
you to stay away!"

Mulder's temper rose, too.  "Are you deaf, Grenier?
I said you're staking out the place for Quentin!  He's
not going to show here!"

"What the fuck do you mean, 'the wrong place'?"
mocked Grenier.  "This is your boy we're after,
Mulder.  You're the one who said it was him."

"It is," Mulder agreed.  "But not this time."

Russell looked at him with wide eyes.  "What the
hell are you saying?"

"I'm saying that the man who killed those women
eleven years ago, the man who murdered Grace
Johnson and Ellen Cavanaugh -- that's Carl Quentin.
He is *not* the same man who killed Beth Kinney
in this park.  Therefore, Quentin is sure as hell not
going to come looking for Vee."

"A copycat," breathed Russell.  "Shit."

"That's not possible."  Grenier shook his head.
"There were too many things that were the same,
too many details..."

"But there were other things that *weren't* the
same.  Like the Nixon mask.  It never made any
sense, and now I know why.  And why would
Quentin include a newspaper clipping on just that
one kill?  The answer is he didn't.  It was someone
else hoping that we'd connect Beth's murder with all
the others."

*

Carl taped her mouth, wrists and ankles after putting
her in the trunk.  Her gun he deposited safely in his
coat pocket.  Paused in the process of shutting the
lid, he reached out to stroke her tiny feet.

Boots tonight.  Low and sensible for tracking
murderers in the woods.  Fortunately, he still had
that pair of heels he'd stolen from her closet.  They
waiting at home for his consummation.

He grinned and slammed the trunk shut.

*

"Assuming this is true," Grenier said, his breathing
puffing out in front of him.  He still glowered at
Mulder.  "Why in the fuck did you come down here
now to tell us?  Someone wants this girl dead, and
just maybe we could have had a chance to catch
him in the act."

"You never had a chance," Mulder replied.  "This
guy probably knew what you were planning before
you ever got here."

"The fuck he did."

"Just *think* about it for a second, would you?
How could he have known about so many details of
the crime scene?  He has to have an in, Adam.  He
has to be connected with the killings from eleven
years ago."

"You're saying he's a cop," Russell said.

"Perhaps," Mulder agreed.  "At the very least, he
has to have been in a position to know the details of
the murders.  Up close and personal."

"Fuck," Grenier said, reducing his vocabulary every
time he opened his mouth.  "I still don't believe it."

"Excuse me."  Richard Arkin stepped forward.  "I
just don't understand one thing."  He glanced
nervously at Mulder.  "If Quentin isn't going to
show here because he's not the guy in the mask, and
the mask guy isn't going to show because he's got
inside information...I agree with Agent Grenier.  I
don't understand your hurry to get down here."

Mulder frowned.  "Because..."

Grenier folded his arms over his chest.  "Do
enlighten us."

"Because..." Mulder searched his brain for the exact
reason.  There had been danger, he was sure of it.
"Because a man like Quentin is probably interested
in his own investigation," he said at last.  "He's likely
familiarized himself with the leads on this case, may
even be close by, just not where you're looking."

"And where should we look, exactly, seeing as how
you..."

Scully.

Mulder craned his neck around, looking for her in
the crowd of agents.  "Where is Agent Scully?"

Russell turned as well.  "I'm not sure.  She was
stationed with Arkin on the other side of the park,
near the side entrance."

"I haven't seen her since we got the call," Arkin
said.  "But I took the short way over here, through
those trees."

"Scully," Mulder murmured, beginning to push
through the wall of people surrounding him.

Scully, who was now a lead agent on this case.

Scully, whose car was suddenly having trouble.

Scully, who had a rampaging cab driver outside of
her apartment.  A cab driver who may have then
kidnapped and killed whatsherface a few hours later.

Scully, who wore stylish, four-inch heels.

"Oh, shit," he murmured, breaking into a run.
"Scully!"  The slippery leaves squished under his
feet.  Panting, he half-slid down a hill, branches
clawing at his face.  "Scully!"

He reached the side entrance of the park only steps
ahead of Russell, Grenier, and Arkin.  "Where is
she?" Mulder demanded of Arkin.

"I...I don't know.  She was supposed to be right by
the door, behind those bushes."

The sharp boughs scraped at Mulder's hands as he
pawed through the bushes Arkin indicated.
"Scully!"

She wasn't there, but a cursory examination with his
flashlight found red hairs caught on one of the
branches and Scully-size footprints in the soft earth.
His stomach gave a sharp twist.

"Mulder!"  Russell's voice called him out of the
brush.  He turned his flashlight to where she stood
staring at the ground.  "You'd better come see this."

Mulder closed his eyes reflexively, not wanting to
see.  "What is it?" he asked, managing to make his
feet move the short distance to Russell's side.

Scully's walkie-talkie lay in the dirt at her feet.

XxXxX

She couldn't breathe.  Squirming in the dark, she hit
her head on something made of hard metal.  Her
arms ached from where they were pinned behind
her back, her knees at her chest.

The man, she remembered, big and strong.
Choking her from behind.  It had to be Carl.

She felt light with fear, her fingers rapidly going
numb.  Each breath was a struggle not to
hyperventilate.  Think, think, she ordered herself.
How to get out of this alive?

She tried to keep her head clear, but her mind kept
turning over the crime scene photos, echoing the
police reports that told her time was already running
out.

Carl's victims all had one other thing in common
besides their missing little toes:  none had remained
alive longer than twelve hours after her abduction.

XxXxX

continued in chapter thirteen.

XxXxX

Chapter Thirteen

XxXxX

Mulder ran through the gate and into the middle of
the slick, shiny street.  He stopped, turned frantically
in one direction then the next, but there was no one
to be seen.  The wind blew hard, sending a shower
of fat, cold drops down upon him.  In the distance,
he could hear the rush of a car passing through a
deep puddle.  Taillights winked at him from several
blocks away, rounding the corner and disappearing
into the black night.  Gone.

He bent over, gulping in sharp breaths of air that
burned his lungs.

Footsteps behind him, heavy boots on the wet
pavement, and Grenier's angry voice.  "Gone as in
fucking not here.  Yes, that's what I'm saying."
Mulder stood up slowly and turned to see Grenier
glaring at him as he growled into the walkie-talkie.
"A car, a person...hell, even a goddamn shadow!
Did you see fucking *anything*?"

Mulder's gaze flickered to Russell, who lingered just
outside the gate.  She ducked back inside, but not
before he caught the censure in her eyes.  No one
had seen anything, he knew as she did, because they
had all been on the other side of the park, mistaking
him for a suspect.  Not more than five minutes.  Just
long enough for his world to crack open and leave
him bleeding raw fear into the empty street.

"Anything?" he asked as Grenier lowered his
walkie-talkie.  The other man shot him a long,
disgusted look.

"Venaldi saw a large black sedan drive past on the
east side of the park about fifteen minutes ago.
That's it."

Mulder's panic ratcheted up another notch.  "That's
not enough.  What about the men on point in the
cars?  What about --"

"There's nothing!" Grenier roared, taking a step
closer.  "Every pair of eyes was over on the west
side with you, you asshole.  God damn it."

"We've got to figure out where he's taking her,"
Mulder said.  "It's the only chance."

"We," Grenier cut in, "are not going to do a damn
thing.  I'm having you arrested for interfering with a
federal investigation.  And when this is over, I am
damn sure going to have your badge for this."  He
signaled to two nearby agents.  "Nickerson, Zuffy,
take him in."

They looked uncertain.  Grenier whirled on them.

"I said now, Agents!"

Mulder's heart pounded painfully inside his chest, his
anger rising.  "We're wasting time," he said.  "We
need to go back over the..."  Nickerson grabbed his
arm, but Mulder shook him off.  "NO!  Fuck you,
Grenier.  This is it, when seconds matter, and I
know you hate it, I know you hate me but I am the
one who can do this.  I'm the one who can get
inside this guy's head.  After, after we find her, if
you want to have it out, if you want to fucking duel
at twenty paces, then I will be there.  But right now,
you have an agent MISSING, Adam, and we don't
have TIME to fuck around with the slow, careful
way!"

Grenier looked like he might take a swing at him.
"And whose fault is that?"

"Jesus," Mulder said, pushing past the confused,
younger agents.  "You want to hear me say it?" he
called over his shoulder as he stalked back in the
direction of his car.  "If I tell you what you want to
hear, then can we start looking?  I did it! Okay, I did
it!  I caused the distraction. Happy now?"

He could hear Grenier on his tail.  "You were
always a fuck-up.  I was the only one who could see
the truth."

Mulder halted abruptly, and with one quick motion,
grabbed Grenier by his coat.  "She has hours!
Don't you understand that?  In a few hours it's not
going to matter whose fault it was!"

The fight seemed to leave Grenier immediately, and
up close Mulder could see the fear in his eyes.   His
lips were colorless, his breathing shallow.  "Okay,
then.  What the fuck are we going to do?  Where
would he take her?"

Mulder released his fists and tried to tamp down his
rising tremble.  "I don't know yet," he admitted.
"But we sure as hell aren't going to find out
standing here."

XxXxX

Scully braced as best she could against the cramped,
slippery walls of the trunk, but her feet were tightly
bound and she could no longer feel her arms behind
her back.  She concentrated on taking slow breaths
and trying to figure out where she was being taken.
Probably well outside of the city, she guessed,
estimating they had been driving for most of an
hour.  Most of it at high speeds, so they had been on
one highway or another.

