TITLE: Jack AUTHOR: Exley_61 (typo@clam.rutgers.edu) Rikersmith Prison Philadelphia, PA Tuesday, 10 AM Scully scrunched her nose, accustoming herself to the ammonia scented urine that fouled the air. Turning a corner, she was escorted down another long corridor -- raised, barred windows on one side, jail cells occupying the other. Tap. Tap. Tap. Her heels sounded stark and precise against the cement. Inmates, the cells staggered apart in this block, remained almost suspiciously quiet. There were none of the usual catcalls or other rambunctious behavior that Scully had become accustomed to from previous jailhouse forays. She filtered a sigh of relief through her lips, grateful for the reprieve. Quickening her pace, she hurried to meet up with Mulder. Unfortunately, the autopsy this morning had taken longer than anticipated and she was now running late. As suspected, the Rittenhouse body yielded the same findings of the previous two victims, and a match to the original MO established ten years previous. Scully closed her eyes, thankful that despite the media frenzy circulating Keenswan's parole hearing, the craziness seemed to have ended there. As of now, word had not leaked to the press regarding this latest rash of killings. Yet, Scully couldn't help thinking that it was merely a matter of time before the media piranha did find out about the murders, especially if the killer continued to remain at large. Scully checked her watch, 1243 PM. "Damn." She hadn't had a chance to talk with Mulder since he'd dropped her off this morning. Elbows deep into the upper thorax of the latest victim, Mike had come into the morgue, informing her that he'd gotten them in to see Keenswan. As she stripped off her bloodied gloves, he offered to take her over to the jail. Mike had another prisoner to speak with the Warden about, but soon as he was through he'd be at the Keenswan interrogation. It was all fine with her. Now, here she was, glancing at her watch and seeing that she was almost twenty minutes late. 1247 PM. She quickened her steps, the tap, tap, tap of her heels echoing around her. She straightened her blazer, keeping her gaze straight ahead, and mentally prayed that the foreign silence would remain. It didn't. "Dana!" Scully's pace faltered, slowing down. Tap. Tap. "Dana!" Stopping, she froze. Tilting her head, she tried to listen, discern whether she'd heard correctly. She had. "Dana!" Turning on her heel, she slowly looked back over her shoulder before completely facing the person, the prisoner who'd called out to her. Reluctantly proceeding back toward him, she halted her ricocheting footsteps before a set of metal bars, and peered through. "I knew it was you, knew it, knew it, knew it," he said, his voice deep yet softly laughing. His eyes blinked erratically as his body shuddered beneath his orange jumper, his sleeves rolled up. Taking another step closer, she saw his face spotted with brown lesions. Scully felt her skin tingling, her heart rate fluttering in shock. "Ed?" Scully gasped, her eyes rounding as she beheld his appearance. Gone was the trim, muscled body, replaced by ropey tendons and skeletal gauntness. She concluded that his total body weight couldn't have massed more than a hundred and twenty pounds on his six foot frame. She recoiled, shaking her head as if to do so would negate, would clear the image of the man who now stood before, restlessly rocking back and forth. "It's me, Dana," Ed confirmed what she knew to be true. Horrified pity marked her features. Oh God, it . . . it really was him. "Oh. . . ," Scully breathed, her eyes unable to quit examining his body, noting the level of sickness he'd succumbed to. Scully shook her head, unable to stop herself from recalling with a faint sense of irony, her fleeting thoughts of Ed Jerse when she'd woven her way through the airport early last night. Never. Never in her wildest imaginings had she ever contemplated seeing him . . . let alone facing him like . . . like this. Two years ago, Scully had come to Philadelphia, met Ed Jerse and spent a night with him, drinking, talking - having a good time getting lost, a tattoo and almost killed -- all in that order. The tattoo she would still take, but the whole of that experience she'd rather have left buried, tucked away as only a memory -- locked and labeled as not worth contemplating. She'd only reluctantly reopened that door once, when Mulder had asked her to. He didn't have to tell her why he'd asked her of this. She knew he'd wanted to understand her, the confusing low times as well as the enjoyable highs. But that had been a dark time for her, for their partnership. She'd been restless and felt under-appreciated by him -- a flunky to the "Caped Crusader". She didn't want to be his "Girl Wonder", and she still didn't. This time in her life, though, she knew she wasn't. They were equals, partners in work, life and finally ... partners in the best sense of the word ... in love. Over three months ago, he'd brought the 'City of Brotherly Love' and Ed Jerse up as they laid looking at the moon that had peeked through her chenille curtains. She remembered so vividly the summertime breeze rustling the lace against the window and goose pimpling her skin as she tucked herself against the warmth of Mulder's body. She recalled the newness of his salty taste against her taste buds. Things were still so new as well as wonderful. They were learning each other, the little things that were kept tucked away, were slowly being brought out. It never crossed her mind that he would ask her about Philadelphia, not when it had been such a horrible time in her life, the prelude to a worse hardship that should have blighted out the experiences that had taken place back then. But it hadn't, not for Mulder. He wanted to understand, wanted to know what he'd failed to comprehend those two years ago. In fact, it surprised her that he hadn't made mention of her previous visit on this particular trip. Then again, thinking about it, she wasn't surprised. As dark as it had been for her, the cloud of that experience also hovered, to a lesser degree, above Mulder. He'd asked her . . . he'd wanted to know if she had slept with Jerse. And as much as Scully wanted to yell at him and tell him it was none of his business what she had or hadn't done, that it had been her life, her decision . . . she said none of those things. She looked into his eyes and saw the vulnerability there . . . the answer he needed to hear. The answer that could alter his concept of who she was and what they were. They'd been only been partners, friends at that time. Yet those facts wouldn't have mattered. Facts rarely had a place with one who swam in a sea of his ideals. She knew that. She saw her answer in the green-flecked darkness of his eyes and for the first time in her life she answered him . . . answered him and lied. She had wanted to stay in the light, in the idealized role that nearly was an honest composition of her. So she lied, denied having slept with Jerse because she was afraid to tarnish the beginning of a life with Mulder that promised so much more than what a one night fling had the strength to destroy. She chose to stay in the light. Philadelphia wasn't her favorite city . . . she remembered thinking that at the airport. It still wasn't. "Dana," Ed whispered, shuffling toward her. She didn't know how long he had called to her, but she soon found herself, shaking clear of her recollections and peering at Jerse once again. "What's happened to you?" Scully asked, her hand lacing around the cold metal bars, the chill seeping through her skin and whipping its way into her heart. Ed Jerse reached shaking fingers out and softly closed them over hers, staring at her nails. Scully still felt shock, shock that mixed with an unbidden rush of sympathy. No one should have to suffer as he was . . . no matter what they had done in their lifetime. "What's happened to me? Isn't it obvious," he asked bitterly, yet he continued to stroke her fingers, staring at them as he touched her appendages with a feathered softness. "How did you contract AIDS?" Scully asked, clearing her throat and feeling afraid of his answer, for herself. Perhaps it showed in her sudden stiff stance or the slight tremble in her words because Ed backed away, sneering. "Don't worry Dana, I didn't have it when we were together," Ed replied, crossing his arms as another shudder rocked through his rail thin body. "But so rapid the symptoms?" Scully whispered. "A lucky benefit of prison life, didn't you know that Dr. Scully?" Jerse whispered back, mimicking her tone. Yes, she knew that was a possibility, lack of monies to supply the strongest AZT cocktail. "Ma'am, we need to get going. We have Keenswan in a conference room for you," the security guard intruded, stepping up to Scully. She'd been so shocked over seeing Ed, she had forgotten about the guard. Scully didn't turn to face the man, her gaze locked, instead, on Ed as she spoke. "I would appreciate you affording me a few minutes with this prisoner, please." It wasn't really a request; there was no denying that. Scully heard the guard step away. "I wasn't worried --" "LIAR!" he shouted, then laughed, almost giggled, shaking his head. "You wanna know how I got this? Hmm? Well, I can tell ya it wasn't by any "shared" needle." "Ed," Scully sighed, shuttering her eyes. "That's right, Dana, I finally know what it's like to be a bitch." Ed laughed, almost maniacally. His cackles echoed off the cement as he stepped back toward her, his face inches away from her own. His breath covered the foul order that permeated the air. "It's good to see you, Dana," he said, stroking her fingers again and adding pressure to hold her hand against the bars. Scully opened her eyes, breaking her mental paralysis and finally tugging her hand from beneath his. She felt a cocktail of revulsion, fear and pity mixing together and drowning her. Jerse sniffed deeply. "You were the last woman I was with, Dana. I still remember the smell of you, the taste of you . . . your legs wrapped around me. We didn't even take all our clothes off, just tugged down our pants and we fucked against my apartment wall. You liked it rough as I recall, the way I grabbed you -- do you remember that? Do YOU REMEMBER ME?" Scully shook her head back and forth, tears trapped in her eyes as she watched the frantic, hurky-jerky movements of Jerse's body accompanying his impassioned, strangled cry that echoed into her heart, compounding her regret. She looked at his left arm, noticing how he cradled it against his side, the tattoo gone and the skin a cross work of burn scars. "I remember you," Scully answered softly, meeting his gaze despite herself, despite not wanting to look into his empty eyes. "Goodbye, Ed," Scully told him. Stepping back, her heels sounded against the cement floor again as she followed the guard once more. Moving toward the interrogation room, toward Mulder. Caught between her caged past and her uncertain future, she tried to leave the smudged fingerprints of that past behind. Yet, as she walked on, she couldn't help feeling the lie renewed and bleeding inside her again, heating her cheeks with the red of hidden shame. "Wait, Wait, Wait," Ed chanted. She could imagine his mind switching gears and propelling around undirected. He had lost himself completely, she'd barely recognized this man at all. Nor did she want to. . . Didn't want to. . . . "You're going to see Keenswan aren't you?" Ed asked, his voice rushed and conspiratol. "I heard the guard say it. Listen, listen, listen. Tell him, tell him for me will ya, that his little Eddy isn't mad at him anymore . . . that I don't. . . I mean, that he don't care about the scratches those other bitches put on him. Will you, will you tell him?" Jerse's tone was completely maniacal. "What?" Scully gasped, pausing in shock, unable to stop herself from turning back to look at him. Jerse prattled on as she froze, incredulous. He was associated with Keenswan? "Dana, those bitches, he feels those bitches, they cut him, but I don't do that. NoooOOOOOOooo. . .ahh," Jerse's eyes were blinking erratically again, his head tilting back before leveling to face Scully once more, his face pressed against the bars as he looked at her, into her. "I remember your nails, Dana, remember them scratching my arms, my back as we fucked . . . you were my bitch then, Dana . . . you remember that, huh? REMEMBER DANA. . .???" Scully snapped out of her stare, straightened her spine and turned on her heel, walking away in strong even strides. Tap.Tap.Tap.Tap. . . . Tears slid down her cheek. She angrily swiped them away as Jerse's voice followed behind her She refused to turn around. There was nothing left to see. Behind her was the past. "Dana, tell him I don't mind those bitches, not one bit, noooOOOooo, not one bit!" Scully cringed, shuttering her eyes for a moment, but continued on. Tap.Tap.Tap.Tap. . . . Walking beside the guard, she continued down the long hallway toward the door that stood waiting for her. Leaving Jerse's cackles behind her where they belonged, she quickened her pace towards Mulder, and her future. Tap.Tap.Tap.Tap. . . . "Scully!" Tap.Tap. Scrape. No. She raised her eyes and looked at the guard who'd stopped ahead of her but now stood, staring past her, beyond her. No, not beyond her! Scully felt her blood spindle down her spine, draining from her limbs and collecting into the pit of her stomach. No. Nononononono! "Scully!" Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. They were not her shoes. She felt heat and then cold splotch her cheeks, her hand just a yard away from the door. She'd almost made it, almost left the past where the past was supposed to remain. Tap. Tap. Tap. Silence. Squeezing her eyes closed, Scully slowly opened them and turned around. Mulder. He stood a few feet away from her. She tracked her eyes up his pants, noting the fists that clenched, white, at his sides, tracking higher, seeing his chest that heaved as if he'd ran a marathon. But he hadn't run . . . he hadn't. Her gaze raised higher, finally landing on the thin line of his compressed lips, raising damnably higher and meeting his eyes. Tears pricked at her, her eyes itching for them to spill over as she saw the eviscerated trust dangling between them. Mulder stood before her, emotionally raw and exposed. He'd heard it all. He knew it all, a secret that was hers that he'd wanted to be his. . . a secret she denied because to admit to it could make him see her differently, could have tainted, crushed, their new beginning. And so she had made her choice. An act that could have altered them, and now has . . . now has. . . The tears broke through her self-imposed barriers, silently screaming down her cheeks, the flood begging for him to understand, to wash away the hurt that pulsed between them. Mulder stepped forward. Tap. The whole experience had been something she'd wanted to forget, wanted lost and unknown but now he'd heard it all. Knew it all. . . . Scully felt her world kaleidoscoping into the narrowing of his eyes. There wasn't even rage reflected on his face. There was nothing. Nothing. . . . Nothing but the empty look of betrayed trust, betrayed love. Scully was tempted to step back for every step he started to take forward, but she held her stance as he stopped inches away from her, his eyes impassively staring down at her as if he were looking at a bug. He reached a hand up, brushed it against her cheek, against the tears that trickled down and failed in cleansing as he flicked them off his fingertips. He slide his hand behind her neck, as if in an embrace, tilting forward. The heat of his body pressed against and above her. He came close so he could whisper in her ear, his lips touching, her skin. "Before I came into this jail, I'd thought how I'd found my soul mate, how there was nothing that could come between us because we'd told each other everything. How your hands so small, yet fragile held me, my trust. WE were who we could trust in when there was no one else." He pulled away, looking past her, at the door, through her, until lowering a last glance that flashed red, his voice shaking. "Why don't you tell me where you got yours so I can get 'Fucking Fool' tattoo'd across my forehead." He released her, and she feel back a bit as he stepped away -- taking her heat and her heart as he opened the door and left her standing there. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX RIKERSMITH PRISON PHILADELPHIA, PA INTERROGATION ROOM 3B TUESDAY 457 PM 'Christ, I'm tired,' Vaughn thought, rubbing the heel of his hand against his eye. He folded his arms against his chest again, widely blinking his eyelids to keep them from staying shut. A tired sigh tripped past his lips and he soon found himself rubbing the back of his neck. It had been a fucking long day. First this Robinson shit with the Warden, and now here, hours later with this Keenswan Fuck, and nothing. That self satisfying piece of shit. Look at him over there. They're here to interrogate him. Mulder's trying to profile ... but it seems that Keenswan's profiling them . . . no correction, he's profiling Mulder and Scully. Not that it's hard to do . . . something is definitely off with these two agents today. Something's amiss in blissville. Vaughn sighed again, mentally swearing, remembering that his wife, Lisa had asked him to pick up his youngest daughter, Paige, tonight after work. So much for going straight home and crappin' out in front of the big screen TV. Shit, and the Eagles were playing tonight. "Long fucking day," Vaughn muttered to himself, turning his attention back to the ongoing interrogation. Vaughn watched the fourth quarter of the live game going down here. A game that wasn't scoring any points as far as he could see. From what was going on, Keenswan had the ball and the only one fumbling was Mulder. He looked at Scully, noting how she seemed to let Mulder quarterback the plays. Asking a question here and there, but for the most part allowing him to throw the ball. The only problem was that Mulder wasn't waiting for her to catch the pass. Definitely something wrong with the home team. Shit, he was tired, and the fact that he was thinking of this interrogation in football analogies just confirmed that. It was definitely time to call it a day. The problem was that Vaughn knew Mulder's abilities and the only reason for him to be in this room was for appearance's sake. Mulder was the profiler, he was the one that had requested this interview, and Vaughn was glad to let his expertise go to good use. He didn't mind hanging on the sidelines with this go around, the less he had to talk to that bastard, the better. But, something was going on here. Christ, he could be feel it almost as deeply as the exhaustion taking hold of his bones. Shaking his head, Vaughn reached for the small of his back, muttering again. "Damn back's acting up again." Yet, despite allowing Mulder and Scully their lead, Vaughn was tired of standing around with all of them holding their dicks in their hands. He knew that this cock sucker wasn't gonna say a God Damn thing. Frankly he was getting tired of hearing the same bull shit out of the asshole's mouth. <<>> 'Doctor's honest truth, my ass!' Vaughn thought. Vaughn watched Keenswan. The man was tall, thin with a bit of jailhouse muscle on him. Not an ugly sonofabitch, but not too pretty, either. His hair was shaved off, eyes set apart and blue. No facial hair, he looked at the man's arms and saw red angry welts and scratches decorating his pale skin. "What's with the scratches, Keenswan? You've been in isolation for the past two days?" Vaughn asked, cocking his head and waiting for a reply. All eyes turned toward him. He'd been quiet for so long he guessed they figured he wasn't even in the room anymore or that he'd cut his damn tongue out. "Scratches?" Keenswan asked, slowly bending his head to look down at the angry, jagged lines that covered his forearms. He slowly looked up, meeting Vaughn's gaze and answering his question. About fucking time! "They're love taps from . . . the other day," Keenswan responded, a wide, sick smile blooming on his face as his lips stretched over his even teeth. Vaughn grunted, rolling his eyes. Keenswan truly was a sick fuck. He didn't care what those quack doctors said at that joke of a parole hearing, this man was far from not being a danger to society. Keenswan exhibited an air of untouchability that made Vaughn want to punch that shit-eating grin off his face. If it weren't for those damn surveillance cameras, he'd give the asshole something to smile about, give a real need for that prison dental work. Vaughn looked from Keenswan to Mulder again. He had to hand it to the Fibbies . . . even though he could tell for a fact that some shit was going down between them, they remained topnotch professionals. Even with Keenswan being uncooperative. And that bastard was being uncooperative. The fucker knows something. It was in his eyes ... in the way he talked, that lazy way he told them jack, yet not really saying shit. The bastard was letting them know he was a sonofabitch without actually coming out and saying as much. Mother fucker! There was a power struggle going on here and it had nothing to do with Vaughn. He could feel that too. The dynamics of this coup DE Gras was left between the triangle of individuals who were playing center stage right under the mesh covered lighting fixture. It's dim glow illuminated the faces of Mulder, Scully and the sick fuck. Vaughn sneered. Cured his ass! The sound of thunder intruded into his thoughts, flickering the lights. It was still raining like a sonofabitch out there. You could hear it pounding on the metal roofs and screwing with the power. "Mr. Keenswan, do you correspond to anyone on a regular basis?" At Scully's voice, Vaughn focused his attention on her, watching as she sketched notes on the pad laid open in front of her. She sat directly across the length of the table from Keenswan. "Any outgoing mail is read before being sent off and vice versa for incoming. His weekly telephone calls are monitored or would be except he don't make any," Vaughn supplied, reading from his notebook before flipping it closed. He clutched the worn leather in his palm, tapping the pad against the side of his leg. "I do not write to anyone, Agent. . .Scully," Keenswan answered, cocking his head and staring at the woman. "I have other . . . fulfilling pursuits." "Other--" "Like bragging about how you murdered those women ten years ago? Would that be one of your more. . . fulfilling pursuits," Mulder interrupted, breaking off Scully's questioning again, yet doing so without acknowledging it. What was Mulder up to? Scully, Vaughn noted, kept silent. She showed no sign of anger or effrontery. Her posture remained relaxed, assured ... maybe too assured. It seemed too contrived for Vaughn's taste. It appeared to be an over compensation, but for what, he was clueless. "I told you Agent Mulder," Keenswan began, his eyes wide and innocent. 'Innocent my ass!' Vaughn thought watching the punk. "I am deeply ashamed of my previous transgressions on humanity and society as a whole. I was sick, but my doctors have helped me through therapy and drug rehabilitation," Keenswan assured, but, damned if the corner of his lip didn't curl up resembling a smirk. "I owe them such a debt of gratitude for curing me." Mulder stood there, a hand laid open on the metal table in front of the ring that kept Keenswan cuffed to the surface. His other hand gripped his hip as he leaned toward the wacko. "You said that this was all far from over in the courtroom yesterday? What did you mean?" Mulder questioned, his voice soft yet filled with force. "It was a. . . momentary lapse on my part, I was feeling a bit . . . rattled," Keenswan answered, his voice losing a sliver of his saccharine sweetness and having no ounce of contrition whatsoever. Vaughn watched the prisoner's face close off, shut down into a narrow line that his eyes seemed to follow for a bit, staring at his nose. Mulder pushed off the table and stood back, his hands on his hips as he began to pace. Vaughn knew from Mulder that the two agents before him now had seen their share of scum, Keenswan wasn't any new type of filth. This agitation seemed, off . . . it didn't gel with the situation, further confirming that this current *situation* had little to no influence on Mulder's actions. Something else was definitely behind them. Keenswan unclasped his fingers, unfolding them to place each fingertip in a spread arc spanning the width of his hands. He pressed his fingertips onto the table, the ends turning a bit white. He watched himself do it with slow deliberation. Raising his head he met Scully's gaze. "You know . . . my little Eddie was right. You do smell . . . good. Like Vanilla and . . . what is that scent? Hmm? Oh yes, like vanilla with a hint of. . . *musk*," Keenswan said, his voice level, his words smoothly delivered as he ignored Mulder and held Scully's gaze. 'What the fuck was that shit?' Vaughn thought, pulling himself off the wall and walking toward the gathered threesome. Suddenly Keenswan threw his head back, audibly sniffing the air before looking down again, his gaze this time solely encompassing Mulder. Mulder. Vaughn saw the agent had stood back, his pants leg brushing the edge of the table, his fists clenched. Mulder's jaw tensed and his gaze was hard as fucking nails. Vaughn stepped closer, standing behind Scully's chair. "Doesn't she smell . . . ready?" Keenswan questioned, his eyes sincere and his tone inquiring, continuing in the same vein. Mulder leaped and Vaughn grabbed, pulling him away from Keenswan and throwing him back toward the door. "Mulder! God Damn it, you don't say shit! You don't do shit!" Vaughn ordered in a low, piercing tone, stepping up to Mulder and holding his stare. In a lower tone, "Don't you let that sick fuck provoke you, don't make this whole afternoon worthless . . . you understand? I got this interview for you, for us. . . I won't see it screwed up now, not after all this fucking time." "Mulder, this is getting us no where, he's not going to tell us anything," Scully said, coming over to stand beside Vaughn. "Yeah, Scully? Well....I'm used to that by now," Mulder replied, glaring at her. Vaughn watched Mulder's chest heaving, his breath hitched and his face flushed with anger. He'd seen it coming, seen Keenswan getting ready to pounce. Mulder had been primed and primped for that animal, susceptible due to whatever the hell went down between Scully and him. "Do you understand what I've just said to you?" Vaughn questioned again, demanding an answer. He watches Mulder's eyes lose some of the fire that the sick fuck flicked to life. Mulder lips twisted in a grimace, his hand running through his hair. He nodded his head, pacing back and forth in small circles. He stopped, schooling his features and relaxing his shoulders as he stared beyond Vaughn. The detective allowed Mulder to walk past them, knowing that for now, the agent was in control. Mulder would not be bested again. Vaughn could sense the fury for allowing it to happen at all. The Lieutenant understood that fury, it was fury that was going to elicit responses from that chained beast, not the other way around. Hearing a heel tap, he turned and looked at Scully who had begun to step away. "What the hell is going on between you two?" Vaughn asked, grabbing Scully's elbow and halting her. "We're fine," Scully answered without turning around, pulling away and following Mulder back to the table. They're fine. . . BULLshit! Vaughn followed after her, standing at a corner of the table rather than the wall. He figured it would be best to stay close just in case. "You know Ed Jerse?" Mulder asked, his voice rough as he resumed his position beside the table. Vaughn noted Mulder threading his hand through his hair again, while planting and unplanting his hands on his hips. "I've known him . . . many times," Keenswan responded, a smile faintly hanging around his lips. "You are aware that Mr. Jerse is HIV positive, is that correct?" Scully asked, the tone hard as nails, consistent, brooking no comment on any past action within the room. "Do I know?" Keenswan asked, leaning forward. "It's written all over his arms and face . . . as well as my chest." "You infected him?" Scully followed. "You know what, Agent Scully," Keenswan began, disregarding her question. "Answer her, Keenswan," Mulder ordered, his voice tight. "But of course, I will. . . ," Keenswan replied, without looking at Mulder. "One thing, though, just among us girls as it were. I heard that you and I share more than just a tattoo when it comes to my little Eddie. Excuse me, I mean *our* little Eddie, now is that true?" What the hell was that fucker talking about? Vaughn saw Scully's contrived posture dissolve to be replaced by one of stiff affront. "Mulder!" Vaughn tore his gaze from the female agent, his body tense and ready to stop Mulder at his partner's warning cry of control. He once again seemed more agitated, more so than ever before, but he held himself together, if only barely. Vaughn felt lost. Who the fuck was this Eddie? Ed Jerse? Whatever ... and what the hell did he have to do with this case? "You are one sick sonofabitch, you know that, Keenswan?" Mulder asked, leaning in, his hands planted on the table as he spit the words in Keenswan's face. Vaughn stepped closer, prepared for another outburst but Mulder pushed himself off the table, stepping back and beyond the light, beyond Scully. Vaughn followed his agitated movements. The room was silent. "You don't know what I am...Agent Mulder....what I'm capable of....what my lineage is...! You all think you know me. You. know. nothing. It's almost pitiful!" Vaughn turned and looked at Keenswan who had leaned forward, his face losing his cultivated composure as he glared at Mulder, ignoring everyone and everything else in the room as he focused on the senior agent. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Vaughn asked, and was left unanswered. "Are you threatening a federal officer, Mr. Keenswan?" Scully asked. Keenswan ignored her, his gaze full of Mulder as he slowly lowered himself back into his metal chair. "Bye. . . Bye. . . Blackbird," Keenswan began to sing in a whisper his eyes never leaving Mulder. Both Scully and Vaughn turned from Keenswan and looked at Mulder. Mulder stood frozen, his head cocked, his features confused then flushed, his eyes narrowed and blazed with what seemed to be some unspoken recognition. "Bye. . . Bye. . . BLACKBIRD!" Keenswan started to scream the lyrics. Vaughn turned from Mulder to Keenswan, who's face was contorted as he repeated the words. "Shut the hell up!" Vaughn ordered, glaring down at Keenswan from his side of the long table. Looking back at Mulder again, Vaughn saw the agent take two steps toward Keenswan. "You son of a bitch," Mulder growled. "You don't know what I am," Keenswan yelled, before plopping down on his seat again, his chair legs scraping against the floor. Keenswan's' face lost it's contortion, and his fingers clasped once more. He became a portrait of complete calm, a total transformation back to how he'd been previously. "We're done!" Mulder said, turning away and opening the door. Scully and Vaughn followed after, Vaughn catching the door handle before it closed shut. He heard Keenswan giggling behind him, but didn't bother to turn around as he walked through the door. He figured that prick had put on a show long enough. He wasn't playing up to that asshole's shit. "Mulder!" Scully called out, following after him. She grabbed his sleeve but Vaughn watched him tear his arm out of her grip. Vaughn, Scully and Mulder stood in the narrow, empty corridor. The outside guard had gone in behind Vaughn to take care of Keenswan. "Where the hell are you going? We need to talk, here," Scully said, her voice low yet still carrying back to Vaughn. "You want to talk now? Is it convenient for you now?" Mulder asked, his voice echoing off the cement walls. "Mulder, please?" Scully asked, embarrassed, her arms crossed before her. Vaughn could hear the anger at having to confront Mulder with an audience. Vaughn'd be pissed too, Mulder wasn't winning any partner of the year awards with his vote. The Lieutenant could discern the barely veiled pain in her voice, anyone could have, just as they could have easily heard the absolute anger within Mulder's. "That song he was singing. I've heard it before today. I heard it last night at Pearl's," Mulder cryptically answered. "And? It's a popular song, I'm sure it plays on radio stations all the time," Scully asked, confused. "Thank you, my thoughts exactly," Vaughn silently muttered. He took a few steps closer, coming up to the two agents. "I didn't hear it on the radio station," Mulder revealed, sighing as he finished. "I heard it from Jack's lips." "Jack? Jack Layne? What's the connection?" Vaughn asked, rubbing his chin. Scully stiffened, her head raising, "So? Again . . . wait a minute, what are you implying Mulder? I know you . . . it's the lineage line that Keenswan feed you, isn't it?" Mulder nodded his head finally looking her in the eye as his words built in intensity. "Why leave Jack alive, Scully? All those years I've wondered, why leave a witness?" "Mulder, you're not suggesting that Jack is the killer?" Scully asked, incredulous. "Wait? that boy'd be a teenager now," Vaughn interrupted. "Yeah, he is . . . sixteen, actually. And I'm not suggesting that Jack is the killer, I know there's no evidence on that. Give me some credit . . . but there's a connection. I know it and I'm gonna find out what that is," Mulder declared, looking from Vaughn to Scully. "But Mulder, that still doesn't prove anything. A song? Heard on the radio?" Scully asked skeptically. "Yeah, might as well be those Backstreet Boys," Vaughn agreed, looking at Mulder, confused. He still couldn't see any clear connection. "It's a loose lead if anything," Scully began. Mulder nodded his head knowingly, finally staring at Scully. "Mulder, I'm not saying I don't believe you...." Vaughn watched him give her "a look", something he was discovering often happened between them -- this seamless, silent conversational ability. Mulder crossed his arms and nodded his head again. Even Vaughn was starting to get good at reading this sign language the two agents shared, watching Mulder's body language take in Scully's expectant response. Communication of any kind was suddenly halted. The door to the interrogation room opened and Keenswan was lead out. This time he was humming that damn tune. Vaughn looked from Keenswan back to Mulder and Scully. Mulder was no longer looking at her, his gaze followed Keenswan as he was lead by. "Have a good evening Agent Mulder, Lieutenant and . . . sweet dreams Agent Scully," Keenswan said over his shoulder as he was lead off, disappearing with the guard beyond the metal door at the end of the hallway. "Mulder this link, it's nonexistent. Nothing can be substantiated," Scully replied, her gaze holding Mulder's. Mulder looked over at Vaughn then back at Scully, his gaze staring at her and his features becoming flushed, hardened again. "I've got a job to do," Mulder said, turning toward the door. "We have a job, Mulder, WE," Scully called out, her tone becoming just as angered, just as hard. Vaughn felt like a friggin' interloper. He kept his eyes averted, becoming fascinated with the way the cinder blocks lined up against one another. This had more to do than with this supposed "lead" or whatever the hell it is. "Don't worry Scully, I won't leave you out of the loop, I'll make sure to tell you *everything*, I mean, you'd do that for me, right? " Mulder asked, stepping away. "What the fuck is going down here?" Vaughn asked, directing the question to Mulder then Scully. Unable to stand this coded bullshit. Mulder stopped and turned around to face Vaughn, staring past Scully. "My life. . . ." Mulder replied, then turned, walking away as he wrenched the door open. "Mulder!" Scully called again as the door closed, shutting him out of their sight. She growled in frustration. Vaughn saw her shoulders start to crumble, hearing another sigh. She seemed defeated, lost -- no matter how she tried to disguise it. Vaughn made a decision right then and there. "Come, come with me, Dana. We're gonna go to my place for dinner," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He felt her stiffen then relax into his embrace. "I have to go after Mulder," Scully croaked, then cleared her voice," I have to go to Pearl Clayton's." "Look, Dana . . . what he needs right now is to cool off a bit, take a step back. I'm sure whatever problems you're havin' now just needs for the two of you to find neutral end zones. So, listen, come with me and taste some of Lisa's delicious stuffed chicken," Vaughn suggested, trying to tantalize her with his wife's best dish. "Mulder will be safe at Pearl Clayton's I'm sure. Time apart always seems to do Lisa and me real well when we're at each other's throats, maybe it will work for you two." "I. . . ," Scully stammered, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. "First we have to pick my daughter up from her girlfriend's but afterwards, Lisa's delicacy, I'll just give her a ring on the cell once we get to the jeep, the walls in here screw up reception," Vaughn said, pulling her toward the metal door, their combined footsteps echoing off the wall. "All right," Scully agreed, smiling at Vaughn. "I'd love to meet your family from that photo you flashed me the other night." "See, it's settled then," Vaughn replied, letting her go and opening the door. "Besides, you wouldn't believe how friggin' good this dinner is. I'm tellin' ya." Scully smiled, nodding her head as she passed through the door. Vaughn gave a mental sigh, still tired but glad to help the home team. Shit, he was doing it again. Damn Football analogies. The Eagles better win tonight, Vaughn didn't think he could take more shit. Hiding a yawn, he just prayed that Lisa'd have enough food to go around tonight. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Center City, Philadelphia Olde City District 5th & Pine Pearl's Townhouse Tuesday, 630 PM "Hello Pearl. Sorry for not calling, I just. . . I guess I've been a bit preoccupied... I just didn't think of it," Mulder said, stepping through her front door. Entering the living room, Mulder noted the gold figurines and various bric-a-brac hanging on the walls. Hanging over the sofa was a massive landscape painting. He leaned forward, reading the artist's name. "My Bill painted that, years ago, when we were in college," Pearl informed him, coming to stand beside Mulder. "It's very good," Mulder complimented turning to look at Pearl. He saw her staring at the painting before she could tear her gaze away. "Yes, he was very talented," Pearl agreed. Taking a deep breath, she clapped her hands together, looking at Mulder. "So . . . can I get you a drink?" "No, I'm all right, Pearl, but thanks," Mulder answered. Shouldering off his trench coat, he draped it over his arm. He turned around and took a few steps toward the front window, staring through the gauzy curtain. Walking back to the couch, he chanced a glance down the hallway leading off from the room. The corridor was lit with a dimmed hanging light. He noticed the bathroom door stood slightly open and remembered seeing Jack enter the room that first night Scully and he had come to see Pearl. 'The makings of a true Karaoke star.' Mulder smirked. *That night.* He paused as the phrasing of his thoughts as they registered with him. Letting his eyes fall shut, he sighed. Christ, *that* night had only been *last* night. "If you're sure, it's no trouble," Pearl said, touching Mulder's back. "Fox? Are you all right?" He quickly opened his eyes at her question and turned around to face her searching gaze, perhaps making a mistake. Pearl had the eyes of hawk. Mulder squinted his own eyes, shaking his head as he tilted his head as if listening to something. But he wasn't listening, he was trying to hold in a growl of frustrated hurt and anger. Pearl's caring gaze rattled the lock he had fastened over his heart. He wasn't sure if he could hide from eyes so discernable, so adept at finding the key to his emotions. Pearl nodded her head, saying nothing more as she pulled his trench coat from his arm. He watched her lay the coat against the back of a strip-upholstered, four-legged, plush chair. Mulder watched her neatly arrange it on the chair, making sure it wouldn't lay and wrinkle before turning back to face him. He stood still as Pearl closed some of the distance between them. "What's the matter, Fox?" Pearl asked, giving him a look of encouragement. The matter? Oh, just that my life is going down the shitter and I can't seem to see straight anymore. You? Mulder shook his head, trying to get ahold of himself. He felt a chill in soul that mimicked the damp October air. He wanted to close his pores, block the pricking thoughts that were trying to filter through his skin. But he could feel them seeping through, into his blood, slicking their way up his veins to infect, to burn his heart. He refused to allow that burn to touch him... Oh, who the hell was he kidding? They not only touched him, but figuratively knocked him to his knees, gasping. "Fox?" Pearl called, touching his arm. He softly closed his eyes and reopened them to glance down at her. Damn it! He wished. . . . "I... I'm sorry, Pearl," Mulder stammered, his throat thick and his voice choked. Clearing the lump away, he let a breath hiss out between his lips before meeting Pearl's gaze. Pearl pulled him over to the sofa, sitting him down with her. Mulder sunk gracelessly on to the smooth fabric. Grabbing hold of his hand, she twined her fingers within his own, squeezing. Mulder's head shook back and forth as he tried to push away the waterfall of twisted emotions that were successfully drowning him. Narrowing his eyes, he tried to feel nothing, focus on nothing as he answered Pearl. "Scully and I. . . things aren't. . . ," Mulder stammered, his vision tunneling before him, witness to flickering images of Scully and him entwined lips touching, hands caressing. Her soft breath ruffling his chest hair as he held her, sleeping against his body. How often had he watched in incredulity -- not with feelings of unworthiness, but with the incredible reality that they were together at all ... that they were able to smash through their own reservations and fears. So many nights, he'd just hold her, his finger tracing over her and running over the light hair of her forearm. Her body was warm, soft and weighted against his own, her eyelids fluttering as she dreamed. So many times he wondered what dreams she had and were they ever the same as his own ... dreams of what their future could be. Their future ... so open and full of possibility. Mulder grimaced, pulling his hand from Pearl's as he leaned forward. He felt the sensation of being kicked in the stomach once again. His forearms slide against his pants legs, leaving his hands to dangle between his knees. Mulder's breath was heavy, rough and tore at his throat with each inhalation. He felt the soft circling pressure of Pearl's hand rubbing his back and found himself wishing that such a touch could wipe away the dagger of hurt knifing him. He wished that the blade could be pulled out, that the sharp steel could stop cutting through his memories and tainting them with shades of pain. Memories tainted by the power and pain of a lie. "Fox, you can talk to me. It might help if you talk to someone," Pearl suggested, her other hand reaching and grabbing hold of his chin. He felt her paper soft skin, cool against his burning flesh, as she tilted, turning his face toward her own features. Mulder kept his eyes closed, but a tear succeeded in trailing out the corner of his eye. His breathing remained rough. The temptation to bury his head against her breast and let her touch brush away the hurt was so, so tempting. At that moment, he believed she might have the power to do that, to wash away the pain -- a mother's touch to heal his wounded soul. A sensation he never thought would be available to him. But he knew, now, here with Pearl, that all it would take was for him to lean forward and claim that balm. Yet, he couldn't do it. So many years without, so many years creating a habit of isolation just couldn't be broken, not even with the soft looks and comforting caresses that Pearl bestowed on him. They just weren't powerful enough to break tradition. And ... and in his heart of hearts he resented that fact. Pearl was so close, her hand still against his chin. He could smell her peppermint breath pushing past his own, bathing his face. He could feel her gaze on him, reaching, comforting. Opening his eyes, more tears fell but meeting her gaze, he pulled a feeling of solace from it, and was able to let that be enough, able to curtail the ill-fated temptation to crumble within her arms. "What is it, Fox?" "Scully ... she . . . lied to me about something and I'm," Mulder paused, pulling her hand off his face and sitting back from her, needing the space. He suddenly felt stifled, suffocated. Still holding Pearl's hand, he squeezed it, absently rubbing his thumb back and forth against her pale skin as he stared down at their clasped palms. Such small hands ... so capable of... Mulder clenched his teeth, his lips tightening. His eyes screwed shut, unable to stop the memory of his earlier comparison about Pearl, how her hands were so much like Scully's. Mulder straightened his spine and released her palm from his. He took a steadying breath then turned to look at Pearl's features. Trying and succeeding, if only barely, he projected a sense of composure. "I'm having a bit of trouble processing it . . . the lie." "Is it something that can be repaired?" Pearl softly asked, her voice floating against his ears in soft tones. She studied him. "I've seen you two together, Fox. Is this, this lie something that can destroy what you two have?" Pearl questioned, sitting back, her hands clasped as her gaze bathed him in sympathy and support. "I... I honestly don't know, Pearl, " Mulder finally replied, disturbing the sound of the ticking grandfather clock, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat again. "I just... I just don't know." "Lies. Words, or the lack of them, are often given, or left lacking, done so to protect that which is most precious to a person. Fear can be such a strong motivator and perhaps you know that," Pearl said, her hand reaching out to stroke a fallen lock of hair from Mulder's forehead. He ached at the touch, a touch so often performed by Scully. His head gently nodded, his eyes closed once more as Pearl continued. Her voice usually so loud and full of fire, now washed over his tattered heart -- an ointment giving him a slight sense of soothing relief. "But, even if you do know the powers of Fear, knowing and understanding, particularly when its you who is involved ... well, those are two separate, two different things all together," she continued, pulling her hand away. "Mistakes happen all the time. Right now, you have the overwhelming power to decide your future. Right now, with each passing moment. The power of forgiveness is yours and yours alone." All was quiet again except for that clock. Slowly, Mulder's eyelids fluttered open and he looked at Pearl for a long stretch of moments. "I. . . thank you, Pearl." Mulder let out a jagged sigh, pulling himself off of the sofa, he stood looking around the warmly lit room. Pearl's words echoed and magnified within his ears. He wanted so badly for them to be enough, for them to help him see past this hurt. He wasn't blind, he'd seen the regret, the stricken look on Scully's features. It wasn't just a look of being caught, but one of empathetic pain. He could feel her reaching out to him, could feel her understanding his reaction and that, that just made him angrier. Angry that she would offer comfort while giving him pain -- a double edged sword. Oh, he was sure she had her reasons for everything. Yet those reasons didn't blunt the fact that he never, never in his life, in their life together ... never did he once believe that she would lie to him -- lie to him about anything. The one person he trusted implicitly, the one above all others. The one person who knew him so intimately, knew what his response would be, knew the pressing pain he would feel. He tried to distance himself from the emotions and see the facts. But he couldn't. No matter how hard he tried in these passing hours, he was still unable to see straight. Truth, the intimacy of it, was something so sacred to him. And it wasn't just the lie, the lack of truth. He could be honest about that. It was also the act that the lying words had cloaked from him. He couldn't help but close his eyes and see flashes of her with ... with Jerse. Those flashes mixed with the vision of their own embraces, seeing her wrapped in his own arms, watching her breathing, innocent, against his chest as she slept. Well, no one is innocent, and he now knew that more clearly, more poignantly then ever. He had let himself be naive. Shaking his head, he silently screamed, trying to block out the thoughts within his mind, trying to leave nothing there but work. He was here to do a job. He'd come here to speak to Jack and damn it, that's what he was going to do. His voice was hard, devoid of any emotion as he spoke again. "Pearl, I think something is going on with Jack, but I'm not sure. That's why I came here, actually," Mulder said, his arms crossed against his chest. He paused, biting the inside of his lower lip. "Something? You mean you think there might be a reason for his...for his behavior?" Pearl hopefully asked, pulling off of the sofa and coming to stand before Mulder. He lifted a hand and ran it through his hair. He refused to allow himself to be distracted by his own problems. He felt angered that he'd wasted the time he already had. There was a job to do, a case to be solved. This was no time for personal ... for ... there was no time, period. "I'm not sure, and I don't want to speculate. That's why I'd like to spend some more time with him. I know he left this morning angry, but I'm betting he's calmed down by now. I'd like to sort things out with him, if I can," Mulder explained, stepping back to glance down the hallway again, as if expressing his desire would materialize Jack. He needed this distraction, needed his work to block out the thoughts that even the silent screams could not extinguish. "Well, he's not here right now. He took his skateboard and went out a while ago, but he usually isn't out late. He doesn't like to be away from his lair for too long," Pearl informed, giving a soft chuckle at her description as she followed Mulder's gaze, hugging her arms against her chest. Mulder gave a weak smile in response, turning to meet Pearl's eyes. "Why don't you stay for dinner? It's no trouble," Pearl suggested, her tone turning more toward command than question. Ah, what a little general. If given the chance, she just might be able to put Skinner to shame. "No, I better head out," Mulder replied, turning to grab his trench coat off the chair. He threaded his arms through the sleeves and adjusted the collar. "You need to eat. I've a roast cooking and it's got your name on it. I don't want to hear anything more about it, come now," Pearl persuaded, her tone becoming loud and insistent, sweetly cajoling as she stepped toward him, her violet eyes smiling. "You need meat on those bones of yours." "No." Mulder said the word with such force that Pearl abruptly stopped talking, stepping back as if slapped, her eyes hiding beneath her black bangs as she tilted her head to look at the floor. Mulder sighed, mentally kicking himself as he softened his tone. "I'm sorry, Pearl. But, I need to be on my own right now. And, I wouldn't be any type of company for you. I'll try Jack later. For now, it's best I be going." Pearl raised her head, giving an understanding smile as she nodded. He could see her eyes full of compassion, compassion and sadness. He recognized within her the same inability he'd often felt whenever he was unable to comfort. Now, more than ever, he wished he hadn't, that he hadn't... Christ, he wished this whole day just hadn't happened. But wishing is the game of fools, and he was tired of being foolish. He was just ... just tired. Mulder ran his hand over his face, his fingers pausing to massage his temples before sliding through his hair again. He quickly looked down at Pearl once more. "I'm sorry. Another time?" "Yes, Fox. Another time then," Pearl agreed, walking him over the plush carpeting toward the front door. Mulder exited the townhouse, walking down the front steps. He pulled his trench tightly against him. The rain had definitely stopped, yet everything glistened with the street lamps lighting puddles, water-beaded cars and damp cobble stone. It had also gotten colder. Mulder found his breath passing through his lips in a white vaporous cloud. Stepping off the curb between two parked automobiles, he turned back to look at Pearl. She stood with the screen door ajar, the yellowish overhead stoop lamp illuminating her features. "Good luck, Fox," she said, slowly stepping back to close her front door, the screen door softly hissing closed. Turning away, he crossed the cobble-stoned street, searching out his car. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Center City, Philadelphia University City District Vaughns' Household Tuesday, 827 PM "Here you are, Dana," Lisa Vaughn said, handing Scully a glass of Iced Tea. "Give me that back, Paige!" a voice was heard beyond the den, filtering from upstairs. A loud giggle/scream followed it, accompanied by rapid pounding down what seemed to be the main stairway. A jump, from the second landing to the main floor, could be heard along with a trailing chase of footsteps pounding after the first set. "Mommy.... MOM!" another voice squeaked, "Protect me ... she's gonna get me!! Help!" Suddenly a whirlwind mop of long blondish-red curls came careening through the double doors of the den, plowing into the arms of Lisa. A loud oof could be heard out of the woman as Paige clutched her mother, then rounded behind her, using her as a shield against the ever-approaching footfalls. "Paige, whaddya doin' to Chris?" Vaughn asked, whirling around in his leather lazy boy, remote still in hand after muting the football game playing on the big screen TV. "I didn't do anything!" Paige said, burying her nose into her mother's back, her arms tightly locked around her mother's waist. "Give it back, Paige!!" Christina said, coming up short as she entered the room, almost colliding into her mother who stood a few feet away from the doorway. Christina, as in the picture, was a slightly smaller version of her mother's lithe form. She had long, silky black hair and wide blue eyes like her father. Her complexion was rather pale, contrasting against the ruddiness of Paige. Paige had long curly blonde hair just as in the picture. In person, Scully could see how much more Paige resembled her father, not only in looks but in personality as well. Scully thought back the dinner. It had been a loud boisterous affair as everyone chatted about topics ranging from school, the concert the night before, boys and who was going to have to feed the dogs, feed them and also let them in that night. Scully wasn't sure if that issue had been resolved. Smiling at the memory, she thought that, either way, the distraction of chaotic Vaughn family life was something she desperately needed. It helped temper the anger and anxiety she felt. She knew Mulder was talking to Pearl and Jack and that was fine with her. Mike was right, a bit of distance would probably end up doing both of them a bit of good. So, she tried not to repeatedly see Mulder's look of devastated hurt, a look that had been quickly replaced by a mask of total indifference. She tried not to think about the tension of the interrogation room and she tried not to think of Keenswan and what Jerse might or might not have told him. Damn it, she tried! Yes, Scully's attempt at pulling herself away from these merry-go-round of thoughts almost succeeded. Almost. Scully focused back on the scene before her. Twisting around, Lisa pulled a resisting Paige in front of her but the girl snuck back behind her mother again. Lisa had her arm reaching backward, wrapped around Paige's shoulder. Paige stood against her mother, molded like a second skin against her mother's back. Scully smiled at the scene. "What's going on? Did you *borrow* Chris's CD again? I told you about that," Lisa said, looking behind her at the top of Paige's head. Her tone sounded stern yet there was an underlining hint of amusement lacing the admonishment. "She has my 16 Magazine with Kevin Richardson on the cover. He was voted not only the sexiest Backstreet boy, but the sexist pop star and she took it, didn't even ask," Christina accused, trying to reach beyond her mother to grab at Paige who had stuck her tongue out at Christina. Paige yipped, pulling back farther. Her sister had almost got her. Upon moving back, she soon found her waist encircled by Mike, who'd snuck out of his chair and dragged his youngest girl onto his lap, falling back against the seat. Starting to tickle her, his fingers raced under her armpits, beneath her knee caps, her body wiggling around with her cries begging him to stop. "Is that true, is that true? Is it? Is it? I'm gonna tickle you to