From: syntax6 <syn_tax6@yahoo.com>
Date: 14 Jul 2003 13:22:38 -0700
Subject: New:  Split the Lark 5/14 by syntax6
Source: atxc

Keywords: None
Header: in part 0

http://www.omniscribe.com/inprogress.html

XxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter Five
XxXxXxXxXxX

She was too mortified even to cry.  Scully spent the night 
curled in a ball under the starched motel sheet, blinking in 
the darkness.  She hugged the pillow and tried to squeeze 
away the sound of Mulder's rejection.  Of course he would be 
disgusted.  Another man had forced her down on the ground and 
shoved his way inside her.  She was disgusted when she 
thought about it.  

So she didn't.  Think about it.

But Mulder would never be able to follow suit; he thought 
about everything, all the time, perseverated on injustices 
great and small.  And now, when he looked at her, he only 
thought about one thing.  As long as he remembered, so would 
she.

Scully hid in her bed while the dawn crept up to her window, 
brightening the cracks.  By six she could no longer deny the 
sun.  She dragged her stiff body from beneath the sheets and 
dressed tiredly with just the light from the bathroom.  A 
quick look at her cell phone told her she'd received three 
new messages during the night.  She left the room without 
listening to a single one.

Outside, muggy morning air promised a scorcher of a day.  
Already the rain puddles were evaporating back into the sky. 
It was still quiet, road traffic infrequent and birds 
flitting in the trees. Scully squinted as she walked down the 
stairs to the lower level.  At the bottom, the sight of 
Mulder's door stopped her in her tracks.  She would have to 
pass in front of it to get to the lobby, where coffee 
awaited.  Her anxious heart buried itself between her ribs, 
but her head throbbed for caffeine.  Caffeine won out.  
Scully held her breath, kept her head down, and marched past 
room 134 without a backward glance.

Their motel fee included a continental breakfast, which was 
self-served in the alcove next to the check-in desk, right 
between the pay phone and a rack of tourist pamphlets.  
Scully skipped the lackluster pastries and poured herself a 
Styrofoam cup's worth of black coffee.  She got approximately 
five minutes of silence before a round, bland-faced couple 
and their three young children entered to raid the donuts. 

Scully shifted to stand near the front desk, where the young 
woman with a ponytail gave her a wide, friendly smile.  
"Hello," she said.  "Is the coffee all right for you this 
morning?"

Scully raised her eyebrows as she sipped.  "Yes, it's fine.  
Thank you."

"Y'all down for the Garden Grove square dance competition?"

Scully managed to swallow the coffee without choking.  "Uh, 
no."

"Oh."  The smile didn't fade.  "Folks come from all over this 
time of year, and I just assumed when the two of you checked 
in last night together that's what you were here for.  
Leastways, that's true for most of our couples."

"No, we're here to see--"  Scully searched her memory for the 
man supposedly in charge of the UFO cult. "Jared Rentham.  Do 
you know him?"

The smile faltered and then reappeared.  "Jared?  Sure, 
everyone around here knows him.  He runs that group out at 
the old army compound.  I see him every now and then at the 
farmer's market buying corn.  My mom said that he moved here 
from New Orleans, that he used to be a fortune teller there."  
She lowered her voice and leaned toward Scully.  "His wife 
was murdered.  That's why he came out here."

"Do you know how she died?"

The girl looked to make sure the vacationing family wasn't 
listening.  "I heard she burned to death."

"What about Tina Appleby?  Do you know her?"

"Never met her. Saw her in the papers, though, when she 
joined up with Jared's group.  Her family wasn't too happy 
about it, on account of Tina had two little kids."

"Why did Tina join?"

The girl again cast a look over at the family before 
answering.  "Jared, he believes in UFOs.  He says that the 
aliens come and take people for experiments, and that the 
government knows about it but doesn't protect people.  
Supposedly..."  She stopped and fiddled with the cord coming 
out of the computer keyboard.

"Supposedly what?"

The girl sighed.  "I don't know if I believe it, but some 
folks say he can tell by looking at you whether you've been 
tested by the aliens."

"Excuse me?"

She pointed at the sky.  "You know, probed...or whatever."

The hairs stood up on the back of Scully's neck, right about 
where she'd been probed, and the coffee sloshed in her cup.  
"And Tina, uh, she'd been tested?"

"That's what the paper said."  The girl shrugged.  "But it 
also said she's failed out of AA three times, so who can know 
for sure if it's true?  Jared looks harmless enough to me, 
but I don't go out of my way to talk to him, if you know what 
I mean.  My boyfriend Jimmy's a cop, and he told me Jared 
checked out okay, but then he said to stay away from him just 
the same.  So I do.  Maybe Jared's not dangerous or anything, 
but he sure is crazy."

"What makes you say that?"

The girl rolled her eyes.  "He believes in aliens, doesn't 
he?"

As if on cue, the front bell tinkled and Mulder came through 
the door.  He stopped, feet still on the mat, and all heads 
except Scully's turned to stare.  She looked at her cup.  

"Good morning," the girl behind the counter said.  "Help 
yourself to coffee and pastries right over there."

"Yeah, thanks," Mulder said.  Scully could feel him looking 
at her, felt herself shrinking inside.  She watched his 
shadow move towards her across the floor until it disappeared 
into her own.  Mulder breathed down on her.  "Morning," he 
murmured, and she nodded to her coffee.  She wasn't sure how 
this was going to work if she could never look him in the 
eyes again.  "I called you last night," he told her, his 
voice still low.
 
"Did you?"

"I left you messages."

"I haven't checked."  She took a deep breath and met his 
gaze.  There were dark smudges under his eyes, and she could 
see a nick on his jaw where he had cut himself shaving.  
Mulder studied her a minute before nodding sadly.  

"Okay.  Scully, I just wanted to say--"  The vacationing 
family trooped out behind him, forcing Mulder to crowd closer 
to Scully.  He bumped her and she jerked back against the 
counter.  "Sorry," he said, reaching out a hand to steady 
her. 

"Mulder, please."  She squeezed from between him and the 
counter.  "I can't do this now."

"Of course not," he said quickly, and she felt her cheeks 
warm.  The girl behind the counter listened in with the 
deliberate casualness of a seasoned gossip.  

Scully cleared her throat.  "Mulder, this is..."  She stopped 
when she realized she didn't know the girl's name.

"Sharon Loeing," the girl filled in for her.  

"Ms. Loeing was telling me what she knew about Jared 
Rentham," Scully explained.

It took Mulder a minute to focus enough to respond.  
"Rentham," he said, turning to the girl at last.  "Right.  
You know him?"

"Oh, not really.  Just passing on what all I've heard."

"It seems that Mr. Rentham is running a retreat of sorts for 
alien abductees," Scully said.  "This was the reason for Tina 
Appleby's involvement."

"She was abducted?  Her brother didn't mention that part."

"Maybe because it didn't really happen," Scully countered.  
"From what I've heard, it's Jared Rentham who determines 
whether someone had been abducted or not.  Tina Appleby was a 
single mother with two kids and a history of alcohol abuse.  
It wouldn't surprise me to find that Jared Rentham takes 
advantage of people who are down on their luck and sways them 
into joining his... organization."

"Wait, you're saying he picks the women and not the other way 
around?"

"Supposedly," Scully said, "he can tell by looking at you if 
you were abducted."  

"Oh."  Mulder stared hard at Scully.  She refused to blink.  
So far, she hadn't heard any evidence that Jared Rentham was 
anything other than a charlatan who preyed on vulnerable 
people.

"I suppose the only way to know is to find Tina and ask her," 
Mulder said.

Sharon Loeing's eyes widened.  "Y'all are going out to the 
compound?"

"You know of a reason why we shouldn't?" Scully asked.

"Well, it's just they don't welcome many visitors.  There's 
barbed wire around the whole property."

Mulder looked speculatively at Scully.  "Somehow, I think 
he'll let us in."

XxXxXxX

They stopped at Chet Appleby's first.

In the car on the way, Scully looked out the window the whole 
time so Mulder would not be tempted to start up a 
conversation.  The landscape mirrored her feelings -- flat 
and empty -- and Mulder wisely kept his mouth shut.  She 
heard him working over a seed between his teeth, a sure sign 
that his brain was marking double time.  Scully clutched the 
file folders on her lap and studied the passing bramble.

"Worried he'll recognize you?" Mulder asked at length.

"Appleby?"

"No, Rentham."

She turned in her seat.  "Mulder, don't tell me you believe 
that story."

"I don't know.  I'm wondering if you believe it."

"I can't believe you even have to ask."

"Right.  It would be a neat trick, though, don't you think?  
If it's true."  He paused.  "Of course, you might not be the 
best person to test his apparent ability."

"What does that mean?"

He shrugged.  "I've known you for seven years, Scully, and I 
still can't tell one thing just by looking at you."

"I see.  So if you don't find what you're hoping for in Jared 
Rentham, it's my fault."

"I didn't say that."

"What, then?"

He glanced at her.  "Scully, you're not always the easiest 
person to read," he answered mildly.  "This can't come as a 
surprise."

It did.  Hurt burst inside her like a balloon.  She blinked 
back hot tears and returned to staring out the window.  I 
don't get you, he might have said, the one person she'd 
thought had understood.
 
"I don't know what to tell you," she managed at last.

"I know," said Mulder sadly.  "I think that's the problem."

He turned the car off the main road into Chet Appleby's 
neighborhood, where the grass went from dry and unkempt to 
green and manicured.   Evenly spaced white houses lined the 
wide street, while the sun beat down on the treeless ground.  
Appleby's house turned out to be the one with the bluebird 
mailbox and a tricycle parked in the drive.

Mulder and Scully did not speak to each other upon approach.  
Scully lifted the brass knocker as Mulder peeked in the 
column of windows that framed the front door.  Appleby 
answered promptly and ushered them into a spotless living 
room that still bore vacuum tracks on the beige carpet.  He 
was a nebbish of a man, with too-short hair and a white, 
short-sleeved button down shirt.  He moved a floppy stuffed 
dog off the armchair before he sat down.

"I never wanted kids," he said.  "Myra didn't either.  But it 
was either take in Tina's daughters or have them put into 
foster care, and we couldn't abide that.  We kept thinking 
that Tina would come to her senses and want them back.  As 
you might have guessed from our phone call earlier, it hasn't 
turned out that way."

"How long has Tina been gone?" Mulder asked from his seat on 
the floral sofa.

"Eight months now.  Tina met Rentham at the grocery and she 
moved out to the compound that night.  She dropped her kids 
off here and that was that.  I've talked to the Sheriff's 
office almost every week since Tina took up with that 
horrible man, but they keep telling me there is nothing they 
can do.  She's not being held against her will.  Brainwashed, 
maybe, but they don't use force to get her to stay."

"Have you talked to Tina at all since she joined the group?" 
Scully asked.

"She sends letters, sometimes with a few dollars to help out 
with the children.  I can barely bring myself to read them 
because they are all full of UFO crap."

"I'd like to see them, if you have them," Mulder said.

"Of course."  He rose and went to the desk in the corner, 
where he retrieved a small bundle of envelopes.  Mulder 
started reading while Scully asked more questions.

"Did Tina tell you why she decided to join Jared Rentham's 
group?"

He pursed thin lips and brushed invisible lint from his 
pants.  "Tina's had a problem with alcohol off and on for ten 
years now, but about six years ago was the lowest point.  
This was before she had the kids and before Dan died.  I give 
that man credit for turning her around when none of us could.  
If he was alive today, Tina would never have fallen into 
Rentham's hands.  Anyway, around that time, it wasn't unusual 
for us to go weeks without hearing from Tina.  When she did 
show up, usually it was asking for money."

"Says here that Tina remembers being abducted from a local 
farm," Mulder said, looking at the letters.

Appleby nodded wearily.  "That's what Rentham told her.  More 
likely she just blacked out for a day."

Scully looked at Mulder, but his attention had returned to 
Tina's letters.  "Mr. Appleby," she said, "I'm not sure what 
you hope to get out of our involvement.  The Sheriff is 
absolutely correct that we can't forcibly remove Tina from 
Rentham's compound.  If he hasn't broken any laws, if she is 
there peaceably, then our hands are tied."

"Talk to him," pleaded Appleby.  "See for yourself what kind 
of monster he is.  If Tina were thinking clearly, she would 
want to be home, with her daughters.  She was just getting 
her life back and that man came and took it from her again."

"But--"

"If you can prove he's a fraud, she might listen to you.  
Please."

Mulder stood up.  "We'll talk to him.  Agent Scully's right, 
though:  we can't make you any promises about your sister."

Appleby bit his lip.  "If she just knew how much the girls 
needed her..."

"We'll see what we can do," Mulder assured him.  Scully had a 
hard time looking the desperate man in the eye, knowing that 
they were probably not going to be able to give him what he 
wanted.

"You're going now?" Appleby asked.  "Let me go with you."

"I don't think that's such a good idea," Mulder said.  

"Please.  The compound is difficult to find, but I know how 
to get there.  I'll wait in the car if you like."

Mulder sighed and relented.  "You do exactly what we say."

"Oh, thank you.  Let me just get my things and telephone Myra 
to tell her where I'll be."

He left the room and Scully nodded at the letters still in 
Mulder's hand.  "Well?" she asked.

"She says Rentham has seen the aliens, that they killed his 
wife.  He says they're coming back."

"Terrific.  Does he give a date and location?"

"No, but Tina does.  The date she was abducted:  August 9, 
1994."

Two days after Duane Barry and Skyland mountain.  Scully felt 
like she was back playing tug-of-war with Bill and his big 
friends, heels sliding into the mud pit even as she held on 
for dear life.  She swallowed with effort.  "And you think 
this means we were riding around in a spaceship together?" 
she asked Mulder, more sharply than she intended.

He looked down at her with compassionate eyes.  "I don't know 
what it means, Scully, but here may be one chance to find 
out."

Nononono.  She screwed her eyes shut and gripped the back of 
Appleby's armchair.  

"Scully?  Are you okay?"

"I'm ready," Appleby announced as he returned to the room. 

Scully sucked in a breath and released the chair.  "Then 
let's go."

XxX

Appleby sat in the back, twisting his wedding band around his 
finger and giving directions to Mulder.  As promised, finding 
the compound involved a number of tricky turns down unmarked 
roads. Thirty minutes later, Mulder rolled the car to a stop 
in front of a high fence topped with barbed wire.  "That sure 
as hell isn't to keep any aliens out," Mulder muttered.

"Rentham says it's to keep out the nonbelievers," Appleby 
replied.  "So we can't distract the others from their 
'work.'"

All three got out of the car, and when Mulder saw Appleby was 
following them, he stopped.  "I thought you were going to 
wait in the car."

Appleby's small face took on a look of determination.  "If 
Rentham doesn't want me there, I will.  Otherwise, I feel I 
have the right to be present."

Mulder looked at Scully, who shrugged.  "We do the talking," 
he warned Appleby.