But when the car began a steep upward climb, her
thoughts spun dizzily, threatening to spiral out of
control.  Up the mountain again.  Trapped in the
trunk.  Up, up, and away.  Gone.  Flashes of her
previous struggle sprang alive in her memory -- tied,
gagged and fighting Duane Barry every stumbling
step into the wind.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the breathless,
paralyzing terror.  Stop it, stop it.  Think about now.
Think about how to get out.

The car slowed, taking several winding turns, but
still climbing a steep grade.  One particularly large
bump caused Scully to hit her temple on the car
jack.  The pain gave her focus.

There was no way to overpower him from the trunk
of a car -- no element of surprise, no leverage and
no mobility, given her bound hands and feet.  She
tried twisting her wrists to loosen the tape, but only
managed to dig the edges further into her skin.
Panting through her nose from the effort, she laid
her cheek on the gritty floor of the trunk.

*Think* she ordered herself, stretching as much as
she could within the confined space.  More pain.
Something hard pressed against her hip, trapped
between her body and the unforgiving floor.  She
wriggled but the object moved with her.

Her cell phone.  Thank God.

Bracing her feet on the side of the trunk, she gained
enough leverage to roll over.  The deep muscles in
her shoulders screamed though every painful inch.
Phone, phone.  Her heart pounded the word over
and over.  She flexed her numb fingers, but they
were helpless, tied behind her back.  The phone
remained sagging in her pocket near her waist.
Scrunching up her legs, she tried to fold herself
inward enough that she might nudge the phone with
her chin.

A contortionist she was not.  The tendons on her
neck burned and stretched; her joints creaked loudly
in the blackness.  She sucked the tape over her
mouth in and out as she struggled, ripping the top
layer of skin from her lips.  Her chin grazed the
pocket of her windbreaker, but the phone just
slipped around inside.  Momentary tears of
frustration stung in her eyes, and she rested,
breathing hard and tangled in the dark.

XxXxX

"You've caused enough trouble," Grenier growled
as he grabbed Mulder's car keys.  "The last thing I
need right now is to be scraping your brains off the
pavement after you've crashed this thing."

"Come with us," Russell added.  "It's better
anyway."

"Whatever," Mulder said as he climbed in the back
of their car.  "Let's just get moving."

"Where would he go?" Russell asked in the car.
"Indoors, right?  Even though the bodies are..."
Mulder flinched, and Russell halted, clearing her
throat.  She continued in a softer tone. "Even
though they're found outside, he must take them
inside for a period of time.  He needs privacy for
what he does."

Mulder gave a short nod, his leg bouncing nervously
in the back seat.  "He's got a place somewhere,
yeah.  Someplace cheap, with few neighbors."

"We've still got men at the other address," Grenier
said.  "Just in case he shows up there.  And we're
watching Scully's place now, too."

"Scully's place?" Mulder said.  "Why?"

"He likes their shoes, right?  Maybe he wants them
to model.  It's a shot in the dark, but it's better than
nothing."

"Yeah, okay," Mulder agreed.  A thought hit him.
"Her phone!  Does she have her phone with her?"

"I don't know," Grenier said, but Mulder was
already digging out his phone.  "I gave orders that
all phones were supposed to be off, in any case.  It's
SOP."

"No answer," Mulder said a moment later.  He
leaned forward into the front seat.  "Have someone
keep trying.  And if it rings through, let me at him."

XxXxX


Her arms had gone from numb to shooting pain,
and the phone still lay in her pocket.  She had
managed to widen the mouth of the pocket with her
chin, but she couldn't get the phone free.  Dirt in her
eyes caused them to fill with tears, which then ran
down her face and glued sticky strands of hair to
her cheeks.

Carl had slowed the car further; time was running
out.

Frantic, she tried rolling back and forth to slide the
phone out of her pocket, but the angle was wrong.
She felt her one chance slipping away.

The air was thinning; she felt dizzy and weak, and
the fear of carbon monoxide poisoning caused a
shiver up her spine.  Even her teeth seemed to ache
from the exertion.  She lay on her back, trapping
her arms beneath her, but the pain barely registered
anymore. Any minute, he was going to stop the car
and pull her out.  He would have a knife, and...

Scully swallowed hard against her gag reflex.
Thinkthinkthink.  One last try.

With grim determination, she braced her feet against
the side of the trunk and her knees against the top.
Her squashed arms radiated with hurt, but she
ignored their complaint and began rocking back and
forth, inching her knees over her head.  The process
was agonizing, slow enough that she felt her muscles
nearly tearing from her bones.  She stopped every
few seconds to catch her breath.

Halfway though a full back-flip, she felt the phone
drop out of her pocket and onto her chest.  She
froze, cramped and crooked, so it wouldn't slide off
into a dark corner somewhere.

*How the hell do I turn it on?*

Her fingers no longer responded to her command.
She couldn't tell if they were even moving.  Worth a
try, she thought, turning in pain-filled millimeters to
her right side.

The car stopped.

Scully went limp, her heart pumping so fast there
was no space between the beats.  The rush of blood
roared in her ears.  Outside, she heard crunching
footsteps.  The sound of the trunk popping was like
a gunshot; she jumped as the lid cracked open.

"Well, well, well," he said, pinning her with a beam
of bright white light.  "What do we have here?"

Her eye muscles jerked in spasms.  She squinted up
at his looming silhouette, unable to see his face.  He
passed the flashlight beam over her in a lingering
caress, ending with a long look at her feet.

"We're going to have so much fun," he murmured.
Scully saw a flash of his hand, and then he had by
the hair, tangling a fistful in his fingers until tears
pricked her eyes.  "Oh, yes, we are."

She squirmed and he yanked her back in place.
"Stop that."  He released his grip, then pulled a knife
in front of her, bringing it down to her face and
illuminating the toothed edge with his flashlight.
"We can do this the easy way or the hard way," he
said.  "But it's going to be my way no matter what.
Understand?"

Scully gave a small nod.

"Very good."  He slid the knife blade lightly along
her cheek.  "Let's get started then."

As he bent to release her feet, Scully stared up at
the darkness.  Trees, she thought.  It smelled like the
woods.

"What the fuck is this?"  He held up her cell phone.
"You are a nervy one, aren't you, baby?  But I don't
think you'll be needing this any time soon."

He pocketed the phone, and Scully closed her eyes.
The tape on her feet ripped open under his blade,
and her legs shook with weak relief.  Carl hummed
as he worked.

"Okay now," he said, hoisting her out of the trunk
by her waist.  She trembled and nearly fell to the
ground.  "Move."

The knife blade reappeared at her neck, and Scully
took several stumbling steps forward.  Behind her,
Carl shone the flashlight into the dirt path ahead.
Scully's stomach clenched when she saw the tracks
at her feet -- pointed toes and tiny, round heels.
Where the others had gone before.

A death march, she thought, and Carl shoved her
along.  One step closer.

XxXxX

The BSU meeting room was a grisly shrine to Carl
Quentin.  Pictures of the victims hung on the wall,
with the latest three given a prominent position in
the center.  Mulder pulled Beth Kinney's photo
down.  "He didn't do this one."

"So you've mentioned," Grenier snapped.  He made
a sweeping gesture to the rest of the horrific
pictures.  "But what about all the rest?  Take a look,
Mulder.  Take another good look at what this animal
can do."

"Shut up, Adam," Russell said.  "It's not helping."

Mulder sank into a chair, his head in his hands.  He
didn't need to look.  The images came fast and
furious whether he wanted them or not.  Bare white
necks covered in bruises, limbs askew and vacant,
unseeing eyes.  He raised his head and stared at the
long line of faces.  Under each girl, there was a
picture of the shoes she had been wearing at the
time of her abduction.  The shoes weren't recovered,
of course; they'd had copies sent from the
manufacturers.

"They never found the shoes," Mulder murmured.

"What?" Russell asked.  Mulder stood and walked to
the photographs.

"The shoes.  They never found them." He turned to
Arkin.  "What address did Quentin give when he
was arrested in '88?"

"Uh..." Arkin pawed through the papers on the
conference table until he found the correct folder.
"Baltimore.  He was living with his cousin."

"The hell he was.  There's no way Quentin could
have been bringing the women home and not have
the cousin know about it."

"Maybe he did know about it," Grenier said, his
eyes glinting.  "Have we got someone on the
cousin?"

"He moved to Atlanta in 1991," Russell said.  "We
checked earlier, and the house belongs to a
newlywed couple now."

Mulder shook his head.  "Did they search the house
in '88?"

"Yeah," Arkin said, consulting the reports.  "The
cops suspected Quentin might be responsible for a
half dozen muggings in the Beltsville area at the
time.  They tossed the cousin's place right after
Quentin was arrested.  No other incriminating
evidence was found."

"That's it," Mulder said.  "He's taking them all to the
same spot, the same place he used eleven years
ago."  He looked at Arkin.  "Get the cousin on the
phone.  I want to know if the family owned any
other property, had any usual vacation spots, any
place Quentin might go."

"You got it."

Mulder glanced at the clock and felt the second
hand's movement vibrate inside him as it ticked
away the time.  Two hours had already passed.

