From: sumrall@delphi.com (L. Sumrall)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: MASKS    1/17
Date: 20 Feb 1996 05:46:40 GMT


                                MASKS
Part 1

Carmel, Indiana
7:01 PM

 Alana Petrow sat down on the edge of her teenage daughter's bed. Cool
washcloth in handshe wiped away the sweat dotting Tina's face. "Is
the medicine helpingny, honey?"
 Tina's dry tongue attpted to wet her cracked lips. Seeing her distress,
Alana reached for alass of water on the nightstand and held it up
for Tina to take a sip. "Not so fast, or it will come back ."
 Her mouth and lips wet again, Tina's head fell back against the 
pillow. "I think I can keep it down," she croaked.
 "Good, good." Alana set the glass backdown, then softly stroked her
daughter's pale cheek. "If you can keep the water down, do you think
you could stand to eat something?"
 "I am kinda feeling hungry."
 "That's a sign that you're getting better, then. I've made some old
fashioned chicken soup, the sure cure for the flu. You alway liked
my chicken soup. I'll bring you up a bowl. I'll even let you eat
crackers in bed. How does that sound?"
 Tina did her best to smile. "Yeah, I'd like that."
 Alana tucked the blankets in around her. "Let me see how Willie's
doing and I'll bring it right up." She leaned over and brushed a
kiss across Tina's forehead.
 Down the hallAlana stepped in to her young son'room. "Do you
need anything, baby? Willie was nothing but a hump underneath the covers. From beneath
his blankets he complained, "Mommy, I'm still cold."
 She bent down and adjusted the wall heater. Just in case, she went
to the linen closet and brought back an extra blanket, spreading it
over the mound that was her son. She picked up a corner so she cou
peer inside. Willie's small body ivered.
 "I've got some soup made up. Do you think you could eat some?"
 "N-no." Willie's teeth chattered. "Mommy, I'm cold!"
 "Honey, I turned up the heat. Just give it a minute to warm up the
room. Do you want me to fix you another hot water bottle?"
 "Yes."
 She reached into the darkness and wrestled the water bottle out
from beneath his body. Despite his protestations of cold, to her
touch it was sweltering in there. 
 There was one last patient to check on. She opened the door to her
bedroom to ask her husband if he wanted anything, but the steady
snores kept hert bay. Right now Ned needed sleep re than he
needed soup.
 Alana thumped down the steps. The house was areck since she
didn't have time to clean. She was beginning to wonder if it
had been wise, turning down her mother-in-law's offer to help.
Setting the water bottle down on the countertop, she went over
to the stovehere a huge pot simmered. She stirred the soup
with a ladle. Warm, golden scents wafted up. She could taste the
smell. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her it was her dinner time
as well. But first she had to take care of her family.

 Tina's eyelids were getting heavier and heavier. Her body was a
conflict of demands. She truly felt she could keep the soup down,
but she had finally gotten her aching body into a comfortable
position and her mind was starting to drift.
 She was floating in that netherworld between waking and sleeping,
where dreams hadn't quite gotten hold, but she was still see things
she knew weren't really there. For instance, out of the corner of
her eye, she watched as her bedroom window slowly rose. The lucid
part of her knew it really wasn't happening. After l, her mother
wouldn't let the cool night air into her sick room. But Tina didn't
have the strength to wake herself fully and turn her head toee
that the window was securely shut.

 Alana reached up into the cupboard and pulled out a china bowl,
laing it full with a healthy helping of soup. She went over to
the breadox and pulled out a package of crackers, laying them
beside the bowl. ening a drawer, she pulled out a son. 

 Images flitted through Tina's vision. She wasn't sure if her
eyes were open or closed. She could hear her mother moving
around downstairs in the kitchen. From Willie's room came the
sound of the TV set, a Bugs Bunny cartoon playing. She could
see the dark figure slithering through the window and onto the
bedroom floor.
 *Oh great, I'm going to have a nightmare.*
 She felt so detached from her body. Everything was real, yet
unreal. She heard the distinctive 'beep beep' of the roadrunner
as the contorted face of the intruder hored over her bed. The
eyes were sefar back into the face, the color undistinguishable.
The cheekbones were uneven, one higher than the other. The mouth
was small and puckered, twisted upwards on one side. There was no
hair, and Tina saw the ridges poking up under the skin.
 *I'm dreaming. Therefore, if I know I'm dreamg, I can control
the dream. Simple as that. Make it go away.*
 "Go away." Her throat was dry again and clong up, so the words
came out as a husky whisper.
 But the horrible visage didn't go away. Instead, it cameloser,
close enough for Tina to make out more details. The skin was all
wrong. It didn't look real, it looked...fake. There was a hard
ring around the eyes, with a difference in tone between the color
of the rest of the face and the color immediately around the eyes.
 *It's a mask. It's wearing a mask.*
 Somewhere in Willie's room, Sylvester was spitting out, "Sufferin'
Succotash!"

 Alana turned off the tap and twisted the plastic top back into the
water bottle. If she were careful, she'd be able to carry it under
her arm as she carried up the tray, thus cutting out an extra trip.
Now, was there anything she had forgotten?
 Of course!
 She snapped her fingers, making a smart turn in the direction of
the pantry. She reached up and pulled the chain, turning on the
overhead light. is was her domain, where everything had it's
proper place. To the right, canned goods, with all labels turned
to face front. To the left, jarsf preserves. To the back,
miscellaous foods. No one else dared venture into Mother's pantry
for fear of ssing up the order and never hearing the end of it.
 Alana stood on tiptoe, moving aside several jars of green beans,
until she could reach into the back. Her fingertips felt around,
brushing against the back wall, until she hit upon what she was
searching for.
 It was a small bottle, the label partly worn off. The glass was
brown, making the color of the liquid inside unidentifiable. A
rubber stopper capped it off. Alana turned the light off as she
shook up the contents to make sure they were mixed well.

 It was reaching out for her. Tina shrank back as far as she
could against the pillow. Why wasn't it going away? She wanted
to scream, but she was frozen with fear. It's fingers shook
slightly as it came closer to her face. Dirt was packed 
underneath the broken and chipped nails.
 It gently grasped Tina's chin, rning her head left and right,
as 's unfathomable eyes drank in every detail. 
 It's mouth didn't move, proving even more it was wearing a mask,
as a high-pitched male voice whispered, "You're not the chosen
one,ut you'll thank me for this later."

 Alana carefully measured out the liquid in the stopper. Three
drops;ne, two, three, into the bowl of soup. Screwing the lid
back on, she picked up the spoon and swirled it around the bowl,
mixing the two together.
 Awkwardly tucking the hot water bottle up under her arm, she
slid one hand underneath the tray, spreading it wide to give
a broader base of balance. Her knees slightly bent so she
wouldn't jar the bowl, she walked slowly towards the stairs.

 Tina's mouth fell open when the man released her chin. She
sucked in as deep a breath as possible and screamed.
 "Mom!
 It came out as a pitiful squeak, cracking at the end. A 
commercial for Liquid Plummer came out loud from her
brother's room, coveringp Tina's warning.
 The man in the mask turned away from her, unconcerned with
her attempts of alerting herother. He peeked around the door
jamb, looking up and down the hall, then slipped out of her
room.
 Callinon the last of her reserves, Tina sat up. Her head
immediately started swimming.
 "Mom! Dad!" Nothing but a whisper.
 She tried to sling her ft out of the bed. Her dizziness
caused her to lose her balance, and she began slidding down
to the floor. She grabbed onto a sheet, trying to right her
body back up, but not before her head hit the corner of the
bedside table.

 Alana hadn't made it out of the kitchen when she heard the
thump upstairs. Had something been knocked over? Had someone
fallen out of bed? Alana quickly sat the tray and water bottle
back down.
 "Tina? Willie? What was that noise?"

 Tina dug her fingers into the carpet, painfully dragging her
weak body towards the doorway.
 "Mom!" This time nothing came out at all. Her voice had given
out on her.

 Alana stood at the bottom of the stairs. "Ned? Kids? Is everything
allight?"

 Willie huddled tighter into a fetal position, trying to conserve
what little body heat he had left. He wished Mommy would hurry up
and come ck with the hot water bottle. He also wanted her to
turn the tv off. It was too loud and getting on his nerves.

 Ned didn't roll over. He was dead to the world after his wife
had brought him up the Nyquil.

 Tears blinded Tina's eyes. She had to do something. They should
have listened to her. They should have allowed her to have a phone
in her room. She could have called the police by now.

 Alana started up the stairs. She was getting worried now. No one
had answered her calls of concern. What had made that thumping
noise?

 Tina crawled on, inch by inch, her arms shaking from the exertion.

 Alana's vision cleared the top of the steps as she quickly checked
the status of the house. Ned's dooras closed to keep out the
light. Willie's door was closed to keep in t heat. Tina's door
was open and...
  My goodness, what's that?
 Since it was the last thing she had ever expectd to see in her
home, it was the last thing to register in her mind what was
clearly standing in the middle of the hallway. Alana put her
hand on her chest, feeling her heart start to triphammer inside.
 It was ugly, whatever it was. Was it supposed to be human? It 
had arms and legs of a man, covered with tight fitting black
clothing. It's face was mangled, twisted in pain. Had it been
born that way? Or had it been in some sort of accident? It was
hunched over, shoulders rolled down and knees bent.
 Alana opened her mouth, about to demand who or what it was,
when the figure reached behind it's back and brought out a
long knife. The words died in her throat.
 It took a step forward.
 She took a step back down the stairs.
 It tooknother step forward.
 She took another step down, her fingers biting into the wood
of the banister.
 "This can't be happening. This can't be happening. This can't
be happening," kept running through her head. "My God, th
is Indiana!"

 Tina finally reached the door jamb. Her body screamed for rest,
but this was one time it was going to listen to her. Wrapping
her hand around the wood gave her better leverage, and she
pulled herself through the doorway. It was just in time to 
see the head of the intruder disappearing down the stairs.
 Tina opened her mouth to scream.
 "Mom!"
 If she had made a noise, it was covered up by the screams of
her mother coming from downstairs.

