Date: 7 Jul 1999 18:38:07 -0700
Subject: xfc Kyrie Eleison part 1 of 8

From: Xenitha <emikelich@yahoo.com>


     Title:  Kyrie Eleison(1 of 8)

     Author: Xenith

     E-Mail address: xenitha@yahoo.com

     Rating:  NC-17 for graphic subject matter:torture

     Archiving:  Sure, just let me know first.

     Category: SA
     MTA Rating: 10
	
     Spoilers: Thru 6th season

     Keywords: Mulder/Sc/Sk friendship;torture;
Muldertorture

     Summary:  Mulder faces death at the hands of a
serial torturer-murderer
	      because of a mistake he made years ago as a
young profiler.

     Feedback:  Yes! Yes! Please send me feedback!!!!!

     DISCLAIMER:
	I don't own the X Files or any of its characters and
make no 
	profit from this story.  The X Files are Chris
Carter's.  
	Any resemblance between any character, 
	organization or cheesy hotel cited herein is purely 
	coincidental and unintentional. If there really is a
Reno Hilton,
	I've never been there, much less the bridal suite. 
This hotel is

PART 1



"...Kyrie Eleison down that road that I must travel,
Kyrie Eleison through the darkness of the night..."

(Kyrie, Mr. Mister)

*note:  Kyrie Eleison means Lord, have mercy; Christe
Eleison means, 
Christ have mercy.  The words are spoken as part of
the Catholic Mass, 
as a prayer pleading for God's help and care for us in
our sins.





February 20, Reno Hilton, American Society of Law
Enforcement 
Officers Yearly Conference


Mulder looked glumly up at the cloudy sky as he and
Skinner removed the 
suitcases from the back of the rental car.  

"Sir, I still don't think it was necessary for Scully
and I to attend 
this conference.  We have a full case-load and we both
have to testify at 
the Miller trial next week."

Skinner hauled the last suitcase out of the trunk and
set it on the pavement.
"As I said before, Agent Mulder, you and Agent Scully
have a genius 
for avoiding professional training conferences and
classes.  
The Law Enforcement Conference promises to add to your
store of knowledge 
regarding current forensic techniques."  He picked up
two suitcases  
labeled "Skinner" and "Scully"  and began walking into
the hotel.  
"Scully should have the room keys by now.  For the
time being, Mulder, 
just try to enjoy yourself.  Consider that an order." 

Mulder picked up his own suitcase and followed Skinner
inside.

Inside the Reno Hilton, Agent Dana Scully tried to
convince the clerk one 
more time.  "No, you don't understand.  There are
three of us and we 
have confirmed reservations for three separate rooms. 
We can't possibly
all share one room."

"I'm truly sorry, ma'am, but the computer seems to
have lost your 
reservations.  The hotel is fully booked because of
the conference, 
and all we have left is the bridal suite, as I've
already told you.  
That at least has one bedroom with sitting room. 
That's the best I can do."
Scully noted that the clerk looked as harassed as
Scully felt, 
facing both an uncooperative computer and an angry
Scully.  
Scully shook her head; this went against all her sense
of propriety, 
sharing the bridal suite (of all things), with two men
at this 
prestigious conference.

"Are we ready, Agent Scully?"  Scully turned to find
Skinner with luggage 
and a dejected looking Mulder trailing behind.

"I'm sorry, sir.  They lost our reservations and all
they have left is 
the bridal suite.  It has a bedroom and a sitting
room, but only one 
bathroom."

Mulder grinned. "Why Agent Scully, I do believe that
you are blushing!  
What's the problem?  The heart-shaped tub or the
king-sized waterbed?"

Skinner forced himself to hide his own smile and
turned to the clerk 
with his best bulldog frown.  "Are you absolutely sure
that you have no 
more rooms?  Maybe something in the VIP accomodations?
 I'm an 
Assistant Director for the FBI, this is Agent Dana
Scully, 
a top pathologist at the Bureau and Agent Fox Mulder,
a senior field agent.  
We were assured that we had confirmed reservations so
that we could 
attend this conference."  

The clerk looked visibly frightened.  "I'm very sorry
sir.  But the VIP 
suite has already been taken by the Keynote Speaker
and his staff.  
The bridal suite is the only space we have left."

Skinner shrugged.  "I think we'd better take the
bridal suite then.  
Agent Scully,   Agent Mulder and I can share the
sitting room and 
you can have the bedroom.  I can assure you that
Mulder and I will be 
complete gentlemen, and under the circumstances we
don't have much choice."  Skinner motioned to the
clerk.  "Let's have the room keys."

The clerk handed out the keys "Here you are, Agent
Scully, 
Walter Skinner and Fox Mulder"  The clerk motioned to
a nearby bellhop 
and gestured for him to take the bags from Skinner and
Mulder.  The bellhop,
a tall man in his thirties with heavy muscles  picked
up Skinner's two  
bags easily, loading them onto a trolley.  He studied
Mulder's face as 
Mulder handed him the last bag.  

"You weren't the agent involved in the Michael Bailey
case, were you?"  
The bellhop asked as he finished stacking the luggage
and moved toward the 
elevator.  The three agents followed him inside.

"Yes, I was. Are you familiar with it...Paul?"  Mulder
eyed the bellhop's 
nametag, then absently watched the floor numbers flash
by.

"Yeah,  I knew some of the victims.  Bailey was from
around here, you know.
I heard he died about a year ago."  The bellhop
smiled.  "Well, thanks to you
Michael Bailey is dead and gone.  I never thought I'd
ever meet you in 
person; it's really made my day... this'll be your
floor."  

The bellhop smiled again and led the three to room
1013, opening the door 
with a flourish.  He motioned the three agents into
the room.

Mulder and Scully followed Skinner in, their mouths as
agape as Skinner's by
the sheer effect of the decor.

The room was  a gilded fantasy with walls covered in
scalloped red velvet 
wallpaper, decorated with candelabra sconces held by
golden cherubs.  
Two red velvet love seats faced a brass and glass
coffee table supported 
by more cherubs, while an enormous entertainment
center fought for corner 
space near the window with an impossibly ornate carved
table.  

Skinner recovered first and tipped the bellhop,
closing the door 
firmly behind him.  He noted that Mulder and Scully
had gone to explore 
the other room.  He followed out of sheer morbid
curiosity.
  
The bedroom was dominated by a giant round bed,
adorned with curtains 
of yet more red velvet encrusted with gold tassels. 
The bathroom door led
off the bedroom and did, indeed, contain a
heart-shaped bathtub of 
decorative red and white tile.  A supply of bubble
bath and condoms 
were neatly stacked beside the tub.

Mulder just grinned as Skinner cleared his throat. 
"We'll knock on your door
 if we need to use the, er.., facilities." 

"Thank you, sir.  I'm sure it'll be fine."  Scully was
blushing an even 
brighter red than she had downstairs.  

"Well, at least we won't have to worry about
explaining this on the 
expense report."  Mulder flashed a grin at Skinner and
went into the other 
room to unpack his bags.


February 21, 9:00 p.m.
All three agents were soon taken up with the
conference.  To Mulder's 
surprise, he did begin to enjoy himself,  immersing
himself in the conference
 sessions offered.  On the second evening Mulder had
returned to the room 
while Scully  and Skinner attended a late seminar when
 there was a knock 
at the door.

When Mulder opened the door, he found the bellhop with
a cloth covered tray 
which held a champagne bottle, glasses and a large box
of chocolates.

"Oh, hello...Paul, wasn't it?"  Mulder looked
expectantly at the bellhop.

"Hello.  The manager asked me to check to see that
your stay has been 
comfortable so far.  And, to apologize for the mix-up,
I brought some 
complimentary chocolates and champagne, and, well also
to thank you 
for your work on the Bailey case.  It isn't often that
an ordinary 
citizen has a chance to thank somebody like you.  I
really hope you 
enjoy the candy."   Paul set the tray down on the
table and glanced 
around the room. "I brought three glasses.  Are your
co-workers here?"

"No, they're at a seminar.  But thank you very much." 
Mulder  
lifted the cover of the chocolate box.

"Well, I hope you don't wait for them before you
sample the 
chocolates.  They're Godiva, the best. I like the
round ones, myself."  
The bellhop watched with satisfaction as Mulder picked
up a round 
chocolate and popped it into his mouth.  

"Hey, this is really good." Mulder took a second
chocolate and bit into it, 
then his  expression changed to one of dismay. "I
don't feel that great...  I
 think I need to sit down.  Too much sugar, I guess." 
Mulder abruptly 
sat down on the loveseat.

"You don't look so good either.  Do you want me to get
you a glass of water?
  Mister Mulder?"

 Mulder started to get up but swayed and fell to the
floor, unconscious.  
The box fell from his hand onto the plush carpet, its
contents rolling over 
the floor.

The bellhop grinned and retrieved a baggage cart
containing an oversized 
steamer trunk from outside the door.  He quickly
picked up the scattered 
chocolates from the floor, piling them haphazardly
into the box, and then  
began to bundle Mulder into the trunk along with the
champagne, candy and 
tray.  The bellhop turned when he heard the door
rattle behind him.

Skinner entered the room and took in the scene at a
glance, "Hey, what do 
you think you're doing?"  and rushed the bellhop. 
Skinner then felt a 
sharp, electrical jolt and fell to the floor, as the
bellhop put a taser 
back into his pocket.  

"Now, what am I going to do with you?"  The bellhop
pulled a switchblade 
knife from his pocked and cut Mulder's shirt off him. 
Then he began 
tearing it into strips, binding and gagging a furious
and incapacitated 
Skinner. "I guess you have to come along.   You better
not struggle too much,
 you might hurt your friend." The bellhop said
conversationally as 
he squeezed Skinner into the trunk next to Mulder. 