death if you don't tell me!" "Yes, it's true!" Christina declared, not letting Paige answer -- not that she could -- gasping and giggling as she was. Scully saw Christina shake off her anger as an evil smile framed her face, her fingers flexing. Scully watched as the eldest girl raced around her mother and joined her father in his attack of little Paige. Scully was stuck in utter amusement. She watched Mike whisper something in Paige's ear and suddenly the tables were turned as he released the youngest girl and grabbed Christina, causing her to topple onto the other side of Mike's lap. Paige and Mike then proceeded to join forces in having Christina's pale complexion blotch with splashes of red while the poor girl gasped for breath. Mike captured his eldest daughter's legs between his own so she couldn't kick away. "Are you guys finished yet?" Lisa asked, crossing her arms. "We do have a guest here and I'm sure she'd like to talk with your father. Right, Michael?" The bunch stopped attacking one another. Both girls laying against Mike. All three of them were gasping for breath, exerted from their efforts as they draped on top of one another like a bunch of rag dolls. Scully smiled at the image. "Paige, give Chris back the magazine and ask next time, 'kay?" Mike said, kissing the top of her head. "Fine, Dad," Paige agreed. Turning toward Christina she grabbed the sides of her head and planted a long kissing smack against her forehead before dragging herself off of her father and trudging past Lisa and out of the room. "And you, Chris, don't go chasing Paige 'round the house. I don't wanna hear either of ya clod hoppin' down those steps... What if one of you fell? You know better... Come to us, we'll handle it. Now get lost, I'm missing the game," Mike said, kissing Christina's cheek as she stayed lounging against him, her head beside his. "I think I'll stay here," Christina decided, rubbing the side of her head against Mike's, pretending to settle in, her black hair draping across Mike's features. "Listen, Pretty Girl," Mike began to threaten, making a show of spitting out her hair. "Get off me or I'll be forced to unleash the fingers tickle's death again." Scully didn't think she saw someone leave a room so fast in her entire life. "No Running!" Lisa called after the girls, before turning to Mike and Scully. "And you, Michael, you encourage them." "Me?" Mike asked, his eyes innocent. "You're out of your mind, woman!" "I'll woman you!" Lisa said, mock-hitting his shoulder and stepping away toward the doorway. Turning, she looked at Scully who sat completely relaxed, completely different from when she first had entered the house. Being around this family, Scully realized that it actually had helped take her mind off of Mulder, if only for small snatches at a time. "I'll leave you two to talk shop." "Oh, don't go," Scully requested. She really liked Lisa. She was, well for wont of a better word, sassy. She was a great mother, and the love between Mike and her was abundantly clear. It was nice to see. "No, no... I have to go, gotta get the girls settled. It's a school night... Oh Mike, I'm calling Mikey Jr. I'll let him know about us being there for Saturday's game against Villanova. It's at Penn's stadium right?" "Yeah, baby," Mike responded. "Anyway Dana, unfortunately I've got things to do and kids to torment," Lisa said, smiling. "It was nice meeting you. Figure I'll say my good-byes now in case I don't get to see you later on." "Well, I've had a great time, and your family's wonderful. Thanks for having me," Scully said, matching Lisa's smile. "Okay then," Lisa responded, turning to Mike once more. "And listen you, no falling asleep in that chair. I don't wanna hear how your back is bothering you tomorrow. High tail it up to bed sometime tonight, okay Lieutenant?" "Yes, sir, Chief!" Mike replied, saluting Lisa. She walked over and planted a quick kiss on Mike's cheek. "I'm not kidding," she warned as she pulled back. "Oh, I know you're not," Mike replied, winking at her. Scully watched as Lisa left the room, closing the doors behind her. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Center City, Philadelphia Corner of 8th and Market Tuesday, 749 PM Mulder slammed the car door, parking it around the corner from the Burger King he'd just spotted. He'd been aimlessly driving around the city for the past hour or so, trying to think or not think -- he hadn't quite decided what modus operandi he was working within. During his city crawl, his stomach had sent up a flare, grumbling, alerting him to the fact that he hadn't had anything to eat since, well, since seeing Jack that morning -- not that he'd had any type of appetite. In fact, Mulder had been feeling decidedly nauseated for more hours than he cared to count. Letting out a weary sigh, he rubbed a hand over his face and let out a low growl. Walking around his car, he stepped out of the passing headlights of oncoming traffic and crested the sidewalk. Mulder noticed that the nighttime air had retained the freezing autumn chill from earlier, keeping the city scents of leaked oil, gasoline, trash and the ever present unidentifiable, tamped down. He was at least thankful that the rain had finally quit. He'd seriously begun to feel water-logged. Mulder's ears continued to be assaulted by the sound of car horns, the occasional whistle and creaking car axles as he rounded the corner of 8th and Market. Passing by the amber, halogen lit subway entrance, he glanced down the wide stairs leading to ticket booths, turnstiles, and Patco trains. The rumblings of a train departing crawled up the stairway walls, but that wasn't what caused Mulder to stop in his tracks. "Jack?" Mulder called out to the teenager walking up the steps, skateboard clutched in hand. The boy looked up, meeting Mulder's glance, then quickly averted his gaze as he finished his climb. Mulder couldn't believe it. Finally! One thing was actually going his way today. "Hey Agent Mulder," Jack said, his gaze ping-ponging between the steps ahead of him and Mulder. "On your way home?" Mulder questioned as Jack hit the sidewalk, standing a little away from him. "Yeah, I took the "L", I'm... uh, yeah," Jack stammered. Tucking his skateboard under his arm, he jammed his hands into his coat pockets. Mulder eyes traveled over Jack. The boy was definitely cagey, nervous, but then Mulder suspected there weren't many times when the kid wasn't. He took a few more seconds to look Jack over. The teenager's face was wind blushed, his hair mussed, the strands slipping from his pony tail and laying against his pale features. Jack's glasses kept sliding down his thin nose and Mulder watched as he used a fingerless glove-clad hand to repeatedly push the silver frames back up the bridge of his nose. Mulder and Jack stood there for a few moments. The occasional person walked past or filtered up and down the stairs, weaving their paths around them. "I'm glad I ran into you," Mulder said, motioning for Jack to stand to the side of the sidewalk with him, outside of the direct flow of pedestrian traffic. "Listen, I'm about to get something to eat, interested in a Big Mac?" Mulder asked, pointing to the Burger King. "They don't have Big Macs there, you're thinking Mickey D's," Jack said. Mulder watched him cough then glance around at the passing traffic, the surrounding buildings and the empty parking lot across the street. "Well, how 'bout a burger, then. Gotta have that, right? I mean, being the king and all that," Mulder replied, smiling. "Right?" "Yeah, uh, I guess I could go for a burger," Jack said, shrugging his shoulder, then froze. "But, I don't have to pay this time, do I?" Mulder chuckled, remembering the conversation from earlier as they had gone to get hot dogs. "Naah, I'm feeling flush tonight," Mulder assured. He tossed his head toward the direction of the glowing burger, "Come on, let's go on in. And . . . uh, Jack, you can loose the "Agent", Mulder's good enough for me." Jack nodded his head in response. Adjusting his skateboard, he followed after Mulder. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Center City, Philadelphia University City District Vaughns' Household Tuesday, 848 PM "That's my Pretty Girl," Mike whispered, staring at a photo of Christina sitting under the lamp light beside his chair. Shaking his head, he turned his gaze toward Scully. "She's very beautiful, both of your girls are," Scully said, smiling and feeling as if she were intruding on a private moment of Vaughn's. "She's a survivor too," Vaughn informed her, nodding his head to the 8x10. Scully stiffened, confused. "I'm sorry?" "Oh shit, *I'm* sorry. Mulder, well, he and I as you know, been keepin' in touch through the phone. And it just hit me, remembering that Christina was sick when you were sick," Mike revealed. "Christina was sick, how?" Scully asked, concerned. She leaned forward, her hand resting on the arm of the sofa. "She had cancer," Mike explained. Sighing, he continued. "It was a bad time, Dana, I don't mind telling you that. Chris, Chrissy was diagnosed with Acute Lymphatic Leukemia about four years ago. She'd a really hard time of it. We thought she'd gone into remission, the doctor's at CHOPS, that's the Children's Hospital here in Philly, the doctors had been positive and we were as well ... for a while anyway. But, then ... then it came back, right around when you became ill." "Oh, my God, I'm so sorry," Scully said, feeling her heart ache for the Vaughns. "She'd had to get a bone marrow transplant. We were lucky. Paige was a match. Hell, that little girl was five years old and such the little trouper, wanting to help her sister so much. And she was so upset, almost inconsolable ... their bond ... it's strange, but I've never had anything like that, like they have. But those two girls are each other's lives, " Mike said, rubbing a hand against his forearm as Scully watched him slipping into memories. He chuckled, looking to Scully again. "Despite how contrary tonight's antics seemed." He looked back at his hand he had resting on his thigh, becoming pensive once more. "That's when I fell off the wagon again. I'd been sober for, Christ, 10 years, 265 days. But that day, that whole time period, I hadn't wanted to talk to anyone. If I wasn't at the hospital, I was at work or pounding them back at Anthony's," Mike said, looking up and meeting Scully's gaze. "Lisa, I just ... it was a bad time for us ... we were both not dealing with this set back, with each other, really. Then one day, during that time, I get this phone call and what do you know? It's Mulder." Scully closed her eyes, nodding her head, wanting to hear this story, yet feeling her heart breaking as she remembered that time of her illness and the desperation and feverent hoping Mulder had found himself in trying to save her. "Here he was calling me, trying out some lead and could I help him out? I asked him why he needed it. I knew I was being a sonofabitch. Normally I'd just go on ahead and get any info I could for him.... Well, he finally tells me about you," Mike explained, standing up and pacing. He stopped, looking at Scully. "I hope I'm not bending your ear too much here." Scully shook her head. "No, no ... go on... I... I didn't know about this." Mike nodded, smiling. "Well, good. Cuz I think you should know. I think you need to know, maybe today more than any other day." Scully closed her eyes, absorbing Mike's words. Perhaps he was right, perhaps he was more right then he would ever know. "Well, anyway, he was there for me. Dana. I don't know how much help I coulda been for him, but I found myself spilling my guts and Mulder listening then yellin' at me, tellin' me to get off my ass and shit. I don't know why it made more of an impact coming from him. No, that's not true. I think his determination that he would find something to help you, his determination, period, was what lit the fire under my backside, knocking the *booze* out while knocking some *sense* in." Vaughn smiled, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets. "Hell, I mean... I knew I needed to be there for Lisa, knew she needed me. I knew I also needed to be there for Paige and Christina, not hidin' out at some bar. I'd been such an asshole and Mulder ... he had no problem reminding me of that fact. I can't tell ya how may times I hung up on that bastard." Vaughn affectionately chuckled before continuing. "And not two minutes later, he'd be calling back, continuing to give me shit. I don't know. Maybe he needed to feel useful when I recognized how he felt ... helpless. And, when he wasn't trying to get through my thick skull, he'd talk about you, Dana. He'd tell me about his fears, fears that so sharply mirrored my own." Mike stopped pacing, and held Scully's gaze. "Then, I didn't hear from him all of a sudden, which was actually all right cuz Chrissy, she started gettin' better and Lisa and I, well, we actually started talkin'." Pausing, Mike looked away, out the front bay window before staring down at the carpet. "When I did finally hear from the SOB again, he gave me the good news. Told me about how your cancer had gone into remission. He was happier than a pig in shit, I mean... I should know, it was how I was feelin' about my Pretty Girl, about Chrissy." "I didn't... It's nice to know he had someone to talk to," Scully weakly responded, her throat suddenly constricted with an emotional lump. It would figure that Mulder would disregard his own feelings in order to help a friend, a man who was like a brother to him. It would figure that he would be the open ear for Mike's sorrows and fears. It would figure that Mulder would get on Mike to get his act together. He'd done the same exact things to her, for her, when Missy had died ... he'd been there for her. His consideration, the little things. He would just sit with her. They wouldn't talk, they'd sit at the reflecting pool, in her living room, a coffee shop.. anywhere. He'd... he'd helped her the way she needed to be helped, needed to be supported. Most times, he'd help without even uttering a word but by just being there. When she was sick, well, he refused to let her ever give up. And there were times, times when she lost her courage, times when she lost that fire of determination, when she'd been weak physically and emotionally. It was at those times that he would lend her his fire, lend her his faith ... this faith from a person who didn't believe in much, but seemed to absolutely trust in her and her survival. Scully believed that the strength of his hope and his determination was, is, what ultimately helped her through those dark times, what made her able to fight as hard and as long as she had needed to. Her family ... her mother, Father McGee, they were all an integral part of her recovery, but she felt that it was Mulder who had made the final difference. And, it was more than his finding any chip that may or may not have stopped the cancer. It was him. His utter faith that not only "could" she be well again, but that she "would" be. His faith, his trust in that knowledge, in her. His trust ... in ... her. Scully felt the tears prick her eyes and begin to trickle down her cheeks in a steady flow. She turned her gaze down, blindly seeing the black skirt she was wearing. Bending her head, her tears splashed onto her clasped hands, falling before she had a chance to ferret them away with the back of her palm. Taking deep breaths, she tried to get a hold of herself and found that she was failing, horribly. Next thing she knew, a box of tissues appeared under the tilted veil of her hair. Pulling out a few tissues, she glanced up, meeting Mike's concerned gaze before turning away to blow her nose. "I'm sorry... I'm... I don't know what came over me," Scully stammered, trying to tamp down on her riotous emotions. How? How was Mulder ever going to forgive her? She soon found herself following up that question with how was she ever going to forgive herself? She never, never should have lied to him ... she never should have doubted the level of commitment, the level of love between them. She'd let her irrational fear get in the way of her heart ... her lack of faith, a faith that never should have been missing. Mulder, would, and had gone to the ends of the earth for her. Whatever she may have done in the past, with whomever, would not have destroyed their beginning as she had rationalized to herself. Mulder wasn't like other men, like other relationships she'd thought were serious. She'd been foolish and now she was paying and paying dearly. She ... she was the one who had done it. She had been the one to crush the person she loved the most in her life -- the one person, however cliched as it might sound, but the one person who'd slowly become her world when she hadn't even been looking. Scully shook her head, still trying to calm herself, to tether the stampede of thoughts that broke her heart in tiny little fragments, thoughts that refused to stop assaulting her. She quickly stood up, facing Mike. "May I use your bathroom?" "Yeah, sure ... it's right across the hall, off of the dining room," Mike said, letting her go on her own. She was grateful for his consideration. She hurried to the bathroom, quickly closing the door behind her. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Center City, Philadelphia Philadelphia Art Museum Tuesday, 901 PM "You like coming here, Jack?" Mulder asked, licking his fingers clean of mayonaise. The Philadelphia Art Museum sat isolated on top a large, elevated terrain. Its impressive, columned visage loomed over the roadway stretched out before it. "Yeah, It's a good spot to skateboard, that is, until the cops chase ya off the steps," Jack answered before biting into his Whopper. Mulder and Jack sat parked at the top of the tiered steps in front of the museum. They had driven up the side entrance, crawling up the road that weaved its way to the back parking lot. Mulder had circumvented the lot, driving past slanted parking along the side of the museum and had turned at the building's corner to finally stop the car above the center of the front stairs. If he squinted his eyes real hard, Mulder could imagine good ol'Rocky Balboa jogging up the tiered stairs. He smiled at the image. Yeah, he could be a typical tourist. Laid out before the museum was the spectacular sight of the Benjamin Franklin Parkway. Mulder's gaze traveled over the multi-laned traffic, peppered by the red/green glow of traffic lights, break lights and the white of approaching headlights. "It's nice up here," Mulder said, wiping his hands on a paper napkin. Directly across the traffic passing in front of the museum was an island of land that held a magnificent bronze statue. Mulder's gaze traveled to the dormant fountain a few yards away. Looking beyond the statue and fountain, Mulder spied an empty parking lot sandwiched between a collection of large oak trees. "Yeah, it's cool, I guess," Jack replied. Mulder turned back to him, seeing the teenager's fingers dig into a container of onion rings. Mulder gave a relaxed sigh. Being up here actually made him feel the most relaxed he'd felt all day. He appreciated the twinkling lights of the cityscape before him. Beyond the island of land was the straight stretch of parkway leading into the heart of center city. The parkway was lit by a continuous string of street lamps, each sporting a national flag from the various world nations. The heart of center city. It loomed up in the distance, tall skyscrapers dictating the layout of the sky but among them stood a lone statue of Ben Franklin striding high a top one of the older buildings, a building that competed with the new glass and metal giants surrounding it. All in all, it was a breathtaking view, especially with the twinkling of nighttime lights. Mulder heard the empty slurp of soda and turned to look at Jack. Leaning against the side door, he studied the teenager before speaking. "You know, this is just what I needed, Jack -- to get away from it all. I'm glad you suggested it," Mulder began, leaning the side of his head in his palm, his elbow resting along the window track. The car reeked of take out. Scully would have complained if she'd had to sit within it. Mulder was finding that he was deriving a particular joy out of said odor. "I like to come here," Jack replied, quickly glancing at Mulder then back to the view sprawled out before them. Mulder sighed, closing his eyes, groaning. "What?" Jack asked, startling him. Mulder looked at the boy, observing Jack for a few moments before speaking. "You have a girl, Jack?" Jack turned away, looking out the side window. "Uh, no, not right now." Mulder saw Jack's breath fog the window. "You're lucky," Mulder said, rubbing the back of his head within his palm. Jack turned around to face Mulder, no doubt piqued at Mulder's comment. "Yeah? Why? Is it that lady you were with?" Jack asked, showing his interest. "Scully? Yeah. . . ," Mulder replied, shaking his head as he watched Jack. "I thought she was your FBI partner?" Jack asked, watching Mulder. Mulder smiled or grimaced, he wasn't quite sure how he would classify it. "Yeah, she's my partner, um . . . among other things." "She's pretty," Jack said, and even without the benefit of a light, Mulder was able to see Jack's skin tingeing red. "Yes, she is," Mulder agreed, jutting his chin out as he wobbled his jaw back and forth. Taking a deep breath, he sighed again. "What... uh, what happened? Something happened, right?" Jack questioned, looking away then back again. "I found out about something that she . . . she'd rather I hadn't," Mulder finally revealed, careful how he phrased it and really not quite sure how to or how he wanted to phrase it. At this moment though, he knew one thing. He knew he wanted to gain or regain Jack's trust. He wanted to have Jack feel open toward him. Mulder wanted to ask the teenager questions and he felt it only fair that he give of himself if he was going to ask Jack to do the same. "She lied to you?" Jack asked, his voice turning bitter, his eyes narrowed. "Something like that," Mulder replied, watching how Jack's posture straightened, his back stiffening. "I have a feeling you've been there." Jack looked back at Mulder and held his gaze. "I'm not the hermit my grandmother thinks I am." Mulder laughed, meeting Jack's gaze. The boy smiled in shared amusement. "Oh yeah?" "Yeah, I know what she thinks. She just don't get it," Jack continued. "How'd you meet your girl," Mulder questioned, his fingers playing with the steering wheel. "Met her in a chat room online." "Ah, the 90's dating service," Mulder said, shaking his head in understanding. "You've used it?" Jack questioned, looking over at Mulder. Mulder straightened in his seat, turning his head to face Jack. "Um, no. But, I've chatted with professionals, professional to professional." Jack snorted, chuckling. "Yeah, right!" Mulder said nothing, looking out at the flowing traffic. "What was her name?" Mulder asked, putting the conversation back on track. "Miranda, she . . . she was a Goth girl," Jack said, crumbling the sandwich wrapper and stuffing it in the empty Burger King bag. "Broke your heart, huh?" Mulder asked, sympathetic. "No!" Jack shouted out, his posture stiffening again. "I wouldn't let her." Mulder redirected his approach, cautious. "I hear ya, buddy," Mulder said, careful to keep his gaze averted as Jack collected his emotions. "You gonna let your Scully break your heart?" Jack asked, redirecting Mulder's question. Mulder stiffened. Touche' Shit. "I don't think it's a matter of letting at this point," Mulder finally answered. His gaze narrowed as his vision blurred into nothingness. "It's already done, the . . . the dream's shattered." "I'd rather have no dreams at all," Jack growled, his voice rough. Mulder shook his head, turning at the tone in Jack's voice. He studied the boy, his whole demeanor changing to one of nervousness, and perhaps something more. Jack's hand raised to rest on the door handle and Mulder saw that his fingers were shaking. "What do you mean, Jack?" Mulder asked, his voice soft, curious. "Naa.. Nothing," he replied, still looking out the side car window. Mulder followed his gaze and saw the huge PSFS building's electronic message board telling them to be sure to "Race for the Cure" this Sunday. "Jack," Mulder called, letting his name rest between them. "I... let's just say that I don't have sweet dreams," Jack replied, his voice hardening. Mulder's skin felt like it were tingling. His senses kicking into gear. Sweet Dreams? //.. and sweet dreams to you Agent Scully....// Mulder closed his eyes, again seeing Keenswan smile before being lead out of the corridor. "Sweet Dreams, Jack?" Mulder questioned, his voice taking on a demanding tone. Jack looked at him, his gaze catching within Mulder's. Mulder watched as Jack's pupils fluctuated, opening and closing. "Why don't you tell me about someone?" Mulder suggested, holding Jack's nervous gaze. "I don't know anything," Jack said, his voice shaking. Mulder just looked at him. He nodded his head, running a hand through his hair before speaking again. "I think, perhaps you do, Jack." Jack tore his gaze away, staring down at his lap. "Tell me about your dreams," Mulder prompted, letting the question be spoken. "Tell me about that song you were humming last night...." Mulder leaned forward, waiting for Jack to meet his eyes before speaking again. "Tell me about Jacob Keenswan." Tears began to slip down Jack's cheeks. His lip began to tremble. Suddenly Jack began to rock back and forth, mumbling, staring forward. "It's dark ... the closet ... so dark... darkdarkdark...," Jack whispered. Mulder watched as the teenager began to suddenly shrink into himself, his shoulders hunching. The boy's arms crossed, wrapping around the legs he pulled up and pressed against his chest, his feet, against the seat cushion. "The closet, Jack?" Mulder questioned, keeping his voice gentle yet coaxing. "I... I can't get out of the closet," Jack muttered, his voice breaking into sobs. Mulder cringed, his eyes closing as he remembered how they had found Jack, locked in his mother's closet. "Shh . . . now. Close your eyes, it's so much better when you're quiet... quietquietquiet...." Jack murmured, rocking faster. Mulder had to lean toward Jack to hear him. When the words registered, Mulder was almost shocked at the regressed state Jack was slipping into. "Can't get out ... can't... Bye.... Bye ... blackbird," Jack warbled, his voice loud and scratchy, his gaze seeing nothing. "Jack? Jack!" Mulder called, out his arm, touching Jack's shoulder. "JACK!" Jack whipped his head around to face Mulder, his cheeks tear soaked, slipping past the frames of his glasses. His eyes were drowning in more tears. "I can't break out of the dreams... I see... I see horrible ... horrible things." "Jack, it's okay, it's all right, they're just memories," Mulder said, grabbing hold of Jack's hand. "Memories." Jack frantically shook his head back and forth. "Noooo, no, Agent Mulder there not ... there not!!! I see these women ... these women I've seen in the subways, in the parks... I see them in my dreams ... and then I see him. I see HIM WITH THEM!" Mulder leaned back against the side door, biting his lower lip. "You see Keenswan? With these women in your ... in your dreams?" Jack, tucked his face against his knees, his glasses pressing against the black jeans, his escaped hair, shielding his face. "Jack, I think you're just remembering. I think with all the news coverage dealing with Keenswan . . . that . . . your subconscious is releasing your memories, memories that you buried to protect yourself." "Nononononono... he keeps me in there, he makes me watch. . . I can't get out of the closet . . . can't get out!" Jack stammered, his whole body shivering. "Jack, it's okay.. It's okay. . . ," Mulder assured, holding on to Jack, his hand brushing over his hair. "Listen, that song ... he must have sung it years ago, right? Not today, not now," Mulder said, his hand moving back to rest against Jack's hitching shoulders. Jack twisted his head, letting the side of it rest on his knees as he looked over at Mulder. "Yes,. he ... he sung it. I... I remember it when he picked me up and...." Mulder stiffened. Picked him up? "He told me if I was good, if I was quiet, that it would be so much better... I think that's why he . . . that's why he let me live. I stayed quiet, Agent Mulder. Oh Fucking H. Christ, it's coming back to me. Fuck it!" Jack cried out, kicking the glove compartment in front of him. "I don't want to remember! I don't want to know anymore!" "It's all right, Jack ... memories can't hurt you," Mulder said, his voice steady and sure, soothing. "You're safe now, safe." Jack sobs continued. He took of his glasses and used his arms to rub the tears off his face. "Jack, these dreams... I think that you're remembering because you've stopped taking your medication," Mulder suggested. Jack sat back against the car seat, trapping Mulder's palm. Pulling it free, he looked at Jack, waiting. "No, no way ... those drugs mess me up ... fuck with my mind, trap me ... do you know what it's like to ... to finally feel like a curtain was lifted ... like you were experiencing things for the first time when you've already done them a hundred times over? No ... no, you don't know ... you aren't drugged up to be made "normal." I've been doped up all my life, Agent Mulder. All my life!" Jack cried out, anger lacing every syllable he spoke. "Jack, they're meant to help you function, to keep you on an even keel. You're old enough to know, to realize that you've been having severe mood swings." "Is that what Grams told you?" Jack snarled, his eyes hard. "No, that's what I saw this morning and that's what I'm seeing right now," Mulder replied, his tone hard and forceful, his gaze caring. "You need to see your doctors, Jack. You could go into an epileptic fit, you could seizure, possibly choke ... possibly die. Do you understand that? Do you understand what I am saying to you? They're not just mood modifiers. I remember when you were little, I remember the doctors that had to see you. You have a physical condition that demands you take those prescriptions." Jack looked away, wincing at the warning bite of Mulder's words. Curbing his tone, Mulder spoke softly, yet certain. "I don't wanna see that happen to you... I don't wanna see your grandmother loose another person she loves ... and she loves you...loves ya a whole hell of a lot. But she's scared, Jack. She shouldn't have to be afraid." Jack raised his head, meeting Mulder's gaze again, his tone tremulous as he spoke. "She's.... She's scared? Of ... of me?" Mulder sighed, his thumb tapping against the steering wheel before he met Jack's gaze. "She's scared of loosing you. She's scared because she doesn't understand what's been happening." Jack bit his lip, rubbing a forearm over his eyes again. Mulder could hear him sniffing. Reaching across the seat, he grabbed a wad of napkins that had fallen to the floor. He held them out and Jack snatched a few. Mulder watched him blow his nose while the boy's gaze averted from Mulder. "Jack, take the medication again. I think that it'll not only help you feel better, but it will also help you deal with these repressed memories that have begun to surface." Mulder leaned forward. "Listen, you are the one who is in control. You are the one who has the power. You do not have to be helpless in your dreams, take over. Be strong, tell yourself you will be when you fall asleep. If you do that, there's a good chance that what you say will happen." Mulder looked at Jack, searching his face. "But, doing that won't be enough. You need to take your medication again. Tomorrow Pearl and you can set an appointment with your doctors, call them. They can experiment with what would be the best dosage, the best medication for you. Talk to your doctors. Tell them what's going on, they'll be able to help you handle all this." Jack let out a shaky sigh and Mulder waited, watching him. And to be honest, Mulder felt almost relieved. Hearing Jack and what he was going through explained some of the connections he'd been reluctant to make. But Mulder knew, perhaps more than most, how memories had a tendency of snaking through your dreams, littering your subconscious. It made sense that Jack would be experiencing these recollections. Vaughn and Pearl, both, had mentioned how crazy the media frenzy had been these past months. Keenswan's image and story had probably saturated the airwaves, the Philadelphians hungry for the cry of justice to be satisfied when it hadn't ten years ago. The people in that courtroom yesterday were not the only ones demanding Keenswan stay right where he belonged. The whole city had called for it as well. Mulder had stood by his profile and consequently, the majority of those very people. And after being in that interrogation room with him earlier, Mulder was more certain than ever that Keenswan did not fit the diagnosis of a man "cured" by medication. The murderer's alleged "psychotic impulses triggered by uncurtailed seizures" was not reliable but a cooked up Cochranian defense. Mulder was glad to see that he'd been able to invalidate that *medical* finding. Touching Jack's arm, he gave him a reassuring smile. "Jack?" Jack met Mulder's gaze, shivering yet nodding his head. "I... I'll take them." "Good, I really think... no, I know they're gonna help you out," Mulder assured. Jack nodded his head. "Ah shit! Is that what time it is?" Mulder asked looking beyond Jack at the top of PSFS skyscraper. The time scrolled across the electronic board. 930 PM. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out his cell phone. Turning the power button on, he hit Scully's number on speed dial. "What?" Jack asked, curious, concerned. Mulder glanced over at him. "Uh, nothing, nothing... I just... I've gotta make a phone call." Mulder waited and waited with still no answer. He felt a bit worried. Scully always answered her phone. Disconnecting, he quickly dialed Vaughn's home phone number. After three rings, the connection picked up. "Hey, Vaughn? Did Scully get home all right?" Mulder asked, feeling a bit anxious. "Oh, she is? Well, I called her and there was no ... the bathroom?... Uh huh...all right, would you tell her I'll be around in about twenty minutes to pick her up, then. Thanks Vaughn." Hitting the 'end' button, he lowered it from his ear. Snapping the cell phone closed, he began to tap the cell against the steering wheel. "Agent Mulder?" Mulder turned and faced Jack. The boy still sat with his legs against his chest, but, Mulder did note Jack'd stopped shaking and his voice was strong, his gaze steady. "I told you, Jack ... it's just *Mulder*," Mulder admonished, giving the teenager a smile of reassurance. Jack smiled back. "Mulder ... you okay?" "Yeah, I'm fine," Mulder assured, chancing a hand out to rub against the top of Jack's head. Jack smiled, staring at Mulder while ducking away from the touch. "I'm not a kid." "Yeah, I know," Mulder replied, winking. Jack rolled his eyes. "Listen, let's blow this popsicle stand," Mulder suggested, turning the car back on, and throwing the gear shift into reverse. "Yeah, Grams is probably havin' kittens," Jack joked, chuckling. Mulder nodded his head in agreement Turning around, he followed along the other side of the museum toward the back of the building and the back exit. "Well, let's halt the litter." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Center City, Philadelphia University City District The Vaughns' Household Tuesday, 938 PM Scully walked back into the den, having somewhat collected her emotions enough. She'd splashed some water on her face, wiping the streaking lines of eye make-up off that the tissues had missed. Seeing Vaughn hang up his phone, she gave him a questioning look. "That was Mulder, he said he'd be around in 'bout twenty minutes or so to take you guys back to the hotel," Vaughn informed her, tapping his hand against his thigh. Scully felt a sense of nervousness, a weakness in her legs. She tried to scold herself, tried to tell herself she was being a fool, that this was ridiculous. "Dana, I'm sure things will work out," Mike assured, reaching over to rub her arm. Scully looked up, meeting his gaze. His certainty did not assure her for he didn't know what had happened. But, she nodded her head anyway, giving a weak smile of thanks. "We'll... we'll be fine," Scully agreed yet her heart continued to hold a sinking sense of dread. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Center City, Philadelphia Olde City District Pearl's Townhouse Tuesday 950 PM "Sorry if I worried you, Pearl," Mulder said, standing within the living room again. "I ran into Jack and bribed him with food." Pearl smiled. "Well, the way to a teenager's heart is through the bottomless stomach." Mulder chuckled, nodding his head in agreement. "I don't doubt that. It's the way to mine and I've been accused of being an eternal teenage...." Mulder stopped, his heart racing. Scully had accused him of that particular behavior pattern. "Well, I don't doubt it is all," Mulder said, editing his remark. "Listen, about Jack, he hasn't been taking his medication, I think that's what's been causing his manic behavior. I didn't ask him how long he's been off the prescriptions, but it's obviously been long enough. Pearl, he's starting to experience repressed memories about.... about that night." "Oh dear God!" Pearl gasped, clutching Mulder's hand. She looked up to meet his eyes. "That poor child." "He's going to need to see his doctors again. The prescriptions have been bothering him ... that's why he stopped taking them. Body chemistries change, particularly in developing adolescents. I just think he hasn't alerted his doctors about how uncomfortable he's been," Mulder continued to explain. "Oh that's ... that's... Well, we'll be fixing that tout suite!" Pearl declared, straightening her stance, fire burning in her eyes. "I'll call his doctors tomorrow." "Now wait, Pearl, listen. Jack is not feeling very comfortable. I don't think you approaching this subject with him is the best route. Let him come to you. I think he will. I think he needs to feel in control and being able to approach you, being able to suggest the change, will do a lot to improve his outlook. If he does not mention anything to you by tomorrow night, then I'll come over and we'll all talk together," Mulder suggested, turning his palm over to hold her hand in his. "But... But I want...." Pearl stammered, then sighed, defeated. "I just want him to get better, to be the best he can be." "I know Pearl, but Jack is very fragile right now, with his repressed memories cropping up, his manic mood swings. He may see your attempt as an attack against his sense of dependence. He needs to approach you... I feel that very strongly," Mulder said, reaching out to hold Pearl's chin. "Please, you don't want to provoke any negative reactions from him." "I. . . I. . . all right, Fox, if you believe this is the best course," Pearl reluctantly agreed. Mulder leaned down and kissed her temple. "I do, I really, really do." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Center City, Philadelphia Greentree Hotel Broad & Locust St. Tuesday, 1047 PM Mulder stood in front of their large hotel window. His hand pushed aside the vertical blinds, allowing him to stare down from his 18th floor hotel room at the street below. The traffic below was sporadic at this hour, across the street sat both the Philadelphia Academy of Music and Merriam Theater Each building lie dark and empty at this time of night. He recalled the traffic and noise of theater and concert hall patrons exiting the buildings as Scully and he had pulled up to the Greentree. Now, everything was so quiet. Up here, the city sounds were silenced by the thick pane of glass before him, the glass that held a shadowy reflection of himself, the warm glow from the bedside lamps illuminating his form against the darkness outside the window. Everything was piercingly quiet as Mulder let go of the blinds. He reached over and grabbed the string, wrenching the diagonal slats halfway open, enough to allow him a clear view of the city below and beyond. Yes, everything was silent -- pregnant, with the except of Scully in the bathroom, preparing for bed. Mulder kept staring out the window. He heard the sound of the heater kicking on and felt a warm gust of air begin to circle around his legs. He sighed, tired, as he looked down at the tiny matchbox cars that drove down the street, driving beyond their hotel, beyond the theater halls, some of them hitting the traffic light a few blocks away at Broad and City Hall. Mulder could make out their stopped tail lights. Unthreading his tie, Mulder let the loose ends lay across his necks. His suit jacket and trench coat sat in tandem in a heap in one of the chairs by the door. He hadn't bothered to hang either one up. Since having picked Scully up from Vaughn's, neither of them had bothered to say much, almost declaring a silent truce as they prepared for the conversation to come. Mulder felt nauseated again, his stomach clenching into tight knots. He didn't know if he was ready, but he supposed it didn't matter if he was or not. Lifting his hands to his face, he pressed his features into his palms, rubbing his fingers up and down until letting them thread through his hair. He twisted his neck, relaxing the kinks that had bunched up and taken hold of him. He continued to stand in front of this window, the outside world a silent movie before him. Hearing the bathroom door open, Scully's footsteps could also be heard as she padded across the carpet, coming to stand behind him. Mulder could feel her presence, feel her keeping her distance as she ran her gaze over him, not saying anything ... waiting. And waiting. Now even the room was silent. Mulder continued to stare out the window, his ears burning from the quiet, his heart pounding in his chest. His throat was sore, clogged with a lump of anxiety and pain. Being in this room now, being alone with her, had twisted his insides just as tightly as it had earlier. Mulder's gaze no longer witnessed the scene available to him as he stared blindly out the window. He saw nothing, he heard nothing, he felt everything. "Mulder, I'm sorry," Scully said, her voice reaching out to him, trying to turn him around, to face her. He didn't know if he was ready, didn't think he was ready. He felt sensitive to everything The clothes on his back, the sounds in the room, the smell of her vanilla bathwash. Vanilla.... ////". . . my little Eddie was right. You do smell . . . good. Like Vanilla and . . . what is that scent? Hmm? Oh yes, like vanilla with a hint of. . . *musk*. . . ."//// Mulder cringed as he heard Keenswan's words from earlier, heard the truth of her deception, of her lies from a fucking murderer. Mulder tossed his head back, gasping in pain. "Mulder?" Scully asked, her voice concerned Mulder held a hand off, staving her off. He didn't want to see her, he didn't want to smell her ... but yet, he did ... he did. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and clutch her to him, he wanted to bury his face in her stomach as he kneeled before her, clasping onto her for dear life. But he couldn't. Because as much as he wanted to do those things, he wanted to hurt her, hurt her as she was hurting him, destroying him. But he wouldn't, he couldn't because as soon as he wanted to strike out he also wanted to sooth. He wanted to tell her to forget it all, that it's all right, that he understood. But damn it, he didn't understand. He tried to see out of her eyes but when he did, all he saw was Jerse on top of her. "Mulder, I'm so sorry," Scully said again, keeping her distance. Mulder let his chin fall to his chest, his back to her -- straight, stiff. He replied in a pained whisper. "I know you are, Scully." "I was wrong, afraid," Scully continued. He heard her take a few more steps, her voice closer. The hairs on his neck raised and the walls were beginning to feel as if they were shrinking in on him. Mulder finally turned around, slowly, his hands fisted at his side as he looked at her. She stood before him, devoid of make up, forsaking humility, pride. Her hair was wet and combed from her face Her eyes were wet and silent, tears trickled down her cheeks. "Oh, Scully," Mulder gasped, the knifing pain bleeding his heart as he finally looked at her. He could feel his own tears slipping out the corner of his eyes. Standing before her, he tilted his chin down toward his chest again, shuttering his eyes, clearing her pained face from his view. It hurt to see her like that. It hurt to see his pain shared within her gaze. Scully took another step forward, he heard it. The distance between them was less than a yard now, almost close enough to reach out, almost close enough to touch her, to hold her. The one person, the one place he had always found solace and now, now it was not available to him. Mulder raised his head, looking at her, a tear sliding off of his jaw. Anger entered his pained voice, his tone hardening, strong and questioning. "Why Scully? Why were you afraid? No. . . Why didn't you trust me enough?" He watched her blink, a hand going up to wipe the tears off her face before returning to clasp within her other hand. "I. . . it wasn't you, Mulder. It was me. It was life. It was so many fears that somehow, for that moment when you asked me about . . . about Ed, it was that moment that fear wiped away what I knew in my heart. Jesus, Mulder, it was stupid. I know that. . . But . . . but we'd been through so much to finally be together," Scully paused, searching his face before continuing. "I was afraid, not of you. . . I was afraid of another bee." Mulder turned his head to the side, shuttering his eyes. His hands rested on his hips and his breath was labored, ragged. "It wasn't you, never you," Scully continued, reaching out a hand to turn his face toward her. He opened his eyes and looked down at her upturned features. His tears mimicked hers as they continued to fall quietly, as quiet as the city outside. He gave a weak sigh. His mouth trembled as a sob screwed up his features, threatening to break the quiet. "I'm sorry, Mulder, God, I'm so, so sorry." "I know," Mulder gasped out in a strangled voice. Scully leaned in against him, releasing his face, she threaded both arms around his waist resting her head against his chest, against his heart. Mulder looked down at the top of her hair, felt the heat of her body on his. This woman that he loved so much, so much that it hurt, could debilitate. He let his head fall back on his neck, his eyes blindly staring at the ceiling as his mouth opened in a silent, hidden cry. So much silence ... so much. When he lowered his chin, he looked across the room and caught their reflection in the bureau mirror. Just last night that pane of glass held a different image, one of two people embraced, loving. Mulder just stared at them, his heart beating faster within his chest. His throat going dry. "Mulder?" Scully asked, tilting her head up, her hand coming to rest over his breast. Mulder's mouth moved like a fish, his head turning from side to side as he looked at her, helpless. He pulled his gaze away from their embraced image to look down at Scully's upturned face. His arms fell to sides. Scully's gaze was stricken, he could see it, identify it as his own. She stepped away, taking the heat of her and pieces of his heart. Her eyes pooled with tears again. He saw himself within her gaze, within her stance of dejected hope. "I'm sorry, Scully," he choked, swiftly turning his gaze away from her then back again. "I know you're sorry and I want. . . I want to forgive you. I want it so badly but I. . . I can't yet. I just can't and it's, it's tearing me apart." The damn of silence was truly broken, and the sound of sobs emanating from both of them littered the room. Mulder took a step toward her, a hand reaching out the halting as he closed it in a fist, dropping it against his leg. "I. . . oh, Scully," Mulder cried. His voice was hoarse as he looked at her, the pain so tangible within him, around them, that it bleed. "Will you...," Scully began, stammering. He could see her uncertainty, could feel it mixed with a familiar desperate hope. She rocked back and forth, her arms crossed over her satin pajama top, the color blue that matched her eyes. Her gaze stared off to the side as her lips pursed, trying to ask the question that he was asking himself. "Can you for. . . ." "I think so, Scully," Mulder replied, answering the unspoken question. "I just, I need to go right now." Mulder shook his head, trying to clear it, trying to see clearly. Walking past her, he grabbed his jacket off the chair, putting it on. Picking up his trench coat, he clutched it within his hand. "I just... I've gotta go... I need to be alone." Mulder looked up as he turned the door handle to the room. Scully's arms were crossed against her chest and she hadn't turned around to follow his movements. She stood facing the window. He looked past her, seeing her lone reflection where his had been only a few moments ago. He looked away from the glass, looking at Scully once again, trying to say something else, feeling as if he had to. "I . . . ." Mulder opened the door, standing in the doorway for a moment. He saw Scully's back shaking from sobs, tears that fell silent once again. Slowly closing his eyes, he stepped through the door, shutting it as if doing that simple act could close out the last vision of her. But it couldn't, it stayed with him for a long time after. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Tuesday, 1153 PM Like a round exploding from a gun chamber, the water leaking from the faucet impacts against the sink basin, the droplets soaking the cracked and dank porcelain. It's hypnotic, standing here, watching as it splatters, hearing the ricochet of continuity, of passing time as it beads, falling from the rusted barrel -- the faucet's mouth. I don't think I would have noticed that before, the little things, I mean. Everything is different, better. And that makes me smile. Rubbing my eyes, I let my hand fall back to the sink, watch as my finger nail traces against the chilled surface. I see things now, do things I've never had the nerve, never had a thought to do. I had been trapped, trapped within a prison built so many years ago, jailed like a God Damn Animal! But no more. . . I'm unleashed, maybe even a bit unhinged, but I'll pay that price, gladly. Learning, that's what I have been doing. Confused at first, it took me some time to slowly come to the realization about just what it was I'm now able to do. It took me some time to fully comprehend what it is I've always been meant for. I don't even remember fighting it, not really. It just seemed natural, seemed right. I'd been mesmerized, even scared shitless, at least at first. I can admit that. In the beginning I had observed and been observed, and maybe ... maybe I hated that. Not now, though, never now. I anticipate it, the thirst to watch, to learn. It quickens my heart and races my blood. Blood -- it's become a funny thing to me, what with how and where it flows. There is a grittiness, a scent, and if I even catch a whiff, a hint of that metallic liquid, I'm excited. It's like I can feel the blood rushing through my veins as I watch it spilling out of others. Ha, just the smell, the letting of it -- it really makes me feel, well, makes me feel more alive as nothing ever has. Have I always had the potential to appreciate this? Perhaps. The past doesn't really matter, though. Today is what counts. I finally feel in control and not controlled, not by anything or anyone. There might be some debate on the *controlled* aspect. But they ... they don't know and *he*, well, he doesn't either. But he will. I blink my eyes, pulling my gaze from my hands and looking up at my reflection in the mirror before me. The light is strong in here, glaring, showing all the cracks and crevices of my thoughts, of my intention broiling deep within my gaze. I lean forward, cocking my head as I widen my eyes, my stare. I welcome in that illumination, stepping out from behind the role I've played. Here, in this room, right now ... there's no one who can see me, the real me, not one person who knows the truth. No one but myself. I stand here, isolated among the cement and mortar, the barred window securing me from the outside world. But it's too late ... too late. Twisting the faucet handle, the water becomes a stream of rapid fire as I lean over the sink. Scooping up the wetness, I bathe my face with it, feel each bullet of wetness soak into my skin, cleanse me, prepare me. Straightening, I look into the mirror again. I stare so hard and for so long that I can see the pores of my skin expanding, catching the water. I blink and call up my worn, counterfeit tears, watching them perform as they track down my cheeks. I smile, feeling laughter claw up my throat and cause my lips to spread in a grin. Oh, yes. Complete joy. Within these past months, I have known true liberation, broken out of my confinement, freed of my cell like no one could ever suspect, like no one could ever know. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the padlock that had withheld my total liberation. It is the barrier that had, up until these past few months, prevented me my complete freedom from a different type of jail I hadn't even known I was trapped within. Holding it up, I look at it. "Jack, you almost thru in there, honey?" Yes, almost. Smiling, I pick up my glasses from the sink, thread them over my ears. I brush a hand over my face, lacing a thick strand of hair back behind my ear. I want to clearly witness this final commitment to my liberty. Popping the cap, I open the bottle, tipping it. I listen to the machine gun fire as the pills hit the basin. The tablets cascade into the sink, and as they do, I hear the hinges creak open. I hear the doors release as my jailor slips down the drain. "Jack?" Slips. "Just a minute, Grams." It's time to fall into sweet dreams, time to meet dear old dad once more. Mulder was right. I am in control. I do have the power to master my dreams, to become the ultimate power player in them because the thing is, I always have been. In dreams, I'm the magician, the master manipulator ... the wizard Merlin hidden behind today's twisted King Arthur. I am all those things, not the fucking pawn his majesty believes me to be... ...not the victim I have pretended to be. Tonight the student will master the teacher, the son will become the father. It's time to succeed the thrown. Turning the knob, the bathroom light dims, the room slowly fading into complete blackness. I can't help but smile again. Sweet dreams, indeed. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Center City, Philadelphia Olde City Section Anthony's Tavern Between 2nd and 3rd, Market Street. Wednesday, 1210 AM Vaughn passed through the door, blinking to adjust his eyes to the dim interior of 'Anthony's' bar. The usual murmuring voices, clinking glass and the low hum from the dueling televisions, could be heard as he shouldered off his coat and unwrapped the scarf from around his neck. Running his fingers through his blonde, wind-tangled hair, Vaughn took a deep breath, breathing in the blessed warmth. Bringing both hands together, he rubbed them to get some blood circulating. It was friggin' cold out and he'd forgotten his damn gloves. Looking over toward the stretch of bar, he spotted Rich Spinelli, proprietor extra-ordinare. "So, Rich, where's he at?" Vaughn asked, peering around the room as he lumbered over to the bar. He leaned against the mahogany surface, pushing a bowl of pretzels away as his foot came to rest on the brass foot rail. "He's over there in the corner," Rich responded, nodding his head toward the back of the room as he poured out a draft beer. "Figured I should call ya, him bein' a friend of yours." Vaughn looked beyond and over the heads of the throng of patrons, toward the rear of the bar. Sure enough, there was Mulder taking up residence in the furthest booth. "Thanks, Tone, you figured right," Vaughn assured. Giving the bar a quick rap, he turned, threading a path through the late night crowd as he made his way toward Mulder. He stopped before his table, rattling the change in his pants pocket. Pants, he noted, that he'd already taken off, having already been in his nice toasty bed, curled up with Lisa when the phone rang. "Mulder." He watched his friend raise his glassy eyes to him then turn away with a short grunt. "Well, don't get all gushy on me, tell me how ya really feel" Vaughn replied, smirking. Hanging up his scarf and jacket on the side of the booth, he sat down opposite Mulder, smiling. "Bet you're all warm and fuzzy inside just seeing me." Mulder just looked at him before replying. "Oh yeah, I feel just like that." "See, betcha didn't know I was all clary-voyant," Vaughn replied, leaning back in his seat, the vinyl squeaking. Counting the shot glasses, Vaughn saw that there were five of them, not including the half-empty mug of beer. That's also not counting whatever Lacey might have already cleared away. "This used to be my gig, Mulder. What the hell you doing playin' at it?" "Figured I'd reprise the role," Mulder grumbled, staring down at the beer foam clinging to the sides of his mug. Vaughn sighed. Stringing his arm along the back of the booth, he figured he'd better get himself comfortable. He had a feeling this was gonna be a long night. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Center City, Philadelphia Olde City District Pearl's Townhouse Wednesday, 1214 AM "Goodnight, Grams." Closing my bedroom door, I hear the lock click into place. I turn around and look at my room. My black light is on, drawing my gaze to the poster above my bed and the stack of underwear on my bureau, both have turned purple in the light. Making my way across the room, I step around a pile of CD ROMs to finally sit down before my desk. My Merlin's staff screen saver glows then explodes across the computer monitor, the shards multicolored. Moving the mouse, I click the screen and the figure of Merlin from my 'Magic of the Realms' program appears. I click on the figure and it speaks. ""Merlin says "The blades of death come your way, the question is will you play?" Smiling, I cross my arms against my chest. Leaning back, I hear the chair wheels squeak as they roll across the carpet. "I'm ready." Lunging to my feet, I walk over to my rumbled bed and sit down. I unlace my sneakers, toeing them off, listening as they thud to the floor. Pulling my hair tie off, I shake my head while scratching my scalp. Gathering the wayward strands, I tie my hair back once more. I lay back on the mattress. Lacing my fingers, I rest them against my chest, letting a breath slip past my lips as I get settled. The computer screen speaks again, repeating the question. "Merlin says "The blades of death come your way, the question is will you play?" Rubbing my head back and forth against the pillow, I close my eyes, shutting out the purple glow of the black light. When the speakers let loose the question again, I speak with it. This was how it all started. A refrain used to help combat my insomnia. I'd only been able to fall asleep with the sound of the computer on. Then, one night, instead of oblivion, I awoke, not in my room, but a familiar space, a familiar closet. The same closet I now found myself waking up within yet again. When I look out through the slatted doors, the figure of Keenswan appears, along with another bound woman. It is the same sight I always awake to, when I try. Tonight, though, tonight will be different from the other nights. The final outcome irrevocably different. I smile, letting my hand rest against the door frame. My lips move, speaking in silence, the refrain that has helped change my life, helped in giving me freedom. "Merlin says "The blades of death come your way, the question is will you play?" "Yes. I. will." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Center City, Philadelphia Olde City Section Anthony's Tavern Wednesday, 1229 AM "What can I get you, Lieutenant?" Lacey asked balancing a brown, plastic tray against her hip. "You workin' tonight?" "That's right," she replied, stringing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, don't Rich let you have off?" Vaughn asked, resting his elbow on the table, his chin within his palm as he looked at her. "How you supposed to study for your graduate exams, they're coming up next month, right?" "Well, I'm off tomorrow night," Lacey responded, smiling. "And yeah, the exams are mid-November." "You tell Rich I said not to be working you too hard," Vaughn ordered, mock gruffness coating his voice. "Will do," she replied, rocking back and forth as she waited. "Now, what can I get for you, tonight? "Whelp, I guess I'll go straight to the coffee this fine freezing evening. Need something to warm these old bones," Vaughn answered. "Good 'nough," Lacey replied walking off. Vaughn turned to look at Mulder, insulted. "Notice how she doesn't contradict that statement." That got a low chuckle out of him. Vaughn noted that Mulder sat across from him a bit bleary-eyed, and he'd bet it was more than the alcohol causing it. He had a look about him that was painfully familiar. "Whaddya doing here?" Mulder asked, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at Vaughn. "Can't a guy get a drink?" the detective responded, rubbing his hands together again. Vaughn could still feel a bite of the cold seeping into his palms. He chanced a glance over at Rich while he quickly blew on his fingers, trying to warm them up. "Not you. You don't drink anymore, least not alone," Mulder countered. Vaughn saw Mulder catch his stray glance toward the bar before he was able to turn his full attention back to the subject at hand. "So, the bartender called out the hounds?" Mulder asked, taking a sip of his beer and replacing it on the table with a loud thunk. "The hounds?" Vaughn laughed. Straightening from the back of his seat, he leaned across the table. "I've been called a shitload of things, but never a hound. You ARE wasted, Sherlock." The detective looked at Mulder deciding that he looked like pure crap. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair was going punk, and he had a five o'clock shadow George Michael would be envious of. "What's goin' on, man? You look like shit and..., "Vaughn began before audibly sniffing the air. "...smell even worse." "Fuck you." "Sorry, but you're just not pretty enough for me," Vaughn replied, not missing a beat. Mulder sighed, hunching his shoulders as he leaned on the table. "Listen, Vaughn, I'm fine. Why don't you go on back home to the brood?" "Oh, please? ... And miss your sparkling conversation?" Vaughn replied, making sure to keep his gaze open, innocent as he made a play at batting his eyelashes. "You are such an asshole, you know that?" Mulder accused. "So I've been told," Vaughn said, agreeing. "Fine then, as long as we got that straight, let's move on Anything new on Keenswan?" Mulder asked. "You are a smooth operator, aren't ya?" Vaughn sighed, rubbing his eyelids with his thumb and index finger. Sliding his fingers off his eyes, he squeezed the bridge of his nose as he answered. "Christ, I wish I could say yeah." Vaughn looked up, meeting Mulder's gaze. "Mulder, somehow, this asshole is gettin' over on us. I know it! What I don't know is how the hell he's doin' it." Mulder nodded his head. "I mean, what the hell, right? There's usually SOME kind of evidence, even if it's a partial print, something. Yet every God Damn crime scene has been clean. But in my gut, I can feel it, I know it... I know that Keenswan is somehow involved." "I agree," Mulder seconded before taking another swig of his beer. Vaughn looked at him, shaking his head. "It's so fucking frustrating." "Okay, so we know he's not had any outside contact. His mail has been checked, incoming and outgoing ... to which the most exciting thing he receives coming in are those hate letters. Phone calls and visits are recorded, both of which he hasn't had since being incarcerated. Only outside contact he's had is through his doctors," Mulder said, listing their evidence, or lack thereof. "You think there's something to that?" Vaughn asked, picking up a sugar packet and absently rubbing it back and forth against the table. Watching Mulder rub his index finger up and down the side of his face, Vaughn waited until Mulder gathered his thoughts. "Do I think there's something to it? It's possible. We should probably have them checked out tomorrow." "As good as done." Mulder nodded his head. "All right." "What about the other inmates, this Jerse for example?" Vaughn asked, meeting Mulder's gaze. He watched as Mulder's posture stiffened. His eyes seemed to darken and his voice became rough. "I don't think there is a connection through him." Vaughn nodded, "Why you say that?" "I say it because he was mentioned to provoke me, nothing more," Mulder answered, his voice hard, yet quiet. "I'd say it worked," Vaughn replied, remembering earlier that day when they interrogated Keenswan. He didn't think he'd have to hold Mulder back, let alone have a bit of a struggle to do so. It was an annoying reminder that he wasn't as young as he used to be, nor was he as in-shape. Mulder remained quiet. Vaughn found Mulder's response of silence as interesting, but let it go. If Mulder said this Jerse wasn't important to the case at hand, then he wasn't. He knew as much to trust him. "Well, Keenswan has been in solitary the past few days. Had some disturbance with another inmate. I'll get some men on the prisoners he comes in contact with. See what that gives us," Vaughn said, still twisting the sugar packet. "We know no one's been released from Keenswan's cell block for over the past two years, but that doesn't preclude another prisoner somehow relaying information," Mulder said. "What about this Jack Layne?" Vaughn questioned. "You left to go see him this afternoon, anything?" Mulder leaned forward, meeting Vaughn's stare. "I... I think there's something going on there but I'm not sure what, not yet anyway. He's a very troubled kid, more so than I originally thought. There's something I can't quite put my finger on." Vaughn nodded, dropping the sugar packet and sitting back against his seat. "So, what are your plans? You're the one with the relationship with him." "Yes, I'll have another talk with Jack tomorrow ... I'm telling you, Vaughn, this kid has to be handled very carefully. There's no telling what will set him off. Pearl Clayton had said that Jack hasn't been himself since this whole Keenswan parole hearing hit the press." "Poor kid, I don't blame the boy. What's he? Sixteen now?" Vaughn asked. He remembered a frightened little boy, a boy who had been through a horror Vaughn couldn't imagine any child having to suffer through. He shuddered. "Yeah, he's sixteen," Mulder confirmed. "We've got Keenswan tossing out cryptic bullshit at the hearing... "this is all far from over"..., then we get this third body last night at Rittenhouse," Vaughn paused, giving out a weary sigh. Scratching the back of his head, he let his hand rub down the back of his neck before continuing. "Mulder, how many more people gotta die before we get a break? That's what I'm starting to ask myself, you know? I mean, I'm feelin' at a loss here. I just can't see anything happenin' to stop this." He looked up and saw Mulder give a nod before he continued. "Usually the perp has some kind of slip up at this point. You and I both know the profile of a serial killer. And let's face it, that's what these murders have become ... but the profile, it dictates that this murdering bastard should be gettin' sloppy, and that ain't happenin'." Mulder nodded, letting out a heavy sigh. "I know." "GOD. DAMNIT. I HATE feeling so fucking useless," Vaughn muttered, pounding his hand on the table, staring at it. The assorted bottles on the table shook from the impact. Straightening his spine, Vaughn pulled his stare from the table and met Mulder's gaze again. "Tell ya what, let's talk about something else for now." "Talk about what?" Mulder asked. Vaughn could see him bracing himself. "Eagles played tonight, and lost," Vaughn sighed, dejected. He saw Mulder relax, smile even as he rested his hands on the table. "I told you, Vaughn, you gotta pick a winning team like the Redskins." "You gotta be kiddin' me," Vaughn replied his eyes wide, incredulous. Mulder snorted, rubbing the heel of his hand against his eye. "Hurts facing the truth, don't it?" "I'll let you know when I hear it," Vaughn replied, his voice gruff, mock-insulted as he sat back. Cracking out a weak smile, he let out a disbelieving huff. Mulder chuckled. "Ah, yes!" Vaughn cried out, leaning forward to take the mug of coffee from Lacey. He noticed the requisite amount of creamers and sugars he needed. "You're a life saver." "I know," she replied over her shoulder as she walked away. "This is where you used to come, isn't it?" Mulder quietly asked, rubbing his hand against his chin. Vaughn shot his head up, meeting Mulder's stare. There was no question to what he was referring to. "Quit profiling me, Fibbie," Vaughn warned, dumping the creamer and sugars into his cup. "But, to answer your question, yeah, this was where I came. Let's just say that Rich, and Lacey over there, along with Monique and Robby -- we all got to know each other real well a few years ago." "And now Rich looks after you. I saw him have the waitress bring you that coffee last night. Two beer minimum?" Mulder prodded. Vaughn nodded, sighing. "Something like that." "It's good to have friends who care," Mulder said. Vaughn noted a bit of wistfulness within his voice. "And family ... speaking of which, Lisa and the rugrats really seemed to take to Dana," Vaughn segued, picking up a leather coaster, rolling it against the table. "Lisa told me to tell you that it was about time you found someone to get on your ass." "Oh, I'm sure she said it just like that," Mulder replied, reserved, yet smirking. "Close enough, the gist being the important part," Vaughn agreed before taking a sip of his coffee. "Paige didn't run Scully over, did she?" Mulder asked, softly chuckling. Vaughn smiled, his voice deep as he laughed. "No, she refrained from hanging off her. You get to be the lucky one in that regard." "She is quite the ... uh ... climbing enthusiast," Mulder said, smiling. Vaughn laughed, picturing the last time Mulder had seen Paige. That girl of his had literally scaled Mulder's body, situating herself on his shoulders and demanding he be her horse, riding him around the house. She'd refused to leave him alone. Vaughn had always figured that Mulder would make a good father. "You know, you need to get a rugrat of your own. You and Dana should get down to business some point in the future. From what I can see, you're both good with children." He noted Mulder's sudden stillness. He figured it was a response to the fight he and Dana were currently in. He never suspected what came out of Mulder's mouth. "Scully ... she can't have children," Mulder whispered, looking grieved. "We found out she was barren over a year ago." "Oh Christ, do I feel like the asshole," Vaughn said, recalling the other night at the bar. "I feel like a shit. I said the same thing to her about kids last night ... she never said a word." "It's all right, you couldn't have known and she wouldn't have said anything," Mulder said, staring off toward the bar. "I still feel like a shit," Vaughn said, kicking himself. "Well, it's nice to get back to your roots," Mulder said, changing the tone of their conversation, bringing it back to safe ground. "Real funny, G-man." Mulder smiled and Vaughn met it with one of his own. "So, tell me, when ya gonna actually stay for a visit at the humble Vaughn abode?" Vaughn asked. "I mean, you hang out in the foyer and leave? What's that all about?" "It was late," Mulder quietly answered. Vaughn sighed. "I guess that's a good enough reason for tonight but you don't get off so easy next time." Mulder leaned back in his seat, the vinyl squeaking with every movement either of them made. "I'm serious, you gotta get over to my place at a decent hour, that's all there is to it. I know Lisa and the girls would love to see ya. And, between you and me, I think Chrissy still has that crush on you." He watched Mulder chuckle. "I'm telling ya, at dinner, when Dana mentioned your name, hell... Chrissy lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree, "Vaughn informed, shaking his head, an eyebrow raised. "So, Mulder, the question I find myself asking is, 'what in the hell are ya doing to my girls?' Some kind of voodoo, freaky-deeky black magic you picked up in one of those X-files of yours?" "Vaughn, I can't help it if they can't resist the Mulder charm," Mulder laughed, sitting back. "And neither could your partner, apparently, "Vaughn said, his voice soft. He knew his words were undercutting. Mulder lost the smile, his lips clamping shut as Vaughn watched him look out into the slimming crowd. "That's ... that's complicated," Mulder finally said, his voice heavy. Vaughn noted the beaten posture of his friend. "When isn't it?" Vaughn said in agreement, echoing Mulder's sigh. "Women, I think THEY'RE the ones with some kind of voodoo magic. I mean, Lisa sure worked her stuff on me, even when I was bein' a bastard." He paused before continuing. "You know, it amazing to me that she put up with half the shit I put her through. I don't know if I would have been so ... so forgiving. No, scratch that. I know I would have. I, hell... I love the lady that much. It's pretty good to realize that she loves me just as much, if not more." Vaughn let Mulder process what he said. Mulder knew he'd been no picnic two years ago. He knew what a grade A asshole he'd been ... knew why, and how, Rich became such a good friend. And Mulder also knew that Lisa had taken him back, particularly at a time when things with Chrissy, their marriage, and his drinking had been at their worst. He didn't doubt that he owed part of the saving of his marriage to Mulder, to his constant pestering, to him throwing out a life line when he couldn't see anyone else's. Nope, he didn't doubt one bit that Fox Mulder helped him when he wouldn't allow anyone else, not even the one person he was closest to. Vaughn looked up and met Mulder's knowing glance. Smiling, he drummed his hands on the table. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm ready to get on home." Slipping out of the booth, Vaughn grabbed his scarf off the hook. Winding it around his neck, he then slipped into his jacket. "You walked, right? I didn't see your car outside." "Yeah," Mulder replied, following after him as he slid his arms into his trench coat. "I'll give ya a lift back to the Greentree," Vaughn offered, as he turned and lead the way through the bar. Looking around, he was surprised to see that he and Mulder had been the last ones left. He hadn't noticed the people leaving. Looking over at the bar, he saw Rich collecting glasses. Vaughn gave him a nod of thanks. Rich returned the gesture. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX JACK A Bedroom __________ "No one seems to love or understand me," a male voice sings, the tone deep, rich, as he continues. "Bye ... bye ... blackbird." There's a pause as he begins to speak, the tone soft, the words crisply enunciated. "Shh, there now. It's so much better when you're quiet." Leaning against the closet's interior door frame, my fingers trace along the door slats, dust coating the tips of them. I watch ... always watching. I tilt my head to the side, trying to avail myself a better view. Licking my lips, I watch as Keenswan straddles a woman. Beyond his bulk, I trace my gaze up the female's outstretched arms. Both appendages already have the blush of green-blue bruising. Her wrists and ankles are tied with vibrant, silk scarves. They are the kind of scarves I've always seen Grams wearing, the kind that is always pinned to her coats. I suppose that's why the women are always tied with the same material, a material familiar to me. I watch as the woman struggles beneath Keenswan -- as he moves over and in her, touches her, fucks her, singing. "Where somebody waits for me, sugar sweet, so is she... I say Bye... Bye. .. Blackbird." It has never escaped my notice that every woman would, and did, resemble my dead mother. It also hasn't escaped my notice that each woman I've seen beneath Keenswan's hulking body has been a lucky someone I've happened to notice that day. It always is a woman I've spotted either on the street, in the subway, or anywhere else. With each occasion I've found myself frozen within a crowd of passer-bys, frozen as I've watched the bounce of her hair, the tilt of her head or heard the tinkle of a laugh, all of which, or even individually, has seemed familiar to me. When confronted with these women, I find that my skin beads into a rapid sweat, flushing, while my heart races. Shock. Excitement. Desire all are intricately woven together. How those same women find their way tied, spread-eagle on a four poster bed? Well, I couldn't say. I didn't know the trick, the technique of it all. All I knew was that it was never a conscious effort on my part. Smacking my hand against the slatted door, I wait. Now is not the time for contemplation. Keenswan turns his head, looking over his shoulder at me, looking at the closet that I stand within. When he speaks his voice is instructive, measured. "Pay attention, son ... someday, yes ... someday this will all be yours." I shake my head, rolling my eyes. Sooner than you think, sooner than you know. On with the play... "Let me out of here, you sick fuck!" I cry as I crack my neck and get comfortable in this established role. I smack the door again, causing it to rattle against the frame. Blowing out a breath, I clear an irritating strand of hair that has fallen in front of my eyes. Keenswan grunts. I watch him slide off the woman. I watch as he reaches a hand over her chest, tracing his fingertips down her body. He gives a reluctant sigh, then stands, adjusting the fly of his jeans before turning toward where I stand, hidden. "Now ... son," Keenswan begins, his tone even, quiet with maybe even a bit of suppressed excitement. My eyes narrow, I don't like that reminder. It's not that I doubt Keenswan. Blood recognizes Blood. Like knows Like. And me, well, I suppose I instinctively knew I was my father's son even when I had wanted to deny it. But, there was no use denying it now. All of that was in the past. Yet regardless of all that, it didn't mean I had to like the twisted fuck. Keenswan stopped before the closet door, trying to see through the slats, trying to see me hidden within the darkness. But he's never seen me, just like everyone else ... and that is his mistake, too. "How are you going to learn the family trade, hmm? How are you going to take pride in your work? The satisfaction of knowing you did a job well done? How you going to do all that if you don't pay attention?" Keenswan asks, his tone reasoning, sincere. "I'm not your son!" I cry, banging the flat of my hand against the door. I have to bite the insides of my cheeks to suppress a wry chuckle. I'll admit it, I take a certain type of pleasure in the duplicity I am performing. I mean, I really do take pleasure in the expectation of what is soon to come. "How many times do I have to tell you, Jack?" Keenswan questions, letting his hand press against the door. I watch the barred view of Keenswan's body, my father's face is tilted sideways, almost pensive while I see him attempt to phrase his next words. "You're mother was a whore. I've told you time and time again that the bitch wouldn't let me see you. I mean, Jack ... you're my boy, flesh and bone... a boy needs his father." Keenswan begins to turn away, pulling his hand from the door only to suddenly twist around, slamming a fist against the surface. "Shut-up!" I cry, adding a sob to my tone. I fall back, deeper, into the closet. Well, that was one thing I still didn't like, the closet ... it seemed to retain the scent of my mother's wardrobe, the smell I couldn't stop remembering. No, I didn't like that, didn't like how the aroma made me, not only remember, but feel. Grinding my back teeth together, my tone is a growl. For a moment, I fail to make my response sound weak, frightened, as steel-backed anger chokes out of me. "Shut-up, Keenswan!" "Now, Jack, is that anyway to talk to your father?" Keenswan asks, smiling as he peers through the cracks. "But . . . but I forgive you. I do. I know you can be a bit high strung ... after all, it runs in the family." "You are not my father! You are NOT!" "Oh boy, when are you going to accept the truth? I've been schooling you these past months. I mean, hasn't it been long enough, hmm?" Keenswan's voice has lost its level tone, anger spits out the following words as he points back at the woman. "That whore ... right there on that bed, that image of your mother, of Eleanor, she can't deny me you any longer. She tried but I had to teach her, had to teach every woman who was like her, school them, her, as only I know how." Keenswan took a deep breath, breathing through his nose as he let his head fall back on his neck before leveling his gaze once more, reestablishing his sense of calm. "You're with me now, son, with me." Keenswan begins to laugh, the sound piercing and hollow. I look past him with indifference, looking at the woman laid out on the bed, my mother's bed. In fact, the room, it is my mother's bedroom. And the closet, the crushing space I always find myself waking up within -- also my mother's. Everything is a re-creation of ten years ago. I look at the woman again, my lip pulling back in a snarl. I peer at the woman who lays, gagged and struggling on the bed I once ran to, to escape the lingering tendrils of childhood nightmares. It is the same bed that had been a safe haven because within it laid my mother, a woman whose outstretched arms I would fall into, taking comfort. A mother I used to clutch, who ultimately couldn't protect me -- a woman who left me. Cocking my head, I observe this particular woman, her features so like the one who had betrayed me, who had destroyed my world by leaving, leaving me to the pitiful life I've struggled through. But no more! I grip my temples, mentally berating myself for allowing my thoughts to wander down that path, a path I'd closed off a long, long time ago. Shaking my head, I clear my thoughts. I peer past Keenswan, my heart jumping with that bit of excitement as I recognize the woman on the bed. I'd noticed her on the "L" train earlier that night. Her arms had been laded with groceries, her hair black and long like my mother's. Yes, that was it. Taking a deep breath, I plunge into my next words, continuing the masquerade. "That's not her! She's dead! You killed her, you bastard!!" I yell, banging on the door again. Amazingly, the door remains locked, even as it strains against the pressure put on it by both Keenswan and myself. He sucks his teeth, nodding his head as if to admonish his silly boy ... as if to admonish me. "Ohhhh, Jack. They're all her ... when are you going to understand that?" Keenswan replies, stepping away from the door. "And, the best part is, you bring them to me, every single one. I've never thanked you for that. It's such a pleasant thing for you to do." "I don't bring you shit!" I declare, my voice hoarse. I lick my lips again. I scratch my head, an itch popping up to take my immediate attention. The woman on the bed moans through her gag. I look past Keenswan and see that the woman is regaining consciousness, her head turning back and forth. "Daddy's gotta get back to work now, Jack," Keenswan says, pulling out a switchblade. I watch him sit beside the woman and gently remove her gag. "Don't do this, don't do this ... please, please, I won't tell anyone, I promise... I proooomise," she sobs. Keenswan slaps the woman, causing her head to snap to the side. "Shh, it's all right." Just beautiful. She begins to mumble, her voice getting stronger as she begins to plead, to beg to be set free. "Shhh, what did I tell you? hmm?" Keenswan asks, brandishing the blade before her eyes. Light glints off the silver surface. "Do be quiet now." I watch, compelled, as Keenswan lowers the switchblade against the woman's arm, cutting a long, yet superficial slit from elbow to wrist. It's enough to bleed her. He then copies the marking onto the other arm. And she begins to scream, long and deep cries. Oh, yes. Shaking my head, I check my own excitement and get back to the performance at hand. "No! Nooo!" I cry, twisting the handle to no result. Leaning forward, I press my nose against the door, mesmerized by the sight. The woman becomes more bloodied, more splashes of red coat her body and saturate the sheets. So much blood. My eyes roll into the back of my head as I devour the scent. I let my hands slid down my chest, past my waist as I reach and grip myself. My head falls forward again. Mulder's words surface, reminding me that now, tonight is the time. I have the power. I am in control. That's God Damn Right! Time to claim the crown. Reaching for the door handle, I turn it. This time the door swings open without a fight. I smile. Quietly stepping out of the darkened space, I let the door snap shut behind me. I lean my back against the wood, watching Keenswan's pure concentration. I count on that. His back is to me as he lightly carves into the woman, letting her blood ripple out. The metallic stench of blood is stronger out here, ripe with impending death. I rub a hand over my chin, feeling a slight growth of bristles. Reaching behind me, I withdraw a blade from my back pocket. Pulling my weight off of the door, I step forward and cross the room. When I am finally on top of Keenswan, I whisper into his ear. "I'm through learning ... the apprentice has become the master." Accompanying those words, I raise my own switchblade, stabbing into his back. Having been surprised, I pull Keenswan off the woman, grabbing the front of his bald head and pushing back. My blade slides out of his body as I throw him to the ground. Keenswan's own blade falls out of his hand, falling against the bed covers. He tries to roll away but I toss him back down, flat against the rough carpeting. Climbing on top of him, I pin Keenswan's body to the rug with my weight. I use my knees to squeeze his arms against his torso. I stare down at the man called 'father', the man who now lays beneath me, laying like my mother had so many years ago. I feel a flush of anger, my throat constricting with an unexpected wash of emotion. Reaching down again ... I slice my father's biceps. I cut through the shirt, cutting into him as he had cut into so many women, as he had cut into my mother. I become manic, slicing, slitting across his chest, arms -- reaching behind and digging the blade into the man's thigh. His blood soaks my hands, my clothes, splashes my face. Through it all, Keenswan remains silent, grunting but not uttering a cry. My breath is rapid as I notice the silence. Looking into his face, I growl, noticing my father's smile. "What? Happy to reach your death?" He turns his head from side to side, blood spilling from his mouth. "You don't know, Jack, do you?" I stare, my eyes narrowing. "What?" "I waited for you tonight, waited for you to leave that closet," Keenswan gasps, coughing. "You and I, we're connected, it's part of our lineage, our minds, our will and ability to know things, to be able to do things." "If that were true, why didn't you stop me?" I ask, furious at his lunacy, my own breathing raspy as I lean over him. "What do I have to live for? Nothing. AIDS is taking me slowly, now you're letting me go quick, giving me the ultimate freedom. You are your father's son -- you are a gift." "You think so?" I question, cocking an eyebrow, my heart racing. I hold my hand above my head, the switchblade handle clasped tightly, biting into my grip but I don't give a fuck. I hold it, hovering above my shoulder, ready to descend. "Oh yes, boy. A gift," Keenswan chokes, his teeth coated in blood, trickling out of his mouth and down his chin. His eyes begin to roll as he struggles to breath. In a shaky voice, he begins to sing. "Bye ... bye ... black--" I place the final slice across his throat, slicing his vocal cords and cutting my father's refrain short. It is a cut perfected by Keenswan on all his victims, all my mothers. Leaning down, I kiss Keenswan's warm cheek before speaking, looking into my father's quickly glazing stare. "I've always hated that song." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Center City, Philadelphia Greentree Hotel Broad & Locust St. Wednesday, 113 AM "Here we are," Vaughn declared, pulling his jeep up to the front of Mulder's hotel. "Listen, thanks for ... well, thanks," Mulder said, grabbing the door handle. "Talk to her Mulder," Vaughn said, his voice soft yet insistent as Mulder opened the door. "Don't make the mistake I almost did, everyone deserves a second chance." He watched as Mulder stepped out of the jeep, pausing before he shut the door. "Thank you, Mike," Mulder said again, nodding. "I'll see you tomorrow, say ... 9-ish, down at the precinct?" "Sounds good, now close the damn door, your lettin' in the freezin' cold," Vaughn griped good-naturedly as he watched Mulder do just that. Shivering, he put the jeep into gear and revved the engine, before pulling back out onto Broad Street. XXXXXXXXXX Center City, Philadelphia M&S Hotel Room Wednesday, 125 AM Scully heard the door opening and saw Mulder softly close it behind him. She'd been laying on the bed within the semidarkness, trying to fall asleep ... trying and failing. Mulder had left so suddenly earlier that worry had her mind scrambling onto a plethora of possibilities regarding what he was doing and where he went. As it became later, she started to be concerned about what might have happened to him to keep him out so late. Now, as he turned away from the door, she watched as he walked through the room. She saw him shed his trench coat and jacket, letting them fall on the floor as he crossed beyond her view, over to the bathroom. She heard him enter the room, the door snapping shut. A sliver of light spread across the carpet below the closed door. She waited for him to come out, her heart pounding within her chest. She was afraid. She knew Mulder, she knew his propensity to internalize things as she did. No, not things, pain. Hurt. She never imagined herself as being the genesis of any of them. But now she was and that scared her. She didn't want what her initial fears had prophesied those months ago. She didn't want to lose him. And she wasn't oblivious to the fact that Mulder wasn't exactly a contender for sainthood. How many times had he lied to her? Run off without her? How many times in the guise of doing what he thought was right -- how many times had he been less than honest with her? Probably more than she would ever know. Did that anger her? Of course it did. This time, though. This time it was different -- not just because it was her lie, but because it was a lie placed in the foundation of something new for them. It was a prefabricated sink hole that had made them stumble. She hoped, she prayed, that Mulder would help to lift her up from it, that they would help each other. Mulder never had the market on feeling guilty. She also had her own corner. The only difference being that she was just better at hiding the impact of her feelings. Now, she couldn't disguise her feelings. She couldn't remain the stoic Scully of the past. She couldn't remain that way and hope to mend the fissure of the present. She knew that. So she waited there, hearing him prepare for bed. She had smelled the lingering scent of cigarettes and alcohol as he had past by, could smell them clinging to his clothes and wondered what he had done, where he had been while she remained in their room, waiting for her absolution, her absolution or ... or damnation. Scully closed her eyes, a rough sob escaped her lips as she adjusted the position of her pillow, and pulled the blanket over her shoulder. Eventually she heard the bathroom door open again and her whole body tensed. The sound of a few more pieces of clothing hit the floor before Mulder's weight depressed the mattress. She waited, holding her breath. He knew she was awake. She knew she'd never been able to disguise that fact from him. Why should tonight be any different? Mulder laid back on the bed, adjusted the blankets and then was still. He hadn't touched her. He hadn't reached for her, and Scully felt her heart crumbling all over again. The room had become quiet with the exception of their breathing and the ticking of the wall clock that hung on the wall across the room. She turned from her side, onto her back. Mulder lay facing away, toward the window. Scully felt tears pricking her eyes as she saw Mulder with a pillow hugged against his chest, a pillow where she used to be. Biting her lip, her face crumbling, Scully silently turned back onto her side again, facing the door. She let her silent tears drip off her nose and absorb into the cotton pillow case. Damnation. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX JACK A BEDROOM _______________ Pulling away from Keenswan's corpse, I stand up, stumbling backward, stepping away from the body and walking around the bed. I begin to laugh, softly at first, then louder, the sound bouncing off the walls around me. I stare down at my hands gloved in my father's blood, dripping, staining. My laughter is cut short as I feel my stomach clench. I grab my stomach and bend over, vomiting on the floor before me. Taking a few deep breaths, I straighten. A whimper interrupts the room's sudden quiet. Turning back toward the bed, I see that the woman is still alive. I stumble to the end of the bed and begin to untie her legs. I walk over to the other side of the bed and free her arm. Leaning over, I also free her other arm. The woman sits up, her cuts are only deep enough to cause a lot of bleeding. She is weak as she leans against my shoulder. She grabs onto me, hugging my body tight against hers in desperation. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" The woman continues to cry against my shoulder, her fingers digging into my skin where she clutches me. I wrap my arms around the woman, burying my face against her neck and closing my eyes. "It's okay, it's all right... shh." Raising my head, I keep my eyes closed, breathing in the scent of the woman's hair. My hand continues to stroke her back. I feel tears pricking at my eyes. Holding her more tightly against my chest, my throat feels tight, choked. I rub her back, and begin sobbing. "Ohh, Mom." The woman is crying harder, clasping, grabbing. "I thought I was dead, I thought ... oh thank you." I smile, my heart beating faster, my blood pumping harder as I raise my other hand around the woman. "Shh, shh now... It's so much better when you're quiet." The woman stiffens in my arms, I feel it as I embed the blade within the center of her back. Pulling it out, the woman falls back on the bed, her eyes wide, disbelieving as she struggles to breathe. I brush a bloody hand against her temple, the blood smearing against her skin as a tear drops from my eye, splashing onto her cheek. "There now, so much better, mother." Raising my other hand above the woman, I watch as her eyes track the final descent of the blade. I slice against the woman's throat. I whisper, my eyes wide, excited. "You never should have left me, mother." I begin to laugh, feeling a sense of release, of pure joy. Mulder was right, I am ready to take control. I'm through just being an observer, through being anyone's pawn, anyone's victim. Through... XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX