From: Humbuggie Date: 16 Feb 2003 09:50:26 -0800 Subject: xfc: Matrix 1/9 Source: atxc Matrix by Humbuggie Based on an idea by Roxcatje (c)2001 Situation: This story has been written for 'Virtual Season Nine' and basically ignores everything after Season seven's 'Je Souhaite'. Rated R for some explicit language Type: Profiling X-File, M/S UST Background: In previous stories (to be found on my website http://www.sv-tales.com) I have introduced Terence Davis, Mulder's former boss at the VCS. In this story he plays his (small) part as well. Story: New York City's Finest cannot stop a serial killer from running havoc throughout the city, leaving his mark on the city. Fox Mulder is contacted by an old friend and asked for help, thus turning the killer's attention on him, and forcing him into a deadly cat & mouse-game across town. But the agent has no idea the price he has to pay is very high. Disclaimer: Do I need to remind you that our beloved FBI-duo are not mine? They belong to CC. But since he's not using him to the best of his abilities, the XF-fanfic-writers are. Disclaimer Lyrics: All lyrics used in chapters are taken from Dido's 'Slide'. First we'll take Manhattan, Then we'll take Berlin -- Leonard Cohen ...So I read to myself: A chance of a lifetime to see new horizons On the front page A black and white picture Of Manhattan Skyline -- A-Ha And everything I touch Turns to Stone -- Radiohead Matrix Day One, December 15, 2001 Even on a day like this when you're crawling on the floor Reaching for the phone to ring anyone who knows you anymore It's all right to make mistakes, you're only human Inside everybody's hiding something New York City For the occasion he drove a white '89 Chevy, a car no one would pay attention to. For the occasion he had also left his comfortable home outside of town to drive up to her house in Manhattan. Crossing the George Washington-Bridge he found himself staring at the skyline. Every single time he got impressed by the sight of it, even though he had practically grown up in this city, even owning a small apartment near Central Park, which he used on occasion. But today his attention was not focused on the beauty of the city; it was focused on murder. The Chevy was a second-hand one he had picked up some time ago in Boston. He had flown over there especially, just to make sure that the fake license plates would not be tracked down easily. He had given the salesman false credentials, signing it with the fake signature on the passport he showed. He had paid in cash. He had made sure not to talk with his ancient New York-accent, even though he was sure the salesman must have recognized it. He drove the car back to New York, following every traffic rule, keeping himself to every speed limit. He had to make sure that they would not wonder why a man like him was driving from Boston to New York in a vehicle that would be considered inappropriate to him. If someone spotted him and recognized him from his television performances, it was over before it even began. Details like that were never easily forgotten. He could not risk showing cops his false credentials. They would spot it immediately. Care and discretion were the most important things right now, even when it meant driving back into town at 50 miles per hour. He smiled when he came to realize who he really was. Despite the decent clothing, money and tools that he used to live with, he was a fake. He would never be able to cover up he was the son of a prostitute and murderer, despite all the fake credentials and papers that he now owned. It had taken him over forty years to figure out he was his mother's son. But while the old lady had rotted in some jail in the middle of nowhere, he made sure he would never get caught. He had always been very careful. Plus, he had never killed before. He had used his abilities to get where he was now and the next step would be taking over the mayor's chair. But he wanted to do the kill himself. He wouldn't hire anyone else. He needed the thrill, just like his mother. He had no respect for the one was going to kill first. She would be the attention drawer. She would bring the crowd to the city and make sure they feared him. She lived her life in splendor, drawing the audience's attention to her life. She was a wealthy beauty, and one that could not be ignored by anyone. They loved her or they hated her, but she touched their hearts one way or the other. She lived in Manhattan, the heart of the rich city. She had an expensive house, spending her life at charities and funds, benefits and brunches. She didn't work for a living. Daddy had done that for her. She was spending the money he had earned during his lifetime, living it up. She had never married. All the men in her life had been lovers that spoiled her rotten during their time with her, believing one by one that one day she would marry one of them and make him rich too. They called her an investment but she declined every single one of them, leaving more enemies than Marilyn Monroe had during her short-lived life. The last time he slept with her, he knew she would be the first to go. It was meant to be like that. After all, he knew everything about her. He knew her every move, her every action. He knew when she jogged and got home and showered. He knew when she got home too and it was then that he would strike. He wouldn't take her out during her night's out, even though it wouldn't even be that difficult to do so. No, he would take her and everything she stood for out at once. She was a whore after all. He left the car two blocks from her house underneath the trees. He walked towards the grand, restored house and watched and waited across the street until the Jaguar pulled up the driveway. It was a cold night and he knew she would not get out and open the garage manually, like she sometimes did during summer nights. Instead she used the remote control that usually lay in the glove compartment. Immediately the garage door opened automatically. She drove inside, turning off the engine. She parked the Jag next to the BMW, her other little fetish. She had told him once that she would love to do it in one of her cars, with her body pressed against the dashboard, going hard for it. She loved rough sex. But they had never done so. He waited until she had turned of the engine. The garage door was already closing again when he slipped into the darkness of the large space, hiding himself for one moment behind the Beamer. He dropped the bag soundlessly on the floor, and waited until she opened the car door, sliding his own body from behind the Beamer until he stood right after her. She didn't even hear or see him coming. Unexpectedly he grabbed her by the arm and wrist, pulling her further out of the car. His other hand went over her mouth and nose, taking away the oxygen she needed to survive with the leather glove that cut off all oxygen until she stopped writhing and simply passed out. Unconscious she lay in his arms. One of his hands kept her like this until she blinked her eyelids again. The unconsciousness was slow lived and later on she would regret not having passed out throughout the entire ordeal. "Start walking," he hissed in her ear, planting her firmly on her feet. Pushing her forward towards the door he watched her every move, knowing there was an alarm set and that she would need to type in the code to get inside. "Open the door," he ordered. Her hands were shaking when she opened the door, tapping in the code as quickly as she could. He watched her put it in and memorized it. Then she used her key to open the back door, giving him the access he needed. He pushed her inside, closing the door quickly behind him. He suddenly let go of her, shoving her inside. She stumbled and gripped herself to the large glass kitchen table. She grimaced as if she had hurt herself by falling forward, pushing her slim body against the glass. She turned around quickly, as if she was afraid to show her vulnerable back to him. "What the hell are you doing?" she asked as she caught her breath. "Have you gone mad?" Her accent irritated him. She pretended to be half-English but he knew she came from Milwaukee and faked her background to make her sound more interesting for the Press, who willingly played this game. She wore an Armani under her burgundy overcoat. The black suit and gray turtleneck sweater flattered her features. His eyes looked down at her feet. Black, high heels gave her ankles the look of class and style. Four rings on her fingers, three bracelets, and a necklace combined with gold earrings that she wore graciously. His gloved fingers touched her beautiful ears and he wondered what it would feel like to lick them, to scent the flavor of them against his tongue. The coat fell open as she leaned backwards. He caught a glimpse of her torso underneath the suit. Her chest went heavily up and down, as if she had difficulty breathing. Her blonde hair was wrapped in a ponytail, giving her a very young look. She didn't look her 34 years. He could imagine what her lovers and admirers would say when she died. They would remember her naked body that she had used to her own advantage. They would reminisce on the sex they had with her and think she was a great fuck. But they would not say what a great person she had been. For after all, she had been worth less than the money in her purse. And the one man that she had been bound to please tonight, would have to wait an eternity for her to show up, for she would not survive this day. "Susannah," he said softly, caressing her hair and face with his leathered hand. How he longed to touch that face of hers with his bare fingertips, but he knew it would be too risky. Despite it all, he still craved her badly. Deliberately using the soft English accent that sometimes lured him into using his old dialect again, he said, "How sweet you are. How soft and sweet." "What do you want?" she said as she tried to hide the fear from him, still hoping she would be able to free herself from him. "Why did you force your way into my house? You should know by now that my door is always open for you. If you want sex, you should have called me. But I'm expecting another visitor tonight and he'll be here any minute." "I'm sure your bed already awaits him," he responded, smiling. He knew perfectly well that she was lying. After all, she always picked them up herself. He would not show up here without an invitation, and her nervousness clearly showed she had not invited him in just yet. She blushed and then used every bit of sensuality she had in her to get him to respond to her. She stroked his face with her hand, something he permitted for a while before pushing away her hand. Her smile vanished, and then she said, "I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement, can't we? You shouldn't try to force yourself upon me. You should know that doesn't work unless I want it to." He slowly nodded his head. "I'm afraid you've got it all wrong, lovely Susannah," he whispered in her ear. "I didn't come here for the sex this time. I came here to get other pleasures." He sighed deliberately and raised voice calmly. "Why couldn't you have been content with one person to satisfy, Susannah? Why couldn't it have been me?" She paled and swallowed away the lump in her throat. "Because I'm not that kind of person." Her soft voice changed its tone. For the first time in her life she knew she didn't have the power over someone that she thought she would forever have. She became afraid. "You should have been," he said. "With all your fancy clothes and shoes and jewelry, your money, your wealth. You should have stuck to one person who could have taken care of you." "But it's not too late," she said. "Is it?" He sighed. "I'm afraid it is." She turned around and pushed against the kitchen door leading into the large den that she had decorated so beautifully. The last time he had been here he had admired the Picasso replica and the fake Monet that her father insisted was 'The Real Thing'. No one could tell the difference. The 19th Century mahogany desk and the early 20th century wooden chairs appealed to him. He had always wanted them. It would be a shame to destroy such treasures. But they had to go because they belonged to her now. He paid attention to her again, watching her going fast for the front door, as if to force him to get out. Her hand was already on the doorknob when he swiftly moved towards her and forced her to let go. She moaned and cried out as his hand lay around her wrist, slowly pushing the blood supply away from it. She wouldn't have made it. He was fast. As if she had been waiting for it, she pushed her lips on his, forcing her tongue inside of his mouth. He flavored her scent and taste, and then roughly let go, hurting her by doing so. She groaned and let go, wiping her mouth with her hand. Her eyes spoke of concern. Why didn't he respond to her? Slowly she brought her hand to her lips and her fingers lingered there for a bit before she slowly came to realize he wasn't here to rape or damage her, but to kill her. Immediately her attitude