From: anna taylor sweringen Date: Wed, 25 Sep 2002 07:31:42 -0700 (PDT) Subject: Story submission: Leave No Stone Unturned Source: direct Title: Leave No Stone Unturned Author: Rev. Anna.ataylorsweringen@yahoo.com Rating: PG (some violence, alittle bit of cursing, not much) Classification: CX X-Files/Brimstone Spoilers: Within, Requiem, Tooms Keywords: Brimstone Summary: In the wake of Mulder's disappearance, an old enemy of the X-Files brings Ezekiel Stone back to D.C. Disclaimer: Ezekiel Stone and Company belong to Ethan Reiff and Cyrus Voris. X-Files belongs to Chris Carter. Glynnis Evander, Bill Rogers, Jerry Hopkins and Janice Forrester are mine. The Devil belongs to God. "Englishman in New York" by Sting. "Better Is One Day In Your Courts" by Mark Redman. "For the Glory of Your Name" by John Hartley. Archive: Sure anywhere. Leave No Stone Unturned by Rev. Anna Eugene Tooms lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, remembering his seven years in hell. Every day there his soul was tormented with thoughts of the revenge he'd never have on the two people responsible for sending him here: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. He would try to get some amount of peace by thinking about his victims, but it never worked. He could get no peace so long as Mulder and Scully were still alive. He looked at the curtain flapping against the open window and smiled. 'That's what we were like,' he mused, thinking on his luck at being present for the breakout from Hell. Demons fell over one another, not unlike the fluttering of that curtain, as they scrambled desperately through the breach created by Ash to escape the stench and heat of Hades. Once out, he found his way back to Baltimore. He picked a small landmark church to work in. Presuming he was just one of many of the nation's homeless, the congregation was perfectly happy to accept his volunteer janitorial services. After a year, they made him their live- in janitor and celebrated him as a success story. The church had an underground cemetery that would be the perfect hibernating place for him once he collected his five victims. He was killing in the open now to throw anybody off his scent. It probably would have been safe for him to stick to all the aspects of his original MO. After all who would look for a dead man? He gritted his teeth knowing that Mulder would, and so would that bitch of a partner of his. A gentle rain began to drift into the room. Tooms got up and closed the window. He stood there, staring at the first sign of dawn creeping on the horizon and thought about the future. With three livers under his belt so to speak already, all he had to do was get number four and number five and he already knew who they were going to be. An evil smile slipped across his lips as he thought of them. Going to D.C. to get them would be dicey but he had time. Seven years in hell had taught him patience. The cold Baltimore air of morning pricked at Detective Jerry Hopkins' scalp like a mother checking her child's head for lice. He gazed down respectfully on the dead body covered by the morgue sheet. 'The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord,' he thought. Although he was certain God hadn't taken away here. God had merely offered release to this poor tortured soul from the cruel sick fiend that had preyed upon it. No matter how many times he saw it, the sight of lifelessness filled Hopkins with awe and made him pause. He laid the sheet back down and prayed. "Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen." He stood up and looked over to his partner who was walking toward him. Detective Janice Forrester strode over to him, raincoat flapping open at her sides despite the light rain falling on them both. "Three?" he asked. She nodded. "Three." She looked down at the body as she spoke to her partner. "Said your prayers yet?" Her question was always respectful, never a hint of derision or impatience. Hopkins nodded and looked at the shrouded body being bundled away to the morgue. "What do you think he does with the livers?" he asked. She took him by his arm and hurried him to their car. When she was sure no one could hear them, she answered him. "He eats them." Hopkins stopped short and stared in disbelief at her. "What?!" She nodded and motioned for him to get into the car. "Jan, what are we dealing with here?" "An X-File, Jerry," she answered matter of factly as she got behind the wheel while Hopkins fastened his seat belt. "An X-File. We've got to pay a visit to our Friendly Bureau of Investigation and quick if we're to catch him." Walter Skinner sat at his desk staring out the window anticipating the meetings soon to take place today: one down in the X-Files office, one here in his office; both designed by him to strengthen and protect the X- Files. The upper echelon of the Bureau stood in awe of him these days. He didn't have to defer to their snide skepticism, their outraged disbelief, their threatening or their bullying anymore. He saw them for what they all were: a bunch of bureaucratic careerists, out of touch with the sense of justice that had originally brought them to the Bureau. There but for the grace of God -- and Fox Mulder -- he too would have been. A sad smile crept across his face as he wondered how Mulder would have taken to the idea of being Skinner's salvation. He stood his ground and held to his account about Mulder's disappearance in spite of Deputy Director Kersh's threats. He spoke boldly about C.G.B. Spender's antics in the Bureau, about all the consortium exploits from the F. Emasculata incident to the present. The more they challenged him, the more stoic and steadfast he remained. Finally in an interview with the Director, Skinner laid bare everything. For the Director's eyes he provided the only copies of files which provided the paper trail that led straight back to the DOD, the CIA and the international community's involvement in the 50 year deception about the existence of extraterrestrials. When he emerged, the faces of Skinner's foes showed they thought they had finally won. However, their smirks were quickly wiped from their faces when the Director stood solidly behind Skinner and directed all other ADs and the deputy director to keep out of Skinner's way. With this newfound unassailable authority, Skinner's first act was to make Scully the head of the X-Files, despite her misgivings. His second was to assign her appropriately supportive agents. John Doggett seemed honest enough and his being an ex-marine spoke in his favor. Nevertheless, he was still Kersh's choice and was definitely hostile to what the X-Files represented. But so was Skinner at first. So was Scully. Maybe he could be won