Title: Nocturnal Perception (5 of 12)
Author: Jen Green

Chapter 21

FBI Headquarters
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Thursday
11:30am

     
At the familiar sound of his partner's heels clicking on the 
tile floor, Mulder pulled his gaze away from the file he was 
reading to watch her approach. As they had every day this week, 
his eyes went to her wrist, surreptitiously checking for the owl 
bracelet. And as she in turn had done for the last three 
mornings, Scully pointedly ignored the disappointed look in his 
eyes when he discovered it wasn't there. 
    
"Are you playing nice with the other agents, Mulder?" 
     
Aggression was the key, she decided. Get him involved in a 
discussion about their newest case, and maybe, just maybe, he 
wouldn't comment on her lack of jewelry. She knew that further 
discussion of the past weekend's events was inevitable; there 
was no way Mulder was going to let this one go, but she hoped to 
get at least a few more day's reprieve out of him. Whenever her 
thoughts drifted to the letter from Dorothy Williams, Scully got 
this sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she simply 
wasn't yet ready to try and figure out what it meant.
     
"Well, Agent Brentwell tried to take my Ken doll, so I had to 
pop him one, but other than that..." 
     
His words trailed off and he simply looked at her for a moment. 
Before her arrival, he had decided that today was the day. They 
were going to have a conversation about her bracelet whether she 
wanted to or not. However, when faced with the look of 
apprehension in her eyes she was trying so hard not to let him 
see, he found himself granting her unspoken wish. 
     
** Ok Scully, we'll play it your way. But as soon as this case 
is over... ** 
      
He gestured at the manila folder in her hand and let her off the 
hook.
     
"Is that the autopsy report on the latest victim?"
     
Slowly releasing the breath she hadn't even realized she'd been 
holding, Scully gratefully accepted the opening her partner 
presented. 
     
"Yes, it is." 
     
She sat down at the small table Mulder was using as a temporary 
workspace and glanced around the bullpen assigned to the FBI's 
Violent Crimes section. 
     
"Where is Agent Brentwell? He should probably hear this too, 
since it's his case and we're just consulting. You didn't 
really...?"
     
Mulder laughed at the semi-concerned look on his partner's face. 
"No, I didn't really. He went to visit the Little Agent's Room. 
He should be back any minute. Did you find anything?"
     
"Nothing particularly helpful, I'm afraid. I can give you the 
cause and time of death, but not much more than that. Find 
anything at the scene?"
     
"Exactly what they found when the first three bodies were 
discovered - a whole lot of nothing." 
     
Mulder's frustration with the case was evident. People were 
disappearing from various subway stations in the DC metropolitan 
area only to turn up dead exactly three days later at a 
different station. Each time there was no forensic evidence to 
be found, and no witnesses. Then, within twenty-four hours of 
the appearance of a body, another person would vanish from yet 
another metro station. 
     
Mulder and Scully had joined the case on Monday at A.D. 
Skinner's request after Agent Brentwell and his team had failed 
to come up with any solid leads on the killer.  There was 
nothing to suggest that it may be an X-file, but Skinner felt 
Mulder's superior profiling skills might prove valuable to the 
investigation. 
     
They had spent the better part of the week going over reports of 
the disappearances, combing crime scenes, checking and re-
checking autopsy results only to come to the same conclusion as 
the VCS team. There simply was no evidence to be found. 
     
Late Wednesday night, the call had come in that their fourth 
kidnap victim, missing since Sunday evening, was no longer 
outstanding. 
     
"Ah, Agent Scully. Please tell me you have good news. Your 
partner and I were just about to go looking for a nice brick 
wall to beat our heads against." 
     
Scully smiled a greeting at the older agent as he approached the 
table. Christopher Brentwell was one of the few people in the 
VCS who didn't appear to subscribe to the "Spooky and Mrs. 
Spooky" attitude held by so many of his coworkers. At 45, he'd 
been with the FBI for nearly seventeen years, thirteen of those 
years spent working in Violent Crimes. Popular opinion said that 
he could've easily made Assistant Director five years ago, had 
he been so inclined, but Brentwell wanted no part of that. He 
was a good field agent with a decent solve rate and had no 
desire to join the race to see who could climb the ladder to the 
5th floor the quickest. He was well aware of what most of the 
Bureau thought of these two, but in the few days he'd spent with 
them, Brentwell had found them to be intelligent, thorough, and 
insightful and he wasn't about to turn down good help because of 
a few rumors spread by small-minded people. Especially not on a 
case as tough as this one was turning out to be. 
     
"Please don't," she replied. "I spend enough time patching him 
up as it is." The two agents shared a conspiratorial grin while 
Mulder rolled his eyes.
     
"Are you going to brief us on your autopsy findings, Agent 
Scully, or would you like to poke some more fun at the 
coordinationally-challenged?" 
     
"I'd be more than happy to go over the pathology report with 
you, Agent Mulder, if you're quite certain you're finished 
rewriting the English language? Coordinationally?" 
     
Brentwell saw the teasing looks that passed between the partners 
and couldn't help but wonder if at least one of the rumors he'd 
heard about these two might be true. ** If it is, ** he thought, 
** more power to 'em. **
     
Getting back to business, Scully opened up the folder containing 
her report and slid it across the table so that both men could 
see it easily. The first item in the file was a photo of the 
victim as he had first been discovered. Both agents looked away 
quickly, Mulder being the first to recover.
     
"Well, I guess spaghetti for lunch is out."
     
"This is Mr. John Jasen, age 26, found late last night at the 
East Falls Church metro station by a security guard. Mr. Jasen 
has been missing since approximately 2:00pm Sunday, his last 
known whereabouts being the Glenmont metro station where he was 
catching a ride home from a friend's house." 
     
She indicated the crime scene picture. 
     
"Cause of death is exactly what it looks like gentlemen, 
excessive blood loss due to severe abdominal trauma. Mr. Jasen 
here was eviscerated with what appears to be a pair of pinking 
shears. In addition to being disemboweled, the victim's arms and 
legs were covered with many less-severe contusions and cuts and 
he has a goose egg the size of Texas behind his left ear. That 
appears to be the oldest of the injuries, most likely meaning 
that the killer struck him from behind with a blunt object as a 
way of subduing him at the Glenmont station. The blow to the 
head as well as the cuts and bruises are the only injuries 
shared by all four victims."  
      
"Due to the marked absence of blood at the crime scene as well 
as the fact that an attempt at reconstructing his bowels showed 
that several feet of large intestine are as yet unaccounted for, 
it is my opinion that Mr. Jasen was murdered elsewhere and 
dumped at that station, the same as the other three victims. 
Based on the condition and level of decomposition of the body, I 
would estimate time of death to be between 10pm and midnight 
last night, which would mean that, as with our other victims, he 
was probably dead no more than an hour or two before he was 
dumped. Toxicology screens showed nothing out of the ordinary, 
and as of yet I've been unable to find any trace evidence. I had 
his clothing sent over to the fingerprint lab, but I doubt 
they'll find any more from that than they did from the others. 
This guy is extremely careful not to leave anything behind. 
So...that's all I've got. How's the profile coming along?"
     
"Oh, I've got a profile all right," said Agent Brentwell. "I'd 
say we're looking for a complete nut job. None of his victims 
share anything in common, he never kills the same way twice, and 
he has a thing for the subway. I mean, didn't they teach him in 
serial killer's school that it's not nice to fail to leave 
behind any evidence? We have four dead people here, one killed 
by poisoning, the second from a gunshot wound to the face, the 
third simply beaten to death, and the fourth had his stomach 
ripped open like a pinata. What kind of sense does that make?"
     
"He's crazy, yes, but he's not stupid," Mulder said softly. 
     
He had that faraway look in his eyes that Scully recognized as 
the one he got when he was trying to solve a puzzle. 
     
"The subway stations, they're the key somehow. He's taunting us 
with them, knowing that we can't just close down the entire DC 
metro system. The fact that he can get in and out without anyone 
noticing indicates that he's quite familiar with the terrain. 
More than likely he works or used to work there, probably as a 
security guard or maintenance worker. Someone that a lone 
commuter would have no reason to fear in a deserted train 
station. He probably already knows that we will figure this out, 
but by using a different station each time, and jumping around 
randomly from DC to Virginia to Maryland, he realizes that it 
will be quite difficult for us to find him out that way given 
the vast amount of people employed by the Washington 
Metropolitan Area Transit Authority."  
     
"By keeping each victim for three days, and only killing them at 
the end, he's probably acting out some past trauma, most likely 
from his own childhood. I think our best course of action for 
finding this creep is to continue with the background checks on 
the Metro workers, with a focus on any who may have been fired 
recently or who have exhibited violent tendencies. This isn't 
the first time he's killed. In addition, we need to figure out 
his pattern. What makes him choose the stations that he does? We 
already know when he'll strike next, now we need to know where. 
If we can predict that, we should be able to get a team in there 
and grab him."

-----


Chapter Twenty-Two

     
Nearly eight hours later, Scully pushed her chair back from 
the table, stood up and stretched. Bleary-eyed from performing a 
6am autopsy followed by endless hours studying maps of the 
city's subway system, she felt they were no closer to figuring 
out the killer's pattern than they had been this morning. Her 
stomach chose that particular moment to remind her quite loudly 
that lunch had consisted of a five-minute raid on the third 
floor snack machines nearly six hours ago. She looked at her 
partner who had yet to look up from the map he had his nose 
buried in.
     
"Come on Mulder, it's time for dinner. We've been at this all 
day." 
     
"It's here somewhere, Scully. There's got to be a pattern." 
     
"Mulder, we need a break. If we haven't found it by now, we're 
not going to anytime soon. Let's go get something to eat, get 
some sleep. Then we can look at it with a fresh perspective in 
the morning. Brentwell has people working around the clock on 
those background checks, and they've beefed up security at all 
the subway stations for tonight. There's not much else we can do 
at this point. If they find anything, they'll call us, I'm 
sure."
     
Something in her voice made him look up at last, and he saw the 
weariness in her face. 
     
"Listen Scully, you look exhausted. Why don't you go on home, 
eat some dinner, and get some rest?" 
     
She started to protest, and he cut her off. "I promise, just a 
few more minutes, and I'll go too, ok?"
     
"You'd better Mulder, because I'm going to call that phone when 
I get home, and if you answer it, you're going to be in big 
trouble." 
     
She pointed to the telephone sitting on the corner of the table, 
half buried under maps and notes. 
     
"And don't just sit there and listen to it ring, pretending 
you're not still here either, because I'll know."
     
"And just how could you possibly know that, Agent Scully?"
     
"Oh, don't you worry, Mulder, I have my ways. Goodnight."    
     
She smiled mysteriously and left.
     
"I'm sure you do Scully, but I also know you're too chicken to 
use them," he said to himself, thinking of a certain silver 
bracelet. He sighed loudly and gathered up his notes. He may 
have promised to go home, but he certainly didn't promise not to 
take the work with him.

-----

Chapter Twenty-Three

Fox Mulder's apartment
Thursday
8:00pm

     
Never let it be said that Fox Mulder wasn't one to follow 
doctor's orders. He had left the Hoover building a scant ten 
minutes after his partner and driven straight home so as not to 
miss the inevitable phone call.
     
"Mulder...Yes Scully, I'm home...Yes Scully, my dinner is on it's 
way even as we speak...No Scully, I won't stay up all night long 
going over the case file that you know I brought home with 
me...Hey Scully, has anyone ever told you that you're sexy when 
you're being bossy?" 
     
He smiled at the resounding click that followed, and hung up the 
phone.
     
Twenty minutes and two slices of pizza later, he was pawing 
through the notes and maps, searching once again for the 
connection that continued to elude him. 
     
"There has to be something here that we've missed. He is picking 
these particular train stations for a reason. I just know it. Oh 
great. Now I'm talking to myself. Now, where's that list I made 
of the crime scenes?" 
     
He rummaged through the pile of papers on the table until he 
found the one he needed. It was a single sheet of yellow, lined, 
legal paper on which he'd written the pertinent information from 
each of the murders:


Virginia Square - GMU Station - May 16th - 6th stop orange line
     (VA) - Allison Broomall taken
Arlington Cemetery - May 19th - 9th stop blue line
     (VA) - Allison Broomall found - poison
Eisenhower Ave. - May 20th - 20th stop blue/19th stop orange 
     (DC) - Mary Packman taken
Navy Yard Station - May 23rd - 15th stop green line 
     (DC) - Mary Packman found - gunshot
New Carrollton Station - May 24th - last stop orange line 
     (MD) - Nancy Wright taken
College Park Station - May 27th - 2nd stop green line 
     (MD) - Nancy Wright found - beaten
Glenmont Station - May 28th - last stop red line 
     (MD) - John Jasen taken
East Falls Church Station - May 31st - 4th stop orange line 
     (VA) - John Jasen found - eviscerated


     
Mulder just couldn't figure it out. There didn't seem to be any 
particular pattern to the stop numbers he selected, the state 
they were located in, or the subway line on which they ran. 
     
He ground his fists against his tired eyes and sighed deeply. 
Maybe Scully was right and a fresh perspective was all he...
     
There it was. He stared at the paper in front of him wondering 
how on earth he had missed it before. 
     
"I'll be damned. Could it be that easy?" He picked up a pen and 
began to write, and when he was finished, his suspicions were 
confirmed. "This is it. This has got to be it. Where's the 
damned map?!?" 

-----

Chapter Twenty-Four

Dana Scully's apartment
Thursday
8:45pm

     
After adjusting the temperature, Dana Scully set the plug in her 
bathtub and proceeded to add a generous amount of scented bubble 
bath to the rising water. Breathing in the sweet fragrance of 
apricots, she found herself willing the tub to fill faster. A 
nice long soak in a hot bath was just what this particular 
doctor prescribed to work out some of the stiffness that came 
with sitting in a hard wooden chair looking at maps all day. 
     
Once the water level was to her liking, she turned off the taps 
and wandered into the living room to put on some background 
music. That was when she noticed the blinking message light on 
her answering machine.
     
With some trepidation, and a longing glance towards the 
bathroom, she reached out and pressed the button that would play 
back her messages.
     
"Hey Scully, it's me." 
     
**Well, surprise, surprise. **
     
"Look, you can't accuse me of ditching you this time, because I 
tried your cellphone too."
     
** Oh no, Mulder. What have you done now? ** 
     
"I just wanted to let you know, I think I may have figured out 
the pattern. I'm heading down to the Eastern Market station to 
check things out. I'll give you a call later and let you know if 
I find anything." 
     
She stared blankly at the machine as the message ended and the 
tape began to rewind itself. When the hell had he called? She'd 
just spoken to him barely forty-five minutes ago. 
     
She checked her cellphone, and sure enough, there was one missed 
call at 8:30pm. He must've called when she'd run out to check 
the mail. Normally that particular trip could be accomplished in 
less than two minutes, but this evening she'd been accosted by 
the overly-hormonal 21-year-old from down the hall wanting to 
know where "that scrumptious guy that you work with" was. 
     
** Well Candy, or Muffy, or whatever your name is, he's probably 
off getting himself injured right about now, thank you very 
much. ** 
     
She hit the number that would speed dial his cellphone and 
waited. 
     
** Well, at least he had the presence of mind to tell me where 
he was going for once. ** 
     
After four rings, Scully was not the least bit surprised to hear 
that the Cellular One customer she was trying to reach was 
either experiencing technical difficulties or had turned off his 
phone. 
     
** Heaven forbid Mulder would try recharging the battery every 
once in awhile. ** 
     
She sighed softly before dialing information to request the 
phone number to the Eastern Market metro station's security 
office. Her bathwater would remain deliciously warm and bubbly 
for the moment, but she could practically hear tiny little 
bubbles bursting by the thousands all the way in the bathroom. 
     
"Eastern Market, Security."
     
"This is Special Agent Dana Scully with the FBI. With whom am I 
speaking?"
     
"This is Stuart Brown ma'am, I'm the Officer in Charge at this 
station tonight. How may I help you?"
     
"Officer Brown, are you aware of the FBI's ongoing investigation 
in regards to certain incidents occurring in various subway 
stations?"
     