"But don't worry, there's plenty of air.  I drilled
some good holes in the 
top."  The bellhop locked the trunk securely, then
covered it with 
padded blankets, moved the trolley into the hallway,
and calmly locked 
the room behind him.

The bellhop took the service elevator to the basement,
where he rolled 
the luggage cart out a back entrance to a parked van,
hidden behind some 
dumpsters. Mulder was still unconscious when he was
loaded into the back 
of the van, Paul Bailey noted with satisfaction.  But
he took the 
precaution of tying Mulder and gagging him with
materials waiting in the 
van.  Skinner tried to struggle, but quieted down
after Paul hit him 
on the head.  Both were soon in the van, with Paul
happily driving 
them all toward his secret place. 


February 21, 10:00 p.m.  

Scully opened the room to find it empty.  Of course,
Mulder could be out 
running, but it was strange that Skinner hadn't
returned.  Oh, well, 
they probably were busy talking shop somewhere.  She
shrugged and 
decided to try out that heart-shaped tub.

Two hours later, Scully was worried.  There were no
messages at the 
front desk from either man.  She tried both cell
phones, to discover 
Mulder's ringing in the closet and Skinner's phone
sitting on the 
television set.

By 1:00 a.m. she decided that something must have
happened 
and telephoned the front desk again.  No one had seen
either man leave 
the hotel.  Scully dressed and went downstairs.  She
checked the bar, 
the restaurant, the gym  and, after a check of each of
the 
seminar rooms, had to acknowledge that they just
weren't there.  

Damn it, she muttered to herself, where the hell are
they?  Mulder might 
disappear on me, but Skinner wouldn't.  She tried the
room again, but 
it was empty.

She returned to the front desk and asked for the chief
of hotel security.  
She tapped her nails nervously on the desktop until a
stocky, middle-aged 
man approached her.

"Yes ma'am, I understand you want to see me?  I'm Bert
Youngman, 
head of security here."  He looked Scully up and down
with blatant 
appreciation.  "Has somebody been bothering you?  I
know it gets pretty 
rowdy during conventions."

"No, that isn't the problem at all.  My colleagues and
I are attending 
the law enforcement conference here, and both my
partner and my boss seem 
to have disappeared."  Scully pulled out her badge and
FBI identification. 
"They didn't come back to the suite after the
conferences ended for the 
night."

Youngman smiled knowingly. "And it's now, what? 2 a.m.
on a convention 
night...Miss, they're grown men doing what grown men
do when they're 
in a strange town, during a convention in Reno. 
They'll be back 
tomorrow morning, a little hung over and a lot broke,
feeling ashamed of 
themselves.  You just go back upstairs and go to bed. 
They'll be back!"

"But you don't understand, they aren't like that. 
Mulder might go out 
for a run, or even ditch the conference for a case,
but he wouldn't 
just go carousing without leaving a message or a note.
 And Skinner.." 
Scully tried to imagine Skinner tying one on. No, not
on a business trip, 
and not without leaving word for his agents.

"Just the same, trust the voice of experience.  And
lady, I've had a lot.  
If they haven't dragged their sorry asses back by
tomorrow noon, give me a 
call then.  But for now, just let boys be boys."  With
that, Youngman smiled
 at Scully and walked into an office behind the desk,
shutting the door 
behind him.

What he said was logical, but Scully couldn't fight a
gut feeling that all 
was not well with Mulder and Skinner.  They weren't
just getting fleeced at 
a blackjack table.






Somewhere in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, 2 a.m.

Skinner became fuzzily aware that he was sitting on a
cold linoleum floor, 
his wrists tied behind him to something pole-like and
equally cold.  He 
sat up straighter and bumped his head on the bottom of
a ceramic sink, 
discovering in the process that he had just made a
splitting headache worse.
 He tried to take stock of his surroundings.  A pipe,
his hands were 
tied to a pipe.  He struggled to focus his bleary
eyes, grateful that his 
glasses had somehow survived the trip, and saw that he
was in a 
windowless room with plain white walls.  He squinted
up at the bare light 
bulb dangling from the ceiling and his eyes widened as
he saw what was 
suspended next to it.  

 A nude Mulder,  the rope tying his wrists neatly
caught up by a hook in 
the ceiling, hung there unconscious. His ankles were
tied and the rope 
fastened down to an eye-bolt embedded in the floor.  

Skinner noted that he himself was still fully dressed
in slacks and shirt, 
shoes and socks but no tie. Skinner began to struggle
with the ropes at 
his wrists; at least his feet were free.   No weapon,
though, damn it.  
Left it in the room.  What the hell happened?  Must be
another one 
of Mulder's crazy cases.  That man attracts trouble
like sugar brings ants.  
Obviously Mulder is the primary target for this crazy,
though.  
He kept tugging at the ropes, although they showed no
signs of loosening.


Skinner heard Mulder groan and cough as he began to
regain consciousness.


"Mulder!  Wake up!  Come on, you're the only one who
can figure out who this 
wacko is and what we're doing here...Come on, snap out
of it!"  Skinner 
tried to put a commanding snap into his voice.

Mulder lifted his head and focused on Skinner. 
"Wha....what happened?  
Where are we?  God, my arms hurt."  He tensed and
tried unsuccessfully 
to move his body against the ropes. Then he looked
down and realized that 
he was unclothed and tied.

 "Must have been some party.  Did I have a good time? 
Or is it still going 
on?" Mulder looked around the room, taking in the
blank windowless walls, 
the ceiling and floor restraints.  "Obviously some
planning went into this."


"Yeah, and I'd say you're the guest of honor." Skinner
said dryly. "I'm tied,
 but my feet are free.  So far no slack in the rope
but I'm working on it.  
See if you can get yourself free.  And while you're at
it, are there 
any crazies gunning for you that I should know about?"
 

"Too many, but none that spring to mind."  Mulder
tried to pull himself 
up but gave up abruptly with a yelp. "Ow, I think my
left shoulder 
is coming out of its socket."  

Both men were silent when they heard a noise at the
door to the room.  It 
swung open, revealing the hotel bellhop, now casually
dressed in jeans 
and t-shirt.  He carried a large brown paper sack in
one hand and a 
broom in the other.  He laid the both objects on the
floor several feet 
from Mulder, and well away from Skinner.

"Well, I'm glad you're both awake.  Now we'll have
some fun."

"What the hell is going on?"  Skinner barked.  

"I'm sorry you had to come along, Mr. Skinner.  I'm
really only interested 
in Agent Fox Mulder."  Bailey began pulling a series
of brown paper 
parcels out of the sack.  "But you saw me kidnapping
Agent Mulder, 
so I had no choice but to bring you along."  Bailey
paused.  "I could 
have killed you there, of course, but that wouldn't
have been smart."

"So why do you want me?" asked Mulder.  "What did I
ever do to you?"

"I lost a brother because of you.  You remember the
Bailey case?  My 
brother Michael Bailey was found guilty of serial
murder because of your 
profile of the killer and was sentenced to death.  He
committed suicide 
while he was on death row.  He couldn't stand it any
more."  Bailey stepped 
over to Mulder and stared into his eyes. "Because of
your INCORRECT profile, 
my innocent  brother was put on death row and he
killed himself.  
Now you're going to be executed, slowly."  

Bailey smiled and began unpacking the brown sack
again.

"What did I do wrong?" Mulder was too startled to feel
afraid. 
"How did I make a mistake in the profile?"

"You said that the murderer was a physically strong
man with a history of 
torturing small animals, somebody who knew all the
victims and someone 
who had lots of friends.  You focused on Mike because
he was a trainer 
at the gym and all the victims were his clients.  But
he had  been arrested 
as a kid for torturing cats.  When that came out, you
said that he must 
be the murderer.  The Feds were all over him.  When  I
saw you 
testify at his trial you were so damned sure he was
guilty." 
Bailey took the last package out of the sack.

"But what you didn't consider, Mr. Smart-ass Oxford
educated FBI-man," 
Bailey continued. "was that I was the one who tortured
the cats.  
My brother lied for me when I was twelve, to give me
another chance."  
Bailey's voice roughened.  "They couldn't even prove
the juvenile charge 
against him, so they dismissed it.  And the only
friend I ever had in my 
life was Mike.  You were just plain wrong! Did you
even bother to make 
sure they got the right guy?"

"If you knew that, why didn't you tell the police? 
Why did you let 
your brother go to death row?" Mulder asked
incredulously.

"Because I was the KILLER, damn it!  I wasn't going to
finger myself 
for this, but that's no reason to f*** up like you did
and kill my 
brother! For all the good it did Mike, you might as
well have pulled 
the switch on him yourself.  And Mike never told
anyone it was really me.  
He died, still protecting me."  Tears were streaming
down Bailey's face.  
"I haven't hurt anyone ever since Mike was arrested
but I always 
promised myself I'd have some serious fun if I ever
met up with you.  
God, what a chance, you came right to my hotel!"

"But how did you know the victims?"  Skinner pitched
his voice low and calm.

"I worked out at the same gym.  My brother always let
me in for free.  
I saw them all come and go from the gym."

Mulder was silent, stunned by the disclosure.  Skinner
decided it was up 
to him to try to talk their kidnapper down.

"You don't have to do this, you know.  They'll come
looking for us.  
You still have a chance to end this, make a run for
it..  They'll be 
here before long, and they won't stop looking for us. 
You know that."


Bailey began unwrapping the first package, removing a
set of shiny 
scalpels from the paper, setting them on the floor
near Mulder's feet.  
"They won't find you.  We're up in the mountains at
the end of a 
private road.  They didn't find this place during the
first investigation, 
and they won't find it now.  Nice and quiet, remote." 
He laughed.  
"No neighbors to hear strange noises at night."  He
pulled open the 
next parcel and removed several packs of cigarettes
and matches and a 
large ceramic ashtray, then continued to the rest of
the parcels.  

Skinner was puzzled as he watched Bailey unwrap a
variety of items, 
few of them overtly threatening.  But Skinner also
noted that Mulder 
looked grimmer and paler as the contents of each
package was exposed:  
spool of black thread with a darning needle, broom,
cigarettes, matches 
and ashtray, brown plastic electrical extension cord
and scalpels. 

Bailey caught Skinner's expression and walked over to
him.  "You never heard
the details of the case, did you?  Hey Mulder, you
tell him what I did 
to my other victims."  Bailey grabbed up a scalpel and
held it against 
Mulder's chest, poised to slice. "Tell him right now."

Mulder hesitated, then adopted his most clinical tone.
 "The bodies showed 
evidence of extensive torture before death and
mutilation after death.  
Before death, the chest, back and legs showed incised
wounds consistent 
with a small sharp blade like a pocket knife or
scalpel. Small circular 
burns were found in the abdomen, buttocks and genital
areas; clearly 
cigarette burns.."  Mulder stopped and closed his
eyes, breathing deeply.  

Skinner looked nauseated.  

Bailey jabbed Mulder with the scalpel, drawing a thin
line of blood down his
 left breast.  "Go on.  You aren't finished."

"The victims also displayed injuries consistent with
having been beaten 
multiple times with a fine rope or electrical cord.
Several of the male 
victims had also been beaten with a heavy object like
a bat, 
causing a ruptured spleen in one, and extensive kidney
damage in 
another.  All the victims had abrasions at the wrists
and ankles and 
swelling of the extremities, indicating that they had
been suspended by 
their wrists for a long period of time, probably
several days.   
After death they were disemboweled, their eyes and
mouths sewn shut with 
coarse thread, although several were disemboweled
before death." 
Mulder eyed the heavy darning needle and spool of
thread with distaste.

"Very good, Agent Mulder.  At least you got that
right.  So, shall we begin?"
 Bailey delicately continued the bloody line on
Mulder's chest, diagonally
 and down.  Mulder's gasp sounded loud in the silent
room.   Skinner racked 
his brains, trying to find the words that would stop
this from happening.  
Mulder beat him to it.

"I'm sorry about your brother, I can't say how much. 
But you know I'm 
only human.  I can only go on the information I'm
presented with, 
and I don't know how I would have known that you were
the killer 
after all..." Mulder stopped abruptly as the scalpel
suddenly slashed 
across his abdomen.

"You just shut up.  You're trying to talk me down,
aren't' you?  
I've heard about you profiler types, you're trying to
make me let you go.  
But you aren't going anywhere, and you're going to pay
for your mistake."  
With that he ran the scalpel across Mulder's chest,
more deeply.  Mulder 
bit his lip and grimaced but couldn't restrain the
grunt of pain.  
Before long, he lost even that much control.


PART 2

Reno Hilton, February 22, 9 a.m.

Scully watched the digital clock on the table click
over to 9 a.m. and 
picked up the phone.  No Mulder or Skinner.  Damn
them, she considered. 
I'm calling the police, and if they show up later
after a drunk or a night 
in the casinos, I'll kill them myself.  

She dialed 911 to report the agents missing. The Reno
police department 
was gratifyingly responsive to Scully's report,
sending two detectives 
over within ten minutes of her call.  They took a
statement and 
promised to send over a forensic team to dust the
suite for fingerprints 
and check for other trace evidence.  

She also telephoned the local field office, and at
their suggestion, 
put through a call to Washington to report the
situation.  To her dismay, 
she was referred to A.D. Kersh.

"And so, Agent Scully, you are telling me that Mulder
has disappeared 
mysteriously again and taken Walter Skinner with him
this time?" Kersh 
drawled into the line, his voice dripping tired
skepticism calculated 
to make Scully lose her cool.  

Scully focused on her deep breathing.  "I wouldn't put
it that way, sir.  
They haven't reported in since about 10 p.m. last
night.  This is 
very unusual behavior for A.D. Skinner, I'm sure
you'll agree.  
I want to begin a search for them here and have
already notified 
Reno P.D. and the local Field Office."

"Then you'll call the police department and tell them
that the 
F.B.I. will handle this as an internal matter through
the Reno 
Field Office.  No sense airing the Bureau's dirty
laundry when, 
in all likelihood, Mulder is off on another one of his
wild-alien 
chases.  Undoubtedly Walt Skinner is out looking for
him, more 
fool he. And agent, I want you to stay in that hotel
and attend 
the conference per the original plan.  Mulder has had
too much 
influence on you and frankly, I don't trust you not to
run 
wild yourself, chasing after him.  You will leave the 
investigation to the local F.B.I. personnel and you
will not interfere.  
Is that understood?"

Scully was silent for a moment, then collected herself
to reply, 
"I understand perfectly sir." She hung up the phone.

In Washington D.C., Kersh made a quick call to the
Reno field 
office and stressed that he wanted this investigation
considered a 
low priority and Scully sidelined.  "I know Mulder,
and he's a wise-ass 
of the first water.  Walter Skinner deserves what gets
for taking that 
pair back and giving them free rein again.  Don't
waste your agents' 
time on this one.  They'll come back with E.T.'s
corpse or something.  
All right, keep me posted.  Thanks."


Reno Hilton February 22, 4:00 p.m. 

Scully removed her gun from the suitcase and checked
the clip; 
it was full.  She holstered it at her waist and sat at
the table to 
make a list of witnesses to question.  Two agents from
the Reno 
field office had stopped by to take a statement from
Scully, but it was 
clear from their demeanor that this was just a chore
to be gotten through 
as quickly as possible.  They simply did not intend to
take the 
disappearance of Mulder and Skinner seriously.  They
hadn't even 
bothered to search the hotel room for trace evidence. 
Before they left her, 
the senior agent pulled Scully aside and gave her a
warning.

"Agent Scully, we have been given very clear orders
about you.  
You are not to be involved in this investigation in
any capacity, 
and will have no access to F.B.I. facilities, labs or
personnel.  We 
don't want to hear from you on this, is that clear? 
And please don't 
bother the local P.D., we don't want to upset our
relationship with 
them because of a rogue agent or two."  Scully could
only fume silently 
as the two agents left the room.

It all felt so familiar.  Somebody in Washington
probably decided to shut 
this investigation down.  "Just like Missy's case,
they're going to 
bury it.  Damn it!!"  Scully picked up one of the
gorgeous brocade 
throw pillows from the love seat and threw it against
the red velvet wall.  
"And if I ever see red velvet again after this, I
think I'll vomit!" 



Sierra Nevada Mountains, February 22, 4 p.m.

Not for the first time that day Skinner wished with
all his heart that 
his hands were free, so that he could cover his ears
and block out 
Mulder's screams. Skinner's arms were tired and raw,
as were his shoulders.  
With every cry Mulder had let out, Skinner had fought
harder against his 
bonds, struggling to do something to stop this.

A small puddle of blood pooled beneath Mulder's feet;
more of it covered 
Bailey and some had splattered  onto Skinner.  Mulder
was unlucky enough 
to be still conscious despite day-long torture, first
cuts with the 
scalpels on abdomen and back, then beaten with the
electrical cord, 
then body blows with the broomstick.  The thudding
sound still rang in 
Skinner's mind.  Skinner could swear that he had heard
ribs break with 
one blow.  Mulder's voice had diminished in volume
until it reached its 
current dull rasp, his breathing had grown harsh and
labored.  

At last Bailey seemed to be tired and dropped the
broomstick to the ground.
"Well, Agent Mulder, I think I'll take a break.  But
I'll be back later 
to finish up, count on it."  Bailey removed a fluffy
white terrycloth 
bathtowel from the paper sack and began toweling the
blood off his own body 
then picked up the broomstick and carefully wiped the
blood off of it 
as well.  He draped the towel around his neck then
returned the 
cigarettes, scalpels and other items to the paper
sack, picking it up with 
the other hand.

"Wait, please."  Skinner pleaded. "Excuse me, but
we've been here a 
while, could we have some water and something to eat?"
Skinner put a tight 
rein on his temper and tried to sound friendly.  "And
I need to use the 
bathroom."

Paul stopped and considered.  It was unusual for him
to have more than 
one captive at a time, but he didn't want the second
one to die or get 
sick before his time.  The other one wasn't going to
last much longer 
either unless he got some water.  Paul made his
decision and left the room, 
returning shortly with a large empty plastic tumbler,
and a long chain 
with a locking manacle.

He walked across the room and opened a door, showing a
tiny bathroom. 
He left the tumbler on the floor and returned to
Skinner, pulling the 
taser from his pocket.  

"I'm going to chain your ankle.  It should be long
enough for you to get 
to the can.  But if you try anything, you get this.."
He gestured with the 
taser.

"I understand." said Skinner. Paul attached the
shackle to Skinner's 
right ankle, then began to untie his wrists.  Paul
backed away toward 
the entrance and out of Skinner's reach and gave a
sunny smile as 
Skinner carefully moved his hands in front of his body
and began rubbing 
them, trying to restore feeling in them.

"I have to go to work now.  I'll see you tonight. Oh,
and here's your lunch."
 Paul left briefly and returned with a loaf of bread. 
He set it on the 
floor between Mulder and Skinner.  "Bye, now." 

Bailey went out the door and Skinner could hear him
lock it behind him. 
Skinner carefully got up and shambled over to Mulder,
who seemed to be 
finally unconscious.  The chain was just long enough
to reach him.  
Skinner was struggling with the ropes at Mulder's
wrists when he heard a 
hoarse whisper.

"So, now do you understand why I avoid training
opportunities?"

"Mulder, how are you doing?"  Skinner had never felt
more inadequate as 
an A.D. or an F.B.I. agent.

"I'm alive; but that's all I'm shooting for right
now."  Mulder's body 
shook convulsively with a shiver.  "I'm pretty cold. 
Think I'm going into 
shock.  Can't do that; Scully would disapprove." 
Mulder's voice trailed off.

Skinner broke in anxiously.  "Stay with me Mulder. 
We've got to plan.  
We're getting out of this."  The knots were slippery
with blood and 
Skinner's fingers kept sliding across the rope.

Mulder shook his head. "I can't believe I f***ed up so
badly on this case.  
An innocent person dead because of my profile... I
don't see a way out, 
unless Scully arrives with a SWAT team...  God...I
hurt...."

"Mulder, I'm still working on these ropes, I'll have
you free in a moment. 
Can you free your feet?"

"I'm trying but I don't have much leverage.  He's tied
them pretty tight."  
Mulder struggled for a moment then gave up, panting in
exhaustion. "Sorry, 
just can't."

"Well, keep trying.  Now, what can you tell me about
this guy?"  C'mon, 
Mulder, keep talking, Skinner urged silently, you
won't die on me if 
you keep talking.

"I think he's pretty close to the original profile. 
Paul got part of it 
wrong. In the profile I said that the killer was in
contact with many people.
That fit Michael Bailey but also fits his brother
Paul, since he was a 
gym regular.  But I don't think Paul is open to
hearing that just now....God,
I even knew Michael had a brother but I discounted
Paul because of 
Michael's prior 'record'."  Mulder's voice trailed off
and his eyes closed.

"So why is he upset with you?  Paul is really the one
at fault, 
all he had to do was confess and his brother would go
free. Hey, Mulder, 
you still with me?" Skinner pulled at the ropes again
and pitched his 
voice louder. "We still need to make a plan.  How can
we get to this guy?  
You're the one with the psych degree.  Tell me."  

The ropes were finally loosening, thank God.

Mulder's head lolled on his chest.  He shook his head,
trying to clear it.  
"Plan...Well, he won't be receptive to anything I tell
him.  His guilt is 
driving him.  He's repressed all the guilt he feels at
not coming forward 
and made me his scapegoat, especially since Michael
committed suicide as a 
result.  And it's even worse for Paul since Michael
apparently died 
still trying to protect his little brother.  Michael
never did name 
the real killer."  

Mulder coughed, then winced and drew in a harsh
breath.  "If you have to 
negotiate with him, I think you can get to him if he
perceives 
you as an ally.  You have to convince him that you
agree I'm at fault and 
deserve to be punished.  You might be able to distract
him and get away."

"I can't leave you here with him." Skinner was
shocked. "I don't leave 
my people behind."

Mulder returned Skinner's look with his own level
stare. "I know that you 
don't want to, but there's no way I can overpower this
guy, and even if 
we both got out, I'd be physically useless. I'd only
hurt your chances 
of getting help.  Besides, by the time you talk him
down I 
might not....be an issue.   You have to try."

Skinner knew when he was outgunned.  "Okay, I'll try. 
But you hang 
in there; don't you give up to this bastard.  You
aren't going to die 
on me, do you understand Agent Mulder?  Besides, we
haven't gone over 
your most recent batch of expense reports yet."  

The ropes finally came free and Mulder slumped
bonelessly forward to the 
floor.  Skinner caught him and eased Mulder to the
floor, where Mulder lay 
shivering on the cold linoleum.  

Skinner pulled off his dress shirt and undershirt,
wrapping as much of 
Mulder's body in the fabric as he could.  He leaned
Mulder into a 
sitting position against him, then began working on
the other set of 
ropes at Mulder's ankles.  Mulder faded in and out of
consciousness and 
was unaware when Skinner succeeded in untying the last
of the ropes.  
At that point, Skinner had no choice but to stop and
consider their position.


Although Mulder was free, he was incapacitated and
Skinner was worried 
about him.  They had no clue about their location, but
the certain 
knowledge that this killer had been so successful that
he'd never been 
caught.  Skinner pulled at the chain and found no give
in it.  He watched 
Mulder's troubled sleep and thought to himself,  
I can either negotiate with Bailey, or, if he gets
within range 
of this chain I can go for him.  If he gets within
range...Scully, 
I hope you can do one of your miraculous rescues,
because we can 
sure use it now.
 

Reno Hilton, February 22, 7 p.m.

Scully sat in the hotel dining room and toyed with her
Caesar salad.  
She had spent the rest of the afternoon taking
statements from the other 
guests sharing the hallway with room 1013.  Nobody had
heard suspicious 
noises or noticed anything unusual.  Of course it
could simply mean that 
Skinner and Mulder were abducted from somewhere else
in the hotel.  
She grimaced: maybe it's aliens after all...Time to go
back to solid, 
boring detective work.  She needed a list of the
guests and the staff 
at this hotel.  

Normally, she'd just serve a warrant and get the
information quickly, 
but the FBI and local police were unavailable to her. 
Scully dug at the 
salad again.  No luck with normal channels.  She'd
tried to sweet-talk 
the desk clerk, but he politely refused to release any
information 
without a search warrant, citing privacy laws
protecting the guests 
as well as personnel.  Well, if the usual channels
were closed, it was 
time to get desperate.  She pushed her salad away, and
decided to 
make her phone call in the privacy of the room.


Langley picked up the phone, but was soon joined by
Byers and Frohike 
after Scully had explained the emergency.

"Can we hack into the hotel computers?  Is the Pope,
Catholic?"  Langley 
cracked.

"I'm accessing their database even as we speak" 
Frohike added. 
"Do you have your laptop with you?  We can e-mail it."

"I've got it right here."  Scully flipped it open and
logged on.  
"Good thing this isn't our usual rat-trap hotel.  They
have separate 
lines for modems.  Ah, here it is.." Scully opened her
mail and found 
the document; she began scrolling through the list of
hotel employees 
until her eye stopped at one name...Paul Bailey. 

"A hotel bellhop named Paul was asking Mulder about
the 'Bailey' 
case....can you find out what job title Paul Bailey
holds and whether 
he was on duty the day we checked in?  And get any
personnel files 
you locate on him."  Shortly a second e-mail revealed
that Paul Bailey 
was a bellhop at the hotel and had been on duty
February 20.  
His next of kin was listed as Michael Bailey, last
known 
address: San Quentin Prison in California.

"I have to find out more about Michael Bailey.  I know
that Mulder keeps his
 own files on the cases he's handled, dating back to
his days in the VCS.  
Can you guys go and see if Mulder has a file on
Michael Bailey?  
It's either in his apartment or in the basement
office...but would you 
be able to get in?"  While Scully was pondering this,
Byers interrupted.

"We can get into the Hoover building, no problem. 
Remember, we got 
in before, when Mulder was in the Bermuda Triangle. 
We'll find the file 
for you and have it Fed-X'd or faxed to you as fast as
we can."


"Yeah, don't you worry Scully.  We'll help you any way
we can.  We'll 
get 'em back."  Frohike added.


Scully smiled a tired smile.  It was so good finally
to have allies in this.
 "Fine, I'll look forward to hearing from you then." 
She hung up the 
phone and considered her next task: searching the
room.

At her request, none of the hotel cleaning staff had
been allowed into 
the suite that day.  Scully borrowed a vacuum cleaner
with a fresh bag, 
and extra bags,  and had purchased a roll of clear
plastic tape, a 
fingerprint kit, a package of plastic baggies and
latex gloves.  
She proceeded to methodically search the room.  While
vacuuming the 
floor of the sitting room she found a single chocolate
candy which had 
rolled under the love seat.   She carefully dropped it
into a ziplock and 
laid it on the table.  A survey of the rest of the
floor found nothing 
conspicuously unusual, apart from some long white
cotton strands.  
She bagged these as well.

She did a similar search in the rest of the suite,
vacuuming the areas 
carefully, with fresh bags for each.  She then
examined the bag contents 
at the table, covering her face to protect from dust. 
More white strands 
from the sitting room, some flakes of red crushed rock
and some leaves.  
She sniffed, they gave off an aromatic scent:
eucalyptus.  No other debris 
turned up in the bedroom or bathroom.  She had lifted
fingerprints; lots of 
fingerprints.  There were too many to match easily or
quickly and she had a 
feeling that time was running out.

She reviewed her three vacuum-cleaner bags and
assorted baggies.  They 
needed to go to an evidence lab, but the FBI was
closed to her.  She pulled 
out the Reno phone book and found a private lab in the
yellow pages.  She 
carefully typed a cover letter with complete
instructions, including her 
credit card number, then packaged it with  her
evidence and arranged for 
the hotel to hand carry it to the lab in the morning.

Scully rubbed her eyes and looked at her watch:
midnight, and her body 
was still on East Coast time.  This evidence, if it
was evidence, 
could lead to the kidnapper. Or it could just prove
sloppy housekeeping.  
She began to feel despair.  Scully decided to go to
bed; she'd try again 
tomorrow, when she was fresh.

Before she got into bed she sat quietly and held her
gold cross in her hand.
 She knew that she worried too much about Mulder's
safety, although she'd 
never known a more disaster-prone man in her life. But
she couldn't shake 
a sense of dread that somehow Mulder was in deep
trouble and needed 
her badly.  Words from the Mass ran through her mind
and she whispered 
them aloud: "Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, Kyrie
eleison."  She quietly 
said a heartfelt prayer for Mulder's and Skinner's
safety and, comforted, 
lay down to sleep.


Reno Hilton, February 23, 3:10 a.m.

Scully tossed and turned in the palatial bed.  Every
time she dropped off 
to sleep she saw Mulder's agonized face.  She felt
him, in terrible pain, 
calling out to her for help, for rescue, and she was
powerless to move.  
When her bedside phone woke her she was grateful.

Scully groped blindly for the receiver.  "Scully." She
mumbled.

"Scully, it's me, Frohike."

Scully sat up.  "Frohike, do you know what time it is
here?"

"Yeah, I know it's early, but I had to tell you.  We
got the Bailey 
file and just put Byers on a plane to get it to you. 
You have to pick 
him up at the airport at 9 a.m. your time."