over in time. In any case, once Doggett concluded his search for Mulder, he'd be gone and Scully was going to need believers to keep the X-Files going when she finally had to leave. He rubbed his face in his hands and opened the first of two files on his desk. The first file was on William Henry Rogers. He looked at the photo of the man inside, remembering his first meeting with Bill Rogers. Bill "Bulldog" Rogers didn't quite live up to the physical appearance Skinner was expecting. He talked like an English valet but at 5'5" and 230 pounds, he looked like the bouncer for an English pub. "They call me 'Bulldog' because I'm tenacious," Rogers remarked in impeccable BBC English. "But it doesn't hurt that I look like one too." Rogers worked for the Ministry of Defense's Department 2A, the British equivalent of the X- Files. "They call it the UFO desk," he said with a wry smile. "And while I am sent out on hunts for little green men, my forte and steadfast belief is in other paranormal phenomena." "That's what has made me seek you out for the X-Files." Skinner liked him immediately and so it seemed did anyone who met him. Unlike Mulder, Rogers knew how to make his colleagues and superiors respect his work. With a cool head and a keen sense of humor, he won over all opposition and quashed any embryonic hints at derision. Bulldog Rogers was the butt of no one's jokes. He rigorously tested and loudly debunked any inquiries that proved false, but defended to the teeth any that proved true, despite the lack of quantifiable, objective proof. The level of respect he engendered, even grudgingly from top brass, spoke volumes to Skinner. "I see from Mulder's files you've had numerous paranormal experiences yourself." Skinner said. "Yes, of a very specific kind." "Astral projection." "Yes. MOD still thinks it's a parlor trick of some sort, but since I've passed all their tests and had them fail a few of my own, they don't quite know how to deal with me," Rogers said with not a little bit of pride. "At a loss to explain how I know certain things I shouldn't, they therefore tend to lend me out a lot. I know they'll be quite happy to consider your request for my services." "And you?" "Well, I must admit a long term assignment like this isn't exactly what I want. But a chance to go through Mulder's files is an opportunity I just can't pass up. I would have liked to work with him." "Maybe someday you will." Skinner replied, his tone almost broken-hearted. "Do you think?" Rogers persisted, trying to repress the deep longing welling up inside him. "I certainly hope so." Skinner knew that Rogers would be perfect for the X-Files as he now envisioned them and that Rogers would be the perfect foil for the other person he envisioned working on the X- Files. He opened up the file on Special Agent Glynnis Evander and stared at her photograph, remembering the first time he laid eyes on her. Even then he had been struck by the intensity he had seen in her face. She reminded him a lot of Mulder, although in appearance you couldn't find two people more opposite: high cheek bones, piercing green eyes, short black afro. At 5'4" this petite black woman was every inch the soul mate of that 6' tall white man. Fresh out of the academy, she and her partner, Mary Alexander, had distinguished themselves on their first case. Evander and Alexander were crack cryptographers and had broken a particularly obtuse code being used by a domestic terrorist group. As they received the commendation from the Director, Skinner noticed that while Mary Alexander reveled in the attention, Evander was uncomfortable with it. Evander's quiet, focused 'won't- be-stopped' intensity was a perfect counterbalance to Alexander's boisterous, pull out all the stops impetuousness. Although different as night and day, they fit each other perfectly. Hand and glove was what he called them. Somehow Mary Alexander had learned this was his pet name for them and played it up often. "Evander and I are a perfect fit for this one, sir," Mary would say before handing in their 302s. "Perfect fit, huh?" he responded innocently, enjoying the smile on Alexander's face. "Yes sir," she would answer just as innocently. "Like a hand and glove, sir." "Well then looks like you'll have to put this one on." Skinner happened to be passing the bull pen one afternoon and witnessed what had come to be known as "the perfect fit" ritual. He watched Mary Alexander stand at the door, pull on a pair of white gloves and triumphantly display her gloved hands. "Another perfect fit," the bullpen shouted, everyone laughing. He walked on unnoticed, glad that he had a pair of agents as well-liked as they were effective. Three years passed before he encountered Agent Evander directly again. A Christian identity group in Idaho was claiming newly discovered cave writings were a new bible that substantiated their assertions of white supremacy. Local university experts couldn't disprove their claims. So Skinner recommended the hand and glove be sent in. Evander and Alexander went to Idaho to authenticate or debunk writings found in the cave purported to be accounts of miracles done by the resurrected Christ here in North America. Excited and honored to be chosen personally by the AD, the two agents threw themselves into the assignment. But before they could finish their work, they were caught in an explosion set by the leader of the group. Buried alive for twenty-four hours, Evander was finally pulled from the rubble alive. Alexander took the full brunt of the explosion and had died instantly. "There were only two names she responded to," the doctor had told him over the phone. "Her partner's and yours." "But she's conscious now. It's just a matter of time, isn't it? I mean, she's lucky to be alive." "She's so shut down, I'm not sure she'll pull through mentally. We thought perhaps seeing you, talking to you, might help." Skinner flew immediately to Boise and stood by Evander's hospital bed, looking down on her, amazed that she was alive. He looked into those piercing green eyes, now pained, almost soulless, staring vacantly through him. "Agent." Evander swallowed hard, blinked, and stopped looking through him. For a brief second, the old intensity reappeared. "Sir." The pain returned to her face, the deadness to her eyes. "Why are you here?" she asked. "To make sure you're all right." "Am I all right?" Skinner watched the anger beginning to fill those dead eyes. "Will I ever be all right again?" "Why wouldn't you be?" "My partner is dead. My career with the Bureau is over. You tell me how to be all right after all that." "Yes, your partner is dead. And it will take a long while, if ever, before you'll be all right with that. Losing