From: Deirdre Date: Sun, 22 Apr 2001 15:28:37 -0500 (CDT) Subject: Revenge (Part 4 of 29) by Lovesfox (fwd) Source: direct Title: Revenge Author: Lovesfox E-mail: Lovesfox@home.com (Feed me, please) Web site: http://www.geocities.com/sstormc/index.html Rating: NC-17 (violence, consensual M/S sex and strong language) Category: Implied UST then MSR, Angst, Story/X-File Classification: XRA Spoilers: Not really, but up to mid-S7 Archive: As long as my name and everything stays attached Summary: An old case of Mulder's resurfaces seeking revenge Disclaimer: Alas, not mine. They belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. Dedication: To true friendship, through thick and thin. Thanks, T. Warning: This story contains some scenes of violence, a rape attempt, implied character death, references to incest, and graphic sex. Revenge Part 4 of 29 by Lovesfox Zeus Storage and Warehousing, Dockside Washington, D.C. Wednesday 12:35 pm Skinner moved from the doorway where he had stopped in shock at the sight of the body hanging from the ceiling. Mulder's wail of grief, heard outside the warehouse, had effectively pre-warned him that he would see Agent Scully's body, but he had not been able to control the shudder that had run through him when he saw her displayed as she was. The bolt of remorse and anger had had him stopping in his tracks. He avoided looking at her as he moved to crouch beside Mulder, grasping the agent's shoulders with firm hands. "I'm sorry, Mulder," he said quietly. "You did everything you could." He cringed inside at the platitudes he was mouthing, knowing it was necessary. Mulder's body tensed beneath him, the man's breathing harsh and panting. Words were still pouring from the agent's mouth, but they were faint mumbles. He could make out Scully's name, and pleas to a God he knew Mulder did not believe in. "Come on, Mulder, let's get out of here," he said, trying to lift Mulder from the floor. He could see that some of the SWAT team had moved forward, waiting to take the body down. One moved to stand beside Scully, and suddenly Mulder was fighting his grasp, his fists swinging, yelling, "Don't touch her! Keep your hands off of her!" He got to his feet, nearly knocking Skinner on his ass and lunged at the agent near Scully. Skinner scrambled to his feet, gesturing from behind Mulder for the agent to back off. He moved closer to Mulder, who was hunching slightly on his feet, watching everyone warily. "Mulder, take it easy. They're just here to help. We need to get her down, Mulder. Come with me and let them work." Mulder shook his head wildly. "I'll do it!" he rasped, shaking off the hand Skinner had put on his shoulder. "I'll do it," he repeated. He turned away from Skinner, and looked at Scully, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Skinner looked at the agent still standing to the left of them and said quietly, "Find me a chair or something." The agent was shaking his head, and started to say, "Sir..." "Just do it!" Skinner barked, and saw Mulder flinch. Another agent hustled forward, carrying a crate. He held it out to Skinner and said, "This is all I could find, Sir." Skinner took it from him with a nod and stepped over to stand beside Mulder, bending to put the crate down. The body, and he did not want to even think the words 'Scully's body', still swayed slightly, and a wave of dread washed over him. He really did not want to do this. Mulder stepped onto the crate before he could and Skinner forced himself to watch as the agent's hands lifted shakily upwards. Skinner had to blink back sudden moisture as Mulder tenderly stroked a strand of her hair, hearing him whisper, "I'm so sorry, Scully." Skinner turned his head, trying to let Mulder have this personal moment. Mulder made an unusual noise, almost like a grunt, and Skinner could hear rustling noises. He turned his head back to see Mulder gently lowering her head. The agent's next words stunned him. "It's not her." "Mulder?" he asked and moved even closer. "What did you say, Mulder?" Mulder's hands were now busy at her chest, and then he was handing Skinner something. He looked down briefly and realized it was a Polaroid. Mulder climbed down from the stool and the agent lifted his head to meet his gaze, and Skinner could see that despite his glistening eyes, there was a tremulous smile on the agent's face. "It's not her," he repeated. He started to walk away, but his legs betrayed him and folded beneath him. Skinner leapt forward and caught him in mid-fall, and gently lowered him the rest of the way to the floor. He cradled the agent in his arms, seeing that Mulder's eyes were closed, his face deathly pale and beaded with sweat. "Mulder?" he said again. Mulder's eyes opened slowly and he pulled back from Skinner's embrace. "It's not Scully," he said, and his voice was hoarse. His shoulders started to shake and he ducked his head down to hide the tears that were running down his cheeks. Skinner patted Mulder's shoulder and lifted his head to see Agent Stryder, the SWAT team leader standing a few feet away, watching with somber eyes. "It's not Agent Scully," he said. "Get her down. We'll need to check her for identification." He saw the agent nod and then turn away to direct his team. Skinner turned back to Mulder, who was wiping at his cheeks as he sat with his legs sprawled in front of him. "How..." Skinner started to say when the ringing of a cell phone interrupted him. Mulder struggled to get to his feet, hand digging at his pocket, slightly hampered by the vest he wore. He yanked the phone free, pressed send and snarled, "Mulder." *** Unknown Location Leesburg, VA Wednesday 12:30 pm Scully lay curled on her side atop yet another cot. Her abductor, for she had no other name by which to call him, was a few feet away sitting at a desk. He seemed to be staring at a video screen. He was mumbling to himself, and every so often she would hear Mulder's name. She did not know where they were, she only knew they were no longer at the place they had been before. The room was brighter, for one thing, with two smallish windows, and the walls were smooth and painted. Other than the cot and the desk and chair, however, it was empty. She had awoken not too long ago, after he had unceremoniously dumped her on the cot, unmindful of her restrained limbs. Her neck ached and burned, and the duct tape over her mouth was irritating the tender skin of her lips. As she shifted awkwardly, trying unsuccessfully to ease the muscles in her legs, the motion stirred anew the pain in her neck. She blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes, which were sore and swollen from her earlier crying. It made her think of what had happened and she shut her eyes tightly to try and stop her thoughts. It didn't matter. The events that had taken place earlier would be forever engraved in her memory -- hours of pain and anguish and confusion. The look in that nameless woman's eyes...Stop, she told herself. Don't think about her. But she could not stop, and her mind replayed it anyway. Sometime earlier she had been torn out of her slumber, feeling smothered and choked, gasping for air, to the realization that there was a rope around her neck, tightly tied. The rope had been cutting deeply into her skin, and cutting off her rapidly dwindling air supply. The bright flash in her eyes had seemed surreal, and it wasn't until much later did she understand that the man had taken a picture of her with a Polaroid camera. Her eyes had been bulging, her heart pounding alarmingly, her vision beginning to go spotty, before he had finally removed the rope from her neck. She could remember with perfect clarity the terror she had experienced thinking that she was going to die, and the unbearable sadness that she would never see Mulder again, and then the almost giddy feeling that overcame her as she was finally able to suck in sweet lungfuls of air, to feed the cells that were screaming for oxygen. She could also remember him watching her with a strange, transfixed stare, his head cocked to the side. He had blinked rapidly then and stepped back, putting what she now knew was the camera aside. His eyes had gone to something on the floor, and hers, still blurry from tears of pain and relief, had followed. She had struggled weakly to rise, coughing furiously, to stare at the woman lying at his feet. As she had run her gaze over the prone woman, taking in the red hair spilling on the floor and the clothes the woman was wearing, she had felt that she could be staring at her double. He had been watching her looking at the woman, and when her eyes had widened, he had knelt and grabbed a handful of the woman's hair, lifting her head from the floor. She could still hear his words, and relived the horror that had overcome her as she realized his intent. "Not an exact match," he had chortled. "But certainly some similarities. And with your clothes on, Mulder will be hard pressed not to think it's you!" He had dropped the woman's head, uncaring as it hit the floor with a loud thud. He had risen to his feet, one hand reaching inside the coverall he wore to pull out a syringe. One quick step had him at her side, and then he had injected her. She had watched with a strange lassitude as he had dragged the woman out of the room with his hands in her armpits, the sound of the woman's feet scraping across the floor slowly fading. Scully did not know how much time had passed as she sat slumped on the cot, staring at the empty, open doorway with heavy eyes before he had come back. He had lifted her easily and dragged her out of the room as well, down a long hallway and through double doors to prop her against the wall. She had wondered why he did not seem concerned that she would try and escape, but her body had not obeyed even the simplest of commands. She had not been able to straighten her own legs. Scully's eyes popped open as she heard the man chortle, to see him still staring at the monitor. She could not see very much at this angle, and could only tell that it was in black and white. She tried to lift her head to get a better look, but the throbbing in her neck had her quickly laying back again. Her eyes closed and her memory flashed back again. The woman had lain on the floor, several feet away from her, and Scully had been able to make out the fact that her hands were tied behind her back. She had also been able to make out the rope that was around the woman's neck and that her eyes were open. They had stared at each other for long moments... A loud noise brought her back to the present, and she opened her eyes again, blinking rapidly to clear the image of the woman jerking on the end of the rope hanging from the ceiling out of her mind. She shuddered, hearing again the echo of the scream that had been torn from her lips. The man had pushed his chair back from the desk and came over to stand beside the cot, and she began to breathe a little faster, trying to lift herself up, feeling very vulnerable lying down. He was smiling and reached down to grab her by the forearms, pulling her up to her feet. "The show's about to begin, my dear," he said. "Won't you join me?" He giggled then and pulled her with him towards the desk. She was forced to hop again, her cramped muscles protesting. He pushed her to a stop beside his chair and plunked himself down onto it. She wobbled precariously and her upper thigh banged into the desk, and she cried out with pain, the sound muffled behind the duct tape. The man looked at her in surprise and then made a tsking noise. "Guess you don't need that anymore, do you?" he said, and reached out with one hand to rip the tape off. She gasped as fire burned along her upper lip and then began to cough. He shot her an angry glare, saying, "Quiet and watch." Scully panted softly through her mouth, and was able to control her coughing. She looked at the monitor and gasped again at what she saw. It was the woman she had earlier watched hang. *** 12:30 pm Elliot could not control his excitement as he sat in the lightly padded chair, staring at the video screen in front of him, waiting for the action to begin. The Webcam he had positioned in the warehouse pointed directly at the redheaded woman hanging from the ceiling. He looked down at his watch, wiggling slightly in his seat, wondering what was taking so long. The call he had forced Dana to make to Mulder, supposedly tipping him off to their location, had been made almost two hours ago. He chuckled to himself, as he tried to imagine Mulder's reaction to that phone call. Dana had performed brilliantly; it was amazing what the threat of the rope around her neck again had done, especially after seeing the woman hang. Her voice had been the perfect mix as well, confused and pain-filled, breathless and rushed. She was quite the little actress, he thought. He looked over his shoulder at her. She lay on her side, her eyes closed, but he could tell she was awake, her body was tense, her face tight. The duct tape seemed to be pulling at her skin; he supposed he should remove it. He shrugged and turned back to the screen, to the woman hanging in the warehouse, waiting for Mulder. He shivered as he remembered watching her jerk in her death throes, the little gasping, choking sounds she had made as the rope constricted tighter and tighter against her throat, slowly cutting off her air supply. He had thought her neck would snap from the force, and had felt a vague sense of disappointment when it had not. That disappointment had rapidly been replaced by fascination as he watched her eyes slowing go blank. He could still hear the scream that had been torn from Dana Scully. That had been divine. It had echoed in the huge, empty warehouse, filled with rage and shock and terror. It had so thrilled him, he had been torn between watching the woman's body swaying from the rope and his prisoner's horrified expression, the tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks. For many moments he had stood there, until Dana had closed her eyes and turned her head to the side, the tears stilled at last, although the occasional shudder racked her small frame. Finally he had moved, they needed to be going. He had pinned the Polaroid of Dana with the rope around her neck to the woman's chest, taken the ladder and carried it away, deep into the bowels of the warehouse. The thin rubber gloves on his hand had masked any possible fingerprints. The duct tape on Dana's mouth had been a precaution while dragging her out to the van, parked as close to the side door he used as possible. He had tossed her in, hearing her muffled exclamation when her body hit the unyielding metal floor, and thrown the tarp over her. A last check of the warehouse for any personal items, and it was done. He had driven away, watching the warehouse get smaller in the rear view mirror, until he had to turn and it was out of sight. He had not been able to keep the grin off his face, wishing he could be there when Mulder arrived. The camera though, was the next best thing. He chortled, this would be a video worth keeping, he was