"Wait a minute, I thought you were just going to
Federal Express it 
to me or something?  Why is Byers coming out?" Scully
grabbed her glasses 
from the side table and slid them on.

"Well, we found the file in Mulder's apartment and
read it...and well...we 
thought Byers should bring it out to you.  We thought
maybe you could 
use some backup."

"Frohike, I AM an F.B.I. agent and I'm armed.  I don't
need somebody 
to protect me."

"Well, it's too late.  He's on his way.  And he'll act
as a liaison 
to us as well.  Our lab and computers are at your
disposal.  We want to 
help, Scully."

"All right.  I guess you guys are involved.  What
flight is he coming 
in on?..."


Reno Hilton, February 23, 10:00 a.m.

Scully opened the door to room 1013 and paused to give
Byers a chance 
to recover from the decor.

"This isn't what we usually get.  They don't have any
rooms left because 
of the conference, so you'll be sleeping in the
sitting room.  The love 
seats unfold into beds."  Byers set down his suitcase
and continued to 
look around the room owlishly.  He was clutching a
large manila 
envelope under his left arm, with every sign that it
hadn't left him since 
Washington.

"NOW will you stop all this mystery and let me read
the file?  I don't 
understand why you wouldn't give me the damn thing
until we got here.  
Come on, give!"  Scully held out her empty hand for
the folder.  Byers gave 
her a look full of pity and handed the file to her.

"While you're reading the file, Agent Scully, I'll set
up my computer 
and see what more information I can find on Michael
and Paul Bailey."  
Byers set up his laptop on the coffee table and was
soon absorbed in his 
work.


Scully sat down at the table and unfolded the contents
of the file, reading 
carefully and looking closely at several photographs. 
After a few minutes
 she stiffened and turned around to Byers.  "My God,
what kind of a monster 
was this man?  Is this why you flew out instead of
just sending 
the information?"

Byers pushed his laptop aside.  "We wondered if,
maybe, the younger 
brother was like the elder.  Michael Bailey's victims
usually didn't 
last very long..."  

"And they died in agony." Scully said softly, laying
her hand gently on 
the folder. "It's been two days since they were taken.
 If Paul is 
anything like Michael, they could last maybe three
more days before 
he finishes them off.  And he has reason to hold a
grudge against Mulder, 
his profile was the central piece of evidence that put
Michael on death row.
Mulder's file hasn't been updated since he left the
VCS.  I wonder what 
happened to Michael?  Paul said to Mulder that Bailey
was dead, thanks to 
Mulder's work."

"That's easy enough to find out.  I'll hack into the
San Quentin records 
and we'll see."  Within minutes Byers had downloaded
the information and 
called Scully over to see.  "It looks like Michael
Bailey died last year, 
a suicide.  He left a note protesting his innocence,
said he couldn't 
take prison any more."  Scully read the screen over
Byers' shoulder.

"Who was notified of Michael's death, and how?" She
asked.

"It says here that the only family member left was a
younger brother, Paul.  
All Michael's effects were sent to him, including the
suicide note.  
At that time he had an address in Truckee, California.
 Never heard of it."
Byers watched Scully get up and run into the other
room, returning with 
a Nevada/California road atlas.  She located Truckee,
then Reno.

"The address is only an hour's drive or so from here. 
Does it match the 
address for our Paul Bailey?" She said.  Byers
accessed the personnel 
records for Bailey.  They matched.  

"It's him, then.  I should call and get an arrest
warrant."  Scully picked 
up the phone and began dialing, then stopped.  "They
were very clear 
that I'm not to be involved in the case, and they've
done everything 
possible to keep me uninvolved.  I can call in the
Truckee P.D. 
for backup if I need to, but I don't want to give them
time 
to contact the Reno field office."  Scully put the
phone down and went to 
the dresser, removing Mulder's holstered weapon from
the top drawer.  
"Byers, have you ever used a gun?"




Sierra Nevada Mountains, February 23, 10:00 a.m.

Skinner wondered whether it was day or night or how
much time had passed.  
His watch had broken in the struggle and Mulder's was
gone.  The light 
bulb overhead never wavered or dimmed, and there were
no windows to let 
in light.  There was only the occasional hum of a
central heater, keeping 
the temperature from dropping below chilly.  He and
Mulder huddled 
together for warmth, and, he supposed, for human
comfort.  For what 
felt like the thousandth time Skinner pulled at the
chain and felt 
nothing but resistance.  His wrists felt better but
now his ankle was 
swelling.  No matter, this was unimportant next to
Mulder's problems.


Skinner listened to Mulder's troubled breathing, harsh
and uneven and 
getting worse.  Mulder's shivering, constant for the
last several hours, 
was increasing.  Skinner moved closer and wrapped his
arms around Mulder, 
trying to share what body heat he could.  Damn.  There
had to be a way out 
of this.

"Hey, does this mean we're dating?"  Mulder rasped.  

Skinner pulled his arms away in embarrassment then
frowned and put them back.
 "You're sick and you've been shivering.  Better put
up with it, since 
I plan for you to repay the debt in mandatory overtime
when we're out of 
here.  When was the last time you volunteered to lead
the tour at the 
Hoover Building for the tourists?"

Mulder was silent for a moment.  "Sorry.  It's a
knee-jerk reaction.  
Sometimes I don't know why Scully puts up with me. 
What time is it?  
For that matter, what day is it?"

"Your guess is as good as mine.  You want some
breakfast?"  Skinner pulled 
the loaf of bread  and the tumbler over, half filled
with water.  
"And you ought to have something to drink."

"Thanks, I'm not really hungry.." Mulder started, but
at Skinner's 
glare accepted a small piece of bread and the water.  
"When he comes back you're going to try negotiating,
aren't you?"  
Mulder mumbled around the bread.

"If that's the only option.   I just don't know if I'm
that good an actor."  
Skinner chewed on his own piece of bread. "The last
time I tried to act, 
I was a tree in the third grade Christmas pageant.  It
was a non-speaking 
role."

"So try method acting.  Remember all the times I've
screwed up and 
Scully has had to go to you for help."  Mulder sipped
at the water but 
put down the rest of the bread uneaten. "Getting into
this guy's head 
is our best chance." Mulder shakily pulled himself to
his feet.  
Skinner got up and offered a hand, but Mulder shook
his head.
  
Holding onto the wall for balance he crept into the
bathroom and shut 
the door behind him.  Skinner heard the sound of
vomiting, but decided to 
give Mulder his privacy.  

After several minutes of quiet, Mulder came out of the
bathroom and made 
his way to the door, rather than back to Skinner. 
Mulder leaned against 
the doorjamb and tried the knob.  It didn't budge.  He
ran his hands over 
the door frame and scrutinized the lock carefully.
  
"The hinges are recessed and it looks like this door
is built 
to be airtight.  This door is made of metal, not
wood."  Mulder rapped his 
knuckles against it and the door made a solid 'thunk'.
 "It isn't hollow, 
either."


Mulder carefully turned around and gingerly stood
leaning his weight 
against the door. "Have you heard noises like a
ventilation system?"


"Yes.  A heater comes on periodically and I can see
some air vents up 
in the corner."  Skinner pointed to some small
openings at the ceiling, 
too small to climb through. "Why? Is that important?"

"I think we're in somebody's old bomb shelter." Mulder
said. "When I was 
a kid, the people next door had one, built into the
side of their hill.  
It was heavy concrete with this kind of door and was
completely 
self-sustaining."  Mulder wrapped his arms against his
chest.  
"My dad said it was a stupid idea.  He said that the
human race would kill 
itself  slowly, by corrupting itself, allowing evil to
continue, 
he said, not by something fast and clean like the
bomb.  I never understood 
what he meant by that."  He gave Skinner a troubled
look. "I guess I do now."
 Mulder leaned hard against the door.  "I think I need
to sit down."  
He slid painfully down to a sitting position and
huddled there, folding his 
body into a fetal position, breathing hard.

"What's wrong Mulder?"  Skinner asked anxiously.

"Just d-d-dizzy and c-c-cold."  Mulder closed his eyes
and rested his chin 
on his knees.  Skinner tried to go to him but was
caught short by the 
chain at his ankle.

"Mulder, can you make it back over here? I can't help
you from here."  
Skinner said calmly.

Mulder opened his eyes. "You can't help me if I'm over
there either.  
I need to be mobile while I can, so we can find a way
out of here."  
Mulder levered himself onto his feet again and
continued to follow 
the wall, circling back around to Skinner and the
porcelain sink.
 
"No openings or weakness in the wall. If I had a piece
of wire I could 
try to pick the lock."  Mulder sat down next to
Skinner and looked 
around dispiritedly.

"Well, we do have a potential weapon." Skinner said,
forcing cheerfulness 
into his voice.

"What's that?"  Mulder asked suspiciously.

"Our minds."

They sat silently, each with his own thoughts until
first Mulder, 
then Skinner dozed off to sleep.



Some time later the door opened and Bailey appeared
holding his paper sack, 
a gun in his right hand.

"I wondered if you'd untie him.  All right Agent
Mulder, please move 
toward the center of the room and away from your
friend."

Skinner began to move in front of Mulder as if to
defend him.  Mulder 
muttered urgently to Skinner "No, don't.  The act
starts now.  You have 
to convince him."

Skinner startled but didn't look back at Mulder. 
Trying to look 
unconcerned, he walked away from Mulder, as far as the
chain would reach.  
"I can't say I mind keeping this f***-up away from me.
 He's been nothing 
but trouble since the day he walked into my office."
Skinner stated loudly.


Bailey gestured Mulder toward the opposite wall. 
Mulder m
KYRIE ELEISON--PART 3


"Who can boast of being free?
Who has not got secret prisons,
invisible chains, all the more constricting
the less they are apparent?"

(Dom Helder Camara, Brazil; excerpted from Doubleday
Prayer Collection)


Reno Hilton, February 23, 11:00 a.m.