 Willie ventured to poke his head out. What was that noise? He
looked over at the television set at the end of his bed. Porky
Pig was busting tough the end credits, waving goodbye.
 "Th-th-th-that's all folks!"  


===========================================================================

From: sumrall@delphi.com (L. Sumrall)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: MASKS: Snafu
Date: 20 Feb 1996 06:49:16 GMT


Ya know, somewhere along the way, I've messed up. So therefore,
I will repost part 2 (ignore the other one) with the missing
parts I could have sworn were in there. Maybe, just maybe, 
this will help make more sense.

                            MASKS
Part 2

Carmel Memorial Hospital
10:22 AM
    
 The words on the page were starting to blur. Dana Scully wiped her
eyes and gave her head a little shake. "Wake up, now," she ordered
herself. She must be getting soft. In her intern days, when a doctor
was expected to be awake and alert at a moment's notice, it hadn't
been a problem for her at all. Now, though, she noticed if she 
didn't get a full eight hours of sleep, she was slow and irritable
until the afternoon when her biorhythms kicked in.
 Mulder had called her sometime between four and five o'clock in 
the morning. By the excited sound of his voice, he had had no
trouble waking up. "Scully, he's struck again. Indiana. But this
time we've got a witness!"
 They had decided on the plane to go to the hospital first to
interview the surviving Petrow family members before heading out
to the crime scene.
 "Here." Scully looked up as Mulder walked over to her, a steaming
styrofoam cup in his hands. "This is from the nurses' special
stock. If this doesn't wake you up, I don't know what will."
 Scully smiled as she took the offered cup. "Thanks. I'm sorry,
Mulder. I should've gone to bed earlier."
 "Hey, it's okay. We didn't know we were going to get the call
in the middle of the night."
 Detective Holden walked up to the pair, an envelope in his hands.
"I'm afriad we don't have the black and whites yet, but they sent
the Polaroids over. Hope it helps."
 Mulder shook the square pictures out into his hands, handing half
of the stack over to Scully. She turned the pictures upright before
taking a real look. The polaroids wouldn't show as much detail as
the black and whites, but it showed enough. The woman's face had
several shallow gashes, the longest one running from her hairline
down across her nose to end in the middle of her left cheek. On
her forearms were deeper cuts, where she had tried to fend off
the attacker. The cuts were clean, no tearing, betraying the
killer's weapon as a sharply honed instrument. Mulder showed
Scully the picture of the killing cut. The woman had been
eviscerated.
 Dr. Lamb stepped out into the hallway. "I've given Tina a
sedative, but it hasn't kicked in yet. Now's the time to talk
to her. Make it short, and try to be as gentle as possible."
 Before they went in, Mulder stuffed the pictures of Tina's
mother back into the envelope. As she handed him the last
photo, Scully said softly, "Mulder, Alana Petrow was most
likely still alive when the killer pulled her intestines out."
 Scully walked over to the girl's beside and took Tina's limp
hand into her own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Tina, my
name is Dana. Dana Scully. I work for the FBI. This man is my
partner, Fox Mulder." Tina's eyes briefly flickered over
Mulder, then returned to the woman. She didn't say anything.
 "Tina, we need you're help. What this man has done is a 
terrible thing. We know because he's done it before. He's
hurt other people as well. That's why Fox and I are here. We're
gonig to catch this man. We're going to stop him before he
hurts anyone else. We'll make sure he pays for what he's 
done, but first we need you, Tina. You're our best hope for
stopping him."
 Tina blinked several times, then opened her mouth a crack.
"I...I tried," she whimpered. A tear slipped out and rolled
down into her hair.
 Scully soothingly brushed the top of Tina's head. "I know,
honey. That was a very brave thing for you to do, to try to
help your mother. You're a strong woman."
 The tears were starting to build up. "But I didn't..."
 "Tina." Mulder came up on the other side of the bed, reaching
around the IV stand to gently touch her arm. "You did more
than anyone could have done in your condition. By crawling
to your father's bedroom and calling the police, you saved
your father and brother's life, as well as your own."
 Tina sniffed. "But not Mom."
 Scully wiped away a tear. "Tina, you can still help your
mom. You can help her by telling us everything you can remember
about what happened. Everything. It doesn't matter how small
or insignificant something may seem, it could be important.
Don't hold anything back."
 Tina swallowed. "He came in through the window. I thought it
was a dream. I was sleepy, and I thought he wasn't real."
 "We understand."
 "He--he was leaning over me, looking at me. I couldn't say
anything. I was so scared.
 "It's alright. Go on."
 "He was looking at me. Touching me. His fingers were dirty."
 Mulder perked up. "How, dirty? Was it soil? Dust? Oil?"
 Holden spoke up for the first time. "It may have been from
climbing up to her bedroom. There's a tree outside the window."
 "His lips didn't move."
 All three turned back to look down at the girl. "What?" Mulder
asked.
 "His lips didn't move. When he talked to me, they didn't move.
I--I think he was wearing a mask."
 Scully and Mulder looked at each other. This was the first clue
they had ever had concerning what the killer looked like.
 "What did the mask look like, honey?"
 "It went over his head. It was ugly. There was no hair on it."
 "What color?"
 "Flesh. It tried to look like skin. But up close, I could tell.
It didn't match him."
 Mulder's brow creased. Didn't match him? "What do you mean, Tina?"
 "When he was looking at me, I could see the skin around his eyes.
He didn't match the mask."
 Scully checked to make sure Holden was writing this all down. She
didn't want to get too excited, but she was getting that old feeling
that they were about to make a major breakthrough. "Can you tell us
what color his skin is? Was he dark?"
 Tina's eyes started to unfocus. The sedative was beginning to work
on her weakened body. NO! She squeezed Scully's hand tight, forcing
herself to continue. "He was...olive skin."
 Mulder turned away to smile, the adrenaline coursing through his
veins. Scully could see Tina was wearing down, and that they had
better wrap this up quickly. "Tina, you mentioned he said something
to you. Do you remember what it was?"
 The woman's voice sounded hollow, as if coming through a tunnel.
Tina felt the blackness swirling around her. "He said I wasn't the
chosen one. He said I would be thankful. He said..." her words
were coming out slower and slurred. "He said I would thank him
for what he was going to do."
 "Tina. Tina." Mulder leaned in close. "Don't leave us yet. One 
last thing. DId he speak with an accent? Did he sound foreign?
Did he have a lisp?"
 Tina's head was falling to her side, her eyes drifting close. 
"He sounded like a girl..."
 "She out." Mulder walked over to Detective Holden, who was still
scribbling like mad. "Call down to the station. Tell them we have
a partial description of the suspect we're looking for. A male,
late twenties to early thirties, olive complexion, high pitched
voice. Judging from the cuts on the victim's body, he wasn't that
much taller than she was. I'd say about 5'6", 5'7". Not very
heavy, either, say 130 to 140 pounds. Lean build, but strong. 
Quick and agile. I'll work onthe psychological profile after we've
visited the crime scene."
 Holden nodded and headed for the door. "I'll have Winston drive
you down there."
 Mulder turned to his partner, who was still beside Tina's bed
holding her hand. "Scully? She's asleep now. Let's let her rest.
She'll need all the strength she can get."
 "She's got plenty of strength already," Scully replied. She 
patted Tina's hand, then set about untangling her fingers from
the girl's grip, when something caught her eye.
 Mulder, standing at the door holding it open, waited for her.
"Scully?"
 Dana reached across the bed to grab the other hand, holding it
up to the light. 
 "What is it?"
 She didn't turn around, still intent on studying Tina's hands. 
She called over her shoulder, "Mulder, would you ask Dr. Lamb
to come in here please."
 Mulder stepped out into the hallway. "Dr. Lamb? Agent Scully
would like to speak with you." He started to go back in the 
room with Lamb when he was stopped by another detective.
 "Agent Mulder, there's some press outside. We're gonna have
to take the back door. Unless you wanted to speak with them,
make a statement."
 "It's too early for that, but we may be able to use them later
when--" Mulder stopped when he witnessed his partner and Lamb
quickly leave Tina's room, briskly walking down the hall. Mulder
had to run to catch up with them. "What's going on?"
 Scully didn't have time to answer as they practically burst
into Willie Petrow's room, startling the nurse who was checking
the boy's temperature. She jumped out of the way. Mulder thought
to himself that if Tina looked weak, Willie was even worse off.
The boy's skin was a pasty white. His body shook uncontrollably
with chills. An oxygen tube lay across his face under his nose.
 "What's wrong?" Mulder asked. He was getting tired of being
ignored, especially by Scully.
 She and the doctor each took up one of Willie's hands and
studied his fingertips.
 "My God," Lamb hissed. "Why didn't I notice this before?"
 Scully dropped Willie's hand and pulled back the covers so
she could check his toes. Before returning the blankets back
into place, she nodded to the doctor. "What were they
initially being treated for?" she asked.
 "When they were brought in, Mr. Petrow said they had all been
suffering from the flu, except for the victim. I had mainly
been concerned about dehydration. With the boy here, I
attributed his cold chills to shock. We had done a thorough
physical examination to see if anyone else in the family had
been attacked--"
 "I want their entire blood work redone," she ordered.
 "I'll see to it myself." Lamb raced from the room.
 "Scully, will you please tell me what is going on?"
 "Tina's fingertips are blue. Willie's fingertips and toes
as well. Most likely, so is the father's. Look here." She
held up Willie's hand again. "See these white marks underneath
the nails? Also, breathing is shallow and difficult, heartbeat
erratic. We thought the killer had left the rest of the family
alone, focusing solely on the mother. We were wrong."
 "What do you think the bloodwork will show?"
 "Poison." 

Petrow Residence
11:43 AM

  The entire living room was blood soaked. Tape had been laid
down on the carpet to show where Alana Petrow's body had been
found, with X's to mark how far out her intestines had been
strewn. Mulder and Scully both snapped on their latex gloves.
Mulder gingerly stepped over and around the blood stains
on the carpet and then bounded up the stairs while Scully
stayed below.
  "Listen up," she instructed the evidence crew. "We believe
the suspect may have poisoned the rest of the family. I want
a complete search of the house and grounds again. There may
be a syringe or a tube or a bottle, something. Look especially
around the tree outside Tina's window. He might have dropped
a piece of evidence when he climbed into her room. He may
have poisoned something they ingested. I want every bit of
food, any glass you find around the house, taken in to the
lab."
  "There's a pot of soup on the stove in here," someone
shouted from the kitchen.
  Scully raced in the direction of the voice. "Get that. Over
here, there's a bowl of it on this tray. Get a sample of that
as well. Everything in the refrigerator, take it in."
  "Aw man, this is gonna take forever," she heard a man
grumble. She shot him a cold look more lethal than any poison.
  "There are three people who's lives are at stake. We don't
have forever. We've got to find out what kind of poison has
been used so we can counteract it."
  Her eyes went over the kitchen once again, searching for 
anything she may have forgotten. She spotted several jars of
various sizes sitting on the counter top next to the stove.
"Wait a minute, get these spices here." She went over and
started picking up the jars, handing them over to a police
woman.
  She heard Mulder coming back down the steps. He was
carrying something in his hand. "I found a bottle of Nyquil
in the father's room. They're cleaning out the medicine
cabinet right now. What's that?"
  Scully was holding up a small brown bottle with a rubber
stopper. "I don't know. It was sitting here among the spices."
  "Surely we couldn't be so lucky as to have the killer finally
make a humongous slip up and leave incriminating evidence
out in plain sight like this."
  Scully unscrewed the stopper and held the bottle up
under her nose. She looked into Mulder's eyes. "Maybe our
luck has changed."

Carmel Memorial Hospital

  "What the fuck are you saying?"
  Mulder and Scully exchanged an uncomfortable look. Mulder
subconsciously ran his fingers through his hair. "Mr. Petrow,
Iknow this is difficult to hear--"
  "What the FUCk are you SAYING!"
  Petrow reared up from his bed, then fell back gasping for
breath. Dr. Lamb rushed over and checked his patient. "Mr.
Petrow, you have to remain calm."
  "Remain calm!?" Ned shouted indignantly. "How the fuck
am I supposed to stay calm? My wife is murdered--slaughtered
like an animal in our own home, and now these two fucking
G-men try to tell me my wife, the mother of my children,
was POISONING us!"
  "Mr. Petrow," Mulder tried again. "The evidence is 
practically absolute. The blood work on your family shows
you've all been exposed to small doses of cyanide over a
long period of time. The symptoms you were experiencing that
you thought were flu related were actually a result of the
poison in your systems."
  "Shut up! You're liars! You're incompetent fools who don't
know what you're doing! I know Alana. She would never, ever
harm one hair on her children's heads."
  Scully cleared her throat. "Mr. Petrow, you never knew
Alana at all. We did a background check on your wife and
discovered some things you may not be aware of. Like the fact
her real name is not Alana, she was not born in Lockerton,
Michigan, nor was she born on the date she has listed on her
driver's license--"
  "Get out! Get out! You bunch of fucking liars!" Ned made
a futile swing in Mulder's direction, falling well short of
connecting. Mulder stepped back nevertheless.
  Dr. Lamb and a nurse had to physically restrain Petrow.
Scully grabbed Mulder's arm and pulled him forcefully out of 
the room. They found themselves the center of attention
as Petrow kept shouting obscenities after them. Without
meeting anyone's eyes, they made straight for the elevator.
They didn't say anything for a moment after the doors closed
on them.
  "Well," Mulder sighed.
  "Well."
  "That went...that went rather...that was... Yeah."
  "Yeah."
  The bell dinged.
  "I need a drink."
  "So do I."


===========================================================================

From: sumrall@delphi.com (L. Sumrall)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: MASKS   3/17
Date: 20 Feb 1996 06:17:03 GMT


                            MASKS
Part 3

 They chose a booth in the back, not so much because they
wanted privacy, but because the booth was the farthest one
away from the jukebox. Scully waited until after their drinks
had been served before saying anything about the case.
 "Mulder, I've been thinking. In an ironic twist of fate, this
man, this monster who viciously murdered Alana Petrow--or Cindy
Wilhoit, or whatever name you want to give her--in effect, by
killing her, he saved three lives. It's like he told Tina: she'd
thank him for it later."
 He took a swallow of his beer. "It makes you wonder. Who's the
real monster? A man who rips the insides out before the living
eyes of his victim, or a woman who patiently, cold-bloodedly
poisons the very children she gave birth to."
 Dana swirled the ice cubes in her glass with her finger, her
other hand propping up her chin. "How did he know? No one in
her family suspected her. No one in the town had an ill word to
say about the woman. How did *he* know what she was doing?"
 Mulder shrugged. "Maybe he was in on it from the beginning. 
Perhaps they were partners in a scam to collect the life 
insurances, and killed her when he thought she was cutting
him out of the deal." He shook his head. "What am I saying?
It's too logical for this case, and so far nothing has been
logical about it."
 "That's the truth. His killing MO was still the same, though.
Ripping and slashing. When the poisoning came into the picture,
it didn't feel right. That's not his style. But who would
have thought what the outcome would be." She took a sip of her
martini.
 They fell into a comfortable silence, both contemplating this
boggling killing spree. So far they had been able to connect
at least twenty murders to their suspect, with ten more they
couldn't quite concretely pin on him. There wasn't a preferred
sex, a preferred age, or a preferred social strata. They could
detect no hidden messages in the murders themselves, and unlike
other classic serial killers, this killer didn't want to be
found. He didn't care if he baffled the police or not. This wasn't
a game. No trophies were taken from the victims. The bodies were
found strewn (sometimes literally) from every corner of the
United States. He had no set pattern of travel, no specific
'hunting ground'. He killed, and he went on. But why did he kill?
And what criteria did he follow in the choosing who to kill?
 "He wears a mask," Muler said, breaking the silence between
them. "He's distancing himself from the killings. He's not
the one committing the murders, it's the one in the mask. He
doesn't wear it so much as to hide his identity from his
victims, but to hide his identity from himself."
 "It's an ugly mask," Scully said, picking up the ball. "It
reflects the ugliness inside of him. He knows what he's doing
is wrong, but he can't help himself. Maybe, while the mask
itself is hideous, he is in fact a handsome man."
 "No, no," Mulder disagreed. "He's a small man with a high-
pitched voice. To any other guy, we'd consider him a wimp.
Was probably picked on his entire life, maybe abused at home.
The only time he feels strong is when he's wearing the mask.
When he's not wearing it, it's reasonable to assume he'd
do anything to fade into the background. To not be noticed.
To not draw attention and thus become a target for bullies.
The bullies in school, his fellow classmates. The bullies
now, the authorities trying to capture him."
 Scully was getting caught up in their brainstorming session.
"He wears non-descript clothing. No eye contact with anyone.
Hunches over when he walks, trying to make himself physically
smaller. May look like a homeless man, our greatest population
of invisible people."
 "Speaking of being invisible." Mulder was looking over her
shoulder. Scully turned her head to see who had come into the
bar.
 Rosalyn Greene, simply known as Ros, ambled over to their booth,
hooking a chair in the process and invited herself to the party.
 "What are you doing way back here in the dark?" she asked. "I
almost didn't see you."
 Mulder snorted into his beer. "We should be so lucky." As usual,
Ros ignored him.
 "What are you doing here," Scully asked.
 "What do you think? I'm reporting. What are you doing here?"
 "Isn't it obvious?" Mulder answered. "We're getting stinking
drunk."
 Ros rubbed her hands together. "Ah, taxpayers money at work. I
sense another investigative report in the making. Speaking of
money..." She slapped her hands down on the table and shouted,
"Waitress! Bring my friends another round. This one's on me."
 Mulder got choked on his drink. "Did I hear you right? Did I
hear you say *you* were paying for it?"
 "Who died and left you money," Scully inquired.
 "Brace yourselves. Yours truly has actually gotten a raise
from the 'Weekly Globe Report'."
 "Now I'm sensing something," Mulder deadpanned. "I'm sensing
a price hike. We'll have to pay .89 cents now to read the rag."
 "I think she's lying," Scully teased as the waitress came to
refresh their drinks.
 "Would I lie to you?" Ros asked in mock offense.
 "Yes," they said in unison.
 "All right, maybe a little bit. But I'm not lying now. I really
did get a raise and I really am paying for this round, and any
other round after it."
 Scully smiled. "Trying to get us likkered up, eh? Get our lips
loose and flapping about a certain murder case?"
 "Nah." Ros glanced over at Mulder. "I just like to see Fox
throw up all over his nice suit."
 "Ros, that wouldn't be the worst thing I've ever gotten on my
suit."
 "So." Ros put her elbows on the table and rested her head on
her fists. "You never did tell me what you two are doing here
hiding in a bar. Why aren't you at the crime scene?"
 "Been there," Mulder replied.
 "Done that," Scully added.
 "Okay, then why aren't you at the hospital interviewing the
witnesses?"
 "That too," Mulder said.
 "Twice over."
 "Fine. Are you not going to help out with the state wide road
blocks?"
 "They've got our number if something comes up." Mulder up-ended
the beer bottle and sucked out the last of the dregs, then pushed
it aside to go for the fresh bottle.
 "Let's see if I've got this straight." Ros ticked off the points
on her fingers. "You've already been to the crime scene and done
as much as you can. You've already talked with the witnesses and
learned all there is to learn. You're not really necessary to
the road blocks and searches being conducted by the state and
local police. Put that all together and the only obvious conclusion
is...you've been stumped again."
 "Waitress!" Scully shouted. "Bring this woman a lollipop."
 "Uh, Scully. Maybe you should ease back on those martinis,"
Mulder warned.
 Scully waved her hand in dismisal. "Nah, I'm okay."
 "As a matter of fact we are not stumped." Mulder felt the need
to defend themselves. "We were sitting here doing a bit of
brainstorming on the case until we were so rudely interrupted."
 "Waitress!" Ros called out. "Stop rudely interrupting these
people. They're brainstorming."
 Mulder continued. "We've actually had a big break. A description
of the killer."
 "Yeah, yeah. I read the APB. That only describes the outside."
She leaned closer to Mulder and batted her eyelashes. "Why don't
you tell me what he's like on the *inside*. What makes him
tick? What makes him kill?"
 Mulder rested his chin on the heel of his hand, swaying his face
closer to hers. "Sweetheart, your guess is as good as mine."
 "Mulder, do you realize you just called her 'sweetheart'? I think
you better cut back on those beers."
 "Nah, I'm okay."
 Ros sat back up straight in her chair, hands flat on the table, a
habit of hers. "Do you really want to hear my guess?"
 "No," Scully said.
 "Yes," Mulder replied at the same time.
 Ros took a breath. "If you look at his victims, there is a pattern
to them."
 ""But we have looked at his victims," Scully slurred slightly. "We
didn't see a pattern."
 "For instance, take his last two victims."
 Mulder wiped a hand across his brow, finding it hard for his
photographic mind to recall the last two. "Um, you mean the
businessman in North Carolina?"
 "And the drug lord in Chicago," Ros supplied.
 "What the connection? Besides being killed," Scully asked.
 "Look at their histories. Sure, the drug lord was ruining other
people's lives by peddling his crack, but why was he doing it?
To pay the enormous medical bills being run up by his sick
mother. Selling drugs was the only way he knew how to get the 
kind of money he needed. Now, look at the other side of the coin.
 Here's an influential philanthropic businessman. Constantly 
donating to charities, actively involved in fundraisers,
practically keeping the entire town of Broadpoint employed while
the rest of the state suffers an economic depression. But, this
businessman happens to own a papermill which has been linked
to hundreds of reported cases of cancer in a town downriver
from where the mill is dumping it's waste products.
 Are you seeing the connection? Each victim, in his or her own
way, is doing something good, yet at the same time doing
something bad."
 Mulder and Scully looked at each other.
 "And a beloved mother is poisoning her family," he murmured.
 "What!" Ros jumped in her seat. "She was poisoning her
family! Alana Petrow was killing her family! You didn't tell
me that!"
 Scully lashed out with her foot at Mulder's shin, but
miscalculated and hit Ros' knee instead. "Ow!"
 "Sorry." Scully kicked again.
 "Ow!" Mulder cried out.
 Dana massaged her temples. "What is that ringing noise?"
 "I believe it's your cell phone," Ros offered as she
rubbed her wounded knee.
 "Oh God. Oh God." Dana fanned her face. "We've gotta be
sober now. Okay. Straighten up."
 "Maybe I should answer it." Ros started reaching across
Scully for her coat. Scully smacked her hand. After 
several seconds of searching and missing her coat pocket,
she finally located her cellular phone and flipped it
open.
 "Hello," she enunciated carefully. "This is Dana Scully.
Of the FBI. Uh-huh. Um, could you...could you repeat that
please? Oh, okay. We're on our way. Yes. Yes. Bye. Bye.
Hello?" Certain no one was on the line any longer, she
closed the phone up.
 "Who was that," Mulder asked.
 "It was...somebody. That guy we talked to earlier. Holden.
Yeah. He said there's been an incident in a town near here.
Ullin? Omen? Aban?"
 "Evrahn?" Ros filled in the blank.
 "Evrahn, right. Anyway, this guy was trying to convince a
truck driver that yes, it was his company's policy to pick
up hitchhikers. When the driver resisted, the hitcher 
sliced his neck with a knife and ran away. The driver
survived. The highway patrol is tightening the perimeter
around Evrahn as we speak."
 "He's killing in desperation now, not design," Mulder 
theorized. "We've got to get to Evrahn." He shot up to his
feet, then quickly sat back down. "Whoa, I should've eaten
before downing those beers."
 Ros stood up, setting the chair aside, and held out her
hand. "Of course you know, friends don't let friends drive
drunk."
 Mulder looked at Scully, who was in no better shape than 
he was, and resigned himself to his fate. He reached into
his pocket and pulled out the keys to the rented Saturn,
slapping them into the palm of her hand. "You'll never let
us live this down, will you?"
 "Don't worry about it, Fox. I'll slip through a drive-thru
and get some coffee. By the time we get to Evrahn, you'll
be all right." She paused to help guide Scully's arm into her 
coat sleeve. "Don't forget to pay the bar bill."
 "Oh yeah. Right. Thanks." 
                            

===========================================================================

From: sumrall@delphi.com (L. Sumrall)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: MASKS   4/17
Date: 20 Feb 1996 06:19:00 GMT


                        MASKS
Part 4

Evrahn, Indiana
  It was dusk by the time the trio reached their destination.
Empty coffee cups littered the floorboards, and Scully was
chewing on some aspirin she'd dug out of the bottom of her
purse. She thought it was almost eerie, as they cruised 
through the empty streets. The highway patrol had strenuously
urged the population to remain at home, with all doors and
windows locked. An impromptu curfew had been set, and anyone
caught out on the streets without proper identification or
reason were being taken to the local police station to be
questioned.
  The only traffic they had encountered so far were police
cars driving slowly up and down streets and through back
alleys. You had to say one thing about the Indiana HP. They
were on the ball.
  "Pull up beside him," Mulder ordered Greene. He rolled
down the window as she stopped the car beside the trooper's
vehicle. "Anything?"
  "No reports of stolen cars, sir. I think it's safe to
assume the suspect is still on foot."
  "I don't think he will take a car. Not by himself." Scully
leaned forward over the front seat. "He had an opportunity
already to take a vehicle when he cut that truck driver. He
didn't."
  "Which might mean he doesn't know how to drive a stick
shift." Mulder could see her train of thought. "And if he's
the migrant, homeless person we're profiling him to be..."
  "Then he may never have learned how to drive at all," Ros
concluded.
  "He couldn't have gotten far on foot," the trooper said. "He's
still in Evrahn. Holing up somewhere, hiding. We'll have to
serach every single inch of this town."
  One wouldn't think the town of Evrahn was all that big, until
you had to search every nook and cranny. The night air was
growing cooler. Scully was beginning to recognize some of the
streets they drove down, and could accurately predict what
buildings they would pass. She squirmed in the seat uncomfortably.
She was embarrassd to say it, but the martinis and all that 
coffee were taking their toll.
  "Look, can we stop somewhere? I've got to...take a break."
  "Yeah, my legs need stretching. I've been sitting too long,"
Mulder added.
  "I was wondering when you guys were gonna need a pit stop. You
should have said something sooner. Let's see, where *can* we
take a pit stop?" Most public places had closed early due to the
curfew and plain, old-fashioned fear.
  "Take a right up here, then go down Douglas Street," Scully
directed. "I remember there's a Roadrunner Market with it's
lights still on."
  Sure enough, she was right. Ros pulled into the empty lot,
parking the car as close to the front doors as possible. The 
bell tied to the swinging door jangled loudly as they all piled
into the store. A burly man stood behind the counter. Probably
a manager. While he had one hand out on the counter, he 
mysteriously kept his other one down below, out of sight. Mulder
easily guessed there was a gun the man had his hand on.
  "Evening," he greeted the manager.
  "Evening," the man replied in a none-too-friendly tone.
  Smiling, hoping to put the man at ease, Mulder slowly reached
into his pocket and withdrew his ID> "My name's Agent Mulder.
FBI. We're part of the search out there."
  The distrust melted away into relief. "Oh, FBI! Good. Come on
in. You're my first customers in over three hours." He brought
up his other hand now. "Do you need anything? Coffee? Gas?
Cigarettes?"
  "No coffee." Scully was almost dancing by now.
  "What we need is to use your restrooms, if you don't mind,"
Mulder said.
  "Sure, sure. Anything for the FBI. They're over there in the
back." Mulder and Scully made a beeline for their respective
toilets, leaving Ros behind to browse the counter. "What about
you," he asked. "You FBI?"
  "Who, me? Do I look like I'm wearing a trench coat? Say, you
got any Playgirls back behind there?"

  Relief. Blessed relief. And it was a relatively clean bathroom
with plenty of paper. A rarity in Scully's experience. She sat
in the first stall, leaning her elbows on her knees, studying
the linoleum floor as she thought about this embarrassing
predicament. 
  She had been joking earlier before, about Ros getting them
drunk so they would speak freely. And what had happened? Exactly
that. By agreement, the Carmel Police Department had decided
to refrain from revealing the hidden crime the victim had been
perpetrating, and keeping the focus on finding her killer. But
now Mulder had made that slip in the bar, and she knew there 
would be no way they could talk Ros into sitting on the story
until a later time, even with the coercion of an exclusive
interview with the FBI agents investigating the murders.
  She watched as a tiny brown spider made it's way to the corner
of the stall, looking for a new place to set up shop. Good thing
she wasn't afraid of spiders. Where was the killer spinning his
web? Where would be a good place to hide? She didn't think it
would be someone's residential home. It simply wasn't his style.
He entered homes only to kill, then left as soon as his job was
done. He never stayed longer than he had to. Again, it was back
to what she had said in the bar. He didn't want to kill, but he
had to kill.
  Her eyes wandered over to the floor she could see in the next
stall. There was a partial footprint of a person's left shoe.
Nothing special, just a footprint. When the proprietor next mopped
in here, and she deduced he did it often, the footprint would
be wiped away forever. Never to be missed. Just a footprint.
  She stretched her hand forward, her fingertips brushing the
trace in the next stall. She brought her fingers back up. Muddy.
Huh. Someone didn't wipe their shoes at the door. There was a
mat there for that purpose. How inconsiderate. Probably a teenager
taking a short cut through someone's yard, never giving a thought
to the mud getting on her shoes.
  *You're my first customer in over three hours.*
  The mud was still moist.
  Small man, small feet.
  Oh great, and here she sat with her pants down.
  Scully slowly lifted her eyes, staring at the partition that 
separated her stall from the one next door. At eye level, she
spotted where someone had tried to write about a Johnny, but
the pen had given out. Up higher. There was a chip in the paint.
Up higher. There was Quasimodo peering down at her over the top
of the stall.
  Pants be damned.
  "Mulder!"