sure. Elliot looked at his watch again. What the hell was taking them so long? He thought Mulder would have rushed there immediately, bursting in to find his 'Scully' in all her glory. It was a small letdown from the high he had riding on. Then there was a sound from the speakers, picked up from the tiny microphone attached to the Webcam. Footsteps on the floor? The chair scraped noisily as he pushed it back, and he turned to see Dana's eyes were open and she was watching him. He smiled and moved to stand over the cot. He bent and grasped her by the forearms, yanking her up easily. He told her the show was about to begin and dragged her over to the desk. She stumbled and banged into it, making a garbled noise through the duct tape. In his seat again, he looked up and realized her mouth was still taped. He reached up and casually tore it off, hearing her gasp of pain. She coughed then, noisily, and he glared at her, telling her, "Quiet and watch." Elliot turned back to the screen and reached out to turn up the volume on the speakers. More sounds now, faint voices, although he could not make out the words, and sounds of running footsteps. A figure appeared, and he stiffened, leaning forward, nose almost pressed against the monitor. His eyes made out the riot gear and the SWAT emblem on the figure's back, and he knew it was not Mulder. His shoulders slumped. Where was he? More footsteps, more voices, louder, but still not clear. He flicked a glance at Dana, saw she was watching the monitor as well, her face pale as snow, swaying where she stood. Her mouth was open slightly, and she was breathing rapidly. He grinned again. This was so exciting. And then it happened. The moment he had been waiting for since he had placed the call to Mulder about their location. A figure in a vest came into sight, fast, arms flailing madly. The figure screamed, "NOOOO!!!" and Elliot knew it was Mulder. He heard Dana whisper, "Mulder," and shot her the barest of glances, not wanting to miss a single thing, to see her leaning forward watching. He focused on the video again, watching as Mulder moved forward, his movements jerky and awkward. Elliot smiled gleefully as Mulder fell to his knees, a mere few feet away from 'Scully'. Mulder's words had him gasping in exaltation. ..."I love you, oh God, I'm so sorry I never told you, Scully, oh God, please, I'm so sorry"... Beside him Dana gasped as well and he looked at her again, to see her shoulders hunched, her bound hands in front of her mouth. She began to shake, tears spilling down her cheeks. She was saying his name over and over again, in between hitching breaths. "Mulder, Mulder, Mulder..." "Well, isn't this a fascinating tableau, Dana?" Elliot said, cooing the words, seeing her flinch in reaction. She tried to turn away, but he shot his hand out to grab her arm, the fingers digging into her flesh, holding her in place. "Oh, no, Dana, I want you to watch with me." Elliot frowned a little as one figure, the tall, balding man he had seen outside Dana's apartment building, was allowed to come close, to try and comfort Mulder. But the next minutes were far more pleasurable, as they watched Mulder react with crazed purpose, keeping others away from the body. Elliot listened as the bald man asked for a chair or something, and an agent brought him a crate. He tensed and leaned forward again as Mulder stepped up on the crate. He wondered if Mulder would look at the Polaroid first, or want to look at Scully's face. He watched avidly as Mulder stroked her hair, heard with a thrill as he whispered, "I'm so sorry, Scully." Then Mulder tensed, and lifted her head, and the small shake of his head was almost unnoticeable. Elliot stared in awe. Mulder had known it was not Dana. He slumped back in his chair. It was almost anti-climatic as Mulder said..."It's not her"...and unpinned the Polaroid, handing it to the bald man. He got down from the crate, saying it again, and started to walk away. Elliot smiled though when Mulder sagged down to the ground, the bald man coming to support him. Dana was still crying softly and he turned to her with a grin of relish, rubbing his hands together with glee. "It's time to call Mulder, Dana!" he said cheerily, and reached for the cell phone on the desk. He dialed the number quickly, shifting his gaze from Dana who was still hunched in on herself, and the monitor, where Mulder was scrambling to his feet to paw at his back. Elliot loved the sound in Mulder's voice as he barked into the phone. Raw emotions. Anger and hatred and misery. Exactly what he had lived with for the last few years. His voice was oily smooth, thick with pleasure and satisfaction as he spoke. "Ah, Mulder, your reaction was more than I could ever have dreamed of." *** Zeus Storage and Warehousing Washington, D.C. Wednesday 12:50 pm Mulder was speechless for a moment, his mouth gaping open in shock. His legs still felt weak, like they could collapse again at any time. "You sick fuck! Where is she?" he yelled, his chest rising and falling rapidly with the surge of adrenaline the call had wrought. Then the man's words sunk in. His reaction was more than he could ever dream of? Was he watching them from somewhere? He whirled around, facing the spot where the body had hung, and then turned around again. His eyes swept the room, scanning all the nooks and crannies, the phone pressed tightly to his ear, hearing only slight static. While parts of the large room were in direct sunlight from the windows up high, the rest was in shadows. It took him several seconds to spot the tiny, glowing red light that had to be from a video camera of sorts. He spit out a curse and stumbled towards it, his mouth gaping open in shock. "Ah, I see you've spotted me, Mulder. Wave to the camera now," said the voice in his ear. When Mulder did not, the man continued. "Mulder, you're not playing along. I don't like that." There was a burst of static and then Mulder heard a gasp of pain. Scully? "Now wave at the camera, or Dana gets punished." Horrible laughter followed that pronouncement, along with another choked sound. Mulder gritted his teeth, his heart pounding rapidly, and raised his hand towards the camera. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Skinner standing stiffly a few feet away, staring at him. "I waved," he said, his voice tight. "I want to talk to Scully." He heard a chuckle this time. "I don't think so, Mulder. We have to go now. And I'm sorry to say, someone will have to be punished for your language. I guess that would be Dana. Oh, wait a minute, I'm not sorry at all!" The chuckle again. "Did you like the Polaroid, Mulder?" The call was disconnected. Mulder turned to face Skinner. "Do you have gloves?" he asked. The AD shook his head, puzzlement on his features. Mulder looked around and spying one of the SWAT team members, beckoned him over. When the agent joined him, he pointed at the red light. "Gloves?" The agent nodded. "Take that down," he ordered. "Send it to the lab, I want to know everything there is to know about it. Check it for fingerprints too." He watched as the agent retrieved the crate he had stood on earlier to check the body and brought it over. Not until the red light was extinguished and the camera set-up removed, did he turn to Skinner. "Where's the Polaroid?" he asked. Skinner looked surprised for a second, as if he had forgotten about it, and then pulled it out of his pocket. He passed it to Mulder, who grabbed it and moved to stand in a patch of sunlight so he could see it. He had barely glanced at it when he had removed it from the body, and he sucked his breath in noisily when he finally did. "Jesus!" he croaked out. The rope around Scully's neck did not look like it was there only for effect. It was cutting deeply into her flesh. Her mouth was open, and it seemed she was gasping for air. He had no doubt that she was. "Jesus," he repeated. The sick bastard. Why was he doing this to Scully? Why was he doing this to Scully to get to him? Days had passed, and they were still no closer to identifying him, or the reasons behind her abduction. He still had no idea who the man was. The AD came to stand beside him, his low voice full of tension. "What's in the picture, Mulder?" he asked. Obviously he had not looked at it in great detail either. Mulder handed it to him wordlessly and turned away, one hand on his hip, the other coming up to scrub through his hair. He heard Skinner swear, and echoed the word. He kicked the crate, hearing the satisfying sound of wood splinting. He kicked it harder, and broken pieces of crate scattered across the floor. He turned back to face Skinner, who was watching him with concern, the Polaroid still held in his hand. "He's taunting me. And getting off on it." He spun away again, wishing he had something else to kick. "I don't know who the hell he is, and I don't know how to find that out." Skinner moved to stand next to him. "Mulder, let's get out of here. The forensics team has been called in and they'll be here soon. The SWAT team has already searched the whole premises. There's nothing else for us to do." "Nothing for us to do," Mulder repeated, his voice low. "Except to wait." He headed for the door, determination in his strides. "The only thing I can do is go back to my files, try and find anything that may lead me to him." *** Unknown Location Leesburg, VA Wednesday 1 pm Scully managed not to fall heavily when he dragged her from the desk and thrust her at the cot, his laughter grating in her ears. She twisted slightly and landed on her rear end. Her upper arm hurt from the vicious pinch he had given her while on the phone with Mulder, which had provoked a gasp at the suddenness of the attack and the sharp pain that had followed. He had done it again as he laughed after making the statement about punishing her, but she had been better prepared, and had kept her lips tightly together, so that only a small sound had escaped. Her mind was still reeling from the pronouncement Mulder had made as he had knelt before the body he had believed to be hers. <> Had the words merely been torn from him as a result of his grief? While his pain had struck her with unbelievable sadness, at the same time she had wondered if it was true, why had he never told her before? <> But he had, once before. Medicated and still suffering from his ordeal in the Bermuda Triangle, she had brushed the words off as part of his delusion. Could he have meant them then, and only able to tell her when feeling vulnerable? From the little she knew of his family life, she had garnered the knowledge that his parents had not been overly demonstrative after Samantha's death, and had surmised that Mulder had been very lonely and afraid to love. <> Her own reticence, that invisible wall she had erected, that kept her from revealing her emotions and feelings, may have prevented him from wanting to relate his, perhaps afraid of rejection. She closed her eyes tightly, feeling fresh tears spring to her eyes. Oh, Mulder, I'm the one who's sorry. I never told you either. <> For it was true she knew. She loved Mulder. Had for so very long, she could not even remember when those feelings for him had begun. And kept the secret locked inside her heart, fearing his rejection. How stupid they both had been. She felt a new sense of determination. To get free from this man and tell Mulder everything that was within her. Her love, her fears, her desires. Everything. Scully was pulled from her thoughts by the man's voice, next to her ear. "Dana." She popped her eyes open in surprise. She had been so lost in her mind, she had not heard or sensed him approach. He was crouched before the cot, leaning in so that his face was close to hers. She could see the glee in his eyes, could feel the waves of pleased smugness rolling off of him. He had obviously gotten off on Mulder's reactions in the warehouse, and she could not help the shudder that ran through her body. She was afraid of what else he had planned. She shifted on the cot, pulling back slightly, very uncomfortable with his closeness. "What are you thinking about, Dana?" he asked, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Mulder's declaration of love? It was beautiful, wasn't it, and confirmed what I had suspected. This is working out so much better than I had thought." His hand came out and his index finger traced a line down her cheek, over the tracks of her tears. He finished the gesture by rubbing it over her lips, and she reacted by pursing them together tightly and turning her head to the side. "I think it would drive him mad to see you, to see us, like this now." He moved suddenly, hands grabbing her shoulders firmly, and his face dove down to hers, his lips claiming hers, hot and hard. She shook her head from side to side, trying to evade his kiss, but he only pushed harder, and squeezed her shoulders tighter. Their positioning combined to make it difficult for her to move her legs to try and kick at him, and her bound arms were trapped between their bodies, with no leverage to push. Her mind was screaming NO, NO, NO, but the only sound that escaped was a low, fear-filled moaning. He finally pulled his lips from hers, sliding them down to her neck, where he nuzzled for a moment before sighing, "Elizabeth." Scully tensed, trying not to think of the horrible feel of his lips on her skin and gasped out, "I'm not Elizabeth!" He stopped his kissing beneath her ear, and she felt his breath, hot and heavy against her neck, before his grip loosened on her shoulders and he pulled slowly away. He rocked back onto his heels and stared at her for so long that she squirmed beneath the intensity of the gaze. "No, you're not Elizabeth," he said, and his voice and eyes were sad. She actually almost felt sorry for him, and then was angry with herself for pitying him. He was holding her against her will in a terrible plot of revenge against Mulder, how could she feel sorry for him? She had a thought, if she could pretend to sympathize, maybe he would reveal more to her. She knew from what had happened with the unknown woman at the warehouse, that he was capable of murder, but what she did not know was how quickly he could escalate in his actions towards her. She had to learn something soon, and get the information to Mulder. Somehow. She cleared her throat and said softly, "What happened to Elizabeth?" She was preparing herself for his anger, and from the little bits of information he had revealed, to hear that she had died by hanging. He did not react in anger, merely blinked as he continued to rock back and forth. His face was blank, but his eyes were moving. Darting from her face, to her injured neck, and back to her face. His reply when it came was equally soft. "She died. Locked away like an animal." He said no more, and his eyes were now traveling around the small room. Not enough. She needed more, so much more. "Did she hang herself?" she prodded, careful to keep her voice gentle. He rose to his feet and moved to look out one of the small windows, his back to her. She mentally calculated the distance between