XxXxX

The first thing she saw was blood on the sheets.
Rumpled, white sheets streaked with red-brown
smears.  There were pieces of rope tied to the bars
of the headboard.

"I have everything prepared for you already," he
said from behind her.  "I've been waiting a long
time."

Scully tried to stop shaking.  The cabin was cold,
dirty, and there wasn't much light.  Her legs were
wobbly, and her hands were still tied tightly behind
her back.  Quentin had yet to lower his knife.  He
kept it at her neck as he walked around in front of
her.

She drew back just an inch at the sight of him, so
different than the mug shot she had seen earlier.
Blond, spiky hair replaced his previous dark brown.
There was a scar on his left cheek, and he had lost a
lot of weight.  "Surprise!" he said, grinning, and she
saw he was missing a front tooth now, too.  "It's me,
the man you've been looking for!"

He reached out with his free and touched her hair.
"I bet you never dreamed I was this close.  I've
never had an FBI agent before."

Agent, thought Scully wildly, that's it!  If she could
just engage him as an agent instead of a victim, she
might buy herself some time.  She forced herself to
stay still under his stroking.

"If I take the tape off, will you scream?"

She shook her head slowly, holding his gaze.  He
tilted his head as if appraising her.  "Okay, I'll do it.
But remember there's more where this came from."

He took the edge of the tape and yanked.  Scully
gasped as more of her skin ripped away.  Quentin
laughed.  "Stings, don't it?"

"Thank you," she said, hoping to catch him off
guard with non-confrontational approach.  Quentin
appeared unfazed.

"Get in the bed," he ordered.  The knife gleamed in
his hand.

Scully swallowed with difficulty and took a tentative
step toward the bed.  Something else, she thought
desperately, something else he might want from
you. "Carl, please..."

He caught her hair.  "What?  What did you call
me?"

She gritted her teeth through the pain.  "Carl
Quentin.  It's your name, isn't it?"

"And how the fuck did you know that?"

Scully felt a surge of relief.  She had him going now.
"Mulder found you.  In Ohio."

"Fuck," he said, and the knife point nicked her
throat.  "That sonofabitch."

"We know about Dee-Ann and..."  Her addled brain
struggled to come up with the name.  "...and Susan
Perry."

"Bitches, both of them."  He pushed her closer to
the bed.  "Keep moving."

Scully's gaze caught the line of shoes he had
displayed on shelf by the bed, all familiar pairs from
the photos she'd seen in the dead women's folders.
Except the end pair.  Black, open-toed sandals.  A
pair she had bought at Gucci on impulse last year.
"You've...you've been in my house."

He shoved her down onto the filthy sheets.
"Several times," he told her with a grin.  "And you
never even knew it, did you?  You think you're so
hot, but you don't know so many things."

"Mulder knows who you are," she pressed, trying
not to watch as he readied the rope.  "He'll find you
here in no time."

"Fuck Mulder," Quentin said, his smile gone.  "He's
a nothing, an idiot, do you understand me?  All
those years and he never figured it out.  He thinks
he's got me now...why?  Because of a name?  He
knows *nothing*!"

"He found your first murders.  He can find--" She
broke off, wheezing as his hand closed around her
throat.

"Shut up!  Mulder's a goddamn cocksucker who
couldn't find his ass with both hands.  I've got news
for you, honeybitch -- Mulder's never gonna find
me.  He believes every lie in press about me.  Looks
in all the wrong places.  Trust me, we're not going
to have any interruptions."

He released his grip, and Scully coughed, sucking in
painful breaths.  "What lies?" she croaked.

"Ah, ah, ah."  His grin was back, and he wagged a
finger at her.  "A good little agent would have
figured it out on her own.  Maybe that's Mulder's
problem, huh?  He's been hanging out in the ghetto
too much."

What lies? Scully thought, frantic as he slit the tape
behind her back.  Her hands throbbed as the blood
returned.  It was a brief respite, because he
immediately shackled one arm to the headboard.

"There we go.  Nice and tight."

Scully fought her panic and looked around the room
for something, anything, to get him talking again.
Below the shoes he had taped dozens of newspaper
reports on the killings, but it was too dark for her to
read anything more than the headlines.

POLICE SUSPECT SERIAL KILLER AFTER
THIRD VICTIM FOUND

DC SLAYER CLAIMS SEVENTH VICTIM;
POLICE CLAIM NEW LEADS

MAYOR CALMS PANICKED CITY

Then, the new ones:

INTERN, 22, FOUND MURDERED

ARCHITECT MURDERED; POLICE SEEK CAB
DRIVER

Wait, she thought, wait.  Where was Elizabeth?

Leaning over to tie down her other arm, he blocked
her view of the newspaper articles.  She counted the
shoes instead.  Nine.  Nine pairs, not counting hers.
Ten bodies.  No mask.

"It wasn't you," she whispered, and Carl froze.

XxXxX

continued in chapter fourteen.

XxXxX

Chapter Fourteen

XxXxX


"Is this Steven Lynch?"  Mulder paced as far as the
conference room phone cord would allow.

"Yes," said the man on the other end, his voice
sleepy and annoyed.  "And it's four in the morning.
Who is this?"

"Mr. Lynch, my name is Fox Mulder.  I'm an agent
at the FBI, and --"

"I told the man last week that I hadn't seen him."

Mulder halted his pacing.  "Excuse me?"

"Carl," said Lynch with impatience.  "When the man
called yesterday to ask about him, I said I hadn't
seen or spoken to Carl in over ten years.  I thought
he was still in prison."

"Do you have any idea where he might be now?"
Mulder asked.

"No, like I said, I moved away and haven't talked
with him since."  A pause.  "The sick freak,
attacking that woman like he did."

"Mr. Lynch, it is extremely important that we find
Carl right away.  Can you think of anywhere he
might have gone?  Friends, other relatives, favorite
places...anything."

There was a short silence on the other end.  "What
did he do this time?"

"Mr. Lynch, please..."

"It's something bad, right?  He's killed a girl this
time, I bet."

"He has my partner," Mulder snapped, running a
hand through his hair.  He took a deep breath.  "He
took her and we need to find them fast.  So please,
think.  Where would he go?"

"I...I wish I knew.  He went someplace when he
stayed with me -- sometimes he didn't come home
for days.  When I asked him about it, he said he had
a girlfriend."

"Any idea who that might have been?"

"No.  I never saw him with any woman, to be
honest."

Mulder's heart clenched and fell, sweat breaking out
on the back of his neck.  His one lead was dimming
fast.  "Did your family have any other property in
the area?  Somewhere else he might go?"

"We weren't like the Rockefellers, Agent Mulder.
That house I sold in Baltimore was the only one my
family has ever owned up there."

Mulder said nothing.  He hurled the phone receiver
at the wall, where it bounced off and fell to the floor,
dragging the rest of the phone with it.  The air
crackled but nobody moved; Grenier, Russell and
Arkin stood stock-still, watching as he took several
ragged breaths.

"What, um, what should we do now?" Russell asked
at length.

Mulder walked to the door, not answering.  At the
threshold, he paused without turning around.  "I
don't know," he said, and left.

XxXxX

Vice-like, his fingers grabbed her chin.  "What did
you just say?" His eyes flashed fever-bright, his
breath warm and fetid as he leaned over her.

Scully quivered but held his gaze.  "The murder in
the park," she said.  "It wasn't you."

"Heh."  He released his grip and stroked the side of
her face.  "Not bad, FBI woman.  I'm impressed.
Russell and Grenier, I didn't expect them to get it,
but Mulder..."  He trailed off.  "He's not what they
said he was.  He's not the best, or he would have
known it wasn't me."

"He knows your name," Scully said again, her
breathing shallow.  The ropes bit into her wrists.
"It's only a matter of time before he finds you here."

Carl laughed, a harsh, humorless sound that grated
all the way to her bones.  "Baby, Mulder had twelve
fucking years to find this place.  I don't think he's
gonna come sniffing around here now."  He leaned
down, pressing his full weight on her, and put his
lips right next to her ear.  "We're all alone."

Scully turned her head.  "Get off of me."

"Get off of me," Carl mimicked.  He pulled back
and grinned.  "I'll get off, all right, baby.  Yeah."

Scully swallowed, watching him rub the bulge in his
pants.  Fear tingled all the way to her toes.  "I'm the
only one who knows," she said, struggling to sound
strong.

"Shut up." He licked his lips and reached for the
button on her jeans.  Her heart lurched.
Instinctively, she drew up her legs, twisting away
from him.  He slammed her back into position with
one swift motion.  "Do that again and I'll break your
knees."

One hot tear leaked down her temple and into her
hair.  She squeezed her eyes closed as he yanked
down her pants.  "I'm the only one who knows it
wasn't you," she repeated.  "I can tell them and set
the record straight."

"That so."  He snorted as pulled off her boots and
socks.  They hit the floor with a thud, and he
discarded her pants as well.  "I bet you'd have lots
to tell them now, wouldn't you, baby?  Bet they'd
love to hear all about it."

As he went to retrieve her spiked heels from his
trophy shelf, Scully tugged hard on her restraints.
The knots rubbed her skin raw, and bars of the
headboard rattled.  Carl didn't even bother to turn
around.  "It's not worth the struggle, I promise you.
The others tried to get loose, too, but they only
managed to work themselves into a sweat."