changed. She became a cat, fighting for her life. Her fingers clawed at him as of to scratch him, and with one snap he broke the wrist he was still holding on to. She screamed with pain and anguish, gripping to hold on to her life. He could see the bone through the skin. She was fragile. "No, please," she whispered, her voice changing its tone. She almost sang. He smiled. He wanted this to last as long as possible, but knew he couldn't let that happen. He didn't have much time left. He looked into her eyes, staring into the fear. He concentrated on her thoughts, captured them with the powers that made him so special. Then he went into her mind and caught the name of the person that she thought of at that exact time. She screamed because his intrusion cut through her brain like a knife. Her head seemed to burst and her agony was so strong that she forgot for one second she was going to die. And he smiled. "Thank you," he said, "you just gave me my next victim." He suddenly let go of her again, shoving her against the mahogany desk he loved so much. She fell, hurting her broken wrist even more, and screamed in pain as the anguish in her brain combined with her damaged wrist. He didn't care if anyone heard. He knew no one would care enough to come over to save her. He loved the sound of her voice like this and he smacked his lips as he felt his manhood throb. He wanted her so badly, but he needed to compose himself. This was not the time for sexual feasts. She struggled and crawled to get up, and then hurried through the den again, towards the kitchen. He was faster than her again, pushing her body so that she fell and landed hard on the marble floor. She lay there numb until he picked her up, forcing his hands around her throat. She crawled and cried as he squeezed the life out of her. Then she moaned again and passed out in his arms as the lack of oxygen caught up with her. This time the unconscious would remain for a while. But she wasn't dead. He wouldn't kill her like this. He didn't want to strangle her and have it over with. He had something else for her in store. Carefully he placed her body on the couch, and watched her seemingly lifeless form. Her breath was shallow, but she was still alive. She would wake up in a few moments maybe, and then watch her fate develop. He returned to the garage and took his bag with prepared goodies. In the living room he finished his small surprise for her, going about it with quick movements. He had learned to set his little trap on the Internet. A fellow 'student' had taught him a few tricks. He made sure nothing was left to fate. No matter what she touched or what she did, it would become her end. And what an end it would be. Grand enough to turn the town he would one day run upside down. When he was finished, he walked over to the couch, kissed her softly on the lips again, saying goodbye to her sleeping form, and then left the way he had come, using the code to seal off the house. His leathered hand pushed the automatic garage door button. He walked outside and breathed the fresh air. Then he waited for the garage door to close again before he left in the night. Inside the house the telephone was ringing loudly. Susannah vaguely became aware of a sound outside of her dreams. She hated the noise; it hurt her head. She forced her eyes open, reaching immediately for her sore throat, moaning when she moved her damaged wrist by accident. Oh god, she remembered it all in an instant. Her head felt dizzy, she had to claw into the fabric of the couch she was lying on. Suddenly it all became aware to her. She remembered the leather gloves sucking the life from her. Her face showed panic as she forced herself up on the couch. Was he still here? Was he around, waiting for her to wake up? Was he rummaging through the house, not knowing she was still alive? Quickly she lay back again and closed her eyes for a second, listening to any noises in the house. There was nothing. He was gone and she was alone. And the phone rang constantly. She had to pick it up, tell whoever was on the other side that she was in danger and needed help. She pushed herself up again, and let herself slide from the couch, as her legs couldn't carry her anymore. She had to let them know. She crawled over to the mahogany desk and reached for the phone. She didn't notice the wires going from the phone to the kitchen to the back door to the front door. She didn't even hear the small click when she picked up the phone, ready to shout out her fears to whoever was on the other side. The last thing Susannah heard was a deafening noise in her ears, and the last thing she saw was the immense fire that blew up in her face. A sharp sound protruded her ears and a pain, worse than anything she had experienced ever before came to take her away. Then her body blew up with the rest of her house, leaving nothing but shattered pieces of flesh and bone and fabric all over the place. Leaving her with nothing but blinding loneliness where there was nothing left for her but death. Day 2, December 16, 2001 Staring at the same four walls, have you tried to help yourself? The rings around your eyes they don't hide, that you need to get some rest It's all right to make mistakes, you're only human Inside everybody's hiding something Washington DC, Federal Bureau of Investigation Special Agent Dana Scully knew they were in desperate need of holidays but it would still be another ten days before Christmas arrived, and even then it wasn't so sure they would actually be enjoying some time off. It was about time though, she thought. It seemed forever since they had some time to their selves. Last week she was still trying to stop Mulder from going insane, and now - despite the fact it was rather quiet at the office - it felt as if they couldn't simply wind down and relish the fact they were both still well. Funny, how time passed so quickly in these offices. Even more funny how quickly they both recuperated after going through such ordeal. It seemed to easy at times that it frightened her. Sooner or later they wouldn't be this fortunate and they would not forget. But last night at Mulder's, it had seemed as if all was back to normal and they were both passing through the motions like last week's disaster. It was behind them and once again they were moving on. But now she ached for vacation. It was the time of year of course. Christmas was always a difficult period but not as difficult as the days before, when the streets were already filled with cheery people, Christmas lights and a lot of things going on. Mulder had joked last night, telling her he was still trying to get used to the fact he had someone to go to a party with now. In the past he had spent his parties at home, watching old movies and eating popcorn or Pizza, the usual. This year she wasn't so sure yet on what they had planned. But that was something that would come up during the next few days. It would be worth a bit of bantering, she thought as she once again went through the newspapers, trying to find something interesting for them to occupy themselves with. She couldn't help but smile when she remembered yesterday's meeting with Skinner. Despite the fact Skinner both gave them hell for not being with their thoughts at the meeting, it had been a funny situation. Mulder had been sitting forward, slumped a bit as if he had half fallen asleep while Assistant-Director Kersh gave his rundown on a case that got closed just the day before. "Agent Mulder, are you with us?" Skinner had suddenly asked, and Mulder had shaken up, awakening from his stupor. But Scully, who had drifted off just as much, thinking of their complex relationship while listening to Kersh' monotome voice, had been just as surprised and partly fell off her chair, stopped only by Mulder's strong hand around her arm. As a result both agents had almost fallen on the floor as the two chairs wobbled before standing up straight again. Kersh had stopped his explanation, frowning his eyebrows while asking if he could amuse the two agents long enough to stay awake. Scully had flushed immediately, remembering where she had spent the night, and then apologized herself. Mulder muttered something and continued to look very bored. And Skinner had frowned and not said anything. But when they got outside, the AD had warned them both that they shouldn't be pushing Kersh into reprimanding them. Their position at The X-Files was in jeopardy. "When wasn't it?" she muttered wry. The phone rang, shaking Scully up as her thoughts had once again drifted off. "Scully," she said, listening to Kim who invited her and Mulder to come see Skinner instantly. "Mulder's not here," she explained, "but I'll leave a note." She hung up, scribbled a note that she left on his desk and hurried to Skinner's office. Anything was better now than boredom and she would grasp any opportunity at hand to have her hands on an interesting case. She arrived at Skinner's office just as Mulder stepped out of the elevator and walked over to her. He seemed distraught and tired, probably just like she was. They really did need to catch up on their sleep. "Hey," she said, putting her hand on his wrist for a second while glancing nervously down the hall. Her little gestures could give their relationship away but she couldn't help but touching him. That single gesture always told him how much she cared, and when he smiled back, she knew she had just made his day. "Hey," he said back. "Skinner wants to see us?" "Yeah, you were pretty quick. Did you beat the world-record reading little notes and running up stairs to get here?" He smiled. "I didn't go to the office. I just bumped into Kim at the reception that told me. Do you know why he wants to see us?" "No idea, but if it's something interesting, I'm game." He grinned. "If you're feeling bored, Agent Scully, I can always give you a case of a headless monkey born out of the belly of a dog with paranormal powers." She stuck out her tongue before opening the door to the small reception-area, "No thanks. I'll take Skinner's case at any time." "I wouldn't be so sure of that, Agent Scully," Skinner said from the doorway as he watched his agents enter. "Come in. We don't have much time." "We, sir?" Mulder asked, curious as to who else would be waiting for them inside the man's office. Skinner invited them in. Mulder smiled as Terence Davis got out of his seat and offered his hand. But Scully's smile faded, knowing that they weren't going to do a regular X-File but a Violent Crime Section-case. A profiling case. She sighed deeply, recalling the times they had done this before. These were the hard cases, the ones where they were forced to step inside someone's head, hoping that there would be a passageway out. But Terry Davis was a nice, decent man that was always there for them. And he wouldn't come here if he didn't need their help. "Sir," Mulder said, shaking the man's hand. Terence smiled and shook Scully's hand as well. "Glad to see you two are doing fine," he said. "Agent Mulder, I think I might have an interesting case for you. I have run through the file with AD Skinner and he has confirmed to me he's willing to 'lend' you for a couple of days to sort this thing out for us." "What kind of case?" Scully asked, already dreading the answer. "Serial killer?" "Not exactly." Terence shoved the file in Mulder's direction, catching the agent's eyes as Mulder opened it surprised. He wasn't prepared for the first photo and blinked a couple of times before closing the file again. He hadn't eaten yet and this wasn't exactly what he needed to sooth his stomach. Davis saw him wince and nodded, "I had the exact same reaction when I first saw it. It's horrible, I know." Scully reached for the file and opened it. She too felt a knot in her stomach as she stared at the photo of what appeared to be a deformed corpse, missing bits and pieces as it had been blown to smithereens. The body was black and hardly in one piece. There was nothing left of it to declare it human. Yet it could be identified instantly as a corpse. "Lovely," Scully muttered. "A bombing?" "Yes. Right in the center of New York, can you believe that? The city is turned upside down. Everyone is in uproar because of this. People are talking political bombing again. They want blood. Fortunately we could calm them down a bit by stating we would put our best men on it." Terence smiled. "Didn't you hear about this on the news last night and this morning?" "I didn't listen to any news," Mulder said almost at the same time as Scully. The two glanced at each other. "I'm sorry," Mulder said, "why exactly are you coming to us with this? If this is a terrorist action, shouldn't their Task Force be doing this?" "This isn't a terrorist action," Skinner said. "This was murder." "With a bomb?" Mulder asked surprised. "Yeah," Terence said. "With a bomb. There are no terrorists involved, Mulder. The target was a civilian, a woman that had many admirers and enemies. Someone chose her for this repulsing death but not because she was of political importance. The mayor knows that by now, as does the Senate. But this is already a highly profiled case and you will be watched from the moment you step in it. You should be aware of that." "That still doesn't explain why you come to us with this case," Scully remarked. Terence smiled. "I know, Agent Scully. This is officially not an FBI-matter ...yet. There's someone else that is interested in solving it but he specifically asked for you even though he's in charge. He sought FBI-assistance and came to me to request you. He thought you were still working with the VCS, yet he claims to be an old friend of yours." "Who?" Mulder asked curiously as he leaned forward a bit. His interest was caught, Scully saw, and she feared that he would take a case that wasn't even theirs to begin with just because it fascinated him. She could tell by the way he glanced at Davis. "Jack Campbell." This time Mulder's attention was caught and won over by Davis. Slowly the agent rose out of his chair and said, "No way." Davis couldn't help but smile with Mulder's enthusiasm, remembering how Jack Campbell was one of the few FBI-agents who had left the Bureau to join the NYPD. Usually it was the opposite around, but Campbell, ex-VCS-agent had resigned stating that he couldn't do enough good here. He had been one to work outside, in the field. He hated being a profiler and had said he wanted to make the move before the victims fell, not afterwards. Both Mulder and Davis had been in touch with the man during the following year, and then Campbell had taken off to Australia and hadn't been in touch with them ever since. Mulder had lost all track of him, at times wondering what ever happened to the man that started out at the FBI with him. But like it always happens with old friends, he never really attempted to get back in touch with Campbell, and Campbell hadn't gotten in touch with him. "I thought he was in Australia," Mulder said surprised. "He was, until about a year ago. He came back because it didn't work out there." "I wonder why he even left for Sydney in the first place. I thought the NYPD was his life?" "I don't know," Davis said, "you should ask him, since he's coming over to see you this morning. In fact, I think he might already have arrived and is probably waiting at your office right now." "He is?" Mulder asked even more surprised, "he flew over from New York this morning?" "Yes. When I called him last night, I told you him had changed office eight years ago, and believe me, he was even more surprised than you when he found out what you are doing right now. I told him he would need a damned good case to convince you and so he booked an early flight out to come and see you. His flight landed around nine. He should be here at any time. I told him to go to your office and meet you there." "I still don't understand why he wants me there," Mulder said. "That is a question you should also ask him," Davis said. "I gather that you are taking this case?" Mulder didn't respond, but his eyes glanced with the knowledge that he would see a lost friend again soon. Day 2, December 16, 2001 Washington DC, Federal Bureau of Investigation A tall, slim man with blonde hair sat at Mulder's desk, looking at the office that seemed strange to him. He had heard rumors that Mulder had been involved with paranormal activity, but he had never thought it were true. Yet when he called Davis the night before, using old strings to get the man's attention, Davis had confirmed it. "Mind you," Terence had said, "Mulder has not changed a bit. His mind is still as brilliant as ever and he has solved more cases than anyone at the Bureau. And he's still a damned good profiler too. But you'll have to keep in mind that his mind is open to alternative options and he might overwhelm you at times with his theories. If you can cope with that, he's the man you should talk to." Jack Campbell was a man of impulse. Ten years ago he had changed his FBI-outfit for an NYPD-outfit, choosing New York because he was born and raised there, and the police department because he felt he was doing no good at the FBI. Before he had been recruited for the Bureau, he was destined to become a cop anyhow. His father had been one, and his grandfather before him. When he was recruited, his dad had been very disappointed, claiming the FBI was no good to anyone. But Jack had learned a lot during his short time at the Bureau and he had learned to see things differently than most cops. He had used his profiling skills to catch killers and rapists, and he had been promoted to Detective within the year. He had been very good at his job, and then he had moved to Australia. No one had understood why he did it, and it still was his little secret. He had spent seven years there, working as a cop in Sydney. His transfer had been hard and difficult and when he came back, the NYPD had acted even more difficult. But in the end his track record showed he was worth the effort and he gotten a promotion again within the year, this time running six other detectives in his own little Homicide Investigation Unit. He was a very secluded man. His time in Sydney had changed him. He had become a stranger amongst strangers, a 'Yank' in a team of Australians that refused to accept him at first but embraced him in the end. His return to New York had been the most difficult, but it was something he had to do. He had lived in Sydney as a guest and it had been time to come home, to a city that had become more dangerous and violent than ever before. He leaned backwards in the seat and wondered why there weren't any pictures on the desk. There was nothing personal that could tell this office belonged to Fox Mulder. There was just the nameplate. He hadn't asked Davis any personal questions about the agent. He didn't know whether he was married or seeing someone. And he had no idea if Mulder had changed as much as he had; if the two men could still get along and find friendship. Finally the door opened but instead of Mulder, a petite redhead female agent entered first. She was talking to Mulder and then stopped, surprised that their guest was sitting at Mulder's desk. Campbell knew her name was Dana Scully and that she had been Mulder's partner for years, but he stopped at her attractiveness and candor. He liked her instantly and when her eyes caught his, he knew she liked him too. Then Mulder got in behind her and Campbell smiled, almost in relief, as he recognized his old friend instantly. "You see, Scully?" Mulder quipped, "I knew there was a reason to keep my New York Knicks T-Shirt." Campbell grinned widely and fished inside his pocket, delivering three tickets that he waved in the air. "I knew I could still bribe you the same old way," he smiled. Mulder stepped forward and embraced his old friend. Jack accepted the embrace and patted his friend on the back. "Next time you shouldn't wait ten years to pay off your debts, Campbell," Mulder grinned, tucking the tickets in his pocket. "Yeah well, it took me a while to pull some strings for these seats," Campbell answered as they let go of each other. Mulder turned slightly and said, "Jack Campbell, meet Dana Scully. Scully, this is Campbell, the terror of New York." "Nice to meet you," Scully said, shaking his offered hand. "I can't say I've heard much about you though. In fact, your visit comes as quite a surprise." "To all of us, Agent Scully," Jack said as he leaned comfortably at the edge of the desk. "Believe me, I didn't know I was going to be here yesterday either, but I do need your help and I had to find a way to stop you from refusing." "You just should have asked me over the phone," Mulder said. "Of course I would have come over. Now that you're here though, tell me what's going on." "If you don't mind, I'd like to discuss the case with AD Davis and your boss at the same time. It's a long story and quite difficult to explain and we don't have much time to go through the details. Our flight leaves at two. I know I might have gone too far in assuming you are going but I couldn't wait for the bookings. This case is too important and needs your help." "That sounds serious enough," Mulder said, "and if you truly have a bomber on your hand, I can understand the urgency. I'll see if Skinner and Davis have time right now." "Let me do it," Scully said, picking up the phone. Campbell smiled gratefully and glanced at Mulder. "You haven't changed much," he said, "how's everything going?" "As good as can be expected," Mulder said, who couldn't help but stare at Scully standing right in front of him. Campbell caught the glance, feeling a sting in his belly. He too glanced at someone this way years ago. And now that person was dead and he was on his own again, wondering how he could change his life for the better. Campbell blinked and shook his head slightly. He shouldn't be wondering off like this. That was then and this was now, and now he needed to solve a case as soon as possible. "They're expecting us," Scully said. "Let's go." Campbell smiled at Scully's actions and opened up the door for her. Mulder followed, looking at Campbell's changed features. The man looked great but there was a haunting look in his eyes that could not be explained. He hid a secret; that much was certain. But what kind of secret could change a man forever? Walter Skinner immediately took a liking for Mulder's college friend. Jack Campbell was Mulder's size, a slim but firm built man who liked to take the time to jog and work out. His blonde hair was cut short. His blue eyes seemed as if they were constantly asking questions. He frowned when he couldn't understand a certain gesture and never made a secret out of his issues. He was a bit rough in his actions yet knew perfectly well how to treat a woman. Jack did his utter best to like the coffee he was presented but his nose wrinkled as he drank some of the black, artificial substance, causing Mulder to smile. In some ways Campbell hadn't changed a bit. He still liked his coffee 'natural' and pure. "If I had known you would come over, I would have made you a fresh pot," he quipped. Jack put down the cup. "Let's get to the point, shall we?" Earlier that morning Davis had used scanned prints of the murder scene but now Campbell opened his map with the original photos. There were six photos, all taking different angles from the damage done to the house and victim. "Her name was Susannah Delany, age thirty-four. Her father was a real estate agent for the rich. He died of a heart attack leaving her rich. He had gotten a divorce four years before his death. Her fund is worth millions because daddy also happened to be the heir to another fortune." Jack shoved another picture in Mulder's direction. "This is her when she was still alive and kicking. And this ..." yet another photo going into Mulder's hands, "this is her when she died. Not a pretty sight, I can tell you that." "You are handling this as a murder case now?" Mulder asked, "you told Davis that they were first talking terrorists?" "Yes. Fortunately I could calm down the mayor's office and the Senate. They practically freaked out. The explosion could be heard miles away. The house was blown to Kingdom Come, taking two other houses with it. There were no victims there. The bombing was most definitely focused on Susannah. The bomber used an inventive wiring system to trick her. She was trapped inside her own home. When she picked up the phone, she triggered the bomb and left nothing of her." Mulder glanced at the photo of the beautiful woman who smiled into the camera. She looked like the All-American girl. She seemed to have everything going for her. Yet someone had viciously killed her in the cruelest way possible. For someone to do that, he or she must have had a huge resentment for her. "She was a well known figure in New York Society," Campbell said. "I met her a couple of times as well. She was popular amongst a certain crowd but she was also nicknamed 'The Slut' in certain circles. It was no secret that she did older men who bought her gifts for her favors. It could well be that our suspect is one of New York's finest men or women. Right now I have a team of my best exploring her past. But when I left this morning, it also became very clear that this is not going to be an easy task. Susannah Delany has leaded a complex life." "So what your ideas then?" Mulder asked. "Surely you must be following a certain direction?" "Right now we're still exploring, Mulder," Campbell confessed, "but we need a profiler on this case and I thought of you instantly." "Why me?" Mulder asked. "We've got a few profilers working in New York." "I know, but I wanted you for the job because I know your style and how you think. I believe that together we might have this solved within a few days. If I have to work with a profiler I'm not familiar with, it might take a while and we might be grasping at straws. With everyone breathing down my neck, I cannot afford this. So basically, I need you Mulder." Campbell smiled. "And of course you knew those tickets didn't come cheap." Mulder didn't smile back, still wondering what Campbell was concealing from him. It was strange that he would come back for him after ten years, believing he was still doing the same job at the same office as if these past ten years hadn't existed. And how could he still remember every detail of his work while so much had happened in between? No, there was a catch. But Mulder would find out soon enough what it was. He could tell that Campbell was eager to talk to him in person without others watching them. "Okay," Mulder said, "I'll do it." Scully opened her mouth to protest, wondering what she could use as an objection to stop her partner from going to New York. But she couldn't find anything to say or do, and hadn't she stated before herself that she was eager to get her hands on something? Then her eyes caught the photos and she stared at the ones taken from the scenery. It was shocking. She remembered other photos of bombings she had seen. The memories to that office building in Dallas still sprung to mind. She didn't like cases like this. But how could she refuse when this scenario could repeat itself soon? From the outside there was nothing left but the walls. All windows and doors were blown out; glass lying everywhere. From the inside the house was one big pile of debris. Photos were taking from the house as well. The furniture was unrecognizable. The pictures on the wall were burned or broken. Glass lay everywhere. The piano standing in the living room was broken in half when a concrete pole had dropped on top of it. It was heartbreaking to watch. "We've got ourselves a madman, Agent Scully," Campbell said softly, "and my gut feeling tells me he has just begun. A man who does this will not stop with one kill. He will go on. That's what my profiler instincts keep on telling me. We need to go through details today before tomorrow he kills another one. He knew this woman, yet he killed her. Shouldn't we stop him from going through his list of 'friends' before -" "Wait a minute," Scully said, "he knew her? How can you be so sure?" "There was an alarm set. She couldn't have done it because she was trapped inside the house. He knew the alarm and set it before he walked out again. He could only have done that if he knew her. She never gave out that code to anyone. It was part of the triggering device. If someone had come in from the outside, trying to open the door with that alarm still armed, she would have died too. He had all the bases covered." Mulder glanced at his watch. It was nearly noon. In two hours their flight would leave. He thought of the overnight bag he had used when he spent the night at Scully's. It was set to use. He got up and looked at Scully. "You are free to stay here, Scully," he said formally, "but I'm going to accept this case. This is a profiling case but I could use your help for the autopsy and details." Scully got up, knowing she would not let Mulder go on his own. "Let's go then," she said. Campbell smiled and said his goodbyes to Skinner and Davis. Then Skinner got up as well and followed the agents outside. Mulder looked surprised at him as he said, "I'm going too." "Sir?" Mulder asked surprised. Campbell grinned at Mulder's surprise. "Your boss gave his permission on the condition that I would book him a ticket too. He's in charge." Mulder looked aside and spotted Skinner's serious look. Then he knew his boss took charge because of Kersh. If something went wrong, it would be Skinner who took the slack, not them. He felt pleased for his boss' acceptance of responsibilities and smiled gratefully. Skinner nodded in understanding. Two hours later two agents, an Assistant-Director and a New York-cop got on a flight out to the Big Apple, where a killer awaited them. Day 2, December 16, 2001 New York City He sat down in front of the television and watched as the news report on Susannah Delany unfolded. He smiled. The attention would take their minds off the immediate danger. Everyone would be focusing on her killer and not on who might be killed next. Ignorant people, he thought. You will all see the light in the morning. For tonight he had already chosen his next victim. No, Susannah had chosen him. Her mind had given him the way to the man that might have been the only one she ever truly loved. Why else would he have been the last person on her mind before passing out? He knew the man by name and in person. Stephen Wells was his name. He was forty-seven years old and a bachelor. He lived near Central Park in a spacious apartment where he invited guests on a regular basis. He was known for his generosity. He was a kind man, in fact, the opposite of what Susannah had been. He didn't deserve this death. Yet it could not be avoided. He deserved it just for fucking her. It would be more difficult to kill this man, especially because he lived in an apartment. It would be trickier too. The blast would destroy the entire building. He could not afford that. So he had to look for other ways to trap him. Wells lived in luxury but to an extent. He worked for an office at the other side of town where he always worked late. There he would die. Every morning he arrived there around ten o'clock after his daily jog. At night he often stayed until nine, unless he was entertaining or invited to a party. He didn't have many other hobbies than that. In the short time he had, the killer had found out a lot about the man. He supported charities and benefits, and he too had been at the Franklin Mason Benefit. Then again, everyone with a bit of name and meaning in town had been there. On the Internet there was a web page dedicated to his goals. He had a few supporters in town, dating from the time he was running for the Senate. Back then he had lost because he hadn't found the way to make name yet. Now that he did, it came too late. The office wasn't too difficult to gain access to. It was a building that held about ten companies. Visitors needed to check in at the reception, but since everyone came for a different office, it wasn't so difficult to pretend you actually worked there. That morning he had walked in as if he were an employee of the Accountancy Firm on the third floor, but instead had taken the elevator up to the tenth floor where Wells worked. There he had taken a quick look around and muttered an apology to the receptionist when he got caught about being on the wrong floor. He had hurried back down and knew that tonight he would come back around eight, when everyone was at home except for Wells. Anyone else that would be there was out of luck. For the building would be the subject of a bombing that would end the life of eligible bachelor Stephen Wells. Then the local news reporter said that New York Detective Jack Campbell had called in the help of the FBI and was now handing over charge to Assistant-Director Skinner. He also mentioned an FBI-profiler was now on the case and would be called in to determine the killer's whereabouts. The killer smiled when he saw a tall, blonde guy whom he recognized immediately. Jack Campbell had actually spoken a couple of times to him during a few benefits they both attended. Campbell's father had been honored during his tour of duty, and now it seemed his son was heading the same direction. The interview with Campbell had been taped the night before, just outside Susannah's shattered house. The killer raised his glass and got out of his seat, tapping it against the television screen. "Here's to you and your profiler, Jack. May the best man win." Then he picked up his readymade bag and left for the office. He had some work to do before he would visit Stephen Wells' office to kill him. Tonight would indeed be a victorious night. Day 2, December 16, 2001 New York City They sat next to each other with Skinner and Scully sitting behind them. Mulder had hesitated at first before slipping in the seat next to Jack's. He had wanted to set next to his partner and hold her hand, but there were too many eyes focused on them and he needed to control his feelings. Sitting next to Jack would help him to do just that. "Now tell me, Jack," Mulder said as the flight took off, "why did you really contact me?" Jack looked aside, not even surprised with the question. "You really cannot accept that I picked you out because of your expertise, do you?" "You didn't even know I had changed departments," Mulder said. "And it's been ten years. No, I don't believe you." Jack sighed and rubbed his head, trying to escape the headache that seemed to come and go during the day. He knew he wasn't meant to lie to Mulder, but how could he explain his reasoning when he didn't even understand it himself? "I knew you weren't a profiler anymore," Jack suddenly whispered. His voice spoke softly as if he didn't want the others to find out. "I've been following your career for ten years, Mulder. I knew you were assigned to The X-Files because you were looking for your sister. You gave up your career because you cared for a person, like I have done because I cared for one too." Mulder glanced aside curiously. "You knew?" he asked. "Then why -?" "I thought that you, with your expertise in the paranormal, would understand me better than anyone else. I didn't ask you for your profiler skills, but because of your paranormal expertise." Mulder leaned forward and whispered, "Are you saying this is an X-File?" "If you want to call it that way. Yes and no, I don't know, Mulder. I really don't. There's something about this case that I can't explain. I know we have the bombing. The evidence is there. The murder happened in a natural way. She died because of that bomb. Yet there's something I can't put my finger on. I don't know what it is. It's been bugging me since I got the call yesterday about her death. It happened around eight in the evening and ever since I've been bothered with this." "Why didn't you tell anyone?" Campbell laughed. "Come on. You know that would destroy the case. You of all people should know what it's like to fight against prejudice." "What makes you think this is paranormal?" Mulder asked. "You said it yourself: All the evidence is there. There's nothing abnormal about the case, and -" "Look." Campbell glanced behind him, hoping that Skinner and Scully wouldn't hear it. He didn't know them well enough to confide in them just yet. He wanted to keep his little secret between them. "There's something you should know, Mulder. Something that might change the way you look at our friendship in the past." "You're a woman," Mulder said. Campbell laughed. "No, it's not that bad." Mulder grinned. "So you can't surprise me anymore. Now tell me." Campbell sighed deeply and looked forward. "I was recruited for the Bureau, not because of my skills or expertise or brightness, like you. I was recruited because I had visions as a child, teenager and young adult and they knew about it." Mulder leaned forward even more. "You're psychic?" he asked surprised. "I used to be." "Come on, Jack. Once a psychic, always a psychic. Spill the beans." "Alright," Campbell admitted. "I am still psychic, if that's what you want to call it but it's not strong. It just happens, usually at night. I dream about things. People say I'm good at what I do. If they knew I use ninety percent of my instincts to catch my killers, I wouldn't be so believable anymore." "And you had a vision about Susannah Delany?" "Yes, I had. I went to that house and I had a vision of her being trapped in there with a man - her killer. He did something to her that I cannot describe. He seemed to pick her brain and then he went away. The vision was very blurry and strange, and I don't know how to describe it any different than that. I believe that he too is psychic in some way and that we connected somewhere. I picked something up from his actions." "And because you can't use that vision, you turned to me, hoping that I could," Mulder remarked. Jack smiled. "I know, it sucks, but that's how it is." "I see," Mulder said slowly, trying to figure out what to do next. His first urge was to convince Jack to have his ability further explored but he knew his friend would not go for it. Somehow his sudden move to Australia had something to do with it as well. He could tell by the way Jack still kept certain things to himself. "All I ask of you, Mulder, is that you treat this case as a profiler. But I would advice and ask you to keep an open mind on things and use whatever I have seen to solve this case. And I can only hope that you don't think any different of me now that you know." "I won't," Mulder vowed, "but you need to realize and accept that your ability is not a curse but a gift. And anything that you see, you must tell me if it affects this case. If not, we're through." Jack promised and watched as Mulder opened the file and started making notes to profile their killer. The two words that sprung to mind were "cold-blooded" and "vindictive." Those words alone made Jack shiver. He knew for certain he had never done a case like this before. Day 2, December 16, 2001 New York City The Federal building in downtown New York carried 25 floors and a lot of FBI-agents. New York was a major city after all, and one of the most important crime cities of the country, which wasn't that abnormal considering the population it held. Skinner didn't have difficulty arranging a few joined offices at the VCS. AD Norris who ran the New York-division, was a good friend of Davis and had foreseen their coming. Of course everyone knew the stakes. The FBI-spokesperson already had her hands full with calming down the press. Fortunately no one of the press tried to stop them when they drove up. Using the intercom, Campbell was allowed in the visitor's parking lot. The FBI-offices looked like a beehive. Hundreds of agents walked in and out, and every bit of space was used to put a desk on. "This building is too small," Skinner remarked, clearly showing he missed his office in Washington. Jack was known at the FBI. At the reception they gave him a visitor's badge and a pass through the building. He had been - after all - one of them. Mulder and Scully used their own passes as did Skinner. "This way," Jack said, walking to the elevators. He pushed the button to the eleventh floor and lead the agents to two smaller, joined offices to the right where they were awaited by an agent who was assigned to provide them with all the necessary information. A man in his fifties awaited them as well and got up when they got in. "Good to have you back, Jack," he said, shaking hands with Campbell. Skinner recognized the man from a few previous meetings and didn't need introduction. "Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, may I introduce you to Assistant-Director Donald Norris ?" Jack said as Mulder and Scully stepped forward. "It's an honor, agent Mulder," Assistant-Director Norris said. "I've heard quite a lot about you." "You have?" Mulder asked with a hint of surprise. "I wouldn't believe everything they told you, sir." Norris smiled, and invited them to sit down, explaining to them they could use these temporary offices to get settled in during the next few days. His own office was on the tenth floor but he would always been at their service if they needed any help. The office was bright and gave a magnificent view to the city. The sun lit the city yet it was freezing cold out. The heating was running day and night to keep the offices warm. There was one large desk with a leather chair and two visitor's chairs. A small table could be used for conferencing. Doors lead to a similar office with two desks. A secretary walked in, offering them coffee. She came back with five cups of coffee, all adjusted to everyone's liking. She left them alone and shut the doors behind her. AD Norris took a seat at the conferencing table and after a bit of shuffling everyone finally got a seat. AD Norris seemed a busy man. Whenever he spoke he glanced at his watch. He talked fast as if he wanted to blurt out as many words as possible in order not to forget anything. Later on, when Scully visited his office for information, she would find that his desk was loaded with paperwork. He was one of the few men in charge to run the entire New York Field Office and that kept him busy day and night. Norris was responsible for a eighty-four percent solving rate within the VCS in his district and reported on a daily basis to AD Davis who ran the VCS throughout the Eastern District. He had twelve agents working for him, amongst them three profilers. The other Field Agents were in charge of different departments. His specialty was kidnappings. He had solved one of the cities' high profiled cases about a year ago when a prominent banker was abducted for ransom. He had solved the case within two days, bringing the banker back in one piece. That is, missing two fingers. If there was one thing that Norris despised, it was child murder. When a case like that landed on his desk, he put in every agent he could to catch the killer, and he didn't mind if the killer ended up dead. He was for the death penalty and didn't make a secret out of his feelings. But he was also integer and would give everyone an honest chance. Jack was convinced Edward Norris could have reached the Bureau's top by now if he hadn't had such a bad personal reputation. Twice divorced had left him in the hands of several younger lovers and the Bureau knew about his taste for young flesh. That alone stopped him from being the new J. Edgar Hoover. But Norris didn't care. He wanted the best of both worlds and that was exactly what he got right now. "I know this case is not up your alley, Agent Mulder," Norris started, coming straight to the point, "we're not talking about an X-File here but a profiling case. There is no paranormal activity involved and there are no monsters that killed Miss Delany. Are you sure you want to do this?" "Sir, as Assistant-Director Davis must have told you, I've been involved in several profiling cases over the past few years with a high success rate. With AD Skinner's permissions I have divided my time between the VCS and The X-Files to assist AD Davis whenever he needed me. I understand this is not an X-File but I am willing to put in time and effort." Norris didn't even blink, proving to Mulder he was trying to test him. "What about those X-Files-cases? There were serial killers involved there as well, weren't there?" "Yes, sir. But you cannot call these mainstream cases. The serial killers we dealt with all acted out of different reasons, mostly involving survival. In 1993 we have solved the case of Eugene Victor Tooms, a man that extracted human livers in order to hibernate. This was a serial killer that had been active for over a hundred years. There was also a man named Virgil Incanto who lived on the fat of obese women in order to satisfy his hunger. And -" "I think I get the picture, Agent Mulder," Norris interrupted. "As long as you understand that this case involves a regular man, I'm okay with it." Mulder glanced at the man in surprise, realizing he actually believed him and didn't wave away these stories as crap like most people at the Bureau did whenever they read one of his reports. Were there actually people working at the Bureau that still believed in him? Norris got up and put his hand on the file that lay on the middle of the table. "I have a meeting in about ten minutes," he said, "so I'm going to leave you to your devices. Walter, you know where to find me should you need one of my men. Just let me know how we can help you. Of course you can also contact AD Davis for questions or information." "I appreciate that, Edward," Skinner said, shaking hands with his colleague again. "We'll keep you informed." "Oh yeah," Norris said as he walked towards the door, "you've been on the news again, Jack." "I have?" Campbell asked surprised, recalling only last night's short interview with a local reporter. "It seems that CNN is keeping an eye on this case as well, as are the other big stations. They want to know why someone is planting bombs in New York and they're eager to have a talk with you. I'm afraid that you won't be able to keep the population calm if they keep this up." "Damned reporters," Jack muttered. "Why can't they do other, more important things?" "It's their job," Norris said, closing the door behind him on the way out. Campbell turned towards the others. "I suggest that we start working. What do you want to do first?" "I'd like to autopsy the body tonight if possible," Scully said. "I suppose it has been held for me?" "It has," Jack confirmed, "even though the coroner's office wasn't too pleased with that. I had to pull a lot of strings to persuade them to wait." "I'd like to see the crime scene first," Mulder said, "get a feel on what happened." "We can do that," Jack said, "but we also need to make a courtesy call to the mayor's office. We need to settle some issues there before the mayor steps in and takes over. He has the power to make our lives miserable if we don't act discretely." Jack glanced at his watch. It was after five. If they were going to act, they didn't have much time left before dark. "I'll call the mayor from the car and set up the autopsy for you, Agent Scully. I suggest that we profit from the little time we have left before it gets too dark." "I'll stay here," Skinner said, "and get in touch with the other authorities. Remember, I'm only here on an administrative base. This is your case, but I'm backing you up should the heat get on." "We understand, sir," Mulder said. Day 2, December 16, 2001 New York City The house was one big pile of debris to put it mildly. Absolutely nothing was left of the Victorian home, except a couple of walls in between which lay the remains of the first and second floor. The fire department had supported the walls and was still cleaning up the mess when the agents got there. "Most of the evidence has been taken to a police compound," Jack complained. "We're trying to go through details there because it's too dangerous to hang around here. One might get debris on his head. There are still pieces falling down all the time." Across the street a crowd had gathered to watch the proceedings. The night before the crowd had been double its size and people had watched how Susannah Delany's body had been removed from under the debris. People had whispered and wondered. Mulder took a look at the neighboring houses and noticed they too had suffered greatly under the bomb, but they were not beyond repair. "We asked the inhabitants to find a temporary new setting," Jack explained. "The mayor's office has offered support and help and the house will be repaired as soon as possible. But I'm afraid this one is gone. A shame really if you see what effort has been put into restoring it years ago." "Are the walls going to be torn down?" Scully asked. "Yes, as soon as we have gathered all the necessary evidence. That should happen in a few days." Jack carefully made his way through the debris and stepped inside what was left of the living room. The cracked piano that had been on one of the photos still stood there as a memento to a woman's life that had been completely ruined with a crushing bomb. "Where did they find Susannah's body?" Scully asked, following in Jack's footsteps. "Over there." Jack pointed towards the remains of a wall covered by a whole lot of wood and stones. From his pocket he got out a map of the plan, provided to them by the architect that renovated the house only five years ago. "The area in which she was found was the former living room. It had an L-shaped form, you see? Here was the living area. You can still see the remains of the couches, the TV, stereo, all that stuff. All the electrical equipment exploded in the fire. The short end of the L was her dining room. It was a large room with two steps leading to the front door. There was also a stairwell in the back, going to the first and second floor. She didn't use the second floor. The kitchen had another stairwell, probably used by her housekeeper." "She had a live-in housekeeper?" Mulder asked. "No, there was a woman that came over twice a week and spent a whole day at the house. Susannah didn't want to be disturbed by her and they had made very particular agreements on her work." The agents stepped through the living room and watched as one firemen went through the ruined kitchen where the counter still stood up but was now painted black after the fire that started after the bomb. "The kitchen had been a spacious, modern room," Jack continued, showing them photos of how it used to be. It had two doors leading outside; one going to the back, which was being used as a service entry door. And there was a second one leading up to the garage. Both doors had an alarm." "Was the garage secured?" Mulder asked. "Automatic door?" "Yeah. She had the automatic door installed after the renovations. The garage could two cars, which were both counted for. She drove a Jaguar and a compact BMW. According to the housekeeper she changed the alarm once a week and she was the only one that knew it. When the housekeeper came over, she had to ring the front door and was allowed in by Susannah. If Susannah wasn't at home, the housekeeper couldn't get in." Jack waited as he watched Mulder think. "We believe that the killer made his entry through the garage door. He probably slipped in and waited until she got out of her car to grab her. He must have used her for the alarm. She probably didn't know what hit her." "Was there a silent alarm?" Scully asked. "No. The alarm did block after three attempts, setting off an alarm at the security agency," Jack said. He had gone through the report so many times by now that he knew exactly what the style and layout of the house had been." "You mentioned earlier that the alarm had been set off by the telephone. Did the bomb squad examine the device yet?" "They have," Jack said, glancing at the one of the firemen that looked very curiously at him. "But I suggest that we discuss this on our way to the mayor's office. Have you seen enough for now?" "I have," Mulder confirmed, thinking about the details he would put in his report. He had seen enough to know that the killer was indeed heartless and cold-blooded and could have been someone in love with her. Most murders happened out of unanswered love or passion. When something like this happened, the people involved usually saw their love replace for pure hatred. On the other hand, he thought, the killer might have been making a point. A kill like this was bound to get into the news. He might have wanted to draw the attention, to have people know he existed. To have the people fear him. Right now anything was still possible. "Destroy and mutilate," Mulder mumbled, kneeling down. He touched parts of the debris with his bare hand, trying to see either the distress or pleasure the murderer was in. There wasn't a signature of the killer left. But there was the bomb. And there was a sense of sexuality that seemed to be the trigger inside the killer's head. He could feel it like a cold blanket that lay inside this once beautiful house. "Our killer definitely gets off on what he's doing," Mulder said, looking at no one in particular. "He takes his time placing the device, making sure his victim is not in the way when he's setting it up. He probably drugged her or knocked her unconscious while he was at work. She must have been because she didn't know he was triggering the house. She wouldn't have picked up the phone had she known he was setting his trap." "Go on," Jack said, listening to Mulder's nearly monotone voice. He could see the man was talking without thinking, as if he wanted to say it before it was gone out of his mind. "He wants us to admire his handy work, that's for sure. He had two reasons to use this bomb. He wanted to destroy everything that was dear to her; not alone her physical being but also the place she had put her stamp on, as if he wanted nothing left of her to be remembered. He probably tapes all the news reports and watches them over and over again, because he's proud of what he's done." "Do you think he's a serial killer?" Jack asked, remembering the strange vision he'd had about the man whose face he could not see. There had been something so cold about that vision, so very cold. Mulder looked at the others. "We'll know soon enough." Mulder's words shocked the other agents, realizing he was right. Right now there was no way of telling if the killer had already chosen his next victim. There was only the knowledge that they would have to fight against time should there be another murder, proving that they indeed had a serial killer on their hands. Jack rubbed his eyes, trying to ignore the headache that now pounded against his skull. He hated headaches like this; they were usually a foretoken that a vision was about to come his way. "Let's get out of here," Scully said. "Can you two drop me off at the coroner's office?" "Sure," Jack said as they made their way back to the car. Across the street still stood a crowd gathered to see who the people were that were rummaging through the debris. Mulder saw a few cameras and reporters. He spotted them a mile away and knew they would want to get answers soon. "Can you get those reporters to hand over printouts of the photos taken last night?" he asked. "Might come in handy." "Sure," Jack said, "you're thinking that he might have come back to see his handy work?" "Yeah. It's a long shot because, to be honest, I think he's too smart for that. But you never know." "I'll find out which reporters were here last night and get those pictures for you soon enough," Jack said. "But you'll probably have to give an interview in return." "If that's what it takes," Mulder said, "I'll do it." Scully and Jack made their way out but Mulder stopped before the outer wall, turning and staring at the debris. Suddenly he was back at the bombing in Dallas. Back then the bombing had taken place to cover up several deaths. What if this bombing had taken place for the same reason? If not to destroy one's life, why would anyone plan such a horrible death? "Mulder?" his partner asked, approaching him carefully. Mulder blinked his eyelids and turned towards her, placing his hand on her arm. "Scully, I want you to check for anything out of the ordinary when you do that autopsy. Check particularly if she had any diseases or signs that showed she might have been sick or something right before her death. I know it's a long shot but I've got the feeling we need to find something here that has got nothing to do with the bombing." "What are you looking for?" Campbell asked. "I don't know," Mulder muttered. "That's just it. I don't know. But I've got this feeling that it's something important." Preliminary reports showed that the bomber was an amateur. The device was set up with native means, working on a trigger setting off by a certain move. He didn't use new, sophisticated technology to get the job done "He must have had help to do this," the expert said as he explained how the device worked. "That, or he used a handbook on how to set a bomb." "What about the Internet?" Mulder suggested, jotting down remarks. "There are chat rooms and forums for just about anything. There probably are on terrorists and bombs as well." "How to create the perfect, destructive bomb," Mulder said. "It's sick, but it can." "It shouldn't be too difficult to find that out. I'll have someone do a search on the Internet. Who knows, we might get lucky." Day 2, December 16, 2001 New York City The office building was dark, just like he had expected it to be. The reception area was empty but the outer doors were still open. He would need a badge to go up now, and he didn't have one. He pushed the button of the tenth floor and waited until a male voice asked, "Yes?" "Stephen," he said, "it's me. Can you let me in?" There was a silence on the other side and then the man that worked on the tenth floor said, "Sure." The killer smiled, knowing Wells didn't know whom he was letting in but didn't think anything strange of it. After all, he had used Stephen's name, taking the risk that he was by himself. Outside he had seen that all the floors were still lit, but it was the evening saving's lights. There would probably be a security guard walking about too. Tough luck for him. He pushed the button of the tenth floor and walked in. The office at the end of the corridor was brightly lit. That was Stephen's office. He had seen that this morning while making his stroll through the building. Stephen was there, busy at work, and now he would die at his office. He held the bag in his hand. It felt heavy. Stephen looked up when he walked in and said, "Excuse me, do I know you?" "Of course you do, Mr. Wells," he said, "we attended several benefits together, haven't we?" "Of course we have," Stephen said hesitant, offering his hand. "How are you? What can I do for you? I'm sorry, I thought I let one of my colleagues in." "I know," he smiled. "I took the risk of coming here, hoping you would be by yourself. You are alone, aren't you?" Stephen seemed uncomfortable now, wondering what this man was doing here at this time of night when everyone should be at dinner or doing something else than work. He was used to being here alone at night. "I'm sorry but you still haven't told me what you're doing here." "We need to talk, Stephen." "About what?" "About things that you've done. About people that you've been with." He took a seat at the edge of Stephen's desk and took a paperweight off the desk. It felt heavy in his hand. He toyed with it as his eyes focused on Stephen who became anguished now. "What are you talking about?" Stephen asked. "What things have I done?" "Why are you at work, Stephen, when you should be morning Susannah's death?" "Susannah?" Stephen Wells laughed bitterly. "Is that what this is all about? You're here because of Susannah? You're a reporter, aren't you? You came here because you found out about us and now you're trying to get a story out of it. Get out!" "I'm not a reporter," he said calmly. "Are you trying to blackmail me then?" Wells muttered as his face turned red in anger. "Get the hell out before I call security. How dare you come in here right after her death and do this to me? We had a good thing going. You can't use that against us. Get the hell out before I kick you out myself!" He smiled. "I'm not leaving, Stephen. I've come here to kill you." Wells' eyes changed expression when he saw his 'guest' wore leather gloves. The man's eyes were as cold as ice. And his facial expression was numb. Suddenly Wells felt an excruciating pain inside his head, and he screamed as he moved away from the chair, putting his hands up his head as he screamed. It felt like someone was cutting into his head with a knife, taking out all the thoughts and dreams. His eyes locked with the killer's and it felt like he would never be the same again. Then the pain stopped suddenly and the killer smiled. "Thank you for handing out my next victim." Wells stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over his chair as he came to the realization he had signed his own death warrant. And then the paperweight went up and knocked him over the head, cutting deep into his skin and flesh. Wells slumped backwards, pulling a stack of paper on the floor with him. There he remained out cold. The killer removed the man's cellular phone and tucked it in his own pocket. He would leave that outside the room where Wells couldn't use it. The killer moved quickly now, shutting the office door and switching off the lights so that only the dim night lights remained on. Using the same MO he had used on Susannah, he triggered the phone and fax. Then he wired the rest of the room. Closing the door he placed the bomb right outside the room. Every single action the man did would kill him. And if someone tried to save him, he would still die. A few minutes later he was downstairs and left the building in utter darkness. Inside the room Stephen Wells woke up slowly, reaching for his bruised head. He sighed deeply as he tried to grasp at what had happened to him. The world danced before his eyes. He touched his temple, feeling the deep cut of his own paperweight. Then he remembered. He knew who that man was! That struck him the most. He had seen him before and knew of his political ambitions. And he was also a killer. He had to tell someone! His hand reached automatically for his cell phone that should be sticking in his jacket pocket. It wasn't there. He moved up, touching the side of the desk. There was a vague sound, like a phone ringing. The sound seemed too loud in his bruised head. His fingers reached for the phone, picking it up. Then there was a sharp, high sound that pierced his skull. He stared at the wires that ran down the phone and then it was over as the bomb outside the room went off and sent everything in it to kingdom come. When the fire ended, the entire top floors of the office building had gone to hell. Underneath the debris on the ninth floor, which had suffered too during the blast, lay the unconscious body of the security guard. Day 2, December 16, 2001 New York City The mayor's dizzied with activity as Mulder and Campbell arrived. It was seven-thirty yet all the personnel still seemed present. Some of them were dressed in evening gowns and tuxedos. "There's an AIDS-benefit tonight," Campbell said. "I was supposed to go too but with all that's been going on, it's not going to happen. Not that I'm unhappy with it; I hate these events." "Don't let your father hear you say that," Mulder remarked, remembering the former Police Chief whom he had met twice. The man had said once that living in a city like New York and in an environment that thrived on parties, dinners and benefits, it was one's obligation to make you as much seen as possible. Jack had not stepped into his father's footsteps. That is, as little as possible. "Detective Campbell," the mayor's secretary said Jack knocked on the glass door that lead to a small but beautifully decorated reception area. "The mayor is expecting you." "Thank you," Jack said as they walked in. Inside another, classically decorated office, a man in his late forties awaited both men. Mulder had seen the mayor on news bulletins and in newspapers. Rumors had it that he was going to try for the Senate during next elections and that the eligible mayor's seat was up for grasp. Once, during an interview with Time, the man had stated that some day he would run for Presidency, as his great-great grandfather had once done. He lived for politics, like all the members of his family did or had done. It was no secret the mayor was a very cocky man that didn't like it when things didn't go his way. He wanted to have say at the NYPD and FBI and when he found they outranked him in decisions, he became difficult and sometimes downright obnoxious. But his entourage liked him and would do everything for him. "Close the door, Ellen," he said, "and tell David that I'm going to be running late. He should warn Congressman Mitchell." "Yes, sir," the secretary said as she shut the door. The mayor didn't offer them coffee. He made it very clear he didn't want to spend much time discussing the case with the two men that were supposed to solve it soon. "Look, Campbell," the mayor said, ignoring the fact for now he saw this man on a personal basis as well and at times even liked him, "I'm not going to beat around the bush here. I want results and I want them now. I appreciate you bringing in the FBI but you're slowing things down. What are you doing to get this guy?" "We have gathered all the evidence and are exploring Miss Delany's past, sir," Campbell said politely, knowing damned well he didn't have to use their past 'friendship' in this room. "We will get him, but you must understand that this doesn't happen today. It takes time." "We don't have time. Everyone's breathing down my neck. They all want to know how this could happen in my city. They believe that we're all in danger and that some crazy bomber is terrorizing the city. I have a press conference in the morning to tell them this is not the case. Please tell me this is a one-thing event, Jack." Jack opened his mouth to speak but stopped when Mulder interfered. "There is no telling, sir," he said quickly. "We might have a serial killer on our hand. But he's not a terrorist. I guarantee that much." "How can you guarantee that?" the mayor asked, angrily accepting the answer he didn't want to hear. "There's not much you know about him yet, is there?" "That is correct, sir," Mulder said. "That's why I'm here. I guarantee you that I will do everything in my power to grab him." "Good," the mayor said, "because if you do not, I'll make sure you never work at the Bureau again." "Is that a threat, sir?" Mulder asked cold. "No. Call it warning. I know the Director quite well." "So do I, sir. And I can tell you that he will not appreciate the remark you just made. You need us more than we do you right now. I suggest that you keep that in mind too." Mulder rose from his chair and turned his back towards the mayor who sat numb in his seat, not able to utter another word. Quickly Jack left as well, shutting the door behind him. "What the hell was that?" Campbell asked, suddenly bursting into laughter at Mulder's serious features. "You don't really know the Director, do you?" "Of course not," Mulder said calmly, "but don't think the mayor's going to contact him either. He needs us and he knows it. He needs the FBI to keep his city calm right now. If he screws that up, he loses all credibility himself." "You like to taunt people, don't you Mulder?" Jack asked. "You haven't changed a bit." Mulder's smile faded. "There's a lot you don't know about my past, Jack," he said seriously. "You have no idea what it's been like to work at the Bureau, knowing that everyone there wants to get you fired out of the Bureau. They've been laughing at my work and making it ridiculous it because they don't understand it. I'm so tired when that happens outside the Bureau. That man in there doesn't have reason to threaten me, but he thinks he can because he runs this city. So it's my job to set the record straight." Jack patted Mulder on the back. "I know what you mean," he said. "Believe me, I do. Let's get out of here and go see Scully. She should be working on that autopsy right now." "I hope she's finished," Mulder grinned. "She loves to slice and dice, but I don't like to watch." "Don't tell me you're squeamish about this." "Of course I am. Every regular person should be." The two men walked outside to Campbell's car and got in. Suddenly Jack froze, rubbing his eyelids forcefully as he sunk deeper into his seat. Mulder looked aside but didn't disturb him as the detective sat quietly in his seat. Finally Jack relaxed and looked up. "You had a vision, didn't you?" Mulder asked. Jack nodded and looked aside. "I can't be sure," he said as drops of sweat poured down his face, "but I think there's been another one." At the same time Jack's cell phone went off. Both men knew why. Jack sighed deeply and picked it up, as a cold hand embraced his heart. A voice on the other side told him what he didn't want to hear. And Mulder knew it was going to be a long, long night. Day 2, December 16, 2001 New York City Mulder called Scully on the way down to the office building that had been under attack and asked her to arrange for a rental car and come over too. She agreed and said she would be coming over in about an hour or so, after finishing the autopsy. She still had some work to do. The two men sat quietly in the car, not wanting to discuss the second murder. But Jack wanted to talk about the vision. "It was that man again," he said, "I can't help but think that we somehow are on the same level. I see what he's doing but I can't see where or when. It's like I'm picking up some of his thoughts; the ones that he perhaps wants me to see." "Do you have any idea if he looks familiar to you?" "I can't see his face. I don't know who he is. It's all too blurry. This vision doesn't work at all, Mulder. It's just a nuisance. It's a joke." "It's not," Mulder said, trying to calm his friend down. "Look, you said that the FBI recruited you because of your visions. Did they know about it?" "I don't know. What I meant is that they thought I had insights no one else had. They were right of course. But I wasn't tested on those visions nor did anyone discuss them. I just felt like cheating when I used them. I thought that by joining the NYPD I could have better use of them, but there too I discovered that it always came too late." "Why did you go to Australia?" Mulder asked. Jack laughed. "Can you believe that I really don't know? I have no idea. There was an opportunity to escape and I seized it. I couldn't handle these visions anymore. I questioned my goals in life and realized I needed to go somewhere where I could figure out my future. There was someone I cared for a lot. A woman. She came from Sydney. She was an actress. I met her at one of those dreaded benefits. We became involved and she asked me to go back with her. I had already decided that I would do so when I found out she had Alzheimer's. She was only thirty years old Mulder and yet she was already dying. I went back with her and took care of her until the day she died. The years with her were the happiest of my life. But when she died I knew I could no longer hide for myself and so I came back, only to find out nothing really had changed. Believe me, I have regretted going back several times but I stuck it out. I knew this is where I belong." "I understand now," Mulder said, "but that still doesn't change the fact that you can do some good with that psychic ability of yours. You have the power to help people, Jack. And believe me, I know what you are going through. Not so very long ago I had something happening to me. Suddenly I could hear voices. I heard millions of voices and they were all in my head. I could read everyone's minds and that drove me nuts because I wasn't prepared for it. But there was this young boy that had the same ability, and he handled his ability with ease. He knew how to benefit from it. I know you can benefit of your power too." "You call it a gift, a power," Jack said somber, "but I call it a pest." "You shouldn't because you don't know how you can use it yet," Mulder said. "I can help you do that, if you allow me." He grinned. "In that field I have quite some experience you know." Jack looked aside. "I know what you're trying to do," he said. "But I'm not sure that I'm ready for that yet." "You won't be until you let me help you." "Let me think about it," Jack said. "Okay?" "Fair enough," Mulder said, feeling victory was almost in. Then the agent looked before him and muttered, "Jesus." Before them stood the ruined office building. It was a miracle there was still a part of it left, because a bomb had ruined most of its top floors. "What the hell," Jack muttered, parking the car right in front of it. Dozens of people were running about. Several fire department vehicles already stood there. There were police cars and ambulances. It looked like World War III. Mulder and Campbell rushed out. All hell had broken loose and it seemed nothing would ever be the same again. Day 2, December 16, 2001 New York City Quietly Mulder walked alone through the rummaged tenth floor. In the back office the remains had been found of Stephen Wells, the apparent victim of the second bombing in two days. Just like Susannah Delany before him, Wells had become the target of a vicious murder that ended his life. And just like with Susannah, his belongings had been destroyed. The bombing had been carefully planned. The killer had come to this office, taken out Wells long enough for him to set the trap, and probably watched from the outside when the floor had been blown to bits. The man's death was just as horrible as Susannah's had been, allowing Mulder to believe that he deliberately chose out this man to die. But what was the connection between Delaney and Wells? Why would he choose two people that apparently had nothing in common? "There was a second victim," Jack reported as he walked towards Mulder. "They found the security guard a floor lower. He's hurt but not in any danger. He was making his rounds when it happened." "Have they found out how this man got in the building yet?" Mulder asked. "He must have had a badge or something." "The security system is still to be examined, but at first sight it seems that Wells let him in. He must have known him." "There was no one at the reception?" "There never is at night. The receptionist leaves around seven and there's only the security guard. Everyone who works here late at night has his or her own badge. So when there's a guest at night, he or she needs to be allowed in." "Is the badge system checked?" "Yeah," Jack confirmed. "They'll go through the badge-lists tonight to see if anyone gained access this way. But at first sight it seems that this is not the case." Mulder nodded. "He would give himself away instantly. He wouldn't do that." "So Wells must have known him." "Most likely," Mulder said thoughtfully as he stood in the center of what had been Wells' office. The bomb squad confirmed the phone had been wired, alongside the fax machine and door. Wells' cell phone had been found on one of the other desks. It was obvious the killer had wanted his victim to pick up the phone. "What are we going to do, Mulder?" Jack whispered, "we've got a deadline now. If he kills again tomorrow, we need to be there to stop it." "Go do some good old fashioned police work and work your way through the details and suspect-list," Mulder said. "Scully will pick me up here. I'll make the profile tonight. I think I might have enough information to work with." "Are you sure?" "Definitely," Mulder said. "Can you do me a favor and book us into a hotel in the city? Just give me a call and let me know what you came up with." "Okay," Jack said, saying goodbye to his friend. Mulder looked at the firemen who were still cleaning the floor and turned his back towards them, concentrating on the scene. More and more he became convinced the killer had a reason for destroying his victims like this. It was just the viciousness. There was something else. "Hello?" A man tapped on what remained of the doorpost and walked in. "I'm sorry, I'm looking for Detective Campbell." "He just left," Mulder said. "Sorry, you are -?" The man walking into the room was dressed in a tuxedo and seemed completely out of place in the destroyed room. He was in his late thirties and good-looking. His bright dark blue eyes took in the environment and he seemed nervous to be in the room. It seemed to be the last place he wanted to be at. "I'm sorry," he said, "my name is Alec Thompson. I'm a friend of Jack's and work for the mayor. I was on my way to a benefit when I found out what happened. The mayor's assistant called me and told me." Thompson smiled wry. "I guess he thought I would find out more than the mayor did." "I'm Special Agent Mulder," Mulder said, shaking the man's hand. "I'd be more than happy to tell you how our investigation is going but the mayor already knows everything he needs to know." "I gathered as much," Thompson said. "Can you tell me if Jack is around?" "He went downtown." "Oh. I'll call him then." Awkwardly Thompson remained in the room, staring at the debris. "How could anyone do this to another human being?" "Good question," Mulder said. "One that I cannot answer for you." "I'm sure you can't. Well, it was good to meet you. Goodbye." "Goodbye." Mulder watched as the man left, wondering about this strange visit. He made a mental note to check out this man. One could never know. Mulder walked to the staircase and walked down. In the reception area he bumped into Scully who was just about to go up. "You just saved me a long walk up," she said. "How was it up there?" "Horrible," he said. "Let's get out of here, Scully." "Where to?" "The FBI Field Office. We need to talk to Skinner and put together what we've got. There are a lot of things to discuss." "I agree," Scully said. Mulder glanced at her curiously, knowing she had something to tell. Day 2, December 16, 2001 New York City It was nearly midnight and two of the three persons in the room had eaten. Scully had grabbed a sandwich at the coroner's office and Skinner had eaten with Norris. Mulder's hunger had passed during the unexpected visit to the