them, and the time it would take her to struggle up from the cot with her bound hands and feet, as well as the strength she would need to try and knock him out. In her weakened condition, her strength was almost non-existent, and she did not think she could move fast enough or quietly enough to surprise him. She pushed that thought away for now. Perhaps a better chance would come. Or at least she prayed that one would. She stared at his back, wondering if he had heard her question. She wasn't sure if she should repeat it. Finally he spoke again. "She tried. But they found her in time." She heard his breath huff out in a sigh, saw his shoulders move with the action. "I wasn't allowed to see her for a long time after that. I missed her so much." He paused and then whispered, almost too low for her to hear. "I miss her so much." "Who were they?" she continued. He was answering her, she didn't know for how long, and whether the opportunity would come again. "The doctors and nurses at the...hospital," he answered quietly. His shoulders hunched up and he shook his head slightly, as if pushing away a bad memory. He turned then and said in a much stronger voice, "That's enough talking now." He started towards the door and then stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "I'll bring you something to eat and drink later, Dana." "Wait!" she called out. He halted without turning around, and looked over his shoulder at her, eyebrow up at her interruption. "Thank-you...?" she deliberately let her voice trail off questioningly, and was rewarded when he filled in the blank. "Elliot," he said. "Thank-you, Elliot," she said, calmly, her face reflecting only gratitude, she hoped. In her mind she rejoiced. She had his name. At least part of it, anyway. But how many cases could Mulder have worked on involving an Elliot and an Elizabeth? Now she just had to get the names to him. The door shut behind Elliot, and Scully faintly heard the lock click. Her mind was busy now with what she had learned. From the pause in his reply when he said hospital, she surmised it was a mental institution. Would that information help Mulder? *** Conference Room J. Edgar Hoover Building Thursday 6 pm Mulder pushed his chair away from the conference table with a tired yawn, and stood to stretch his cramped, aching muscles. Sleep the night before had been elusive, his mind unable to shut down. As well, every time he had shut his eyes, the picture that had formed behind his closed lids was of the woman hanging in the warehouse. Only in this picture, it really was Scully, her beautiful blue eyes open and vacant. Empty. Dead. He blinked rapidly to clear it when the picture formed again, and then stared down at the large table. It was completely covered in case files from the Behavioral Sciences Unit, now known as the Violent Crimes Unit. Mulder had had an epiphany of sorts as he lay on his couch staring at the fluorescent lights of his fish tank in tthe very early hours of the morning. Scully's abductor had not given him much in the way of information, and he had been unable to locate the 'clue' the man had said he left, but from what the man had said, Mulder had determined he had not been an X file. Therefore he had to have been someone Mulder had investigated during his stint as a profiler. Hence the case files from the BCU archives, and the conference room Skinner had insisted he use when they had returned to the Bureau after the grim discovery at Zeus Storage and Warehousing. The AD had also supplied him with two agents for any grunt work that might arise and to assist with going through the files, as well as someone from the secretarial pool. Mulder had sent everyone home an hour ago, preferring to work alone. There were very large piles of discarded files that he and the other agents had eliminated for various reasons, which included the now confirmed continued incarceration or death of the individual. However there were also a growing number of files that would require further follow-up. Mulder remembered what he hoped was the clue from Scully, about brothers and sisters, and was very careful to look for any files that matched that criteria. With a frustrated curse, Mulder threw the pen he had been holding down onto the table and walked over to the couch that sat along the wall opposite the table. He sank into it with a weary sigh, head falling back to rest on the cushions. Just as he allowed his eyes to close, there was a knock at the door. He opened them to see Skinner coming into the room, a file folder in his hands. Mulder started to rise, but the AD waved him back onto the couch. He crossed the carpet and sat down beside Mulder, handing the file over. "Report from the forensics team, " Skinner explained. He quirked an eyebrow as Mulder frowningly held up the thin folder. "There wasn't much, Mulder," he continued ruefully. "Whomever this guy is, he's very careful. Partial print here and there, but nothing useful." He paused and looked away for a moment. Mulder tensed at the look on the AD's face. "What is it?" he asked. Skinner grimaced and turned back to look Mulder in the eye. "They found the place where Scully was probably kept. Small cement block room with a cot. There were...some bloodstains on the bedding of the cot and on the floor. They took the bedding and scraped some samples off the floor, sent them to the lab for testing. Results aren't back yet." He patted Mulder awkwardly on the arm after Mulder hissed out a harsh breath. "We don't know whose blood it is, Mulder. Don't torture yourself." Mulder lunged to his feet, away from the contact and the comfort the AD tried to provide, and began to pace rapidly around the room. Was it Scully's blood? His hands went up to scrub through his hair and he could not help the curse that escaped his mouth. She was out there somewhere, maybe hurt, and he was sitting here doing nothing. He whirled around to stare at the AD, who had risen from the couch and was watching Mulder with concerned eyes. "What about the camera from the warehouse?" Skinner shook his head. "It was a Webcam. Any Tom, Dick or Harry can get one at Radio Shack. They're tracing the serial numbers, but if he paid cash, it's a dead end. There were no fingerprints. The techs said he attached a microphone to it, probably had some sort of video monitor set-up wherever he's moved to so he could watch and hear everything that went on." "That call from Scully was fixed." Mulder spoke slowly as he worked things out in his head. "He had the woman in place already, probably had his next location picked out. He was long gone by the time he had her make the call." Skinner interrupted his musings. "Anything in the files? Does it match any MO's?" Mulder shook his head. "Nothing yet. There's still a large number to go through." He pinched the bridge of his nose and moved over to the chair he had vacated earlier. He was stopped by Skinner's hand gripping his arm. "Mulder, when's the last time you've eaten? I checked the logs this morning, you were here at 5 am, and I know you haven't left this room for longer than it takes to use the men's room," Skinner said, his voice low and gruff. "You can't keep up this pace, you're going to collapse." He stopped, his jaw muscle working and when he continued, his voice was even lower. "Mulder, if you don't look after yourself, I will remove you from this case and have you suspended. Don't make me do it, Mulder." His next words were softer. "Let's get something to eat." Mulder opened his mouth to retort angrily, but held back. He knew the AD was serious. He would remove him, even though it was Scully. He could not let that happen. He nodded, his shoulders sagging. He was so goddamn tired. "You're right, sir. I'd be no good to Scully if I collapse." He reached for his jacket on the back of the chair and slipped it on. The cell phone on the table was tucked carefully in his inner pocket and the two of them made their way to the door. Mulder looked back just before the door closed, at the files that he hoped held a clue to the man who held his partner, who held his Scully, and left with a heavy heart. *** 9:30 pm Mulder drove aimlessly through the Georgetown streets, too wired to go home and attempt another disturbing, restless sleep. He had finally managed to ditch Skinner, who had seemed determined to take him home and tuck him in. Mulder had explained he was a night owl anyway, and that he really did not think he would be able to sleep yet. Skinner had looked at him with his inscrutable eyes and finally said, "I'll be checking the log entry tomorrow. I don't want you near the Hoover building before 6 am." Mulder had wanted to argue, but knew the alternative could be worse - Skinner as his babysitter. Mulder sighed heavily and looked around. He realized he had unconsciously, or perhaps subconsciously, driven to Scully's building. There was a vacant spot almost directly in front and he pulled the car into it, turning the engine off. He sat there listening to the ticking of the engine as it settled, loud in the silence of the car, and turned his head to look at Scully's apartment. There was a faint light in one window; he had left a table lamp on so that the place would not look empty. But it was empty. Just like his heart. For he now knew Scully was who filled it, every minute of every day. He had just never realized it until he had thought she was dead. Had never analyzed the reasons why she was in his thoughts all the time, that when he was not with her he was not complete, that the majority of his life revolved around her. His heart began to thud painfully as he remembered how the whole world had seemed to slow when he ran into the warehouse and saw Scully hanging there. Sound, smell, sight, everything had stopped for the shortest and yet the longest moment of his life. Then everything had come crashing forward. Utter despair had nearly overwhelmed him, and then he had touched her hair, and it wasn't. Wasn't Scully. Mulder's fists tightened on the steering wheel, the knuckles white with the strain. If he had the man who had done this, who had taken her, in front of him right now, the man would have no chance. He would kill him with his bare hands. He forced himself to relax, sinking back into the seat, eyes still focused on the window of Scully's apartment. Should he go in there? Surround himself with her things, with her scent, take what little comfort it would offer? He had always found peace at Scully's apartment, although she was usually there with him. Maybe he would even be able to sleep. His hand went up and pulled the keys from the ignition, before opening the door and stepping out onto the quiet, darkened street. He closed the door quietly, leaning on the car as he shut it, feeling a sudden weariness. He heaved out a deep breath and slowly walked towards the front entrance of Scully's building. Faintly from down the street there came the sound of a vehicle just as he stepped onto the stoop, and something made him turn around to look. A white panel van drove by slowly, and Mulder could almost make out the words written in red on the side. D.C...Cleaning...He blinked, hearing the van's engine rev as it sped up and then it was racing down the street. Time slowed again. White van. Red lettering. Jesus, it was him. Mulder tore down the sidewalk to his car, shaking hand stabbing the key at the lock. Precious seconds wasted before he finally ripped the door open. He flung himself in the seat, jammed the key in the ignition, pulling away from the curb with squealing tires as soon as the engine turned over. He sped down the street in the direction the van had driven, but he did not see any receding taillights ahead of him. He came to the first intersection, slamming the brakes on to bring the car to a sudden, screeching halt as a car crossed his path. He was pushed forward with the action, banging his head on the steering wheel with surprising force. Blinking back the tears that sprang to his eyes, he swiveled his head back and forth, grunting with the pain the motion caused, trying to spot the van. It was nowhere in sight. "Fuck!" he screamed, and the sound of his voice sent more waves of pain through his skull. He gritted his teeth and started forward again, driving cautiously, heading towards the Lone Gunmen's place. He hoped they would be able to do something with the little facts he was going to present to them. He knew though that they would do all that they could to help find Scully. Twenty minutes later he was there. He parked the car and made his way slowly and painfully to their door, head throbbing with each step he took. He knocked, and heard Langly's voice over the little intercom by the door. "Open up, Langly, its Mulder," he said with a wince. Surprisingly Langly did not comment, and seconds later the locks were disengaged and he was inside. Frohike looked up from his seat at a computer terminal, saying, "Mulder! Long time no talk, buddy. Where you been?" His smile died away from his face and he scrambled off his seat, bustling over to stand before Mulder. "What the hell happened to you?" He grabbed Mulder by the arm and led him to the ratty couch along one wall. "Sit," he said to Mulder, giving him a little push. He turned his head and yelled, "Byers, get the first aid kit!" Mulder winced again, and brought his hands up to clutch at the daggers in his head. "Not so loud, Frohike," he whispered. He swallowed back the nausea that threatened and said, "I need you guys to do something for me. It's important." He paused, squeezing his eyes shut as the overhead light came on and Byers walked into the room. "Scully is missing. Some sicko's got her. I need you guys to run every white panel van in the city, hell maybe the state. With red lettering for a cleaning service of some sort." He sensed Byers kneeling before him and heard as he opened the kit. Something dabbed at the knot on his forehead. Mulder's eyes popped open when it stung and hissed in a breath. Behind him, Langly and Frohike exchanged worried glances. Mulder saw and looked up at them, squinting one eye shut. "What?" he asked. Frohike cleared his throat and replied, "We'll do whatever it takes, Mulder, don't worry. But it's gonna take some time." "I don't know how much time we have, guys," Mulder whispered. At Frohike's stricken look, Mulder told them what had happened since last Friday, ending with what had happened just a half hour ago. He pulled the cell phone out of his inner pocket. "Frohike, is there any way you can charge this? I checked it a while ago, the lo cell light is on." Frohike took it and examined it. "I'll see what I can do," he said. His short legs took him quickly away and Mulder closed his eyes as Byers finished up by putting a Band-Aid on the small cut. "Mulder," Byers said in his soft, cultured voice. "I don't know how badly you hit, but it looks like a pretty bad knock. I think you should stay here so we can keep an eye on you." Mulder nodded cautiously. It felt odd to have someone other than Scully doctoring him. "I'm staying wherever that cell phone is, so I guess that means I'm crashing here." He lay back slowly, swinging his legs up onto the couch. The pain had receded to a dull ache, but his stomach was a still little queasy. "I'll just rest my eyes for a bit," he whispered. "Sure, Mulder, no problem," Byers replied. Mulder heard the sounds of Byers gathering up the first aid kit, the faint clacking of keyboards and the mutterings of Frohike and Langly. The sounds were somewhat soothing, and for the first time since learning Scully had been taken, he didn't feel quite as alone. *** Skinner's Office J. Edgar Hoover Building Friday 7am Skinner made his way through the outer area to his office door, shooting a glance at Kimberley's desk as he passed it. His eyes swept over her workstation, which was tidy, much like the woman herself, except for two file folders that sat on one corner. They looked like they had been tossed there hastily, and he paused in the action of opening his door. The files had not been there last night when he left, which had been well after 6 pm. He dropped his briefcase on the floor and walked back to her desk, picking up the folders. He opened the top one and let out a muttered curse. It was a report on the woman from the warehouse. The one he had phoned repeatedly on throughout the previous day. He should have been notified immediately. His eyes scanned the first page. Her fingerprints had been run through AFIS, and had not been found on the database. He flipped the page over, and saw a missing persons report filed with the Washington P.D. The next page was the formal identification of the body, by the victim's sister. Skinner went back to the missing persons report and read the details on the woman, which included a small picture. Kathy O'Neill, age 32, 5'4, 120 lbs, red hair, blue eyes. He grimaced as he realized it was very similar to the description posted about Agent Scully. He looked at the picture, seeing the resemblance to the missing agent. He shook his head angrily. What a tragic way to die, because of some psychotic man's twisted plot of revenge. For her resemblance to someone she had probably never met in her life. The muscle in his jaw was twitching wildly, and he forced himself to breathe deeply and evenly, feeling his heart, which had sped up with his anger, begin to slow again. An autopsy had been performed. He had a brief thought, wondering if the pathologist had carried it out with Scully's intense thoroughness. He scanned the report, seeing that the tox screen had found traces of both chloral hydrate and Thorazine in her system. He was vaguely aware of the two drugs, but would normally look to Scully for an explanation as to their uses and effects. He put that folder down and looked at the second one. The partial fingerprint from Scully's apartment had been run through AFIS as well, but there had been no matches. Skinner frowned. That did not make sense. They had assumed the man who had taken Scully was a criminal, more than likely from Mulder's time in BSU, and if so, his fingerprints would be on file. He would have to have them run the print through again. Skinner looked at his watch, wondering if Mulder was in yet. He shook his head, whom was he kidding? Mulder had more than likely come right back here after they had parted company last night. He was probably asleep in one of the chairs, his head pillowed by case files. He put the folders back down on Kimberley's desk, unlocked his office door and pushed his briefcase inside. He headed back out of the office area, grabbing the files as he went, and walked down the hall to the conference room he had designated for their use. He entered the room, and stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips, staring with surprise. It was empty. He turned to leave and saw Mulder shuffling wearily down the hallway. When the agent came to a stop in front of him, his eyes widened as they took in Mulder's condition. There was a lurid bruise on his forehead, with a Band-Aid in the center of the mark. His eyes were puffy with deep shadows beneath them, his skin pasty white. "Mulder, what the hell happened to you?" Mulder's eyes flashed anger. "I went to Scully's apartment last night. Heard a car, turned around to look and saw a white panel van with red lettering. I tried to chase it, had a small accident." His hand went up absently and lightly touched the wound. Skinner had felt his heart speed up again at Mulder's words about the van. Like the van Joshua Hamilton had described for them. "Did you get a plate?" he asked. Mulder shook his head. "Went by too fast. But I did read some of the lettering. D.C. and Cleaning. I went by some friends, they're looking into it." Skinner frowned, knowing which friends Mulder was referring to, and decided not to comment. The three men were odd, but they had helped Mulder and Scully both in the past. If they could help locate Scully, or at least track the vehicle that had probably been used in her abduction, then he could look the other way. Mulder had spotted the folders in his hand, and nodded towards them. "What are those?" he asked. Skinner gestured him into the conference room and shut the door behind them. Mulder remained standing, his body tense, as Skinner took a seat, placing the files on the table in front of him. "Mulder, sit down." He stared implacably at the agent until Mulder took the seat beside his superior. He held up one of the folders. "Report on the print from Scully's apartment. They came up empty, but I'm going to request they run it again." He tossed the file down on the table and lifted the other one. "They've identified the woman from the warehouse." He paused, giving the man a moment to gather himself, for Mulder's flinch had been very noticeable. "I'm going to call the detective in charge of the case, explain our involvement. I want some agents in on the interviews of family, friends, anyone who may have seen her." He put the folder down on the table and slid it over in front of Mulder. Mulder's sigh was loud as he opened the file and Skinner knew that he was looking at the picture of Kathy O'Neill, an almost look-alike for Scully. The agent pushed the file away almost violently and got up from the chair. "It's been a week, and we still have nothing," he gritted out. He waved his hand in the direction of the table, covered in case files. "It's like... it's like looking for a needle in a haystack." He sank back down onto his chair, elbows landing on the table, and cradled his head in his hands. Skinner stared at him with worry. He didn't know what to say, what to do. Finally he cleared his throat and said softly, "We'll find her, Mulder." Mulder did not reply. *** end Part 4 of 29 Revenge Part 5 of 29 by Lovesfox Unknown Location Leesburg, VA Friday 1 pm Elliot moved down the hallway of the abandoned hospital to Dana's room, carrying the lunch he had bought for her at the little convenience store in Leesburg. His eyes flicked from side to side, glancing into the other empty rooms he passed. This wing of the hospital was relatively unscathed from the fire that had destroyed the majority of the large main building of the psychiatric hospital complex. He had debated over keeping Dana in one of the smaller outbuildings, like the one the administrator of the hospital had used, but had realized he needed a room that could be locked. He had come here often, to the place where Elizabeth had died, to walk through the rubble and to stare at the burnt-out shell of the maximum-security wing. On one such trip, he had wandered down the sub-basement, still intact due to its cement foundation, and had found that the back-up generator still worked, and that he was able to supply power to the wing he and Dana now inhabited. He reached Dana's room, and had to juggle the bag and the bottled water as he manipulated the door locks open. He pushed at the door cautiously, for although he had drugged her again late last night after he had brought her dinner, it was still possible for her to try something. As it slowly opened, the door revealed the cot, which was empty. He tensed, hesitating in the half-opened doorway. A shuffling noise reached his ears, coming from over by the window. He stepped fully into the room, pushing the door open with a forceful gesture of his hand. Dana was standing by the window, her back to it, watching him apprehensively. He scanned her body quickly, seeing that her hands were still tightly tied. In fact, he thought with a grimace, he could see that her wrists were irritated, her fingers puffy and red. He looked down at her feet, clad in white tennis shoes. The rope was still there around her ankles, but she had managed to loosen it, probably enough to allow her to hobble instead of hop. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice high and a little afraid. "I just wanted to look outside. It...I woke up earlier, and I..." Elliot smiled and said, "It's alright, Dana, I'm not angry." And he realized he wasn't angry. He still had faint feelings of euphoria since the moment Mulder had run into the warehouse two days ago. Seeing Mulder last night outside Dana's apartment building had been an incredible bonus as well. He didn't know what had made him decide to drive by her place, he just had. He had slowed the van when he saw a dark-haired man with Mulder's build walking up to the door, and when the man had turned, and he saw it was indeed Mulder, he had stomped on the pedal and fled the impulse to jump out and confront him. It wasn't the right time; he had so much more to do first. Mulder's weariness, and perhaps even hopelessness, had been evident even at the distance that separated them, and it had sent a delicious chill coursing through his body. He had driven for hours, coasting on that high. Elliot shook his head slightly and held up the food and water. "I brought you some lunch." He watched as she moved back to the cot, her movements oddly graceful even with her feet restrained as they were. She lowered herself carefully onto to it, her hands coming to rest on her lap. He put the bag and the water down on the cot beside her, noting the hungry look she gave the items, and grabbed the chair, placing it in front of her. He sat down and reached out to grasp her hands. She flinched slightly, hissing in her breath. Her fingers were cool too, and he wondered if her circulation was being damaged. Two of her nails had torn, more than likely from working at the thick rope, and were bleeding a little. He looked up to see her staring down at his hands holding hers, and said, "I'm going to loosen these a bit so you can eat. I won't drug you, but I must warn you, if you try anything I will be very angry." Dana looked up at him, earnestness shining in her eyes. Their brilliant blue color was almost as pretty as Elizabeth's deep, chocolate brown had been. "I won't try anything, Elliot," she said. "I'll be good." He worked at the knots in the rope until they were loose, and she was able to move her wrists slightly. She sucked in her breath as the rope rubbed against the wounds on her skin. He made a note to himself to get some salve and some gauze to wrap them in beneath the rope. Perhaps after he let her have a shower. A part of him wondered why he was concerned about her wrists and her hygiene. She should suffer, just as Elizabeth had suffered. He remembered on a few of the visits they had been allowed seeing the marks on her wrists from the restraints, and other times when her hair had been lank and limp, her nightgown stained with sweat and the remains of her dinner. He tamped the thought down for now, still feeling mellow. There would be time enough for her suffering later, and Mulder's as well. He opened the bottled water for her and handed it to her. She took it with a murmured thank-you, and as she drank he reached inside the bag for the sandwich he had bought. He unwrapped it and placed it on her lap. He sat back in the chair and watched as she alternated between the water and the sandwich, a slight smile on his face at the polite, tidy way she partook of her meal. He knew she had to be hungry, for her meal yesterday had been quite some time ago. His thoughts drifted to Elizabeth, as they so often did. *** 1:10 pm Scully stood at the window staring out, weaving slightly on her feet. The effects of the last dosage of whatever Elliot injected with had worn of some time ago, but she was still weak. She had had to contort her body awkwardly to be able to reach her feet, and her back ached from holding the same position for so long. Her fingers, particularly the two with the broken nails, throbbed painfully from working at the rope that bound her ankles. It had also seemed to take forever, and all she had managed to do was loosen it enough to allow her to walk with mincing footsteps instead of hopping. She was not sure yet if it had been worth the effort. The scenery outside the window, rolling hills with the occasional thicket of small trees, gave her no clue as to her location. She could only see a part of the building they were within, brown brick with small dormer like windows. It reminded her of a school, or perhaps a hospital. No landmarks or identifying sights visible from this angle. Scully heard a sound at the door and nearly stumbled trying to turn around. Her heart began to beat a little faster. She flicked a glance at the cot and knew that she would never make it back in time. She took a deep breath as the door swung open and then Elliot was inside. She spoke first, her voice deliberately higher and a little afraid. Inside she cringed at the act she was putting on. But it worked. The suspicion that had flared in his eyes was gone, and his own voice was calm when he replied. Scully's stomach rumbled when he mentioned lunch, and she made her way slowly and carefully to the cot, lowering herself onto it. Elliot put the bag he had been holding, along with a bottle of water onto the cot beside her and brought the chair he had sat in earlier and placed it in front of her. He sat and reached for hands, and she sucked in her breath in reaction. From pain, and a tinge of fear. Her hands and wrists were extremely sore, and she was worried that the skin was becoming infected. She almost didn't catch his next words, hearing only, "...try anything and I'll be angry." She realized he was talking about loosening the restraints around her wrists, and looked up at him, putting every acting skill she had into play, trying to project sincerity and obedience. Get under his guard, Dana. "I won't try anything, Elliot. I'll be good," she said. The best I can be, you bastard. Meek and submissive. Until you give me the right chance. She managed not to flinch as he worked at the ropes around her wrists, but she could not stop her indrawn breath when the rough fibers dug into the welts and abrasions on her skin. Her pain was pushed aside when he opened the bottle of water and handed it to her. She raised it to her lips gratefully after thanking him and drank some of the precious liquid as he opened the packaged sandwich he had brought. He placed it on her lap, and she put the water aside to take a small bite. She was hungry, but she wasn't going to wolf her food down this time. The last time she had done that, she had felt ill for a couple of hours afterwards. The combination of drugs he was using was wreaking havoc on her system, and solid food was probably not the best of choices. She could not tell him that, however, and knew she must make do with what was offered. She actually considered herself lucky that he gave her anything at all. She was not sure why he was being...well, kind. His moods were almost mercurial. Unpredictable. She ate and drank slowly, watching Elliot out of the corner of her eye. His face had softened, and had a far away look, his eyes almost sleepy. He had not been angry to find her at the window and had seemed almost concerned about her, so she thought it would be a good time to try and talk to him some more. She kept her voice soft as she spoke. "Elliot, you must miss Elizabeth very much." Elliot blinked slowly, reminding her in that instant of a child. He nodded, and Scully was surprised when his eyes welled with tears. "So very, very much," he whispered. He looked away from her, his gaze scanning the room. "This wasn't her room," he continued. His voice had a singsong quality, and Scully wondered if he was even aware he was talking. She kept quiet, waiting for him to go on, although she wanted to dig deeper. Did he mean they were at the hospital Elizabeth had stayed in? How was that possible? Wouldn't they be found? Elliot was still talking. "She was in the maximum-security wing. I wasn't allowed to see her very often." His fingers were tracing patterns on his knees, and he had begun to rock slightly. "So many rules. They made me mad. She wasn't happy. She was never happy when we weren't together." He paused again, and his next sentence was lower than a whisper, and had Scully leaning forward to catch the words. "That's why she tried to hang herself. She was so lonely. Just like me." He went quiet and Scully sat tensely, hoping he would speak further. He did not. She took a deep, quiet breath, and forced herself to relax. "Elliot, why was she in the hospital?" Voice calm, even, non-threatening. His head snapped up. "Because of Mulder." He got up from the chair with a violent motion that knocked it over, and began to pace agitatedly in the small space. "He said she murdered those girls!" His voice had risen, and Scully could see his face was red. "But she didn't. I did!" He stomped towards her, and Scully cringed back against the wall, drawing her knees up to protect her body. "Put your legs down!" he yelled, spittle flying from his lips. She obeyed, and he yanked her hands down and tightened the ropes again, eliciting a gasp of pain from her. He pushed at her so that she fell over on the cot, and grabbed the remains of the sandwich up with one hand. He glared at her for a moment and then left, slamming the door loudly behind him. The locks clicked into place. Scully hitched out the breath she had been holding and sat up carefully. She looked to her left. Miraculously, the bottle of water had not spilled even though it had been knocked over. She picked it up gingerly and inched forward so that she could place it on the floor, tucked just under the cot. Her heart was still racing from Elliot's explosion, and the news he had imparted, and she sank wearily back down onto the cot. She had been truly frightened of him at that moment, as much as she had been when he had threatened her with the rope around her neck. She was thankful he had not acted on his anger, and had left. She realized her body was still sore, and tried to relax as much as possible into the lumpy cot. She closed her eyes, thinking about what Elliot had said. Had he allowed his sister to be incarcerated for crimes he had committed? *** 4 pm Scully came out of an uneasy sleep to a burning sensation in her arm, and opened sleep-blurred eyes to see Elliot backing away from the cot. She blinked to clear her vision and saw the syringe that he was tucking away. In moments lassitude swamped her body, and she knew they were going to go somewhere. Her mouth went dry and her heart rate increased as her frightened mind wondered where he was taking her. She flashbacked to being dragged down the warehouse hallway to watch that poor woman hang, to her helplessness and fear, and she began to pant harshly as Elliot knelt down and reached for her feet. She tried to kick out at him, but her struggles were ineffectually weak, and uncontrolled. Elliot yanked roughly at her legs, hands gripped around her ankles, pulling them straight out in front of her. He grunted, "Stop!" and shook her legs for emphasis. "I am going to untie your feet, and we are going to walk down the hall to the shower. If you continue to fight me, I will strip you and wash you myself." The words were spoken in a voice that was low and hoarse, and the threat combined with the look of interest in his eyes had her stilling her motions. She watched as his hands untied the rope from her ankles and then he rose, pulling her to her feet. His hand was tight around her arm just above the elbow, and she felt herself swaying. He tugged at her arm, and then they were walking out of the room and down a low-lit hallway. Scully had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. The ground seemed so very far away. So did her will and determination. She noted vaguely that the floors were that tile most commonly seen in hospitals, and that the walls were painted a color she had always described as institutional beige, with those long wooden handrails about waist height running along them. Although there was no equipment or hospital paraphernalia littering the hallway, she was convinced they were in a hospital, more than likely a mental hospital, and obviously a defunct one. There was also an odd odor in the air. She couldn't quite determine what it was, but for some reason it reminded her of charred wood. She shook her head, for her thoughts were getting all jumbled. She blinked, trying to clear the fog in her brain. If she could only see something that would tell her where they were. She had begun to think of all the mental institutions and hospitals she knew of, but had realized she did not even know what city they were in, or even if they were in the same state. Elliot stopped and pushed open a wooden door, bearing a small plaque that read "Showers". He pushed her inside, and she stumbled, crashing into the wall. Her slide down towards the ground was boneless, and he muttered a curse as he caught her by the arm just before she hit the floor. He yanked her up and dragged her over to a wooden stool, shoving her onto it. Scully summoned the energy to look around the tiled room. Opposite the stool she sat on were two shower stalls, with flimsy opaque curtains pushed to the side. In one of the stalls she could see a bar of soap and what looked like little sample bottles of shampoo and cream rinse. There was also a towel hanging on the hook to one side of the stall. She realized Elliot had moved back in front of her, and then he bent at the waist, picking up her hands. He untied her wrists and then stepped back. "Get undressed," he said. He had backed up several feet to stand in the doorway of the shower room, in front of the door he had propped open with a wedge of wood, but made no move to leave. Scully rose awkwardly, feeling a flush crawl over her face and neck. It was a combination of embarrassment and anger that he would be watching her. She moved closer to the stall, and was slightly relieved to note that the two foot long wall by the door now hid him from her view. And her from his. She stripped as quickly as she was able, the ache in her wrists intensified by her motions. She could not shake the crawling sensation of being watched and looked back once. She could only see the toe of one boot, and she assumed he was leaning against the wall. She stepped into the stall and pulled the thin curtain closed. She turned the water on as hot as she could stand it and washed her entire body twice, smelling the rose fragrance of the soap. She was careful with the skin around her wrists, the soap stung as it touched the abrasions. Her hair was next, shampooed twice before she used the cream rinse. After rinsing her hair, she just stood under the flow of water, one arm outstretched, and palm flat against the tile, helping her remain upright. His voice was there then, right outside the curtain, and her eyes popped open in alarm. Her arms instinctively came around herself to hide her body and she hunched her shoulders down. "Turn the water off now, Dana." She obeyed, one shaking hand coming out to turn the taps off. She shivered with cold now that the warmth of the water was gone. The whoosh as the curtain was swept aside was loud and she cringed, hating the fact that her bare backside was entirely visible to him. The alternative however was worse. She heard him inhale deeply and then sigh, "Roses." She remembered that he associated the scent of roses with Elizabeth, and wanted to turn the water back on and rinse the smell from her skin. Elliot spoke again, softly. "Turn around." His voice sounded odd, almost crooning. When she did not move, he said it again, louder, with a hint of anger. "Turn around now." She did so, keeping her hands in place to hide her breasts and the triangle between her thighs. She kept her head down, not wanting to look in his eyes. Afraid to see what was in them. The moment seemed to last forever, her nerves stretched impossibly taut, before he finally chuckled and thrust the towel at her. "Get dried off. There's some clean clothes on the stool." She reached out with the hand that had been over her breasts and grabbed the towel, clasping it to her body. She was still staring at the ground, and watched his feet leave her field of vision. His steps were quiet, and she realized he could have stood there watching her when he brought the clothes, and she wouldn't even have known. The thought sent another shiver through her body. She lifted her head finally, to see that the space in front of the shower was empty except for the stool with a pile of clothes folded neatly on top. She took the towel and scrubbed it over her body quickly, and then used it to dry her hair. She stepped out of the stall carefully, the tiles slippery from the water, and shot a glance towards the doorway. It was empty. She hurried to the stool, nearly stumbling again in her haste and dressed in the panties and sweat suit he had left. She still felt weak and lowered herself onto the stool to pull on the socks and tennis shoes. A shuffling at the door had her head shooting up from her task, and a slight wave of dizziness washed over her with the suddenness of her movement. She closed her eyes for a second, and it passed. When she opened them again, he was kneeling in front of her. "Hold out your hands," he commanded softly. When she did, he opened a tube of some sort of cream and dabbed it on the abrasions on her wrists. The cream was cool at first touch, and then stung a little, and she sucked in her breath in reaction. He then wrapped her wrists in soft gauze, sealing each band with a piece of white adhesive tape. He looked up from her hands and said, "I'll leave the ropes off for now, but don't make me regret my decision." She nodded thankfully. Her fingers were not as swollen as they had been, but they and her wrists were still very sore. He studied her for a moment longer, and then nodded to himself. He stood and reached down with one hand to pull her to her feet by her upper arm, leading her out of the shower room. They walked slowly down the hall, back in the direction they had come, and Scully used the slowness of their pace to try and look around a little more. The rooms they passed were mostly empty, with just odd pieces of furniture, and she could only catch glimpses of green scenery through the small windows. She jumped slightly when he spoke, her concentration so intent on staying upright without stumbling, even with his hand on her arm, and trying to spot something that could help her. "Do you know what today is?" he asked conversationally. She shook her head, not sure what he meant, and made a negative sound. "It's our anniversary, Dana," he said. "Our one week anniversary." Scully's steps faltered and she felt herself pitching forward. He hauled her into his body and held her tightly as they continued forward. She barely registered the feel of him pressed against her. Her mind was numb. One thought kept repeating itself. My God, she had been missing one week. Another thought hit her. Mulder had to be going insane. Elliot spoke again. "I think we should give Mulder a call. What do you think, Dana?" *** Conference Room J. Edgar Hoover Building Friday 4:30 pm Mulder looked up from his perusal of the files in front of him when he heard a sound at the door. Skinner was walking towards him, holding two steaming Styrofoam cups. He pushed his chair back from the table a little and accepted the cup with a mumbled, "Thanks." He had not seen the AD since earlier that morning when they had gone to interview Kathy O'Neill's sister. Tricia Carpenter, Kathy's older sister, had been of little help in the way of possibly identifying a suspect. She had not seen her sister in several days, although they normally talked on the phone daily. When her sister had not shown up for lunch on Tuesday, Tricia had not been overly concerned, but when she had not heard from Kathy by Wednesday afternoon, she had filed a missing person's report with the Washiington PD. Skinner told her about Scully, and the woman had been horrified to learn why her sister had been killed. She had also provided as many details about her sister's daily routine, and the names and numbers of friends and Kathy's place of work. Through her tears, she had begged Mulder to catch the man who had done this to her sister. Mulder had promised her he would. He hoped like hell he would be able to keep that promise. The AD sat down in the chair beside Mulder and put his own cup down on the table. His eyes scanned the piles that still covered the the wood surface. "Any luck?" he asked, his voice low and tired-sounding. Mulder shook his head, removing his glasses and throwing them on a stack of files. He rubbed his eyes wearily and replied, "Not really. We've eliminated more, but also found more for further investigation." Mulder's voice was rough and scratchy, and full of defeat. He leaned back in the chair and stretched his arms back and over his head. "I told Kristopher and Jenkins to take a break." The two agents assigned to help him and done most of the follow-up work on the suspects Mulder found to be likely candidates, and had been hard at work since that morning. Mulder took a sip of the hot coffee, feeling the warmth steal down his throat and hit his empty stomach. His secretary Allison, and how odd those words sounded to him, had brought him soup at lunchtime, but he had only been able to manage a few spoonfuls. He had had nothing else except for numerous cups of coffee. Even though he knew Scully would have a fit if she saw him this way, it was not enough to push him into caring better for himself. How could he? Skinner gulped down some of his own coffee and then said, "They ran the partial from Scully's apartment again. Still no match." He shook his head. "It doesn't make sense. If this man has been arrested, his fingerprints would be on file. Could he have an accomplice?" Mulder sighed harshly, running his hands through his hair. His frustration was evident when he replied. "We have no fucking way of knowing." He pushed up from his chair and began to pace. "Nothing he has said indicates an accomplice, but that does not mean he doesn't." His foot kicked at the chair as he passed it, and it wobbled briefly before righting itself. "We have nothing." He paused and then said, "I have nothing." His self-loathing was apparent. Skinner blinked several times before replying, a deep frown on his face. "What about your friends, those Lone Gunmen? Have they been able to find out anything about the white van?" Mulder shook his head. "I just checked in with them a little while ago. Frohike and Langly have been working almost non-stop since last night. It's a lot of work and apparently we should be surprised at the number of white panel vans in D.C. alone. As well, the combination of the words 'D.C.' and 'cleaning' is not quite enough to narrow the search down." His faint smile did not meet his eyes, but reflected his gratitude. "They told me they'll keep looking until they find something, they're not stopping for anything." Skinner rubbed his jaw with one hand and then spoke again. "Several agents have liaisoned with the Washington PD and are conducting interviews on Kathy O'Neill's friends and co-workers. Trying to see if they can pinpoint where she was taken, or if anyone saw anything. I haven't heard back yet." The AD paused and then cleared his throat before continuing. "Mulder, I know it's not much, but the blood found at the warehouse was not Scully's," Skinner said, watching Mulder as he paced back and forth. "They haven't matched it to anyone, but they know it is Type AB negative, which is not a common blood type." Mulder stopped his pacing, standing in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips. In a way it was not much, but at the same time, it was a relief to know it was not Scully's blood. He knew it was impossible to hope that she would be completely unharmed, the Polaroid of her with the rope around her neck, and the hanging of Kathy O'Neill were ample proof the man was fully capable of violence, but that the blood was not hers was still somewhat of a comfort to him. He refused to allow his mind to go in the direction it was. A lot could have happened in the two days since then. His heart started to thud. He also had not heard Scully's voice since then. As if thinking about her had been like a magic summons, the cell phone on the conference table rang. *** Unknown Location Leesburg, VA Friday 4:45 pm Scully sagged down onto the cot, the pulse at her throat fluttering erratically. After saying they should give Mulder a call, Elliot had brought her back to her room and led her to the cot, giving her a slight push. He was now sitting down on his chair, smiling at the stupefaction she knew had to be on her face. She was still stunned from having learned she had been missing a week, but excitement was now surging through her veins. This could be an opportunity to get some information to Mulder. Elliot made a pleased humming sound. "You seem very eager, Dana. Whatever for?" His giggle crawled down her spine, and she shivered in reaction. "I don't know if you've been a good girl, Dana. I don't think I should let you talk to Mulder." Hope was warring with disappointment. Was he just tormenting her? She tried to keep her expression blank and open, forcing herself to relax against the wall. She breathed slowly and deeply, her mouth slightly open. Her hands were fisted in her lap, and she uncurled her fingers, flexing them gently. The motion did not hurt as much as before, and she was worried he would re-tie her again soon. Elliot reached inside his blazer, and Scully looked up, realizing then that was what was different about him today. He was not wearing the coveralls. He pulled out the cell phone, and she looked down at her lap so he would not be able to see her eyes staring at it eagerly. He opened it slowly, turning it on, drawing out the motions deliberately, she knew. The room was so quiet and even though the phone was pressed to Elliot's ear, Scully swore she could hear each ring. Or maybe it was just her intense need to hear Mulder's voice that was making her imagine the sounds. That need was answered. She heard his voice, his dear, sweet voice, saying his name, 'Mulder.' Elliot smiled, his eyes on her face, watching, as he spoke into the phone. "Agent Mulder, you sound down. Whatever is the matter?" There was a burst of sound from the phone, but all Scully could make out was her name. She blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes. She could hear the anguish in Mulder's voice. She took a deep breath, calming herself down. She had to be strong. She had to be ready. She focused on the conversation again. "Now, now, Agent Mulder," Elliot was saying. "I don't think you should talk to me like that. I might get angry, and I think you can guess what will happen if I do." He chuckled and then continued, "That's better." Although Elliot was still looking at her, he didn't seem to be completely focused. He seemed too intent in his taunting conversation with Mulder. Scully edged forward slowly, feeling her muscles protest at the tenseness of her body. She was still weak from the injection, but she had to try. She somehow knew Elliot was not going to let her talk to Mulder, other than maybe letting her say his name. Just enough to torment Mulder further. She was not going to let Elliot get away with that, no matter the consequences. Gathering all her will and determination, Scully took a deep breath and lunged forward, tucking her head down and aiming for his vulnerable throat with her shoulder. The move was a combination of a self-defense attack move she had learned in the Bureau training courses, and a football tackle her brothers had shown her long ago. The move was not quite as successful as she had hoped. She was not sure if he had just sensed she would try something, or if he had noticed her start to move, but he shifted slightly on the stool, and she did not hit her target. Her shoulder caught his, and they both went crashing to the floor, the cell phone slipping from his hand and skittering across the tiles. Scully groaned when she hit the floor, pain flaring everywhere in her body, but she did not pause. She scrambled on hands and knees towards the phone, crawling over Elliot in her haste to get there first. She was unaware she was chanting, "Mulder, Mulder, Mulder." Her hand closed on the cell phone just as his hand closed on her ankle. She jammed it at her ear, screaming, "Mulder, his name's Elliot, and his sister's name is Elizabeth, he's driving a white van that says D.C. Duct Cleaning..." He dragged her toward him, one hand stretching up to knock the cell phone away from her. He bellowed ,"Bitch!" and grabbing her by the hip, flipped her onto her back. He crawled on top of her, and sat on her pelvis, his hands coming up to grab her shoulders. He shook her roughly, yelling 'bitch' over and over. Scully bucked her hips, trying to dislodge him, but he was too heavy. He slapped her hard across the cheek in retaliation, spinning her head to the side. She began to struggle harder, kicking her legs and bucking her hips, her hands coming up to push at his chest. He slapped her again, on the same cheek, and the entire side of her face went numb. The blow also stunned her a little, and she blinked, trying to clear her vision. His face loomed over hers, contorted in rage, and she screamed up at him, wiggling and squirming for all she was worth. She managed to make a fist with one hand and put all her effort into plowing it into his face. He moved at the last second, and it landed on his cheek instead of his nose, but it still made him roar with pain and rage. His hand came down, slapping her again and again, on both sides of her face, her head moving from side to side with the force of each blow. She felt her lip split, and then warm blood gushing from her nose. He was cursing, spittle flying from his mouth with each word. She was screaming and crying, her arms flailing, and he grabbed hold of her sore wrists in each hand, squeezing tightly. He brought her arms up over her head roughly and leaned his upper body down on her chest. Her cries ceased as she struggled to breathe with the heavy weight that was crushing her. In the ensuing silence, Mulder's frantic cries could be heard from the cell phone. "SCULLY! OH, JESUS, SCULLY!" Elliot's head, which had been descending towards hers, a strange light in his eyes, whipped to the side and stared at the cell phone. He let go of one of her wrists and reached out his long arm to grab the cell phone. His weight still pinned her down, and she panted, listening helplessly as Elliot spoke into the phone. "Dana can't come to the phone right now." He pressed disconnect and dropped it on the ground. *** end Part 5 of 29 Revenge Part 6 of 29 by Lovesfox Conference Room J. Edgar Hoover Building Friday 4:45 pm Mulder and Skinner both stared at the phone for a moment, before Mulder finally lunged forward and grabbed it up. He took a deep breath, pressed send, and said, "Mulder." He could hear the defeat and exhaustion in his own voice. The man's reply, and the smugness in his tone, had Mulder cursing. He couldn't help his reaction, calling the man names, and demanding to speak to Scully. He tensed when the man made veiled threats, implying he would hurt Scully if Mulder didn't behave, and forced himself to relax. He took another deep breath and spoke more calmly. "Is Scully there? May I speak to her?" he said. His voice was more controlled, the desperation hidden. He nearly bit his tongue when the man praised him, saying, "That's better." Mulder felt Skinner move to stand next to him, just over his shoulder. He flicked a glance at the AD, who was watching him with worried eyes. Skinner mouthed 'Scully', and Mulder jerked his head angrily in a negative motion, mouthing back, 'Not yet'. There was silence for a moment, and then the sounds of a scuffle. A burst of static next, and then a noise that reminded him of the time Scully had dropped her cellular during one of their phone conversations. Mulder pressed the phone harder to his ear, straining to hear, wondering if the connection had been broken. Another of burst of static, loud in his ears, and then his heart stopped. He could hear Scully saying his name over and over again, her voice faint and pain-filled. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. A scrabbling sound, and then Scully, screaming frantically, her words running on top of each other. "Mulder, his name's Elliot, and his sister's name is Elizabeth, he's driving a white van that says D.C. Duct Cleaning..." His heart jumped into action, as if it wanted to burst free from the confines of his chest. Another scrabbling sound, and his mind suddenly pictured Scully struggling with a faceless man, fighting over a cellular phone. Then the man's voice, loud and angry, "Bitch!" The curse was uttered again and again, and then Mulder heard the most horrifying sound. Flesh striking flesh, the crack astoundingly loud through the phone. The sound was repeated, and then Scully screamed. Mulder screamed with her, long and loud in his mind. Oh, Jesus, oh, shit, he's beating her, JESUS, SCULLY! His silent scream ended abruptly, the thought tumbling in the sudden silence of his brain. He's hurting her. He's hurting Scully. His teeth were grinding together, and the phone was gripped so tightly in his hand he thought it would break. Tears ran down his face, but he still could not make a sound. Skinner grabbed his arm, shaking him, trying to get his attention, but Mulder could not move. He was frozen in place, phone shoved against his ear, unable to move, to breathe. The man made a sound Mulder could only describe as a roar of pain, and then there were several slapping noises, interspersed with the man's curses. Scully crying and screaming. And then sudden silence. He finally found his voice, crying, "SCULLY! OH, JESUS, SCULLY!" "Dana can't come to the phone right now." Mulder heard the cold taunting in the voice, the promise of violence in those words and he opened his mouth to scream. CLICK. The phone fell from his nerveless fingers, dropping to the floor with a muffled thud. He staggered and Skinner was there, grabbing him by his upper arms and pushing him into a chair. He slumped forward, dropping his head between his knees, feeling sick. Vaguely he could hear Skinner speaking urgently to him. He forced his head up, seeing that Skinner had knelt before him, and was staring at him with panicked eyes. "Mulder, are you all right?" the AD asked, his voice harsh with his concern. Mulder shook his head, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "He was beating her," he choked out, and another wave of nausea ran through him. He dropped his head again, trying to take deep breaths. He could still hear Scully calling his name, hear the sounds of the man striking her, hear her screams. He brought his hands up to cover his ears, to try and block the sounds. It didn't work. Her screams were so loud. "Scully," he moaned. "I'm sorry, Jesus, I'm sorry." Skinner's hands tightened on his upper arms. "Hang on, Mulder, I'll get some water." Mulder sensed the AD standing, moving about the room, but he remained hunched down in the chair, hands on his ears, rocking back and forth. Cold wetness touched his neck. He recognized it as a paper towel drenched with water. Its coolness was welcome, and he shuddered out another breath, slowly straightening in his seat. Skinner was crouched beside him, holding the towel at his neck. When Mulder sat up, he moved back a little. "Better?" Mulder nodded slowly, coughing the lump in his throat away. "Scully..." he started to say, when a cell phone chirped. It was not the cell phone; it was Mulder's own. He scrambled to pull it out of his suit jacket inner pocket, the jacket hanging on the back of a chair, and brought it up to his ear, hitting send with a gesture that spoke of habit. "Mulder?" he said into it, not sure who was on the other end. He sat up when he heard Frohike's excited voice. "Mulder, was that him? We traced the call to a place in Virginia, called Leesburg." "Wha...? Frohike...what do you mean?" Mulder babbled, mind trying to focus on what Frohike had said. He was aware of Skinner once again beside him, standing tensely. Frohike spoke slower, but his tone belied the excitement still there. "Mulder, last night, when I was charging your phone, we had an idea. It's something we've been playing with for a while. We attached a tracker of sorts on the cell phone." There was a deep