Her heart in her throat, Scully kept yanking.  The
left bar was loose, wobbling back and forth with
each frantic pull.  Carl frowned as he approached
the bed.

"Don't make me tie your feet, too.  I hate it when I
have to do that."

Scully trembled, weak from fear and exhaustion.
She jerked at his touch on her leg.  "Listen, you're
right.  Mulder has no idea.  He doesn't know where
you are, he doesn't know about the girl in the park,
he doesn't know anything about what you're really
like."

"He knows what I'm like," Carl said calmly, as he
slipped her left shoe on her foot.  He smiled at her.
"And soon you'll know, too."

"But don't you want him to know he was wrong?"
she persisted. "He should have known it wasn't your
work.  Look how quickly I figured it out.  Mulder is
a coward, a fraud."

"Damn straight," Carl said.  His lips tightened into a
grim line.  He moved to put on her other shoe, but
Scully kept talking, trying to make him listen.

"We could...we could tell him," she said.  "We could
show him how wrong he was."

Carl rubbed her foot, seeming distracted by the
velvety contours.  "And how are we going to do
that?"

Her heart thudded.  This was it.  The last shot.

"We could call him."

Carl's head snapped up, and he looked at her with
narrowed eyes.  "You think I'm an idiot?  You think
I don't know about traces?"

"The cell phone," she said quickly, the words
tumbling out through her terror-numbed lips.
"They can't trace it except to a general area.  Here
in the woods there'd be no time for them to figure it
out."

He ran icy fingers up her calf, tracing the curve of
her knee, and Scully willed herself not to shudder.
"You got him on speed dial, huh?  Yeah, I'll just bet
you do."

She moved her foot to his lap, but her caress came
out as more of a spasm.  He didn't seem to care.
"Just think about it," she said hoarsely.  "You've got
me here, trapped.  Don't you want Mulder to know
about it?  Don't you want him to know that you've
won?"

He cupped her foot, stilling her movements.
"Maybe I'll let him listen to you scream.  Would you
liked that?"

Scully flinched at his words, turning her head away.
The row of shoes loomed on the shelf to her right.
She stared at their pretty bows and sequins and
wondered if she was going to die.

Carl shifted on the bed, his heavy hand lifting from
her foot, and Scully dared to glance at him again.
He'd pulled out her phone.

"He was number one on your home phone," Carl
said.  "I called him but I didn't leave a message."  He
patted her calf.  "What message should we give him
now, do you think?"

Scully said nothing.  *Turn it on* she willed him.  *
Just turn it on.*

Like magic, he did.  "Let's see, baby.  He might be
too busy to come play with us now.  Maybe he's still
jerking off in the park.  What do you think?"

Her pulse picked up, hammering in her throat as she
saw him hit the first memory key.  He was actually
going to dial.  Oh, please, she thought, twisting again
at her restraints.  The ropes held fast.

"It's ringing," Carl told her with a gleeful grin, and
Scully began to pray.

XxXxX

Mulder was in the hallway leaning against the wall
when his cell phone gave a muffled chirp, deep
within his pocket.  He had it out in nanoseconds.

"Mulder," he said, freezing in place even before he
could hear an answer.  There was a loud crackle on
the other end, but no one spoke.  His heart turned
over.  "Scully?"

Grenier and Russell ran out into the hall with Arkin
hot on their heels.  Mulder turned away from their
questioning looks. "Scully, is that you?"

"Guess again, Mulder."

"Quentin," Mulder said, whirling around and
snapping at the other agents.  Grenier nodded and
they scattered in three different directions, already
on top of the trace.  "What's going on, Quentin?
What are you doing with Agent Scully?"

The man gave a soft laugh that sent a prickling
ripple of fear down Mulder's back.  "Oh, come on,
Mulder.  You know what I'm doing.  You've seen
the pictures."

Mulder gripped the phone so hard that it threatened
to snap in two.  "She's a federal agent, Carl.  You
hurt her and it's an automatic death penalty."

"That's assuming you catch me.  Which, I have to
say, doesn't seem too likely, now does it?"  He
laughed again.  "You weren't even looking in the
right place!"

"But I was," Mulder said.  "You were at the park."

"But not where you were looking!"  His sing-song
sounded like a four year-old's.

"No, you were with Agent Scully." Mulder's
stomach tightened; he closed his eyes.  "Tell me...is
she all right?"

"I don't want to talk about that right now.  I have
something else to talk about."

Russell reappeared.  "We've got the tower traced,"
she mouthed.  "But keep him talking."

Mulder tried to think, tried to put himself in Carl's
place, but when he did he saw Scully, bruised and
broken on the ground.  "No," he said.  "I won't
listen.  Not until I talk to Scully."

Silence followed, and Russell looked alarmed.
"What the hell are you doing?" she hissed.  Mulder
brushed her off.

"I'm going to hang up, Carl."  He waited another
second.  "I'm hanging up now..."

"Wait!"

Mulder waited, shaking as the seconds passed.  He
heard rustling and Carl's murmur.  Then, "Mulder,
it's me."

"Scully!"  Thank God.  Her voice was roughened,
scared, but she was still alive. Tears stung his eyes.
"Scully, where are you?"

She did not answer.  He heard more scuffling, then
Carl's voice on the line again.  Hard, angry.

"Now," he said, "you'll listen to me."

"Yes," Mulder said, walking a circle in the hallway.
"Yes, okay.  What is it?  Anything you want, it's
okay.  We'll get it for you.  Just don't hurt her."

Quentin answered with a hacking cough.  "Like
your partner, do you, Agent Mulder?  She's a pretty
one.  Smart, too.  Smarter than you, Mr. Hot Shit
FBI."

"She's the best we have," Mulder agreed.  Russell
gave him a questioning look, but he couldn't answer
it.  Quentin was one step ahead of him in this
conversation.

"She guessed my secret right off," Carl continued.
"She's the one who thought we should tell you,
too."

"What?"  Mulder was losing patience, his nerves
stretched razor-sharp.  "What do you want me to
know?"

Carl's breathing grew deeper. "I want you to know I
have your partner tied up.  I've got her in bed,
Mulder.  And she's wearing those pretty shoes just
for me."

Mulder swallowed, nearly gagging.  "You leave her
alone, you bastard!  You leave her alone or--"

"Or you'll what?"

"This call is being traced," Mulder said desperately.
"You don't have time."

"I have plenty of time for what I need to do.  So go
ahead and trace the phone, Agent Mulder.  I'm sure
you'll find it eventually."  He paused.  "Here, I'll
even give you a hint --  it'll be right next to Agent
Scully's body."

And the line went dead.

XxXxX

He snapped off the phone and gave her a gapped-
tooth grin.  "You were right," he said.  "That was
fun."

Scully felt her insides begin to shred apart in fear as
tossed the phone aside.  "But you didn't tell him.
He'll never know--"

"He doesn't fucking deserve to know!"  Carl's smile
became an angry snarl.  "He's a fuckup, and we're
not going to mention his name again, understand?"
Scully said nothing, and Carl grabbed her throat,
squeezing until she gagged.  "I said, do you
understand?"

"Yes," she gasped.

"Good."  He released her and patted her cheek.
"Then we'll get along just fine."

He moved from the bed, back toward his shelf, and
Scully tracked him with her eyes as she yanked with
all her might on the ropes holding her to the
headboard.  The left side nearly slipped free.

*C'mon, c'mon* she begged silently as the ropes
chafed more skin from her wrists.

Carl turned around from his shelf.  He had a pair of
hedge clippers in his hand.  Scully couldn't suppress
a choked sound of terror, and he blew her a kiss.
"For later," he said, holding them up so she could
get a better look.

Not enough time, she thought wildly.  There's not
enough time to find me.

XxXxX

"Figures we couldn't catch a break," Grenier
muttered as he returned with the read-outs on the
phone trace.  "Widest search area possible.  A half
dozen towns in the foothills and a bunch of the
mountains, too."  He glanced at Mulder.  "I've
already got teams headed out there.  We can leave
right away."

Mulder was already moving.  "Get me the cousin
again," he called back down the hall. "I want to talk
to the cousin."

XxXxX

He sat on the bed, the springs squeaking under his
weight, and pulled her left foot into his lap.  "Oh
yeah," he murmured, bringing it to his crotch.

Scully closed her eyes.  Notyetnotyet.

He leaned down to put the garden shears on the
floor; her heart pounded faster and faster, almost
pushing through her chest.

"Okay," he said, rising up again.  "Now for --"

She kicked him hard in the face, catching his right
eye with the point of her heel.  He howled in pain
and doubled over at the waist.  Scully pulled harder
at her restraints, kicking him again even as she
tugged.  The bar holding her left arm broke loose.

"Bitch!" he screamed, clutching his eye and
swinging at her with his free hand.  She rolled away.
"You fucking bitch!"

With her left hand, she ripped the right bar out from
the headboard.  He lunged at her just as she slipped
off the bed.  Shaking, she ran for the door.

"Oh, no you don't!"  Carl caught her by the hair,
hard enough to bring tears to her eyes, but she
didn't stop struggling. She brought her heel down
on top of his foot.  With a gasp of pain, he released
her.  "God dammit!"

She stumbled, crying out in pain as her left foot
turned over at the ankle when she caught it on a
loose floorboard.  Her shoe fell off.