"Byers, will you hurry with that?  We've got to get
going!"  Scully walked 
over to the table where Byers sat hunched over his
laptop.  

"Just a second.  I'm sending Frohike an e-mail telling
him where we're 
going.  If we don't check in with him by this time
tomorrow, I'm asking him 
to call the cops."  Byers shut down the computer and
closed the lid.  He 
grabbed his long sleeved wool sweater and pulled it on
over the flannel 
shirt he wore.

"You're asking FROHIKE to call the police?"  Scully
couldn't control her 
smile.  "That I'd like to see....But I hope I don't. 
Are you ready?"

"Yes"  Byers picked up his down jacket and followed
Scully out the door.  

"You know, I never thought I'd see you dressed in
jeans.  I didn't know you 
even owned casual clothes."  Scully punched the
elevator button for the 
ground floor.   The doors slid shut.

"Well, I have to wash my car in something, don't I?" 
Byers smiled.  As 
they entered the lobby area Scully caught herself
looking around for that 
bellhop, but didn't see him.  You don't want to see
him, she reminded 
herself.  Don't want to scare him off or make him move
Mulder and Skinner 
to another location.  And you can't arrest him, no
evidence and no warrant.

Scully led Byers to the parking garage where her
rented Taurus was parked.  
As she pulled out onto the street she noticed that a
cold rain was coming 
down hard.  Well, she mused, why shouldn't the weather
be as rotten as 
the time I'm having?

Scully handed Byers the map.  "I guess you get to be
navigator.  I don't 
know how to get where we're going any more than you
do."



Somewhere East of Truckee, Noon

"I think it's snowing harder."  Byers peered out the
window anxiously.  
"What happened to the rain?"

"It froze."  Scully said curtly, concentrating on
keeping the car from 
sliding off the road.  As soon as they had begun
climbing into the mountains,
 the rain had turned into snow, at first light and
sparse, then heavy.  
Now it was hard to see the road and Scully had the
defroster and wipers 
going full blast.  

The car began to slide and Scully eased off the gas
pedal.  They were 
traveling on a narrow road with deep ditches on either
side.  All other 
road traffic had been left behind 20 minutes ago.  The
last house was two 
miles back.  She didn't dare travel any faster than a
crawl or the car 
would slide off the road.

"Don't you have chains in the car?"  Byers asked.

Scully gritted her teeth.  If she had ever thought of
Mulder as an annoying 
travel companion, he was a pleasure compared to
Chatty-Cathy here. But 
making it worse was a growing sense of urgency
building inside her.  She 
became more and more aware of a need to get there
fast.  Mulder needed her, 
and soon.  It was all she could do to keep from
flooring the gas pedal and 
letting the damn car slide wherever it wanted to.

"No chains.  It's a rental.  I didn't expect to drive
anywhere but back 
to the airport and maybe go shopping.  Are we near the
turnoff?"

Byers checked his map again.  "The man at the gas
station said that the 
turnoff for Black Bear Road is about ten miles off the
highway and that 
it's marked by two redwood trees on either side.  It
should be coming 
up....there!" He shouted and pointed to the right. 
Scully abruptly swerved 
the car, which went into a circular skid and slid onto
the side road , 
barely missing the ditch.

Scully stopped the car and took a deep breath.  That
was close.  Byers 
smiled and made a 'thumbs up' gesture.  Scully nodded
and put the car 
back into gear, to slowly climb up the snowy hill.




21 Black Bear Road, Truckee, February 23 12:00 noon

"Goddammit! You burned me!" screamed Bailey, putting
his fingers into his 
mouth.  He picked the cigarette off the floor and put
it into the ashtray, 
then turned on Mulder.  He kneed the agent in the
groin, then began landing 
heavy punches on Mulder's abdomen.  Mulder tried to
double over, but wasn't 
able to protect himself because of his bonds.  Then he
began retching 
and emptied his stomach onto Bailey.  

"Shit!!" Yelled Bailey and backed two paces.  He ran
into the bathroom 
and began wiping himself off with wads of toilet
paper.

Skinner looked at Mulder with concern.  Mulder's head
hung on his chest, 
his eyes half open and glazed looking as he panted for
breath. Bailey glared
at Mulder and raised a clenched fist, preparing to
drive it into Mulder's
face.

"Hey, Mr. Bailey, Sir?"  Skinner called out loudly. 
"I have to go to the 
bathroom really bad.  Could you undo my hands?"


"What?"  Bailey lowered his arm and turned in
confusion to Skinner. 
"Can't it wait?"
 
"No, I've got to go now or you'll have another mess on
your floor.  Please?"
 Skinner tried to keep a friendly and sheepish
expression on his face, 
although inside he was boiling with a consuming desire
to pound Bailey's
face in.

"Ok, ok..." Bailey went over to Skinner and fumbled
the handcuff key out 
of his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs.

Skinner erupted into motion and, grabbing Bailey by
the throat, wrestled him 
to the floor.  Bailey tried to move out of Skinner's
reach, but Skinner 
had had enough and fought with a rage that caught
Bailey off guard.  
Against Bailey's struggles, Skinner moved to put him
into a headlock.


21 Black Bear Road, Truckee, February 23 12:00 noon

Scully stopped the car at the end of the road.  The
snow was even thicker 
now, if that were possible.  She could just see a
cabin about 15 
feet ahead.  She and Byers got out of the car and
began to walk as 
quietly as possible to the front door.  Scully was
glad she'd worn her 
heavy coat and snow boots.  Who'd have thought that
California could 
have weather like this.  

She stepped onto the wooden porch, on which two faded
rocking chairs sat.  
A broom had been dropped on the wooden floor in front
of the door.  Scully 
carefully picked it up and moved it aside.  She
motioned Byers to stand 
to one side and quietly drew her weapon, then saw that
Byers had done the 
same.  Although he looked nervous, he held the gun
competently enough.  
Scully felt a brief flash of longing for Mulder at her
back, then squared 
her shoulders and walked forward to rap at the door.

There was no answer, but she could see a light inside.
 She cautiously 
turned the knob and found the door unlocked.  She
opened the door slowly 
and peered inside.  There was nobody in the large
living room, although 
she could see a fire burning through the glass-fronted
wood stove.  She 
stepped inside, Byers following her, and saw that the
room was sparsely 
furnished and painfully neat, with couch and several
chairs, a few floor 
lamps.  A hallway led off the main room into the
kitchen. 

"You check those rooms, while I look into the kitchen.
 Yell if you need me."
 Scully whispered to Byers.  Byers nodded and walked
through the other 
doorway.

Byers found a small bedroom beyond the doorway, empty
except for a bed.  
The bedroom, like the living room was incredibly clean
and looked well kept, 
even though the window was cracked and had been
boarded over.  Byers noted a 
complete absence of dust or clutter and had to admire
the owner's 
housekeeping ability.  Nobody was hiding in the closet
or under the bed 
either, and no dust mice.  Byers lowered his gun and
went to check on Scully.


He found her in the kitchen standing next to the
kitchen table holding a 
once-white terrycloth bath towel, which was covered in
long streaks of 
dried blood.

"Dana?"  Byers said softly.

Scully looked up and Byers had to look away from the
pain in her eyes.  
"They're here." She said in a trembling voice, then
cleared her throat. 
"Or they were.  Did you find anything?"

"No.  No other rooms either."  Byers looked through an
open door into a 
small bathroom.  "Anything in there?  Any...clues?"

Scully shook her head.  "No, everything's incredibly
clean, except this." 
She ran her hand over the towel and picked off a long
strand of dark hair.  
She closed her eyes and took a breath. "We should
check outside.  There 
may be a storm cellar or a shed."

They opened the back door and went down the back steps
into a world covered 
in white.  After circling the house they found no
other entrances or 
buildings, but did see a large, battered van parked
under some trees.  
Scully broke into a near run and was pulling the back
door open when 
Byers got there.  

The van was empty except for strips of shredded white
cloth and a watch, 
wedged in a corner.  Scully pried it out and looked at
it closely.  
She'd seen it a hundred times on Mulder's wrist.  She
was close.

There had to be another structure here.  The house
hadn't been empty long.  
She walked to the front of the van and felt the hood,
still warm.  Wherever 
they were, it was nearby.

Scully looked around at the terrain surrounding the
house.  There was 
nothing obvious and the snow didn't help.  Then she
saw some shallow 
depressions, rapidly filling with snow.  Footprints!

"Come on, Byers."  Scully started toward the
footprints, determined to 
follow them before they disappeared.  The footprints
made a winding narrow 
path up the hillside, and the house was soon out of
sight.  Scully rounded 
a corner and found to her dismay that the footprints
had vanished.

"Damn.  That snow is covering everything."  She kicked
the snow in disgust.
Then her eyes widened and she reached down to her feet
and brushed the snow 
away from the ground.  Byers leaned over and picked up
a pinch of red rock 
particles, then scraped away more snow from either
side.

"This looks like ground pumice stone.  That isn't
native to this area.  
This path must have originally been marked with it. 
See, the dirt on 
either side is a dull yellow.  This is what you found
on the hotel room 
floor wasn't it?" Byers held out his hand for Scully
to see.

"Yes.  It looks very similar.  We need to follow this
path, but how to 
scrape the snow away..." Scully looked back over her
shoulder.  
"I have an idea."  

She led Byers back to the front porch of the house. 
As expected, the 
structure was still empty.  She picked up the broom
and led Byers back 
up the hill to where the trail had ended.  Using the
broom she methodically 
swept away patches of snow until she had found the
path again.  Soon the 
path reappeared when they found themselves under cover
of a stand of 
pine trees at the base of a hill.  Suddenly Scully
stopped.

"Shhh.  Did you hear that noise?"  She asked Byers.

Byers shook his head but was quiet, listening.  Then,
faintly they heard a 
scream that seemed to be coming through the rock face.