inhalation and then he continued, speaking faster. "We were able to track that last call. To somewhere in Leesburg, Virginia. We could have got more, but the call was disconnected." Mulder was stunned. They had said nothing to him. They must not have known if it would work or not. "Great work guys," he said. What he had heard before still had him reeling, so he could not work up much enthusiasm. He cleared his throat. "Frohike, you can narrow your search a little on the van. It says D.C. Duct Cleaning Service on it." Frohike made an odd noise and then said, "How'd you get that? Never mind, we're on it." He paused and then said, "We'll work day and night." "I know you will, Frohike. I can't thank you guys enough." Mulder swallowed, and tried to sound encouraging, the attempt sounding flat, his voice cracking in the middle. "Scully will thank you all in person." "Hang in there, Mulder," Frohike said. "You'll find her." A sound, suspiciously like a sniffle followed and then Frohike said, "I'll call you when we've got something." The call was disconnected. Mulder pressed end, and tucked the phone back into his pocket. He wished he had Frohike's confidence. He glanced up at Skinner. "The Gunmen traced the call to a place called Leesburg, Virginia." He heard Scully's screams again in his head, and shook it once before continuing. "Scully...Scully said his name is Elliot, his sister's name is Elizabeth, and told me the name on the white van." He swallowed and looked down at his feet. His voice was a whisper when he continued. "He was beating her, for telling me." He surged to his feet, hand yanking the jacket off the chair. "I need to go there. To find her." Skinner's hand came down on his shoulder, halting his progress. Mulder looked up angrily to see that the muscle in Skinner's jaw was twitching wildly again. The AD's voice was terse as he spoke. "Mulder, we'll go to Leesburg when we know more. Not before. We can't risk you being seen there. For all we know, this 'Elliot' has you under surveillance. We stand a better chance of finding Scully if we have some element of surprise on our side." He rubbed his hand over his mouth and then continued, "I'm going to call the nearest Field Office. Find out what's in Leesburg. We'll get some computers in here too, start running those names." Mulder nodded reluctantly, knowing the AD was right. His tearing into Leesburg could drive Elliot towards further violence. Violence towards Scully. Again her screams rang in his head, and he clenched his teeth to hold back his moan of despair. As much as he wanted to go there right this minute, to search for Scully, he had to stay here until they had more. He hung his jacket back on the chair and sank into it, pulling a stack of files towards him. He would look for Elliot and Elizabeth this way until the computer techs arrived. If he didn't do something, he would go mad. He heard Skinner leave the room as he opened the first file. *** Unknown Location Leesburg, VA Friday 4:50 pm "Dana can't come to the phone right now." Scully shivered at the menace in those words, and nearly jumped when he dropped the phone, the clatter loud in the silence of the room. He was motionless for a moment, staring at it lying there on the floor. She tried to keep the fear from her eyes when Elliot turned his head back to her. Her breath was coming fast and hard, her heart pounding erratically, and she was scared to the bone. Her entire face felt like it was on fire, and she could feel the blood from her nose oozing down her cheek. She was also praying Mulder had heard her, and could use what she had told him to find her. Mulder. She could still hear his terrified cries in her mind, hear the horror in his voice as he called her name. Elliot studied her for long seconds, and then his hand was coming at her fast, slapping her hard across the face. Stars burst in her eyes, and she grunted with the pain. He bent down close to her ear, one hand pressing her shoulder harder into the floor, and she whimpered when the motion put all his weight on her again. Elliot's voice was low and angry, his exhalations hot against the flesh of her neck. "You really shouldn't have done that, Dana." His other hand came up to rub at his cheek where she had punched him and he grimaced. "That was very bad, Dana." Scully cringed inwardly at his usage of her first name, his words sounded oily and eerie, and he put particular emphasis on both syllables. He straightened a little, and she blinked her eyes to see his fixed on something on her face. She thought it was the blood. She was proven correct when Elliot lifted his hand to her face, his index finger tracing over the blood lightly. That strange light was back in his eyes and she watched them become hooded, saw his breathing quicken. She felt panic stir anew, but it was a different kind of panic. Oh, God, he was excited. The fighting and the blood had turned him on. He ground his lower body against hers then, and she felt him. No, no, no, no...her mind screamed, even as his head descended towards hers. His hand gripped her jaw before she could turn her head away, and then his lips were on hers, hot and wet. She kept her lips pressed together, denying his tongue entrance to her mouth, and he ground his harder into them, her cut lip stinging. He was making growling noises, and the sound turned her stomach. She was also having trouble breathing, her nose thick with blood. She managed to bring her hands up, and began to push at his chest, shoving with all her might. He let go of her jaw and tried to push her hands down, and she immediately pulled away from his lips, her own parting as she sucked in needed air. He swore harshly in her ear and smacked her in the face again, stunning her into momentary inactivity. He lifted himself off of her and reached somewhere, she wasn't sure where, and then triumphantly held the rope that had bound her hands in front of her eyes. She was still stunned, and her reaction was slow. By the time she realized she should be fighting like mad, he had the rope wrapped around her wrists and was yanking the knots tight. He used the free end of the rope to pull her arms up over her head and settled his weight back down onto her, his lower body again pushing into hers. "You bastard, get the hell off me!" she had found her voice, and screamed the words at him, twisting her body frantically. "Get off me!" "Wiggle like that some more," he crooned. "I like when you fight me." His lips were just under her ear, sucking and biting her skin. She turned her head from side to side, trying to evade his lips, to keep their sliminess off of her skin. He moved down, to the pulse in her throat, licking there, and she felt his hands pushing at the waistband of her track pants. He lifted his body so he could shove the pants down her hips. His lips left her skin as he rose up completely and pulled them down to her knees. She kicked out at him and he chuckled. She felt his hands on her thighs and squeezed her legs tightly together. She could feel his eyes running along her legs, stopping at the scrap of material that was all that covered her flesh. Suddenly his words kicked in. 'I like when you fight me'. Oh, God, her struggles were only inflaming his desire. She ceased all movements, holding her breath, trying to keep her body completely still. She felt his hands, prying her legs apart. Oh God, oh God, oh God. *** 5 pm The sheer terror in Mulder's voice as he screamed the name 'Scully' sent a jolt of electricity through Elliot's body. Disconnecting the phone and dropping it on the floor and hearing Dana's gasp of reaction, only added to the incredible feeling of power that was rushing through him. He continued to stare at the silent phone, thinking of what had just transpired. He had been so furious when Dana had dared to attack him. Then to hear her actually give Mulder he and Elizabeth's names. His rage could not be contained, and he had reacted with force. He remembered the sounds his hands had made as they connected with her face, hearing her screams and cries of pain. Pleasure nearly overwhelmed him. He shifted his gaze from the phone to Dana, her body tense beneath him. Her cries had died down to whimpers, and he wanted to hear her scream again. His hand was up and moving, slapping her hard across the face. She grunted with pain and he reveled in the sound. He leaned down, one hand pressing her firmly into the ground and whispered in her ear, "You really shouldn't have done that, Dana." When he talked, the cheek she had hit flared with pain, and he touched it briefly. "That was very bad, Dana." She was panting harshly, and he leaned back a little, wanting to see her face, to see the fear he knew would be there. The blood trickling from her nose caught his gaze, and the red was so bright against her white skin, he had to touch it. He traced his finger over it, and suddenly he could smell it, taste it. His excitement grew, his arousal painfully hard, and he ground his lower body into hers. Her chest was heaving, and her lips were parted with her effort to breath. They looked so tempting, and he swooped down to possess them, his hand grabbing her jaw firmly to hold her face still. She pressed her lips shut, and he ground his into her harder, trying to force them open. He could taste the blood from her split lip, coppery sweet, and he was barely aware of the sounds coming from himself as the flavor inflamed him further. Beneath him he felt Dana tense again, and then her hands were pushing at his chest. Elliot let go of her jaw to try and grab her hands, and she pulled her mouth from his, turning her head to the side, gasping for air. His anger surged and he grunted, "Bitch!" in her ear and smacked her across the face, enjoying the vague look that passed through her eyes. Her struggles were only turning him on more, but he did not want her able to fight back too much. He knew what was missing. He levered himself up a bit and reached up to the desk beside them, feeling along its surface. His searching fingers found the hank of rope that had been tied around her wrists and he pulled it down, holding it up before her eyes. She blinked slowly, still stunned he guessed, and then quickly and efficiently re-tied her wrists. One end dangled free and he used it to pull her arms above her head, which thrust her upper body forward. He lowered himself back onto her, his hips pushing his pelvis into hers. She came alive then, screaming at him to get off of her, and began to wriggle frantically. It felt so good. "Wiggle like that some more. I like when you fight me," he breathed into her neck. And he did like it. Immensely. Little darts of pleasure were running through his body, and he sucked and bit at her flesh in reaction. The scent of roses, Elizabeth's scent, added to his pleasure. She was twisting her head from side to side in an effort to evade him, and he smiled into her skin. She wasn't going anywhere. He moved to the pulse at her throat, pushing his tongue into the little groove, feeling it fluttering wildly, while his hands went to the waistband of her track pants. He wanted to feel her bare skin against his. He got the track pants down over her hips, but had to lift his body to push them down to her knees. She kicked out at him and he laughed. Her coordination was off, probably from the combination of the drugs in her system and the blows he had administered, and she did not make contact with him. Her feistiness turned him on even more. His hands were on her thighs, feeling the silky softness of her skin, and he stared lustfully at the panties that were all that covered her lower body. His hands moved to pull her legs aapart. She had them squeezed tightly together, and he was rough in his need to expose her further. He succeeded in pulling them apart and fell between them, pushing his body into hers. He moved his hands to his own waistband, struggling to open his pants. He popped the button and then yanked on the zipper, finally pulling himself free. He began to move against her, and it took him a moment to realize she was completely still. She even seemed to be holding her breath. It was disappointing, and he panted out a curse, hoping for a response. Nothing. He slid his hand up her body to her breast, which he squeezed painfully. Her entire face was scrunched up, and the quietest of moans escaped her lips, but she did not move. He needed her to move. He braced himself on one elbow and slapped her on the cheek. Although her head turned to the side with the blow, that was her only outward reaction. He felt himself deflate, his desire waning, and he rose up to straddle her hips, desperate to bring it back. He began to rain blows all over her body, screaming at her to move. Nothing was happening. It was gone. He couldn't believe it. He had been so ready, and it had been such a long time. He pulled himself off of her, rising to his feet, staring down at her, shoulders rising up and down as his lungs continued to heave the air in and out. She rolled to her side and curled her body up, little whimpers escaping her mouth. Elliot staggered out of the room, leaving her lying on the floor. *** Skinner's Office J. Edgar Hoover Building Friday 8 pm Skinner leaned back into his chair with a weary sigh, one hand coming up to pull his wire-rim glasses off to toss them onto the pile of papers on his desk. He had shed his suit jacket some time ago, his tie had been loosened, and his shirt cuffs unbuttoned and rolled up his forearms. He rubbed at his eyes and yawned, turning his chair to look out the window at the dark night. His stomach grumbled faintly, and he looked at the small clock on the credenza to see that it had been several hours since he had last eaten. He knew the chances were good that Mulder had not eaten either, and considered sending one of the junior agents out on a food run. He just couldn't summon the energy up to pass the order on. He had spent the last couple of hours on the phone with the field office in Arlington, Virginia, coordinating with the ASAC there to begin a search and canvass of Leesburg. Kimberley had couriered the composite sketch of Elliot, as the suspect was now thought to be called, the white van with D.C. Duct Cleaning Service in red lettering and a recent photo of Agent Scully with accompanying description details. The team was under strict orders not to apprehend, and to report any possible sightings. If the suspect or the van was spotted, a discreet tail was to be used, with extreme caution in order not to be spotted by the suspect. Like Mulder, he had wanted to rush to Leesburg the moment they had learned from Mulder's friend Frohike about the trace they had run on the cell phone, but he knew that going there was a rash move. Other than a first name for the suspect, and for all they knew the man could have given Scully an alias, and the name of the city, they had nothing. The van was a possible lead, but there were no guarantees, and it could have been dumped by now. The only logical thing to do was to gather as much information as possible before going there to stage a rescue