"Absolutely."

They walked up the dirt road to the gate, where a camera 
tracked their arrival.  Mulder hit the buzzer on the 
intercom.  "FBI," he said when asked.  "We're here to talk to 
Jared Rentham."

"Mr. Rentham is not available," came the crackling reply.

"He's there," hissed Appleby over Mulder's shoulder.  "I know 
he is."

"We've come a long way," Mulder said into the speaker.  "If 
we could just talk to Mr. Rentham for a few minutes."

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Rentham--"  The voice broke off, and they 
heard nothing for several long seconds.  When the speaker 
came back on, the voice had changed to a deep, mellow tone.  

"Welcome to Sanctuary House, agents.  Do come in."  The door 
gave a long buzz, and Mulder pushed it open.  Inside was a 
small courtyard with the same dusty dirt floor, but it 
contained several small trees whose delicate branches 
suggested they might have originated in Asia.  There was a 
stone birdbath, and two long benches that faced one another.  
Everything was quiet.  They walked up the flagstone path to 
the main building -- a short, wide structure built with aging 
concrete.

Scully almost expected to be met by a bald man in a flowing 
robe.  She was half right.  Jared Rentham emerged from a door 
at the end of the entry hall wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt 
with a Celtic clan symbol on the front.  He had a long face 
with a long, thin nose to match, and when he got closer, 
Scully saw he wasn't quite bald -- there was a ring of pale, 
fine hair circling his head just above his ears.  Scully hung 
back a bit as he approached.  "Agents," he said.  "Welcome 
again.  I am Jared Rentham, and I'll be happy to answer any 
questions you might have."

"What have you done with my sister?" Appleby demanded.  
Mulder elbowed him.

"I'm Fox Mulder, and this is my partner, Dana Scully.  You 
may already know Chet Appleby."

"By reputation only," Rentham demurred.   He offered his hand 
to Appleby, who refused it, and then shook Mulder and 
Scully's hands in turn.  When Scully tried to pull away, 
Rentham held on.  "I noticed you outside," he said, fingers 
tracing lightly over the skin of her wrist.  "Have we met 
before?"

"No, I don't think so."

"I could swear it."  His eyes crinkled at the corners as he 
tried to place her.  "Oh!" he said suddenly, and Scully felt 
a spark against her hand.  She jerked free.  Rentham smiled 
at her.  "You've been among them," he said.  "You will 
understand how important our work is."

"What the hell is he talking about?" Appleby asked 
suspiciously.  Mulder moved himself between Rentham and 
Scully.

"Just what sort of 'work' do you do here, Mr. Rentham?"

"Information gathering, mainly," he said, his eyes still on 
Scully.  Her breathing grew shallow, sweat breaking out 
across the back of her neck.  She let Mulder take the lead.

"Information about what?"

"Them."  He nodded at Scully.  "If you need explanation, your 
partner can fill you in."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Scully whispered.

Rentham made a tsk-tsk sound at the back of his throat.  
"Denying it won't stop them.  You have to understand what 
happened to you in order to fight."

"What is this?"  Appleby began backing away.  "What the hell 
is he talking about, she's one of them?"

"Calm down, Mr. Appleby," Mulder said.  "We're asking the 
questions, okay?"

"No, it's not okay!  I want to see my sister, and I want to 
see her now."  He was shaking from head to toe.  Mulder gave 
the high sign to Scully, and she agreed:  time to get Appleby 
off the premises.

"Why don't we go outside for a minute," she suggested, 
touching his arm.  Appleby shook her off.

"Get away from me!  I don't know what your connection is to 
this place, but just stay the hell away.  Bring me my 
sister," he hollered at Rentham.  "I want to see her NOW!"

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Rentham said.

"I say it is."  Appleby pulled out a gun and aimed it at 
Rentham.   "Take me to Tina."

Scully's pulse tripped over itself.  Mulder's jaw tensed, his 
eyes gone black.  "Hold on a second, Chet," he said.  "Let's 
work this out."

"I want to see Tina.  I want her to come home with me."  The 
gun wavered in the air, three feet from Scully.  Rentham was 
the only one who did not look worried.

"I can take you to her," he said, "but she won't leave.  I 
have explained before that everyone who is here stays here 
willingly.  I exert no force.  We have no weapons."  He eyed 
Appleby's trembling gun.  "Your sister is happy here.  I 
believe she's told you before that she does not wish to 
leave."

"You did this to her!" Appleby sobbed. "It was you!"

"I did nothing to Tina," Rentham answered calmly.  "It was 
Them."

The shot split Scully's head open; at least that's how it 
felt.  Her ears hurt and the terrible noise reverberated in 
her skull.  When she opened her eyes, she saw Rentham lying 
dead on the ground.  She didn't even need to take his pulse.  
Appleby's shot had gone through Rentham's left eye and blown 
apart his brain.   Her mouth hung open in horror so long the 
back of her throat dried out.  When at last the noise 
cleared, she became aware of wracking sobs from behind her.  
She turned and saw Mulder restraining Appleby.

"She's free now," he said over and over.  "She can go home."

XxXxX

At the Sheriff's station, they were alone in a room with the 
woman who had caused more heartache than Helen of Troy.  Tina 
Appleby was small like her brother but rounder and less edgy.  
Where Chet had vibrated with anger, Tina wept quietly at the 
interrogation table, dabbing her eyes with a wrinkled 
Kleenex.  "What will we do now?" she asked of Mulder and 
Scully.  "Jared was the one who brought us together.  He was 
the one who knew what was happening.  He said if we didn't 
prepare for Them to return, we would end up a slave race.  
Chet didn't understand.  He didn't see that I was doing this 
for my children and for their children's children."

"When did you first meet Jared Rentham?" Mulder asked.

Scully, still rattled, leaned against the wall near the 
corner.  She looked at this woman with her bad dye job and 
chewed-off fingernails.  This is not me, she thought. 

"He was really friendly-like," Tina was saying.  "Asked me 
about my baby, Charlene, and told me I seemed real familiar.  
I had seen him before.  Everyone said he was kind of a freak, 
but when you talked to him, it was like... like talking to 
God.  He could see right inside me.  He knew right away that 
I'd been through a tough time, what with Dan getting sick and 
passing on, but when he mentioned the lights from the Hartman 
farm, I just felt a chill go through me.  I'd never told 
anyone about that night before."

"Which night?" Mulder asked.  Scully folded her arms.

"About six years ago, before I knew Dan or anything like 
that.  I--I was drinking a lot back then.  Me and Rudy 
Hartman were down at Jimmy Z's bar until around closing, 
hitting the Jack and Cokes pretty good.  When Jimmy kicked us 
out, Rudy said he had a six-pack back at his place, if I 
wanted to go back with him.  I said sure.  We drank and 
fooled around a bit, you know.  I don't remember much after 
that, except I think I went outside to get some air.  I 
remember looking up at the stars and thinking they were 
brighter than I'd ever seen before, like when the sun glints 
off the water.  Then the lights started moving.  I felt 
myself being lifted in the air.  The next thing I know--"  
she broke off and looked at her lap.

"The next thing you know, what?"  Mulder prodded.

"I know this sounds stupid.  But I was on a train."  Scully 
felt a chill go through her. She backed further into the 
wall. "I don't know how I knew this.  Maybe someone told me.  
Maybe I heard the whistle, I don't know.  But I was on this 
table, under a sheet, and I didn't have any clothes on.  The 
whole room kind of glowed with this eerie blue light.  I 
wasn't tied down but I couldn't move my arms or legs.  Men in 
masks, like surgeons, came in and out.  Sometimes they would 
talk to me but usually not.  I was so cold that I couldn't 
feel my toes."

"What did these men want with you?" Mulder asked.

"I don't know.  They hooked me up to machines and poked me 
with cold metal instruments.   I couldn't speak to ask what 
was going on, but I don't remember being very afraid at the 
time."

"How long were you on this train?"

She sniffled.  "I couldn't say.  It felt like forever but 
also not long at all.  I can't describe it.  But I remember 
this one man, an Asian man, who came in near the end.  He was 
gentler than the others.  He stroked my cheek and he talked 
to me."

"What did he say?" Mulder asked, leaning forward.

"It makes no sense," Tina replied.  "It was like a saying or 
something."

"What?"

She took a deep breath.  "He said, 'Even the smallest ant--"

"--can destroy the dam," Scully finished with her in a 
murmur.  Only when Mulder turned did she realize she'd spoken 
aloud.  

"Yeah, that's right," Tina agreed.

"Scully?" Mulder asked, looking at her with concern.

She felt the floor shift under her, the room suddenly 
airless.  "I'll be back," she said, heading for the door.  
She barreled through it to the cool, dark corridor on the 
other side.  Gulping air, she went to the rest room and 
washed cold water over her enflamed skin.  Her hands still 
trembled when she held them out in front of her, so she paced 
the length of the room slowly, talking herself down.

You're okay.  It's all right.  Just get control and go back 
in there.

Her phone made her jump when it rang.  "Scully," she said 
crisply, hiding her weak limbs with a sharp voice.
"Dana, this is Chris Clark with the DA's office."

She let out a long breath.  "Mr. Clark, of course.  What can 
I do for you?"

"I have some potentially good news.  Detective Savioshy 
arrested a suspect this evening.  He's in custody as we 
speak."

XxXxX

End Chapter Five.

XxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter Six
XxXxXxXxXxX

When Scully fled the interrogation room, Mulder did not 
follow.  Tina Appleby was there, still talking, and on the 
other side of the one-way mirror Sheriff Seaver watched her 
and Mulder equally, waiting for a satisfactory explanation as 
to why Jared Rentham had ended up decorating Sanctuary House 
with his brains on Mulder's watch.  "This is not how we do 
things around here, son," had been Seaver's words on the 
topic.  "What the hell did you bring Chet on up there for, 
anyway?"

Mulder forced his attention back to Tina's narrative. "Damned 
if I know," she was saying.  "I could have been gone two 
weeks or two hours.  Rudy said he woke up and I was just 
gone."

Mulder glanced at the door and made a humming noise in his 
throat.  Scully didn't reappear.

Tina continued, "I came to in the park across the street from 
my apartment.  My legs were all wobbly, like when you've been 
on a boat drinking, and I couldn't remember much at first."

Mulder turned his attention back to her, really seeing her 
for the first time since they had brought her down to the 
station.  Her nails were down to the quick but still she 
chewed at them.  She wore baggy pants and an over-sized T-
shirt that hid most of her body.  No makeup.  Tears streaked 
her round, smooth face, and she hunched in her chair as 
though she were the guilty criminal.  Wet, haunted eyes 
looked around the room, everywhere at once.

Fuck, Mulder thought. 

He raised his fist as though to slam it on the table, but 
caught the fear in Tina's eyes and brought it down gently 
instead.  "Excuse me," he said.

He threaded his way through the narrow hall, dodging 
officers, feeling sweaty and cold at the same time.  
Adrenaline was wearing off.  He could find her in the ladies' 
bathroom, he knew, but he stopped outside without knocking.  
Leaning his head on the door, he closed his eyes and let his 
ragged breath steam the peeling paint.  

Scully was more like him than most people knew.  She, too, 
carried her pain forward, refusing to diminish it by letting 
go.  But whereas he waved his around like a red flag in front 
of the bull, Scully scrunched hers into a silent, heavy mass. 
He ran head-forward while she ran straight away, but really, 
they were chasing the same thing.  Mulder found this thought 
both unsettling and oddly comforting.

The door jerked open and he righted himself, blinking as 
Scully appeared in front of him.  Like Tina, her face had 
been wiped clean, but her hair was combed and her eyes were 
clear.  "Mulder," she said with a frown.  "What's going on?  
Where's Tina Appleby?"

"Still in interrogation."  He noticed she had her cellular 
phone in her hand.  "Everything okay?"

"I have to go back to D.C.  Savioshy needs me for a lineup."

He leaned in, pulse spiking again.  "They got the guy?"

"Apparently red-handed."  She looked at his chest as she 
spoke.  "They arrested him in a parking lot with a knife."

"That's great, Scully," he said, and then realized how that 
had sounded.  "I mean, I'm glad they got him."

"Yeah."  She hesitated, smoothing her jacket with her palms.  
"Anyway, I have to get back as soon as possible.  They want 
to do the lineup before he's arraigned."

"You're leaving now?"

"My flight's in four hours."

"What about Tina Appleby?"

"What about her, Mulder?  We came out here to investigate her 
brother's claim that she had been abducted by Jared Rentham.  
Clearly, there was no abduction; she was with him of her own 
volition.  As for any cult that Rentham may or may not have 
been involved in, well, it seems rather moot now, doesn't 
it?"

"Because he's dead."  It came out as an accusation, against 
whom he wasn't sure.

"And that's..."  Scully stumbled.  "Unfortunate.  But it 
doesn't change the fact that our involvement in this case is 
finished.  Rentham's dead.  Chet Appleby is in jail, and Tina 
Appleby is a free woman.  What more do you hope to accomplish 
here?"

"Her story, Scully, didn't it sound familiar?"

"Actually, it sounded fragmented and incoherent.  I'll grant 
you that there were elements in her narrative that we've 
heard before."

"And that doesn't mean anything to you?"

"What do you want it to mean, Mulder?  Suppose you're right.  
Let's just agree for the sake of argument that everything 
Tina Appleby said was true:  that she was abducted by 
extraterrestrials, experimented on by men on a train, and 
returned some uncertain amount of time later.  How does this 
help us?  What have we learned?"

"You're saying you believe her."

"I'm saying it doesn't make a difference whether I believe 
her." 

He shook his head.  "How can you think that?" he asked 
softly, searching her face.
 
Scully looked at the floor for a long minute before 
answering.  "She's a victim, Mulder.  She's confused; she's 
scared.  Tina Appleby has no more insight into what happened 
to her or who is behind it than the cows in the field from 
which she vanished."

"But you agreed," he said, "that we've heard this story 
before."

"Yes.  And where has it gotten us?"  When he didn't answer, 
she sighed.  "Take her statement, Mulder.  Tell her we'll try 
our best.  Then tell her--"

"What?"

"Tell her to get on with her life."  She walked away, heels 
clicking briskly, not waiting for him to follow.


XxXxX


Even at two in the morning, Scully's plane faced delays.  
They sat at the gate endlessly while the airport cleared an 
obstruction from the runway.  Scully pinched the bridge of 
her nose between her fingers and was glad for the stillness.  
She hunkered down in the shadows at the rear of the cabin, 
away from the others.  Her clothes smelled of cigarette 
smoke, of desperation and dead things. The explosive gunshot 
still echoed in her head, but when she closed her eyes it was 
Tina Appleby's pale face she saw.

Too tired to read, too wired to sleep, Scully dug out her 
cell phone, intending to switch it off for the duration of 
the flight.  Mulder's unread messages glowed back at her from 
the tiny screen.  Scully selected the button to play them and 
hesitantly put the phone to her ear.  The first message was 
brief:

"Hey, Scully, it's me.  I know it's late, but call me if you 
get this, okay?"