He grabbed her again by the left arm, but she
scooped the shears from the floor with her right and
bashed them against the injured side of his head.  He
contracted in pain.  Yanking free from his grasp, she
scrambled again towards the door, her lopsided gait
now slowing her down.  She kicked the other shoe
off as Carl moaned behind her.

"Open, open," she pleaded with the door, not daring
to look over her shoulder.  It rattled in its frame, the
lock stuck, and she could hear Carl getting up from
the floor.  "Please..."  Finally, the lock slid clear, and
she ran out into the cold, black night.

Which way, which way?

She went into the woods, away from the path,
picking her way though the sharp branches and
slippery leaves.  Her own breathing was harsh in her
ears; she didn't stop to listen for him following her.

The clouds obscured the moon, making it impossible
to see where she was going.  She ran blindly
through the trees, her wounded ankle throbbing
with each step.  The bars from the headboard still
dangled from her wrists by the rope, but she
couldn't stop long enough to undo the knots.  Sticks
and rocks scraped against the tender bottoms of her
feet, and whip-slender branches lashed across her
bare legs.  Her tears flowed freely now, but she kept
going.

At last, shaking with cold and adrenaline, she
stopped in a small clearing.  Drizzle had started to
leak from the sky, plinking small drops on her
goose-pimpled skin.  Around her, there was only the
whispering sound of the rain on the leaves and the
occasional gust of wind.  No cars, no road.  She had
no idea if she was five hundred or five thousand feet
from Carl's cabin.  In the dark woods, she might
have been running in circles.

The crack of a branch snapping made her jump.
She turned around in a tight circle, trying to see in
every direction at once, but the ink-blot night
cloaked the woods in secrecy.  He could be
anywhere, she thought with a shudder.  Keep going.

So she ignored the night chill and the cuts on her
feet and pushed into the dense thicket of trees once
more.  She had not walked for more than fifteen
minutes when she saw a light flash in the distance.
She froze, hugging herself against the rain and cold.
The beam of light crisscrossed through the darkness,
and she heard the crunch of footsteps.

Oh, God, she thought.  It's him.

She scrambled back the way she had come.  Down
a steep hill, through the thicket, she reached the
bottom and paused for breath against a rocky ledge.
The footsteps were closer than before, and this time
she heard voices.  Voices!

"Scully?  Scully, are you out here?"

"Yes," she said, barely recognizing the rasp
masquerading as her voice.  The footsteps began to
move away.

XxXxX

continued in chapter fifteen.

XxXxX

Chapter Fifteen

XxXxX

There wasn't a path in front of him, only tangled
bramble waiting to scratch his eyes out.  Mulder
hacked his way through the woods with one arm,
dodging the worst of the barbed branches as the
flashlight in his left hand provided a slim beam of
light to follow.  Behind him, Russell thrashed her
own trail.  "I don't see either of them," she said.

Mulder paused, shining his light around in several
directions.  The beam illuminated the slanting rain.
"Scully!" he called.  "Scully, where are you?"

"Maybe he took her with him," Russell said.  "We
could be losing time..."

"There were tracks into the woods," Mulder
snapped.  He walked deeper into the darkness, twigs
crackling under his feet.  "Scully," he yelled again.
"Scully!"

He heard a faint scuffling sound.  "Mulder?"

"Scully!"  He bounded through the woods in the
direction of her voice.  "Scully, where are you?"

"Mulder!"

He flashed the light around wildly, trying to find her
among the trees.  "Scully, talk to me.  Scully?"

"I'm here," she said, sounding desperate.  He ran
faster, making zigzags through tall trees, slipping on
the muddy leaves at his feet.

"Scully!"

"Over here!" Russell called, and Mulder abruptly
changed course.  He pushed through a tall thicket
and saw her at the bottom of a steep incline,
trembling with cold and squinting under the glare of
Russell's flashlight.  His heart stopped at the sight of
the ropes still tied around her wrists.

"Jesus," he muttered from ten feet away.  He half
ran, half slid down the hill towards her.  "Scully, are
you okay?"

"I'm cold," she said as he reached her.  He took off
his wool overcoat and put it on her, gathering her
close.

"Are you okay?  Are you hurt anywhere?"

She pressed against him, still shaking.  Her teeth
chattered. "My feet are cut.  I may have...may have
sprained an ankle."

"Scully."  He hugged her tight.  "I'm so sorry."

Several more flashlights joined Russell's as another
rescue team arrived.  Mulder turned away,
instinctively blocking Scully from the glare and
curious eyes.  She had not stopped trembling.

"Paramedics are on their way down," Russell called,
and Mulder nodded.

"Come on," he murmured to Scully, "let's sit down.
Rest your feet."

He tried to coax her down onto the forest floor with
him, but her fingers dug into his shirt, protesting.
"He's in the woods, Mulder.  He followed me."

"Grenier's got every man looking for him right
now," he told her, brushing back the hair that was
stuck to her cheek.  "It's okay, Scully.  It's going to
be okay."

He gently tugged her down with him, and this time
she relented, her slow, rigid movements telling of
her lingering pain and fear.  She slumped against his
shoulder, shivering as he used his own cold-numbed
fingers to fumble with the wet knots at her wrists.
His struggle only chafed her further, and she
winced, burrowing into his chest.  He kissed her
temple.  "Sorry, sorry."

"Quentin didn't kill Beth Kinney," she told him. "He
didn't have her shoes."

"I know," he replied as he tried to maneuver the
coat so that it would cover her feet.

She shuddered, her breathing still light and fast on
his neck.  "How?"

He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head.
"Your autopsy findings.  I'll explain later."

"Hey, down this way!" Russell yelled, and a few
moments later the paramedics appeared at the top of
the hill.

"It's the cavalry," Mulder murmured.  "We're going
to get you out of here, okay?"

She nodded but did not loosen her hold on him.  He
stroked the back of her head and rocked them both
in a gentle rhythm.  She had stopped shaking, but
he wasn't sure whether that was a good sign or a
very bad one.

Two rain-slicked EMTs arrived carrying a stretcher,
and the man knelt down next to Scully.  "Agent
Scully, I'm Bob Eckland, and this is Eliza Bennett.
We're going to take care of you now, all right?  Tell
me, are you hurt anywhere?"

Scully sat up from Mulder's embrace, and the loss of
her weight caused a painful lance in his chest.  There
was nothing more he could do.

"My ankle may be sprained," she said, her voice
hoarse.  Eckland cut the ropes from her wrists, and
she flexed her fingers.  "Other than that, I'm okay, I
think."

"All right, we're going to take you to the hospital
and check you out, get you out of this rain."  He
smiled at her.  "Try to relax.  We'll have you out of
here ASAP."

Mulder climbed back up the hill with the stretcher,
his fingers resting on the cold metal edge.  Scully
pulled her arm out from beneath the blanket and
clasped his hand.  "Almost there," he said.  He gave
her hand a reassuring squeeze and tried not to
notice the angry red circles around her wrist.

As they neared the edge of the woods, Mulder saw
more flashlights circling around in the darkness, men
searching for Quentin.  Russell's walkie-talkie
squawked periodically as Grenier updated their
orders.  Quentin seemed to have vanished.

His cabin loomed in front of them as they emerged
from the clearing.  Lit up like a Christmas tree, it
shone under the bright searchlights and swirling red
patterns created by the crush of cop cars that
surrounded it.  Scully's hand tightened around his,
and Mulder felt the squeeze all the way to his heart.
He had seen the inside with its bloody sheets, thick
rope, and garden shears.

"You traced the cell phone?" Scully asked as they
paused while the EMTS opened the back of the
ambulance.

"Yeah," he said, running one finger down her cheek.
"Thanks to you.  Quentin's cousin helped us narrow
the search area; seems they used to go hiking
around this area years ago."

"Okay, we're ready to go," said Eckland.  "We'll just
--"

He was cut off by a flash of blinding white light.
"What the hell?" Russell said from behind them,
shielding her eyes.

Mulder blinked rapidly.  As his vision cleared, he
spotted Tanzini standing twenty feet away.  "That
sonofabitch."

"Mulder..." Russell said, but he was already moving.

Tanzini grinned when he saw him coming. "Tough
choice, isn't it, Mulder?  Go with the lady or stay
and catch the man who got away the last time.
What's it going to be?"

Mulder grabbed for the camera, but Tanzini ducked
out of reach.  "You're under arrest, Tanzini.  For
interfering with a federal investigation."

"I'm not interfering.  I'm just standing here."  He
snapped another picture, the flash exploding in
Mulder's face.

"You goddamn sonofa..."  Mulder lunged at him,
intent on strangling the man with his own camera,
but a hand bit into his shoulder and held him back.

"Arrest this idiot," Grenier growled, and two other
agents stepped forward to take Tanzini into custody.
"And the camera stays with us."  He glared at the
photographer.  "You may have pulled this shit on
Patterson's turf, but you stay the hell away from my
investigations, you go it?"

"You don't own this property, Grenier."  Tanzini
struggled but the two agents held him fast.  "You'll
be hearing from my attorney, and the paper's
attorney, you can count on that!"

"Get him out of here," Grenier said with disgust.
He turned to Mulder.  "How's she doing?  Is she
okay?"

Mulder glanced to where the ambulance waited.
"Yeah, I think so."  He looked back at Grenier.
"Get Quentin, okay?  I'll be at the hospital."

XxXxX

Scully lay under the hospital blanket and watched
the raindrops slide down the window outside.  Her
feet had been cleaned and bandaged, her wrists were
wrapped, and her ankle was not even sprained.  The
finger-mark shaped bruises on her neck would heal
quickly, she knew.  In a few days, no one would be
able to tell what had happened to her.  No one
would know that she had lain on a bed where nine
women had died.  No one would know that she still
had fear dripping down her insides, sticking to all
the soft places and making it hard to breathe.

"Can I get you anything?  A soda, something to
eat?"  Mulder sat with her, prodding her to speak at
regular intervals and then lapsing into awkward
silence as he chewed on his thumbnail.

"No, thank you."  It was the third time he had
offered, and she almost accepted just so he would
leave her alone.  She felt raw and vulnerable, split
open and on display, as if he were waiting for the
moment she would break.  He was stuck in the drab
little room because of her pain, and for some reason,
she resented it.  She rolled away from him on the
bed.

He hadn't been terrified in the trunk or tied to the
bed or choked or cut or found half-naked in the
woods.  Her cheeks burned at the memory.  "I want
to go home," she whispered.

She felt his touch on her back.  "I know."  He
paused, apparently choosing his words carefully.
"But we need to get a forensic team in there first,
just in case..."

"In case for some reason we can't convict him of
nine murders," she said angrily.  "I know.  It's
always nice to have breaking and entering as a back
up plan."

Mulder said nothing for a long moment.  Then,
"You can always stay with me tonight."

His words, light and unsure, caused tears to clog her
throat.  He was trying so hard, so why wasn't it
enough?  "Thanks," she said with a sniff.  "That
would be nice."

"'kay."  He gave her another careful pat.  "We
can...we can order Chinese.  Or pizza."

She squeezed back the hot tears.  "All right," she
murmured.  She tried not to think of her tub and
her soft sheets.  She tried not to think of yet one
more invasion of her home, when the fingerprint
team would dust every inch with black powder.
Instead, she thought suddenly of another person
who couldn't go home.  "Vee," she said, sitting up.

"What about her?"

"Where is she?  She's still in danger, Mulder.
Whoever killed Beth Kinney is out there somewhere
and presumably still wants Vee murdered."

Mulder frowned.  "I'm not sure what happened to
her," he said.  "Last I saw her was with you, when
she picked Carl out of the lineup."

"You've got to find out," she said.  He looked
hesitant, reluctant to leave her.  "Please.  We have to
know that she's protected."

He took a deep breath and nodded.  "Okay.  I'll go
see what I can find out."

"Thank you," she said, settling back against the
pillows.  "I'm just afraid that someone may have
thought the threat was over and sent her home."

Mulder left, and a few minutes later there was a
knock at the door.  Russell poked her head inside
the room.  "Is it okay if I come in?"

Scully sat up again, drawing her knees to her chest.
"Did Mulder send you down here to baby sit me?"

Russell entered and held out a cup of coffee.  "No, I
just wanted to make sure you were okay.  I also
thought maybe you could use one of these."

"Thanks," Scully said, accepting the paper cup.
"Any word from Grenier about the search?"

"Nothing so far," Russell replied as she sat in
Mulder's chair.  "They're still looking the last I
heard.  Should be easier now that it's daylight."

"He has my gun."

"Yes, we heard.  His car was still in front of the
cabin, though, so we're hoping that he couldn't have
gotten very far."

Scully sipped the hot coffee, then shifted
uncomfortably when she saw Russell staring at her
wrists.  Russell, she remembered, was one of the
people to witness the aftermath in the woods, when
Scully had been terrified and trembling in her
underwear.  She set aside her coffee and slipped her
hands beneath the blanket.  "You really don't have
to stay. I'm all right. I think they're releasing me
shortly, anyhow."

"I'm glad," Russell said.  "And I'll get going soon so
you can rest."  She bit her lip, then leaned forward
in her chair.  "I just...I just wanted to tell you
something."

Scully's pulse picked up, and she tensed as she
imagined a dozen terrible things.  Whatever this
woman wanted to say, she was sure she didn't want
to hear it.  No forced attempts at reassurance, no
tidbits about Mulder from the past.  Somehow she
knew that smallest word could collapse her tenuous
control into shards of glass.

"I, uh, I never said this to anyone before," Russell
continued, her eyes on the floor, and Scully dared to
take a breath.  This was not the opening she had
expected.

"What is it?"

"I knew one of these guys once.  When I was little.
My mom owned a little grocery store in this town
outside of Portland, and I used to like to play there
while she worked.  There was this guy who came in
all the time.  He'd talk to her and make her laugh,
and he always bought one of the nickel lollipops for
me.  I remember he wore cowboy boots and
smelled like sandalwood.  Mr. Sugarman.  He liked
to say he was as sweet as his name.  Sometimes..."
She swallowed hard.  "Sometimes I would sit on his
lap in the back of the store and read books with
him.  I pretended he was my father."

Scully listened in silence, sensing where the story
was going but needing to hear the awful conclusion
all the same.

"Anyway," Russell continued.  "One day, my mom
opens the morning paper and runs to throw up.  I
looked and saw Mr. Sugarman on the front, but she
wouldn't tell me what had happened.  Two days
later I was playing behind the counter when I heard
a couple of women talking.  Turns out that
Sugarman had been arrested for the murder of five
little girls.  He strangled them and buried them right
in his backyard."

"That's horrible," Scully whispered.

"Yeah." Russell raised her eyes and looked at Scully.
"I was alone with him so many times, when Mom
went to check something in stock.  He could
have...it would have been so easy for him to..."  She
shook her head.  "I don't know why he didn't."

Can't even say the words aloud, Scully thought.  I
understand.  "I'm glad he didn't," she said to Russell.
"I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks," Russell answered.  "I can say the same for
you."

Scully ducked her head, considering.  "Yeah," she
said at last, "I guess you can."

Mulder returned then, surprised to see Russell had
taken over his chair.  "Did they get him?" he asked
quickly.

"Not yet," Russell replied as she stood to leave.
"But we will.  If there's one thing that Adam knows
how to do, it's conduct a search."  She touched his
arm, then glanced at Scully.  "I'll let you know the
moment I hear something, okay?"

"What about Vee?" Scully asked.  "Is she okay?"

Russell squeezed her eyes shut and ran a hand
through her hair.  "Damn, I totally forgot about
her."

"She fine," Mulder said.  "They've still got her and
her mother down at the Hoover building.  I told
them not to send them home under any
circumstances."

Scully let out a long breath.  "Good."

"Jesus, with everything that happened, I'd forgotten
about the other guy."  Russell gave Mulder a
questioning look.  "You're still positive we've got a
copycat?"

"It's true," Scully answered.  "Quentin said so
himself.  Plus, he didn't have Beth's shoes.
Someone else murdered her, and that's the person
Vee saw in the park."

Russell sighed.  "Any suggestions on where to start
looking?"

Mulder sank into the chair and scrubbed his face
with his hands.  "I would pull photos on anyone
involved in the 1988 investigation.  Have Vee look
through them for a familiar face."

"I can imagine the shit storm if it turns out to be one
of our own," Russell said.  She gave a half-hearted
attempt at a smile.  "I guess we're all off the hook,
huh?  She's met us and I don't remember hearing
any accusations of murder."

The words caused a chill to run through Scully as
she mentally rewound the past few days.  "Not
Arkin," she murmured as last.  "Vee has never met
Arkin."

XxXxX

continued in chapter sixteen.

XxXxX

Chapter Sixteen

XxXxX

Scully finished drying her hair with Mulder's ancient
dryer.  His robe came almost to her feet, and his
socks sagged around her ankles.  She stared at
herself in the mirror, pushed her hair behind her
ears, but it wasn't long enough to hide the finger
marks on her neck.

"Scully?"  He tapped on the door.  "The food's
here."

"Just a minute."  She pulled up the collar on the
robe and retied the sash around her waist.  Gingerly,
she walked toward the living room.  Even with the
thick socks, each step put painful pressure on her
wounded feet.

"Hey," he said when she appeared.  "Did you find
everything you needed?"

I don't even have any underwear, she thought, but
aloud she said, "Yes, thanks." She wrapped her arms
around herself to ward off the draft.

They stood in silence for a minute, then he touched
her shoulder.  "Come sit down and eat.  Is hot and
sour soup okay?"

"It's fine," she said as she lowered herself onto the
couch.  Her sore muscles stretched and cramped at
odd intervals, making her movements stiff and jerky.
He tucked a blanket around her waist.  "I'm fine,
Mulder.  Just sit down and eat."

The wind whistled outside, rattling his loose window
panes as they ate without speaking.  Scully
swallowed several bites of soup, feeling the burn all
the way to her stomach, but the taste barely
registered.  After a few more bites, she couldn't get
the soup past the back of her throat.  She set the
bowl down on the table and curled her feet up
under the blanket.

"No good?" Mulder's voice was so careful, gentle.
She almost wished he would scream at her, make
some noise to match the tumult she felt inside.

"I'm not very hungry."

"Me either," he answered, and placed his bowl next
to hers.  "You want to lie down?  Get some rest?"