"Yes ma'am, in fact, we've doubled the number of Transit Police 
at each station to try and prevent those incidents from 
happening again."
     
"Good. Well, my partner, Agent Mulder is on his way down to your 
station right now. He has reason to believe that Eastern Market 
may be our suspect's next stop. Please alert your men to be 
especially diligent tonight. There's a possibility that the man 
we're looking for may be a Metro employee."
     
"I've had that same thought myself, Agent Scully. Don't worry, 
we'll be on the lookout for this psycho, and for your partner 
too."
     
"Thank you, Officer Brown. The FBI appreciates your assistance. 
Just one more thing. When my partner turns up, could you let him 
know that I need to speak with him? I haven't been able to reach 
him on his cellphone."
     
"No problem. If he's a typical guy, he probably forgot to 
recharge the battery. I'll let him know you're looking for him." 
     
"I'd appreciate that. Goodnight."

-----     

Stuart Brown hung up the phone quietly and gave the still form 
at his feet a hard kick to the ribs. 
     
"Your partner wants you to call her."


Title: Nocturnal Perception (6 of 12)
Author: Jen Green

Chapter Twenty-Five    

     
After a moment's indecision, Scully picked the phone back up and 
dialed a second number.  As she waited for an answer, she 
wondered how Mulder had made the connection to this particular 
subway station. She hoped he hadn't just been guessing, or soon 
both of them were going to look awfully foolish.
     
"Brentwell."
     
"Agent Brentwell, it's Dana Scully.  I just got a message from 
Mulder. He seems to think that our guy's going to hit the 
Eastern Market station tonight. I've alerted Metro security 
there, but I thought maybe we should get some of our own team 
over there to check it out."
     
"Mulder figured it out? How? What's the connection between these 
stations?"
     
"I don't know. I haven't been able to reach him on his 
cellphone. His message just said that he thought he'd figured 
out the pattern and he was going down there to look around."
     
"Well, what do you think, Agent Scully?"
     
** I think I have a bad feeling about this, ** she thought to 
herself. Out loud she said, "If Mulder says this is the place, I 
think it's in our best interest to assemble the team and get 
them down there. Maybe we can catch this guy tonight."
     
A few minutes later, Scully hung up the phone feeling slightly 
better about the situation. At least now Mulder would have 
backup if he needed it, regardless of whether or not it was 
wanted. She headed towards what was now destined to be her not-
so-nice, not-so-long, tepid soak in a bubble-free tub.
-----

Chapter Twenty-Six

Eastern Market Metro Station
Thursday
9:30pm

     
Scully strode into the Eastern Market subway station forty-five 
minutes later, her eyes scanning the throng of people for the 
tall form of her partner. She didn't find Mulder, but did manage 
to pick out Agent Brentwell where he appeared to be briefing a 
combined group of FBI agents and Metro security officers.
     
"...and I want each team to check in with me via radio every ten 
minutes. Report any and all suspicious activity, no matter how 
insignificant it may seem. We still don't know how this guy is 
making off with his victims, nor do we know where he takes them 
once they leave the train stations. It's best to err on the side 
of caution, so I want to act first, and ask questions later. I 
want to catch this psycho tonight before he has the chance to 
hurt another innocent person. Good luck!" 
     
The group began to disperse, breaking up into smaller teams of 
two before heading to their assigned areas. Brentwell turned to 
Scully as she approached.
     
"Everything seems pretty quiet here so far, but we're more than 
ready if he shows up."
     
"Where's Agent Mulder?"
     
"According to the Officer in Charge here, Mulder never showed 
up. Maybe he decided this wasn't the place after all."
     
Scully frowned in concentration. Surely Mulder would have called 
her back by now if he'd discovered his hunch was incorrect? 
     
"Is Officer Brown certain that Mulder was never here? Maybe he 
came and left without speaking to security."
     
Brentwell gave her a puzzled look. "Who's Officer Brown?"
     
"Stuart Brown, the chief Metro security officer on duty here 
tonight," she answered matter-of-factly. "I spoke with him 
earlier, right before I called you."
     
The other agent flipped open a small blue notebook and scanned 
what he'd written there. "No, it's Johnson, not Brown. Keith 
Johnson. He's right over there." Scully was halfway to the man 
in question before Agent Brentwell had finished speaking.
     
"Officer Johnson?" she queried. At his affirmative nod, she 
continued. "I'm Special Agent Dana Scully. Are you the officer 
in charge of this station this evening?"
     
"Yes, I am. Can I help you with something?"
     
"I called here earlier and spoke with someone who told me he was 
the commanding security officer. Do you know a Stuart Brown?" 
Her no-nonsense tone stated clearly 'someone here is lying, and 
I want to know who it is'.
     
Recognition lit the man's features as he rushed to clear up this 
slight misunderstanding. 
     
"Yes ma'am, Stu is my superior, and if he were still here, he 
would be the commanding officer. He went home early tonight. He 
wasn't feeling very well."
     
"When was this? I spoke to him less than an hour ago."
     
"It was around five 'til nine. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes 
before Agent Brentwell and his team arrived."
     
"Are you certain? That's only about ten minutes after I talked 
to him. He didn't mention that he might be leaving early."
     
"Yes ma'am, I'm sure of the time. It was about five minutes 
after the false alarm, which took place at approximately 
8:50pm."
     
"I'm sorry," she answered, not understanding. "The false alarm?"
     
"We got a call that someone had hit the panic button in the 
elevator that goes up to street level, at the same time that we 
temporarily lost the visual surveillance system.  Thinking it 
may be our guy trying to make off with another victim, we locked 
the elevator down and rushed up there, but the car was empty. 
There must've been a short or maybe a power surge in the 
system."
     
"Does that happen often? Losing the cameras like that?"
     
"Often? No. But it's not unheard of. The way everything relies 
on computers so heavily these days, you learn to expect a few 
technical difficulties from time to time. We were lucky tonight, 
though. Stu's a computer wiz, and he got the cameras back up in 
no time."
     
"I see. So Officer Brown stayed behind to work on the video 
problem while the rest of you went up to check the elevator, is 
that correct?"
     
"Yes ma'am."
     
"Did anyone stay behind with him?"
     
"No ma'am. He said he could handle it, and if that nutcase was 
up in the elevator, we'd need all the help we could get. May I 
ask, why are you so interested in that incident? Like I said, it 
turned out to be a false alarm."
     
She gave the officer a reassuring half-smile. "It's nothing. 
This case is just getting to me, I guess. Thank you for your 
time."
     
As she was turning away from Officer Johnson, Brentwell 
approached. 
     
"I'm not sure he's going to put in an appearance tonight, but 
I'm going to keep some of the team here anyway, just in case. 
You look exhausted, Scully. Why don't you go home and get some 
sleep? We've got this covered, and I'll call you if we see any 
action." 
     
He noted her hesitation and tried to reassure her. "I'm sure 
your partner is fine. He probably figured out he had the wrong 
place and stopped on the way home for a drink. Don't worry."
 
-----

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Dana Scully's apartment
Friday
5:05am

     
Scully awoke with a start to find herself still on her couch 
with the television on, where she must have fallen asleep while 
waiting for Mulder to call. 
     
She stumbled into the kitchen in search of caffeine, hoping to 
clear away the fatigue that only a night passed sleeping upright 
on a couch can produce. She started a pot of coffee brewing and 
decided to try her partner's number once again. 
     
It had now been eight and a half hours since she'd received his 
message, and she was finding it more and more difficult to 
contain her worry. Even if he'd gotten in late, he should have 
called by now. Mulder had absolutely no compunction about 
calling her in the middle of the night. His philosophy was, I'm 
up, so why wouldn't everyone else be? And she had left a message 
on his machine telling him to call when he got in, no matter the 
hour.
     
Calls to both cell and home phones unsuccessful, Scully decided 
to do what she always ended up doing when Mulder ditched her. 
She got dressed, poured herself a cup of coffee for the road, 
and drove to her partner's apartment to try and figure out where 
the hell he had gone this time.


-----

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Fox Mulder's apartment
Friday
5:40am

     
Scully knocked on the door of apartment number 42 and then used 
her key to let herself in without waiting for a response. She 
called out his name softly, not at all surprised by the lack of 
reply. 
     
The coffee table in front of his couch bore the evidence of the 
previous night's activities. The case file he'd taken from the 
Hoover building was spread over its entire surface, almost 
completely covering the pizza box, which contained the remainder 
of his dinner. A rolled up map of the subway system was being 
held open by a half-consumed can of Diet Coke. 
     
Scully sat down on his couch, looking over the photos, maps, and 
pages containing Mulder's notes, trying to decide which piece of 
paper was the one that had prompted him towards the Eastern 
Market metro station. Her eyes were drawn to a yellow sheet of 
legal paper in the center of the table that contained a list of 
subway stops written in her partner's familiar handwriting:


Virginia Sq. - GMU Station - May 16th - 6th stop orange line
     (VA) - Allison Broomall taken
Arlington Cemetery - May 19th - 9th stop blue line 
     (VA) - Allison Broomall found - poison
Eisenhower Ave. - May 20th - 20th stop blue/19th stop orange
     (DC) - Mary Packman taken
Navy Yard Station - May 23rd - 15th stop green line 
     (DC) - Mary Packman found - gunshot
New Carrollton Station - May 24th - last stop orange line
     (MD) - Nancy Wright taken
College Park Station - May 27th - 2nd stop green line 
     (MD) - Nancy Wright found - beaten
Glenmont Station - May 28th - last stop red line 
     (MD) - John Jasen taken
East Falls Church Station - May 31st - 4th stop orange line
     (VA) - John Jasen found - eviscerated


     
This in itself led to no particular revelations. Scully had been 
with Mulder the previous day when he'd taken these notes. What 
drew her attention, and prompted a sudden gasp of awareness, was 
what he had written below them.

V irginia Square - 1st abduction
E isenhower Avenue - 2nd abduction
N ew Carrollton - 3rd abduction
G lenmont - 4th abduction
E - ??? - 5th abduction
A rlington Cemetery - 1st body
N avy Yard - 2nd body
C ollege Park - 3rd body
E ast Falls Church - 4th body
 
VENGEANCE

     
A quick glance at the list of subway stations confirmed what 
Mulder had already figured out. There were only three stops that 
began with the letter 'E', and two of them had already been the 
scene of either an abduction or a body dump. That left one 
possible Metro station to fill in the missing 'E' stop.  Eastern 
Market. 
     
Scully wondered briefly what the next station in the sequence 
could possibly be now that the word was completed, and then 
found herself hoping that she wouldn't have to find out. If she 
did, that would mean her partner was lost to her forever.
     
Using Mulder's phone, she dialed the now-familiar number and 
waited for a response.
     
"Brentwell."
     
"Agent Brentwell, it's Agent Scully..."
     
"Agent Scully! I can't say I'm sorry to inform you that your 
partner must've been wrong." 
     
The man sounded positively jovial. "We had a quiet night here, 
and no one has turned up missing as of yet. As a matter of fact, 
as far as we know, no one's been reported missing from any of 
the stations. Maybe our killer decided to give us a break, and 
offed himself instead."
     
"No," she said quietly, "Mulder was right."
     
"But I just told you, no one was taken last night. If the killer 
were going to stick to his established pattern, he would've 
taken his next victim sometime last night."
     
"I'm calling to tell you, Chris, that someone was taken last 
night. And I'm willing to bet that he was taken from Eastern 
Market." 
     
"Who?" the agent questioned, clearly confused.
     
"Mulder."

-----

Chapter Twenty-Nine

     
After explaining to Brentwell the method by which Mulder had 
determined where the killer would show up next, Scully repeated 
the conversation she'd had with Officer Johnson the previous 
night regarding the so-called "false alarm" with the cameras and 
the elevator. 
     
"I know it's a long shot, but I think we need to take a look at 
the guard who went home sick. Stuart Brown. I personally spoke 
to the man no more than ten minutes before he supposedly became 
too ill to remain at work, and let me tell you, he didn't sound 
sick to me. And he certainly didn't mention the possibility that 
he'd be leaving anytime soon. According to Officer Johnson, 
Brown is some kind of computer genius. What if he created the 
problems with the cameras and the elevator as a way of 
distracting the other security officers? What if - what if he 
knocked Mulder unconscious, as we believe was done with the 
other victims, took out the cameras and created a little 
diversion for the other guards so that he could get Mulder out 
of the building without being seen, and then came back in to 
"fix" the problem and save the day? Then, not wanting to leave 
his prize alone for too long lest he wake up, he suddenly 
develops a terrible case of the flu and leaves." Even as she 
heard herself spouting the theory, Scully realized how 
farfetched it sounded. But at the same time, it felt right. 
     
"That doesn't explain how he got the other victims. If he'd been 
working at each metro station at the time they had an abduction, 
that would've come up during the background checks. And it 
certainly would've come up if there had been the same sort of 
"distractions" at the other stations prior to the other 
disappearances." 
     
Scully was starting to understand how Mulder felt when she shot 
down one of his crazy ideas. 
     
"Look Brentwell, I don't know what to tell you. Maybe - maybe he 
takes them a different way each time, in much the same way that 
each manner of death is different. Perhaps he has only worked at 
this station, and for that reason, saved it last in this little 
game of his. We did decide that our killer probably works for 
the Transit Authority, right? I'm only asking that you have him 
checked out. It may be a weak lead, but right now it's the only 
lead we have."
     
She heard the heavy sigh through the phone and knew he was 
giving in. "Ok Scully, you win. I'll put somebody on it right 
away. I'll tell you what though, if Mulder turns up safe and 
sound, I'm gonna have to hurt him."
     
Scully smiled ruefully into the receiver. "You'd have to get in 
line." 
     
Replacing the phone in its cradle, she noticed the message light 
blinking on the attached answering machine. Figuring that the 
messages were all from her, yet willing to try anything at this 
point to glean some clue as to his whereabouts, she hit the 
playback button. As predicted, a familiar feminine voice filled 
the room.
     
"Hey Mulder it's me. Listen, we need to have a talk about this 
nasty habit you've got of running around with a dead cellphone 
battery. Call me when you get in, ok? I don't care what time it 
is. Just call me." 
     
Beep.
     
The next voice was one Scully didn't recognize, and was 
decidedly masculine.
     
"Agent Mulder, this is, uh, never mind, you don't need to know 
who this is. I believe we have a mutual acquaintance in Melvin 
Frohike? He gave me your number. Anyway, you can call me, uh, 
Wolf, yeah, call me The Wolf, and the reason for my call is 
something that I can't get into over an unsecured line, but I 
believe I have some information that you will be interested in. 
I have in my possession some documents that prove without a 
doubt that the US Government has known for years about the 
existence of leprechauns and has been suppressing that 
information. Oh shit, unsecured line. Anyway...I guess you're 
not there, so I'll try to reach you again tomorrow...Oh yeah, 
destroy this tape as soon as you're done listening to it."
     
Ordinarily Scully would've had a good laugh over the paranoid 
musings of Mulder's mysterious "informant", and would most 
certainly have teased him about it mercilessly in the future, 
but she found herself unable to focus on anything the man said 
after the words "call me The Wolf". Scully was only dimly aware 
of hearing the last two messages, both her own, as she fought to 
bring the elusive memory that particular moniker stirred to the 
surface of her mind. Why was that so familiar? She spoke out 
loud, testing the word on her tongue. "Wolf, The Wolf..." 
Suddenly she had a flashback from Saturday when she had read 
aloud to Mulder the letter from Dorothy Williams. "I can only 
pray that when the wolf comes to call..." 
     
She gasped as she was forced to confront the fear that had 
gripped her ever since receiving that letter. The fear that it 
was all true. If she believed in the power of the bracelet, then 
she'd have to believe Dorothy's prediction that someone she 
cared about would be lost to her, perhaps forever. 
     
Closing her eyes, she took several slow, deep breaths, trying to 
calm the unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach. ** Get a 
grip, Dana. Tossing your cookies all over Mulder's living room 
isn't going to help get him back. ** Opening her eyes and 
strengthening her resolve, Scully decided it was time to face 
her fears and go find her partner.

