Title - Procedures (4 / 7) Author - Stephanie Roberts E-Mail - stefrobrts@aol.com Chapter 11 --------- Super 8 Motel June 18, 9PM Scully sat down on the bed with a moan. Performing two difficult autopsies in one day had worn her down, made her feet hurt from standing and her back hurt from leaning over the table. Now she just wanted to relax and get a good night's rest, but Mulder had livened up on the ride back to the motel. He was restless and had wanted to talk before turning in, and so had followed her back to her room. "Tense?" Mulder asked, sitting down next to her. She nodded without opening her eyes. As she had hoped, she soon felt his fingers rubbing her shoulders, making little circles on the muscles of her back, crushing the tension out of her. She began to relax and lean into it, enjoying the pleasant tingling sensation that was flowing through her, when she felt one of his arms snake around her and pull her close. He reached his other arm around in front of her and turned her towards him. For a moment he looked into her eyes, cautiously evaluating what he found there. The dreamy, comfortable look she returned matched his own, led him to believe the time was as right as it would ever be, so he leaned forward and kissed her. She returned the kiss, a little surprised but not disappointed. Things had been building up between them. It had gotten to the point where she looked forward to him spending time with her in the evenings, and she felt his absence when he left each night. She knew it was only a matter of time before they took things further. She felt his stubbled face rubbing against her soft skin, scraping against her chin, burning her cheeks. His lips moved over hers and she felt his tongue gently exploring her mouth, teasing her lips. His hands wrapped around her face, moved down so his fingers gently trailed over her neck and continued down, tracing a path along her back that made her tingle. She reached for him, her fingers running along the sides of his face, following the outline of his ears and pushing through his hair. Time seemed to slow down as if in a dream, and Scully let it take her wherever it was going. In a flash, she remembered everything. Five years of better and worse. Mulder breaking into an old RV to rescue her from a killer. Mulder holding her in a hospital hallway, telling her the truth would save them both. Mulder's smile when he heard her cancer was in remission. But she also recalled all the times he had run off and left her to come find him, or just to wonder if she would ever see him alive again. The times he had gone to do things on his own, seldom using his best judgement and unwilling to listen to anyone else. Mulder releasing a child killer from prison in the hopes he would lead him to his sister's fate. Mulder letting a quack doctor drill a hole in his head to bring back childhood memories, nearly driving him over the edge of sanity. She remembered being ready to leave the FBI, thinking he didn't need her. Thinking she was just extra baggage on his quest. Suddenly, she became aware that their positions had changed. She was lying back on the bed and he was over her, still kissing, touching, exploring. His hands ran down the front of her blouse and traced the shape of her breasts, he ran a hand down her leg to pull up her skirt and run his fingers over the nylons covering her thighs, his touch gentle and light. His eyes were closed as if in a trance, concentrating, lost in the moment. Scully felt a knot in her stomach. This wasn't right. Mulder was her partner, her friend, an unpredictable, tortured soul that had somehow become an integral part of her life, but maybe not the kind of person you built a stable, healthy relationship with. She wasn't sure she wanted to explore any further, to make the attachment any deeper. Wriggling, she tried to get out from under him calmly, but her arms and legs were pinned by his greater weight, her mouth covered by his own. She got an arm up to his chest and pushed against it, hoping to get his attention, but he took it for playfulness, and grabbed her hand at the wrist and held it still. Panic seized her, and she took the most immediate way out; a hard push followed by a loud "NO", so loud she surprised even herself. They stared at each other for a moment, suddenly an arms length apart on the bed. Mulder's face was hot and flushed, his expression conveying perfectly that he couldn't imagine why Scully had stopped him. Her own look was one of horror and fear, and his heart dropped from looking at her. "Scully, I'm sorry." He reached out towards her but she backed away. "I don't know what to say. I thought we were..." He couldn't finish the sentence, shocked by his own misunderstanding and his resulting behavior. "No, no," she quickly got off the bed and went over to the table, feeling a need for distance, the space to regain clarity. The case file had been dropped on the table, and she stood there and pushed at the papers with her fingers, not really seeing them. "I just needed some space," she said, knowing, even as she said it, that it was completely inadequate. After a long moment she felt Mulder behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist but not pinning her, leaving her free to get away. He rocked her gently against his body. She could hear his breathing, and feel the hot air against her ear as he whispered, soft and concerned. "What's wrong, Scully?" She took a deep breath, feeling herself shaking from the strange mix of passion and panic, and the fear of telling him what she was thinking. Honesty was a new thing between them, and she wasn't yet sure it was preferable to their old habits of denial. Her heart pounded in her chest as she made her decision. "I'm afraid of you," she finally said. She felt his arms tense, his body slip against her back, a puff of warm air against her cheek. It was as if she had delivered a punch directly to his stomach. It took him a minute to think again. "Why?" She heard more shock and hurt than she thought anyone could express in one word. She hated knowing she had done that, and was thankful she couldn't see his eyes. "I'm not sure I can trust you this way." He reached out for her hands and caught them, pulling her back tightly against him. Nothing was said for a moment while he gathered his thoughts. He knew he was too tired to think, and he wanted to get it right. "You almost died in Antarctica." He spoke quietly, leaning his forehead against the top of her head. She strained to hear him. "I had to stop and give you mouth to mouth, CPR. There were.. creatures all around us, pounding to get out of their containers. It was right before we climbed up the vent. Don't you remember?" She remained silent. She didn't remember the creatures, but he had told her this part before. This part he hadn't told her. "These creatures were beating on the walls, trying to get to us, but I wouldn't leave you. It didn't even occur to me that a time would come when I should leave your body behind and save myself." He took a deep breath, feeling his eyes wet with the memory of how close he had been to losing her, not even thinking how close he had been to losing himself. "You looked so small, wrapped in that huge parka. I couldn't leave you. If you hadn't woke up, I would have died there with you," his voice caressed her. "I won't ever leave you, Scully, and I won't let anything hurt you." "Including you?" She closed her eyes and listened for a response. "You can trust me." His voice was just a quiet plea in her ear. She squeezed his hands. "You give everything one-hundred and ten percent, Mulder. It's overwhelming sometimes." He held her for a moment longer, pressing his face against her hair, then kissed her neck and let her go. She didn't dare turn away from the table, feeling her own eyes tearing, even as she heard the door click shut behind him. Chapter 12 --------- Somewhere in Seattle June 18, 9PM She sensed a change in her surrounding. She wasn't able to move, but she could open her eyes, if she was careful and slow and concentrated hard. Her lids quivered and lifted just enough to reveal a sliver of brown iris and large black pupils, which were assaulted by the brilliant flood of light directly over her head. She closed her eyes. A few moments later the light moved, leaving her in the semi- darkness behind her eyelids. She struggled to open her eyes again. She felt the cold metal table under her back, and felt a sheet over her front. She managed to open her eyelids a little, taking in her surroundings again. She saw a floor lamp, which had been moved down to illuminate her midsection. The man was standing just beyond it, lost in the glare of the light, but she knew without a doubt he was there. If she strained to look towards her toes she could just see a sheet fencing off her body at the midsection, hiding his activities from her sight. She watched him moving, methodically moving his blood-covered hands up and down. She realized after a moment that he was pulling a needle and thread, sewing something. In her sedated, exhausted state, she wondered what he was doing, with an odd sort of detached curiosity. He looked towards her, seeing her eyes open. He laid the needle down on her abdomen, carefully laying the thread down so it didn't tangle, and moved to her head. He looked at her face thoughtfully, evaluating her condition from the disoriented look of her eyes. He brought his hand up to her face and pressed his fingertips to her forehead. She felt a jolt that shook her whole body, making it kick up from the table. Her eyes flew wide open for a moment and then fluttered shut, leaving her drifting in darkness again. He picked up the needle, now dangling from the thread which led to the half-sutured incision, and continued his methodical stitching. Chapter 13 --------- Coffee shop June 19, 6:45AM Scully had gratefully downed two cups of strong coffee while waiting for Mulder, but he still hadn't arrived. She hadn't slept well last night, thinking about him, thinking about them. She wished she could express herself better, so as to make him understand how much this new thing between them concerned her. There was so much at stake, a friendship, a partnership, a relationship. She felt it had the potential to be one of those rare, defining moments. It was a fork in the road, and the direction they took would have major consequences for the rest of their lives, and so it deserved careful consideration. No wonder it seemed so hard. But now it was time for work, and she tried to put all those other issues out of her mind. There would be time to deal with them later. Now, there was a little girl to save, and her time was running out. She checked