"That's Mulder's voice." Scully's eyes grew wide.
"Where is he?"  She 
looked around her but could see no structures and the
sounds seemed to be 
coming from thin air.  God, he isn't...haunting me, is
he?  No, she told 
herself firmly, he's still alive and there is a
rational explanation for 
this.  

She found her explanation when Byers noted a slit cut
into the rock.  Scully 
peered into it and pulled Byers away.

"I think that's some kind of ventilation hole.  There
has to be an old 
mine or silo down there.  That's where they are."  She
told him.  

The cry came again, louder and more anguished this
time.  Then they heard a 
second voice, shouting.  Skinner! That was Skinner. 
Scully looked around, 
frantic to find the entrance somehow.  Wait a minute,
there were 
eucalyptus leaves on the carpet too.  They must grow
near the doorway, 
please God, let them grow near the doorway...

"Look for eucalyptus trees. They mark the doorway."
She said shortly and 
hoped she was right.

Byers climbed up the hillside a few feet. "Over
there!"  He pointed and 
Scully could make out two tall trees with long skinny
leaves inside a 
small ravine ahead.

The two moved as fast as the snow would let them and
were soon standing 
under the eucalyptus trees.  A weather-beaten wooden
door sat flush 
against a rock wall.  Scully moved to open it to
discover that she was 
still clutching the broom.  She set it against the
rock wall and pulled 
the door open.  She walked in and Byers followed.

They found themselves in a cavern, obviously an old
mine working.  
To Scully's surprise, the mine was lit by electric
lights spaced evenly 
along the ceiling.  She drew her gun again and Byers
did the same, 
walking cautiously forward into the dimness.

She stopped abruptly when the cavern ended at a
concrete wall, with a door 
at its center.  She could dimly hear noises coming
from inside, but couldn't 
identify voices or words.  She slowly turned the
doorknob with her left 
hand and held her gun with her right, then pushed the
door open wide and 
yelled "Freeze!  Federal Agent!"

All action inside the room stopped.  She saw Skinner
with the bellhop in a 
headlock, obviously struggling to subdue the man. And
then she saw Mulder.

"Oh my...God...."  She couldn't take her eyes off of
him, nor could she 
move.  Byers shouldered past her and his eyes widened
when he saw Mulder.

Skinner recovered first. "Scully, thank God you're
here.  Help Mulder."



Kyrie Eleison, part 4

"...through my fault, through my fault, 
through my most grievous fault. 
In my thoughts and in my words,
in what I have done,
and in what I have failed to do..."

Excerpt from the Confiteor, a prayer of repentance.




"Byers, go through this guy's pockets and take out any
keys he's got." 
Skinner held Bailey down while Byers extracted a small
key ring from 
Bailey's pants pocket.  Byers ran back and unlocked
the cuffs on 
Mulder's wrists, then gently supported Mulder's body
as he dropped 
to the floor.  Byers handed the key ring into Scully's
waiting hands 
and she unlocked Mulder's ankles, then tossed the key
ring to Skinner.

Scully laid her coat onto the floor and had Byers ease
Mulder down 
onto it.   Mulder's eyes were closed and his skin was
pale and clammy.  
He could have passed for a dead man but for his
labored breathing 
and Scully was jarred to note how much he looked like
the photographs 
she'd seen of Bailey's victims.  He was dressed only
in the 
stained remains of a cotton undershirt and dress shirt
and was a mass 
of bruises and dried blood from his torso to his
knees.   

Scully gently rolled him onto his side and noted that
his back 
was as bad.  

After getting the key ring Skinner freed himself from
the ankle 
cuff and quickly relocked it around Bailey's ankle
instead with a sense of
satisfaction. Skinner pocketed the key and made his
way over 
to where Scully and Byers huddled over Mulder.  

Scully knelt at Mulder's side, studying him with a
fierce intensity 
belied by her trembling hands as she felt for a pulse
at his throat.  
She carefully pulled the sides of the coat around to
cover him.

"What was done to him?"  Scully turned her burning
gaze onto Skinner.  

Skinner tried to come up with a way to describe what
had happened 
without causing her any more pain.  He knew miserably
that this was 
impossible.  "He's been beaten repeatedly, especially
in the abdominal 
area, and has lost some blood because of lacerations
and incised wounds.  
The burns you saw.  He hasn't been able to keep
anything 
down since yesterday, and has been chilled and
feverish for the past day." 

Skinner stopped and cleared his throat.  Scully's face
was still and 
unreadable.  Byers had turned away and Skinner could
see him 
convulsively swallowing.   

"What...he means to say is... that I got my ass
kicked..." Mulder whispered.
 

Scully tried to smile at him, but couldn't hide her
worry. "Mulder, 
how are you feeling?"

"About what you'd expect..." Mulder's eyes closed and
he forced 
them open again. "This means... more health insurance
forms...doesn't it?"  

Mulder began to retch and vomited over Scully's coat. 


"God, we need an ambulance." Scully pulled out her
cell phone 
then looked at the concrete walls surrounding them.
"Byers, can you 
go outside and call the paramedics?  I'll stay with
Mulder." 

Byers took the phone and left.  Scully pulled a
kleenex from her pocket 
and wiped the fluid from Mulder's face. 

Mulder gave a weak smile. "Sorry.  That was...your new
coat, too..."  

"Not a problem." Said Scully. "You have credit cards
and I'll 
get a new and more expensive coat out of you."  Mulder
nodded and 
closed his eyes.

"Mulder, I need to examine you.  Tell me if anything
hurts."  Mulder 
opened his eyes and nodded again, then closed them. 
Scully lifted 
Mulder's shirt and gently ran her hands over his
ribcage.  She could 
see deep crimson and purple bruises running across his
chest and down 
to the abdomen.  Mulder winced and gasped as she
pressed against his chest.

"Looks like you have two broken ribs.."  Scully noted
the fine 
lacerations running over Mulder's body, partially
covered with dried blood.
She moved her hands down to his abdomen and palpated
it gently.  
Mulder cried out and all but sat up in reaction.
Scully frowned, 
then wrapped the coat more securely around Mulder and
gave him her 
best reassuring smile.  "Ok, you rest now.  I'm going
to look Skinner over."

  
Scully pulled Skinner to the other side of the room
and began 
gently examining the bump on his head. "How about you?
 It 
looks like you got hit on the head."  Scully said
loudly 
then went on "I don't want Mulder to hear this, he's
been through 
enough already."

"What is his condition?"  Skinner asked with concern.

"I think he may some internal injuries, his abdomen is
distended and tender.
You said he took some heavy blows to the abdominal
area?"  Scully picked up 
Skinner's left wrist and began examining the abrasions
left by the rope.

"Yes.  Bailey punched him hard several times in the
abdomen and 
kneed him in the groin about 30 minutes before you got
here.  
You've seen the evidence of the other beatings."

"We need to get him to a hospital, soon." Scully said.

Just then Byers returned to the room, brushing snow
off his shoulders and 
shaking his head.  "We're too far out.  The cell phone
doesn't reach.  
I went down to the house and both the power and the
phone are out."


"Damn, then we need to load Mulder into the car and
get him to 
a hospital." Scully started, then stopped when she saw
Byers 
shaking his head.

"You should come out and see, Agent Scully.  It's
snowing so heavily 
that the car is buried.  I don't think that the roads
are passable.  
I managed to get back here from the house, but I don't
think we're 
going anywhere for a while."

"You can't be serious." Scully said and ran out the
door.  
Outside she saw a world muffled in a blanket of snow. 
They'd have 
to get him to the house at least. They could rig a
stretcher for 
him somehow.  She spotted the broom she'd dropped at
the doorway; 
that would be a good stretcher handle.  She picked it
up on her 
way back inside.


She found Skinner and Byers talking quietly.  Byers
had peeled off 
his sweater and loaned it to Skinner, leaving Byers in
shirt and down 
jacket


"We can make a stretcher out of my coat and
Byers'jacket 
and get him back to the house." She told Byers and
Skinner. 
"This will make a good stretcher handle, but we need
to get 
another length of wood or a tree branch." She held out
the broom and 
was surprised when Skinner recoiled.

"That damned thing isn't touching Mulder, and he isn't
going to see 
it if I have anything to say about it."  Skinner said
angrily.

Scully was perplexed.  "What's wrong?"

"The last...time...I saw that thing was when Bailey
was wiping Mulder's 
blood off of it."  Skinner was surprised to find
himself near tears.  
"We aren't using it, even if it's the last damned hunk
of wood 
on the planet."

Scully looked down at the broomstick she still held
and quickly ran 
with it out the door.  She threw the broom to the
floor and 
found herself irrationally wiping her hands on her
pants legs, 
trying to hold down her nausea.  She gave herself a
mental shake 
and returned to the room.

"Well, we have to get him out of here somehow." Byers
turned to Skinner. 
"Should we carry him?"

"I'll carry him out." Skinner offered. "I learned a
fireman's carry in 'Nam." 

"No, that won't work." said Scully. "If he's got
internal injuries, a 
fireman's carry would put pressure on the abdominal
area.  
It might cause more damage.  And we can't just drag
him in the snow, 
he'd freeze." 

Scully looked around the concrete room, stained with
Mulder's blood, 
and shivered. "And he can't stay here."

"As I said, I'll carry him. Like this."  Skinner knelt
and wrapped 
Scully's coat more tightly around Mulder, then gently
lifted 
Mulder like an infant into his arms.  "Now let's get
the hell out of here."

"What about him?" Byers pointed to Bailey, who
crouched silently against
 the wall.

"He can stay here.  There's heat, light, water, food
and a toilet.  
He isn't going anywhere." Skinner, carrying Mulder
easily, 
moved through the open door.

Scully followed.  Byers was the last, giving Bailey
one final 
troubled look before he closed the door behind him.