  Mulder was next door, splashing cold water on his face from the
sink faucet. He heard three sounds, seemingly all at once. His
name being called, a gun shot, and glass breaking. Drawing his
gun, he threw open the men's room door and kicked aside the
women's door.
  "Scully!"
  There was a gaping hole in the middle of the glass. He raced to
the window to see if Scully was being dragged off by the killer.
Far from it. She was hightailing it after a fleeing figure, up
over a hill.
  "Mulder, call for backup!" she shouted as she continued the
pursuit.
  He was sticking one leg through the broken window when Ros and
the manager came barreling into the restroom.
  "Greene, call for backup!" he shouted, as he chased ater Scully
chasing after the suspect.
  "Oh hell." Ros looked out into the night. She couldn't let this
story slip through her fingers. She turned around long enough to
say "Call for backup," before she, too, slipped out the window.
  Scully sprang gracefully over a drainage ditch, ignoring the
brambles tearing at her legs. In the end, it was his mask that
was his undoing. The rest of him, dressed in black, melted
seamlessly into the shadows, but the pale bald mask covering his
head aptly reflected the dim light in the back alley, allowing
her to keep track of him.
  Mulder had been right in one thing when he had made a composite
description. The killer was quick and agile. He swerved suddenly
to his right, jumping midway up a chain link fence and vaulting
over. Without stopping, Scully holstered her gun so she could use
both hands to climb. Damn, this is where the guy was going to get
a better lead. Scully ripped her pants leg free as she swung 
herself over the top.
  Her legs braced, she thudded to the ground. Drawing her gun, she
shouted "Freeze! FBI!" and fired a warning shot over his head. The
man instinctively ducked, losing his pace and stumbling to his
knees. The sound of sirens coming closer was the sweetest sound
Dana had ever heard. The noose was tightening.
  He scrambled on all fours, disappearing behind a blind of garbage
cans. Scully advanced slowly, arms extended, her eyes searching
and ears attuned to any noise. Circling around in an arc, she 
glanced down the alley to see if he had taken off. There was no
sign of a fleeing fugitive, so he must be crouching behind the 
cans. She had to be careful. He may launch one of the cans at
her. But he was trapped right where he belonged: with the
trash.
  "Federal agent. I've got you covered. Come out slowly with
your hands behind your head."
  The next thing Scully knew, something was hurdling at her
from above. Somehow, without her ever seeing him, the killer
had slipped up to the fire escape. Scully got off one shot,
which went wild, before the man's feet came crashing into
her chest. She was knocked flat on her back, her lungs empty.
The gun fell from her hand.
  Her sight was filled with stars. Stars, and the harrowing
countenance of a maimed human face. He crouched over her, his
eyes nothing but hollow emptiness within the mask. Scully
struggled for air. For the longest minute he simply stared at
her, studying ever line and curve of her face. His body
relaxed, as if he had all the time in the world. In the blink
of an eye, it all changed. He brought his left hand up swiftly
over his head, a lethal knife with a blade at least nine inches
long held in his grip.
  *Oh God, I'm going to die*
  "No!"
  In Scully's oxygen-starved mind, she saw the killer fall back
off of her before she registered the sound of the shot. Mulder's
long legs had quickly eaten up the gap separating him from his
partner. He had spotted a piece of clothing at the top of the
fence and recognized it as part of Scully's clothing. He had
cleared the fence just in time to save her life.
  Scully rolled onto her side, wheezing for air and reaching
for her gun. At the same time, the killer rolled over as well,
gaining his knees and grabbing his knife. He held his left arm
cradled against his chest. The shot had wounded, not killed.
To her amazement, the little man got back on his feet and
started running away again.
  Mulder ran up to Scully and bent over her. "Are you all right?"
  She nodded, still fighting for breath. She gestured after the
disappearing man and gasped, "Follow."
  "Are you sure?"
  She nodded again, urging him on.
  Reluctantly Mulder left her in the alley and commenced to give
chase. He followed the suspect out into the deserted street. 
Mulder had to be careful as they were both heading into a more
populated area. But damnit, the man had tried to hurt Scully.
He slid to a semi-stop and aimed his gun. The killer was racing
across the street when Mulder squeezed the trigger. Before the
bullet could connect with flesh, the man leaped on top of a
parked car, the bullet slamming into it's tire.

  Ros' lungs were burning from exertion as she tried to keep up.
A litany of thoughts were running through her brain. Should've
kept up with that year long membership to Nautilus. Should've
worn flats. Should've called a cab. She followed the sound
of shots to the chain link fence, seeing Scully regain her feet
and start down the alley.
  Should've brought a ladder.

  Mulder lost sight of the man for only a second, but heard the
sound of breaking glass and a piercing alarm going off. Mulder
trailed the commotion to a shattered door to a two story Sears
department store. Great. Even more places for the killer to hide
in and perhaps ambush him. Mulder was faced with a decision. Did
he go in and try to keep hold of his lead? Or did he wait for
the sirens that were closing in, and have more people to search
with?
  Mulder dived into the store.
  He was crowded on both sides with racks of clothing. The
annoying alarm didn't help his nerves any, either. Too many
shadows in the corner of his eye. Too many chances to be
jumped on from behind. He bent down so his head didn't show
above the clothes racks. Any noise he made was covered up
by the alarm. Trouble was, so was any noise made by the suspect.
  He took a zigzagging path, swimming through the clothes. He
froze. Had that been movement ahead of him? He started forward
slowly, noticing some jackets were swinging a handful of feet
in front of him. Yes, he saw the distinct shadow of a head.
Counting to three, Mulder leapt from his position out into
the open and fired at the figure.
  The bullet shattered the middle of a three angle mirror.
  "Dammit!"
  He decided to head towards the back, not only in search of
the fugitive, but also in search for any light switches or
flashlights he could purloin for federal use.

  Scully heard the gunshot from inside and yelled, "Mulder!",
but her voice didn't carry above the screaming of the alarm.
Carefully, she stepped over the shards of glass, her gun
pointed to the ceiling. She had to be cautious. Somewhere in
the dark was the killer, but somewhere there was also Mulder.
                        

===========================================================================

From: sumrall@delphi.com (L. Sumrall)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: MASKS    5.17
Date: 20 Feb 1996 06:20:33 GMT


                        MASKS
Part 5
  There goes another set of pantyhose.
    Ros fell down the other side of the fence. She sprinted over
to the spot where she had seen Scully get up. Bending down, she
ran her fingertips through a dark smudge she spotted on the
asphalt. It was wet and sticky. Someone had been hurt, but who?
Scully? She had gotten up and went on with no problem. Mulder?
Hadn't seen him. The killer?
  Limping out of the alleyway, she saw the flat tire on the
car parked across the stret.
  "Thanks for leaving me a trail, guys."
  As she started to cross, she was temporarily dazzled by the
white and blue lights on a highway patrol car that was speeding
down the street. A male voice came over a speaker. "Remain where
you are. Don't move."
  Ros held up her hands. "I'm not the killer. I'm with the FBI."
Well, depending on how one understood her meaning, she was telling
the truth. She had been accompanying Mulder and Scully, who worked
for the FBI, so Ros *was* with the FBI.
  The trooper stepped out of his car, hand resting on the butt
of his gun. "Agent Scully?"
  She pointed towards the corner where the sound of an alarm was
coming. "That way! We're chasing the killer. He went that way!
Come on!" Without waiting to see if he was following her or not,
Ros ran down the street.

  Mulder ripped at the plastic packaging and poured out the four
"D" batteries into his lap. Going by feel as to which end was 
positive and which was negative, he loaded up the flashlight he
had snatched off the shelf. Snapping the end back in place, he 
pointed the globe down the aisle and flicked the switch. A strong,
steady beam cut through the dark.
  He was back in business.

  Scully stumbled her way through the bedroom furnishings to the
escalator looming up before her. The machine had been turned off
for the night, the steps unmoving. With one hand on the rail to
balance her, Scully slowly went up the escalator. As she crested
the top, her eyes darted left and right, cataloguing everything
upstairs. To her left was household appliances. In front of her, 
television sets and stereos. To her right, three short mannequins
marked the beginning of boys wear.
  If she were a killer being closely pursued and trapped inside
a department store, where would she hide?
  She'd hide in plain sight.
  By the dim street light coming in through the front window,
Scully studied the shapes of the mannequins. They all stood
stock still. One daintily had it's toe pointing out from it.
Scully edged closer. If she was wrong, no harm done but a 
little mess to clean up. If she was right...
  She reached out a hand, feeling the cool surface of the dummy.
With a push, she shoved the dummy over, creating a domino
effect. The second dummy toppled over, stiff in it's pose into 
the third figure on the end. He lost his balance on his knees
and fell off the base underneath a heap of limbs.
  Scully stretched her hand into the pile, searching for a live
body to latch on to. A broken-off hand slammed into her jaw,
knocking her around. She fell face first on the floor, losing
her grip on her gun. She rolled back over in time to block
the killer's right arm as he was swinging his knife down at
her. She grabbed his wrist with both hands, attempting to
divert the tip of the blade to the side of her head.
  She had been in this position before with him. She wasn't
going to stay in it. Risking the release of one of her hands
from his wrist, she balled up her fist and punched him in
the area of his left shoulder, where Mulder's shot had
sliced through. There was a cry of agony muffling through
the mouthless face of the mask, and he fell back in pain.
  Scully took advantage and rolled on top of him. She knocked
his right hand against the floor in an attempt to disarm him,
while she pressed her forearm into his throat. He bucked
savagely, trying to knock her off. His grip didn't lessen any
on the knife.
  *The only time he feels strong is when he's wearing the mask.*
  Mulder's words in the bar came back to her. If she couldn't
disarm him one way, she would do it another. Taking the pressure
off his throat, she eased her fingertips up under the border
of the mask. The killer must have realized what she was up to,
as he tried to jerk his head away from her searching fingers.
His left arm flopped uselessly beside him. He cried out in
protest.
  The material was snug, and Scully felt her fingernails
scrapping against his jaw as she worked the end up over the
lower part of his face. Almost there. She heard one distinct
word from the man.
  "Don't!"
  She pulled the mask free, tossing it aside, and stared down
into the killer's face.