her watch and looked out across the street to their motel for what seemed like the hundredth time, frustrated that she still didn't see Mulder heading in her direction. Finally, she dropped a few dollars on the table and went back across the street. "Mulder," she pounded on his door with her fist. After a moment he opened the door and leaned on the doorframe, looking at her through dull eyes. His hair was sticking out in strange directions and he wore tattered sweats that were wrinkled as if he had slept in them. "What's wrong? We have a presentation to give in about an hour." She pushed her way past him and looked around his room. Scattered around were pictures of the victims, autopsy reports, transcripts, everything from the case file. She looked back at him, worry now evident in her eyes. "What did you do all night?" He shrugged, rolled his head around and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "I couldn't sleep. I went for a run, and then I went over the case again." "Mulder, did you sleep at all?" He shook his head, not meeting her eyes. "You've been up for over 48 hours! How are we going to present your profile?" She looked around the room in frustration. "Go take a shower and put on a suit. If you hurry we can still get there in time." She started gathering the case file papers back together into a pile. Mulder didn't move from the doorway. "Scully, don't do that," he moaned. She stopped and looked at him. "Mulder, get ready. We have to go do this." Her voice was stern, intending to leave no room for questions. If they missed this meeting she knew they would defeat Skinner's whole purpose for sending them here. Valuable, hardworking agents didn't fail to arrive for meetings to present their work. "No, don't do that." He was in front of her in two steps, grabbing her hands roughly and making her drop the papers. "I'll take care of it later," he said, a little more disgust in his voice than necessary. She looked up at him with concern but no fear, and he felt a little backwash of guilt from his aggressive behavior. He had spent the night berating himself for all the times he had let her down, not been there when he should have, and considering that she was probably right to not trust him. She was better off without him. Yet here she was, meeting him eye to eye, not backing down, unafraid, still his friend. "Mulder, I know you're tired and frustrated, but we have to do this. Let's go present your profile and then you can come back and get some sleep." She said it slowly and clearly, her voice firm but not scolding, appealing to his logical side. "Mulder, there's a little girl who needs our help. We have to do this right. We can't let other issues cloud our judgement on this." He stood there, still holding her hands and looking down at her in a sleepy haze, thinking of things he'd lost and things he'd never really had to begin with. The moment seemed to stretch on much longer than it should have. "I'm sorry about last night," she heard herself offer. "Don't be," he quickly dropped her hands and walked towards the bathroom, eager to escape, knowing he was far too involved to discuss it now. He would be better off concentrating on the case. "I'll get ready." He shut the door behind him and after a moment she heard the shower come on. She closed the front door and sat down on his still-made bed, flipping on his laptop to browse over his profile before their presentation. Chapter 14 --------- FBI Field Office June 19, 9:30AM Mulder had performed flawlessly, surprising considering his sleep- deprived state. Although Scully had felt prepared enough to step up and help him, he hadn't needed it. He had presented a profile that was complete, insightful, and genuinely useful, taking into consideration all their knowledge of the case and the evidence so far, and molding it into a description of the killer's activities involving each victim. He was also able to give a rough description of the killer's methods, his background, what motivated him, and how they might watch for him to strike again. The other agents had listened attentively and carefully taken notes, apparently impressed with his presentation, in spite of his reputation. Willmore had received a list of Red 1968 Camaro Rally-Sports registered in the King County area, and narrowed that down to those owned by medical professionals and students. That still left almost 90 vehicles to investigate, and he handed out assignments after Mulder was through presenting his profile. Armed with this information, the agents headed out in teams of two to begin questioning owners and examining vehicles. Willmore handed a sheet to Scully, listing ten cars that needed to be checked out. She took it but Mulder enthusiastically snapped it out of her hands almost immediately. "Alright, Scully, ready to go?" "Not with you, Mulder. I'm going out with Willmore today." He looked up from the sheet in amazement. "What?" "Mulder, you haven't slept in three days, at least. It's not safe. I don't want you watching my back if you're half-asleep." She snatched the assignment back from him. "I want you to go back to the hotel and get some rest. I've already talked to Willmore, and we'll go check out these cars and call you if we find anything." He grabbed her arm and quickly dragged her out into the hallway, out of the other agents' earshot. When he stopped he stooped down so he could stare at her eye to eye as he hissed "You're ditching me?" His voice conveying both amazement and anger. "I'm not 'ditching' you, Mulder. You need to get some sleep. I'm giving you time to do it." Scully didn't flinch under his stare. "Willmore doesn't know why you're not joining us today. This isn't going to look bad to Skinner, if he even finds out about it. If we find anything we'll let you know. You're not going to miss anything." He stood up and looked away from her, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. He looked up and down the hallway, seeing that they were alone, before he turned back to her. "Is this because of last night?" She looked a little surprised that he would dare make the connection, and a little dismayed that he had cut right to the core of the problem. She didn't want to sit in a car with him all day, driving all over Seattle, nothing to talk about but things she didn't want to talk about. Last night still felt awkward, and it was exactly what she had been afraid would happen if they pursued a relationship. All relationships had awkward moments, time when people needed to be apart, but she and Mulder normally had none of that time, especially while on the road. Today, she had managed to arrange some. She decided honesty had not served her well last night, so she chose to try denial again, even though she knew how bad she was when it came to lying to him. "No. No. Not at all. I just don't think you should be in the field today. I don't trust you to be my backup in your condition." "Well, there seems to be a sudden lack of trust going around, that's all." He saw Willmore come out of the conference room and start heading their way. Mulder glared at her, still annoyed, a little suspicious that she was not telling him everything, but unwilling to make a show in front of another agent, so he kept his mouth shut. "Agent Scully, are you ready to go?" "Yes," she looked back at Mulder, steeling herself against the hurt and resignation in his eyes, but didn't know what else to say. "We'll call you, Mulder." She turned and left with Willmore, leaving Mulder standing alone in the hall. Chapter 15 --------- FBI Field Office June 19, 2:30PM Mulder arrived back at the office before Scully and Willmore, so he waited in Willmore's office until they arrived. He had gotten a few hours sleep at the hotel before he was awoke by the ringing of his cell phone, telling him one of the other agents had apprehended a suspect, and for him to meet Scully and Willmore back at the office to assist in the interview. He wandered around, looking at the Civil War photos, maps and drawings hung on the walls before he sat down in Willmore's chair to examine the family pictures on the desk. Apparently he was the father of a very cute little girl. Mulder was still looking at the picture when they came in. "Mulder, you made it," Willmore hung his jacket on a coat rack in the corner. "Hang on and I'll go get the details on our suspect." He hurried back out of the office. Mulder sat back and put his feet up on the desk, watching Scully, who was walking around the office looking at the same pictures Mulder had gone over a few minutes before. "So, how was your day?" He finally asked. She feigned interest in the pictures to casually avoid meeting his eyes. "Fine. None of our leads turned up anything, obviously." "Get along with your new partner?" He prodded her with the question. She chose to ignore the bitter undertone and took it at face value. "Willmore's really interested in the Civil War. He talks about it constantly. He can relate any situation to a strategy used in one battle or another." She sat down in one of the chairs facing the desk. "That, and his kids." She looked across the desk at him. "Did you get any rest?" "About four hours," he rolled a pen around on the desktop with his fingers, never taking his eyes off of hers now that he had the opportunity. "Good enough?" As much as he wanted to be angry with her for ditching him, he found he was just happy to have her back, even if she did seem a little uncomfortable for some reason. "Better than nothing." An awkward silence settled over them, and she fidgeted a little, wondering why being alone with Mulder was suddenly difficult. He looked at the pen he was playing with and started to speak. "Scully, I think..." He stopped abruptly as Willmore came back into the office. "Ok, guys. He's waiting for us," he came up behind Scully, putting his hands on her shoulders and leaning down close to her ear, nearly inciting an uprising from Mulder in the process, "and we have a surprise for you, Agent Scully. You know him." She turned around to look at his face, confused. "I know him?" "It's your assistant from the morgue, Tom Peterson." "Peterson?" Scully couldn't begin to hide the amazement in her voice. "The agents who captured him were examining a car that belonged to a retired Dr. Winston. It was obvious he wasn't responsible for the murders..." Willmore began to explain. "Why was it obvious?" Mulder interrupted him. "He was physically incapable of committing the crime," Willmore explained, a little annoyed with Mulder for questioning his agents' evaluation. "They found blood in the trunk and dirt on the car. When questioned, the Doctor mentioned he had loaned the car out several times to a young student he was mentor to, Tom Peterson. They picked Peterson up on his way out of class at the University and questioned him, and he admitted to using the car on the nights in question. Now we just need to get a little more out of him." "Have you determined where he performed the mutilations?" Scully asked, still suspicious. She had worked with Tom for two days and never gotten the feeling he was anything but a hard working young student. He had paid close attention to everything she showed him. Could it have all been an act, a brazen act put on by a murderer who had maneuvered himself so close to the investigation that he could watch his handiwork being dissected by the investigators while he stood right under their nose? She didn't have a whole lot of faith left in people in general, but she suddenly felt it shaken a little more. "He's still denying any involvement." Willmore answered. "We have a team searching his house now, but they haven't found any other evidence linking him to the crime yet. We need to get him to tell us where he did it so we can rescue any other victims he has there." "Well, let's go talk to him," Mulder began walking down the hallway to the interrogation rooms. Scully followed, still lost for a moment in her own thoughts. Until he opened the door. Sitting at the table of the dim, bare room was her assistant, dressed in jeans and a light blue T-shirt with a small logo on the breast for some ski equipment company. He slumped in the chair, looking mentally beaten. His face brightened to see her enter the room. "Dr. Scully, thank God. What's going on here?" He blurted out before they could shut the door. Scully sat down at the table without answering him, looking into his eyes, searching for a clue about his thoughts. Was he hoping to play them for fools and make them believe his lies, or was he genuinely confused? "Well, I guess you can tell us, Tom. What happened?" Her tone was cold and businesslike, with just a touch of disappointment. "Your people detained me this morning on my way out of class. I don't understand. They keep asking me how I did it, where I did it, if I have any more victims hidden away. But I didn't do anything." The desperation and confusion was clear in his voice, and Scully thought if he was on the verge of tears. "Do you have a lawyer?" "Yes," he looked from Agent Scully to Agent Mulder, casually leaning against the wall in the shadows at the back of the room. "My father's arranged for one. But I don't need one. I haven't done anything." "What about the car?" Mulder asked quietly. "I ran some errands for him. He said he wanted the car to get some use because he couldn't drive it anymore." "Why can't he drive it?" Scully asked. "His hands shake. It's some kind of palsy, but he doesn't like to talk about it. He was forced to retire and he can't drive because of it. He barely functions anymore, but I met him when he was one of the top surgeons at Harborview. He's a great man." "So how do you explain the blood in the car?" Mulder came up and sat on the edge of the table, leaning over the younger man. "I can't. I didn't do anything. He asked me to drive it to the store to pick up some groceries for him, so I did." "I think you're lying, I think you did kill them." Mulder leaned over him a little more, aiming to intimidate. Scully watched Tom closely, evaluating his reaction. He was horrified. "No, No, I didn't! I swear!" Tom shook his head vigorously. "I think you killed them, I think you dumped the bodies, and I think you got a job in the ME's office so you could enjoy cutting them up one last time. I think you're a sick little bastard." "No! No! I'm going to be a doctor, a pathologist. I want to help people, help them get justice. I've never hurt anyone." He paused looking from one agent to the other, meeting their gaze unflinchingly, pleading with damp eyes for them to believe him. "I'd help you if I could, but I didn't kill those people." He looked at Scully, "please, Dr. Scully, you have to believe me." Mulder stood up and put his hand on Scully's shoulder, breaking her attention away from the young man for a moment. She rose and left the room for a quick consultation in the hallway, away from the suspect. "What do you think?" She asked, trusting his opinion over her own, which she felt was clouded. Mulder leaned his back against the wall and rubbed his eyes with one hand, thinking. "I don't think he did it. I don't think he's the one we're looking for." "What should we do?" "I'd like to talk to Dr. Winston, myself. It's probably going to mean stepping on Willmore's toes, but I think his men missed something there." "Well, I consider myself a good judge of character, Mulder, and I don't think Peterson did it either. I never had a clue the whole time I worked with him, that it could have been him. Even in retrospect I can't think of anything suspicious." She shook her head, looking down at the floor, lost in thought, rummaging through her memories for anything that might stand out about the young man who had helped her perform three autopsies over the last two long days. Mulder stepped away from the wall and put a hand on her back, directing her down the hall towards the FBI offices. "Let's go step on Willmore's toes, then." "Mulder, let me," she stepped away from him, just out of his reach. "What?" "Let Willmore and I talk to him. We can check him out, and having Willmore in on it will keep us from offending anyone here. No one wants to be second guessed by the visiting agents." "You and Willmore? Scully, why?" He was obviously frustrated and a little offended. "Skinner told us to play nice, and sometimes that means playing politics, Mulder." She continued walking down the hall without him. "You wait here and I'll let you know what happens." End Part 4 of 7 Title - Procedures (5 / 7) Author - Stephanie Roberts E-Mail - stefrobrts@aol.com Chapter 16 --------- Mercer Island, WA June 19, 4:30PM Willmore had grudgingly agreed to go with Scully to interview Dr. Winston again, only doing so out of respect for the more experienced agents. They had driven to Mercer Island, East of Seattle in the middle of Lake Washington. It was known for being inhabited by the richest of Seattle's rich, and the huge mansions that covered the island were carefully hidden from the road that wound around the island by a thick cover of fir trees and greenery. Willmore parked the car in the shaded driveway and they both got out, pausing to stare up at the massive, three-story Tudor house that towered above them. Framed by the tall trees and set off by the impeccable landscaping, it looked like a dream house. "I wouldn't mind living here," she said, looking up at the towering trees. "Save your pennies, Agent Scully," Willmore said, walking towards the front door. "Maybe in two or three hundred years on an FBI salary..." Willmore rang the doorbell and they stood side by side on the front porch for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts about what they wanted to ask. When there was no answer he shuffled a little and rang the bell again. Finally an old man opened the door, but inspected them suspiciously from behind the screen door. "Dr. Winston?" Willmore asked, and the old man nodded unsteadily. Willmore held up a badge for his inspection. "I'm Agent Willmore and this is Agent Scully. We're with the FBI. May we come in and ask you a few questions?" "I've already talked to your people today. They took my car away." He opened the screen door and let them enter, directing them to a sitting room off the main foyer. Willmore winced a little at the strong medicinal smell that assaulted him as they entered, though he knew it was typical for an elderly person's home, and was probably standard issue for a retired doctor. As they followed him in and took their seats, Scully noted the way his hands quaked and trembled of their own accord. He seemed to have little control over them, and it was painful to watch him try to pick up a magazine to move it off the chair before he sat down. He grabbed at it and tried to get his fingers to close around it several times, before he got a good enough grip to move it and toss it onto the coffee table. He shakily settled himself down into the antique, overstuffed chair. "Now, what can I do for you?" "I'm sorry to bother you sir, we just had a few more questions," Scully began. "I understand Tom Peterson is an acquaintance of yours?" "I've been mentoring him since he was in high school. I was still practicing then, and I learned about him from a teacher who thought he had potential. I encouraged him to go to medical school." Winston's eyes became unfocused as he thought back to his glory days. "I had a number of students brought to my attention in those days, and I tried to help whenever I could. It's so hard to do it alone, you know." Scully nodded sympathetically, thinking she could never have gotten through all those hard years of school without the support of her family. Having a mentor with high standing in your field would been a huge help for anyone. "Tom didn't really have any support from his family, and so I helped him where I could, helped him choose classes and recommended paths for him to follow. I even helped him get jobs in places that would help advance his career. That's how he got the job at the ME's office." He shook his head sadly, looking from one agent to the other. "I can't believe he did what he did. He was always such a nice boy." There was a long, sad pause in the room, while they all collected their thoughts for a moment. Willmore found he couldn't take his eyes off the old man's ever-moving hands. They flapped and shook, despite the way he tried to hold them still by laying them flat on his knees. "Sir, tell me about the car. How did Tom come to borrow it?" "Oh, that car was my pride and joy, but I can't drive it anymore, so it just sat in storage for the last couple years. Tom, of course, knew I had it, everyone who knows me knows about that car." He chewed on his lip in thought for a moment. "One time I asked him to fetch some groceries for me, as he often did after coming by for some homework help," he smiled regretfully, "it was kind of our arrangement. He told me his little car wasn't running good and asked if he could use my car. I thought it was a wonderful idea, it hadn't been used in so long. It fired right up and he drove it to the store. At least I thought he did." "I didn't even think about it until your boys were here this morning, but it did take a long time for him to get back whenever he used it. The first time, I had begun to think the car had broke down on him, but he finally drove up, all smiles, and I figured he just took the long way home. I used to do that a lot when I was his age, too." He smiled, remembering those days long past, but it faded quickly. "To think he was using it to carry bodies," he grimaced. "I don't care if the FBI keeps that car. I don't think I want it back in my garage again." "Does anyone else have access to the car? A maintenance person, household staff, anyone?" "No, I have no staff. No one used it but me, and I can't drive it anymore." A silence settled over the room again, and Willmore finally broke it. "Can you tell us anything else about him, what kind of man he is?" "Well, a good one, I thought. He was always so eager to learn, so hard working. He's curious about everything, about how things work, he's kind of an inventory of gadgets too. No matter how busy he was, he always came by to visit once a week. Just last week he was telling me how excited he was to be working with the FBI at the ME's office." Scully felt a lump in the pit of her stomach. "He said he was working with a specialist from back east, and he was learning so much. He said he wanted to join the FBI someday. I don't understand how he could be so two-faced to me." The old man shook his head sadly. Scully didn't let on that the same question was occurring to her. "Well, Sir, I don't think we need to take up anymore of your time." Willmore began to stand. Scully interrupted him. "One more thing, sir. If you don't mind me asking, what is your condition?" She came over to his chair and squatted down in front of him, looking at his shaking hands. "Are you a doctor, young lady?" He asked, curious but not offended by her question. "Yes, I am." She gently took his hands in her own, turning them over and watching the involuntary spasms that wracked them. On the insides of his wrists she noticed small burn marks, heavily scarred, like hot metal buttons had pressed against his skin over and over again. "It's a degenerative nerve condition. No one has identified the cause, though they suspect it was something I was exposed to during my time in the service." She nodded, letting his hands go. "I'm sorry to hear that. It sounds like you were a real asset to the medical profession." "I'd like to think so." "Thank you, Dr. Winston. We'll see ourselves out." They left him in the room alone, contemplating the turn of events in his life that had left him in this condition. He heard the door click shut and sat in the chair for a moment longer, before deciding he had had enough of being treated like an invalid for the day. He stood, determined to do something about it, and left the sitting room. Alone again in the darkened house, he walked through the kitchen, past the gleaming countertops and stainless steel appliances, and opened a door that led to a staircase to the basement. With painstaking care he lowered himself down the steps, trying to hang onto the banister with his jittery hands. At the bottom of the stairs he searched the wall for the light switch and when he found it, illuminated the basement. Bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling illuminated the rough stone walls. In one corner was a wooden chair next to a table with a large, strange machine on it. Capacitors, vacuum tubes, and a V-shaped pair of wires such that you would expect to see a crackle of blue energy crawling up between them all conspired to make the contraption look like it belonged in a fifties science fiction movie. The old man slowly sat down in front of the machine and donned a wristband, which was strung to the machine by a pair of wires. It took several tries for one shaky hand to place the band over the other, and for a moment it seemed like an insane game as one hand chased the other. Finally he secured it on one wrist. Performing the feat again, he placed a second band on his other wrist. He then grabbed a large wooden lever, carefully wrapping his fingers around it and forcing them to grip tightly before he pulled it down, making a connection at the bottom of it's swing. With a hum the machine came to life. Indeed, electricity did dance up between the wires. The basement lights dimmed as power crackled from the contraption. He held his arms out and felt the power flowing into his body. The wristbands began to get hot, transferring power to his skin through the metal contact patches. It traveled up his nerve pathways and calmed them, canceling the random signals coming from his brain. After a minute he confidently grabbed the lever and pulled it up, turning the machine off. He easily removed the wristbands and held his hands out straight in front of him, noting with approval that they were now rock-steady. Pleased, he went to the door, disguised against the back wall of the basement, and left the machine cooling in the room alone while he went to enjoy his temporary fix. Chapter 17 --------- FBI Field Office June 19, 5:00PM Mulder was getting tired of waiting in Willmore's office, so he left to wander the halls in search of coffee. He was passing the hallway that lead to the questioning rooms when he saw Peterson being escorted out without handcuffs. The agent accompanying him pointed him towards the front office and started to walk him there. "Hey, Peterson, what's going on?" Mulder changed direction and walked up to the younger man, who regarded him suspiciously. "Sorry about what I said during the interrogation, it's just part of the job." "That's OK," he waved it off. "My lawyer got me out. The FBI hasn't found anything at my house, and they can't hold me." He shook his head in frustration. "I knew they wouldn't find anything. There's nothing to find. They're just wasting time while that guy could be killing that little girl." Mulder nodded. "Can you tell me where Dr. Winston lives?" He had been trying to use the computer in Willmore's office to look it up but couldn't get past the password to use the crime database. "I can take you there. I need a ride home, since my car has been impounded. We'll go right by Dr. Winston's." Mulder thought it over for a second and nodded. He wanted to catch up with Scully and Willmore, and this seemed like a good way to do it. It may have been his sleep addled mind, but it had occurred to him, after they left, that there was no reason all three of them couldn't have gone together. He was rehearsing a partner-to-partner talk in his head as he plotted a way to catch up with them. "Fine, let's get going." He nodded to the other agent. "I'll take him from here." Chapter 18 --------- Dr. Winston's Residence June 19, 5:30PM "He certainly doesn't look like he could be our killer." Scully opened the passenger door of Willmore's car and stood there, looking across the roof at him. He looked back at Dr Winston's house, thoughtfully. "I still think my detectives were right. He doesn't look capable. What did you think of his condition?" "He wasn't faking it, if that's what you mean. Plus we have a recorded history of the disease advancing on him, since he lost his career because of it. It's obviously something that's been effecting for years. There was something strange, though." "What?" "On the insides of his wrists there were small, round, burns. I couldn't tell what to make of them." "What could that mean?" "Hard to say. They could be old wounds, they could relate to some kind of treatment for his palsy. Either way, it's a little suspicious after we found those burns on the victims." "Did any of the victims suffer from a palsy like he does?" Scully thought back. "I think the first three did. They were all older, homeless men showing the first stages of Parkinson's, according to the police interviews with the victims' friends and relatives." Willmore thought for a moment longer, leaning against the car and looking back at the house. "The victims have burns, he has burns, and the first victims had the same condition as he has." He heard a sudden intake of breath from Scully and looked up. "What?" "I've read about experiments to rehabilitate patients with degenerative nerve disorders that involve electroshock therapy. Limited doses are applied to the damaged nerves and it can stimulate them into working again, but usually only for limited time, and the process was found to cause more damage than it repaired so the procedure was considered a failure." Her eyes were big as she considered the consequences. "What if he's been experimenting with something like that on his own? The first victims could have just been experiments, but it grew into something more sinister." "Could repeated electrical shocks result in personality changes, maybe even psychotic behavior?" "Of course. That's what electroshock therapy was used for, to stimulate or isolate portions of the brain and effect personality changes in people suffering from mental illness." He looked back at the house, his mind reeling with new possibilities. "No, this is too far fetched. We can't keep disturbing this guy with nothing to go on but a ridiculous theory. I thought you were the reasonable one, Agent Scully." "Willmore, I am being reasonable. This man owns the car that was used, he has strange burn marks similar to the victims, and he has no alibis. He fits the profile Mulder laid out perfectly. I think this warrants a few more questions." She was getting a little impatient with Willmore, especially after the remark about her being unreasonable. Mulder would have already been back in the house by now. "We need to go talk to him again. Let's call the field office for backup." He looked skeptical, but as she pulled out her phone and dialed the field office, he resigned himself to going along with her. He returned to the front porch while she made the call. By the time she caught up with him, he was pounding on the door and ringing the doorbell, but there was still no answer. Finally he turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. He looked at Scully. "I think there's 'just cause' here." She nodded and they pulled their guns and entered the house. Doctor Winston wasn't in the sitting room where they had left him a few minutes before. They looked around and decided to explore the house, and Willmore bumped into her as he chose the same direction she had. She shot him a look that sent him the other way, towards the back end of the house, while she explored the front. They cautiously wound their way around, until they had carefully examined all the rooms on the first floor and met back in the kitchen. Scully opened the basement door and looked down the dark stairwell, seeing a dim light. She glanced at Willmore and he nodded quickly, his eyes confirming her thoughts. Gun drawn, she started down. She cautiously descended the stairs, sweeping around looking for any threats hidden in the shadows. By the time she reached the bottom she was fairly certain they were alone, and she pointed her gun at the ground, allowing Willmore to pass and move ahead of her. He immediately went straight to the machine, located on a wooden table set flush against one wall. "What is that?" Scully asked, holstering her gun and peering around him to get a better look at the mess of electrical components that had been crudely meshed together. "I don't know," he reached out and touched a harmless looking part of it and received a shock that made him quickly pull his hand back. "Jesus, Willmore, be careful!" Scully scolded him as he shook his hand to chase away the tingling that remained from the shock. She reached around him and carefully picked up one of the wristbands and looked at the metal buttons inside. "Look, this is probably what caused the burn marks on his wrists." Willmore nodded and looked around the basement, spotting a door in the back wall. They drew their guns and moved to the door. Standing close to it, Scully could hear a low grinding noise coming from behind it. She shot a worried glance at Willmore and he shrugged in response. They took up positions on either side of the door and Scully grabbed the door handle and flung the door open. "FREEZE! FBI!" Willmore moved into the doorway so he could see into the room. Inside, Dr. Winston sat at a pottery wheel, slowly pushing on the pedal, causing the table to turn and making the low grinding sound they had heard from the other side of the door. His hands were covered in clay and he was working on a delicately shaped vase. He froze and pulled his hands back from the wet clay form on the wheel, looking completely shocked at their entrance. "Wha- what's going on?" He asked in his quiet voice, clearly confused. "What are you doing?" Willmore asked while Scully walked around the room, confused and disbelieving. It was a dead end, there was nowhere to hide victims here. She returned to the doctor, holstering her gun again in frustration. She had been so sure she was really onto something here, but she had come up empty handed. "Just some clay. It's my hobby. I used to do quite a lot of it when.. before my hands.. you know." He shrugged, still confused. Scully squatted down next to him and looked at his hands, which were now steady and normal. "And what about your hands, Doctor? Why aren't they shaking?" He looked at his hands and looked up at her, as if he wasn't sure he should tell her. He looked back at his steady hands again. "That machine in the other room, it's a kind of therapy." "It shocks the nerves and gives you control again?" Scully asked, playing on her original hunch. "Exactly." She took his hands and turned them over, wiping the clay off the wrist where the button scars were. "Doctor, the first three victims suffered from a similar palsy, and all the victims have had electrical burns somewhere on their bodies..." He gasped and she looked at him, "Is there something you can tell me?"" "Tom built me that machine. I told you he was very creative, kind of an inventor, and that was one of the things he built for me. I seldom use it because it gives me headaches." His eyes widened with horror. "You don't suppose he tested his design on others, do you?" Scully looked up at Willmore and he pulled out his cell phone. After a brief talk with someone back at the office he turned back to her. "They found nothing in Peterson's home or car and his lawyer got him released for lack of evidence. He was last seen leaving with Mulder." "We've got to find him." She looked the old doctor over one more time, admitting to herself that he wasn't the one. How could she have been so taken with Tom's innocence that she was duped into believing him and suspecting this old man? She pulled her phone out, cursing herself for leaving Mulder alone, she should have known he would find trouble if there was trouble to be found. She quickly punched the memory button for Mulder's number, and after listening to it buzz six times, clicked the phone off. "Mulder's not answering his phone. Willmore, get some agents out to cover Tom's home, get an APB out on Mulder's car, and get Tom's family's address and number. I want to talk to them and see if there's anywhere else he could be hiding. Maybe another property his family owns." Willmore turned away and began relaying Scully's requests to the field office. "They're pulling the information for us. Let's head back to the field office and maybe they'll have it for us by the time we get there." Willmore pocketed his phone and waited for Scully to leave the room before he turned back to Dr. Winston. "Thanks for your cooperation, and I apologize for our intrusion." The old man waved it off as unnecessary and watched as the young agents left. Dr. Winston sat hunched over his idle pottery wheel, thinking about the boy he had mentored for so many years, wondering how he could have grown up to be a murderer. Finally he got up and wiped his hands clean and went upstairs to look through his correspondences with Tom to see if anything stood out that could help them find him. Chapter 19 ---------- Mercer Island, WA June 19, 5:30PM "Turn down this driveway." Mulder steered the rental car down the long gravel driveway. Lined with thick, wild bushes and shaded with tall trees that hung over the road, it led to a two story brick home. It had a beautiful view of Lake Washington. "Is this your place? You must do pretty well for a student." "It's my parent's guest house. I have an apartment in town too, but I stay out here sometimes when I want to get away from the crowds." "That's understandable. Well, here you go." Mulder stopped the car, eager to unload his passenger and get to Dr. Winston's house. He was sure there was something to be found there, and he was concerned Scully and Willmore would miss it. Tom put his hand on the door handle and stopped. "Agent Mulder, I can't believe you guys think Dr. Winston did it, but I've been thinking about it, and I have something he gave me that seems a little suspicious in retrospect. I'd like you to see it, if you wouldn't mind coming inside for a second." "Sure, Tom, what is it?" "It's easier if you just see it. It might be nothing, but, I'd like you to take a look." "Ok," Mulder parked the car, leaving the keys in the ignition, and followed him into the house. "Just wait here, I'll get it." Tom hurried off to the kitchen, and Mulder saw him open the cellar door and descend stairs to the basement. The inside of the house was decorated in typical early-seventies beach-house style. Nothing special, just the typical nautical decor with Japanese glass floats suspended in nets in the corners. The place smelled musty and disused. Mulder stood in the main room, one hand in his pocket playing with his keys, looking out at the water, waiting. He thought about the profile he had developed and all the ways it applied to Dr. Winston. As he stood looking out at a small boat sailing by, he heard a low hum and realized the lights had dimmed. After a minute it cut off with a snap, as if a fuse had blown, and the lights came back up. Mulder was still pondering the cause when Tom returned from the basement, empty-handed. "Couldn't find it?" Mulder asked as he approached. "No, I've got it right here." He lunged forward and hit Mulder in the chest with both hands outstretched, palms out. Immediately Mulder felt a strong electrical shock that threw him back, knocking him off his feet and causing intense pain in his chest. He hit the floor hard, knocking over a small table with a ceramic vase that shattered on impact. Mulder gasped for breath, feeling his chest tightening in a way that produced more panic than pain. There was no time to try to gasp out the questions that were spinning in his head. "Not much longer before people catch on, don't you think, Agent Mulder? I was lucky that lawyer got me out, but I only have so much time left. I thought I'd share my skills with one more patient before I go, though." He reached down and grabbed Mulder's arm, pulling him to his feet and dragging him towards the basement. "I think you need my help." Along the way, Mulder caught sight of a heavy wood paddle fastened to the living room wall, decorated with Greek letters, and as they passed it he pulled it down and swung it at Tom's head with all his strength. Even in his stunned condition, he managed a good hit, knocking the younger man down. Mulder charged past him and out the front door. Stumbling as he reached the edge of the raised porch, he tripped down the stairs, landing hard on the dirt path and causing vicious pains to shoot up his arm and across his chest as the exertion fought against his heart's efforts to regain it's steady beat. He lay on the dirt for a moment, unable to move through the haze of pain pulsing through his chest, gasping for air like a fish on the shore. He heard the heavy footsteps coming over the porch before he saw Tom standing over him, blood trickling down from his hairline. The look on his face was frightening, and he seemed to be insane with rage as he spat out every obscenity he could think of. "You bastard, you god damn, son of a bitch, bastard! What the hell were you thinking you could get away with back there?" Mulder saw the fury building up and winced as he saw the foot coming at him. Tom began kicking him in the ribs, striking out in a rage. The stabbing pains in his chest increased with every blow, and Mulder suddenly felt the sensations so clear and overwhelming, he couldn't hear Tom screaming at him or feel the blows. Everything else disappeared, and he found himself immobilized by a solid wall of pain. "Don't you know who I am? I'm here to help you." Tom kicked and swore until he was panting with the exertion, and Mulder had quit fighting. "You're more thankless than that god damn boy who swore at me and then had the nerve to attack me. After I fixed him! I had to kill him to protect myself." Tom stopped, his hands on his hips, breathing heavily as he leaned over and looked at his patient. He stood up straight and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back, looking around and wondering if anyone else had seen his little display. After a moment he had regained his composure and spoke again. "Don't make me kill you too. Just play your part and everything will be fine." He reached down and hauled Mulder up off the ground, shocking him into a dazed submission with an electrical discharge where his hands touched him. He watched as the agent's body went limp, eyes rolling back into his head until only the whites showed. When he was sure he wasn't going to fight anymore he dragged him back into the house. End Part 5 of 7 Title - Procedures (6 / 7 ) Author - Stephanie Roberts E-Mail - stefrobrts@aol.com Chapter 20 ---------- Northgate District June 19, 9:00PM Dusk was coloring the sky pink and orange, lighting the high, wispy clouds a brilliant purple. Scully looked out the window at them as Willmore drove, trying not to ignore him, but hard pressed to drag her thoughts away from the day's activities, and the previous night's. Although she had chased Mulder out of her room and then found ways to avoid him all day, she would do whatever she had to to get him back safe. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt over abandoning him that afternoon, though neither could have predicted the outcome. All the same, she felt this wouldn't have happened if she'd been with him, like she was supposed to be. She had to figure out where Tom was hiding and find him before Mulder got hurt. She pushed away that thought, and tried to forget the many nightmares she had had over the years, the ones where she pulled back the sheet on the autopsy table to find Mulder's cold body and lifeless eyes looking back at her. Willmore skillfully wove his way through the evening traffic, finally taking a freeway exit and following some twisty roads into a gated community. Once past the gate, he located the house and drove up the wide turnaround driveway which surrounded a large fountain, all carefully laid out in front of a massive house. Mr. Peterson answered the door and looked at them suspiciously through the locked security screen. "I don't have to answer any of your questions without my lawyer," he said firmly. "Your son is in a lot of trouble, Mr. Peterson," Willmore began. "My son was released for lack of evidence. I don't understand this further harassment. You people are trampling on his rights." "If we could just come in and talk I'm sure you'll understand." Willmore began. He caught sight of Mrs. Peterson, standing behind her husband and just peeking around to see the agents at the door before flitting away again. "New evidence has come to our attention. If you refuse to answer our questions you could be charged with interfering in an investigation. If your son is guilty and you help to hide him, you could be charged as accomplices to murder." Mr. Peterson looked from one agent to the other and finally unlocked the screen and waved them in, directing them to a sitting room off the foyer. Mr. Peterson took the armchair, establishing himself as being in his own territory. "Mr. Peterson," Willmore began, "your son has disappeared. He was last seen in the company of another FBI agent, and we suspect your son may have abducted him." "Maybe your agent abducted my son, did you ever think of that?" He began shouting. "You people drag him out of school and accuse him of these crazy things, it's just like Ruby Ridge all over again..." "Sir," Scully interrupted the man's tirade, "we have found evidence tying your son to a machine which uses an unorthodox electrical- discharge therapy technique to temporarily reduce the severity of palsy. The first three victims suffered from palsy, and all victims have shown electrical burns of some kind. Your son had access to the vehicle used for abductions and dumping of the corpses. Now he has disappeared in the company of an FBI agent who believed in his innocence, and I suspect he may have turned on him." She saw Mrs. Peterson cover her mouth, clamping down on emotions that were about to overflow. "What we need to know from you is: where is he? Are there any other family properties he might be using? Any vacation homes? Anything you can tell us about?" The man stood up quickly, angry. "You can't make us tell you that, it's private information. Anything we say would be speculation. Besides, you probably have it all in your records already," "Sir, it could take us days before we get that information from our sources, and we need to find him tonight. There's a fourteen-year- old girl, a run away, who is also suspected to be in the killer's possession. Any hope we have of saving these people is dependent on us finding them now. If your son is innocent we need to find that out too, so we can go on to other suspects, but right now he's our primary suspect." The man walked to the door and held it open. "I'm not telling you anything. You can talk to my lawyer. Anything he tells me to tell you, ok, anything else, you're on your own. Now get out of my house." Willmore went ahead of Scully, walking past Mrs. Peterson on his way to the door. At the foyer, with the women still behind them in the sitting room, Willmore stopped Mr. Peterson. "Would you like to tell me what you meant by that comment about Ruby Ridge?" Willmore asked to his face, standing a little too close, infringing on his personal space. "I'll tell you what I meant. You people think that just because you're government, the rules don't apply to you. You think..." Mr. Peterson's rants became louder, and soon he was shouting conspiracy rhetoric at Willmore, not noticing anything else around him, determined to get his point across. Scully immediately recognized Willmore's impromptu goading of Mr. Peterson as the excellent distraction it was meant to be. She walked up to Mrs. Peterson, trying to ignore the shouting from the foyer. "Mrs. Peterson, can't you tell us anything?" "My husband handles all this, I'm sorry Miss." Her voice cracked as she spoke and her demeanor was defeated and frightened. Scully got the impression this woman knew her son was guilty and that it was only a matter of time before he was caught. "Please, Mrs. Peterson. The agent Tom disappeared with is my partner." Scully didn't hide the desperation in her voice or the worry in her eyes. "I have to find him, Mrs. Peterson. I need to find him, and that little girl, and get some help for your son. Please, let me do this. If we wait to get the lawyers involved it could be too late." The woman looked back at her husband, still absorbed in his ranting against the establishment. Her resolve was shaking, and Scully knew she needed to push it over the edge. "He's been my partner for six years, Mrs. Peterson. He saved my life and so many other people over the years. He's a good man. Please, help me." The woman looked into Scully's eyes and saw something there that made her act. She silently walked to the desk and pulled out a notepad, quickly writing something on it. She tore it off, turned around and handed it to Scully. "Go now, don't let my husband know. Just promise me you won't hurt Tom if you can help it." Scully looked at the address written on the paper and nodded, shoving it into her pocket. "Thank you, Mrs. Peterson. We'll do everything we can to keep anyone else from getting hurt. There's been enough bloodshed." She walked quickly to the door, grabbing Willmore and dragging him away from the conversation on her way by. "We've taken enough of these people's time, Willmore. Let's go." Scully led the way to the car, leaving a still-shouting Mr. Peterson in the doorway. As they drove away she saw Mrs. Peterson standing in the sitting room window, watching them leave. Chapter 21 ---------- Mercer Island, WA June 19, 9:00PM Mulder awoke to darkness, feeling a cold metal table under him, and belts that crossed his chest, waist, and legs holding him to it. As he regained his senses, he realized that he was naked, covered only by a light sheet, which was pulled up over his face. A sudden claustrophobic panic came over him and he shook his head to knock off the sheet, breathing hard in the grip of panic. It fell away and he found himself still enveloped in complete blackness. "Who's there?" A small voice came out of the darkness, barely audible but still revealing the fear behind it. "My name's Mulder. Who are you?" "Tina. You're the first one I've met here who could talk." There was a short pause and he heard the soft sounds of fabric being gathered, followed by a slapping sound and tiny barefooted footsteps on the concrete. "You're new here." The voice was right next to his head now, and he could hear a slight wavering in it caused by pain or fear or both. "I'm an FBI agent. I was coming to rescue you, but he caught me instead. Can you help me unbuckle these restraints, Tina?" He felt her small hands run down from his shoulder until they reached the belt over his chest. He tried to ignore the tickle as her slight fingers trailed over his skin, looking for the buckle. Just as she touched it they both heard a noise outside the room. She disappeared and he heard her footsteps running away and the clanging of the table as she climbed back up on it. She was still again by the time the door opened and the lights came on. Peterson strode confidently in, carrying a medical journal, wearing a bloodstained white lab coat. He went to Mulder's table and yanked the sheet off, leaving him lying naked, completely unprotected in the cold room. Mulder flinched but tried not to let on that it bothered him. "How are we doing, Mr. Mulder?" He asked, not looking at him, instead flipping through the journal. "I'd be better without these restraints. They're a little binding," he joked, hoping to get a response from the younger man. Peterson didn't even bother to look at him. "You never restrained your other patients, why me?" "I'm thinking I'd like to try something new on you, Mr. Mulder. I'm wondering how much pain you can take before you naturally pass into shock and lose consciousness." He was still paging through the journal, looking for something specific. "That's a bad idea. I pass out really easy. I think you should just skip that and let me go." Tom pulled an instrument tray over and poked through the instruments until he found a scalpel. He laid the journal on Mulder's stomach and ran his hand over Mulder's chest, following the curve of his collarbone with two fingers, while examining a diagram in the journal. "I think if I start an incision here and it wraps around to here, I should be able to just peel this whole layer back, like we do in the autopsy bay." He seemed to be speaking to himself. "Or maybe I'll just cut it in strips, then I can peel it away one strip at a time." Mulder froze, listening to him, and then started thrashing against his restraints. "LET ME GO!" He yelled, putting up as much of a fight as he could muster. Tom stepped back, surprised by the intensity of Mulder's writhing. "Mr. Mulder, I'm asking you as your doctor, please sit still. It'll make it much easier for both of us." Mulder's eyes grew wide at the sight of the blood-encrusted scalpel Tom Held up. He threw his weight against the belts again, feeling them cut into his bruised sides and moving the metal table slightly, bumping Tom enough that he dropped the dirty scalpel. It clattered on the floor and bounced under a large equipment cabinet against the wall. Tom turned on him in frustration. "That's enough, Mr. Mulder! I didn't want to do this," Mulder tried to writhe away as Tom laid a hand on his chest and he felt a tingling charge move through his body. Suddenly, his muscles went limp, and his commands for them to move went unanswered. His eyes followed Tom's movements as he retrieved a clean scalpel from the equipment cabinet and returned to lean over Mulder's chest. "Don't Don't Don't" All Mulder could manage was a feeble chant. He lifted his head as much as he could muster, straining his eyes to see what was going on, but he dropped it back down as he saw the blade dig into his skin and blood began to seep out. He clenched his eyes closed and felt the cold metal blade cut into his skin and felt a disconcerting pull as his skin was sliced open. His nervous system had been slowed to a crawl by the electrical shock Tom had given him, but the pain did eventually make it's way to his brain, and when it did he didn't try to hold back and started screaming, hoping someone would hear him. Tom looked at him, annoyed, and reached for a small bottle on the instrument table. "I'll give you something to yell about," he rubbed some of the liquid from the bottle on the cut he had just made and Mulder howled even louder. Mulder managed to open his eyes long enough to pin the younger man with a stare. His eyes were filled with pain and cold hatred for this man who had complete control of him, and tears rolled down the sides of his face. He screamed at him to stop, gasping for breath, but Tom ignored him, smiling to himself. He lifted his scalpel and proceeded to make the next cut. Chapter 22 ---------- Mercer Island, WA June 19, 9:30PM Dr. Winston cursed himself for not remembering it when the agents were there. He would have done anything he could to help, but he had completely forgotten about the Peterson's guesthouse. Ironically, it was within walking distance of his home. Convenient seeing as how he couldn't drive since his hands had recommenced their constant shaking. He walked up to the house, noticing the rental car parked in front, and knew immediately it wasn't Tom's. He was quite familiar with Tom's little Honda. He found the front door unlocked, and as he hesitated to open it, he heard the screaming coming from inside the house. It was a deep, howling kind of scream, of a man in intense pain. He had heard screams like that many times over the years, coming from the wounded and dying patients in the Emergency Rooms he had worked in and supervised, and he had hoped to never hear them again now that he was retired. His shaking hands fumbled with the doorknob and he charged into the house. He followed the cries down to the basement, past a machine that looked very similar to his own, and to a door, set into the back wall of the basement. He hesitantly pushed it open. When he did he saw his friend and student, Tom, leaning over the body of a man, strapped to a metal operating table with thick belts. The man was screaming incessantly, stopping occasionally to gasp another shuddering breath before continuing. His body was drenched in sweat though he was curiously still. Winston saw the flash of a scalpel in Tom's hand. "TOM, STOP THAT!" He commanded, making the younger man jump, unaware of his presence. Dr. Winston hurried to the table and saw Tom had made a series of horizontal incisions along and below the man's collarbone, each about six inches long, and blood was flowing freely from them, running in rivulets down his chest over skin that was already bruised purple. "My God, what are you doing? Stop that man's bleeding, now." He looked around for gauze and pads, but saw none laid out, as if Tom had never intended to sop up the blood. Tom still stood looking at him dumbly. "What the hell are YOU doing here?" Tom finally asked, completely forgetting about his project on the table. Mulder had stopped screaming and was watching the men with hollow, frightened eyes, his mouth agape as he struggled to pull in breaths through the panic that had overtaken him from the moment Tom had started cutting. "I've come to talk some sense into you, Tom. What are you doing? I spent all those years helping you, and you helping me. I thought we were friends." The old man grabbed the dirty sheet off the floor and considered making bandages out of it for a moment and decided to pass. He turned back to his student. "How could you betray me like this? I had such great hopes for you." "I'm experimenting with things no other doctor has ever had the opportunity to try. This man's my patient, and what I'm doing to him is no different than what you did to thousands of people over the years." "What you're doing here is pointless, and against his will. You're just torturing people for your own pleasure. It has to stop!" Dr. Winston surprised himself with the anger in his voice, but the betrayal was too great, and seeing this poor man mutilated on the table made a mockery of everything he'd dedicated his life to over the years. Tom's eyes turned cold. "I'm not going to let you stop me, old man. Your help was appreciated at the time, but now I'm done with you." He looked at the scalpel in his hand and took a step towards the doctor. Forgotten, Tina had been hiding from Mulder's screams, knowing she would be overpowered if she tried to do anything. Now this older man had appeared, and she wanted to help if she could. She couldn't stand idly by and watch the madman kill again. She jumped off the table, ignoring the pain from the infected incision low on her stomach, which nearly made her knees buckle. Gathering her sheet into a rope she came quickly up behind the killer, looping it over his head. Once around his neck she crossed the ends and pulled it as tight as she could. Tom didn't see the attack from behind coming. He dropped the scalpel and it clattered to the ground, and he began flailing around, trying to turn and get his hands on the girl, to shock her back into submission. She hung on tight, although she was so small that she was no match for the bigger, healthy man. Before he could get a hold of her, Dr. Winston grabbed his hands, keeping him from turning. Tom struggled to pull his hands free, feeling the cloth tighten around his neck, feeling each breath coming harder. Finally he wriggled his hands around to grab Dr. Winston's wrists, digging his fingers in and delivering a potent electrical shock. To Dr. Winston, it was no different than being hooked to the therapy machine. His nervous system absorbed the shock, as it had been conditioned to do, and he felt his hands becoming stronger and steadier. He increased his grip and held on as Tom's legs weakened, his knees buckled, and he finally collapsed onto the floor. Tina held the sheet tight for longer than necessary. Finally, she let go, and his head hit the floor with a dull thud. Cautiously bending over him, she could see he was still breathing, but just barely. Dr. Winston pulled off his sweater and handed it to the girl to cover herself with, and then pulled off his shirt, folding it into a makeshift bandage and covering Mulder's wounds with it. Mulder watched helplessly as Tina unbuckled the straps that held him down, while the old doctor applied pressure to the incisions to stop the bleeding. "Who are you?" Mulder could barely form words, and his voice was hoarse from screaming. The blood loss had left him dizzy and lightheaded, slipping into shock. "Dr. Winston. Are you the FBI agent?" Mulder nodded weakly. Tina picked up a sheet off another table and gently pulled it over him, watching him closely, hoping she had acted soon enough and that he would be all right. "Your people came to see me, and I remembered this place after they left. I'm glad I got here, just in time I guess." Dr. Winston held the makeshift bandage down over his chest and trailed his fingers along Mulder's side, wondering if there were any broken ribs behind the dark bruises. Mulder made an unsuccessful attempt to sit up, but Winston gently pushed him down. "My clothes, my phone..." Tina looked around the room and spotted his suit tossed in the corner. She quickly went through the pockets until she found a cell phone, and brought it back to him. He took it and lifted his shaking arm up high enough to see the readout as he pushed the auto dial buttons and then handed it to the doctor just as he felt consciousness slipping away. Dr. Winston held it to his ear as it rang. For an instant he thought he was hearing it in stereo, mixed with the pounding footfalls coming down the basement stairs in the room behind him as Scully and Willmore arrived, Scully's phone ringing from her coat pocket. They stopped just inside the door, shocked by the scene laid out before them. Dr. Winston clicked off the phone, one concern on his mind as he turned to the young agents. "We need an ambulance." End Part 6 of 7 Title - Procedures (7 / 7 ) Author - Stephanie Roberts E-Mail - stefrobrts@aol.com Chapter 23 -------- Harborview Medical Center June 23, 9AM Scully turned away and looked out the window at the dreary, Seattle rain, while Mulder pulled his clothes on. The situation seemed vaguely familiar to her, but she couldn't place it. This time it was a hospital room, though, which seemed a little different. It had been four days since her partner was admitted. His heartbeat had slowly returned to normal, after the electrocution he had suffered. The slices on his chest had been cleaned and stitched closed. The most frustrating part was recovering control over his stunned nerves and muscles. He had improved enough to be released to go back to DC and finish his therapy and they were both looking forward to going home. "Ok, you can look." She returned to the bed, sitting down next to him, seeing he had put on his pants and was struggling with shoes and socks. Although his recovery had been fairly complete considering the short amount of time that had passed, he was still struggling with some tasks that required manual dexterity. He huffed a little in frustration, and stopped to shake his hands out, as if that would help. He moved carefully, so as not to pull on the stitches in his chest. "Relax, Mulder. It's going to take a few more days before you're back to normal, but it will happen." He shot her a look reserved for use by people who were given useless advice by those more able- bodied. "Easy for you to say," he muttered, returning to the rather daunting task of tying his shoes. His fingers were weak and disobedient, and it felt like trying to eat with chopsticks, or more accurately, tie shoes with chopsticks. "Tina received at least one severe shock during the week she was held captive, and she's recovered completely." She