office building but now he was famished. The day had been quite long but the night would become even longer. The second murder had clearly shown they were working against a time limit they had to keep in mind. The profile that rested in the agent's head still needed to get on paper. And there were a lot of details to discuss. But Scully was first and got to explain the details shown during the autopsy. Her voice sounded professional and her words were to the point, yet Mulder could see how repulsed she must have been while slicing and dicing. "You were right, Mulder," she said, "There was more going on than just the bombing." "Oh?" Skinner said surprised, leaning forward interested while supporting his elbows on the desk. "Susannah Delaney showed massive brain tissue damage; damage that could not be caused by the bombing. Believe me, it took me a while to figure this out. Her face and head were damaged beyond recognition, as you could imagine. Her face was practically blown away. But when I took a sample of the brain, I saw that all the small blood vessels had exploded as if she had been subjected to something that could cause this." "Something like what?" Skinner asked, "a machine?" "No," Mulder said. "Not a machine. To a person." "Excuse me?" Skinner said. "Can you explain yourself, Agent Mulder?" "I know this might sound difficult to accept, sir," Mulder said, "but I have reason to believe our suspect is psychic, or at least has psychic abilities that allow him to do this. He uses these abilities for some reason that I'm not aware of yet, literally causing the explosion of the brain cells before the actual death." "That would leave his victims dead before the explosion," Skinner said. "Wouldn't it, Agent Scully?" Scully hesitated and glanced at Mulder. She had no idea why he came up with this, and she had no reason to believe his theory. Yes, the victims suffered from brain damage that might have eventually caused their untimely deaths, but to state that the killer did this with psychic abilities? That was stretching it a bit too far. "Scully?" Skinner repeated, "Could this be possible?" "If you ask me they could have survived this sort of ordeal, then I'd answer yes. But if you ask me if this is caused using psychic abilities, I'd have to decline." "I knew you were going to say that," Mulder said, not angry with her at all. She wouldn't go for his theory and he had to defend his without revealing Jack's secret. He had promised to do so. He groaned lightly and shifted in his seat. "I have more proof to validate this theory, sir," he continued, "but I can't use it. You are going to have to trust me on this one." "What do you want me to say, Mulder?" Skinner said as he got up and put his hands in his pockets, turning his back towards the agents. "Do you want me to go to the Deputy Director with this story? Do you want the press to find out about it?" "No, sir. Officially I'd go with the crazy bomber story. Unofficially I would find out if this man is truly psychic and if this case falls in our X-Files-department. But I'm pretty sure that - if and when we catch him - we will know that he indeed is not a regular serial killer." Scully glanced at her partner, not knowing whether she should be angry or not with him. He held back something for them and she wanted to find out what it was. It had something to do with Jack. She knew that. But how was she going to find out? Mulder looked at her and gave her a warning look. She knew better than to argue with him. She didn't feel like doing so. It was too late in the evening and they were not one step further than they had been in the afternoon. "I suggest that we break up for tonight and proceed in the morning," Skinner said. "It's late and we're all very tired. Agent Mulder, I suggest that you give your theory a rest for now too." "Yes sir," he said. On their way to the Field Office in the rental car Jack had called and said they were all booked into a Holiday Inn. He gave Mulder the address and told him he would pick them up in the morning. He too was on his way home even though his mind wasn't set to sleep. Too many events still lingered in the back of his mind. Skinner took his own rental car to the hotel and followed Mulder and Scully in theirs. At the hotel they booked into three separate rooms. Before Skinner's eyes the partners said goodnight, but Mulder knew he would see her again that night. After taking a shower, Mulder dressed into sweats and a T-shirt and turned on his laptop. The events were still fresh in his mind and he knew he could not sleep before he had put his profile on paper. In the back the TV was playing. A soft knock startled him and as he opened the door Scully stood there, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. "Hey," he said, letting her in. She smiled and kissed him as soon as he closed the door. It wasn't a hungry kiss. They weren't in the mood. Tired she glanced at the laptop and said, "Shouldn't you be resting?" "I can't," he said. "I still have some work to do." "Can I help?" "No, you've done enough for tonight." His voice sounded serious. She knew he didn't like it when she worked late, like he did at times. She also knew he was working on his profile, something she couldn't help with. Hesitant they stood opposite each other. She cupped his head in her hands and kissed him again, softly and smoothly this time. "Would you mind staying?" he suddenly asked. "I still need to finish this, but I would love it if you could keep me company." "Sure," she said, retreating to the bed. She laid herself down, throwing off her shoes. Leaning on it in a comfortable pose she watched him as he sat by the table and typed his profile. Finally she flipped channels and read a magazine a previous guest had left. Around two she finally fell asleep. He looked up and found her asleep. Carefully he put a blanket over her and stroked the hair out of her face, taking in her features. She looked so innocent; too innocent perhaps to do this line of work. Only four hours earlier she had been cutting up a victim. In the morning she would do the same thing with another one. And then she moved on as if nothing happened. Yet she didn't like it when Mulder worked on serial killers and tried to get into their heads. She believed that one day he would not return out of the abyss. Mulder sighed deeply and wondered how in the world they would ever combine this relationship with their professional careers. Then he smiled and realized they had been doing exactly that over the past years. They might not have been sharing their beds for that long, but their affaire had been going on for quite some time. They both would lie if they denied that. The agent took a deep breath and returned to his work, only to finish up around four. Startled he glanced at his watch, put off his shoes and socks and slid underneath the blanket with her. Scully groaned in her sleep, turned and embraced him in her sleep. He fell asleep with her face next to his, her nose almost touching his. She was the last thing he saw. She would also be the first thing he would spot in the morning. Four miles away the killer stayed awake and watched the news. He was content with the way things were going. The kick of killing was only starting to grow. Day Three Take time to catch your breath and choose your moment Don't slide New York City Early in the morning Mulder woke up on his usual hour, only to be surprised by Scully's glance. Her face was still very close to him and it seemed that they hadn't moved a wink during the night. They were still entangled in each other's arms. "I have to go," she said as if they had just shared a valuable night and were forced to say goodbye. "Jack will be here soon to pick us up." "I know," he responded with regret, but there was no objection. It was too soon to let the world know. Right now there was just their attention for each other. It was too precious to throw away with a single wrong movement. She slid off the bed and knelt down, kissing him goodbye. "See you in a few," she said and left the room with her keys in her hand. He looked at the door, wondering if she would come back. But she wouldn't. There were silent agreements between them and they both lived up to them. Mulder washed up and brushed his teeth. Around eight he turned on the local TV-channel, only to be surprised with the amount of press interest. There was a ten-minute story on last night's events. The mayor was interviewed at last night's benefit, and his right hand, a man named David Lane, explained to the gathered press that they had faith in the FBI and police working together. Suddenly Mulder stared at the screen, recognizing him as the center of a profile, set up by the news station overnight. His college history and track record were mentioned; as were previous cases he had helped in as a profiler. There was also a slight mention of The X-Files. Humored Mulder finished dressing, wondering how long it would take before the press got their hands on him and forced him to give statements he didn't really want. Before long Skinner stood before his door. He had already warned Scully as well that Campbell was waiting in the lobby. They would take a quick breakfast and be on their way. Campbell looked worried when they came downstairs. When they were eating breakfast, Campbell explained. "Your hotel leaked out to the press. They're eager to talk to one of you," he said. "I'm not really for it. I don't want to alarm this guy. But I guess it can't be avoided." Jack handed Mulder a document that the computer spit out the night before. "I've done a bit of tabloid-research," he explained. "Susannah Delaney was kept track on, and it seems that Stephen Wells has been spotted with her several times during the past few months." "They had an affaire?" Scully asked. "Looks like it. But ironically enough this was one of the relationships that could be discussed out in the open. If you were to read all the other articles on her, you would see that there are some highly profiled people on that list, going to the Senate and the mayor's office." "We're still assuming someone she dated killed her?" Skinner asked, glaring at Mulder whose facial expression didn't change. "Is that what we are going to tell the press?" "It's a good story," Mulder said. "But it's not the entire story." The three others looked at him curiously. Campbell knew what he was talking about and blushed. But Skinner looked annoyed and worried at the same time. He was afraid Mulder would spill the beans on his psychic-theory. Mulder only smiled and turned his face to Skinner. "Don't worry, sir," he said. "I'm not going to screw things up. I'll make sure the FBI is not discredit or damaged by my story." Mulder straightened his back and walked outside, immediately surrounded by several reporters that all fired their questions towards him. "Agent Mulder," a woman said, pushing a microphone under his nose, "you're on a live television. Can you tell us how the progress on your investigation goes?" "I can't tell you many details about our investigation," Mulder said politely. "I have created a profile on our suspect that will be distributed to all law enforcement agencies. We have reason to believe there was a strong connection between the deaths of Susannah Delaney and Stephen Wells, and that they were not chosen randomly." A short silence followed. Then everyone tried to shout his or her question. "Is this the work of a terrorist?" "Is the killer going through New York's High Society?" "Did Miss Delaney have an affaire with Mister Wells?" "Did Mister Wells kill Miss Delaney before committing suicide?" Mulder didn't answer any of the questions, simply excused himself and walked past them. Then a man grabbed his wrist and he turned around. The reporter who had touched him asked, "Do you think the killer is challenging the FBI with his actions? After all, there have been bombings before against law enforcement agencies." Mulder stopped and thought over his answer carefully before turning towards the camera as if he wanted to look straight into the killer's eyes. From where she stood Scully could clear see her partner's eyes as he coldly said, "I know how he's doing it. Now it's just a matter of stopping him." Then Mulder simply walked further until he reached the rental car. Fishing out the keys Scully had given him the night before he got in and waited until Scully slid in next to him. Jack Campbell used his own car, as did Skinner. "Why did you challenge him?" Scully asked. Mulder raised his shoulders and shook his head. "People like that should know they cannot get away with murder." "He already has, Mulder." Yes, Mulder thought, he already has. But if he got the message, he knows by now that I know how he's doing it. Sitting before his television set, the killer felt anger bottle up inside of him. The agent knew. He could tell by the way he looked into the camera. It had been a message for him. A message to let him know he was on to him. The killer nodded slowly. If this was a challenge, he was up to it. From now on he had but one opponent: The Profiler.