a partner and friend is not something you get all right with easily. But your career with the Bureau is far from over." A bitter half-laugh, half-sob escaped from her lips. "Once I admit to the shrinks what happened -- what I believed happened while I was pinned under those rocks, I'll be out of the Bureau." "Then try it on me first." He watched her gaze stay suspicious but hopeful, wanting to believe him. It was a look he had seen before in the eyes of others. In Scully's. In Mulder's. In Sharon's. He took Evander's hand and held it firmly, but gently. "Tell me," he said. "If I can believe you, you should tell them. If I can't believe you, it's our secret." She bit her lip then closed her eyes before speaking. "The whole time, pinned under those rocks, I remember talking to Mary. Trying to get her to answer me. I finally gave up, closed my eyes and just waited for death to come and take me. It was then that I did hear a voice, but it wasn't Mary's. It was my grandmother's. Skinner sat down and held her hand in both of his, never taking his eyes off of hers. He could see tears had welled up in them but she stubbornly refused to let them flow. "Go on." "She sat down beside me in the red and white suit she wore every year on Women's Day. It was the suit they buried her in. She held my hand and had me sing hymns and Sunday School songs. They said I was singing one line from For All the Saints over and over again when they reached me." "What was it?" "We feebly struggle, they in glory shine." She looked at him and to her amazement found, not only belief in his gaze, but understanding. The tears began flowing from her eyes non-stop now. "I was holding Mary's hand. They could barely pry my fingers loose. I can still see it, feel it in mine. It was so cold." She gasped and squeezed his hand convulsively. "All that time, I was communicating with my dead grandmother and she was talking to me. I wasn't hallucinating. It was real." She turned her face away. Skinner pulled her hand to his chest, forcing her to look at him. "I'm not dead. Hold on as tightly as you need to." She looked confused. "Sir?" "I believe you, Evander." She gripped his hand and burst into heart wracking sobs. It was painful to listen to, but it was good to hear. A tear fell from Skinner's eye that day, glad his agent was finding her way back. "Sir, where in the Bureau could I work after admitting to something like that?" she had asked. Where indeed except the X-Files with a new and extraordinary partner. As the zero hour approached, Skinner wondered if his theory would be borne out in reality. Would Evander and Rogers work well as a team? The call he received from Baltimore PD had come out of the blue, but it would prove the perfect test case for the new X- Files team. He sat back and looked at his watch. The plane from LA would be landing soon and so would the real reason he wanted Evander and Rogers assigned to the X- Files: Ezekiel Stone. "I don't drink coffee, I take tea my dear, I like my toast done on one side You can hear it in my accent when I talk I'm an Englishman in New York. Whoa, I'm an alien I'm a legal alien I'm an Englishman in New York. Whoa, I'm an alien I'm a legal alien I'm an Englishman in New York." As he sang, Bill Rogers noted he had never been in New York except to change planes. He had worked and lived in Paris, Madrid, Johannesburg, Moscow, Alexandria, and now DC, but never New York. He caught sight of himself in the florist's window and straightened the Windsor knot on his tie. He winked at the girl fixing the display and continued down the block singing in full voice, adapting the song to suit his situation. "Whoa, I'm an alien I'm a legal alien I'm an Englishman far from home. Whoa, I'm an alien I'm a legal alien I'm an Englishman far from home." "Damn Bill," Joe laughed, handing the singing agent his daily copies of the London Times and the Washington Post. "I could hear you half way down the block." "The morning sky spreading overhead like a warm blue hello, my new assignment finally starts today. How can I keep from singing?" Rogers said, grinning from ear to ear as he paid for his papers. "See you tomorrow." "Same time. Same papers," Joe answered, handing him his change. Rogers had arrived in D.C. two weeks ago and used the time to establish a routine for himself. It was something he had done to feel at home many other times in many other cities: take the same train, walk the same route, frequent the same shops always at the same time of day. After ten days, he was known by Joe at the newsstand outside the Metro station, Stan at the deli where he got his lunch, Carl at the cleaners, Jean at the corner grocery a block from his apartment and Alice, the 65 year old proprietress of the Donut Hole where he purchased his morning tea and toast. Getting himself known to a few locals always helped to take the 'un' out of unfamiliar, but the voices and smiles of these friendly strangers never took the lonely out of loneliness. "Hi Bill," Alice said, handing him a small lidded blue and white cup and a small white bag. "Hullo love. Tea with milk?" "No sugar and toast done on one side. Just the way you like it." With her glasses hanging from a chain around her neck and a blue sheen in her gray hair, Alice reminded Bill of his mother. He gave her a kiss as he took his order and set off for the Hoover building. As he entered the Hoover building, Bill closed his eyes, a little choked up as he realized home was fast becoming a place where he got fresh clothes before taking off for a new assignment. "Stiff upper lip old boy," he told himself grimly. He stepped over to the bank of elevators through the waiting crowd and, as usual, found he was the only one going down. Inside the car, he pressed the button for the basement. As the door closed, his smile faded, replaced by a thin grim line. He laid his head against the elevator wall and started singing again, this time sadly, almost in a whisper, "Whoa I'm an alien I'm a legal alien I'm an Englishman with no home." There was no music playing in Dana Scully's head or heart. Her thoughts were never far away from the events of last Spring: the slow draining feeling caused by the awful realization that it was Mulder who was in danger of abduction, not her; hearing the news of Mulder's disappearance confirmed by an uncharacteristically emotional AD, almost tearful at losing him and his equally moving assertion not to betray them; the amazing revelation of life growing inside her. Quite frankly she didn't know how she made it from one day to the next. Her hand went to her abdomen as it often did these days, still more in disbelief than habit. At four months she was barely showing. She didn't wonder