paused, watching him struggle with catching the shoelaces that insisted on tumbling from his weak fingers as fast as he could grab them. "I saw her and her family today. They asked me to visit her hospital room, where she's recovering from what Peterson did to her. Apparently he removed one of her ovaries, but it looks like she's going to be OK. They wanted to thank us, especially you for your sacrifice." She stared at her hands for a moment, lost in thought. "Her parents seemed like nice people. They're going to try to work through whatever issues she had that made her run away." He looked over at her. "Well, at least that's good news. Poor kid ran away and fell right into the hands of a serial killer. It's got to be a parent's worst nightmare." He finished tying the first shoe and looked with resignation at the other. "Want some help?" Scully finally asked, trying to brush it off as no big deal. "I am a doctor, you know. I'm qualified to help," she joked. "I don't want you to help me tie my shoes," he said sadly, then smiling. "I didn't expect that until we're considerably older. Maybe eighty or so." She nodded and stayed put, her shoulder pressed against his, while he rested, wringing his hands together. She took the nearest one and gently massaged it, carefully loosening up the tense muscles. She moved her fingers and thumbs over his, gently applying pressure to the back of his hand, rolling over each knuckle, her fingers gliding over his wrist and rubbing the tension out of the muscles there. He thoughtfully chewed on his lower lip as he watched her work, fascinated that it felt so good but seemed to require so little of her own concentration. Her mind seemed to be elsewhere, and he wondered what she was thinking about while she worked on him. She reached for the other hand and he gladly let her take it for the same treatment. A comfortable silence had sprung up between them, and he decided to enjoy it for as long as it lasted. Finally, she broke the silence. "Examinations of Peterson seem to have revealed an unusual chemical imbalance that allows his blood to hold a charge." Mulder perked up at her words. "A charge? Like a battery?" "Yes, and he can release the charge in graduated amounts, though they are still working on the mechanism behind that." "A human battery. Scully, I knew you'd come through for me on this one from the moment you found that handprint on the corpse. Skinner's going to find you as annoying as he does me, if you keep this up." He carefully leaned over ignoring the ache it prompted from his bruised sides, and attacked his other shoelace again. "What else has been going on?" "Willmore took me to dinner last night." "He did not!" Mulder pretended to look shocked, teasing. "Really. He asked me out for dinner, took me to a really nice place downtown on the waterfront. We talked shop. I don't think he fully believed the human battery story, though. Otherwise he seems like a nice guy. He's kind of grabby though. I think I caught his hands roving at least twice before I brought it up." Mulder looked surprised at her for a second before turning his attention back to his shoe. He almost had it and didn't want to lose his place. "I could talk to him about that," Mulder said without looking up, his tone casual, as if offering to give him directions. Yeah, he thought, I'd give him some directions he wouldn't forget. "No, I've got him under control." She gauged his jealousy level and decided she liked it. He finally sat back, relieved he had won the shoelace battle. "So, do you think we achieved what Skinner sent us out here for?" "We caught the killer. We saved the remaining victim. We did our jobs and played nice with the local Feds. I don't think we left him anything to be disappointed with, except maybe your hospital bill." She stood up, retrieving his shirt off the foot of the bed. He stood and removed the loose shirt he had been wearing and she found herself face to face with the six rows of stitches on his chest. The black thread and swollen red edges of the wounds stood out grotesquely against his pale skin. For a moment she couldn't tear her eyes away, clearly seeing for the first time the vicious dark purple bruises that covered his sides where Tom had kicked him, and the burns on his chest where he had been shocked. She made herself look away, instead concentrating on helping him put on his clean shirt, slowly buttoning it for him even though he was perfectly capable of doing it himself. As she reached the top buttons he reached up and caught her hands, dragging her attention back to him, making her meet his eyes. "What's wrong, Scully?" He asked quietly, curious. He honestly had no idea what was bothering her, but the far-away look in her eyes told him her mind was elsewhere. "Nothing, Mulder. I'm fine." She started to pull away, but he held on and watched her for a moment, sure she wanted to tell him, if he gave her time. She looked around the room, thinking about escape, but finally looked back and met his eyes again. "I'm so sorry, Mulder," she said, shaking her head and looking away, suddenly on the verge of tears. She bit her bottom lip, feeling it starting to tremble despite her best efforts to the contrary. "Sorry? For what?" He still wasn't sure where the conversation was going, but he wanted to get it out in the open, no matter how painful. He felt an uneasiness waiting for her response, imagining all kinds of things he didn't want to hear her say, like 'goodbye', or 'it's over'. "For not being there when you needed me. For not being with you that day, watching your back like I'm supposed to be. For not finding you in time. For not being the one to rescue you, after you've rescued me so many times." He pulled her close, feeling her shaking breaths against his chest. He heard her voice break as she said, "I'm so sorry." "Scully, you don't owe me for the times I've rescued you." He rubbed her back, nuzzled her hair. "You can't always watch out for me and I don't expect you to. I should have been more careful." He felt her wrap her arms around his waist, her breathing becoming more normal. "I shouldn't have gone out with Tom alone, it was just my enthusiasm getting the best of me. I was so sure Dr. Winston was our killer." "I just wish I could have come through for you, Mulder." She thought about Dr. Winston's statement, about how he followed Mulder's screams to locate Peterson's operating room in the basement. It sent a chill through her. "You come through for me all the time, Scully, in ways you don't even realize. Don't knock yourself down over this. I'm OK, the girl was rescued, and the killer's in jail." He bent down just enough to steal a kiss and enveloped her in his arms again, closing his eyes. "Are you ready to go back to the world of viruses and honey bees?" She asked, her voice still unsteady as she finally pulled away from him, looking up to see his face and measure what she found there. In his eyes she saw the same friendship and hope that had always been there, unhampered by their little false start the other night and all the trouble it had caused. She was glad, she didn't want it to be over yet. She wasn't sure she wanted it to be over at all. "I have this great idea for locating those Jiffy-Pop bee hives using satellite photography," he said, changing the subject, his face all boyish eagerness. He put his hand on her back and directed her out of the room. "Are you ready to spend a little quality time with some grainy photos and a magnifying glass?" She tried not to groan in response as the door swung shut behind them. Epilogue -------- Tom Peterson lay in his jail cell on a thin mattress, covering a wire mesh bed frame, which was intolerably uncomfortable. He stared up at the single light bulb, protected by a safety cage mounted in the ceiling. There was a small, stupid moth, which had somehow wandered into his cell, and had spent the last half-hour beating its brains out against the light. It made a small pinging noise every time it bounced off the bulb, but with a persistence he couldn't fathom, it turned right around and came back for more. He lay on his back watching it, thinking about the nature of energy. It's ability to flow like water into his body through the machine he had built. Without the constant use of the machine, he had begun to lose his muscular control and his hands had begun shaking like Dr. Winston's. The moth continued it's pointless attack on the light bulb. With great effort, he stood up and climbed onto the bunk. He reached a shaky hand up towards the bulb, stretching as far as he could towards it. His fingertips just brushed it and he felt an idea begin to take form. One way or the other it would get him out of here, dead or alive. At dinnertime they slid a tray into his cell, and he waited until the guards had left him alone again to put his plan into action. He took the metal spoon from his tray, stood on the bed and reached for the light bulb. When he was sure he could reach it he steadied his hands and took a stab at it. He was successful on his first try. The metal spoon broke the thin glass of the bulb and as it showered down, the spoon touched the element within. The lights dimmed throughout the jail as energy funneled into his body, conducted by the spoon. Locked by the electrical arc, his body was suspended between the metal bunk and the spoon. Somewhere a fuse blew, the power cut out, and Peterson's body fell to the ground with a thud. ****** The guard walked past the jail cells, looking in each to ensure nothing strange had gone on. The jail had experienced a power surge and resulting power failure to this block an hour ago, and now that everything was back to normal, he was making a final inspection of all the prisoners. He walked by the cell containing the new guy, a serial killer. The weird part was that he was a young man, clean cut, smart and really polite. The guards already liked him, because he was always so courteous. But now his cell was dark. "Hey, Tom, you ok?" The young man was sitting on the edge of his bunk, his hands flat and steady on his legs, his face hidden in the shadows. "Tom?" "My light seems to have gone out. Can you get someone to come fix it for me?" His voice was curiously strong. The guard didn't make much of it. "Sure, Tom. I'll get someone right up." "Thank you." ********************************************************* ********************************************************* And thank you, dear reader, for sticking with it through this rather long adventure. I'd love to hear from you, whatever your opinion. Also, if you enjoyed this, please check out my other stories, located at: http://members.aol.com/stefrobrts/xfiles.htm End Part 7 of 7