They made their way back to the cabin, Byers and
Scully stamping 
snow down and clearing obstacles for Skinner and
Mulder.  Although 
the snow had stopped for the time being, the clouds
overhead were dark 
and threatening.  

They arrived gratefully at the cabin to find the fire
still alight 
in the stove, but dying down.  Scully held the door
for Skinner 
and motioned for him to lay Mulder on the couch. 
"This is the warmest room,
 so let's put him here."  

Skinner deposited Mulder on the couch, while Scully
built up the fire 
in the wood stove.  Byers found some kerosene lamps
and began lighting them.
Soon the room took on a warm glow.

"The wood's low.  Why don't I cut some more?  I saw a
woodpile behind 
the house."  Skinner picked up the axe from the corner
behind the stove.

Scully was hesitant. "Are you sure you should? You've
had a head 
injury yourself. Maybe you ought to rest."

Skinner gave Scully a solemn look.  "Dana, after the
past 24 hours, 
I NEED to cut some wood.  A lot of wood." Scully
nodded and frowned 
as she watched him go out the back door.

"Agent Scully, maybe we should find some more
blankets." Byers looked
 meaningfully in Mulder's direction.  Damn, she
thought, he's 
shivering again.

"Yes, bring all the blankets and pillows you can find.
 I think we may 
all be camping out in here tonight.  I'm going outside
to check on the car."
Scully  wrapped herself in one of the blankets and
went outside again.


She couldn't find the car.  For that matter, she
couldn't find the road.  
From the porch all she could see was a featureless
field of white, that
 stood as tall as the porch's top step.  She
considered, the private
 road was about five miles long.  Somebody could hike
down and 
find a neighbor, maybe be able to use a phone or get a

four wheel drive vehicle in.  But the sky looked
threatening, 
it would be dangerous to try it today.  

Mulder.  What about Mulder?  She frowned and crossed
her arms, 
clutching the blanket closer to her.  She could hear
the sharp sounds 
of Skinner cutting firewood, loudly and at furious
speed.  She went back 
inside the cabin.

Byers sat on a rag rug near Mulder's couch, a cup of
coffee at his 
elbow and a small transistor radio in his hands.  "I
made some coffee, 
there's more on the wood stove." He said without
looking up.  

Scully gratefully got herself a cup and sat down on
the rug next 
to Byers. She took a sip, grateful for the heat and
flavor of the coffee.

"I found this in the closet as well as the batteries. 
Let's see
 if it works."  Byers turned the radio on and was
cheered to hear 
static come out. "Maybe I can find a weather report."

Byers adjusted the dial until he found an AM news
station.  The weather was
 the top item of news.  A major storm had blown in and
was causing whiteout
 conditions in the mountains.  Both Highways 50 and 80
were closed 
by landslides and entire mountain communities were cut
off without power
 or telephone. The storm was expected to last for
several more days
 and local roads weren't expected to reopen for some
time after that.

"The road's completely covered." Scully said. "I
couldn't even find the car!
  Somebody will have to hike out when the snow stops."




Skinner walked in from the kitchen with an armload of
wood, dumping it 
into the woodbox next to the stove.  "That should do
it for a while.  
There are some smaller logs ready to use stacked
outside the back door, 
as well as some kindling."  Skinner got a coffee mug
and poured himself 
a cup, taking a seat in the armchair. "Agent Scully,
in all the confusion 
I forgot to ask you.  Where are the rest of the FBI
agents?  
Surely you aren't the only one they sent out after
us."

Scully flushed.  "It's a long story, sir, and you
won't like it much.  
But this is what happened..."

Scully recounted the substance of her conversation
with Kersh and the 
reaction of the local field office and police
department.  
"And so, sir, I knew that time was of the essence. 
Since I had no other 
support, I recruited my own."  Scully smiled at Byers.
 
"And I couldn't have asked for better backup."

Byers blushed.  "It was our pleasure, Agent Scully."

Skinner stared thoughtfully into his coffee mug.  "I
always thought 
Kersh was a dumb-ass; just not this dumb...." He
looked up and 
met Scully's troubled eyes.  

"Sir, I have no proof that this situation resulted
from anything 
more than Kersh's spite."

"No." Skinner said.  "And you probably never will. 
Well, what now?"

"I've been thinking, sir.  Somebody could walk out and
get help.  The road 
is about five miles and the nearest house on the way
in was 
about two miles beyond that.  We might be able to use
the cellular 
down there, or borrow a phone at a neighbor's house." 
Scully took another 
sip.  "But I think it would be risky today.  It looks
like the storm 
isn't over."

"I agree.  But can Mulder wait that long?" Skinner's
eyes wandered 
back to Mulder, motionless on the couch.

"Truthfully, I don't know." Scully sighed. "But I
think the person 
hiking out has the best chance if he waits until the
storm is over. "

"Well, then I'll leave when the storm subsides." 
Skinner sipped his 
coffee, missing Scully's telltale frown.

"Are you sure that you should be the one to go, sir? 
After the events 
of the past few days, you aren't in peak physical
condition.  It 
might be better for Byers to go."  Scully looked
meaningfully at 
Byers and he nodded vigorously.

"I think she's right, Mr. Skinner.  Besides, I'm
dressed for hiking."

"Well, I disagree.  If it's clear tomorrow I'll borrow
some 
clothing from Mr. Bailey and go for help."

"Sir, I don't think you're being reasonable...." A
moan from the 
couch silenced Scully and all three turned to see
Mulder's eyes open.  
Scully got up and went over to him.

"Hi sleepyhead." She brushed his hair out of his eyes.
"How ya doin'?"

"Okay." Mulder whispered.  "But I'd really like some
water."

"Sure, I'll get you some."  Scully went into the
kitchen.  After she 
left, Mulder gestured for Skinner to come over, close
by. 
Skinner got up and went over to Mulder's couch.

"Sir..."

"What, Mulder? I can't hear you." Skinner leaned
closer to catch 
Mulder's whisper.

"Sir, you can't leave here.  Please let Byers go."

"Why not, Mulder?  Despite everything, I'm in better
physical 
shape than Byers. And I have a thing or two to say to
Kersh 
when I get him on the phone."  Skinner spoke softly,
looking 
anxiously at Mulder.

"Bailey is still here.  If he gets loose.." Mulder
stopped at 
Skinner's vehement head shake then started again, "If
he gets 
loose, Byers can't protect Scully
.....and...Bailey......" 

"Here's your water. I only gave you  a little.  I
don't want 
you to drink too many fluids just yet."  Scully
reached behind 
Mulder's head and stacked pillows to prop him up. 
Mulder said 
nothing more but met Skinner's eyes with clear anguish
as he took 
the glass from Scully's hand and carefully began to
sip it.

Skinner nodded at Mulder and returned to his chair,
slumping into it 
with apparent exhaustion.  "You know, Agent Scully,
you may 
have a point.  I've been fighting a splitting headache
all day.  
Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, I don't feel
very well."

"Are you feeling nauseated sir?  How's your vision?" 
Scully quickly 
left Mulder's side and went over to Skinner.

"No, no, I think I just need to rest and take it
easy." Skinner said hastily.  
"But you're right, Byers is in better shape than I am
right now."

"How did Bailey abduct you two, anyway?" Byers asked.

"I don't know what he did to Mulder, but when I got
back to the room he was 
loading Mulder into a big steamer trunk.  I tried to
stop him and he 
got me with a taser, then knocked me out.  When I woke
up, we were in 
that room."  Skinner peered down into his coffee,
looking uncomfortable. 
"He said he wanted to kidnap Mulder because of a
profile Mulder did in the 
VCS.  It seems Mr. Bailey's brother Michael was
convicted of a 
series of murders that Paul actually committed.
Mulder's testimony put 
Michael Bailey on death row."

"Where he committed suicide".  Byers finished. "So
then, the real serial 
killer was..is...Paul."

Scully blanched. "Then Paul Bailey planned to follow
his pattern, 
with Mulder as his victim?"

"Yes." Skinner said, and then was silent.  After a
moment he got 
up and walked through the kitchen, going out the back
door.  Scully 
followed and found Skinner standing on the back deck,
staring out at the 
snow.

"It's kind of cold out here, don't you think?"  Scully
began.

"I couldn't do anything." Skinner said.  "Have you
ever felt utterly, 
completely helpless and you couldn't do a thing about
it?"

"Since teaming with Mulder?  On a regular basis". 
Scully smiled 
quietly.  "It isn't surprising that
this...experience...has upset you.  
It would be cause for worry if it didn't."

"You don't understand.  I'm responsible for Mulder,
I'm his superior.  
It was my job to see to it that we both got out of
there safely.  
Do you know what I did while that wacko
was...hurting...Mulder?" 
Skinner turned to Scully and she was surprised to see
tears in 
his eyes. "I closed my eyes and wished I were a
thousand miles 
away. And... deep in my soul..."Skinner stopped and
took a ragged breath 
then forced the words out. "I was... glad it wasn't
me."

Scully leaned toward Skinner and wrapped her arms
around him in a hug.  
She could feel him tensing, fighting back the
emotions.  
"It's ok....it's ok...." she murmured.  

Skinner pulled back and took off his glasses, wiping
them and his 
eyes on his sleeve. 

"But you did do something." Scully said.  "When we got
there you had 
Bailey in a headlock."

Skinner gave her a hesitant smile. "The only reason I
was able to get 
to Bailey was because of Mulder's plan to talk him
down.  Mulder gave me 
the strategy and forced me to try it."

"Well, you didn't get these just sitting passively."
Scully took Skinner's 
wrists in both her hands and pushed up the sleeves of
his sweater. 
"You tried to get free, didn't you?  You just
couldn't. It's no sin 
to try and fail."

"I tried.  Every time he screamed, I tried.  Every
blow I heard...I tried.  
But I just couldn't do anything...." Skinner did break
down, then, and 
Scully found herself holding him while he cried.

_