She shook her head.  In the hospital, she had tried to
sleep, but her eyes had sprung open every time
she'd closed them.  Fight or flight, she knew, the
body's natural response to danger.  Her mind
understood she was safe, but her body was still
prepared to flee.  She couldn't make it quiet.

Mulder shifted, his eyes turned away from her.
"Scully, I think you should know what happened at
the park, what I did..."

"No."  She pushed across the sofa towards him,
landing awkwardly on his leg.  Her fingers bunched
in the soft cotton of his shirt.  "No," she repeated
against his neck.  His heartbeat thudded in her ear,
and he moved slowly to embrace her.

"Scully," he murmured, his voice thick.  "I
thought...on the phone, when he said..."

"Sssh, sssh."  She sat up in his lap and swallowed his
words with desperate kisses, ignoring her own tears.
"Stop."

Make it stop.  She clutched him fiercely, her breath
hitching in her chest.  He kissed her back just as
hard.  Bruising, hot kisses with stubble scrapes and
velvet tongues, fighting even as they loved.  She
pinned him back against the couch.  Hands
everywhere. Parted thighs.  Pushing everything
inside herself into him as he rose up hard between
her legs.

She gasped, eyes flying open at the memory of his
cock under her foot.  Fear in her throat.  She
grabbed at Mulder's hands and he brought them
under her robe, stroking her fevered skin.  Make it
stop.  Please don't stop.  Panting, she led him
onward, opening his pants and drawing him out.  He
threw his head back with a gasp.

"Scully..."

She slid her tongue in his mouth, no time to think.
Push him in.  Push everything out.  She rocked in
his lap as he held her hips and gave her what she
needed.

"Please," she whispered, the word scratching at her
throat.

"Ah, yes.  Scully."  His face screwed up in pleasure-
pain.

Faster, faster, rubbing inside and making her burn.
Tears leaked from her eyes, blurring her vision.  She
heard her own voice choking and pleading.  Wait.
Stop.

His face above hers, the shears in his hands.

Mulder's face, hot against her neck.  She pricked her
nails against his scalp.  "Yeah," he breathed, and her
muscles went rigid.

No.

The word wouldn't come out.  She gulped for air,
shaking, but he didn't notice the change in her.
Help.  She grabbed him tight, and he groaned.  A
few more thrusts and he stopped, pulling her close.
She jerked away.

"Scully...?"  His lids lifted, showing fatigue and
confusion in his eyes.

Struggling, she scrambled off him and ran to the
bathroom.  Stop, stop.  But the fear kept coming,
crashing over her in waves so fast that she couldn't
catch her breath.  She slammed the door even as
she heard his footsteps coming after her, but inside,
her terror continued unabated.  The knife at her
throat, his hands on her neck.  She flattened herself
against the cool door and tried to get control.

Itsokayitokayitsokay.

"Scully, please."  Mulder was on the other side.  She
shut her eyes and continued her gasping breaths.
"Scully, let me in."  He jiggled the knob.

"I'm sorry," she choked out. "I didn't mean to do
that."

"It's okay.  Scully, it's all right.  I'm the one who's
sorry.  Please let me in."

She hid her face in her hands, her cheeks hot and
wet to her touch.  "I can't," she said between
breaths.  "I can't make it stop."

The door knob rattled with more force.  "It's all
right," he said.  "You don't have to stop it.  Not
tonight."

"I'm sorry."  She moved way from the door and
released the lock with shaking fingers.  He stumbled
through in a rush, his face ashen and his pants still
undone.  "I'm sorry," she said as she hugged him.

His arms closed around her gently.  "You don't have
anything to be sorry for," he murmured, rocking
her.  "It's okay."

"It's not."

He kissed her head.  "You're right, it's not."

"I want to go home."

"I know."

She shivered in his embrace, and he rubbed the
length of her back with long, soothing strokes.
Gradually, the choke-hold of fear receded, leaving
her quivering and spent.  Her heartbeat followed his
into a slow, even rhythm, and she sighed against his
shoulder.  He was warm and solid in her arms.

"Better?" he whispered at her temple, and she
hugged him in answer.  He smoothed her hair
down, his hand resting at the base of her neck.

She closed her eyes as the tension inside finally
eased.  The cabin faded away, and she was left
standing safe with Mulder, their bare toes touching
on the cold tile floor.  She took a long, shuddering
breath.  "Yes," she said.  "Better."

XxXxX

He awoke disoriented in a tangle of sheets and
blankets.  It was nighttime, black as pitch.  Scully's
side of the bed was empty, and he could see no light
coming from the bathroom.  Concerned, he got up
and went to look for her.

He peeked around the corner into the dark living
room and saw her curled under a blanket on the
couch.  The slim light from the street lamp outside
told him she was awake, but he hesitated whether to
disturb her privacy.  He stood frozen, listening to
the storm beat against the windows as wondered if
maybe they had shared enough emotional
turbulence for one day.

"It's okay," she said softly, turning on the sofa.
"You can come in."

Still cautious, he approached with slow steps and sat
a good distance away from her, mindful of her
space.  He knew better than to hold her too tightly.
"What's up?" he asked.  "Couldn't sleep?"

She shook her head.  "I was listening to the rain."
She paused, and the sounds of sheeting drops and
rushing cars filled the silence.  "This kind of rain
always reminds me of you."

"Really?"

She smiled a little and nodded.  "Because of that
first case," she explained.  "In Oregon."

"That was some rain," he agreed, somewhat
surprised by her admission.  He smiled, thinking that
from then on, the pouring rain would make him
think of her, too, and this moment on the couch.
These small ways that she changed him, the way he
became a different person every time he talked with
her, was one of the things he loved most about her.
He took her hand.  "I was born in rain like this, you
know."

"Is that so."  She shifted to settle against his side,
and he wrapped one arm around her.

"Yep, it was a hurricane.  My mother almost didn't
make it to the hospital on time."

He felt her smile, warming him though his tee-shirt
right to his very center.  "Tell me more," she said.

So he did.

XxXxX

In the morning, they went to her apartment, where
she frowned at the disarray but ignored it in favor of
clean clothes.  She dressed in jeans and a soft-knit
sweater because work clothes were impossible due
to the cuts on her feet.  Sneakers only for at least
several more days.

She inched her closet door open to get them, trying
not to look at the rows of heels that lined one wall.
Now that she knew, the empty space where the
black sandals had been seemed to expand and
scream for attention.  She shut the door with a
sharp slam.

"Everything okay?" Mulder asked, poking his head
into the room.

"Yes, fine."

His cell phone rang.  "Mulder."  She watched his
face as he listened.  "Well, are they still out there?
How far is the road?  Uh-huh.  Yeah.  Yeah, okay.
I'm coming in now."

"What is it?" she asked when he'd finished.  He
looked away, the phone clenched tightly in his fist.

"They haven't found Quentin.  Grenier now thinks
he might have reached the highway on the other
side of the woods before we even got there."

Scully sank onto the bed.  "But then where would
he go?"

"Hitchhike?  Carjack someone driving past?  I don't
know.  How the hell this animal keeps besting the
entire FBI is beyond me."

"Well, this time we know what he looks like," Scully
said.  "And we know his name.  It's only a matter of
time before he gets caught."

"It's already been twelve years too many."

Scully looked at the door of her closet and did not
reply.

XxXxX

"You sure you want to do this?" Mulder asked
outside the evidence room.

Scully nodded.  "It's fine.  I'm the one who was
there, after all.  Maybe I can help."

"I don't doubt it," he said with a small smile.

He opened the door, and inside they found all the
items that had been collected from Carl's cabin
catalogued and spread out on a long table.  The
newspaper clippings had been placed in protective
plastic bags, but the shoes remained lined up as
neatly as they had been on Carl's shelf.  At the end
of the table lay the garden shears, still tinged with
blood.

Mulder glanced at Scully, but her expression was
unreadable.  She walked slowly once around the
table.  "My shoes aren't here," she said at last.

"What?"  He looked now, too, and found she was
right.  The black velvet sandals she had described
were not with the rest of the shoes.

"They're not here," she said again, more upset this
time.  "Do you think this means he still has them?"

Mulder felt the question like a punch to his gut;
there was no way he could lie to her.  "Yes," he said
tersely.  "I think he probably has them."

Scully stared at him without moving for a long
minute.  "Do you think he'll come back?"

He hesitated, choosing his words with care.  "I don't
think so.  He knows we know who he is this time; it
would be suicide to come back here now."

"But he might."

"He's come back before," Mulder said.  "So it's
possible.  But I doubt he'd even make it across city
lines."

Scully looked at the long row of shoes.  "I wish I
could say that was enough for me."

"I know," he said, crossing to her and giving her a
quick squeeze around the shoulders.  "I don't like it,
either."  He released her and moved to the table.
"So what do you say we see if we can figure out
where he might have gone, okay?"

Scully nodded, joining him by the evidence.  "Any
sense of where to start?"

"Not a clue."

They worked from opposite ends, poring over Carl's
notebooks and newspaper clippings.  Scully found
nothing that stood out to her, but after an hour,
Mulder looked up with excitement. "Is there a
magnifying glass around here?"

"Uh, yes.  Behind you."