about how any more and she prayed daily that she was right about who. The other day she had thrown a cup of water in John Doggett's face and resolved to find Mulder on her own. Skinner had found her in the X-Files office printing out a letter of resignation. He took it from the printer and tore it up. "This is unacceptable," he had said. Memory echoed in his ears as he heard himself saying something similar to Mulder under similar circumstances. "We have to cooperate with their investigation if we're going to find Mulder. Doggett's part of the package whether we like it or not." "He's in charge of the investigation because they don't want to find Mulder," she said angrily pushing her fists against her eyes to keep the tears back. "It'll be easier not to find him, if you're not around." "Which won't be for very much longer," she said sadly. Both her eyes and Skinner's went to her abdomen. "Which is why we need to get you some allies now." Unsure what to do, she decided to go along with him. "You've obviously got a plan," she said, running her fingers over Mulder's name plate. "Doggett's not going to be with the X-Files forever. I want you to head the unit and have at least four people under you. Two tracking down X-Files, two to hold down the fort and keep the enemies out while you're out there with Doggett tracking down Mulder." He passed her the files on Evander and Rogers. A sad smile flitted across her face when she saw Rogers' file. "Mulder had often spoke of Bill Rogers...said he would like to meet him in person." They stood there silently, each remembering their last moment with Mulder: Scully holding him in the hallway outside Skinner's office; Skinner talking to him as they set up the laser net in the woods. "We'll find him, Scully. We'll get him back." She nodded, looking over Evander's file. "I can understand why you're asking for Rogers, but why Evander?" "For two reasons, neither of which I could put on the record officially." He handed her a sealed envelope. "Take this with your file on her, then after you've read it, destroy it." Scully had looked surprised but she simply nodded and slipped the envelope in the file folder and left. She had read Evander's file folder, amazed at the contents of the envelope. Evander's experience in the cave and her belief in her grandmother's apparition made her an open minded ally for the X-Files. It would certainly enable her to work with Ezekiel Stone. After all, talking to ghosts was only one step away from working with one. Although, Stone wasn't a ghost, he was just-just what? He wasn't alive, but he wasn't dead but- She shook her head remembering the sight of the demon she helped Stone send back to hell. At that point in time she was on shaky ground holding her own against the onslaught that threatened to claim her sanity after the Holvey case. Evander would be an excellent agent to hold down the fort against encroaching enemies. Skinner was determined to use her to help Stone identify the remaining demons he was after. Scully sat down and picked up Mulder's picture of Samantha. A slow, sad smile stole across her heart as she thought of her missing partner. What could Mulder have accomplished in those early days with an ally like Bill Rogers instead of a wet behind the ears rookie like herself? Even the insightful code breaking talents of someone like Glynnis Evander would have been an enormous boost. Although by the time of their second encounter with Eugene Tooms, Scully had come a long way in the ally department. Tooms. She hadn't thought about him since then. It was at the end of that case that Mulder remarked everything would be different for them now. And he was right. Now seven years later, here he was again or possibly someone like him and everything was changing for her again. She looked at the two detectives on the other side of Mulder's desk, extending her hand in welcome. "Detective Forrester. Detective Hopkins. I've read the report Assistant Director Skinner has passed on to me concerning your case. How do you think I can help you?" "Well, Agent Scully," Janice Forrester began, "I don't know if you can. But I want to believe you can. When Assistant Director Skinner sent us down he didn't mention-that is to say, I didn't know about Fred's-I mean, Agent Mulder's disappearance," Detective Forrester said, slightly uncomfortable with the redhead looking at her from across Mulder's desk. She knew of Agent Scully, but had never met her. She wasn't sure that Agent Scully was going to be as supportive as Mulder would have been. Scully smiled as she remembered the day she had picked up the office phone and hearing someone ask for Fred. "Hey Fred what's shaking down at spook central?" "There's no one named Fred here." "Isn't this the X-Files office?" "Yes, but there's no one called Fred-" "That's me, Scully," Mulder had said, taking the phone from her. She had listened to Mulder joke then promise to get back to the caller. "And who was that?" "Don't give me that raised eyebrow look, Scully. Her name is Detective Janice Forrester, Baltimore PD. You have no cause to be jealous." "Jealous of what?" "The love life you think she and I have that you think you and I should have." "Ha! Dream on, Freddie." Scully snorted. "Why does she call you Fred?" "She said I reminded her of her cousin Fred." "Why?" "Because her family considered him spooky." Scully sighed sadly and looked again at the case file before her. "Can you help us?" Forrester asked, breaking into Scully's reverie. "I know this was one of Agent Mulder's early cases. The old BPD files said you did work on it with him." "Yes. I did." "Well, what do you think?" "Detective Forrester, Eugene Victor Tooms is dead." "Yes, but the MO follows that one so perfectly." "Except none of these murders took place in locked or inaccessible areas." "I'm not saying it has to be him. But the ripping out of the livers is so unique--isn't it possible that Tooms wasn't one of a kind? Why couldn't there be more of his kind out there?" Scully looked at the crime scene photos, finding it hard to disagree with the earnest detective. "I mean is it a coincidence that once again in Baltimore this type of murder is taking place?" Jerry Hopkins shook his head no, unable to listen to his partner anymore. "Oh come on, now! The BPD case file reads entirely different from that-what do you call it? X-file? BPD just makes Tooms out to be some kind of cannibal but your X-File said that he ate human livers to extend his life. . . " "Five human livers to be exact." "Then he hibernated for thirty years before resurfacing to kill again." "That's right." "Oh Jan, come on. We've just got another Jeffrey Dahmer nut case on our hands." "You may be