Title: Nocturnal Perception (7 of 12)
Author: Jen Green

Chapter Thirty

Dana Scully's apartment
Friday
6:25 am

     
Once again in her own apartment, Scully found herself 
standing at her dresser staring wide-eyed at her reflection 
in the mirror as she fastened the silver owl bracelet 
around her left wrist. That accomplished, she toed off her 
shoes, then removed her suit jacket and folded it neatly 
over the arm of the chair that sat in the corner of her 
bedroom. Next came her gun and holster, which she removed 
and placed on the nightstand beside her bed. Moving to the 
curtains, she closed them carefully, wanting to ensure that 
the rising sun would not encroach on the darkness of the 
room.
     
Finally satisfied that the environment was properly 
conducive to sleep, she approached the bed, wondering not 
for the first time if she might be losing her mind. Her 
partner was out there, God knows where, having who knows 
what done to him, and here she was moving about her bedroom 
in a surreal daze contemplating a nap. As much as her 
logical mind was screaming at her that this was sheer 
lunacy, that the only result this foray into the absurd 
could possibly produce would be to shorten that much 
further the amount of time she had to conduct a serious 
search for her partner, Scully climbed into her bed, 
settling her head back against the pillows. Yes, it was 
crazy, and yes, it was entirely possible that nothing would 
come of it, but she was determined to see it through to its 
fruition, nonetheless, for the same reasons she had led 
them to that McDonalds in Stevensville to apprehend a 
pedophile, despite her disbelief. What if it were true? If 
she had the means, quite literally in the palm of her hand, 
to save her partner, she simply couldn't allow anything to 
sabotage their use, including herself and her own 
skepticism.
     
Scully closed her eyes, taking slow, deep breaths as she 
willed herself to relax enough to sleep. If natural slumber 
proved impossible, she was prepared to take a sleeping 
pill, but she hoped it wouldn't be necessary, not being 
certain that the drugs wouldn't have an adverse effect on 
this little experiment. Fortunately, although it certainly 
hadn't seemed fortunate at the time, spending the night in 
a half-doze on one's sofa wasn't exactly a restful 
experience, so after just a few moments, Scully found 
herself drifting off, her last conscious thought directed 
to her partner. 
     
**Oh Mulder, the things I do for you...** 

-----

Chapter Thirty-One   

      
Reality returned in fits and starts, reasserting itself one 
sense at a time. Feeling came first, as she became aware of 
the cold, hard concrete beneath her stocking-covered feet, 
the cool air surrounding her causing the fine hair on her 
arms to rise in response. Smell and taste arrived 
simultaneously, carrying with them the nauseatingly sweet 
stench of gasoline. The odor was so thick, so overwhelming 
she was momentarily robbed of her breath as the vapors 
sought to steal oxygen's rightful place in her mouth and 
nose and lungs. She gagged, trying desperately to clear her 
airway of the foul substance before she drowned in it. 
     
Bending at the waist, hands resting on her knees, Scully 
coughed weakly several times until gradually she was able 
to breathe again, her respiratory system finally beginning 
to adjust to this olfactory assault. The smell of the fuel 
was still present, but no longer quite so overpowering. 
This was when she discovered that she could once again 
hear. And from the way it sounded, she was not alone.
     
The noises were faint, vague, and as near as she could 
figure given the fact that her eyes still stubbornly 
refused to join the party, they seemed to be coming from a 
place about fifty feet to her left. Turning, she cautiously 
began moving in that direction, knowing instinctively that 
this was where she needed to be. 
     
As she drew closer, it became apparent that there were two 
distinct voices coming to her out of the darkness. The 
first was deep and slightly gravelly, it's tone fluctuating 
between gentle amusement and searing anger. She vaguely 
recognized the cheerful timbre as belonging to the elusive 
Transit policeman she'd spoken with the previous evening, 
Stuart Brown. When the rage of his insanity got the better 
of him, she could barely distinguish the guttural sounds 
emanating from his throat as being human. The second voice 
however, was as familiar to her as Scully's own mother.
     
"Mulder." 
     
Despite the knowledge that she was as good as invisible 
here, Scully couldn't stop the ragged whisper that hearing 
his pain-filled voice tore from her throat. 
     
It was at this point that her eyesight decided to catch up 
with the rest of her, aided by a single, flickering candle 
casting its sparse light on the two men ahead of her. She 
increased the pace of her approach, not at all concerned 
with the thought that she might be observed. While she may 
not completely comprehend exactly what had brought her 
here, her limited understanding of the situation stretched 
enough to provide the knowledge that her existence here in 
this version of reality was undetectable by its natural 
inhabitants. 
     
She was right there with them now, included in the dim 
circle of illumination cast by the candle. Scully moved 
closer to Mulder, wanting to assess his injuries, only 
mildly surprised to find that her presence cast no shadow 
over his face despite the fact that she'd moved between him 
and the sole source of light in the room. Her loud gasp of 
dismay at the sight that greeted her had absolutely no 
effect on either the killer or his intended victim.
     
She dropped down onto her knees beside the straight-backed 
wooden chair to which her partner was tied with not only 
what looked like twenty yards of rope, but electrical tape 
as well. His arms were pulled tightly back behind him and 
fastened to the back of the chair with what appeared to be 
his own handcuffs. Each foot was taped at the ankle to the 
chair leg it rested in front of and a half a roll of tape 
secured his thighs to the seat of the chair, effectively 
cutting off any chance of movement whatsoever. The only 
part of his body not tied, taped, or otherwise strapped 
down was his head. And from the damage that had apparently 
been done to his face so far by this monster, Scully 
figured that moving his head around too much would be the 
last thing Mulder would want to do. 
     ]
The entire left side of his face was an angry mixture of 
purples, blacks, and reds, and his left eye was almost 
completely swollen shut. There was a thin stream of dried 
blood that had trickled a path down the side of his face, 
the origin of which was concealed within his hairline. 
Looking into the one hazel eye that was visible, she could 
see the slightly dilated pupil that indicated the 
possibility of a concussion. 
     
"So what do ya say, G-man? Hungry yet? There's plenty of 
rats down here in these service tunnels. I wouldn't want it 
to be said that I deprived a man of his last meal." Brown 
spoke lightly, his tone almost buoyant, as if they were two 
long-time friends sharing a beer and a joke.
     
"Gee, uh, no thanks. I think I'll hold out for the second 
course. I had rat yesterday," Mulder responded dryly. 
     
"You're a real smart guy, aren't you G-man? A regular 
comedian. Well, that's ok. Makes it more fun. I mean, you 
should've seen the look on the last guy's face when I 
pulled out those scissors. Now that was comical." 
     
The killer chuckled to himself at the memory, before 
growing serious once more. "You wanna know how you're gonna 
go? I could give you a little preview."
     
"And ruin all the suspense? No, that's all right. I'll wait 
until..." 
     
His words trailed off mid-sentence as he suddenly turned 
and looked directly at Scully. Forgetting for the moment 
that for her this was only a horrible nightmare, she had 
raised a hand to gently brush the hair away from his face 
so that she could examine the cut on his head. It was only 
when her fingers reached the point where they should have 
been stopped by the barrier of his flesh but instead kept 
on going as if passing through a warm, Mulder-infused fog 
that she realized her mistake. Currently she and her 
partner did not inhabit the same plane of existence, so 
physically she was unable to have any kind of affect on his 
environment. Yet, when her fingers had entered the space 
presently being occupied by her partner, she felt a 
tangible connection to him, as if she were able to touch 
his very essence and take a bit of it back into herself. 
And when his head snapped around to hers seconds later, she 
felt certain that on some level he too was aware of her 
presence.
     
"Mulder? Can you hear me?" 
     
Not really expecting a reply, and not getting one, she 
reached out a tentative hand to caress his bruised and 
battered face. This time his eyes slid closed and he leaned 
his head in her direction slightly as if he could feel the 
gesture and was gratefully accepting its comfort. He 
inhaled deeply as if infusing himself with some pleasant 
scent, and that's when she noticed that he was wheezing 
slightly on each indrawn breath. Without the benefits of an 
x-ray machine or even a proper exam, she could only deduce 
that this maniac had either hit or kicked her partner in 
the ribs, badly bruising if not fracturing a few. She found 
herself hoping that the wheezing was an effort on his part 
to reduce the pain of his injured chest and not due to a 
punctured lung.
     
Mulder opened his eyes and warily regarded his captor as 
Brown moved out of the circle of the candlelight. There was 
a slight scraping noise of metal on concrete as he bent 
into the darkness to pick something up, and then the sound 
of liquid sloshing around in its container. When he 
returned to the glow of the candle and brandished his prize 
with a maniacal grin, Scully's eyes grew wide with 
recognition. 
     
"Oh God, no," she whispered, feeling suddenly sick. 
     
In his hands, Stuart Brown held a red metal gas can. 
     
As he slowly unscrewed the cap and walked toward Mulder, 
she jumped to her feet and screamed, "You can't do this! It 
hasn't been three days! You're supposed to wait three 
days!"
     
He stopped directly in front of her partner, the can raised 
high over his head, and couldn't resist one last taunt. 
"You got anything funny to say now, G-man? I could use a 
good laugh."
     
Scully knew the terror he had to be feeling at that moment. 
A fear of fire was the only true phobia that Mulder had 
ever admitted to having in the years that she had known 
him. To be suddenly faced with the knowledge that your 
worst nightmare was coming true could be nothing less than 
paralyzing. So only Scully knew the inner strength her 
partner revealed when he unblinkingly faced his captor.
     
"Fuck you."
     
"Now, see, that wasn't funny, it was just rude," he was 
told as the gasoline-filled can was inverted over his head.
     
Mulder coughed and sputtered as he desperately sought to 
breathe without inhaling or swallowing the foul substance. 
After enough of the gas had run off so that it was no 
longer dripping in his face, he opened his eyes as Brown 
spoke again.
     
"Consider that the prologue. We'll save the final act for 
Sunday," he said, as he brought the gasoline can down hard 
against the injured side of his face. Mulder's head 
crumpled forward as he slipped into unconsciousness.
     
Scully would've given anything at that moment to be 
standing in front of Stuart Brown with a loaded gun in her 
hands. 
     
"I'm gonna get you, you bastard, just wait and see."

-----

Chapter Thirty-Two    

     
"I'm gonna get you, you bastard, just wait and see."
     
At the sound of his partner's heated snarl, Mulder forced 
himself to raise his head and open his eyes, despite the 
fact that the entire left side of his face felt as if it 
were on fire. 
     
"Hey Scully, can you wait to kill me until after I've had a 
couple of Advil?"
     
Scully whirled around and stared at her partner as if he'd 
suddenly sprouted wings and proposed a midnight flight to 
the moon.
     
"What's the matter? Never seen someone tied to a chair and 
doused in gasoline before? Scully?"
     
She gaped at him. "You can see me?" She knelt beside his 
chair once again, waving a hand in front of his face.
     
"Ha ha Scully, very funny. Now, are you going to cut me 
loose before that overgrown son-of-a..." 
     
Now it was Mulder's turn to look incredulous as he realized 
that the overgrown son-of-a-bitch in question was sitting 
on the concrete floor not four feet away ignoring them 
completely. 
     
"What the hell?"
     
"I wish I could Mulder, more than anything, but I can't..."
     
"Why can't he see you?" he interrupted. "He's acting like 
he doesn't even see you!"
     
"Because he can't. And up until a minute ago, neither could 
you. He hit you and knocked you out, and when you woke 
up..." she snapped her fingers as the realization dawned. 
"That's it. You didn't wake up. Mulder you're still 
unconscious!" 
     
"Scully, I have a headache the size of the Grand Canyon, 
not to mention some pretty painful ribs. Do you think you 
could possibly explain to me in words that are four letters 
or less just what in the hell you're talking about?" 
     
"This is what I'm talking about Mulder." She raised her 
left wrist to show him the owl bracelet, it's moonstone 
eyes glowing brightly enough to rival the light from the 
candle. 
     
"I'm not really here. Let me show you." She reached out and 
tried to touch the undamaged side of his face. As before, 
her fingers passed through him, leaving her with the 
feeling that she'd touched a piece of his soul. In that 
instant, she could feel his wonder, his pain, and even the 
residual traces of the fear he'd experienced moments before 
when faced with the possibility of being burned alive. 
     
His mouth dropped open at the ghost-like touch of her 
fingers. 
     
"That was you! Before he pulled out the gasoline, you 
touched me, didn't you?" 
     
He waited for her nod before continuing. "I thought I must 
be suffering from some sort of brain damage. I didn't 
actually feel your hands, but all of a sudden, I felt like 
you were nearby. And I could smell you...or rather, your 
shampoo or bubblebath or whatever that apricot stuff is 
that you sometimes use. What's wrong?"
     
Her eyes full of regret, she told him, "I used it last 
night, probably right around the time you were getting your 
skull bashed in. Damn it, I should've gone down there 
myself instead of calling the Transit police. I practically 
gave you to him, Mulder!"
     
But he was already shaking his head. "No Scully, it wasn't 
your fault. By the time you got my message and called, he 
already had me. I was lying at his feet in the security 
booth pretending to be unconscious - well, half-pretending 
anyway since he had just clocked me in the head with his 
flashlight. It's nobody's fault but my own. I should've 
waited for you to call me back or called Brentwell."
     
Scully narrowed her eyes in concentration as a feeling of 
urgency swept over her. 
     
"Scully? What is it?"
     
"I think we're going to have to save the Blame Game for 
another day, Mulder. We're running out of time. I think - I 
think that one of us is going to wake up soon. Mulder, I 
need you to tell me anything you know, about this place, or 
about him," she indicated his captor who was happily 
munching his way through a bag of potato chips, "that will 
help me to find you. Do you know where you are? It has the 
look of a subway tunnel, though not quite as big, as if 
maybe it's some kind of service tunnel or underground 
storage?"
     
He shook his head in frustration. "I'm just not sure, 
Scully. I'm fairly certain that we never actually left that 
metro station, but I was pretty out of it at the time. But 
even if that's the case, if you don't know exactly where to 
look, these tunnels are like a big maze."
     
"Ok, well at least I know where to start. What about him? 
Do you have anything on him that I might be able to use?"
     
"I've been trying to draw him out, to get him to slip up 
and talk about himself, but so far he hasn't fallen for it. 
Actually, it only seems to piss him off," he said 
sheepishly, winking his swollen eye at her.
     
"Aww, poor Mulder," she said sympathetically, reaching out 
to give him a reassuring pat on the knee before realizing 
halfway to her goal the futility of it. She paused, her 
hand hovering in mid-air over his leg as an idea began to 
take root.
     
"Earth to Scully? You in there?"
     
She stood up suddenly and pointed towards Brown. "Mulder, 
he knows where you are."
     
"Yeah, but he can't see us at the moment Scully, and even 
if he could, I seriously doubt that he'd write down the 
address and invite you to tea."
     
"He may not have to," she tossed back to him over her 
shoulder. 
     
"When I touched you Mulder, it was like I could see inside 
you, what you were thinking and feeling. Maybe it will be 
the same with him." 
     
His voice stopped her inches from her goal. 
     
"Scully, you don't have to do this. Believe me, whatever 
you see inside him will not be pretty."
     
She turned to him and smiled, the first real smile she'd 
given him since this whole fiasco with the bracelet began. 
"Mulder, you went to Antarctica with a bullet wound to the 
head to find me. Certainly I can take a glimpse into the 
mind of a madman for you." 
     
And with that, she reached out a tentative hand and touched 
the devil. Brown jumped in surprise at the sudden invasion 
as if he too could feel her presence in much the same way 
Mulder had. His eyes came to rest on his captive, who was 
still slumped over in his chair, dead to the world. While 
his attention was focused on Mulder, Scully took a deep 
breath, held it, and walked through him as quickly as she 
could.
     
On the other side, she paused for a moment, her eyes closed 
tightly, as she shuddered involuntarily. After their 
misadventures last summer in the South Pole, Scully had 
thought she'd known what it meant to be cold, but this 
creature before her had a soul that was blacker than the 
darkest night and colder than any ice could ever be. She 
felt as if thousands of oily worms were crawling over her 
skin, and wondered if that feeling would ever completely 
fade. She had told Mulder days ago that Gallant, the 
pedophile they'd arrested, was evil, but she'd had no idea 
what evil was then. She knew better now.
     
She walked back to Mulder's side and sat down on the floor 
beside him, suddenly more tired than she'd felt since 
before her cancer had gone into remission. She was careful 
not to touch him, lest he get a glimpse of her little 
souvenir from good ole' Stu. Mulder had enough to worry 
about without knowing what sort of sadistic things resided 
in the mind of his captor. 
     
She looked at him and smiled, not nearly as brightly as she 
had moments ago, but he had to give her points for effort. 
It was the best she could muster when all she really wanted 
to do was vomit. 
     
"I got it."
     
"Are you all right, Scully?"
     
She opened her mouth to tell him she was fine, but simply 
nodded at his warning look. "I'll be ok. And so will you. 
I'm going to get you out of here Mulder."
     
"I know you will. I trust you," he told her softly. "But 
you be careful, Scully.  Don't do anything stupid. That's 
my department." 
     
Their gazes locked and held for a long moment, until, 
clearing his throat, he changed the subject.
     
"So, what made you decide to use the bracelet?"
     
She shrugged. "The Wolf called."
     
It took him a moment to decipher her cryptic statement. 
"The letter. Someone you love will be lost...you mean that 
was me? Gee Scully, I didn't know you cared." What was 
meant to be a teasing smile came out looking more like a 
grimace on his battered face.
     
She thought of giving some sort of flippant reply, then 
figured, what the hell, he's unconscious anyway. He 
probably wouldn't remember any of this. "Well Mulder, I 
guess now you know."
     
The look on his face was nothing short of stunned. 
"Scully...I...uh, I just want to say..."
     
A shrill ring pierced the relative quiet of the tunnel, and 
Scully's last thought as the world faded to black was, 
"Damn it, not now!"


Continued in Part 8...

Title: Nocturnal Perception (8 of 12)
Author: Jen Green

Chapter Thirty-Three

     
As the darkness slowly receded from her vision, Scully became 
aware of several things at once. She was lying in her bed, fully 
dressed, staring unseeingly at her ceiling, and someone was 
shouting in her ear. Or rather, into the telephone which was 
currently pressed against the side of her head. 
     
** How did that get there? **
     
"Agent Scully! Are you all right? Hello?"
     
Drawing in a deep, ragged breath, she blinked rapidly several 
times trying to clear the last vestiges of sleep from her brain. 
Her body felt, heavy, sluggish, the left side of her face 
tingled painfully as if still asleep, and was that gasoline she 
smelled? 
     
She struggled to sit up, instinctively grabbing the phone as it 
threatened to slip from her ear. While gradually the lethargy 
and tenderness subsided, the strange odor did not. She sniffed 
lightly at her hands, her blouse, the bedding around her, and 
unable to detect a source, wondered vaguely if she'd suffered 
some kind of a stroke. 
     
"Can you hear me? Agent Scully! I'm sending someone over there."
     
Finally recognizing the significance of the molded plastic 
pressed to her right ear, Scully shook herself out of her stupor 
and responded before she found herself surrounded by concerned 
FBI agents.
     
"No, Agent Brentwell, that's not necessary. I'm fine. I, um, 
must've dozed off. It took me a second to wake up."
     
His retort was a short bark of laughter, part amusement at her 
statement, part relief at hearing her answer him at last. 
     
"A second? Scully, we've been on the phone for over two minutes 
now. That must've been some dream you were having."
     
Scully found that she couldn't recall any dreams, good or 
otherwise, and for some reason, that fact bothered her 
profoundly. She considered the uneasiness that engulfed her, 
only dimly aware that Agent Brentwell was once again speaking. 
It wasn't until he said the word "Mulder" that she remembered 
why she was lying in her bed in the first place. Mulder. The 
bracelet. Had it worked? Searching her memory, she was further 
distressed to find that it was blank. She remembered going to 
sleep, nearly two and a half hours ago according to her alarm 
clock, and then nothing. Nothing, save for the lingering smell 
of gasoline. 
     
"I can't remember," she whispered. 
     
It was then that she began to realize her mistake. She had gone 
to sleep with the belief that upon waking she would retain the 
knowledge gained in her dreams, when in fact, on the previous 
two occasions, she had remembered nothing. It was only later 
that bits and pieces had come back to her, vague remnants of a 
larger whole. Both times, she had managed to pass along the 
pertinent information to a third party whilst still under the 
spell of the bracelet, once to Mulder, and once to her laptop. 
But this time, there was no Mulder to call, no self-written 
computer messages to read, and she didn't have time to wait 
around and see what tidbits came trickling back. She needed to 
find her partner before it was too late, that much she did know. 
And she had the beginnings of an idea on how to do just that.
     
"Can't remember what? Agent Scully?" Finally realizing she'd 
tuned out again, Brentwell halted his monologue mid-stream.
     
"Nothing, it's nothing. I'm sorry, Agent Brentwell. You were 
saying? Have you found Mulder?" She realized that all this 
worrying might be for nothing, and maybe it would be a good idea 
to actually listen to what the other agent had to say.
     
"No, nothing yet on Mulder. I called to tell you that it looks 
as if you were right to want to take a closer look at Brown. 
Seems he doesn't exist." 
     
"I don't understand. What do you mean he doesn't exist?" 
     
"We ran a basic check on him, and everything seemed ok on the 
surface, no trouble with the law, spotless driving record, 
excellent credit report, he seemed like an all-around great guy, 
but there was one minor discrepancy. His address. The address 
listed for him in the Metro database turned out to be a Pizza 
Hut in Falls Church, Virginia. Thinking that it may just be a 
typographical error on the part of the clerk entering the data, 
we tried to check the address he gave on his actual job 
application, only to find that his entire personnel file is 
mysteriously missing."
     
"What about the Department of Motor Vehicles?" 
     
"Well, the Virginia DMV had a different address for your Mr. 
Brown. Different, but no less phony. This one was actually a 
residence, but the family who lives there, and has for the past 
eight years, claims no relation to or knowledge of anyone named 
Stuart Brown. He has no car, no phone service, no records with 
the gas and electric company, and prior to being hired by the 
DCMTA, no bank accounts. He has one checking account which has 
only enough money in it to keep the account open, and he used 
the same bogus address to open that account as the one on his 
driver's license. We dug a little bit further and found the name 
"Stuart George Brown" and corresponding social security number 
only two more times. One was on a birth certificate for a little 
boy born on July 6, 1965 to a Michael and Christina Brown." He 
paused for dramatic effect, and Scully willingly obliged him.
     
"And the other?"
     
"The other instance was on a death certificate issued on May 27, 
1966 when Stuart George Brown, son of Michael and Christina 
Brown, died at the age of nine months and three weeks due to 
Sudden Infant Death Syndrome."
     
Scully closed her eyes briefly, her mind racing. "So even the 
name isn't his. What about fingerprints?"
     
"We pulled some prints from the security booth that don't appear 
to match up with any of the other guards, but we didn't get a 
match when we ran them through the database. I suspect that this 
guy has gone to a lot of trouble to ensure that there are no 
computer records of him at all."
     
"When does he work again? Maybe he doesn't know we're on to him 
yet." 
     
"Would it surprise you at all to hear that he has the next three 
days off?"
     
"He does? What about during the other four disappearances? Was 
he off then too?"
     
"Believe me, Agent Scully, something that blatantly obvious 
would have been noticed during our initial investigation. 
Records indicate that he worked at least two, if not all three 
days during each disappearance."
     
"Has he always worked at the Eastern Market station?"
     
"Yes, since completing his training about ten months ago." 
     
"The cameras. Have you checked the tapes in the security 
cameras?"
     
"Yes, we have, but as we already knew, they're incomplete. Video 
surveillance was lost last night briefly between 8:45 and 
9:00pm. We have Mulder walking in the station, looking around, 
but as he approaches the security station, all the cameras go 
dead. By the time they come back up, there's no sign of Mulder 
or Brown."
     
"What about the other nights?" Some vague idea was niggling the 
back of Scully's mind, and not knowing whether it was caused by 
the bracelet, by intuition, or simply a scientific wild-assed 
guess, she decided to go with it.
     
"What do you mean?" 
     
"Have you checked the cameras at the Eastern Market station on 
the nights that the previous victims were taken?"
     
"No, we haven't. The other people weren't taken from that 
station, Scully." He spoke carefully, gently, as if he were 
trying to explain to a child exactly why she couldn't have ice 
cream before dinner. 
      
She sighed. "I know that Chris, but maybe they were taken to 
that station." 
     
He started to protest, but she interrupted. 
     
"No, just hear me out. It makes sense. He would want to keep up 
appearances by being at work, but at the same time, he'd want to 
have them nearby. Someplace where he could check on them from 
time to time, hurt them if he felt like it, remind them who was 
boss. Someplace cold and dark, underground, where the noise from 
the trains might mask their screams..." Her voice trailed off, 
and she shuddered from something that might have been the ghost 
of a memory.
     
"Well, I suppose it can't hurt to check it out," said Brentwell. 
"Although if he's down there in that subway system, it could 
take weeks to find him. Those tunnels go on for miles and 
miles."
     
"Mulder doesn't have weeks. He has two days," came her soft 
reply. "Call me if you find anything."
     
"What will you be doing?"
     
"I've got to pay a visit to America's Most Paranoid," she joked. 
** Right after I shower and change clothes. This gasoline smell 
is nauseating. **
     
She hung up the phone and headed for her bathroom.

-----

Chapter Thirty-Four

Office of The Lone Gunmen
Undisclosed location
Friday
10:15am

     
As Scully waited somewhat impatiently for the Gunmen to 
determine that she was in fact Dana Scully, and not some 
government engineered, conspiracy driven clone, she slipped a 
hand into her jacket pocket to lightly touch the bracelet that 
lay there. 
     
** Mulder, if this doesn't work, I don't know what else to do.**
     
Just as she was raising her other hand to ring the doorbell a 
third time, she heard the sounds of multiple deadbolts and 
chains being disengaged on the other side of the heavy, steel 
door. 
     
"Finally," she muttered under her breath.
     
The door opened to reveal Melvin Frohike, oldest of the strange 
trio, bent over at the waist in a formal bow. He straightened 
and gestured her in with a grand sweep of his arm.
     
"Agent Scully, to what do we owe the pleasure?" 
     
Before closing the door, he craned his neck to look outside, 
searching the alleyway behind her. "And where's your worse 
half?"
     
"That's why I'm here. I need your help." The smell of gasoline 
rose up once again, sudden and strong, and she looked at Frohike 
in surprise. "Do you smell that?"
     
The Gunman leaned toward her, breathing in deeply. "Ah, the 
sweet smell of apricots. Very nice, Agent Scully." He waggled 
his eyebrows at her comically.
     
"God Doohickey, shut up, you're making me sick!" Ringo Langley, 
the aging hippie of the group had entered the room, followed 
closely by John Byers. 
     
"Shut up yourself, Ringo, she asked me to smell her. What was I 
supposed to say, that she reeks? No wonder you can't get a 
date!"
     
Byers ignored his arguing comrades and greeted Scully with a nod 
of his head, formal as always. 
     
"Agent Scully. What can we do for you?"
     
Ignoring his question for the moment, she stepped between the 
other two Gunmen before they could come to blows. "Wait a 
minute!" she shouted. Once she had their attention, she looked 
slowly from one to the other. "You don't smell gasoline?"
     
The trio chuckled for a moment until it became apparent that she 
was serious. Byers stepped forward and gave her a look of 
concern. 
     
"Do you, Agent Scully?"
     
Scully saw the looks passing between the three men and decided 
that, given the strange request she was about to make of them, 
perhaps it would be best to keep her olfactory hallucinations to 
herself for the time being. 
     
"Never mind, it's nothing. I probably got some on my hands at 
the gas station. Anyway, I'm here because I need your help." She 
took a deep breath before continuing. "I need you to hypnotize 
me."
     
Three pairs of eyebrows raised simultaneously, as they each look 
at the other, at a loss for words. Byers recovered first.
     
"Does this have something to do with Mulder?"
     
"Yes, he's missing, kidnapped, and this is the only way I can 
think of to find him. Look, I know it sounds crazy, and I really 
don't have time to explain it now, even if I could somehow make 
sense of it. I need you to find someone who can come here today, 
now, and hypnotize me, no questions asked. Can you do that?" 
     
She looked between the three of them hopefully, not knowing what 
she would do if they turned her down.
     
All was quiet for a moment, until Byers spoke. "I know someone."
     
She sank down into a chair in relief and smiled gratefully at 
him. "Thank you."
-----

Chapter Thirty-Five

Office of The Lone Gunmen
Undisclosed location
Friday
12:30pm

     
The two-hour wait for the hypnotist seemed to Scully more like 
two days. She called twice to check on the progress of the FBI 
team, only to be told both times that there were no new 
developments in the case. She composed a list of questions that 
she wanted to be asked under hypnosis and made sure that there 
was a tape recorder with a blank tape and fresh batteries 
available to document her responses. She washed her hands 
several times, still unable to rid herself of the scent of 
gasoline. She even forced herself to eat some of the Chinese 
takeout Langley ordered for an early lunch. Yet, despite her 
best efforts to stay occupied during the wait, Scully still 
found plenty of time to second-guess herself. Was she making a 
huge mistake? Were there possibly other, more legitimate avenues 
she could be out exploring right now? Was she in fact 
endangering her partner further by wasting what little time she 
had on this insane endeavor? A month, hell, even a week ago, her 
answer would've been a resounding "yes!", but now she was no 
longer quite so certain that the possibility of some "other" 
power being at work here was all that ridiculous. Of course, she 
could never tell that to Mulder once this was all over with. 
She'd never live it down.
     
A knock at the door and a sudden flurry of activity from the 
only three men on the planet more paranoid than her partner 
marked the arrival of Byers' friend, Dr. Tom Strickland. Heaven 
forbid they would just open the door when someone knocked on it. 
But no, Frohike went to the door while Langley ran to the 
monitor that was fed by a video surveillance camera hidden in 
the alleyway. Scully knew that if a visual image wasn't enough 
to satisfy them, they were prepared to request that the visitor 
place his thumb on a pad built into the door that would supply 
them with an instant, electronic thumbprint which they could 
compare to their database. As it turned out today though, that 
wasn't necessary. Langley gave Frohike the all-clear, and the 
process of turning locks and opening chains began.

-----

Chapter Thirty-Six

12:45pm
    
     
Scully leaned back in the Gunmen's overstuffed, navy blue 
recliner and considered the level of craziness her life had sunk 
to in the past week. She had, of her own volition, put on a 
bracelet and gone to sleep with the intention of finding some 
sort of psychic lead as to her missing partner's whereabouts, 
and now she was about to be hypnotized by a friend of John Byers 
in an attempt to retrieve that information from her 
subconscious. She had to admit to herself, though, Dr. 
Strickland didn't look at all like she'd imagined a friend of 
the Gunmen to look. In fact, he seemed incredibly...normal. 
     
He had graduated from Georgetown University in the top five 
percent of his class, and for the last ten years had run a 
thriving psychology practice on Pennsylvania Avenue, right down 
the street from the White House. His clientele included 
congressmen, senators, and even a few of Scully's own superiors 
at the Hoover Building, although doctor/client privilege kept 
him from naming any names. He came across as being intelligent 
and insightful, reading over Scully's prepared list of questions 
and even suggesting a few of his own that she'd overlooked. 
     
All in all, Scully was pleasantly surprised by the psychologist. 
She had been prepared to go through with the hypnosis even if 
the Amazing Kreskin had walked through the door, but luckily for 
her, that hadn't been the case. Scully felt herself begin to 
relax as Dr. Strickland prepared to start.
     
"Ok Dana, now I want you to close your eyes, and we're going to 
begin with some breathing exercises to help you relax."
     
As she followed the psychologist's instructions, Scully felt 
herself beginning to relax, despite her earlier fears that her 
extreme worry about her partner might keep her from doing so.     
Her body felt light, almost as if it were floating above the 
chair, and she knew it would soon be time for the doctor to 
begin. 
     
** Ok bracelet, do your stuff, ** she thought to herself 
absently, before another thought whispered into her mind, ** You 
never put the bracelet back on. **
     
The doctor's face registered surprise when his seemingly 
tranquil subject suddenly sat up and began digging frantically 
in her jacket pockets. "Dana?"
     
"Where is it? It's got to be here!" She hurriedly checked the 
other pocket, and there it was, nestled deep in the crevice. She 
held it up triumphantly before securing it to her left wrist. 
Leaning back in the chair once again, she looked apologetically 
at Dr. Strickland.
     
"I'm sorry, doctor. Can we begin again, please?" She didn't 
offer any explanations, and to his credit, he kept any questions 
he had concerning her strange behavior to himself. His only 
reaction was a quick glance over the top of her head to where 
the three Gunmen sat behind her, close enough to hear the 
proceedings, yet out of her line of sight so as not to distract. 
She didn't have to turn around to know that the three men were 
exchanging quizzical looks as they each wondered silently if 
perhaps working with Mulder all these years had finally pushed 
her over the edge of sanity. 
     
The psychologist however, managed to school his features into 
what she knew had to be a well-practiced mask of 
professionalism. Scully supposed in his line of work, he was 
accustomed to a certain level of craziness and had learned long 
ago when to keep his thoughts to himself. 
     
"Alright Dana, let's try this again, shall we?" 
     
As she reclined back into the chair and closed her eyes, the 
psychologist nodded at Byers to restart the tape recorder. He 
then spent several moments leading Scully through a series of 
breathing exercises designed to help her relax enough to reach a 
hypnotic state. By the time he had finished, she appeared for 
all intents and purposes to be sleeping. Head back, eyes closed, 
her breathing was deep and even and the tension he had 
previously noted in her face in association with worry over her 
missing partner had eased into a more calm and peaceful 
expression. They were ready to begin.
     
"Now Dana, I want you to imagine a place where you feel 
comfortable, someplace where you have felt safe and happy and 
protected in the past. Do you have a place like that in mind?"
     
After a moment's pause she responded in a low, calm voice.
     
"Yes."
     
"Very good. I'm going to ask you some questions Dana, about your 
partner and his whereabouts, and I want you to focus only on the 
sound of my voice. If at any time you feel upset, or afraid, I 
will tell you to remember your safe place and you will no longer 
feel frightened. Are you ready to begin, Dana?"
     
"Yes."
     
"Ok. I want you to think back to this morning. You were in your 
apartment, in your bed, asleep. Did you have a dream?"
     
"Yes."
     
"Can you remember what that dream was about?"
     
"Mulder. I was talking to Mulder."
     
"You dreamed that you were talking to your partner?"
     
"Yes...well...no. I was talking to Mulder through my dream, not 
dreaming that I was talking to him."
     
The doctor frowned in confusion. "Isn't that the same thing?"
     
"No. I was asleep, but I wasn't dreaming. I was there with 
Mulder."
     
"You're saying you could see your partner? Where he's being 
kept? That you actually spoke with him?" Had Scully not been 
under hypnosis, she might have laughed at the incredulous tone 
the psychologist wasn't quite able to keep from his voice.
     
"Yes."
     
"What did you talk about?"
     
"I asked him where he was. It looked like some sort of subway 
tunnel, but it wasn't being used to run trains. It wasn't as 
large as the working tunnels. He said he thought that they never 
left the Eastern Market station, but he didn't know for certain. 
He was hurt."
     
"Can you describe Agent Mulder's injuries?"
     
"He has multiple contusions to the left side of his face. His 
left eye is swollen shut. I believe he has a concussion. 
Possibly some fractured ribs. That's the worst of it so far."
     
"What do you mean 'so far'?"
     
"He's covered in gasoline. That monster intends to burn him. 
Alive." 
     
This came out as a tremulous whisper. A gasp from one of the 
observers brought the doctor's gaze to Frohike. 
     
"She's been complaining about smelling gasoline ever since she 
got here," he said quietly.
     
Strickland returned his attention to his patient. "Ok Dana, can 
you try and describe to me the place where your partner is being 
held? Maybe we can figure out where it is."
     
"I know where he is."
     
"You said that your partner didn't know where he was being 
kept."
     
"I found out where they are from Brown instead." Her calm 
demeanor was marred by a sneer as she fairly spat the man's 
name. 
     
"Who is Brown?"
     
"The bastard who took Mulder. Stuart Brown. Except that's not 
really his name. That's just the name he's using now."
     
"You spoke with your partner's captor?" 
     
"No. Of course not. Brown couldn't see or hear me."
     
Strickland's eyebrows were raised questioningly, although the 
expression was lost on the woman before him. 
     
"If he wasn't aware of your presence, then how did he tell you 
his location?"
     
"He didn't have to tell me. I touched him."
     
"You touched him? I don't understand."
     
"I touched him, and I knew what he knows." She shuddered a bit 
from the memory. 
     
"About five feet from the security kiosk on the platform level 
of the Eastern Market metro station, there is a door which leads 
to a supply room. At the end of that room there is another door 
hidden behind a shelving unit which leads to an unfinished 
tunnel. It is approximately 1,500 feet long and runs parallel to 
the active tunnels. It was originally meant to be used as a 
service and repair tunnel, but before its completion the DCMTA 
decided to do that elsewhere, and construction was halted. Now 
it's not used for anything. Most people don't even know it's 
there. The only other way in or out is by a door at the far end 
of the tunnel which leads to the eastbound tunnel of the blue 
line. Brown learned about it through some old blueprints he dug 
up on the internet two years ago and was fascinated by the 
thought of a secret tunnel under the ground. That's when he set 
out to do whatever it took to ensure that he had access to that 
tunnel. He set himself up with a false identity, with a squeaky-
clean history, and was soon hired by Metro. With the exemplary 
background he created for himself, being assigned to the station 
of his choice was no problem. He gets off on knowing that 
they're so close to him, even when he's working. He likes 
knowing he can sneak in there whenever he pleases, that he can 
make them...scream...and no one can hear them. The noise from 
the trains masks their cries for help." 
     
Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat before continuing. 
"He won't wait until Sunday to kill Mulder. He's supposed to 
wait three days, but he won't this time. He's said what he 
wanted to say, and there's no more need for him to stick with 
the pattern. He's going to kill him today. Then he's going to 
slip away and become someone else. I have to go find him."
     
Her words took on a tone of urgency as she told of the fate that 
Brown had planned for her partner. The doctor tried to relieve 
some of her distress.
     
"Dana, you're getting upset. I want you to calm down and listen 
to me. Do you remember the safe place we talked about earlier? I 
want you to think about that place now, and let it help to relax 
you. You're safe here."
     
Instead of the desired effect, the doctor's admonition served 
only to agitate Scully further. 
     
"No! Time's running out. I have to get to Mulder. I'll relax 
when Mulder's safe. Wake me up. I've got to go."
     
The psychologist scanned the list in his hand. Despite his 
subjects' entreaty to be released from hypnosis, he knew that 
her upset would be even greater should they leave any questions 
unanswered. It seemed to him that they had more or less covered 
all of the questions Scully had wanted to be asked, save one. 
And though he didn't honestly believe there was any way she 
could possibly know the answer, he asked it anyway.
     
"Alright Dana, we're almost finished here," he soothed. " Just 
one more question and then you can go find your partner. Is 
there anything you can think of to tell me that will be helpful 
to you later? Anything that you feel you need to remember in 
order to successfully find and aid your partner? A...warning, 
perhaps?" 
     
She was quiet for a moment as she considered the question. 
     
"I have to go in, alone, unarmed. If he sees a weapon, he won't 
hesitate to ignite the gasoline. He's not afraid to die, and if 
he senses he has no other choice, he'll do everything in his 
power to take Mulder with him. I have to get him to come after 
me. And when he does...I don't know...I can't see it." 
     
She stopped, clearly frustrated, then began again. "All I know 
is that the way I want to go, the way logic tells me to go, is 
going to be wrong. If I go that way, I will be killed. I don't 
know why, or how, only that it's true."
     
An unnatural light coaxed the psychologist's eyes away from 
Scully's face and down to her left wrist to where the moonstones 
in her bracelet had once again taken on their mysterious glow. 
He nearly jumped out of his chair in surprise.
     
"What the hell?" The three men seated behind Scully came forward 
to see what had captured the doctor's attention. Frohike was the 
first to recover his voice.
     
"Wicked! Is it hot?" He reached out a tentative finger towards 
the bracelet, stopping only when it was jerked away from his 
touch at the last second. 
     
For the first time since the session had begun, Scully opened 
her eyes and regarded him steadily. "I need to go find my 
partner now." That said, her eyes once again slid closed as she 
sat quietly waiting for the commands that would release her from 
hypnosis. 

-----

Chapter Thirty-Seven

1:10pm

     
"You can't do this."
     
As she reached out to eject the tape from the recorder, Scully 
felt a hand atop her own. Looking up at the owner of that hand, 
she was surprised to see concern in place of the comical leer 
usually reserved exclusively for her.
     
"I have to, Frohike. You heard...what I said. Mulder's life 
depends on it." She gently shook him off and collected the 
cassette tape. 
     
"Yes, but at the expense of your own?" He begged the other three 
men for support with a single, beseeching look. 
     
"Hopefully it won't come to that," was her reply. "Besides. 
Mulder would do it for me."
     
"Agent Scully, shouldn't you at least tell someone what you're 
doing? Shouldn't you have some kind of back-up?" Byers injected.
     
"If I tell Skinner or the SAC about this, I won't be allowed to 
go in alone. It's against Bureau protocol," she explained 
patiently. "Besides, they'll want to know where I got my 
information, and what will I tell them? I saw it in a dream? 
They'll think I'm crazier than Mulder," she smiled.
     
The psychologist saw his opening and took it. "Dana, I know that 
sometimes dreams can seem extremely realistic, and while they 
may sometimes contain certain fragments of what we call reality, 
they are still exactly that. Dreams. Nothing more than a series 
of ideas or images created and strung together by our 
subconscious during sleep. How can you even be sure this hidden 
tunnel exists?"
     
"I just know." 
     
At his disbelieving look, she chuckled. "Believe me Dr. 
Strickland, if you had asked me that question a week ago, I 
would have agreed with you wholeheartedly." She nodded her head 
toward the Gunmen. 
     
"These guys can tell you, I've never been one to believe in 
something without hard scientific evidence to back it up. That's 
my partner's department. Some...things have happened over the 
last several days that I can't even begin to explain, and yet, I 
can't discount them either. Just the knowledge that they 
happened at all, to me, is evidence in and of itself. I know I'm 
not making much sense here, and I don't really have time to 
explain it all to you now, but I have reason to believe that the 
dream I had was more than just the worried imaginings of my own 
subconscious. Reason enough at least, to set aside my own doubts 
for the moment. For Mulder's sake."
     
"Lucky bastard," Frohike mumbled under his breath as Scully 
turned and headed for the door. 
     
She stopped with her hand on the knob, and smiled. "You be sure 
and tell him that the next time you see him, Frohike." 
     
She sobered for a moment, regarding the group. "I appreciate 
your help, as well as your concern. I don't know what I would've 
done without you guys. Now, will one of you show me how to open 
this door?" 
    
Waiting patiently to one side while Langley went to work on the 
multitude of locks securing the exit, Scully studied Frohike 
thoughtfully. He held her gaze nervously for a moment before 
bursting out, "What?"
     
She narrowed her eyes at him contemplatively. "You wouldn't be 
thinking about ratting me out, would you Frohike?"
     
His eyes widened in surprise before he quickly lowered his gaze 
to the floor. "No, of course not," he lied. **How did she know 
that? ** he thought. 
     
She snorted in amusement as Langley finished his task and held 
the door open so she could pass through. "Good. See that you 
don't. I'd hate to have to kick your ass."
     
Once she was out of earshot, Frohike shook his head, muttering 
to himself, "God, she's hot."


Continued in Part 9...

Title: Nocturnal Perception (9 of 12)
Author: Jen Green

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Eastern Market Metro Station
Friday 
1:30pm


     
The knot in Scully's stomach grew exponentially larger for every 
foot the escalator descended into the depths of the earth. As 
she took in the people around her, businessmen commuting to or 
from work, tourists off to take in the sights of the nation's 
capital, a young twenty-something in a suit on her way downtown 
for a job interview, Scully couldn't contain the thought that 
they were sinking ever deeper into the bowels of Hell, and she 
wondered idly how her fellow travelers would react to the 
knowledge that the devil was waiting for them at the bottom, 
rather than a subway train. She hoped fervently that they'd 
never have to find out.
     
Taking note of the fact that none of her fellow agents appeared 
to be in the vicinity as she reached the end of the escalator, 
she flipped open her badge and ID, presenting them to the 
Transit Policeman seated within the security kiosk. He 
immediately pointed off to her right and began directing her to 
a briefing currently being held in a meeting room on the other 
side of the station, but Scully could hear none of his words 
over the sound of her heart pounding furiously in her ears. 
There, no more than five feet beyond the security booth, was a 
door. Exactly where she'd said it would be. 
     
"...and once you reach that hall, it's the second door on your 
left." It was only as he reached the end of his speech that the 
officer noticed his directions were falling on deaf ears. 
     
"Ma'am?"
     
Dragging her eyes away from the door, Scully gave the man what 
she hoped would pass as a reassuring smile. "Actually, I'd like 
to take a look around, if you don't mind." 
     
At his disinterested shrug, Scully headed for the door, only to 
be stopped by him a moment later. "Ma'am? That's only the supply 
room," he told her.
     
"I know," she nodded. "Do you have a flashlight I could borrow?"
     
He rummaged around for a moment before coming up with a sturdy 
black Maglight. "There is an overhead light in there, you know," 
he said, as he tested the batteries on the light.
     
"Ok," she said agreeably, and held out her hand. She hoped he 
wasn't waiting for an explanation, because he wasn't going to 
get one. She just wanted to get the flashlight and go find her 
partner before that briefing ended and the station was once 
again crawling with FBI agents. 
     
Apparently the officer decided that the idiosyncrasies of this 
one agent after dealing with so many of them over the past day 
or two weren't all that interesting, and he surrendered the 
flashlight without another word. Turning his attention back to 
the station's security monitors, he missed the grimace that 
crossed her face as the smooth metal first made contact with her 
palm. Scully hurriedly headed once again for the door, tossing a 
quick "thanks" over her shoulder.
     
Once she was inside the supply room, she leaned back against the 
door, eyes closed, and exhaled slowly. It had been unexpected, 
the sudden knowledge that Brown had used this very tool to knock 
her partner unconscious, and she could still feel the vibration 
in her hands that he must have felt as the heavy, steel 
flashlight had made contact with Mulder's skull. It wasn't a 
pleasant sensation.
     
Finally satisfied that she could proceed without dropping the 
light, Scully moved toward the far end of the small room 
wondering how on earth there could be a door hidden here that 
every other person searching this room had thus far failed to 
find. 
     
Approximately a ten foot by ten foot square, there didn't appear 
to be too many places for a hidden door to be found. The wall to 
her right held a tool cabinet no higher than four feet tall and 
three feet wide. No door. Stacked along the opposite wall were 
various janitorial supplies: a mop and bucket, boxes of paper 
towels and toilet tissue, bottles of glass cleaner and 
disinfecting bathroom cleaner, but no evidence of a door here 
either, hidden or otherwise, which left only one remaining wall. 
     
The back wall was almost entirely obscured by a floor-to-ceiling 
shelving unit filled to capacity with boxes of supplies, most 
likely blank farecards for the ticket machines, video tapes for 
the security cameras, office supplies, and whatever else a Metro 
station would find it impossible to get through the day without. 
     
Scully wondered idly how she could ever get the unit moved 
without pulling it over on top of herself. It looked pretty damn 
heavy. It didn't appear that unloading the supplies from it 
would be of much help either, because unlike most shelving 
units, this one didn't have the back cut out of it. 
     
** Great. ** 
     
She walked to the left end of the monstrosity, trying to search 
the wall behind it for a door, but even the flashlight didn't 
cast enough light for her to see clearly. Frustrated, she gave 
the unit an experimental shove, and jumped in surprise when it 
actually moved a few inches. She crouched down for a closer 
inspection. 
     
"I'll be damned. It's on hidden casters!"
     
With renewed determination, Scully managed to move one end of 
the supply-laden shelves far enough away from the wall to put an 
end to any speculation as to what may or may not be hidden 
there.
     
"Well Monty," she said softly, "I believe I'll take what's 
behind door number 2."

-----
Chapter Thirty-Nine

Office of the Lone Gunmen
Undisclosed Location
Friday 
1:35pm

    
      
"Frohike, sit down already, will you? You're making me nervous!" 
exclaimed Langley.
     
Ignoring his friend, the older man continued pacing the 
perimeter of the room like a caged animal. "She's gonna get 
herself killed. We need to call someone," he said, more to 
himself than anyone else.
     
"Agent Scully asked us not to," Byers answered. "She's a trained 
federal agent, Frohike. She can take care of herself."
     
"Yeah, well, she's not acting like a federal agent at the 
moment. She's acting like...actually, she's acting just like 
Mulder. And you know how pissed off she gets when he runs off 
without telling anyone!" 
     
He changed direction suddenly, making a beeline for the 
telephone. "I'm calling Skinner. What's the number for the 
FBI...switchboard?" His train of thought was interrupted by a 
single sheet of folded-up paper tucked under the edge of the 
telephone, his name written across it in feminine handwriting. 
He picked it up, trying to remember if it had been there hours 
earlier, when they'd called Tom Strickland, and decided that it 
had not. Curious, he unfolded the paper, and gasped at its 
contents.

     Frohike-
          If you call the switchboard, they'll never put you 
through. Try this number instead. (202) 555-5719.
                          -Scully

     
"What the? How did she know?" he whispered to himself. He dialed 
the number before handing the paper over to Byers and Langley. 
     
As the phone rang once, twice, three times, he watched his two 
friends exchange incredulous looks. Convinced that no one was 
going to answer, Frohike moved to hang up when a gravelly male 
voice boomed over the line.
     
"Skinner."

-----

Chapter Forty

Assistant Director Walter Skinner's Office
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Friday
1:38pm

     
Only the soft scratching of a pencil on paper and the occasional 
interjection of a harshly barked question interrupted the quiet 
of the room.
     
"Where?" A location was hastily scribbled down.
     
"Ummhmm. How long ago?" 
     
He balanced the phone to his ear with his left shoulder, freeing 
the hand not busy writing to rub at his temples. Scully was 
getting to be as bad as Mulder. Worse even. At least with 
Mulder, this kind of behavior was expected. Satisfied he had all 
the necessary information, he dropped the pencil and leaned back 
in his chair.
     
"May I ask how you came by this information?" he questioned. 
     
He grew impatient as the informant hemmed and hawed on the other 
end of the line. "Fine. Never mind. I'll just ask Agent Scully 
after I've finished wringing her neck."
     
Hanging up the phone, he ignored the intercom on his desk in 
favor of the direct approach. 
     
"Kim!" he bellowed to his secretary. "I need Chris Brentwell on 
the phone right away!"

-----

Chapter Forty-One

Eastern Market Metro Station
Friday
1:40pm

     
Leaving behind her suit jacket and weapon, Scully took a deep 
breath, passed quickly through the surprisingly heavy door, and 
closed it behind her with a dull thud. She stood quietly in the 
absolute darkness, listening intently for any indication that 
she was not alone. 
     
After several moments of hearing nothing more than the 
occasional rumbling of a passing train in a nearby active 
tunnel, she switched on the flashlight. Despite the lack of any 
other illumination, the beam was bright enough for her to 
discern the hexagonal terra-cotta tiles beneath her feet as well 
as the waffle-like concrete slabs that made up the curved walls 
and ceiling - decor that was typical Metro station design, as 
well as an exact match to what she could remember from her 
dream. A shiver passed through her that had less to do with 
being jacketless in the cool air of this subterranean hallway 
than it did with the overwhelming sense of deja vu that she felt 
at this revelation. She had been here before. Mulder was here 
now. The knowledge that her partner was nearby prompted her feet 
into action.
     
Moving cautiously down the length of the tunnel, Scully was 
careful to keep the beam of the flashlight trained only far 
enough in front of her to ensure she didn't trip over anything. 
Apparently the decision to halt construction on this particular 
part of the station had been an abrupt one - the ground was 
littered with piles of unused tiles, broken pieces of concrete 
blocks, abandoned sawhorses, buckets of long-ago hardened grout, 
and various other types of building-related trash. A twenty-
foot-long piece of machinery appearing to be a section of 
escalator lay along the left side of the wall, indicating that 
despite the tunnel's incompletion it had at one point at least 
been used for storage. The thick layer of grime and dust 
covering the escalator, however, signified that that point had 
been quite some time in the past. Now the tunnel held the musty 
air of long-time unuse, and had Scully not known better, she 
would have sworn that it's very existence had been completely 
forgotten. Unfortunately though, she could think of one person 
who was well aware of this passage and it's possible uses. 
     
Now more than halfway down the tunnel, she was able to make out 
the nearly indiscernible sound of voices. Estimating herself to 
be no more than three hundred feet away, she found she still 
couldn't make out any of their words, and marveled at the 
incredible amount of insulation that must have been used in 
these tunnels. It was amazing to her that the very thing used to 
make a more comfortable subway experience for its passengers had 
also allowed this maniac to murder four of them with impunity. 
     
Scully stopped dead in her tracks as without warning her mind 
filled with images of a laughing Brown, encouraging the man she 
had autopsied, John Jasen, to "go ahead, call for help, scream 
as loud as you want." The poor man yelled himself hoarse, 
encouraged by the sounds of the passing trains, so close, just a 
few feet away, right on the other side of that wall, and full of 
people...people who never once heard his pleas for help, his 
cries of terror, or his screams of pain as Brown fell upon him 
at last with those scissors. 
     
Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she willed the gruesome images 
away, and when she opened them once again, she sighed with 
relief at the dark, deserted tunnel before her. She didn't know 
if what she'd just experienced was her imagination at work, or a 
memory from her dream, but it really didn't matter. That was not 
going to happen to Mulder, she determined. Her partner would not 
die alone at the hands of this madman while just a few feet away 
sat two hundred people blissfully unaware of his predicament. 
She would see to that.
     
She moved faster now, suddenly desperate to single out Mulder's 
voice from the muffled tones reaching her through the darkness, 
needing to hear that she wasn't already too late. The tunnel 
began a gentle curve to the right ahead of her and she plunged 
forward, not slowing until she was finally able to recognize two 
distinct voices, one of them weak and full of pain, yet 
unmistakably Mulder. Scully felt a moment of relief at hearing 
that her partner was alive and conscious until she drew near 
enough to actually hear what he was saying. Then it was all she 
could do not to gasp out loud.
     
"So, what do you think of this, G-man?" As Brown taunted Mulder, 
Scully could practically see the maniacal grin in his voice. 
     
"I think you should put the lighter away," Mulder returned. 
"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to play with fire? You 
might get burned." 
     
Scully was close enough now to hear the slight tremor in his 
voice. Mulder was scared. Not that she blamed him a bit, but 
Mulder never seemed to fear for himself, only for her when she 
was in danger. The fact that he was frightened now told her that 
he had given up any hope of getting out of here alive. 
     
"Ha," Brown snorted, "My dear old mom didn't stick around long 
enough to teach me much of anything. But don't worry, I don't 
need that bitch to tell me that the only one about to get burnt 
is you." He laughed, and the sound of it made Scully's blood run 
cold.
     
**Keep him talking Mulder**, she thought. **I'm almost there.** 
She could see the faint flickering ahead of the single candle 
that had been present in her dream. Switching off the 
flashlight, she set it quietly on the ground, pausing for a 
moment to allow her eyes to readjust. She thought about carrying 
it with her as a possible weapon, but dismissed the notion after 
a moment's consideration. At the very least, Brown would have 
Mulder's gun, and what good would a flashlight do her then? It 
was better just to leave it behind and keep both hands free, she 
decided. 
     
Almost as if he had heard her silent entreaty, Mulder spoke 
again.
     
"How old were you when your mom left?"

There was another awful bark of laughter from Brown. "Did I say 
she left?" he inquired mildly. "My old man killed her when I was 
four."
     
"That must have been tough, losing your mother at such a young 
age," Mulder said sympathetically. 
     
Scully was as near as she could get to the pair without giving 
away her location, thankful for the curve in the tunnel that had 
allowed her to get this close without being seen. Risking a 
quick glance around the corner, she saw Brown move up into 
Mulder's face, his eyes shining with rage. They were no more 
than twenty feet away from her.
     
"You shut up!" he screamed. "You don't know a damned thing about 
my pitiful excuse for a mother. She never did me any favors. The 
booze would've killed her if dad hadn't."
     
"Why do you hate her so much?" Mulder asked quietly. "Because 
she couldn't protect you from him?"
     
"That's it!" Brown yelled, putting the lighter directly in front 
of Mulder's nose. "This little therapy session is now over, G-
man. I hope you like it hot." With a flick of his thumb he lit 
the flame, bringing it slowly, tauntingly towards the hair on 
the uninjured side of Mulder's head.
     
Hoping to God she wasn't about to get them both killed, Scully 
decided it was now or never. She quickly rounded the curve in 
the tunnel, stopping about fifteen feet away from the two men. 


Continued in Part 10...

Title: Nocturnal Perception (10 of 12)
Author: Jen Green

Chapter Forty-Two

     
"Brown!" 
     
Two pairs of eyes looked up in surprise at the sudden intrusion, 
one hazel and full of hope, the other blue and full of maniacal 
rage. Recovering quickly, Brown moved to stand behind Mulder's 
chair, placing his hostage between himself and Scully. He thrust 
one hand roughly into the hair of the bound man, pulling his 
head back until Mulder gave a tiny, involuntary moan of pain. 
     
"Don't come any closer," Brown warned, "unless you came to 
attend the barbeque." In his free hand he held a silver lighter, 
which he ignited with the flick of a thumb. "I suggest you pass 
that message along to anyone else you brought with you, as well. 
My friend here has had a nice gasoline bath, with a little 
rocket fuel mixed in for good measure, so just one little kiss 
from Zippo here, and he's toast." 
     
He smiled, and Scully could see how he had managed to pull off 
all of the previous murders right under the noses of the Metro 
Transit Authority, the DC Police Department, and the FBI. With 
his blonde, close cut hair, sparkling blue eyes, and boyish 
grin, Brown epitomized the proverbial "boy next door". No one 
would ever suspect that inside this well-toned, clean-cut poster 
child for the Boy Scouts of America beat the heart of a madman.
     
"And don't even think about shooting me, hoping that I'll drop 
this lighter. It stays lit, and I'll make sure I drop it right 
on my friend, Agent Mulder, here." To prove his point, he 
removed his thumb from the button of the lighter, and the orange 
flame continued to burn. 
     
Scully spread her arms out wide in a conciliatory gesture. "I'm 
not armed," she said softly. "And no one else knows I'm here, 
either." Keeping her hands up, she turned around slowly in 
place, allowing him to see for himself that there were no 
weapons concealed on her person. 
     
Completing her circle, she stopped and waited, keeping her eyes 
locked with Brown's, while he judged the sincerity of her words. 
She knew that if he didn't believe she was alone, he wouldn't 
hesitate to kill Mulder right here in front of her, determined 
that if he was going to die, he wouldn't be going alone. 
Everything in this insane rescue attempt, and Scully decided 
that she must indeed be insane to be here alone and unarmed with 
no real plan to speak of, depended on Brown accepting her word 
and letting down his guard. Somehow she knew that if she could 
just get him away from Mulder, everything would be alright. 
      
Brown said nothing as he continued to study her with narrowed 
eyes. Scully stood her ground and stared back, fighting the urge 
to turn around and survey the tunnel behind her. Certainly 
Frohike had called Skinner by now, and it wouldn't be long 
before Brentwell and his agents arrived. In her mind's eye she 
could see Chris Brentwell and six agents dressed in combat gear 
huddled around an aged blueprint scrutinizing the schematics of 
a tunnel no one had remembered existed. Over the agent's 
shoulder was a large shelving unit that covered an entire 
wall...She blinked slowly and the image faded away. She needed 
to get this show on the road, now, but didn't know what else she 
could do to earn Brown's trust. 
     
In the end, she didn't have to do anything. Mulder did it for 
her. During her stare-down with Brown, she could feel her 
partner's gaze searching her face, trying to decide for himself 
if she was bluffing. She knew the instant he reached a 
conclusion, because he immediately began to struggle in his 
captor's grip. 
     
"Jesus, Scully, are you nuts? Get the hell out of here," he 
hissed. 
     
That honest reaction from his hostage seemed to be the deciding 
factor for Brown. He blew out the lighter and released his grip 
on Mulder's hair, satisfied for the moment that he was still in 
charge of the situation. 
     
"Yes, Special Agent Scully, enlighten us. It's Dana, isn't it? 
Just what is it you hope to accomplish here, Dana?" 
     
Her eyes met Mulder's for the first time, and she felt only the 
mildest surprise, not at his battered appearance, but at the 
fact that she had already known exactly how he would look.
     
"I came to get my partner," she said quietly. "Remember Mulder?"
     
His eyes left hers for a moment as he took in the bracelet on 
her left wrist, and when they returned, she could see he 
remembered their shared dream. He nodded slowly. 
     
Brown nodded too, the wide grin firmly back in place on his 
handsome face. "That's very touching," he said. "You two must be 
pretty close. How very fitting that you're going to die 
together."
     
Brown moved away from Mulder, walking towards the shadows off to 
the left side of the tunnel. Abruptly, Scully became aware of 
several things at once. Although there had been no sound, no 
indication at all, she knew without a doubt that Brentwell and 
his team were now entering the tunnel and would be here within 
minutes. She was also positive that Brown was going for the gun 
that he'd taken from Mulder. Her mind raced as she scanned the 
end of the tunnel trying desperately to come up with a solution 
to this situation that didn't result in a shootout between Brown 
and the FBI with her and Mulder caught in the crossfire. 
     
Twenty feet beyond the glow of the candlelight, the tunnel ended 
abruptly, but there seemed to be a small recess on the right 
side, the side that shared a wall with the neighboring tunnel. 
The recess seemed to be the right size and shape to possibly 
be...a door?  Searching her memory, she recalled her own voice, 
nearly unrecognizable as such on the cassette tape of her 
hypnosis... "the only other way in or out is by a door at the 
far end of the tunnel which leads to the eastbound tunnel of the 
blue line." That was it, she decided. Somehow she had to get 
Brown to follow her into the other tunnel. Preferably before he 
picked up the gun.
     
"The only one who's going to die here today is you, Bobby," she 
said as she moved closer to Mulder, closer to the end of the 
tunnel. It was only after the words where out that she thought 
to question them. **Bobby? What the hell?**
     
Distracted from his task, Brown whirled on her, all traces of 
humor gone from his face. "What did you call me?"
     
"I called you Bobby. Would you prefer Robert? That is your real 
name, isn't it? Robert Neidert?" 
     
"How do you know that?" he questioned darkly, his hands balling 
into fists at his sides. He stalked slowly towards where she now 
stood alongside Mulder, the gun all but forgotten. "How do you 
know that?" he shouted.
     
**Believe me, buddy, I wish I knew the answer to that one 
myself,** she thought. Out loud she said, "I know all about you, 
Bobby. I know about Houston. And Syracuse. Chicago. You've been 
a busy boy. Only thirty-four years old and you've already killed 
27 people. You must be so proud," she said sarcastically.
     
"Oh, I think that number's about to increase," he said. "By 
two." 
     
Scully could practically feel the FBI team moving closer and 
closer. This was taking way too long. She needed him to be so 
pissed off that he'd forget all about Mulder, and that gun, and 
come after her. She risked a quick glance at Mulder, who had 
been quietly observing the exchange between her and Brown. 
Scully saw concern in his hazel eyes, not for himself, but for 
her. It was if he knew somehow what she was planning, and she 
realized that after so many years together, that was probably 
the case. Being able to know what the other was thinking was 
part of what made them such a good team. She gave him a tiny 
smile of reassurance before focusing once again on the lunatic 
before them. 
     
"I know about the cellar, Bobby."
     
His blue eyes darkened until they were the dark gray steel hue 
of the ocean before a storm. He said nothing as he circled 
around in front of Mulder, effectively cutting off any chance of 
escape through the entrance of the tunnel. Simultaneously she 
moved from her partner's left side until she stood behind him, 
her hand squeezing his shoulder gently once. She could feel him 
tense beneath her fingers in anticipation of whatever was to 
come next. 
     
"I know about that time when you were seven, Bobby, and your dad 
locked you in the cellar. The school bus got a flat tire, and 
you were late getting home, isn't that right?"
     
"Shut up," he whispered. 
     
"He told you what an irresponsible little bastard you were and 
locked you in the cellar, with no food, no water, and left you 
there. And when you cried and banged on the door, begging him to 
let you out, what did he do? He turned out the light, didn't he 
Bobby?"
     
"I said shut the fuck up!"
     
"He turned out the light and left you there, all alone in that 
cold, dark cellar, just you and the rats, for three days, right 
Bobby? Three agonizingly long, terrifying days. I bet you 
thought he wasn't coming back, didn't you? You thought he was 
just going to leave you there until you died of starvation, or 
thirst, or fear, or a combination of the three.  And after the 
second day, when you broke down and drank your own urine because 
you were so thirsty you couldn't stand it anymore, you wished 
you were dead, didn't you Bobby? You wished he would just come 
back and kill you and get it over with. Is that why you like 
this place so much? Does it remind you of that cellar, Bobby?" 
She began to slowly back away from him, towards the end of the 
tunnel, anticipating his reaction.
     
"You're going to wish you were dead by the time I'm finished 
with you, you bitch!" he ground out harshly as he tossed the 
lighter he still held to one side and lunged for her. 
     
Scully turned and ran for the door, half-expecting to feel a 
hand on her arm as an enraged Brown, or Neidert, or whatever the 
hell his name was, grabbed hold of her. A sudden crash and groan 
of pain from Mulder stopped her in her tracks. **You're supposed 
to come after me**, she thought.
     
Fearing the worst, she turned quickly, and was surprised by what 
she saw. Neidert hadn't attacked her partner, after all. Somehow 
Mulder had managed to tip his chair over into the madman's path, 
using himself as a human speed bump to buy her a little time. 
Not much though, as Neidert was already picking himself up off 
the ground. 
     
"Scully, run," Mulder wheezed. That little maneuver probably 
hadn't done his already injured ribs any good, she thought, as 
she took his advice. She hoped for Mulder's sake that one of 
those men in blue rapidly approaching the bend in the tunnel was 
a medic.
     
When she was about five feet from the door, Scully risked a 
glance behind her. Neidert was about fifteen feet back, and 
gaining. 
     
"Right behind you, Dana," he sneered. 
     
As she hit the door and stumbled into the eastbound tunnel of 
the Metro Blue line, she wondered vaguely what she would have 
done if it had been locked. 

-----

Chapter Forty-Three

Eastern Market Metro Station
Friday
2:00pm

     
"Where's Brentwell?" 
     
Special Agent Donald Peterson looked up in annoyance at the 
harshly barked question, intending to put its inquisitor in his 
place for such a display of rudeness. That plan was changed 
significantly when he realized just who the man before him, 
waiting rather impatiently for an answer, was. 
     
"Assistant Director Skinner! Uh, Agent Brentwell and his team 
are in the tunnel, sir," he said nervously. 
     
"What's going on down there? Have they located Agents Mulder and 
Scully yet?"
     
Suddenly Peterson wished he could be anywhere else on earth but 
where he was. He knew this particular AD only by reputation, but 
even that was enough for him to know that he didn't want to be 
the one passing on this information.
     
"We, uh, don't exactly know, right now, Sir."
     
"Excuse me? Agent, what is your name?"
     
"It's Donald Peterson, Sir."
     
"And please enlighten me, Agent Peterson, how it is that we 
'don't exactly know' what's going on with this investigation?" 
His voice was deceptively calm, but Peterson could feel the 
tension coming off of him in waves. 
     
"Well, Sir, Agent Brentwell and six men from his team entered 
the tunnel approximately ten minutes ago, after finding what we 
believe to be Agent Scully's service weapon and jacket in that 
supply room over there," he indicated the door behind the 
security kiosk, hoping to at least momentarily direct the man's 
steely gaze anywhere other than at himself. Skinner, however, 
wasn't so easily distracted.
     
"Go on," he coaxed. 
     
"We were in constant contact with them as they made their way 
down the tunnel, which according to the blueprints, is 
approximately fifteen hundred feet long. They were about halfway 
down the length, when the radios, uh, gave out. We lost contact. 
We're not sure why, Sir. Something is interfering with the 
signal, either something in the construction of that tunnel, or 
the trains are on the same frequency, we just don't know. Agent 
Andrews is working on it, trying to get them back, but hasn't 
made any progress yet. In the last communication, they heard 
voices coming from the far end of the tunnel, but hadn't yet 
made a visual confirmation. That was about five minutes ago." 
     
Skinner closed his eyes briefly and ran his hands over his head 
in a gesture that had to be reminiscent of days long gone when 
there used to actually be something there to run his fingers 
through. 
     
"Has anyone else gone down there?"
     
"No Sir, Agent Brentwell told us to wait."
     
"Ok, so let's see if I have this straight. There is a killer 
running around loose somewhere inside this metro station. Our 
first strike team is incommunicado, no one else has gone in to 
investigate further, and we still have commuters running around 
here as if nothing were going on. Do I have it right so far?"
     Peterson lowered his eyes to the ground. When he put it 
like that...
     
"Yes Sir, that's about right," he said apologetically.
     
To Peterson's surprise, the Assistant Director shook his head 
and gave a short bark of laughter, saying something under his 
breath that sounded like "only Mulder and Scully". When he 
looked back to Peterson, however, all traces of amusement were 
gone from his visage.
     
"Ok, first of all, I want this station cleared out of all 
civilians. Now. I don't care how you do it, but I want everybody 
out of here, and I want no less than six agents at the doors to 
make sure they stay out. Second, get on the line with whoever is 
in charge of the running of these trains over at Metro's central 
headquarters. I don't want any passengers disembarking here. 
Until further notice, all trains are to bypass this station. And 
finally, get me a vest and two agents. I'm going down there."

-----

Chapter Forty-Four

Eastern Market Metro Station
Friday
2:00pm

     
Dana Scully burst into the Blue line tunnel and found herself on 
the edge of a tiny alcove, no more than eighteen inches deep. 
Careful to avoid the two high-voltage rails that powered the 
subway cars, she jumped from the tiny ledge to the tunnel floor, 
instinctively heading to her right, towards the east, and the 
safety of the station platform, still some fifteen hundred feet 
away. She took a half a step in that direction, and stopped 
suddenly, the mysterious tape recorder in her brain once again 
kicking in, as she 'heard' her own voice fill her ears... "all I 
know is that the way I want to go, the way logic tells me to go, 
is going to be wrong. If I go that way, I will be killed."
     
She stood in the center of the tunnel, torn with indecision. 
Certainly to continue further into the tunnel was suicide. She 
had no knowledge whatsoever of these passages, while her pursuer 
had apparently spent quite some time studying them. Even if she 
somehow managed to avoid being hit by an approaching train, 
Neidert was sure to catch her. Everything in her cried out to go 
towards the platform, towards help. She had learned from their 
recent research on this case that these tunnels held an 
emergency call box every eight hundred feet, a phone that was 
built into a tiny alcove, safe from the passing trains. 
Straining her eyes, she could barely make out a weak blue light 
to the east, maybe five or six hundred feet away. To the west, 
the tunnel curved rightwards as it made it's way toward the 
Capital South station. Beyond fifty feet or so, she could see 
nothing. 
     
Behind her, the door slammed open, ending any more chance she 
had for debate. In an act of blind faith that would've made her 
partner proud, she turned and ran west, deeper into the tunnel.

-----

Chapter Forty-Five

Eastern Market Metro Station
Friday
2:01pm

     
Mulder tried to force himself to take deep, even breaths, but 
the stabbing pain in his left side on each inhalation made the 
effort futile. He lay on his side, still bound tightly to the 
wooden chair, the injured side of his face pressed lightly to 
the cool tile. There had been no sound whatsoever since that 
maniac had followed Scully through the tunnel door. He wasn't 
yet sure if that were a good or bad thing. 
     
He lay there with his eyes closed, trying to ignore the staccato 
beat currently being played on his brain by this latest 
concussion in favor of any kind of sound that might indicate his 
partner's safety. So focused was he on this endeavor, that he 
never noticed the approach of the cavalry.
     
"Agent Mulder!" 
     
Mulder's eyes snapped open as he was suddenly surrounded by FBI 
agents, but he found it difficult to focus on any particular 
face. His chair was righted, and the sudden movement nearly 
caused him to lose consciousness. His head fell forward and he 
groaned as he struggled against the dizziness that enveloped 
him. He had to stay awake. For Scully.
     
Chris Brentwell crouched before the injured man. "Agent Mulder, 
can you hear me? Can you tell me what happened?" He gestured to 
one of the other agents. "Get these restraints off him." 
     
As the agent went to work on his bonds, Mulder raised his head 
and blinked several times until Brentwell's face came into 
focus. Now that he was upright, he was finding it even harder to 
breathe. It felt like a hot poker was pressing into his side 
with each breath.    
     
"Scully...Brown...followed her into the tunnel...that way..." He 
jerked his head in the direction of the door his partner had 
gone through, wincing as a sharp pain lanced through his head at 
the movement. "Got to...stop the trains..." he wheezed. 
     
"Ok Mulder, we'll take care of it. Don't worry," Brentwell 
soothed. "Agent Chang."
     
A petite, Asian woman in her late twenties, her straight black 
hair pulled back into a severe ponytail stepped over. To Mulder, 
she appeared to be even smaller than Scully.
     
"Yes sir?"
     
"Agent, is it my understanding that you currently hold the 
Quantico record for fastest Women's Hundred Meter Dash in the 
history of the Academy?"
     
"Actually sir, it was the Thousand Meter, and it was fastest 
men's or women's time," she smiled.
     
"Even better," he replied. "I need you to get a message to Agent 
Peterson. Tell him I want all trains between the Capital South 
station to our west and the Potomac Avenue station to our east 
stopped immediately. I don't care where they are or who's on 
them, I want them stopped. We've got an agent out there on that 
track somewhere. Also, have him call an ambulance and get a 
stretcher down here for Agent Mulder. Quickly, Agent."
     
At that, she was already off and running towards the beginning 
of the tunnel, her "Yes sir!" an afterthought tossed back to him 
over her shoulder.
     
"Paige, Ziegler, you two stay here with Agent Mulder until the 
EMTs arrive. White, Kramer, and Odbert, you three come with me." 
Weapons in hand, the four agents headed for the door at the end 
of the tunnel.

-----

Chapter Forty-Six

Eastbound Blue Line Metro Train
Friday
2:02pm

     
Scott Wells picked up the microphone and prepared to pass along 
the message he'd just received to his passengers. This was going 
to piss off a few people, he was sure. In his experience, most 
folks just didn't take well to a change in plans, especially if 
that change took them a few miles out of their way. Yep, they 
were going to be ticked, and most likely at him. Not too many 
people seemed to realize that the Metro train operators didn't 
actually run the trains. No sir, that was all done at the Metro 
Headquarters Building via computer.  His job was mainly to open 
and close the doors, announce the stops, and occasionally pass 
along messages like the one he was about to deliver. **Oh well, 
best get it over with,** he thought.
     
"Attention Blue Line passengers: I've just received word of a 
temporary closure at our Eastern Market station due to a 
possible power outage. We have been ordered to bypass this 
station without stopping until further notice. Our next stop 
will be Potomac Avenue. At that time, any passengers needing to 
return to the Eastern Market area may do so via shuttle bus, 
free of charge. The DC Metropolitan Transit Authority apologizes 
for any inconvenience this may cause."

-----

Chapter Forty-Seven

Eastern Market Metro Station
Friday
2:03pm

     
Scully moved as quickly down the dark tunnel as she dared, 
wishing more than anything for a flashlight. The low, droning 
hum of the high-voltage rails was a constant companion, sounding 
not at all unlike an angry hive of bees daring anyone to try and 
steal the fruits of their labor. Scully knew that one wrong step 
in either direction would carry a much more deadly sting than 
any insect. 
     
Not wanting to lose ground by looking, she judged by the curses 
and threats coming from Neidert that he was between ten and 
fifteen feet behind her, apparently just as wary with his steps 
as she. 
     
She estimated that they had traveled perhaps seventy-five feet 
down the tunnel when Scully heard a sound that made her blood 
run cold. From somewhere up ahead, around the never-ending 
northwestward curve of the tunnel that obscured the view that 
she wasn't quite sure she wanted to witness anyway, came the 
low, rumbling drone that could only signify one thing: the 
approach of an oncoming train. 
     
Apparently Neidert heard it too, for his constant, rambling 
narrative of all the things he was going to do when he caught 
her ended abruptly. 
     
Not nearly far enough ahead for her liking, Scully heard the 
whine of the car's dynamic brakes as it slowed down in 
preparation for the sharp curve that she and Neidert were at the 
far end of. She gave up all pretense of caution and simply ran 
as hard as she could, her eyes straining for a glimpse of the 
tiny blue glow representing her salvation. From the train, at 
least. The last emergency phone had been at least seven hundred 
feet in the other direction. The next one had to be close. 
     
Finally she saw it, twenty feet ahead and on the right, so near, 
and at the same time so far away. The approaching train was so 
close now she could feel it's vibrations in her teeth, and worse 
yet, she could see the first glow of its headlights shining 
around the curve of the tunnel. Fifteen feet, then ten, she 
could still hear the screeching of the brakes ahead of her, and 
imagined she heard the harsh breath of the monster behind her. 
     
Not daring to hope that someone knew they were there and might 
stop the train in time, she forced herself to move faster, 
cursing not for the first time the short legs inherited from her 
maternal grandmother. Almost there, she readied herself to leap 
for the safety of the alcove, and was surprised by the sudden 
twist of her ankle that brought her to the ground. It was only 
pure luck, she was sure, that brought her arms out quickly 
enough to break her fall, stopping her with her face mere inches 
from the charged rail. She could feel every fine hair on her 
face standing on end, and let loose a shaky breath of relief as 
she struggled to regain her feet.  
     
Neidert was right behind her now, no more than five feet away as 
the train at last rumbled into view. With a cry of pain as she 
forced her injured ankle into action, she launched herself 
towards the alcove that in the face of the looming train didn't 
seem large enough to accommodate even her own small frame. 
Pressing herself as close to the wall as possible, she turned 
her face into the cool brick and held on for dear life as she 
felt a tug on her arm that could only be her nemesis. She closed 
her eyes, thinking, **at least Mulder's all right**, as she 
waited for it all to be over. 

-----

Chapter Forty-Eight

Eastbound Blue Line Metro Train
Friday
2:04pm

     
"Metro Center, this is Blue Line train number one-oh-one-three 
eastbound on track six. Please respond."
    
"Train number one-oh-one-three, this is Metro Center. Go ahead, 
Scott."
     
"Frank, we were told not two minutes ago to continue on past 
Eastern Market to Potomac Avenue, and now I'm coming up on 
Eastern Market getting a red signal. Please clarify."
     
"Train one-oh-one-three, we've just received emergency 
notification that all trains in your area must be stopped 
temporarily. There's the possibility of an...obstruction on the 
track up ahead. You should be stopping momentarily. Please 
inform your passengers that there will be a slight delay while 
we clear the tracks, and apologize for their inconvenience. 
Over."
     
Before he could reply, Scott heard the metallic whine of the 
brakes as they began to gently slow the train from its current 
speed of sixty-five miles per hour. 
     
As they entered the steep turn that headed into the Eastern 
Market station, Scott picked up the microphone to the onboard PA 
system and prepared to give his passengers this latest bit of 
bad news. He got as far as "Ladies and Gentlemen, I regret to 
inform you..." when the sight before him caused him to drop the 
mike as he rushed for the emergency override system. He hit the 
brakes as hard as he dared, not wanting to risk an even worse 
catastrophe by jumping the tracks, but when they slammed into 
the so-called "obstruction", they were still going a steady 
thirty-five miles an hour.


Continued in Part 11...

Title: Nocturnal Perception (11 of 12)
Author: Jen Green

Chapter Forty-Nine

Eastern Market Metro Station
Friday
2:04pm

     
As the four agents approached the door at the end of the 
tunnel, they were met by the sound of squealing brakes. 
Unable to believe his ears, Chris Brentwell threw the door 
open in time to see a metro train skid to a stop a mere ten 
feet past where the agents stood. 
     
So, unfortunately, did Mulder. No longer bound, he 
immediately began to struggle to gain his feet, despite the 
best attempts of the two agents who tried to hold him down. 
"Damn it, they were supposed to stop the trains! Scully!"
     
Not wanting to injure him further, the agents tried to 
reason with him, but nothing seemed to get through to him, 
and he continued to struggle, until a new voice entered the 
fray.
     
"Agent Mulder!"
     
Mulder stopped fighting immediately and turned to look at 
Walter Skinner with anguished eyes. "Sir...Scully..." he 
gasped out.
     
"Agent Mulder, I assure you, we will find her," the AD 
stated firmly. "But you know how pissed she'll be if you 
injure yourself further in the meantime. The ambulance 
should be here soon." Mulder read the unspoken message in 
his boss' eyes: Trust me. I care about her, too. I'll find 
her for you. Nodding slowly, he closed his eyes and leaned 
his head back against the chair, whispering, "Ok."
     
He approached the four agents who still stood at the door, 
staring in disbelief at the train.
     
"Ok, people, there's a team working from the platform out 
this way, so I want you three to head east towards them 
until you meet up. One of you can talk to the conductor of 
that train and find out if he saw anything. Chris, you and 
I will head west. Any questions?"
     
"God, Walter, if she went that way, there's no way..." 
Brentwell trailed off at the warning look from Skinner.
     
"We don't know that, Agent Brentwell," he said tightly. 
"Now, let's go."

-----

Chapter Fifty

Eastern Market Metro Station
Friday
2:05pm

Hysterical laughter bubbled from Dana Scully's throat as it 
slowly sunk in that she had somehow managed to avoid "death 
by pancake". The breath that it seemed she'd been holding 
for the past hour suddenly escaped in a huge rush of 
relief, only to be sucked back in again as she realized 
that perhaps the danger wasn't entirely over with yet. She 
could still feel the weight of Neidert's hand on her arm. 
She'd survived, but so had the psycho. Although, it was 
strange that he hadn't made any attempt yet to get a better 
grip on her. Just that one hand. She supposed even crazy, 
bloodthirsty killers got a little bit freaked out when 
faced with the reality of their own mortality.
    
Without turning around, she jerked her arm experimentally, 
and wasn't surprised when Neidert's hold didn't loosen. 
What was puzzling though, was the lack 
of...substance...behind his grasp. The fingers gripping her 
bicep were firm, and yet, when she moved, they followed her 
movement without any of the resistance that one would 
expect to encounter when being restrained by another 
person. It was almost as if...
     
She turned her head and immediately confirmed her 
suspicions. Yes, indeed, it was Robert Neidert's hand 
wrapped securely around her right bicep. His hand, and not 
much else. Apparently he hadn't been quite so lucky as she 
in regards to the train that they'd encountered, and all 
that remained of him was the hand that was locked quite 
literally in a death grip around her own arm, along with a 
few inches of bloody forearm. Sickened, she pried the dead 
man's fingers from her arm and backed as far away as she 
could in the tiny space when the severed stump fell to the 
ground at her feet. She gently toed the limb with her shoe 
until it fell from the alcove. 
     
As the haze of adrenaline filtered slowly out of her blood, 
she became increasingly aware of the pain in her ankle, and 
sat down on the edge of the niche to wait. Above her, 
forgotten for the moment, was the emergency call box that 
had drawn her to this spot in the first place.

-----

Chapter Fifty-One

Eastern Market Metro Station
Friday
2:07pm

     
The two men carefully picked their way westward along the 
tracks in silence, neither one wanting to be the first to 
acknowledge the futility of their search, but the farther 
they ventured, the harder it became to deny the gruesome 
truth. Here and there along the walls and floor of the 
tunnel, their flashlights pointed out slick, shiny puddles 
of what appeared to be blood. Following the trail of logic 
which cruelly pointed out that if Brown had come this way, 
Scully most likely had as well, it was becoming more and 
more difficult to expect a positive outcome. Especially 
when the beams of their lights crossed over...
     
"Oh God," groaned Brentwell, "Is that...?"
     
"It's a leg," confirmed Skinner tonelessly. "Not hers 
though. It's too long."
     
"But still, it's obvious they came this way," Brentwell 
began.
     
"No," said Skinner firmly. "We keep looking until we find 
solid evidence." He cringed at his own choice of words. 
"Nothing less than that will satisfy Mulder."
     
"But..."
     
"Keep going."
     
They continued on another twenty feet or so, hope dwindling 
farther and farther away with each pass of their 
flashlights over the increasingly bloody ground. Both men 
knew they were nearing the point of impact, and dreaded 
what they might find there. 
     
As Brentwell stooped to investigate a particularly gory 
puddle of blood and assorted tissue at his feet, Skinner 
continued along the curve of the tunnel. So intent was he 
on searching for the scattered remains of his agent, that 
his flashlight passed over her slim, very much intact form 
twice before his brain was able to register what it was he 
was seeing. 
     
She sat on the edge of a tiny nook in the wall, her head in 
her hands, her shoulders shaking in silent tears or 
laughter, he couldn't tell which. The faint blue light 
above her head lent her skin an otherworldly glow and he 
found himself thinking briefly that maybe she was only a 
figment of his imagination, some silent spectral apparition 
of her former earthly self, left behind to help them 
discover what had transpired in the final moments of her 
life. **I've been hanging around Mulder too long,** he 
thought.
     
"Agent Scully?" There was no response from the agent in 
front of him, but behind him Brentwell quickly rose to his 
feet and came forward.
     
"God, I don't believe it!" he exclaimed. 
     
Even when both men crouched in front of her, Scully still 
gave no indication that she was aware of their presence. 
The feel of her cold, clammy forehead beneath his fingers 
told Skinner why. 
     
"She's in shock," he said under his breath. Louder, he 
said, "Agent Scully, it's Walter Skinner. Can you tell me 
if you're hurt?" 
     
Taking a hold of her chin, he gently forced her to raise 
her head and gasped aloud as she stared through him, 
unseeing. He shook her slightly, calling her name louder, 
and she blinked once, before her azure eyes slowly came 
into focus.
     
"Dana?" he questioned softly. 
     
Finally what he was asking seemed to sink in. She nodded 
slightly and said, "My ankle hurts, but...I...I'm ok. Is 
Mulder...?"
     
He couldn't help but chuckle. How typically Dana Scully. 
She'd nearly been hit by a train, and here she was worrying 
about her partner. "He'll be fine. Although I'm sure he's 
nearly worked himself into a stroke by now, worrying about 
you. What do you say we go put his poor EMTs out of their 
misery?"
     
She allowed the agents to help her to her feet, and even 
consented to a supporting arm from Skinner, but she 
steadfastly refused to be carried. In his opinion, she 
still looked slightly shell-shocked, but considering the 
day she'd had so far, he figured she was entitled. At least 
the glassy-eyed, blank stare she'd been sporting when 
they'd first found her was gone.
     
As the trio limped towards the tunnel's exit, Skinner could 
no longer hold the question inside.
     
"Scully, I know I'll be reading all about it in your report 
Monday morning," he said pointedly, "but I have to know. 
What on earth possessed you to go after Brown with no 
weapon and no backup? What were you thinking?"
     
With a quick glance to the bracelet that was somehow 
miraculously still attached to her left wrist, she gave him 
the only answer she could. 
     
"Sir, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."


Continued in Part 12...

Title: Nocturnal Perception (12 of 12)
Author: Jen Green


Chapter Fifty-Two

Washington Hospital Center
Saturday
9:15am

     
"Mulder, I said no, and I meant it," said a firm, feminine 
voice.
     
"Aww, but Scully," whined Mulder.
     
"Mulder, you went over eighteen hours with no food or water. 
You're dehydrated, and you have a concussion, not to mention 
three broken ribs. If you remove that IV, I will personally 
stick it back in, and believe me partner, you won't like where I 
put it."
     
Smothering a grin, Walter Skinner entered room 1121 and greeted 
his two favorite agents.
     
"Well, it's good to see you two are feeling better this 
morning."
     
"Good morning, Sir," said Scully. She reached for the crutches 
she'd left propped against the wall and moved as if to rise from 
the chair beside her partner's bed, but he waved her back down.
     
"Don't get up. I just stopped by to see how you both were doing. 
I can see that Mulder's feeling well enough to be his usual 
pain-in-the-ass self." The pain-in-the-ass in question smirked 
in response. "How's that ankle?"
     
"Not bad," the redhead replied. "It's just a sprain. It'll be 
fine in a few days."
     
"Good. I'm looking forward to reading your report," said 
Skinner.
     
"Yeah, so am I," Mulder interjected cryptically.
     
"Yes, sir," she responded, shooting her partner a sharp glare. 
"It'll be on your desk first thing Monday morning."
     
"Alright, well, keep me posted," he said, heading for the door. 
     
"We will, sir."
     
He was halfway out the door before remembering the other purpose 
of his visit. "Oh, Agent Scully, I wanted to let you know, I 
asked the crime scene boys to keep an eye out, but so far no one 
has seen that bracelet you lost. I'll let you know if it turns 
up."
     
"Thank you sir, I appreciate that." Out of the corner of her eye 
she saw Mulder sit up straighter in his bed. Once their boss was 
out of earshot, he raised his eyebrows in a silent question.
     
"I don't know what happened, Mulder," she explained earnestly. 
"I had it when we left the tunnel, but by the time we got here 
it was just...gone. I've asked the hospital staff to keep an eye 
out, too. Maybe it will turn up." 
     
Fully prepared for an all-out Mulder-rant disparaging whatever 
cruel twist of fate it was that forever doomed them to lose, 
destroy, or have stolen each and every tiny little shred of 
evidence that may possibly be construed as proof of anything 
remotely paranormal, Scully found his softly spoken "guess you 
should've gotten that clasp fixed, eh Scully?" almost 
anticlimactic.  
     
Scully looked at her partner in surprise. "You're not upset?" 
she questioned.
     
He considered a moment before answering. "Well, it might have 
been nice to be able to study it," he said, "but to tell you the 
truth Scully, you were getting a little too weird, even for me. 
I mean, that sleep-typing thing? Face it Scully, that was just 
plain spooky." 
     
His obvious attempt to relieve any residual guilt she felt over 
losing the bracelet earned him a dry chuckle for his efforts. 
     
"You'll get no arguments from me, Mulder. I'm more than happy to 
leave the realm of the strange and unexplained to you." She 
stood and slid her crutches into position under her arms. "I'm 
going to get something to eat. Want me to bring you anything?"
     
"No, thanks," he said, reaching for the television remote. "I 
hear there's lime jello for lunch. I wouldn't want to ruin my 
appetite."
     
With one hand on the doorknob, she turned back. "You know 
Mulder, I just can't help but wonder what else we might have 
done. Who we might have helped..." she trailed off, not quite 
sure how to explain herself. "I know I was resistant at 
first..." she started. A rather loud guffaw interrupted her 
assertion, followed by a pained, "Ow, my ribs. Scully, don't 
make me laugh!" 
     
After a minute or two of alternately chuckling and clutching his 
side, Mulder sobered. "Scully, it's only natural to think of all 
the good deeds that could have been done. To have precognitive 
knowledge of all the bad things to come, to have the opportunity 
to right wrongs before they even happen, that's a heady 
prospect. But that's all it really was, Scully, a prospect. A 
hope. We don't have the slightest idea what would have happened 
next if you still had that bracelet. Maybe it would have worked, 
and maybe it wouldn't. In fact, I believe that more than likely 
there would have been no more predictions. I think Scully, that 
you did what you were meant to do."
     
"You're talking about the letter," she stated.
     
He nodded. "Think about it. Everything that happened with that 
bracelet was mentioned in Dorothy Williams' letter. The rapist, 
Gallant, Neidert...they were all referenced at least indirectly. 
But beyond that, there was nothing. No "you're going to do many 
good deeds with this bracelet, young lady" or anything. I think 
that was all you were intended to do."
     
"You mean rescue my impulsive partner and hopefully in the 
process teach him a lesson about waiting for proper backup 
before investigating a possible crime scene?" she smiled.
     
"Don't you start with me about backup right now, Pot," he 
returned. "And I don't mean just me. Your warning saved that 
McIntyre girl from being raped, and who knows how many kids that 
pervert Gallant would have taken if we hadn't caught him." He 
shook his head and chuckled again.
     
"What?" she questioned, curious.
     
"I just realized, that "someone you love will be lost" Dorothy 
wrote you about, that was me? Gee, Scully, I didn't know you 
cared." His tone was light, teasing, but in his eyes she 
imagined she saw something more, something...hopeful?
     
Turning back towards the door, Scully could only imagine the 
look on his face as she delivered her parting shot and left the 
hospital room.
     
"Well Mulder, I guess now you know."

-----

Epilogue

Westbound Boeing 747
Somewhere over North America
Saturday
11:30am

     
Jennifer Reeves leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, 
glad to be on her way home. It wasn't that she hadn't enjoyed 
their vacation, she thought, but her mother did tend to go a 
little overboard sometimes. Jen was quite certain she didn't 
have a single living relative left on the East Coast that she 
and Meg hadn't visited in the last week. And that "Aunt Patti" 
with the broken hip her mother had insisted they stop by and see 
in the hospital this morning on the way to the airport? Well, 
Jen was ninety percent certain she didn't even have an Aunt 
Patti. She couldn't really fault her mother though. Her desire 
to reconnect with distant family members had everything to do 
with wanting to show off her granddaughter, Jen was sure.
     
She sighed softly. Flying made her sleepy. Too bad it didn't 
have the same effect on the little munchkin in the window seat 
beside her.
     
Jen opened her eyes and regarded her daughter. "You're too 
quiet. What are you up to, Trouble?" she asked with a smile.
     
"Nothin' Mommy, just playing with my bracelet," replied the 
seven-year-old.
     
Jen lifted the child's wrist to inspect the unfamiliar jewelry. 
"Did Granny give you that, honey?"
     
"No Mommy, I found it. At that hospital where we saw the lady 
with the blue hair. Can I keep it?"
     
Jen sighed. "Not much point in asking now, is there?"
     
"Are you mad, Mommy?"
     
"No honey, I'm not mad. But next time you find something, let me 
know right away, ok? You should always try and find out who it 
belongs to before you just decide to keep it. Somebody back in 
Washington could be missing that bracelet very much." 
     
"Why?"
     
Ah, how to explain the concept of "sentimental value" to a 
seven-year-old. Jen decided it wasn't worth the effort. If she 
played the lesson up too much, Meg would soon be demanding that 
they turn the plane around and return the bracelet to it's 
rightful owner. Truthfully, it didn't seem like an overly 
expensive piece, and, well, it was owls...how broken up could 
they be over it?
     
"You know what I think?" Jen asked with a yawn.
     
"What Mommy?"
     
"I think we should try and take a nap. It will make the time 
pass quicker."
     
"I'll try. Do you think Daddy will like my new bracelet?"
     
"I'm sure he'll love it, sweetie. Now close your eyes."
     
As the gentle dips and sways of the airplane nudged her gently 
towards sleep, Jen found herself reflecting once again on how 
glad she was to be heading home.  There was nothing like the 
craziness of a vacation to remind you just how nice the normal, 
everyday routine could be...




THE END... ?