He grabbed the glass and removed one newspaper
article from its bag.  Scully walked over to see what
he had found.  He had the magnifying glass trained
over one of Tanzini's old photos.  "What is it?" she
asked.

"I think I know who Irene was," he answered.

"Who?"

"Irene, the name in Elizabeth Kinney's textbook."
He set down the magnifying glass and turned to
look up at her.  "And if I'm right, I also know who
murdered Elizabeth Kinney."

XxXxX

Irene Sherring lived in modest brick house outside
of Richmond.  There was a tricycle in the yard, and
Ford Explorer parked in her drive way.  Scully
glanced up and down the mostly-deserted street.  "If
it's true," she said to Mulder, "this woman could be
in real danger."

"I agree.  That's why we have to make sure."

They knocked on the door, and a few minutes later
a round-bodied woman with a toddler on her hip
answered.  "Yes?" she asked as she hitched the child
up a little farther.  In the background, Bugs Bunny
was having it out with Yosemite Sam at about
twelve thousand decibels.

"I'm Fox Mulder," Mulder said over the din.  "And
this is Dana Scully.  I spoke to you on the phone
this morning."

"Of course," she said.  "About Dan.  Please come
in."

They dodged a minefield of toys as they followed
her into the room.  A boy of about six lay in front
of the TV, eating Cheerios straight from the box.
"Steven, turn that down please."  She continued in
to the kitchen, where she set the little girl down
amid a pile of plastic donuts.  "Have a seat," she
said.  "Can I get you some coffee?"

"No, thanks," Mulder answered.

"Okay, then."  She sat and took a deep breath.
"What's this about Dan?"

"Your late husband worked with Gary Tanzini at the
Post, is that correct?" Mulder asked.

"He worked with Gary sometimes, yes.  But he
didn't like it.  Gary was always bossing him around
like he was some pee-wee assistant.  Dan went to
Harvard!  He was no idiot."

"Mrs. Sherring, did your husband maintain a dark
room at home? Scully asked.

The woman picked up a cloth and wiped what
looked like a grape-juice stain from the table.  "Of
course he did.  Sometimes he'd be in there for days
on end."

"And at the time of his death," Scully continued,
"was he working with Tanzini on the series of
murders that took place in the city in 1988?"

"Oh, God.  Yes, now that you mention it, he was.
I'd almost forgotten about that.  Dan hated that job.
He had nightmares almost every night."  She
snorted.  "'Course, I saw where Tanzini got the
grand prize for that series a few years back.  The
public just couldn't get enough of it."

"This is the important part," Mulder said.  "Think
carefully.  After Dan's accident, did Tanzini ever
contact you about collecting some negatives, or
maybe some equipment?"

Mrs. Sherring considered.  "I believe he did, yes.
He came a few days after the funeral to get some
cameras that Dan had borrowed from work.  Why?"

Mulder looked at Scully, who pulled out a copy of
the photo he had picked out earlier.  "Mrs.
Sherring," she said, "I think you might want to look
at this."

XxXxX

Tanzini was in his office when Mulder, Scully and
two of the DCPD's finest arrived at his door.  If he
was nervous, he did not show it.  "Mulder," he said,
"I was just telling my lawyer all about that stunt you
and Grenier pulled the night before last."  He peered
over his glasses at Scully.  "You're looking much
better today."

She ignored his comment.  "We have some
questions for you, Mr. Tanzini."

"Yeah?" He glanced from her to the two uniformed
officers.  "What's with the troops, Mulder?
Shouldn't you be out looking for your murderer?"

"I have," Mulder said.  "And I've found him."

For the first time, Tanzini looked concerned.  "I
don't understand."

"Sure you do," Mulder said.  "You killed Beth
Kinney and dumped her body in Montrose Park."

"What the hell are you talking about?"  Tanzini
stood, too, his face turning pink with anger. "That's
a damn lie!"

"You want me to prove it?" Mulder asked.  "I can."

"I want you to take your goons and get the hell out
of my office."

"Beth interviewed you for the paper last year,"
Mulder continued as if he hadn't spoken.  "She did a
nice article on your Pulitzer."

"So what?  That means I killed her?"

"No, but that's probably when she found out you
had worked with Dan O'Dell back in 1988."

"I worked with Dan.  Big deal."

"The big deal is you stole some of his work,"
Mulder shot back.  "Those photos that won you
your big prize?  He took at least one, probably
more."

"The hell you say."

"I don't have to say," Mulder said, pulling out the
copy of the old photo.  He waved it at Tanzini.  "A
picture is worth a thousand words."

"What the fuck are you trying to pull here, Mulder?
I can call the mayor, you know, and he'll..."

"You're in the picture."

"Excuse me?"

"The picture you supposedly took.  Right there in
back of the crowd, with your own camera.  That's
what Beth saw, and that's why you killed her."

Tanzini glared at him in stony silence for a long
minute.  "The little bitch should have just kept her
mouth shut.  I took hundreds of photos every bit as
good as Dan's, and I taught him everything he
knew."

"Take him away," Mulder said.  He watched as the
two men handcuffed Tanzini and read him his rights.
"Somehow I don't think the Post is going to be
covering your legal fees on this one," he said.

"Go to hell."

Mulder indicated the door with a sweep of his hand.
"After you."

XxXxX

"Yeah," said Vee from her place at Scully's side.
"That's definitely him.  No question this time."

"Okay, get them out of there," the sergeant said
through a microphone, and a uniformed cop led
Tanzini and the other men in the lineup out through
a side door.

"So that's it?" Vee asked.  "He won't get out on bail
or anything?"

"He shouldn't be allowed bail," Scully replied.  "But
even if he is, you won't have to worry.  He knows
we have more than enough evidence to convict him,
and his secret is already out.  There's no reason for
him to target you now."

"I guess," the girl said, but she didn't sound
convinced.  "You'll tell me if he gets out?"

"I promise."

"Okay."  She shoved her hands in her pockets.
"My mom's waiting, so I guess I should go.  But I
wanted to give you this."  She pulled out a key
chain with a small stuffed lion attached.  "It used to
be my good luck charm, because I won it playing
skee-ball in the fourth grade."

"Quite a prize," Scully observed.  "But you can't
give away your good luck charm."

Vee shrugged.  "It hasn't been that lucky for me
lately.  I figured it might work better for someone
else."

Scully smiled.  "Okay, thanks.  I'll try it out."

Vee nodded and went to the door.  "I thought you
might need it more anyway," she said, turning
around.  "'Cause they caught the man who was after
me.  Hope it works."

The door closed behind her, and Scully stared at the
scruffy miniature lion in her palm.  "Yes," she said.
"Me, too."

XxXxX

continued in the Epilogue.

XxXxX

Epilogue

XxXxX

Two weeks later, Mulder sat in his office making
friends with his files again.  He wanted something
juicy for his first case back on full duty.  There was
a report on a man who had survived a plunge off of
a thirty-two story building in Chicago that seemed
interesting.

He set the file aside when he heard his partner's
familiar gait in the hallway.  "Hey," she said as she
walked in the door.  "Welcome back."  She eyed the
stack of files on his desk.  "You must have been in
here early."

He grinned.  "And you, I should note, were not."

She smiled back and held up a bag.  "Shopping,"
she explained.  "There was a sale that started this
morning."

He leaned down to peer around the corner of his
desk.  On her feet were a pair of sleek, black heels, a
little narrower than he was used to seeing.  "Those
look new."

"They are.  I put the old ones in the box."  She
walked over and sat on the edge of the desk.  "I got
tired of looking at the blank space on my shoe rack,
and it was time for a new pair, anyhow."  She
paused.  "And at least I know he hasn't touched
these."

"I talked to Grenier this morning.  They're following
a lead in Idaho, of all places."

"I hope it pans out."  She turned the file in front of
him around so she could read it.  "What have you
got for us?"

He tugged it back.  "How do you feel about deep
dish pizza, Scully?"

XxXxX

Carl sat on the park bench even though it was really
too cold to eat lunch outside.  He thought about
heading south, where people didn't have to wear
boots for five months out of the year.

After a few minutes, a young woman joined him.
Her hair was wrapped in a pretty pink scarf, and she
seemed to be waiting for someone.  Carl felt the old
tingle start when he glanced at her feet -- smart
black pumps with a white stripe across the toe.

"Can I help you?" she asked when she caught him
looking.

He smiled to reassure her.  "I'm sorry," he said.  "I
just have to say I love your shoes."

XxXxX

The End

If you made it this far, I'd love to hear from you.
All comments and questions are welcome at
syn_tax6@yahoo.com

This one is for Alicia, who has stuck with me
through 1.5 years and 5 novels.  Not to mention
sesame-seeded villains, marathon phone
conversations and a hair-raising trip up the Space
Needle.  Alicia, thank you!  You make the world-
wide web as friendly as a backyard barbecue.

Sexy, strappy, open-toed sandals of thanks to:

Alanna, for asking questions that made me rethink
my choices.

Alicia, for being fast, funny and a good friend.

Jerry, for much help with plot.

Luperkal, for fielding all of my GW questions.

Joanne, who spent 3000 miles this summer listening
to me iron out the plot.

Diana, for on-the-spot Mulder characterization
consults.

Mara, Triton and Jen, for feedback beyond the call
of duty.

Nancy, for the amusing and entertaining theories.

It's been fun, folks.  Thanks for letting me play.

syn