right, Jerry. But I like to cover all my bases. How about it Agent Scully? You willing to give it a look see? Assistant Director Skinner thought you might be." "You can understand that most of my time is taken up with the search for Agent Mulder," Scully said. "But new agents are being assigned to the X-Files who I can put right on it." Just then the door opened and Bill Rogers walked in. "Good morning, Agent Rogers," Scully said, handing Rogers the file. "This is Agent Bill Rogers on loan to us from London. I'm sure he can help you get on the right track." "Or go off a wrong one," Jerry Hopkins snorted. "Bill 'I've-Been-Workin'-On-the Railroad' Rogers at your service," Rogers said. The two detectives laughed simultaneously and so did Scully. It felt good to laugh and to hear it in the X-Files office. It brought a familiar energy to the room. Rogers looked at Forrester and Hopkins as he shook their hands. "Assistant Director Skinner thought this would be a good first case for you to sink your teeth into." Scully said. "Metaphorically speaking I hope," Bill responded after quickly scanning the file. They all laughed again. "If your perp is similar to this Tooms guy, you've got two more chances to catch him before he goes under ground again. And he won't resurface for another thirty years." "Right." Jan Forrester replied. "So we haven't got much time." "Where do you suggest we begin?" "Well, let's use the Tooms X- File as a guide. Maybe the MO isn't the only similarity this perp has in common with Tooms." The phone rang and Scully answered it. "Yes sir," Scully said. "I was just briefing Bill on the case . . . yes I think he has it pretty much in hand." She looked at Rogers and he nodded yes. "Yes sir, I'll come right up." She hung up and stepped from behind the desk. "Bill, I'm going up to meet another agent being assigned to the X-Files." She turned to Hopkins. "Detective Hopkins, I think I can empathize with you right at this moment. I was where you were once. Want a word of advice? Go with your partner on this one. I'll leave the two of you in Agent Rogers' hands." Forrester and Hopkins stood and shook hands with Scully. "Thanks Agent Scully." Forrester said, relieved that Scully was proving to be the ally she hoped she would be. "Join me upstairs when you're through, Agent Rogers." Bill nodded and watched the door close behind her. He turned to Forrester and Hopkins, slapping the folder with the back of his hand. "Well, let's get started." Sunshine, blue sky and praise. If there was a better way to start the day, Glynnis Evander didn't know what it was. Her new assignment with the X-Files was beginning today and she wanted to start out right. "How lovely is your dwelling place, Oh Lord Almighty O my soul longs and even faints for Thee Lord, here my heart is satisfied within your presence I sing beneath the shadow of your wings. Better is one day in your courts Better is one day in your house Better is one day in your courts Than thousands elsewhere. Better is one day in your courts Better is one day in your house Better is one day in your courts Than thousands elsewhere.' For the past two months, Evander began the mornings by filling her home with the sound of contemporary praise music. She sang along as she got washed, got dressed, got breakfast, allowing the words to fill her with the gratitude and pleasure of being alive. Stopped at a light five blocks from the Hoover parking garage, a new song was playing and the words of the second verse sent a chill up her spine. 'You have touched our lives forever Will we ever be the same? May our hearts be ever faithful Ever faithful as a friend. Let us live that we may serve you Overflowing with your praise For the glory of your name For the glory of your name.' Evander gripped the steering wheel as the words huffed and puffed and blew down the straw house the earlier song had built around her heart. She closed her eyes, thinking about the photographs in her briefcase and the meeting she had scheduled with Assistant Director Skinner this morning. "Let us live that we may serve you," she whispered. "We feebly struggle, they in glory shine." Granny had sung as she gently wiped the sweat from Glynnis' forehead in the cave. "Nothing is going to bring Mary back. Let the dead bury the dead. You're alive. Pray to live so you may serve Him." "Yes granny," she had answered, praying the words over and over again. "Let me live that I may serve you. Let me live that I may serve you." "I'm alive that I may serve Him," Evander sighed, putting her foot on the accelerator as the light changed from red to green. She rewound the tape back to the earlier praise chorus in an attempt to dispel the melancholy creeping over her. She pulled into the Hoover parking lot and cut off the ignition. Grabbing her briefcase she strode briskly toward the elevator, looking at her watch. It wouldn't do to be late. Skinner had given her six months to work on these photos and while she wasn't as far along as she had hoped, she didn't think she'd disappoint him. She rang for the elevator and listened to the emptiness of the garage around her. When Mary was alive this garage always echoed with her laughter or her cursing, the rapid patter of her always running, never walking footsteps. Evander's melancholy returned as the words of the song played over in her memory. 'You have touched our lives forever Will we ever be the same? May our hearts be ever faithful Ever faithful as a friend. Let us live that we may serve you Overflowing with your praise For the glory of your name, for the glory of your name.' Wincing as if in pain, she dropped her briefcase then buried her face in her hands. "I wish were dead." she cried. With a deep breath, Glynnis opened the door to Skinner's outer office and entered. Kim waved her in immediately. "He's already waiting for you." Evander entered and immediately saw Ezekiel Stone, pouring over scores of photographs before him in much the same way that she had when they were first introduced. "Sir, these are amazing. Each one unique and yet there's something they all share. May I-?" Evander hesitated, then looked directly at Stone without apology. "May I see the originals?" "Just be careful," he said, taking off his shirt. "I'm ticklish." "These are more like brands than tattoos, Detective Stone." "Can you decipher them, Agent Evander?" Skinner asked. "I don't know, sir," she answered, her attention moving constantly comparing the tattoos on Stone's body to its photographic counterpart. "But I'm going to have fun trying." Ezekiel Stone looked up from the photographs on the conference table in Walter Skinner's office and watched Glynnis Evander enter. She smiled and nodded at him. He smiled and