mission. He blinked suddenly, trying to ignore the ugly thought in his head. He hoped like hell it was a rescue mission, and not a body retrieval operation. Besides the loss to the Bureau of a fine agent, and to him personally of someone he had lately considered a friend, he did not think Mulder would survive if Scully was not found alive. Pushing the grim thought aside, he straightened in his chair and spun it back around to face the desk. He reached for his glasses and slid them over his nose, blinking rapidly to clear his momentarily blurred vision. Despite his concern for Scully, he still had paperwork pertaining to his daily routine. Paperwork he had been pushing aside in the week since she had been taken. His mind would not focus on the work at hand, it kept drifting back to the morning in his office when the courier had delivered the package that had sent them rushing to Scully's building. He sighed harshly, remembering the pulse-pounding adrenaline rush as he and Mulder had searched Scully's apartment, finding it empty, except for its chilling addition on her bed. He flashed back to Mulder telling him the man had told him that he had left a clue. They had never found one. He thought furiously. The cell phone and the photographs had been all that the man had left, as far as they could determine. Could the photographs themselves been the clue? Knowing trying to work on anything other than Scully's disappearance was a waste of time, he pushed the chair back from the desk and rose, stretching briefly, before striding over to the coat rack and grabbing his suit jacket. He slipped it on and left his office, going through the outer room, where Kimberley was still at her desk. She had volunteered to stay, in case they had needed anything. She looked up from her computer when he rushed out, her face crinkling with concern. "Sir? Is anything wrong? Did they..." her voice trailed off as he shook his head. "No, nothing yet, Kimberley," he answered, stopping at her desk. "Why don't you head home? It's getting late, and we've got a few junior agents staying, as well as Allison from the secretarial pool. I don't know if anything much will happen tonight." Kimberley frowned slightly and then nodded slowly. "Yes, sir. I'll come in early in the morning, see if there's anything I can do." She reached out and began to shut down her computer, preparing to go home. Skinner watched her for a few moments and then said, "Thank-you, Kimberley. I appreciate this very much. Drive safely." She smiled faintly and said, "I don't mind at all, sir. Thinking of Agent Scully..." she let her sentence go unfinished, shuddering slightly. "I'll see you tomorrow, sir." Skinner nodded and walked out, heading to the conference room to talk to Mulder. He walked into controlled chaos. There were at least four or five computer techs tapping away at keyboards at hastily assembled stations, a couple of the agents who had been involved in the canvass of Scully's neighborhood talking quietly in one corner, Allison, who was distributing what looked like fresh cups of coffee, and in the midst of it all, Mulder. Skinner paused in the doorway, studying the agent. Only Mulder could look so alone in a room full of people. He was at one end of the long table, his shoulders hunched and his elbow resting on the wood surface, his chin propped on that hand. He was surrounded by files and seemed totally unaware of the noise and commotion going on around him. Allison approached him with a small smile, holding out a tray of still steaming Styrofoam cups. His nostrils flared at the tantalizing smell that confirmed his guess of coffee was correct. He took one, nodding his thanks. She shot a glance at Mulder, and leaned in, the concern clear in her eyes. Skinner angled his head down, turning his head slightly, sensing she did not want to be overheard. "Sir, he's hardly eaten, and I can't even get him to take some coffee." Skinner frowned slightly, looking at Mulder for a moment and then told her, "I'll take care of him, Allison. Thank-you for your concern." He reached out and took a second cup of coffee, before heading over to Mulder. He sat down beside the agent, after placing the cup within Mulder's eyesight. Mulder had not even looked up when the coffee appeared, and Skinner called his name softly. Mulder's head jerked up, his eyes widening in surprise at Skinner's presence. "Did you hear anything?" he asked, his voice rising slightly, face tensing. Skinner shook his head. "No, sorry, nothing yet, Mulder," he replied. "Any luck here?" He turned his head and scanned the room; just catching Mulder's defeated head shake in the corner of his eye. There were both startled when one of the tech's yelled excitedly, "I've got something here!" If the situation hadn't been so serious, he and Mulder's scramble out of their chairs to get over to the computer would have been amusing. As it was, they actually flicked each other the smallest of smiles when they nearly bumped heads. Skinner could feel his heart pounding as he stood behind the tech, staring at the screen and trying to make sense of what he was looking at. Beside him, Mulder was drawn as taut as a wire, leaning over the tech's shoulder, his head almost blocking the monitor. "What is it?" Skinner finally barked. The tech flinched a little and lifted a shaking finger to point at the screen. "I was running every file looking for a one that mentioned an 'Elliot' and an 'Elizabeth'. This is the only match. In 1988, a woman named Elizabeth Andercott..." Mulder interrupted, saying hoarsely, "Print it out." He straightened, his teeth gnawing on his lip, a look of intense concentration on his face. "Andercott..." he mumbled, and turned to walk back to the table, even as the printer in the corner began to hum. *** 8:20 pm Mulder began sorting through the files on the conference table with purpose. The more he thought of the name 'Andercott', the more familiar it sounded. Finally he found the one he wanted, and he sank into his chair, pulling the file over in front of him. He flipped it open and the police photo of Elizabeth Andercott stared up at him. It was a black and white photo, but he could see she had dark hair and dark eyes, like their suspect. He shoved files and papers aside, trying to find the composite sketch of the man seen by Joshua Hamilton. He scanned the room quickly, spying Allison sitting quietly on the couch across the room from him. "Allison?" he called, and her head swiveled to meet his gaze. She jumped up and came over quickly. "I need a copy of the composite sketch of the suspect." She nodded and headed over to another smaller table in one corner of the room. He watched as her fingers danced over the papers there, lifted a sheet from one of the piles, and then she turned and came back. She held it out to him, her expression curious. "Here you go, Agent Mulder," she said softly. "Could I get you anything else? I know you've hardly eaten all day. Can I get you a sandwich or something?" Mulder really was not hungry, but she looked so earnest, and was trying to be so helpful, that he nodded, telling her, "That would be great, Allison. Thank-you." She smiled, obviously pleased to be of assistance, and left the room. Mulder turned back to Elizabeth Andercott's file, holding the composite sketch of 'Elliot' beside her picture. The resemblance was there. He wondered how much more of one would be noticed if they had a real picture of Elliot. The other people in the room had ceased to exist again, the sounds they made were white noise to his ears, so he was startled when Skinner appeared at his side, saying his name questioningly. Mulder looked up at the AD, blinking rapidly. Skinner jutted his chin at the file Mulder was perusing, and said, "Did you find it?" At Mulder's nod, he held up the printout from the computer and sank down into the chair beside Mulder. "I'll read this." He laid the sheaf of papers in front of him and began to read. Mulder put the composite aside and started reading the file. He had worked on so many cases for the BSU that he had not really recognized Elizabeth Andercott, despite his growing recognition of her name. He scanned through the various reports contained within, seeing his own signature on several of them. As he read on, more details seeped into his memory. Elizabeth Andercott had been charged and found guilty of the murder of five women, although she had been questioned on the deaths of an additional three. The victims had all been beaten, some violently, some only moderately, and all had been strangled. A picture of each of the five victims had been found on their beds when they were discovered missing. Pictures on the bed... His mind flashed back to the glossies that had covered Scully's bed. That had been the clue 'Elliot' had spoken of. Mulder was not sure if the sheer number of pictures, the overkill, had prevented him from making a connection to Elizabeth's case, or if it was just his worry about Scully. He sighed harshly, the why didn't matter. What mattered was finding her, and soon. He continued to read the file, vaguely aware of Skinner beside him, reading the printout. He found a report, written by him, detailing an interview with the then suspect's brother, Elliot Andercott. The suspect's twin brother, he corrected himself as he read further. He stopped and stared off into space, running one hand through his hair. Something was bothering him, sitting at the back of his mind, waiting to be found. There were still many papers to go through in the file, but he pushed it aside for the moment. He had kept a few files from his time in the BSU, his own files, on cases that had disturbed him, or that he had felt were not finished. He was almost positive he would find one on Elizabeth Andercott. Mulder rose from his chair, drawing a concerned look from Skinner. "Washroom break," he mumbled, trying to look sheepish as he grabbed his jacket off the chair. The AD smiled faintly, and went back to his reading. Mulder slid the jacket on, patting over where the cell phone should be, confirming its presence, and headed out to go down to his office. He took the stairs to the basement, the walk helping to clear his head, and unlocked the door. He stepped in and reached out unerringly to flick the light switch. As he headed to the filing cabinet in the corner, he happened to glance at the chair usually occupied by Scully. He paused, and his eyes moved along his desktop to stop at her coffee mug sitting there. He closed his eyes, and an image formed. Scully sitting back in her chair, completely relaxed, her eyes closed as she savored the steaming mug of coffee in her hands. His fists clenched and he forced his eyes open, swearing under his breath. He was not going to do this, not going to wallow in his misery, when he could be doing something to help find her. He moved with determination to the filing cabinet and knelt down to open the bottom drawer. They were at the back, shoved behind miscellaneous junk he hadn't known what to do with, or wanted to throw out. He flipped through them quickly, and sure enough, there was one on Elizabeth Andercott. His knees creaked when he rose to his feet and he staggered a little before falling into his chair. He sat up at the desk and opened the file. It was filled with copies of the reports he had read upstairs in the conference room, and notes he had written. Notes he had known would not be well received by his superior. He frowned slightly to himself as he remembered his frustration and disillusionment during his stint in the BSU. Pushing that aside, Mulder concentrated on the notes he had made. After his initial interview with Elliot Andercott, he had written that something about the man just wasn't right. He had begun a quiet but in-depth investigation into the man, not entirely convinced that Elliot had had nothing to do with the murders. His digging had turned up very little. However, his unauthorized surveillance had resulted in a photograph. He picked the picture up and stared at the face of the man that held Scully. It was like looking at a masculine version of Elizabeth. He put the picture aside, the techs could age the photo, help them get a better idea of what he looked like now, especially with the composite. He continued reading. After several intense interviews, Elizabeth had confessed, and the District Attorney and the ASAC had been happy. Mulder had not been. He had kept tabs on Elliot for some time, but the man had been as good as gold, just as he had been for each subsequent interview Mulder had conducted with him. He dug through the papers to find the reports on the victims. Three of the four women had shown signs of sexual assault, although there had been no semen found in their bodies. He had pointed out the fact that it was highly unlikely for Elizabeth to have done this to the women, but his protests had been silenced. He sat back in the chair, once again becoming convinced that Elliot had at the very least been involved in the murders supposedly committed by his twin sister, if not the actual killer. He allowed his head to fall back onto the chair, and his eyes closed with weariness. Once again the shrill ringing of the cellular phone sent a jolt of surprise through his body. He sat up straight and yanked the phone out of his inner pocket. "Mulder!" he gasped into it. "Agent Mulder, how are you?" Smug bastard. The smoothness of his words had Mulder clenching his teeth. "I'm fine," he gritted out. "Where's Scully?" A low chuckle. "She's...tied up right now, Agent Mulder." There was an audible inhalation and then 'Elliot' continued. "You know Mulder, those weeks when I followed you and Dana, I wondered what she was hiding underneath her prim and proper business suits. I must say, you're a lucky man, Mulder. That is one fine looking partner you've got. Oh wait, you don't have her do you? I do." He paused and then said, "I did." Another pause. "Have her, that is." Mulder bolted up from his chair as the evil laughter filled his ears. "You bastard! What the hell did you do to her?" His pulse was pounding, his mouth dry as dust. One corner of his mind hoped that Frohike was tracing the call as they spoke. "Do, Agent Mulder?" Elliot asked. "Why...anything I wanted." There was a moment of silence and then he said, "Mulder?" Pause. "Did you know she's a screamer?" Click. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Mulder slammed the phone down on the desk. Rage and fear had his fingers fumbling as he reached for the phone on his desk. He dialed the number for the Lone Gunmen, whispering, "Please, please, please," as he waited for them to pick up. He heard Langly's greeting and almost yelled, "Well? Did you trace it?" Muffled sounds could be heard and then Frohike's voice was on the line. "Mulder, man, I'm sorry. It wasn't long enough. We're ready for the next call though, okay?" "Thanks," he mumbled and dropped the phone in the cradle. He sank down onto the floor, his back resting against the desk. He dropped his head in his hands and whispered her name once. "Scully." *** end Part 6 of 29