He sounded more tired by the second one.  "I guess your phone 
must be off.  I feel terrible about what happened, Scully.  
Please call me."

Scully's eyes welled from the day's unrelenting tension.  She 
covered her mouth with her hand as Mulder's final message 
played.  "I know you're not answering.  I just wanted to 
say..."  Silence stretched for several seconds.  "I thought I 
could handle it, but I guess it's obvious by now that I 
couldn't. I kept thinking about what happened, what you must 
have been through."

She flashed on parking lot, the hard ground, the man shoving 
himself inside her.  It took her breath away.  

"I'm sorry about everything," Mulder finished hoarsely.  
"It's my fault, and I'm so sorry."

Scully gulped in air as she snapped the phone shut.  Fuck 
you, she thought, tears escaping the corner of her eyes. What 
the fuck have you got to be sorry about?

The captain told them to turn off all electronic devices as 
the plane started rolling toward the runway.  Soon the roar 
of the engines obliterated everything, Scully thrown back 
against the seat under their power as she was lifted away, 
away, the world disappearing beneath the clouds.

XxXxX

Scully had consumed two cups of coffee, stared the print off 
the newspaper, and dissected out the rims of the Styrofoam 
cups using just her thumbnail when at last Detective Savioshy 
came through the door again.  "Sorry to keep you waiting so 
long," he said as he wedged himself into the small, 
windowless room.  "The kid's family hired an expensive lawyer 
who's been busting our chops all afternoon.  We should be set 
to go in just a few minutes."

"That's what ADA Clark said two hours ago."

The conference table wobbled as Savioshy lowered himself onto 
one corner.  "Bellamy -- that's the lawyer -- has been 
questioning every step of the lineup, from the lighting to 
the people who get to be in the observation room.  But the 
delay is really for your benefit."

"How do you mean?"

"They want you to get nervous while you wait, maybe even 
change your mind. It's happened before.  Witnesses get a 
little too much time to think about things, and they get 
spooked."

"I don't spook that easily," Scully told him.

"No, ma'am, I don't imagine you do."  He smiled and shoved 
off from the table.  Scully took a deep breath.

"But I didn't see much," she said.  "It was dark and he had 
the stocking over his face.  I don't know how much help I can 
be."

"You're here," he said.  "That counts for a lot.  Just go in, 
take a look, and tell us if anyone stands out."

"But you have enough to hold him without me, right?"

"Caught the sonofabitch red-handed," Savioshy said.  "He 
ain't going nowhere. Just sit tight for another few minutes, 
okay?"

He left, closing the door behind him, and a few minutes 
later, Christopher Clark stuck his head in the room.  "Dana, 
thanks for waiting.  We're ready for you now."

Scully stood and wiped her hands on her hips.  She hadn't, 
until that very moment, considered the fact that the man from 
the parking lot was in the same building with her. Barely a 
man.  A kid.  He had a family, Savioshy had said.  Parents 
who had probably kissed his little cheeks and bought him 
footy pajamas, and who now disbelieved their son could hide 
with a knife in the bushes or rape ten unsuspecting women.

Outside the door to the viewing room, Scully halted.  Clark 
touched his hand to the small of her back.  "You okay?"

She nodded, determined.  "Let's do it."

Clark opened the door for her, and Scully stepped inside a 
small, tense room filled with grim people.  Savioshy stood 
near the one-way mirror.  He had one of his younger officers 
with him as well.  Lining the back wall were two women and 
one man, all dressed in suits.

"Agent Scully, this is Armand Davis from the King County DA's 
office," Clark said of the first man.  "He's just here to 
observe in case they end up trying some of the cases up 
there."  

Scully could have guessed his role from the grateful look in 
his eyes.  "Pleased to meet you, Agent Scully," he said.  
"Thank you for coming."  She wondered if any of the King's 
County victims had decided to testify.

"And this," Clark continued, "is Nora Bellamy."

The rapist's lawyer stepped forward on high heels that 
rivaled Scully's own.  She was older, with papery skin and a 
mess of hair that was somewhere between blonde and gray.  It 
had been pinned on top her head but was threatening to break 
free.  She had the look of someone who had been around the 
block and then moved in:  this was her turf and she knew it.  

"Ms. Scully," she said, her voice pitched low and Southern, 
"it's lovely to meet you.  Thank you for your patience this 
afternoon."  She gave Scully's hand a quick, firm shake.  
"This is my associate, Fiona Hamill."

"If you'll just come over here to the window," Clark said, 
"we'll bring them in."

Scully allowed him to lead her over to where Savioshy stood 
with his hand already poised at the intercom.  The room on 
the other side of the glass was well lit and empty.  "Send 
'em in," Savioshy said into the speaker.

Scully braced herself on the hard wooden ledge as the door 
opened and a line of young men paraded in front of her.  Her 
heart beat high in her throat.  The men stopped on their 
marks, facing forward, and seemed to stare right through the 
glass.  All white and dark-haired, they wore jeans and T-
shirts and harmless, blank expressions.

"Take your time," Savioshy said gently.  

Scully nodded without looking at him.  Her eyes were glued to 
the five men on the other side of the window, seeing all of 
them and none of them at the same time.  She couldn't focus.  
A dark eye here; a big shoulder there.  Her gaze raced up and 
down the men like fingers over piano keys.  Which one?  Which 
one?  She felt the pressure of the room bearing down on her.

"Can they turn?" she whispered, buying time.

"Face right," Savioshy said through the speaker.  The sound 
of heavy feet on the floor echoed back as they complied.

Four's chin seemed too pointed.  Five wasn't tall enough?  Or 
maybe her memory was wrong.  

Put stockings on their heads, she wanted to say.  Then I'd 
know for sure.

The mashed angry features from her dreams were not visible in 
the light of day.  If her rapist was one of the men in the 
other room, she could have passed him on the street and never 
known.

"I think we've got our answer," Nora Bellamy said shortly.

"Give her time," Savioshy shot back.

"No," Scully replied, shaking her head.  She shuddered with 
her drawn breath.  "I can't tell.  I'm sorry."

"Thank you for your time, Ms. Scully.  Clark, I'll be in 
touch."  Bellamy flashed a smile and disappeared with her 
associate out the door.

"That's it," Savioshy said wearily into the speaker.  The men 
filed through the exit and the lights went out on the other 
side.  

"I'm sorry," Scully repeated, and Savioshy waved her off.

"You tried.  That's all that counts.  We knew going in it was 
a long shot.  If you'll excuse me, I have to make sure his 
ass goes back to jail and not out the front door."

"He won't be freed?" Scully asked Clark.

"Not yet.  But I am sure Bellamy will ask for bail on 
Monday."

"But he was arrested with the knife and mask," Scully said.  
"Surely that counts for something."

"It does.  But he wasn't arrested in the process of 
committing a crime.  We have no witnesses.  Bellamy will 
argue that he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong 
time."

"And that will work?"

"I'll do everything I can to see that it doesn't."  He 
touched her arm.  "You okay for a minute?  I want to catch 
her before she leaves."

"Sure, sure."  

She jerked at the hard slap of the door, left alone in the 
shadowed room.  Darkness yawned where the men had stood, and 
she began to feel him watching her from the black void, felt 
a  creeping sense of danger she had missed at the time.  She 
stared at the window, saw her own pale features reflected 
there, and backed up slowly until she hit the far wall.  He'd 
been inside her and she didn't even know his face.  Shaking, 
she held her hands out in front of her, palms up, and began 
sinking down to the floor.  It was real.  It happened.  It 
could never be undone.

"Dana?"  Clark reappeared, and instantly he was at her side.  
"My God, are you okay?"

"Yes," she said, struggling to her feet.  He took her arm and 
helped her up.  "I'm sorry."

"It's okay.  Take it easy.  I'm the one who's sorry.  We 
shouldn't have left you alone like that."

"No."  She swiped at her watery eyes.  "I've done lineups 
before.  It's all right."

He fumbled a wadded up tissue at her.  "Do you want some 
water?  Maybe some place to sit?"

"No, no.  I'm fine.  It's just been a long day."  She 
sniffed, hiding herself behind the tissue.

"Yeah," he said softly.  She saw him look at the door.  
"You're sure there's nothing I can get for you?  No one I can 
call?"

"Really, no."

"What about Mulder?"

She folded the tissue in half and in half again before 
answering.  "Mulder's still in Texas."

"Oh, right.  Your case."  She felt him studying her.  "Would 
I be correct in assuming it's a rough one?"

"You could say that."  Less than twenty-four hours ago, she'd 
been wearing Jared Rentham's blood spatter in her hair.  
Mulder hadn't called all day.  She had no idea when he 
planned to return.

"We owe you a greater debt, then," Clark said, "for leaving 
your work to come help us with this."

"I wasn't any help."  

"You were.  You showed up.  That's more than some of the 
other women have done."

Scully looked up.  "Did any of them ID him?"

"Not yet.  But we are just beginning to mount our case.  
Savioshy pulled his computer, his date book - they even took 
his car down to the CS labs."

Scully asked the one question she had wanted to ask since his 
call yesterday evening:  "How did you catch him?"

"Savioshy's taskforce has been running with the idea that 
this guy was a college student at a university with religious 
affiliation, most probably a Christian college.  They've been 
contacting these schools and asking them about their recently 
reported sexual assaults.  Saint Joseph's University in 
Philadelphia kicked out the name Gregory Watts.  Watts had a 
complaint filed against him for rape by a fellow student, but 
she later withdrew the allegation.  Turned out this guy Watts 
lives down here during the summer months.  His parents have a 
house in Fairfax.  A little more digging, and we found out 
that the Philly PD has a couple of unsolved rape cases from 
this past fall that bear an uncanny resemblance to the 
attacks in the DC area.  Savioshy went to find Watts, saw him 
leave the house, and followed him."

"To a parking lot," Scully said.  That much she knew already.

"That's right.  When he saw Watts put the stocking cap on, he 
busted his ass right then."

Scully nodded, letting it sink in.  "So he's definitely the 
guy."

"Oh, he's the guy, all right.  And we will put him away for a 
long, long time.  I promise you."

She chuffed and he looked at her curiously.  "I've made that 
promise myself over the years," Scully told him.  "The victim 
looks to you for assurance.  They want to believe in 
justice."

"You don't?"

"Does that shock you?" she asked, meeting his eyes.  He 
stared at her unblinking.

"Nothing shocks me.  But I don't believe you."

"You don't know me," she countered.

"I know that you're here," he said.  "That has to mean 
something."

She smiled a bit.  "Yes, well, I do believe in prisons," she 
said, and he smiled with her.

"Fair enough."

They stood there awkwardly for a moment until Scully tried to 
walk past him toward the door.  "I should get going," she 
said.

"Oh, of course."  He shifted at the same time she did and 
ended up blocking her path again.  "Sorry," he said, but he 
didn't move further.  She looked up at him, expectant.  "Have 
dinner with me."

Scully had not thought of food all day.  Her fridge probably 
held a carton of expired low-fat milk and a few limp 
vegetables.  And now he was asking her out?  "Oh, no.  I 
couldn't."

"Not like that," he cut her off swiftly.  "I mean, you've 
been here all afternoon.  You must be starving.  You said 
Mulder wasn't around, so I just figured..."

"You figured what?"  Her guard was still up.

"Maybe you would like some company."  

"I'm fine."

"Of course you are."  She hugged her arms close to her chest, 
and he said nothing for a moment.  "Okay, it's me. I hate 
eating in restaurants alone."  She gave him a look of 
disbelief.  "It's true.  The waitresses, they come over and 
want to talk."

"Oh, I'm sure that must be so painful for you," she said, but 
she was beginning to smile again.

"I end up with three bread baskets."  He patted his middle.  
"Please, you'd be doing my waistline a favor."

It was either this or go home to her silent apartment.  
Still, she hesitated.  "I don't know..."

"We don't have to talk about the case," he said gently.

"What will we talk about?"

He considered.  "Our misspent youth tipping cows in Farmer 
Mcgillicuddy's pasture."

"I don't believe I've ever tipped a single cow."

"Oh."  He heaved a dramatic sigh as he pulled the door open 
for her.  "Looks like I'll have to start the conversation 
then."


XxXxX

Mulder came of age skulking in the basement with a 
flashlight, so the bunker-style rooms beneath Sanctuary House 
felt instantly familiar.  He hadn't realized, however, how 
accustomed he'd grown to the second lance of light that 
usually played along side his.  It seemed too dark without 
her.

Dust and lack of sleep had dried his eyes.  He walked alone 
down the hall until he reached the record room, where earlier 
he had spread Jared Rentham's files across the floor.  
Computer printouts from an old dot-matrix printer told each 
person's story.  Where possible, Rentham had photographed the 
site of the abduction.   Mulder had spent the afternoon 
staring at cornfields, duck ponds, stretches of empty 
highway, and, in the case of one Emmett Lincoln, a Wal-Mart 
parking lot.

He remembered Skyland Mountain, with its clean pine air and 
sharp white stars, the way the wind had stolen breath from 
his body and whisked it into the night.  This is the way the 
world ends, they'd told him: one small redhead at a time.

Rentham had included photographs of the abductees as well - 
black and white close-ups of unsmiling faces, young and old.  
They reminded Mulder of growing up in Massachusetts 
surrounded by images of Revolutionary War soldiers, who had 
fought the enemy with nothing more than grim determination 
and a musket from the basement.  We've seen you now, their 
eyes seemed to say.  Just try to take us again.

This was his biggest worry for her, that all the denial 
equaled unpreparedness, that she would never see them coming.

Mulder leaned back against the hard wall, his spine scraping 
the concrete as he rubbed his tired eyes.  Until then he 
would keep looking for the both of them.

XxXxX

They ended up sharing a bottle of Chianti and a giant thin-
crust pizza topped with proscuitto, capers, olives and fresh 
mozzarella.  The candle was fake but the food was delicious.  
"I begin to understand why the city is in a budget crisis," 
Scully said, "if you take all your witnesses out to dinner."

"Yes, thanks to the tax cuts, the Tiramisu is out.  The best 
I can offer is one of those mints at the door."

She smiled and shook her head.  "I'll remember this at 
election time."

"Actually," he said, "I confess my motives were not entirely 
pure."

Scully felt her stomach lurch.  "Oh?" she managed.

"Savioshy told me a little bit about the kind of work you do.  
Now, the man can spin a fish story like you wouldn't believe, 
but he swore up and down this was the God's honest truth:  
you investigate aliens?"

Scully put down her wine glass.  "Reports of extraterrestrial 
activity, yes.  Among other things.  The X-Files division 
handles a wide variety of cases."

"Division?  How many agents are assigned to this kind of 
work?"

"Just--just two."

"Oh," he said, and Scully squirmed inwardly at the 
implication.  She knew it was a cliche to most people, male 
and female partners falling into bed together, but it was the 
most unconventional relationship of her life.  She wasn't 
about to justify it to this man.  "So these reports," he 
asked, "is there anything to them?  Are we truly not alone?"

You've been among them, Rentham had said.  She could still 
feel the slide of his cold fingers over her skin.

"I've seen things I can't explain any other way," she said, 
watching for Chris's reaction.  If there were a trial, he 
would hear all the gory details.  He stopped with his fork 
halfway to his mouth.

"Really?"  She nodded.  "Huh," he said, and put the fork 
down.

"That's it?"

"Well, you know how I was telling you about Farmer 
Mcgillicuddy's field?  One night I was out there with some 
friends of mine, back in high school this was, and we were 
just hanging and drinking beer when all of a sudden this 
light flew over us.  It was bright blue, not white like the 
stars, and it disappeared down behind the mountains.  As it 
passed over us, all our hair stood up on end."

She raised her eyebrows.  "And you think it was a UFO?"

"Like you said, I can't explain it any other way."  He 
smiled.  "I don't usually tell that story to most of my 
dinner dates."

"What do you tell them?" she asked, grasping for a change of 
subject.

"Oh, um."  He looked chagrined.  "The word 'usually' implies 
a certain amount of frequency, doesn't it?  Well, let's see.  
The last time I was out with a woman I spent the entire 
evening regaling her with my lawyerly prowess.  She was 
polite enough to listen the whole time, but when I called her 
for a second date she declined, saying she thought perhaps I 
had too much of myself invested in my work right now."

"Ouch," Scully said.

"Yeah, but she was right."  He finished off his wine.  

"I guess that's good for me, then."

"Yes." He smiled at her again.  "Unlike that poor woman, 
you're stuck with me for a while."

"How soon until trial, do you think?"

"Months."  He leaned back in his seat with a sigh.  "Bellamy 
does not move quickly, but a lot will depend on whether she 
fights us on our decision to try the cases jointly."

"Is that likely?"

He took his time in answering.  "I would make a motion to 
sever, if I were her.  We don't have the same level of 
evidence against Watts in every case."

"I see."

"Hey, don't worry about it, okay?"  He scooted in his chair 
until his knees bumped her under the table.  "That's my 
problem, if and when it happens."

Instead of one rape, he'd gotten ten by proxy.  She wondered 
how many he had already lived through.  "So you still 
believe, then," she said, "in justice."

He drummed his fingers on the tablecloth and looked at her.  
"Have you got a bit more time?"

"Why?"

"I want to show you something."

He took her out of the city, over dark hills and vales, where 
a pregnant moon hung low in the sky.  Thick summer trees 
waved in the wind, and the air from the open windows grew 
cool and sweet.  He turned off the main road into blackness 
and rolled the car to a stop on some grass.  "Here we are," 
he announced.  The slam of their car door broke the perfect 
silence. 

"And where is that, exactly?"  Scully squinted at her murky 
surroundings.  They were in the middle of nowhere, as far as 
she could tell.  Her heart sped up, and she held her bag with 
the gun in it a little bit closer.

You're fine, she told herself, but she jerked a bit when 
Clark spoke.

"This way.  Watch your step."  He led her down a path through 
the trees to a clearing with some sort of building on it.  
His keys jangled in the darkness.  "I only rent half of it," 
he said as she followed him closer.  "The rest belongs to the 
guy whose farm it's on."  

He unlocked the door and hit the lights.  Scully blinked as 
her eyes adjusted.  "It's a greenhouse."

"Yeah, come on inside."  He rubbed his hands together and 
moved aside so she could enter.
 
The concrete floor was wet beneath her feet. Cautiously, she 
ducked a seven-foot plant with great hanging leaves.  Exotic 
tangles of greenery stretched from floor to ceiling; beds of 
riotous color spread over the tables, flowers split open like 
the sun.  Beautiful, yes, but Scully felt a little like a bug 
before the Venus Flytrap.  She stood hunched in, careful not 
to touch anything.  Chris sucked in a deep breath and smiled 
at her.

"All the oxygen concentrated in here," he said.  "Gives me a 
rush."

Scully breathed a bit deeper, taking in the primal scent of 
dirt and water and life.  She forced a smile even though she 
hadn't the slightest clue what she was doing there.  "It's--
quite something."

"Let me give you the tour."  He disappeared behind a sweep of 
fern and she hurried to keep up.  "This one here," he said, 
"is an Apache Plume."  The bush-like plant had long stems 
with pink, feathered ends.  "It's actually a member of the 
rose family, if you can believe it, but the name comes from 
the fact that the plumes look like old Apache war bonnets.  
Go ahead -- touch."

"I have a black thumb," she warned him, and he smiled.

"Really, it's okay.  You won't hurt it, see?"  Tentatively, 
Scully reached out and stroked the downy tufts.  They tickled 
like a laugh through her fingers.

"These are a kind of salvia," he told her as they moved down 
the narrow aisle.  Scully stooped to admire the delicate 
indigo flowers.

"They look sort of like wind chimes."

"Oh, check this one out," he said, waving a new stem at her 
from farther down the row.  It was long and sleek, with a 
giant teardrop-shaped bud at the end.  She could see from the 
buds that had bloomed already that it would become a medusa-
like flower -- a cloud of green snakes with tiny purple 
heads.  "This one always reminds me of 'Aliens'" Chris said 
as he twisted the fat bud around so she could see the other 
side.  Sure enough, it had split at the stomach and the 
snakes were starting to pop out.   Scully smiled and shook 
her head.

"You are very strange, you know that?"

He shrugged and let the flower bounce back into position.  
"You know how I told you about my dad, how we argued law all 
the time?"  She nodded.  "Well, we made a lot of noise.  Mom 
let us raise the roof because she spent all her time out in 
the yard taking care of her garden."

"Ahh," Scully said.  She fingered the pouched blossom on a 
pocket book plant.  "So that's where you get it from."

"In a way."  He leaned against the table, folding his arms so 
his dress shirt stretched across his chest.  "Mom got sick 
when I was in high school.  Cancer.  She was too sick during 
treatment to keep up with the garden.  Dad was spending sixty 
hours a week at work, and it fell on me to help her out."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah," he said softly.  "I miss her, but she sure taught me 
well."  He smiled.  "Some of these plants belonged to her."

"Really?"  Scully looked at the surrounding jungle with new 
eyes.

"Yeah.  The small Japanese Maple over there in the corner is 
one.  Oh, and this too."  He showed her a bucket full of 
branches with strange red flowers drooping from them.  
"Feel," he suggested.

"Oh."  Scully marveled as she rubbed the velvety flower 
between her finger and thumb.  "What is that?"

"Like it?  It's called Kangaroo Paw."

"It's fabulous."  She gave him her first genuine smile in 
days.  "Thank you for showing me all this."

"Happy to."  He bopped her on the arm with a lily.

"But I don't understand what it has to do with justice," she 
said.

"Nothing.  Sometimes it just helps to dig around in the 
dirt." He waggled his eyebrows at her until she laughed.  
"C'mere.  I need some help transferring these seedlings."  
Chris was already rolling up his sleeves, expecting her to 
follow.

"I can't," she protested.  "I'm, um, I'm not good with living 
things."

He grinned and handed her a clump of dirt with a tiny, tender 
green sprout.  "Here," he said.  "Start small."

XxXxXxX

In his black motel room, the clock glowed eight fifty-two -- 
nearly eleven back in DC.  Mulder lay on the bed with his arm 
across his eyes and the phone to his ear.  Two thousand miles 
away in Scully's apartment, hers rang on and on, unanswered.

XxXxX

End chapter six.  


XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter Seven
XxXxXxXxXxXxX

A pair of sedatives got her through the night, but Scully 
awoke on Monday morning with her hair mashed to her cheek and 
eyes that wouldn't quite open.  She made coffee by motor 
memory alone and stumbled to the front door to pick up her 
paper.  She brought it to the kitchen table, where she sat 
with her cup and her uneaten bagel, hoping she could find the 
energy to put on some clothes.  Hot tails of steam rose from 
her coffee as she focused bleary eyes on the headlines.  
President in China.  Bombing in Israel.  Rapist Arraigned 
Today.

The story was beneath the fold, a single column running 
alongside the teasers for the stories in other sections.  
Scully flattened it with her palm and squinted at the tiny 
print.  She was not wearing her glasses.

"St. Joseph's University student Gregory Alan Watts will be 
arraigned in Arlington County Court today on charges of rape 
and assault.  Police are now saying they believe Watts is 
responsible for a vicious series of rapes committed over the 
past year throughout three counties in the greater D.C. area.  
Watts, 20, is thought to be responsible for at least ten 
attacks, including one assault against an agent in the 
Federal Bureau of Investigation."

It continued recapping the crimes.  Savioshy was quoted as 
saying, "Our investigation of Gregory Watts is ongoing."  And 
later:  "We got the guy, all right."

On page sixteen there was a photo, maybe taken on his college 
campus.  Gregory Watts smiled big for the camera.  Scully 
stared at him until a lump rose in her throat.  Number two, 
she thought.  He had been number two in the lineup.

Near the end of the article, there was a quote from Chris 
Clark.  "I think the detectives on this case have done a 
marvelous job.  Watts has been caught.  He will be tried, and 
he will be found guilty. The women of the city can finally 
feel safe again."

In her bathrobe, with her cold hands around a coffee cup, 
Scully considered his words.  She supposed for other women it 
might be true.

XxXxX

Mulder arrived at the office extra early, wearing his 
favorite suit.  A fine layer of dust had settled over 
everything in just the few days they had been gone. Cracking 
the door was like breaking into a mummy's tomb.  Back with 
his files, sitting in his chair, Mulder waited to feel 
comfortable again.  He ran his fingers over the printouts 
from Texas like a blind man reading Braille.  Every few 
seconds he glanced up, hummed a little anxious sound, and 
expected her to come through the door.

He would say nothing first, he decided.  He would wait to see 
how she played it, and he would just follow her lead.  Maybe 
the Scully power of denial could work to his advantage and it 
would be like Nothing Ever Happened.

He jerked upright when her heels sounded in the hallway.  It 
wasn't until he felt the flood of relief that he realized he 
had been worried that she might not show at all.  She stopped 
just inside the door, holding her briefcase in one hand and a 
small, feathery potted plant in the other.  He leaned way 
back in his chair.

"Good morning," he blurted.  "Nice plant." 

"It's an asparagus fern," she replied, moving into the room.  
"I'm hoping not to kill it."

"And you brought it here?" he asked with a smile.  "Where 
even the bugs crawl down to die?"

She stood on tiptoe to set the fern on top of a tall file 
cabinet near the windows. "I thought it might add a little 
color."  Task finished, she dusted off her hands and cocked 
her head at him.  "When did you get back?"

"Late last night."

"I see.  You brought Rentham's files with you?"  Her voice 
was steady but she was still standing ten feet away.

"Yes."  He shifted some around on his desk to illustrate.  
"Most of the data are straightforward, but Rentham kept his 
own handwritten notes in the personnel files.  He used some 
sort of initial code that I can't decipher yet.  I think 
maybe he was trying to find a pattern among the abductions.  
This woman here has a M23SCC-NK next to her name, and the 
numbers 32.3 and 90.2.  This other woman has the same NK, but 
the other letters are different."

Scully inched closer, eyeing the files.  "Do either of them 
have children?"

"Um."  He pawed through to find the appropriate notes.  "No."

"Could stand for 'no kids.'  Like DINKs -- double income, no 
kids."

"Huh."  Mulder shuffled some more papers until he found the 
records Rentham kept on Tina Appleby.  "You may be onto 
something, Scully.  Tina Appleby's code doesn't have the NK 
included."

"What does it say?"

She was close enough now that he could feel her breathing. 
Shoulder-to-shoulder, they stood over the mess of papers 
blanketing his desk.  Mulder moved slowly, as if he might 
frighten her away.  "Uh, Rentham wrote F3C, and the numbers 
29.9 and 95.6."

"We should enter all of them into a computer," she said, not 
looking at him.  "Easier to see a pattern that way."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking."

She touched the photograph of Tina Appleby.  "How is she 
doing?"

"She'll live."  Mulder looked down at the top of her head, 
where her slightly crooked part was the only sign that 
anything was amiss.  "How are you doing?"

Scully nodded to herself.  "I'll live."

Neither of them spoke for a long minute.  "I wasn't sure 
you'd come back," he said at last.

"I wasn't sure either," she answered baldly, and his heart 
stopped.  She met his gaze and held it.

"But--but you did," he pointed out.  She nodded.  Don't ask, 
he thought, but couldn't stop himself.  Mulder always asked 
questions he didn't really want the answers to.  "Why?"

Her shoulders rose and fell with a long breath.  "It turns 
out," she said with some disgust, "that I still believe in 
justice." She scooped up a sheaf of papers, handed them to 
him, and switched on the computer.  "You dictate," she said.  
"I'll enter."

XxXxX

Now that she had his face, the memory changed.  Under the 
mask, she saw his dark, bushy eyebrows, prominent cheekbones, 
and flared nostrils.  She felt his hot breath on her face, 
felt his fingers bite into her skin as he ripped off her 
underwear.  She could see him now, see him doing these 
things, this boy with big hands and charming smile.  

Scully peeled herself from the back of the elevator and began 
walking briskly through the parking garage of the Hoover 
building.  Just as inside, they had stuck her and Mulder as 
far away from everyone else as possible. The strange gray-
green light of the parking lot never changed; like a casino, 
it was always removed from time, neither day nor night.  
Mulder was gone.  So were most people.   Scully picked up her 
pace.

Her car chirped, a sharp, electronic echo that rattled her 
nerves even as she welcomed the familiar sound.  She reached 
the door and yanked it open with trembling fingers.  Tossing 
her briefcase in haphazardly, Scully scrambled in after it 
and yanked the door behind her.  She leaned back and closed 
her eyes as her breathing returned to normal.

The phone rang.  Scully started her car even as she dug out 
the phone to answer it.  She wasn't hanging around in the 
empty lot any longer than necessary.  "Scully," she said.  
Her headlights lit up the grimy wall in front of her.

"Dana, it's Chris."  He sounded more subdued than usual.  "I 
hope I haven't caught you at a bad time."

"I was just heading home."

He sighed.  "I'm sure you know we were in court this 
afternoon with Gregory Watts.  I'm afraid it didn't go as 
expected."

"What?"  Scully halted the car on the exit ramp.  Chris did 
not say anything for a few seconds.  "What happened?" 

"Watts made bail, Dana.  The judge let him go."

XxXxXxX

Mulder threw open all his windows, blinds rattling as the 
restless air swirled inside.  A front was coming through, not 
rain but wind, whipping up the trees and charging the air 
with electricity.  Dressed in black, Mulder paced his living 
room like the famed panther.  He felt the wind moving in him, 
urging him out onto the dark streets below.  He wanted to get 
out, away, to take his anger and run it into the sea.

Mulder grabbed his keys from the end table and yanked open 
his door.  Scully stood in the hall, hugging herself.  
"Scully?  What's going on?"  He reached for her and she 
backed away.  "How long have you been standing here?"

"They let him go, Mulder."

"What?"  All the energy rushed out of him.

"Watts.  He made bail."

"Come in," he said, holding the door for her.  "Tell me."

She brushed past him and went to stand in the middle of his 
breezy living room.  "He knows where I live.  He took my 
wallet with my license and my address, and now he's back on 
the streets."

"You can stay here," he said immediately.  The door slammed 
shut in the wind.

"I don't want to stay here!  I am not the prisoner!  I want 
him gone, in jail, where I don't have to look at him or think 
about him.  God, I am so tired of thinking about him."

Mulder had seen the picture too.  He tried not to think about 
it because when he did, it made him want to hit his fist 
against a wall until it was a bloody pulp.

Scully's voice became rough with emotion.  "It's like he's in 
me, like I can't get away even when I'm asleep.  He has my 
thoughts, my feelings, my whole body tied up inside and it's 
like I can't even breathe."

"Scully..."  He stretched out a hand to her, but she inhaled 
sharply before he could touch her.

"You ever just fuck someone, Mulder?"

"What?"  His heart hurt.

"You know, a one night stand.  You meet someone at a party, 
or a bar, and you just fuck them.  Just sex, no 
consequences."  She stared at him hard, but he could see her 
trying to contain her trembling.

"Um, I guess I found there are always consequences."

"But you've done it," she said steadily.  He answered with a 
short nod.  "And it's just sex. A person doesn't own you just 
because you have sex with them.  It doesn't change your life 
forever."  Her words grew increasingly desperate.

"Scully, he didn't have sex with you.  He raped you."

"I know that!" she cried, covering her face with her hands.  
"Don't you think I know that?  I just... I don't understand 
why it has to be this hard."

He laid a hand on her shoulder, and this time she did not 
pull away.  Hunched and tense, she let him pull her against 
him, her hands still over her face.  He tucked her into his 
empty places. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his chin atop her 
head.

"How could this happen?" she whispered brokenly, and he 
tightened his arms around her.

"Why the hell did they let him go?"

"They never found the items he took:  the jewelry, the 
wallets, the clothes.  Savioshy searched his parents' home 
and they searched his dorm at the university as well.  
Nothing."

"He's got them stashed somewhere.  They just have to keep 
looking."

She nodded, relaxing a little.  She laid her cheek against 
his heart.  "Maybe--maybe now that he's been released, he'll 
lead them to it."

"Sure."  Mulder tried to sound encouraging as he rubbed her 
back.  The wind slapped his blinds against the windows and 
Scully shuddered.  "Cold?"

She shook her head.  "I'm just so tired."

"You should lie down," he said.  "Get some rest."

Her voice quavered moist and hot against his shirt.  "I need 
to go home." 

"But not tonight." She leaned back to look at him and he 
nodded to show he meant it.  His apartment felt chilled 
clean, renewed, ready to offer peace.  The night air tickled 
them both as Scully smoothed her fingers over his breastbone.  

"One night," she whispered, and he tucked a lock of hair 
behind her ear.  "Since I'm already here."

He took her to his bedroom, where he did not even turn on the 
lights.  They undressed by the light of the street lamp 
slanting through his blinds, turning Scully into a 
beautifully curved zebra before his eyes.  She plucked his T-
shirt from the floor where he discarded it and pulled it over 
her head.  He watched in admiration as she slid her bra out 
through one armhole. 

She visited the bathroom while he shook out the sheets, 
lifting them high into the cool summer air.  He climbed in 
and listened to the sounds of Scully moving around in his 
apartment.  The floor creaked a different song for her; the 
tap ran a steady stream rather than the full blast he always 
used. He opened his eyes again when he felt the mattress 
shift under her weight.

Mulder rolled to his side to look at her in black and white.  
"Find everything you need?"

The pillow scratched with her nod.  "Thank you," she said, 
reaching over for his hand.

"For what it's worth," he told her softly, "I didn't think it 
would be this hard either."

Her eyes slid shut as she held his hand between her breasts. 
"One day," she murmured, "it'll be over."

"Yes."  He felt the steady beat of her heart and the tide of 
her breathing against his hand.  Her jaw slackened, mouth 
parting slightly as she found sleep.  He gave her a few tiny 
fingertip caresses before extricating his hand to adjust the 
sheets up over her waist.  

Mulder lay down again so his position mirrored hers.  He 
pretty much dwarfed her, legs stretching far beyond her toes, 
large hairy arm heavy and awkward next to her fine, delicate 
bones.  She nearly disappeared in the hulking shadow of his 
shoulder.

In his whole life, he had never felt so small.

XxX

He woke to shadow puppets around his room, as the wind had 
picked up again, Mother Nature putting on a show across his 
bare walls.  Scully had hunkered down against him, submerged 
completely under the blankets with his arm trapped over her 
head.  It was she who'd awoken him, he realized as she 
twitched again.  Her knee jerked against his crotch.

Mulder sucked in a painful breath and pulled away.  She 
clawed his chest.  "Scully," he said, searching for her under 
the covers.  "Wake up."  She fought him tooth and nail, 
panting like a trapped animal and crying out as he pinned her 
down.  "Wake up!" he said, and her eyes shot open.  He had 
her legs immobilized with his knees and both arms trapped 
above her head.

"Help," she said, her eyes wild.

"It's okay," he told her.  "It's just a dream."

"Mulder?"  She went limp in his grasp and he let her up 
immediately. 

"It's okay now," he said.  "It's all right."  Her whole body 
started to shake, from cold or fright he did not know.  
Mulder gathered her against him again and tucked the covers 
around them.  Her teeth chattered but she was not crying.

"Sorry," she said as she slipped cold arms around his chest.  
He kissed the sweat from her brow.

"Scully," he murmured near her ear. "What do you dream?"
She had never told him everything that had happened that 
night.  What few details he knew he'd gleaned from news 
reports.

"He's on top of me," she said, voice small against his chest, 
"and I can't get up."  Mulder stiffened and clutched her 
tighter.  Details were bad.  He didn't need details.

"Shhh," he said, stroking her back as much to soothe himself 
as to calm her.  "You're safe now.  You okay?  You want some 
water?"

"I'm all right.  I didn't mean to hurt you."  She touched her 
lips to the scratch across his chest.

"It's nothing," he told her as he lifted the damp hair from 
her neck.  "You forget I've been mauled by a beast woman."

She laughed gently into his neck and hugged him close.  
Mulder nuzzled her, extending her smile.  He felt connected 
to her again, as though they had a shared experience among 
all her private pain.  He wanted to taste her, feel her, 
bring her inside all his senses so they would never be 
separate again.

Scully seemed to want the same thing.  She tucked her leg 
between his, cuddling closer.  "Scully," he murmured, filled 
with love.

"Mmm?"

He kissed her forehead and then her check.  She answered with 
a soft sigh that tickled his face.  Her hand crept up and 
combed through his hair over the back of his neck until he 
tingled from head to toe.  He touched his lips to hers 
tentatively, almost an apology for the last time they had 
lain together like this.  She froze for an instant, gripping 
his hair, and he gentled her with kisses until she relaxed 
into the pillow again.  "It's okay," he breathed against her 
mouth.  

"Mulder," she whispered back, stroking the side of his face.  
"You don't have to--"

He kissed her again, mouth soft and persuasive as he reached 
back to run his hand along her naked thigh.  Her leg came up 
and over his, holding him in place.  He hummed to her, 
letting her know it was all right, caressing her with splayed 
fingers until her skin quivered under his hand.

He felt himself expanding, hardening in the cradle of her 
thighs as they kissed.  Scully drew her fingers over the 
bumps of his spine and pulled her mouth from his.  "We 
can't," she said in a tight whisper, even as her hips pressed 
for closer contact.  He stroked her from breast to hip and 
kissed her nose.

"Nothing you don't want."

"No, it's not that.  I--I don't have protection."

"Oh." He settled more fully against her and her lips parted 
at the pressure.  "It's okay, I've got it covered."

Surprise colored her features, and she sounded uncertain. 
"You do?" 

"Yes, after you said we needed it.  I thought just in case--"  
He broke off as she hugged him fiercely.  "What?"

"I'm so glad." 

He held her tightly and pressed his face into her clean-
smelling hair.  "I want you," he told her.  "Always."  She 
nodded but continued to burrow into him, as if she couldn't 
quite speak.  He rubbed her head messily and placed 
occasional kisses on her shoulder, her arm, her temple.  At 
last she squeezed him one final time and brought her face 
back to his.  They kissed lingeringly, limbs and tongues 
sliding together in tandem.  Mulder's toes curled as she 
stroked his ears.

Gently, he worked his hand between their bodies, brushing the 
tender skin of her inner thighs.  She pushed her hips against 
his fingers, sending his hand higher between her legs.  
Mulder watched her face as he touched her, but her expression 
gave nothing away; she had her head thrown back deep in the 
pillow, eyes closed, her breath coming in shallow pants.  
Mulder caressed her softly through her underwear for a minute 
or two before she wriggled away.  She yanked down the 
offending garment and tossed it over the edge of the bed. 

Scully lay back down, still dressed in his T-shirt, with her 
legs spread slightly and her fingers digging into the 
mattress, as though she were bracing herself for some 
unpleasant task.  Mulder hesitated, and when he didn't 
immediately climb back on top of her, Scully tensed visibly.  
"You're stopping?"

"No," he told her.  "No."  He reached up and touched the 
smooth curve of her cheek.  "Not if you don't want."

She shook her head against his hand, and Mulder took a deep 
breath.  The mattress bounced a bit as he moved up the bed 
and stretched his hand to the bedside drawer.  Scully lay 
still as stone beneath him.  He fumbled to get the box open 
one-handed, and the foil packet felt unfamiliar between his 
fingers.

*You can do this* he coached himself even as his erection 
began to fade.  

He peeked down at Scully, who was looking back at him with 
wide, apprehensive eyes.  She hadn't made a move to remove 
his boxers, and he knew it was because she was afraid of what 
she might find if she tried.

"Is it okay?" she asked in a small voice, her gaze skittering 
away from his.  Mulder sagged back down on the bed, palming 
the condom as he rolled to face her.  Scully stared at the 
ceiling.

"Come here," he said, urging her back against him.  She was 
stiff but not resistant, like a life-sized action figure 
fresh from the box.  "Like this," he whispered against her 
face as he ran his fingers through her hair.  Facing her, on 
their sides, he didn't feel so oppressive.  He stroked her 
and kissed her until her arms wound around him again.  Her 
knee rested on his leg, and he welcomed it with slow caresses 
down the back of her thigh.

Scully stroked her fingers along the hollows of his ribs and 
lifted her face for his kiss.  The space between them grew 
warm and close.  His brain fuzzed out again as his dick came 
back on line.  He rubbed against her, felt her sharp intake 
of breath against his face.  "Mulder, now," she whispered to 
his chin.  He kissed her swiftly and pulled away.

His erection bobbed as his underwear joined hers on the 
floor.  Mulder's hands shook, Scully watching while he tried 
to open the slim packet.  He felt about sixteen years old.  
"It's so dark.  I can't see where I'm supposed to tear."

"Let me try."

He heard it rip neatly, her trim little nails getting the job 
done in nothing flat.  Mulder lay facing her again and bit 
his lip.  Scully fingered the opened packet as she stared as 
his penis.  For a moment he thought she might finish the task 
herself.  Wordlessly, she handed him the condom.  She curled 
into a ball and watched him sheathe his cock.

"Okay," he said, trying to sound confident.  He scooted 
closer to her and she put her arms around him, hugging him 
convulsively.  He kissed her neck.  "All right?"  She nodded 
and raised her leg over his hips so he could slip his penis 
between her thighs.  They both jerked at the initial contact.  
"Tell me if this is okay."

"It's okay."  

They held their breath as he eased his way inside her.  Ah, 
Mulder thought, relaxing.  There.  He smiled into her hair 
and nuzzled her affectionately.  Scully started to shake.

"Scully?"  He tried to pull back but she clutched him tight.  
"Scully, what is it?"

She answered with a high, keening sob, and horror flooded 
through him.

"Scully, talk to me.  What is it?"  He brushed sticky hair 
off from her face but she would not let go.  She held him 
inside her with all her strength.

"Don't leave," she choked out between awful sobs.  "Please 
don't leave me."

"No, I'm right here."  He rocked her back and forth, holding 
her as tightly as he could while she seized and shuddered in 
his arms. 

"Please," she said again.  Mulder was helpless against the 
tide, reassuring her with lips and hands that he was real and 
solid and not going anywhere.  His erection softened and 
started to slip out of her, setting off a fresh round of 
wracking tears.

"I'm here, I'm here, Scully."  He repeated the words until he 
was hoarse, until he was crying himself from the sheer force 
of her anguish.  "I'm right here."

But Scully cried on, wrapped around every inch of him, and 
yet somehow unable to hear.

XxXxXxX

End Chapter Seven.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter Eight
XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Pain, Scully remembered the minute she opened her eyes, was 
the one sensation you couldn't sleep through, the reason cuts 
and bruises in dreams never hurt.  The sharp twinges in her 
lower belly woke her just as the sky was lightening outside 
Mulder's window.  Mulder lay on his back next to her, one arm 
flung over his head, still deeply asleep.  She eased from the 
covers without waking him and shivered her way into the 
living room, where she retrieved her purse.

Her pupils contracted in the bright bathroom light.  She set 
the purse on the sink and frowned into the mirror. Shadows 
smudged the tired skin under her eyes; her hair was matted on 
one side and stuck up on the other, and she had wrinkled 
Mulder's T-shirt with her tossing and turning overnight.  
Scully examined this other woman with a clinical, detached 
eye: she looked small and terrorized, a victim.  That woman 
had been raped.  It would never be untrue.

Scully tore her attention from the mirror and fumbled with 
her purse.  The tampon lay at the bottom.  She took it out, 
put it in, cleaned herself up and washed down a pair of 
ibuprofen with Mulder's metallic-tasting water.  She thought 
about how easy it was now to swallow pills and make 
everything go away.

The cold porcelain sink touched her belly.  Scully looked 
down at the hard edge, moved closer to it, watched it press 
deeper and deeper into her flesh until the pain made her gasp 
-- a shocked, breathy sound that flooded the tiny bathroom.  

No VD.  No pregnancy.  That left AIDS still spinning on the 
Russian roulette wheel.  Even as the attack receded into the 
distance, her life was still not her own.  

She splashed water on her face, letting the cold drops 
trickle into her dry eyes.  She combed her hair with short, 
angry strokes.  Mulder's towels hung uneven behind her; his 
razor, his crumpled toothpaste tube, and his toothbrush -- a 
giant spray of bent bristles -- lay on the plastic shelf 
above the sink.  Scully put her own toiletries back in her 
purse.

On her way out, she straightened the towels and turned off 
the lights behind her. 

XxXxX

Mulder awoke on a long inhale, eyes popping open, breath held 
in, as he froze and listened to his shadowed apartment.  He 
didn't have to call her name to know she was gone.  His time 
with Scully was defined as much by her absence as her 
presence, certain stillness that settled within him each time 
she disappeared.

He released, let go, fingers flexing on the cool sheets.  The 
pillow held the shape of her head.  He remembered watching 
her wake up the morning after they had first made love, tense 
and waiting for her to bolt, only to have her smile and 
stroke his cheek.  Then she had hidden her face in the pillow 
and giggled while he'd pinned her down and nibbled at her 
ear.  

This morning he was left with only gray walls and the echo of 
her tears.

Mulder put bare feet to the floor and leaned his head into 
his hands.  He felt cheated, robbed; he wanted to howl like 
an animal.  Scully cried and he wanted to scream, to tear 
down buildings, to show the world what a terrible thing had 
happened.  Aren't you angry?  He wanted to yell at her.  
Don't you want him dead?  Mulder's fingers curled with 
impotent rage.  

Trial was too good for men like Watts, too civilized an 
answer to such a savage crime.  Jungle warfare.  Mulder 
wanted blood.  He wanted to hide in the bushes and watch his 
prey sweat in the summer heat.  Watts would never see it 
coming.  He would turn around and Mulder would be on him with 
a gun, with a knife, with his bare hands ready to rip him 
limb from limb.  This is how it felt, you son of a bitch, 
Mulder would say.  He heard the shot, felt the bones crack in 
his hands, saw the blood running on the ground. 

Justice, merciful and swift.

XxX

He looked up the address not intending to do anything with 
it.  He just wanted to know.  Watts had a name now, and a 
face, but Mulder wasn't satisfied.  He wanted to know where 
he lived, how to get to him.  Just as an insurance policy.  

Eleven Plumtree Lane, the computer spit out; a sweet 
fairytale place with big, white houses and monsters hiding 
inside.  Watts would be there, eating toast and eggs in his 
mother's kitchen like nothing had ever happened.

SUSPECTED RAPIST FREED, Mulder's paper said, though it was 
not front-page news.  They had called his victims to tell 
them.  Who would tell all the other women in the city?

Mulder left the house late with his hair still wet and his 
tie in his hand.  When the car engine roared to life with an 
angry snarl, Mulder jerked the shift into gear.  He cruised 
the streets and watched the cars and people and trees flow 
by; they seemed curiously unreal, computer generated, like he 
could hit a button and make them all snap to black.  His car 
became part of this videogame world, on a track he had to 
follow, where the end was predetermined.  All Mulder could do 
was grip the wheel and hold on tight. 

XxXxX

Arriving late herself, Scully paused and frowned at the 
locked office door.  In seven years of basement-level 
investigation, she'd had to use her X-Files key perhaps four 
times.  Mulder was always there first.

She pushed open the door, flicked on the lights, and stood 
alone at the center of the quiet room.  She looked at the 
disarray on his desk, as she had looked on the tangle of 
bedcovers of his bed earlier that morning.  Heat colored her 
cheeks as she remembered her breakdown and the things she had 
said to him.  Not even when she had been dying had she ever 
begged him like that.  Scully hugged herself.  Surely he must 
fear she was losing her mind.
 
She sniffed twice and took a deep breath.  Mulder wasn't 
here, but the work always was.  She could handle that.  She 
could hold Rentham's files in her hands and enter the cold, 
hard facts of their lives without giving anything more away.  
She could sit in Mulder's chair and wait for him to come wary 
through the door, show him she could hold up her end.

Scully would zig.  Mulder would zag.  He said occult; she 
said occlusion.  This was how it ever was, how it ever shall 
be, world without end.

Because, deep down, they always feared the same thing.

Amen.

XxXxX

Eleven Plumtree Lane was a corner lot, slate gray two-story 
colonial with white shutters and two chimneys.  Mulder parked 
across the street, absently worrying a seed between his teeth 
as he studied his subject.  The house revealed no secrets:  
windows shut, curtains drawn.  Thick green grass coated the 
front yard, probably reborn every spring by someone named 
Pedro, and cheery pink and white petunias lined the front 
path.  The driveway had been redone recently in fresh black 
asphalt.  Either no one was home or the cars were all put 
away in the garage.

The backyard showed a deck with a barbecue.  No swing set, no 
toys; little Greggy was a big boy now.  But Mulder saw the 
remnants of his childhood hidden among the branches of the 
towering old oak:  a tree house, barely visible behind a 
waterfall of thick leaves, perfect for a young voyeur who 
loved to hide and watch.

Mulder stared, almost trance-like, chewing and waiting.  He 
imagined driving his car right through the front door.  He'd 
come for noise, for release; the house just sat in stone 
silence, mocking him.

A sharp rap on his passenger-side window jolted Mulder from 
his stupor.  He turned to see Detective Savioshy peering in 
with an unfriendly frown.  "Agent Mulder," he said as he 
opened the door.  "Mind if I join you?"

Mulder sighed and tossed away a seed.  "I was just leaving."

"That's not what my boys tell me."  The leather seats of the 
Taurus creaked as Savioshy settled his considerable weight 
into a chair used to holding Scully.

"Your boys?"

"They're on mower detail today."  Savioshy pointed two houses 
down where a lawn crew worked in the morning sun.  Upon 
closer inspection, Mulder could see that a couple of the men 
were more interested in the Watts residence than in the house 
in front of them.  "Meyer gave me a call a little bit ago and 
said you looked like you'd settled in for good."

"Meyer should worry about his own job."

"That's good advice," Savioshy agreed readily, and Mulder 
glared at him.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning your office is quite a ways away from here."

Mulder shrugged. "So I took the scenic route in."

"There's nothing for you to see here."  Mulder squinted out 
at the house again, and Savioshy sighed.  "Go home, Agent 
Mulder.  We're handling this, I promise you."

"Are you?" Mulder turned around in his seat again.

"I caught the guy."

"Yeah, and now look where he is."

"I'm not any happier about that than you are," Savioshy shot 
back.  "But it's out of our hands."

Mulder's hands, wrapped around the wheel, felt more than 
capable.  "They let him go," he said slowly, "because the 
prima fascia evidence was not sufficient to support remand.  
The DA makes his case with your evidence, Detective."

"And that's why I'm here," Savioshy replied steadily.  "Why 
are you here?  This is still my case, Mulder.  It's still an 
open investigation, and we will nail this bastard's balls to 
the wall.  I hate like hell that he's out.  As a man, as a 
father, it makes me sick.  But as a detective, I know it 
gives me another shot at him.  He led me to the goods once, 
and just maybe he'll do it again."

"You mean his--"  Mulder choked on the word.  "His trophies."

Savioshy gave a short, grim nod. "The nail in his coffin."

Mulder clenched his hands and looked down at the steering 
wheel.  "Could work," he admitted after a minute.

"Not with your ass parked out front watching the joint, it 
won't."

"Okay, okay.  You've made your point." 
 
The leather groaned and released as Savioshy got out.  He 
leaned back inside the car, half draped over the door.  "Give 
my regards to Agent Scully."

"I don't think it's your regards she's after."

Savioshy's puffy cheeks tightened with a grimace.  He nodded.  
"Just the same, you stay out of this.  The last thing this 
case needs is the two of you deciding to administer a little 
back alley justice."

"Scully doesn't even know I'm here!"

"Yeah.  That's what I'm afraid of."  Savioshy patted Mulder's 
doorframe a few times.  "Good-bye, Agent Mulder.  You have a 
good day at work, okay?"  The car shook when he slammed the 
door shut, shuddering around Mulder.  

He started the engine and idled a moment longer, one last 
look at the house.  The curtain in the top window closed 
quickly, winking at him, and Mulder revved the engine to a 
threatening roar.

You can't hide forever, you sonofabitch, he thought, and the 
tires peeled away.

XxXxX

Scully was so certain it was Mulder on the other end that she 
answered her cell phone without glancing at the caller ID.  
"Mulder, where are you?"

"Dana?"

"Oh, Chris."  Scully deflated a bit in her chair.  She 
pinched the beginnings of a headache between her eyes.  "What 
can I do for you?"

"I'm sorry to bother you at work like this, but we just got a 
court date for the preliminary hearing, and I need to go over 
your statement with you ASAP."

"Now?"  Scully glanced at the wall clock again and wondered 
one more time where the hell Mulder had gone.

"Later today would be fine.  You could drop by after work?"

Scully eyed the precarious stacks of folders on Mulder's 
desk.  She did not really have a time called "after work." 
"Okay," she said.  "I'll be there."

Just as she snapped off her phone, Mulder strolled through 
the door, chewing gum, with his jacket slung over one 
shoulder.  "Hey," he offered.

"Mulder, it's almost noon."

"Is it?"

"Where have you been?"

"The dentist."

No one left the dentist's office chewing gum.  Scully leaned 
back in Mulder's chair and folded her arms.  "Mulder?"

"Hmm?"  He stopped chewing and looked right at her, eyes wide 
and guileless.  Clearly he did not expect her to call him on 
it.  She opened her mouth and shut it again.  "What?" he 
asked.

"I, uh..."  Her pulse went liquid as she accepted the lie; it 
was easier not to know.  She sat forward.  "I finished 
entering the data from Rentham's files."

"Great."  He came around the desk and leaned one arm on the 
chair behind her.  The hair stood up on the back of her neck.  
"Anything jump out at you?"

Scully cleared her throat and tried to focus.  "Not from the 
numbers.  But looking through all these files, Mulder, you've 
got to think Rentham had help gathering the data.  He's got 
over a thousand folders here, and we found only twenty-seven 
people living inside the compound.  Where did he get all this 
other information?"

"We know there are underground networks and sources for 
people who have experienced alien abduction."

"Exactly.  And at this point, I'd say we know them all.  How 
come we'd never heard of this guy before?"

The phone rang and Mulder held up one finger at her.  
"Mulder," he said after he'd palmed the receiver.  "Hi, 
Sheriff.  Yeah, I was just talking about the case with Agent 
Scully now.  Uh-huh.  What?  When?"  He stood up from the 
corner of the desk, and Scully swiveled her chair around so 
she could see his face.  He shook his head at her questioning 
look.  "Yeah, I got that.  What do you mean 'gone'?  Uh-huh.  
What about Tina Appleby -- did you talk to her?  Okay, how 
about the others?"  He listened for a minute and then ran a 
hand through his hair.  "No, I don't know.  Yes.  Yes.  Yeah, 
you do that."  He hung up the phone with a slam.

"What?" Scully asked.

"Jared Rentham's body disappeared from the morgue sometime 
over the weekend.  The ME was backed up, and when he went to 
do the full autopsy this morning he found Rentham was gone."

"Gone," Scully repeated, and Mulder made a disappearing 
"poof" gesture with his hands.

"Just like that.  The Sheriff says Tina Appleby is missing, 
too.  All the members of Rentham's compound have apparently 
vanished into thin air."

"Mulder, that's -- What is the Sheriff thinking, that the 
members of Rentham's group somehow absconded with the body?"

"Don't know.  Security cameras were no help, but the Sheriff 
is going to send us a copy anyway.  In the meantime, no one 
saw anything; no one knows anything."

Scully flipped open the closest file and let it fall shut 
again.  "So it's back to Texas?"

"Maybe."  He did not sound any more enthused about the 
prospect.  "I get the feeling the Sheriff won't be making 
this case his top priority.  As far as they're concerned, the 
investigation is over.  The cult has disbanded, Rentham is 
dead, and his killer is locked away in jail."

"Without a body, Chet Appleby's trial might be more 
difficult."

"Sheriff isn't too worried," Mulder informed her darkly.  
"Apparently they've got two federal agents as witnesses to 
the murder."

Scully lifted her eyebrows in answer and tossed her pen onto 
the desk.  "Mulder," she said, staring at the reams of files 
in front of her.  "*Have* we ever run across Rentham before?"

"In person?  No way."

"Maybe just a photo?"

Mulder looked thoughtful.  "I don't think so.  Bony head, 
large eyes -- I think would have remembered this guy, 
wouldn't you?"

"I guess."

"What, you know him?"  She had his full attention now.  He 
locked eyes with her as she searched her memory one more 
time.  Rentham's thin nose.  Rentham's cool hand on hers.  
His calm, deadened voice.

"No," she said abruptly.  "Of course not."

"You know," Mulder said as he moved some files aside so he 
could sit near her on the desk.  "I think you might be onto 
something, Scully.  Rentham is the place to start, not Texas.  
Why take the body?  It doesn't help Chet."

Scully sighed.  "Maybe the members of Sanctuary House got 
tired of waiting to bury him."

"Maybe.  Or maybe someone didn't want that autopsy done."

"Why?" Scully spread her hands.  "Like you said, Mulder, 
there isn't any dispute about the cause of death in this 
case."

"It isn't Rentham's death I'm interested in," he said, 
getting to his feet again.  "It's his life."

Scully protested as he pushed between her and the computer.  
"Jared Rentham was a failed fortune teller from New Orleans."

"And what else?  That's the question."  Mulder started 
typing, hunting and pecking around his tie as he leaned down 
over the keyboard.  A minute later, he tilted the screen so 
she could see it.  "Check it out, Scully: Jared Rentham was 
seventy-one years old."

"So he's Dick Clark."  Scully rubbed her temples again.  "So 
what?"

Mulder hit some more keys.  "Make that Dr. Rentham," he said.  
"He graduated from Harvard medical school in 1956."

"License?" Scully asked, putting her hands down.

"None.  Doesn't look like he practiced anywhere."

"So what did he do for almost fifty years?  Shuffle Tarot 
cards?"

"I don't know," Mulder said as he straightened again.  "But I 
think we should head to New Orleans and check it out."  He 
reached for the phone.  "Skinner will sign off, no question -
- we can be down there before sunset."

"Mulder, wait."  He halted in mid-dial. "I can't."

"Scully, I know we haven't agreed on certain aspects of this 
case, but--"

"Preliminary hearings start next week.  Chris needs me to go 
over my statement."

"Chris?"

"ADA Clark.

"Oh."  The phone hung limp in his hand.  "Of course you can't 
go, then."  Sitting behind stacks and stacks of possible 
victims, Scully felt guilt hiss out of her like air from a 
punctured tire.

"Maybe I can reschedule."

"No, Scully.  No."  The tenderness in his voice clawed at 
her.  For seven years, Mulder had marched them all over the 
globe with never a backward glance to make sure she was 
following.  Melissa had died.  Her father.  Scully had not 
missed a moment of work.  To put herself first now, after 
everything, and for Mulder to let that happen... "We'll both 
go tomorrow," he said, putting the phone aside.  "That's soon 
enough.  Today we can just chase it down from here."

"Mulder, no."  She stood up.  "You go now and I'll just catch 
a later flight.  It's not a problem."

He shrugged and started sorting through the folders again.  
"So we both go later.  There's plenty of work to do here."

"And I'll do it.  You go on ahead."

He looked up, meeting her gaze for a second.  "Scully," he 
said softly, shaking his head.  "I can't."

It was the same aching tone he had used the night before, 
when she had clung to him, choking on her own life, when she 
had cried and crumbled and... begged him not to leave her.  
The lump in her throat sprung up again as her fingers curled 
around the back of the chair.  "Mulder," she began.

"It's one night," he said to the floor.

"And then one night becomes two, becomes ten.  Where does it 
stop?"

"He's out there, Scully.  You said it yourself."

"Yes, and that's exactly where I want to leave him.  Out 
there, away from me.  If I let him in here, let him affect my 
work, let him affect *your* work -- then, Mulder -- he's 
never going away."

Mulder's mouth twitched downward.  "What if he walks, have 
you thought about that?"

"What if he does?" she parroted back.

"You're saying you wouldn't care?"

"Of course I'd care!  But that's not the issue."

"I think it is.  I think until they get this animal off the 
streets, in a cage where he belongs, you can't be too 
careful."

"Mulder-"

"You know what he's thinking now, Scully?  Because I do."  He 
slapped the folders down viciously.  "I've lived inside a 
dozen others like him, and let me tell you, the view from in 
there is one you don't forget.  Watts isn't sorry for you.  
He *hates* you."

"I--I know that," she whispered.

"No."  Mulder shook his head resolutely.  "You don't know. He 
hates you, Scully, hates you and all the others for bringing 
the law down on him and tearing apart his perfect little 
life.  He's thinking maybe if he'd killed you, things would 
be better for him right now.  And he's restless.  He hasn't 
been able to prowl the way he likes, hasn't found release.  
He's stuck in his momma's house with the white lace curtains 
and no new victims and he's been reliving his old conquests."

"Mulder, please."

"No!"  He hit the desk with his fist, making her jump.  "You 
need to hear this, Scully.  You need to know so you can 
protect yourself."  But he wouldn't look at her.

"I can protect myself!"

"No, apparently you can't!"  

She stiffened as if struck, and so did he, horror spreading 
over his features as they stared at one another.  His mouth 
opened and closed several times.  "Scully, I didn't mean--" 
he started, but she held up both hands.

"Don't."

"I didn't mean it."

He'd ripped the band-aid off her giant wound. "Yes, you did," 
she replied, smarting over every inch of her skin.  

"No, not like that.  I'm sorry.  I--I just don't want 
anything to happen to you."

"Well, it's too late for that, now, isn't it."  He had no 
good answer to that one, and so he remained silent.  She 
shuddered, defeated.  "Go to New Orleans, Mulder.  Please, 
just go."

He nodded slowly, gathering his jacket and things like a 
shell-shocked solider.  Scully did not move a muscle as he 
walked with heavy steps towards the door.  He halted at the 
frame, half-turning over his shoulder.  "I'm sorry," he said.  
"I can't stop hating him for this."

Scully said nothing, letting him go even as her eyes grew hot 
and liquid.  She looked up at the ceiling, vision blurred, 
and listened to the sound of his footsteps fade down the 
hall.

XxXxX

At five, Scully arrived at Chris's office just as the 
secretary was leaving for the day.  "Have a seat," the woman 
told her with a kind smile.  "He's just finishing up another 
meeting right now, but he should be right with you."

The waiting area boasted a coffee machine, a bright sunny 
window, a green leather couch and two wingback chairs with a 
table of magazines between them.  Scully selected one of the 
chairs and a three-week old issue of Time, which she set on 
her lap but did not read.  She left smudgy fingerprints all 
along the shiny blue cover as the minutes ticked past in 
total silence.  At last, she heard a door open down the hall 
and Chris Clark's baritone echoed off the walls.

"My nephew did the same thing when he was four," he was 
saying.  "My sister didn't find the frog until she went to do 
the laundry."

A woman's laugh answered, and a moment later both she and 
Chris entered the waiting area.  "Dana, hi," Chris said.  
"Thank you for coming down."

Scully nodded in reply.  She hung back, waiting for the woman 
to leave, but Chris jerked his head to indicate she should 
join them.  Scully smoothed her skirt and crossed the room.

"Dana Scully, this is Gloria Raymond."

Scully hesitated.  There was only one reason to introduce 
them.  She forced herself to look at this other woman, who 
smiled and extended her hand.  She gave Scully's hand a hard 
shake.  "Hi," she said.  "Call me Glory."

"Glory," Scully repeated.  "It's nice to meet you."  Maybe it 
was Chris's gardening influence, but the name Glory made 
Scully think of morning glories.  The woman vaguely resembled 
a flower, too, with wisps of teased blond hair flowing out 
from around her face and bright cherry lips in the center.

"Chris said it's just us two so far," Glory remarked.  
"Everyone else is still scared.  Me, I did a dance in my 
kitchen when I heard they caught him.  I say bring it on, and 
let's fry the bastard."

"Not likely," Chris cautioned.  "Think prison -- for a good 
long time."

Glory shrugged.  "That works.  I've heard what they do to 
guys in prison, and it couldn't happen to a nicer fella." She 
looked Scully from head to toe.  "Killer shoes," she said.  
"'Course they would do me in but good, seeing as how I stand 
on my feet eight hours at a time.  You work in the city?"

"Uh, yes.  I do."

"Me too!  Willoughby's restaurant on Sixth Street.  If you're 
ever in the neighborhood, stop by and say hi.  Dinner's on 
the house."

"Thank you," Scully managed.  "I'll keep that in mind."

"I mean it."  Glory grabbed her hand again and squeezed.  
Scully tensed at the unexpected touch, pasting on a smile.  
"We've got to stick together through this, right?"

"Right."  Glory searched her face, as if trying to determine 
whether Scully truly felt the solidarity, and her expression 
softened.

"We'll be okay," Glory said firmly, backing it up with a 
short nod.  "You'll see."

Speechless, Scully nodded with her.  Chris put an arm to 
Glory's back.  "Thanks for your help today.  I really 
appreciate it."

"No problem.  I'd best be picking up the kids now.  Call me 
if anything changes, okay?"

"You know I will."

"Good luck," Glory told Scully.  "I'm sure I'll see you again 
soon."  She grinned and waved as she left.  Scully lifted her 
eyebrows and waved back.

"Wow," she said when the other woman had gone.  "She's, um, 
quite something."

"I call her 'Hurricane Gloria'," Chris said.  "She's been 
just absolutely terrific about everything since day one."

"Have you known her long?" Scully asked as they walked the 
hall to his office.  Chris understood the real question 
immediately.

"Glory was attacked last summer," he said.  "She's been 
waiting a long time for this day to get here."  He opened his 
office door and let her enter first.  "Welcome to the den of 
entropy."

His office held a large desk with a computer monitor on it, 
which was decorated with a dozen post-it notes.  Stacks of 
papers spread across the rest of the surface.  Behind, there 
were floor-to-ceiling bookcases, with books flopping over 
every which way.  There were two low-back metal armchairs in 
front of the desk, and a small couch in the corner.  Chris 
steered her towards the couch.

"I expected more greenery in here," Scully said as she sank 
into the leather.

"I wish.  This room gets so little light that only my rubber 
plant has thrived." Chris nodded at the five-foot potted 
plant with the large shiny leaves.  "He's straight out of a 
Steven Segal movie."

Scully gave him a questioning look.

"Hard to kill."

"Ah."  Another time, she might have smiled at the joke.  
Instead she just leaned back against the cushions and rubbed 
her eyes.

"Hard day?" Chris asked as he sat next to her.

"You could say that."  

"I have just the cure," he said, and she rolled her head to 
look at him.

"I'm not really up for more gardening."

His knees cracked as he rose.  "I'm thinking malt, not 
mulch."  He went to a cabinet near the desk and withdrew a 
bottle of scotch.  "Clock says it's officially after hours," 
he said.  "What do you say?"

She nodded and he poured them each a glass.  He returned with 
the liquor in hand and a yellow legal pad tucked under his 
arm.  Scully sipped as he repositioned himself next to her on 
the couch.  "It's good," she said, letting the warm fire 
trickle down her throat.

"Dad gave me the bottle when I graduated law school."

"Mmm."  Scully leaned her head back again, cradling the drink 
on her thigh.  "That's nice.  For graduation, my father gave 
me the cold shoulder."

"You went to law school?" he asked, curious, and she snorted.

"Med school."

"You're kidding.  And he wasn't over the moon?"

"Oh, no.  The doctor part was just fine; it was the FBI he 
couldn't stand."  She stared at the particleboard ceiling.  
"Some days I can't stand it either."

"What was his beef with the FBI?"

Scully gave a short, dark laugh.  "Too dangerous.  I might 
get hurt!"  She glanced at Chris to see if he was 
appreciating the irony, but he just looked uncomfortable.  
Scully took a liberal swallow of the expensive booze before 
sitting up.  "Listen," she said, "I've got an eleven p.m. 
flight to New Orleans, so let's just do what we have to do 
and get out of here, okay?"

Chris set the pad down and folded his hands.  "I'm sorry 
you've had such a tough day.  We can do this tomorrow or 
Thursday if that would be easier."

She shook her head and drank some more.  "I'm here," she 
said.  "What do you need?"

He produced a folder very similar to the ones she had been 
sifting through all day on Mulder's desk.  This one had her 
name typed neatly on the label.  "I have a copy of your 
statement to the police.  I'd like to go over it with you now 
and make sure there isn't anything you left out, or anything 
you might have remembered in the meantime."

"Fine," she said wearily, and Chris picked up the pen.  For 
nearly an hour they went over the details of what she had 
said, and he explained to her the next few steps.

"The earliest we'd be at trial would be August, but Bellamy 
will probably delay as much as possible.  September or 
October is more likely."

Heavy with alcohol, Scully took a minute to process.  Months 
away, she concluded with a sigh.  She stretched out and put 
the glass on the coffee table.  "Will I have to testify?"

"I'd say it's likely.  We are proceeding on all counts right 
now, even without the victims' testimony, but the case is 
definitely stronger with your input."

"My input," Scully repeated dully.  "Right."

Chris leaned back next to her, shifting the weight of the 
sofa so that their shoulders touched.  "I know it's hard," he 
said gently.  "You're doing great so far."

She nodded without looking at him.  "Mulder thinks," she 
said, taking a deep breath, "that it will all be over when 
Watts goes to prison."

"What do you think?"

She shrugged.  "For him, maybe it will be."  

Chris's voice was soft near her ear.  "What about for you?"

Her shoulder rose and fell again, and she focused on her 
hands.  "For me, it is over.  It happened.  It's done.  
Everything else is just...details."

He appeared to think about this for a minute.  "I can see 
that, I guess, if I squint real hard.  I spend my life on 
those details."

"Well, that's the difference between you and me," she told 
him as she sat up.  "I refuse to spend my life there."

XxXxXxX

The scotch wore off before she even reached Reagan National, 
so Scully had another drink in the dark airport bar.  She 
wore her work suit buttoned and her leave-me-the-fuck-alone 
expression, and the rogue businessmen kept right on moving.  
When her phone rang, she fished it out and stared at the 
glowing little screen.

Mulder.

She snapped it on just before the voicemail would have kicked 
in.  "What?" she demanded.

"Forget New Orleans, Scully," he told her, sounding as hollow 
as she felt.  "The Sheriff just called from Texas.  Tina 
Appleby is dead."

XxXxXxXxX 

End Chapter Eight.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter Nine
XxXxXxXxXxXxX


They stationed a uniformed cop outside the autopsy bay while 
Scully examined Tina Appleby's body.  "Sorry, Ma'am," the 
young man said when Scully told him that his presence was not 
required.  "But it's after hours and they had a body go 
missing earlier this week.  I've got to keep an eye on 
things."

Yes, Scully thought, because I am likely to smuggle out a 
corpse for recreational use.

She slipped on some scrubs, tied her hair back, and went to 
work.  Face up and nude on the exam table, Tina Appleby 
appeared denser, flatter, with tangled hair and colorless 
lips.  Scully noted stretch marks on Tina's belly as she 
snapped the first pictures, and a jagged scar across her left 
knee.  Under "cause of death," the local corner had written: 
drowning.  Tina had been found in the creek behind Rudy 
Hartman's farm, just a hundred yards away from the spot she 
claimed the aliens had first found her.

Scully documented some bruising on Tina's shins and her right 
cheek.  Her fingernails had been eaten down to the quick, but 
Tina May Appleby wore glittery red nail polish on each of her 
ten toes.  Scully remembered twelve year-old Melissa shutting 
their bedroom door and triumphantly revealing a bottle of 
nail color their father would have called, "Hooker Red."  
"He'll kill us," she'd told Melissa breathlessly, even as her 
sister twisted the cap off with glee.

"We'll do our feet, silly.  Dad will never know."

They had huddled in the closet to do the application, Melissa 
shaky but Dana's hand steady under pressure even then.  All 
week at school, Melissa had traded her shoes for sandals once 
they'd cleared the house, but Scully had kept her illicit 
feet hidden under thick socks and tennis shoes, wiggling her 
toes in secret while Mrs. Teleman droned on about fractions.

Scully stared at Tina's naked feet, camera still in her limp 
grasp, and felt a tinge of sympathy she had not managed for 
the woman in life.  She finished the photographs and began 
careful external study of the body.  "Probable proximal cause 
of death," the corner had noted, "alcohol."

He had smelled it, and so did Scully.  Blood tests would no 
doubt confirm that Tina Appleby had consumed an unhealthy 
amount of alcohol before she'd died.  Thus far, Scully saw 
nothing to indicate Tina's death was anything other than an 
unfortunate accident.  She rolled the woman over on her side 
to get a good look at her back.  No abrasions, no broken 
skin.

Scully was about to roll her over again when something made 
her stop. *Even the smallest ant can destroy the dam.*

Scully left Tina slumped on her side and moved so that she 
could get at the woman's neck.  Her own breathing echoed in 
her ears as she lifted Tina's heavy mess of hair aside and 
exposed the tiny scar at Tina's nape.

Biting her lip, Scully prodded at the wound with one gloved 
finger.  The chip was still there, just under the skin.  
Maybe Tina hadn't known of its existence?  But Jared Rentham, 
psychic from the stars, he would have known.  Wouldn't he?

XxXxX

Mulder had creek mud caking his shoes and mosquito bites the 
size of walnuts on his arms.  He was still wearing 
yesterday's suit when he went to visit Chet Appleby in 
prison.  Appleby had shrunk a size in just one week, all the 
fight drained out of him, and he picked up the phone slowly 
to speak with Mulder on the other side of the glass.

"Why have you come here?"

"They told you about Tina?" Mulder asked.  Chet closed his 
eyes.