waved her over as he glanced back at Walter Skinner. It was good to be back in Walter's presence again, to have Walter back in his so-called life. As he listened to Skinner on the phone, his mind went back to his flight from L.A. He had pushed back in his seat and stuck the earphones in. The in- flight movie was some obnoxious muck and he was having a hard time finding something other than rap, teen diva covers of classics, pseudo Sinatra and elevator music. He kept pushing the tape buttons until he found something he liked. Now with his eyes open, he looked out the window, listening to the airline's approximation of an oldies station. The old tunes sung by familiar voices made his surreal existence almost normal. He sighed and wondered what was waiting for him in D.C. He had closed his eyes trying to shut out his encounter with the devil four days ago. "Slow going without clues isn't it detective? But of course now you've got the FBI to help you, you have no need for diabolical help. Do you?" "I don't understand why you're so put out. What do you care if I get a little help on the side so long as I get the job done? Your goal is for me to send those bastards back to hell as quickly as possible, isn't it?" The devil didn't answer. Stone stepped over to the demon and stared him squarely in the face. "Isn't it?" "Never mind what my goals are, Ezekiel. Just know that I am rapidly losing patience with you and am significantly displeased with the quality of your work." "I see. I didn't know my performance was rated on anything except whether a demon gets sent back to hell or not." "What you know or don't know is irrelevant. I'm here to tell you that so long as you accept help from the FBI you will not be receiving any help from me." "What help? You call your convoluted snippets of information help?" "You know perfectly what help I'm talking about. If you accept their help deciphering your tattoos, you're on your own." "So they are decipherable." "I didn't say that." "Bullshit. You said they were written in your original language. If that were true, no human being could decipher them. I'm beginning to think you really don't want me to succeed." The devil didn't answer. Stone looked at the demon as if seeing him for the very first time. "Now I get it. You don't want me to succeed. My going after these schmucks is just a way for you to keep from being in dutch with the big guy upstairs. You never expected me to do this well in the first place." The devil still didn't answer. "You son of a bitch." "I don't see why we have to bring family connections into this." "Why are we having this conversation?" Stone asked, suddenly suspicious. "My protestations to the contrary, I have decided to gift you with a clue to help you track down your next demon." "Gift me with a clue?" "Yes." "Well?" "Onions go good with liver." "What?!" "Onions go good with liver. Especially in Maryland." Stone rolled his eyes. "No shit?" Stone snorted, shaking his head. "I'll remember that the next time I hit Baltimore." "What's the matter? My clues not good enough for you anymore?" "Get the fuck out of here, will you? Just looking at you makes me tired." "Well! Consider me gone." And with that he was. Ezekiel stared at the tattoos all over his body, remembering Walter Skinner pulling him aside that day in his office, closing the door and having his body photographed. Leave it to Walter to think of a way to help him get a leg up on the devil. Suddenly he heard a loud banging on the door. On the other side stood Max, looking at frustrated and surprised as he had ever seen her. "Damn Stone. What were you doing in there? I've been banging loud enough to wake the dead." "What's wrong?" "Nothing. This came for you about fifteen minutes ago." She handed him a Fed Ex envelope. "Another thirty seconds and this would have been heading down to San Francisco with me to the New Age Internet Writers Convention." Stone took the envelope from her and opened it. A plane ticket, five hundred dollars in Traveler's checks and a note from Walter Skinner were inside. "Sign these checks and get back to DC now -- Skinner," was all the note said. "If you hadn't come to this door in a few seconds I would have given up. God only knows when you would have gotten this if that happened." "Not only God knows," Ezekiel said under his breath, the devil's impromptu visit now suddenly making sense. He looked up and watched her leave. "Thanks, Max." "Don't thank me. Thank God." Ezekiel had closed the door and leaned his head against it, eyes closed and thanked God with all his heart. Now here he was back in D.C. with Walter Skinner and Special Agent Glynnis Evander again, listening to her talk about what her work on his tattoos had revealed. Scully entered and sat down, listening to the rest of Evander's presentation. "As you can see, they aren't laid out randomly on your body. They form a picture of some sort," she said. "A picture?" "Yes. A map if you will. At our first meeting, when you told us they were the names of the demons you were chasing, I thought it was just a listing with your body merely the paper it was written on. But I was getting nowhere with that paradigm. And then it hit me. I'm not reading a list. I'm reading Milton. I'm reading Dante." "Milton? Dante?" "Paradise Lost. The Inferno. I started reading them again because of you and that's when it hit me: your body isn't just a listing of names from hell. Your body is the glue that's keeping the names together. I've made some slides that'll help make it plainer." She turned on a multimedia projector and displayed a series of slides that gave three dimensional views of the tattoos once Stone's body was erased from the picture. They did appear to be forming something. "As you can see, there are some blank spaces that break the pattern." "Put my body back in and focus on those blank spots." He looked at his body and compared it to what was now on the screen. "Yeah, those spots are where some of the tattoos were," Stone explained. "Each time I send a demon back, it burns away." "Too bad we didn't have a picture of them," Evander said. "Now that you know their names, it might help in understanding the remaining tattoos." "I might be able to remember one or two of them," Stone said thoughtfully rubbing the space that had been occupied by the tattoo representing Gilbert Jax. "Have you been able to get to the point where you can tell him what any one of them says?" Skinner asked. "No sir, not yet, " Evander answered. "What are we looking at?" Stone asked. "The more I think about it, each one of these symbols is a brick, a truss, a retaining wall in a structure of some sort." She looked from Skinner to Scully to Stone. "I think it's