  "Wait!" The trooper grabbed Ros' elbow before she dashed
headlong into the department store. He reached to the side
of his belt and unsnapped a small flashlight. Turning on
the beam, he swept the light from side to side, stepping in
front of Ros protectively as he slowly advanced inside.
  Ros pushed at his back impatiently. Now wasn't the time to
be pussyfooting around. A major story was breaking. She 
darted around him and jogged forward, following the flashlight
beam.
  Suddenly she was blinded. She held up a hand to block the 
light from her eyes. It bobbed and pulled aside.
  "What the hell are you doing here, Greene," Mulder shouted.
  "Freeze," the trooper called out.
  Ros turned around and held her hand up. "No, wait. That's
Agent Mulder."
  The trooper pulled up his gun as Mulder caught up to them.
"Have the police form a perimeter around this building. We'll
trap him inside. He's got nowhere to go. The delivery doors
are locked. We'll do a sweep from front to back. And be careful.
Agent Scully is in here as well."
  The trooper shined his light up into Ros' face. "I thought you
were Agent Scully."
  "Um...I never *said* I was Scully, you only assumed--"
  Ros' words of argument died in her throat when they all heard it.
Rising above the noise of the alarm still ringing and the sirens
of the cop cars skidding to a halt outside, there floated the
terrifying sound of a scream.
  A woman's scream.
  Mulder felt his heart fall to his feet and the hairs stand up
on the back of his neck. Silently he mouthed her name as his
instinct to find her kicked in. He was moving even before he
realized he was moving, his gun gripped tightly in his hand.
Ros was right behind him, calling out into the darkness, "Scully!
Scully!"
  He crashed into the corner of a table, knocking over the display.
He played the light over the merchandise in the store. It 
reflected back at him off the metal of the escalator. He couldn't
tell anyone why he knew she was up there, he just knew. He
bolted up the steps to the top, dreading what he might see.
  The first thing the light hit upon was the white, smooth
handle sticking up out of the body's chest. Lying nearby was
a crumpled mask turned inside out, the empty eye sockets
staring at him in accusation. A tangle of arms and legs of
fallen mannequins were beyond. Mulder swept the flashlight
around the area. Scully was lying sprawled on the floor,
one shoe knocked off.
  She wasn't moving.
  Mulder fell to his knees, sliding on the slick surface to
her side. He delicately lifted her head in his hand. "Scully?"
  Ros reached the top of the escalator and stopped cold when 
she saw the body before her, the knife buried into his chest
to the hilt. "Jesus," she whispered. She was quickly knocked
aside by the state trooper coming up behind her. He trained
his gun on the man. When satisfied he wasn't moving, the
trooper holstered his gun and checked for a pulse.
  "He's dead," he announced.
  "Well duh! I'm not surprised. He's got a freakin' knife in
his heart!"
  Downstairs, policemen were flooding the store. Someone had
the presence to shut off the alarm and turn on the store lights.
  Ros leaned over Mulder's shoulder. "Is she okay?"
  His hands were performing a swift examination of Scully's body.
"She doesn't have any wounds."
  "Then what's wrong with her?"
  "I don't know. Move back." Ros moved away as Mulder gently laid
Scully's head back flat on the floor. He tipped her jaw up, then
used his thumb to pull her chin down and open her mouth. He 
started to bend forward and place his mouth over hers, when
suddenly Scully sucked in a deep breath on her own. Her eyes
flew open, rolling around in terror. She saw Mulder bending over
her and she started to crawl backwards away from him.
  Mulder grabbed her by the shoulders. "Scully!" She struggled
against his hold. He gave her a sharp shake. "Scully, it's me!
Mulder."
  Ros fell to her knees on the other side of Scully. In a low,
soothing voice she said, "Dana, it's all right. You're okay.
It's over now. He can't hurt you."
  Scully looked wildly from Mulder to Ros and back again. She
stopped struggling and relaxed in Mulder's hands. Her breathing
slowed down and the fear in her eyes began to evaporate.
  "Here, help me sit her up," he said to Ros. Together they
pulled Scully into an upright position.
  Her gaze came upon the inert body lying before her. A thin
trail of blood was beginning to flow from the man's side.
He was devoid of the mask, his face revealed to the world.
No demon lay underneath. The olive skin took on a more greener
tinge as color faded from his face. His eyes were open, gaping
at the heavens above he would never achieve. His mouth open in
a silent scream.
  Scully's eyes rolled up into her head and she slumped into a
dead faint in Mulder's arms.     


===========================================================================

From: sumrall@delphi.com (L. Sumrall)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: MASKS    6/17
Date: 20 Feb 1996 06:44:42 GMT


                            MASKS
Part 6
Washington, D.C.
 Mulder held the door open for Scully as they entered the lab.
So far nothing more was known about the dead man. A search of 
his body revealed no form of identification, nor were there any
unusual marks or tattoos found on his body during the autopsy.
The clothes he'd worn were threadbare and second hand, with
the labels torn out of them. His picture and fingerprints 
yielded nothing in the FBI computers. That left only the mask
and the knife to give them any sort of clues as to who he had
been.
  Dr. Kiro was standing by the window, writing on a clipboard
in her hand. Mulder went over to the table where a tray 
containing the misshapen mask of the killer lay. He picked it
up, stretching it into all sorts of different facial expressions.
No matter which way he contorted it, the thing was still ugly.
  "Were you able to learn what company made the mask," he
asked Kiro.
  Her mouth turned up in a secret smile as she continued writing,
watching him from the corner of her eye. "I hope there's not a
factory out there somewhere mass producing masks like that one."
  "Why?"
  "It's made of skin."
  Mulder's hands froze. "Skin?"
  Kiro finally looked up. "Human skin."
  Mulder dropped the offending object as if it had turned red
hot. He didn't like the way Kiro was laughing up her sleeve at
him.
  "None of his victims showed any signs of missing skin," Scully
puzzled aloud.
  "Victims that we know we can pin on him. He may have made the
mask from his earliest victims. I'll have Danny run a chech on--"
  "I may be able to save you two some time and trouble," Kiro
interrupted. "I went ahead and did a DNA test on it in case you
did need it to make a match with any other victim. It's his skin."
  Scully's mouth turned down in distaste. "He harvested his
own skin to make this mask?"
  "In the autopsy report, there was no mention of any signs of
skin having been removed," Mulder said.
  "Nevertheless," Kiro crossed her arms, holding the clipboard
to her chest, "It is his skin."
  Taking up a pair of tweezers, he picked the mask up again to
study it closer. "I don't see any seams."
  "I know." Kiro came over to the table. "I didn't find any,
either. It's like he...he molted his own skin. But of course,
that's impossible."
  Mulder and Scully exchanged glances. In their line of work,
nothing was impossible.
  "Why doesn't it match his skin tone," he asked.
  "It did, once. But it's faded with age."
  "How old would you estimate the mask to be," Scully inquired.
"That may give us a clue as to how long he's been killing."
  Kiro's eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the pair. "If you
were any other agents, I would be almost afraid to tell you,
'cause I know I'd be laughed at. But considering some of the
strange things you've brought back to me on your cases, I
don't think you will." Kiro took a breath and plunged on. "We
estimate the age of the mask to be between fifty and sixty
years old."
  Mulder did an involuntary jerk. "Fifty or sixty years old?
The autopsy estimates him to be half that age."
  "What about the knife?"
  "Ah, the knife. Now there's a piece of work." She opened an
evidence drawer and pulled the weapon out, laying it on the 
table. "The handle is pure ivory. Look at it up close, you can
see where his fingers have worn a grip from constant use. The
blade itself, stainless steel, still sharp enough to shave
the hairs off your arm. You can tell he took great care of the
knife. There's not a scratch, a crack, or a blemish anywhere on
it. And there's no mark of any manufacturer. He made it himself."
  "Bet he got an A in shop class." Mulder released the mask,
letting it flutter back down to the tray, then reached over to
pick the knife up. "It's an unusual knife. It doesn't look so
much like a hunting knife as it does a ceremonial dagger."
  "A ceremonial dagger for his sacrifices," Scully said, 
mesmerized by the way the light gleamed and played off the
shiny surface of the blade. It winked at her. It danced for her.
  "What I'm wondering," Kiro continued, "Is how a homeless person
like Duggin ever got a hold of ivory in the first place."
  Mulder tore his gaze away from the knife and looked at Kiro.
"Who?"
  "Duggin," she repeated.
  "Who's Duggin?"
  This time it was Kiro's turn to look puzzled at him. "Uh, isn't
that the guy we've been talking about? The killer?"
  "But we don't know the killer's name," Scully explained. "That's
why we were having you examine the mask and knife, to possibly
give us some leads as to where he got them so we could do a trace."
  Kiro looked at the two agents before her. "Is this some kind of
joke? It was on the report sent down to me along with the items."
She went back into her office and retrieved the file from her
desk. She opened the file and handed the top paper to Mulder.
"See?"
  Mulder glanced over the paper.
-----------------------------------
SUBJECT'S NAME: Lyle Duggin
-----------------------------------
  Mulder looked up. "Scully, this is the report *you* typed up."
  "What?" She took the paper away from Mulder and read over it
herself.
  "How did you know what his name was," he asked.
  "I..." She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't even remember
typing this."
  "When you were struggling with him, did he perhaps tell you 
his name? Like a taunt?"
  "M-maybe." Scully couldn't shake the unrealness of the moment.
Lyle Duggin. That was his name, she knew it for sure. It fit him.
But how did she know?
  Mulder fairly jerked the paper from her hand. "I wish you had
said something sooner. We could have been working on his name
a long time ago." He couldn't understand. Scully was more
professional than this. What was wrong with her to have withheld
such important, and basic information as the name of the dead man?
  Mulder handed the paper back to Kiro to put back in the file.
He grumbled a thanks for her time and instructed her to ship the
knife and mask over to the evidence room, then yanked the lab
door open and left, not bothering to see if Scully was with him.
  She refused to run after him, but she did execute a brisk pace
to catch up to him at the elevators. His back was turned to her,
one hand on his hip while the other was run through his hair.
  "Mulder, I'm sorry," she said to his back.
  He turned around. "No, I'm sorry. Back there, in front of Kiro.
I shouldn't have gotten so..." He searched for the right word.
  "Bitchy?"
  He laughed softly. "Yeah. But still, what's up? First, back in
Indiana you faint on me, and I've never known you to faint before,
and now four days later you don't tell anyone you happen to know
the name of our John Doe."
  The elevator doors opened and they stepped in for some privacy.
Scully leaned tiredly against the wall. "Mulder, honestly, I
don't know. I've only fainted once in my life. After all we've
seen and been through, I don't know what made me faint this
last time. And as for the name, I'm blank. I cannot tell you
how I know Lyle Duggin is who he is. Perhaps you're right, and
he did say it to me when we fought, and it was buried in my
mind. You know how many times we've filled those reports out.
I probably typed in the name subconsciously."
  Mulder put one hand on the wall beside her. "Do you want to
talk about it?" 
  "About what?"
  "About the first time you fainted."
  Scully poked him in the ribs. "That's none of your business,
Mulder," she laughed.
  "Aw, c'mon. Tell me."
  "No."
  "Please?"
  "No, it's embarrassing."
  Mulder wiggled his eyebrows. "Ooh, now I *really* want to hear
about it."
  The doors slid open and Scully stepped out before him. "Not in
this lifetime, Mulder."                             