some kind of representation of what hell is like." The room became eerily quiet, each being lost in their own thoughts. Skinner cleared his throat and broke the spell. "Well, whatever it is, you'll be doing the remainder of your deciphering out of the X-Files office. While Agent Scully is working with Agent Doggett to find Mulder, you will be the contact person for the X-Files, assisting Agent Bill Rogers with those cases he feels or I feel should be followed up on." Skinner turned back to Stone. "I brought you out here Zeke because I think a case that's just come to the X-Files may be one of your wayward demons." Skinner pressed the intercom button. "Kim, has Bill Rogers come in yet?" "No sir. Shall I-oh here he is. I'll send him right in." Skinner stood up with his hand extended as Rogers entered. "Good to see you again Bill." "Glad to be here, sir." "Glynnis Evander. Ezekiel Stone. Bill Rogers." "Your impression of the case now in your hands, Agent Rogers?" Skinner asked. "Well, if it is in the same vein as your original X-File, it's certainly paranormal. On the other hand, Detective Hopkins might be right. It might just be some Jeffrey Dahmer type. By your own admission, Agent Scully, the truly distinctive part of Tooms' MO is missing." "What's that?" Skinner asked. "Toom's being able to get to his victims in locked rooms." "You mean there might be someone else out there eating human livers?" Skinner asked. Stone sat upright. "Livers? The guy you're looking for eats livers?" "Yes. Human livers to be exact. Five of them give--gave him the wherewithal to hibernate for thirty years. If this were the same guy, we'd definitely have an X-File here. But Tooms has been dead for seven years." "These new attacks wouldn't happen to be taking place in Maryland would they?" Stone asked. "Yes. Baltimore." Stone looked at Skinner. "I think you're right Walter. This could be one of mine. And if he is, then it's the same killer." "What makes you think that might be the case?" Scully asked. "Onions in Maryland," Stone answered, smiling wryly as he thought of his last encounter with his demonic nemesis back in LA. 'How could a place so bureaucratic and ordinary produce anyone with the intelligence and imagination it took to catch him?' Tooms wondered as he listened to the Hoover tour guide. This wasn't at all the kind of place to produce the Fox Mulder that hounded him on the streets of Baltimore about a lost Irish wolfhound. At a particularly busy part of the building, Tooms easily slipped away from the tour and went into the nearest men's room where he took off his street clothes. Underneath he wore a simple janitorial uniform and for the rest of the day prowled the halls unnoticed or ignored as he checked out the layout of the building, especially the lay of the venting system. He now knew where the X-Files office was and had already caught several glimpses of Scully going in and out of it. He tried to attack her in her home the last time. He wouldn't make that mistake again. He'd take his time then take her in that office. He hadn't seen Mulder yet, but he had time. Forrester and Hopkins had gone to the Mall where Scully and Mulder had killed Tooms seven years ago. Forrester canvassed all the stores with flyers describing Tooms and posting a copy on all the cash registers. No one had seen him. Hopkins met with the mall's management and scoured the hidden recesses of the premises for signs of a new nest. But they found nothing. "I can tell you it was the most frightening, disgusting thing I'd ever seen in my life," the head security guard said. "I didn't think we'd ever have to worry about something like that again. But you bet your life I'll check periodically from now on." "Well I guess that's good news," Hopkins said as he shared his findings with Forrester in the car. "I don't think so," his partner answered. "If he doesn't go to familiar ground, we're gonna have a hell of a time catching him. Let's hope Stone and Bill have had better luck." "Jan, I have to tell you this is all freaking me out," Jerry Hopkins had to admit. "It wouldn't be an X-File Jerry if it didn't." On the other side of town Bill Rogers and Ezekiel Stone had gone to the Baltimore Bureau of Pest Control to confirm that they are after the same guy. The head of the department shook his head. "Well yeah this guy worked for us seven years ago. And weirdly enough thirty years ago according to our files. I guess personnel just thought he was a grandson or something." "Have you see him lately?" "No. And I can assure you this guy don't work for us now. But you know what? Hold on a minute." The man pushed an intercom and his voice boomed through the air. "Hey Stan. Hey Stan come up here, will ya?" He looked at Rogers and Stone. "You know, awhile back one of our men caught somebody snooping around here where he didn't belong. I didn't think nothing of it at the time-" "You wanted to see me Mike?" "Yeah. Take a look at this flyer. Is this the guy you caught prowling around here a few months back?" "Yeah. That's him. He was by the lockers, trying to find one that wasn't locked. Me and Bob chased him but he got away. Haven't seen him since though." "Here," the department head said, turning his attention back to Rogers and Stone. "Gimme a bunch of those flyers. I'll be glad to post his mug around just in case he tries to bogart his way in again." "Thanks." Stone said. "We'd appreciate that." He and Bill Rogers left to call Scully with their breakthrough. "Well Bill, is the jury still out on whether you're dealing with an X-File?" Stone asked. "Nope. I'm convinced." Stone looked at his watch. "I'm supposed to meet with Agent Evander. Why don't you meet up with Forrester and Hopkins, tell them what we've found and then meet me back at Hoover?" "Fine," Rogers said. But Zeke noticed Rogers didn't move. "What is it?" "I need to get something straight. Am I working on an X- File or with one?" "What?" Zeke asked. "You're dead?" "Right." "And you're back on earth because the devil wants you to hunt down about a hundred other dead people?" "Right. What's your real question?" "So now I know there's a hell, what's a heaven for?" Stone opened his mouth to answer but Forrester and Hopkins' car pulled up before he could. "Any luck?" Detective Forrester asked. "We hit the bulls' eye. He came sniffing around here awhile back." "So what do we do now?" "I don't see how you people can just stand there like this is some run of the mill perp we're after," Jerry Hopkins exclaimed. "Get the news stations to broadcast his face. He's got to be somewhere. Somebody's got to know who he is." "Definitely. The more people we get recognizing this guy, the sooner we can catch him, stop him and dispatch him back to hell." Scully looked over to Evander sitting in Mulder's chair, typing up a report on his computer. She couldn't put her finger on it but something about this woman reminded her so much of him. Evander had already gone toe to toe with Doggett earlier today. It kind of reminded Scully of her first clashes with Mulder in the old days. Exhausted from their arguing, both Evander and Doggett had turned to Scully as head of the unit for the final word. Now Scully knew how Skinner must feel. And Evander had even taken on Kersh, in a decidedly respectful but "I'm not taking any shit off of you either buddy" manner that made Scully want to stand up and cheer. Skinner was right. Evander would be a perfect guardian for the X-Files. "Glynnis, why don't you go home?" "Well I'm waiting for Detective Stone. He should be here soon." "Okay. I'm going upstairs to speak to Agent Doggett in the deputy director's office. That's where I'll be if you need me." "I hope I didn't make trouble for you Agent Scully. I guess I just don't know how to back down when I know I'm right." "Kersh and Doggett are small stuff. And you know what they say about small stuff right?" Evander shook her head no. "Don't sweat the small stuff. Skinner and I can handle Doggett and Kersh. You just keep on keeping on. Okay?" "Okay." Both women left the office, Scully to meet with Doggett; Evander to get water for the coffee maker. Tooms crawled quietly out of the vent in the hallway and slid into the darkness of the X-Files office and waited in a corner for his prey to return. Evander re-entered and turned on the light. She went over to the coffee maker and suddenly shivered, a chill running up her neck. She turned and screamed as Tooms leapt onto her. She screamed and screamed trying to fight him off. Tooms froze, having expected Scully, he was unprepared for the fiercely struggling woman beneath him. Evander slammed the glass container against the side of his head and momentarily won her freedom. She leapt to her feet and made for the door, but he was on her before she could get it open. He kicked it closed and pulled her back into the room. She kept screaming and fighting, the pain in her side was immense and slowly overwhelming her. She refused to give in. Someone had to hear her. Rogers left Stone to park the car and headed down the hall for the X-Files office, singing Englishman in New York when he heard Evander screaming. He sped down the hall and slammed the door open with his gun drawn. He watched Tooms raise a blood drenched hand, poised to gouge Evander in her side again. "Let her go, you son of a bitch!" he shouted. Tooms ignored him and thrust his hand down. Rogers aimed and fired, hitting Tooms but with no effect. Annoyed at being interrupted and dismayed that Mulder and Scully wouldn't be his fourth and fifth victims, Tooms thrust Evander aside and turned on Rogers who kept firing. Stunned that the bullets had no effect on Evander's assailant, Rogers soon found himself struggling hand to hand with him. They whirled around against some file cabinets. Tooms slammed Rogers' wrist against the top of one of them, forcing his gun to the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, Tooms saw Evander crawl to Mulder's desk and pick up the phone. Tooms slammed Rogers' head into the file cabinets and left him to slump on the floor. He pounced and was on Evander again in no time. Confronted by what looked like a storage area, Ezekiel Stone was convinced he had gone to the wrong floor and was about to step back onto the elevator when Evander's blood curdling scream stopped him. Stone raced toward the sound of her voice and through the open door saw Rogers on the floor, bleeding and Tooms straddling Evander with his bloodied hand raised to strike her again. "Tooms!" Stone shouted, turning the demon full toward him. The demon snarled defiantly in the dead detective's direction. Stone didn't hesitate and fired, hitting Tooms twice, first in the right then left eye. Bill Rogers watched as the demon leapt to his feet, holding his eyes trying to stop the flow of his essence from his body. They all watched as the blinding light of Tooms' essence filled the room and with one last angry shriek, the demon disappear. "Shit," Rogers whispered as he pressed his hand against the back of his head to stop the blood he felt trickling down his neck. He crawled over and held Evander, applying pressure to her wound to staunch her blood flow. "She gonna be all right?" Stone asked, nodding his head toward Evander as he picked up the phone and called Skinner's office. "It looks worse than it is," Rogers answered. "Easy for you to say," Evander gasped, grimacing as another pain shot up her side. "Skinner." "Walter, we got our man." Zeke said. "It was Tooms?" "Yeah. We got him." "And he got us," Rogers shouted. "We need a doctor down here quick. Maybe an ambulance too." "Hold on. Help is on the way." Just then Stone grimaced and grabbed his wrist as a familiar searing pain burned away at his flesh. He pulled up his sleeve and all three of them watched the brand disappear. Stone hung up and looked over at Evander who was smiling inexplicably at him. Her eyes were resting on the bare patch of skin where Tooms' tattoo had been. "Another piece of the puzzle falls into place," Stone said. "Another piece of the puzzle falls into place," Evander repeated, reaching up and gently touching his arm. "What the fuck?" Rogers asked. He looked back to where Tooms had once been then looked at Ezekiel. "What just happened there -- these demons you're hunting -- they could do that to you?" Stone nodded. "I'd start wearing some protective eye gear if I were you." They all laughed just as Skinner and Scully came running into the office. Skinner stood at the door and watched as Scully tended to the injured agents of her unit. She had EMS down in no time and bundled Evander off to the hospital with a protesting Bill Rogers being dragged along by Zeke Stone. Skinner smiled as listened to their voices receding down the hallway. "I don't need stitches! It's just a scratch!" "Who's the doctor here? If I say you need stitches, you need stitches." "I'm not going to the hospital I tell you!" "Don't tell me what you are and aren't going to do," Skinner heard Scully snap. "I'm the head of this unit and you'll do what I tell you. You're going to the hospital and you're going to get stitches. End of story." Rogers must have tried to say something because Scully repeated her last three words more forcefully. So forcefully they echoed down the hallway. "End of story!" Skinner got up, turned off the light and closed the door. "End of story," Skinner repeated softly. "But not the end of the X-Files." End