===========================================================================

From: sumrall@delphi.com (L. Sumrall)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: MASKS    7/17
Date: 20 Feb 1996 06:46:04 GMT


                    MASKS
Part 7

  Scully unlocked her apartment door and dropped her briefcase
next to the hall tree. She kicked off her high heels in the
kitchen, shed her jacket on the living room couch. She belly
flopped onto the bed, rolled over and tugged her pantyhose
off. Her skin gloried in the freedom. She didn't feel like
cooking tonight, so reached over for the bedside phone and
called her favorite pizza place. Throwing off the rest of her
'professional' clothes, she ragged out in soft sweatpants and
an oversized T-shirt.
  It had been a fruitless week. A thorough search of FBI records
had shown no report of a Lyle Duggin ever being arrested or
even suspected of a crime. A secondary search of local police
records, especially in cities where Duggin had struck, also
turned up nothing. The next step was to send out requests to
state records to search for a birth certificate. This was
where she and Mulder were divided. She wanted to localize the
search to births in the sixties, matching the age of the body.
Mulder, meanwhile, wanted to extend the search back into the
thirties and forties, in accordance to the age of the mask.
They had argued about it endlessly until both had called it
a day.
  Spread out on the couch, a paper towel tucked under her
chin, Scully munched on a slice of pizza and caught up with
the world on CNN. Uninterested in 'Moneyline', she flipped
through the channels until she came to a rerun of the old
Star Trek. Darn, it was a bad one. Where Spock's brain was
stolen out of his head by a bunch of short-skirted bimbos
in go-go boots.
  "As if."
  But there was nothing else better on, so she stuck with it.
Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier as Kirk and crew strived
to retrieve their science officer's vital organ from the evil
hootchie kootchie girls. Her eyes closed and she slipped away.

  She jerked awake, her heart beating wildly out of control.
Sweat beaded her face and leaked into her eyes, burning. Her
nails dug into the fabric of the couch and she scrambled to
sit up. The sun had long since gone down, and the only light
in the apartment came from the TV. The shadows flickered
long, then short. Ever changing.
  She looked around. Nothing was familiar to her. Where was
she? What was she doing here? Who was she? She jumped to her
feet, stumbling over furniture in the dim light. She ran
her hands over objects around the room. What was this? Where
did it come from? Why was it here? She wrapped her arms
around her shoulders, hugging herself. The TV droned on.
There was a man on it, staring at her. He was speaking to
her.
  "You don't belong here."
  She let out a sharp cry and started running. She had to hide.
She had to leave. She had to go. Go where? She didn't know
where she was!
  There was a knock at the front door. She nearly jumped out of
her socks. Fear seized her heart and squeezed it tight. She
grabbed the back of a plump chair and began to sink behind it.
She bit her lower lip to keep from crying out. It's here! It's
behind the door! Don't open the door!
  "Goawaygoawaygoawaygoawaygoaway"
  Another knock.
  "Dana?"
  The fear dissipated. Her fingers unfurled. Her breathing and
heart rate returned to normal. What in the world was she doing?
What was she running from? She was safe in her apartment, for
goodness sake. She heaved herself up to her feet, the last of
the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. Like a sleepwalker
she went to the door, resting her cheek against the cool wood.
  "Who is it?"
  "It's Ros."
  It's out there! It's coming for you! Don't open it!
  Scully pushed herself away from the door. Where had that thought
come from? She reached for the knob, opening the door as far as
the chain would allow, and peeked outside into the hallway.
  All Rosalyn could see of Dana was her eyes and four fingers
curling around the side of the door. There was a strange look in
Dana's eyes, as if she didn't recognize her. Ros smiled. "See, I
told you it was me." Dana simply kept on staring at her. Ros
waved a hand in front of her. "Hello?"
  Dana slammed the door in Rosalyn's face. The reporter jumped
back, shocked and wondering what she had done to make Dana mad.
But then she heard the chain being unhooked. Dana snatched the 
door back open and gestured with her arm for Ros to enter. She
passed by uneasily. Scully was certainly acting strange. Then
she caught the scent.
  "I smell pizza!"
  "You smell free food," Scully replied as she turned on the
lights. Ros relaxed. That sounded more like Scully.
  She sat down and helped herself to a piece from the box
sitting on the coffee table. She was just about to sink her 
teeth into it when she looked up and caught sight of Scully
in the light. "Is something wrong?"
  Dana wiped a hand across her wet forehead. "I--I fell asleep
on the couch. I must have had a nightmare. It woke me up."
  "Oh, I know how that goes." Ros took a bite. "What, no
mushrooms?"
  "No mushrooms." Scully sank back down on the couch. "Why did
you stop by?"
  "First food, then reason."
  "But of course, how rude of me."
  Ros struggled to swallow down the pizza. "Got anything to
drink?" Scully reached over to a plastic cup with Coke in it
and scooted it over. Ros looked at it skeptically. "You've
been drinking out of it."
  Dana sighed. "Ros, before I throw you out of my apartment,
why don't you tell me what you want. Besides a meal."
  Ros wiped her hands on a paper towel. "As you probably know
from reading it faithfully, the 'Weekly Globe Report' had the
exclusive story of the action packed capture of one of this
country's most notorious serial killers. Readership was up
20 %, thanks to moi."
  "Vou?"
  "Si. Anyway, Bud doesn't want us to lose our edge over the
more established, respected papers, so I promised him yet
another exclusive for the 'Report'--"
  "I'm getting a bad feeling about this."
  "--by providing him with the first interview with the FBI
agent who risked her life to bring this monster down."
  Scully groaned, slouching down into the couch. "Ros, I really
don't feel up to an interview from you right now. This has
been a long week."
  "But you promised me an interview," she whined.
  "I beg your pardon. When did I promise you?"
  "Back in Indiana, remember? You and Fox both said you would
give me interviews."
  Scully held up her finger. "That was on the condition you
hold back on writing about Alana Petrow poisoning her family.
Which you did not."
  "Ah, so you have been reading the 'Weekly Globe Report'."
  "Only because we were adding the article to your file."
  Ros froze. In a small voice she asked, "The FBI is keeping
a file on me?" Scully shrugged noncommittedly, smiling on 
the inside as she watched the reporter squirm. "Okay," Ros
started when she saw Scully wasn't going to say any more.
"We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way."
  "Meaning?"
  "Meaning, either you can cooperate and I write a favorable
piece on you, or..."
  "Or."
  "Or, I can reveal too much of the truth. Such as the fact
that you had to stop and pull up your underwear and pants
before giving chase after the criminal."
  Scully shot daggers at her. "You are an evil woman."
  Ros gave a short laugh of victory and reached into her
purse for her tape recorder. She placed it on the table
and turned it on. "Let's start with a little background
on the case. How long had you and Agent Fox Mulder been
working on capturing the Homeless Horror?"
  "The what?!"
  "Every serial killer has a moniker," Ros explained. "Son
of Sam, the Boston Strangler, the San Diego Stabber. Since
this guy was described as being a transit, he's now the
Homeless Horror."
  "Don't you realize that now people everywhere will be afraid
of the homeless? They'll be seeing a killer on every corner,
calling the police on transits for imaginary crimes. Most
of these people are mentally ill but harmless, and now they'll
be persecuted even further form nothing they've done."
  Ros didn't like to be lectured to. "Hey, don't blame me. I
wanted to call him the Equalizer, but Bud said we'd get into
copyright trouble. Somebody else came up with the Homeless
Horror. Besides, we had to call him something besides 'the
killer', seeing as how no one even knows his name."
  "Lyle Duggin," Scully said softly.
  "What?"
  "Lyle Duggin. He had a name. He was a person, he should be
treated as a person."
  "Another exclusive!" Ros didn't hear the censure in Scully's
voice. She was digging in her purse, pulling out a small tablet.
"Duggin. Is that with one G or two?"
  Scully threw up her hands. "Why do I even bother? You're not
listening to me." She jumped to her feet and started pacing
back and forth. "You've got his name, but it means nothing to
you. Nothing but selling more papers. You see him as no more
than a bum wandering from place to place, offering nothing to
society except blood-soaked hands. You don't want to hear who
he really was, or what he could have been. You don't want to
consider that what you call a crime was actually a cleansing
of the world. A salvation. A means to an end."
  "On the contrary, I do!" Ros sprang to her feet, pencil
ready, as she paced right alongside Scully. "I want to know
who Lyle Duggin was. I want to know where he came from, who
his parents were, who his friends were--if he had any. I
want to know why he did the things he did. Why he chose to
kill."
  Scully stopped short and shouted in Ros' face. "He didn't
choose to kill, he was forced to!"
  Ros scribbled madly. "Alright, then what forced him to kill?"
  Scully rubbed her arm. Lowering her voice she answered. "The 
same instinct bred into us all." She walked over to the window
and stared out into the night.
  "To live."


===========================================================================

From: sumrall@delphi.com (L. Sumrall)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: MASKS    8/17
Date: 20 Feb 1996 06:47:26 GMT


                        MASKS    
Part 8

Offices of 'The Weekly Globe Report'

  "It's the pigs!"
  Fink ran helter skelte down the aisle, his bony arms flung
up into the air, tie-dyed T-shirt flapping behind him, sure
that the law had finally caught up to him.
  Rosalyn could have told him different. She could tell by
the burning glare coming from Mulder's eyes that he had come
for her and her alone. She didn't run or shrink from him as
he stormed up to her desk and shoved a fistful of paper into
her face.
  "What is this piece of crap," he demanded.
  Ros didn't blink, his fist mere centimeters from her nose.
"The piece of crap you are holding appears to me to be a copy
of 'The Weekly Globe Report'. Furthermore, I would hazard to
guess it would be of our latest issue."
  He threw it in her face in disgust. "I can't believe how
low you would stoop. To make up this complete lie, and pass
it off as the truth, and then to pin Scully's name to it in
an attempt to make it look legitimate!  I haven't spoken to
Scully yet so I don't know if she's seen what you've done, 
but I wouldn't be surprised if she slaps you with a slander
suit. I'd like to slap you myself."
  Ros jumped to her feet, sticking her face into his. "You
haven't got the guts to hit me."
  "Don't push it, Greene."
  "I'm pushing it, Mulder," she said through gritted teeth.
"If anyone's going to file a slander suit, it'd be me against
you for calling me a liar. What I wrote was faithful to every
piece of information provided to me by Agent Dana Scully in
an exclusive interview with this reporter."
  Mulder leaned back, crossing his arms. "Oh, so you're telling
me Scully willingly sat down with you and gave you this
complete and detailed background of Lyle Duggin."
  "Yes."
  "Bullshit! Scully couldn't have told you anything. For the 
past two weeks the FBI has been doing an in depth search into
police files and birth records to find any trace of Lyle
Duggin and has come up with zilch. We dn't know anything about
the man; where he came from, if he's got any family, where or
if he's ever worked or lived. These are the real facts, unlike
your 'exclusive'."
  "You don't believe I can prove I even talked with Scully, do
you?" Mulder sneered. "Well eat this!" Ros pulled her top drawer
open, pushing aside her various fake IDs, brass knuckles, and
several unpaid parking tickets until she found the microcassette.
She slammed it none too gently into the tape player and pushed
the play button.
  Mulder stared at the tape player on the desk as Scully's voice
came out of the speaker, rising and falling in accordance to
her emotions. Without a glance or a word, Mulder grabbed the
balled up newspaper article he had thrown at Ros, whirled
around, and walked out of the office. Waiting until he cleared
the door, Bridgette came over to Ros side, checking her watch.
  "By my estimation, that was his shortest tirade at you yet."
  Ros gazed at the door Mulder had just exited, chewing her
lip in thought. "Something's going on."

FBI Headquarters

  The door to her office was cracked open and Mulder pushed it
softly away. He paused inside the doorway, looking at her.
Scully sat in front of her computer, fingers a blur as they
danced across the keyboard, the clacking noise filling the air.
The blue light from the monitor glared off her glasses. She
hadn't notieced his presence.
  She appeared to be the same to him. Nothing different in her
countenance. Here she was in her office, where he expected her
at this time of day, working diligently on something. But for 
the life of him, he couldn't begin to explain her actions of
the last few weeks.
  "Scully."
  She didn't stop nor look up. He had to call her name twice
before he got her attention. When she turned her head, he
couldn't see her eyes at all, her glasses reflecting the
tiny letters on her computer screen.
  "Mulder. I didn't hear you come in."
  "You were pretty busy. I hope I'm not interrupting anything
important. What are you working on?"
  Scully seemed to consider how to answer him. "Something."
  He hadn't come here to inquire into her workload, so let
the matter drop. "Scully, do you have anything to tell me?"
  The silence stretched out until she finally said, "Such as?"
  He stepped farther into the room, moving towards the chair
next to her desk. She thought he was coming around to see what
was on her computer, and she quickly flicked the screen off.
Mulder noticed the action, at least glad he could now see her
eyes. It was true the old saying, that the eyes were the windows
into the soul, and Mulder had felt shut out when he couldn't
see into hers.
  He sat down wearily in the chair, reaching into his breast
pocket and drew out a wrinkled piece of paper that contained
Scully's interview with Rosalyn. He leaned across the desk
and handed it to her. "Such as this."
  She read the first few lines of the article. "Oh, this. I
forgot completely about it."
  "You forgot about it. So you admit you talked to Ros."
  Scully gazed at Mulder unwavering. "Your point?"
  He nodded to the paper in her hand. "All that stuff you
said about Duggin. Where did you get the information?"
  Scully studied the paper again, thinking frantically.
Calmly, she handed it back to him. "I lied."
  The answer was so surprising, he physically jerked. "You
lied?"
  "It's a total fabrication. She came to my apartment one
night asking for...no, demanding an interview. I thought about
all the times she's been a pain in our sides, interfering in
our investigations, so I thought to get back at her by giving
her exactly what she wanted. I figured we'd have a good laugh
over it."
  Mulder stared at his partner in disbelief. "I see nothing 
funny about it."
  "That's your problem, Mulder. Personally, I find it hilarious.
Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to work." She
rotated her chair back around so she could face her computer
again. Turning on the monitor, she commenced to typing away,
acting as if Mulder was no longer in her office.
  He sat in the company of a complete stranger.
  Folding up the paper in a neat square, he tucked it back
into his breast pocket and left the room. He walked down the
hall but decided to forego the elevator for the stairs. He
needed the extra time to think. Upstairs, he entered the
records room and proceeded down the rows and rows of computers
until he reached Quentin Pith's desk.
  "Guess what, Mulder," Pith said in greetings. "We almost,
almost had a match today. The computer found a birth certificate
in Dominion, Montana. Birth date 7-4-64. Problem was, it
was to a Lyle Duggins with an *S*. Further research showed Mr.
Duggins with an S is alive and well, residing in Billings and
married with three children."
  "Here." Mulder handed Quentin Ros' article. "Take the basic
information from this and run it through. If anything, no matter
how small, comes up positive, I want you to call me immediately."
  "Sure. Think it'll give us a break?"
  "I hope to God it doesn't."

  Agent Walker was getting the heebie geebies. She had come into
the ladies restroom. It was deserted except for Agent Scully,
who was standing at the sinks looking into the mirror. Walker had
heard the talk before, the other agents calling Scully 'Mrs. 
Spooky' since she was partners with Fox Mulder. Walker thought
Mulder was kinda cute, and Scully had always smiled at her
when they passed in the hallway, so she had never used the
moniker when thinking or speaking of Scully. Now, she was
beginning to wonder.
  When she had come out of the stall, she noticed Scully was
still standing in front of the mirrors. Walker went over to
the sinks to wash her hands, expecting perhaps for the other
woman to be touching up her makeup. But no, Scully was simply
staring at her reflection, as if she had never seen it before.
Walker tentatively offered a "Hi" and got no response. Scully
lifted up her hands, trailing the fingertips over her face.
  Walker left in a hurry, but fifteen minutes later curiousity
got the better of her. On the pretense of needing to wash
her hands again, she returned to the restroom. Scully was
still there, standing in the same spot, touching her face as
if she were memorizing her looks. Walker dried her hands, 
threw away the paper towel, and left again.
  Spooky.

  Assistant Director Skinner gave Chase a new assignment to
hand deliver to Mulder and Scully. Skinner trusted Chase not
to give in to the temptation and look into one of the fabled
X Files, as he had the problem with other gophers.
  Chase went down into the basement, knocking on Mulder's 
office door before entereing, but found it empty. He didn't
so much as pause to look at the photos tacked up on the walls
or read any of the papers lying around. He next went to Agent
Scully's office. The door had been left open. She was
nowhere in sight either, but Chase couldn't leave the case
file behind on either one's desk. He would wait a minute to
see if Scully returned. She may have just stepped out.
  He sat down on the chair across from her desk and waited.  He liked
Scully's owas more orderly. Any stack of per was neatly straightened.
The books on her shelves stood upright, not in disarray such as her
partner's. Nothing was on top of her desk she wasn't using right
then. The only picture on her desk was a snapshot of her family...
  Chase wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been looking at the
picture. His eyes had automatically glanced to the source of
blue light. He clutched the X file to his chest and got up.
He would go wait for Agent Mulder to return to his office.
It was none of his business, none of his business at all,
what was on Agent Scully's computer.

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