"I gave up my life and it still wasn't enough.  That...animal 
had to come out from the grave and snatch Tina just one more 
time."  He shook his head sadly.  "I should have done it 
months ago.  Maybe then she'd still be alive."

"What makes you think Jared Rentham had anything to do with 
Tina's death?" Mulder asked, and Chet leveled him with a flat 
look.

"They told me where they found her, back of the old Hartman 
place.  Tina'd given up on that cock-and-bull story about the 
abduction until Rentham got ahold of her.  He dragged her 
back to that farm sure enough as if he'd put a gun to her 
head."

"Rentham wasn't the one with the gun," Mulder couldn't resist 
pointing out, still angry at being used.  "You were."

"If it were your sister, you'd have done the same thing." 
Appleby pushed his glasses up on his nose.

Mulder heard the shot again, saw Rentham crumpled on the 
ground.  He shook off the image and stared at the pale face 
on the other side of the barrier.  "Someone stole the body," 
Mulder said into his phone.  "Did you hear?"

"Figures," Appleby replied with disgust.  He squinted at 
Mulder. "Any suspects?"

"I came to ask you about that."

"Hell if I know.  Ask those cult members of his."

"No one can find them.  It seems they all left town."  Mulder 
watched Appleby's reaction, but the other man didn't blink.

"Or maybe they're all dead, like Tina."

"Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Tina?"

"Besides the man who ruined her life?  No."

"Well, I think you pretty much crossed Rentham off the 
suspect list," Mulder said, and Appleby gave a tense shrug.  
Something about the way his gaze dropped made Mulder ask, 
"What's that supposed to mean?"

"They haven't got a body now, have they?"

Mulder sat forward.  "You think he's alive?"

Appleby leaned forward too.  "Mr. Mulder," he said very 
seriously, "you can't shoot the devil and expect him just to 
disappear."

XxXxXxX

The muggy night air clung like thick perfume.  Mulder wiped 
the sweat from his collarbone with a handkerchief as he 
checked in at the fleabag motel.  "Room thirteen," the man 
told him.  "Right next to the lady agent."

Mulder accepted the big plastic key chain with a weary nod 
and trudged out into the damp heat again.  With the bugs and 
the humidity and the dead bodies, Hell had come to Earth and 
parked its trailer square on Texas.  Mulder calculated the 
sole advantage:  they were over one thousand miles away from 
Washington D.C. and Gregory Watts.

He halted, key dangling in his hand, and stared at the row of 
doors.  Was Scully in room twelve or fourteen?  The light in 
twelve was on so he decided to take a chance.

Scully answered without a word.  He hadn't seen her since 
their blowup in the office, and he wasn't quite sure what to 
say to her now.  Sorry would just be a lie.  

She stared up at him, unsmiling, and then went back and laid 
on the bed.  Her air conditioner was going full-blast.  
Mulder took the fact that she did not slam the door in his 
face as a sign to come in, and shut the door behind him.

"Don't get too comfortable," Scully said, eyes closed, and 
Mulder halted with his ass hovering just above the armchair.  
"We're not staying."

"What do you mean?"

She sighed and opened her eyes to look at him.  "Tina Appleby 
drowned, Mulder.  Natural causes.  There is nothing more to 
investigate here."

Mulder sat.  "I talked to Chet Appleby tonight."

"And?"

"He seems to think Jared Rentham might be alive."

Scully raised herself up to glare at him.  "Don't tell me 
you're actually entertaining this fantasy."  Mulder said 
nothing.  "Mulder, Rentham is dead.  You and I both saw him 
take a bullet to the head, and I ended up wearing his brains 
all over my shirt."

"That's right," Mulder said, becoming more animated.  "You 
did."

Scully looked wary at his excitement.  "What?"

"Done your dry cleaning yet, Scully?"

"Mulder--"

"The body disappeared before anyone ran tests."

"Body," Scully said, swinging her legs over the bed.  "So we 
both agree what we're dealing with here, right?"

Mulder rubbed his eyes.  "I don't know what we're dealing 
with.  That's why I want to run the tests.  Something has 
been off about this case from the beginning.  I think when we 
figure out what Jared Rentham was really doing at Sanctuary 
House, we might have a chance at understanding what the hell 
is going on here."

"Did you find out anything in New Orleans?"

"Yeah," Mulder said into his hands.  He slouched backwards 
with a sigh.  "Jared Rentham was a lousy fortune teller.  He 
could barely make his rent."

"Mulder."  Scully's voice was soft, sad.  He looked at her.  
"Let's just go home."

The resignation in her tone scared him. "Scully, about 
yesterday--"

She stood up abruptly, cutting him off.  "You know, you've 
never asked me about that night," she said as she walked to 
the dresser.  "Not once."

"I didn't think you wanted me to ask."

She looked back at him in the mirror, removing one of her 
earrings.  "Here's your chance, Mulder."

He thought for a long, silent minute.  "I don't know what to 
say."

"How about the question you've been wanting to ask all this 
time?"

He shook his head faintly.

"Come on," she goaded.  She put both hands on the dresser and 
narrowed her eyes at him in the mirror.  "Ask it.  I know you 
want to.  I've seen it on your face."

"You tell me, then," he replied quietly.  

"I want to hear you say it."

Mulder shifted.  "You're going to have to tell me first 
because I don't know what you want me to say."

"How did this happen?" she said, whirling.  Mulder's throat 
went dry.  "That's it, isn't it?  That's what you want to 
know?"

"Things happen."  His voice came out hoarse.

"Not like this," she said, advancing on him.  "Not to me.  I 
carry a gun.  I enforce the law.  I've had the same hand-to-
hand combat training that you've had."

"You weren't carrying," he said, avoiding her eyes as he 
offered up the excuse.  He'd said it to himself a million 
times already.

"No, I wasn't.  I was alone and unarmed and I just let him do 
it to me.  That's what you think, isn't it?"

Her words started the movie in his head again:  Scully on the 
parking lot pavement.  Watts sweating on top of her.  

Mulder squeezed his eyes shut to make the picture go away.

"Scully," he said.  "What do you want from me?"

"The truth!"

Mulder lurched to his feet.  "I don't know the truth!  I 
don't know anything, Scully.  You're up, you're down, and I 
don't have one fucking clue what to say anymore.  I want to 
help.  I do."  She shook her head, denying him.  "Yes," he 
told her fiercely.  "I do, Scully, but I feel like I just get 
it wrong every single time I open my mouth.  I can't feel sad 
for you.  I can't feel angry for you."

"I don't want you to feel anything for me!"

Mulder shut up.  Her fury didn't fire him the way it usually 
did.  He didn't have the energy to fight.  "It's too late for 
that," he told her softly.  

She wrapped her arms around her chest and her eyes grew 
watery.  "What do you want from me, Mulder?  Maybe that's the 
real question."

"I want--"  He swallowed.  "I want what you want."

"And what is that?"

"For things to be okay again."

"For *me* to be okay again."

He wasn't sure whether he was supposed to agree with that or 
not.  "I love you," he said, but it felt like a guilty 
confession, like he'd been caught stealing cookies before 
dinner.

"You hate him," she said.  "You hate what happened."

"Yes."

"And that's what I feel.  When you look at me, when you touch 
me, that's what I feel."

Mulder looked down at his hands, suddenly poison. "I don't 
hate you, Scully."

"No."  She hugged herself tighter.  "But maybe it's close 
enough."


XxXxXxX

Back on his home turf, Mulder puttered around the office and 
ignored the clock on the wall.  Scully had not been in yet 
that morning, and it was nearly noon.  Mulder hoped 
Savioshy's men hadn't run out of yard work to do in Watt's 
neighborhood.

When the phone rang, Mulder lunged to answer it.  "Mulder," 
he said, half leaning over his desk, expectant.

"Agent Mulder?" came the unfamiliar voice on the other end.  
"This is Chris Clark from the DA's office.  I'm trying to 
reach Agent Scully."

"Oh."  Mulder glanced around again, as if he might have 
somehow overlooked her in the room.  "She's not here at the 
moment."

"I tried her cell number and got no reply.  Do you know how I 
might get in touch with her?"

Mulder figured her phone was off for his benefit.  "Uh, no, I 
don't know where she is right now, but I can take a message 
if you want."  Even if Scully wasn't going to clue him in on 
what was happening with the case, maybe ADA Clark had looser 
lips.  But no.

"Just tell her I called."

"About the case?"

"She can reach me at the office for the next few hours.  
Thanks."

He hung up before Mulder could say anything further.  Mulder 
stared at the receiver a moment, dial tone still buzzing, and 
wondered what the newest development was.  The case had 
dropped from the papers over the last few days, but at least 
there had not been any new attacks.  Savioshy must be doing 
something right.  Mulder shook his head and replaced the 
phone.

He noticed Scully's fern drooping on top of the file cabinet, 
so he lifted it down to water it.  The green wisps tickled 
his hand as the plant hungrily absorbed its drink.   Watching 
it, Mulder forgot the door, and thus startled when Scully 
breezed through a minute later carrying her briefcase and 
what looked like a rolled up poster.  Mulder feared she had a 
new motto to paste over "I want to believe."

She stopped, eyeing him with the plant, but did not demand 
that he unhand her foliage. "It needed water," he explained 
for want of something better to say.  Scully shrugged and 
took the giant piece of paper over to her table.

"I solved part of Rentham's code," she said.

"Really?"  Curiosity overcame awkwardness and he joined her 
at the table as she spread out the poster she had brought; it 
turned out to be a US map.

"Part of the numbers denote longitude and latitude," she 
explained.  "The coordinates appear roughly to correspond 
with the locations of the reported abductions.  I marked as 
many as I could."

"That's where you've been this morning?"

She nodded, not really looking at him.  "The files on your 
desk haven't been added yet, of course.  I can do that this 
afternoon."

Just then, he remembered the phone call.  "ADA Clark called 
here looking for you a little while ago," Mulder said.  "He 
mentioned he tried your cell."

Scully's cheeks colored.  "Did he say what he wanted?" she 
asked as she fussed with the map.

"No.  I assume it's about your case."  He waited for her to 
seize the opening, but Scully merely pulled out her cell 
phone and dialed.  Mulder couldn't help noticing that she 
already knew the number.  She turned her back to him, 
wandering over to the window to make her call.

"Hi, Chris?  It's Dana Scully," he heard her say.   There was 
a pause as she listened.  "Oh.  Sure, that's possible.  How 
soon do you... Yes, I can be there this afternoon.  See you 
then."  She snapped off the phone and turned to Mulder with a 
deep breath.

"Got to run?" he asked, still lingering by her map.

"Shouldn't take long."  She began gathering her things as if 
she were alone in the room.  Mulder hung back, tongue large 
and useless in his mouth.

"Scully," he began, and she looked up at him, a casual, 
careless glance.  I don't care what you think of me, the look 
said.  Go to hell.

"Hmm?"

"I just want you to know I think it's great that you're doing 
this."

"So glad to have your approval."  She hefted her briefcase 
and started out.

"No," he said, blocking her path.  "I mean, it must be hard, 
putting yourself out there for a trial like this."

She stopped and gave a half-shrug. "Anyone in my situation 
would."

He encircled her wrist with his hand.  "No, Scully," he told 
her in a low voice.  "Most wouldn't."

She looked down at where he held her, his thumb running 
lightly over the band of skin beneath the cuff.  When she 
raised her head, her expression had softened into a small, 
wistful smile.  "I've got to go," she whispered.

"Yeah."  He squeezed her.  "But hurry back."

XxXxXxX

During work hours, Chris Clark's office building was crammed 
with people.  They answered ringing phones.  They pushed past 
Scully in the hall.  One man was yelling, "I sent it to him 
last week!"  In the waiting room, there was standing room 
only, and a toddler was ripping pages from a magazine in the 
middle of the pandemonium.

"I'm here to see Chris Clark," Scully said, and the secretary 
on the phone waved her away.  Scully sized up the waiting 
area, trying to imagine where she could fit, but Chris 
appeared from down the hallway.

"Dana, thanks for coming over so quickly.  The place is a 
total zoo right now, I know.  Come on down to my office where 
we can talk."

He shut out the noise with his heavy door and gestured for 
her to sit again on the small sofa.  Unlike their previous 
meeting, he seemed tense and harried.  "Ignore that," he said 
grimly when his phone rang.  But neither of them could speak 
over the repeated trills.  Chris made an annoyed huff and 
went to his desk to shut up the phone.  "Voice mail will get 
it."

The leather creaked as Scully shifted uncomfortably.  "If 
this is a bad time..."

"No, no," he replied in a rush as he returned to the seating 
area.  He pulled over one of the arm chairs with him, taking 
his seat in that instead of on the couch next to her.  "I'm 
glad you're here.  Today has just been crazy busy." He forced 
a smile at her, which she awkwardly returned.

"Okay," she said, taking a breath.  "What's going on?"

He thinned his lips, hesitating.  "The motion to separate was 
successful," he said at last.  "Bellamy is going to make us 
try Watts on each count individually."

"That will take some time."

"Yes."  He hesitated again.  "But that's not all.  You 
remember how I indicated to you that we don't have the same 
amount of evidence against him for each attack?"  He waited 
for Scully's nod.  "The judge ruled that the M.O. Watts used 
is not unique enough to tie the cases together, especially 
since the detectives did not find the stolen items in Watts' 
possession.  That means we can't use evidence from one attack 
as evidence in another.  Without that connection, we simply 
don't have enough evidence to pursue some of the cases 
individually."

Her heart slammed against her ribs, making her jerk in her 
seat.  "Meaning?" she asked, though she could have guessed 
the answer from his face.

"We can't prosecute your case at this time," he told her 
softly.  "I'm sorry."

"But the rape kit--"

"Says that you were raped.  No one is denying that.  But 
there was no semen found and no hairs -- nothing that would 
conclusively prove that Gregory Watts was your attacker." 

Scully sat stone-still.  Her voice was little more than a 
whisper.  "So he gets away with it?"

"No."  Emphatic, Chris sat forward in his chair.  "No, I 
promise you that is not going to happen.  We have matching 
semen samples in two of the cases and hair from three others.  
Watts will be prosecuted, and he will go to prison."

"But not for me."

"No," he admitted with some reluctance.  "I'm sorry."

Scully nodded, feeling the ice begin to crack beneath her.  
She blinked rapidly and stood up.  "So we're done here, then.  
I won't take up any more of your time."

"Dana, please."  He stood up as well, blocking her path to 
the door.  "We can talk about this."

"Can we?"  She fixed him with a hard stare.  "Can I sit here 
and tell you every horrible, degrading detail again?  Is that 
going to change everything?"

"I don't blame you for being angry."

"I'm not angry.  I'm merely--"  She swallowed with 
difficulty.  "Disappointed."

Chris's face fell.  "It's not totally over," he said.  "If we 
get new evidence..."

"Please spare me the Hail Mary pep talk.  I've seen this play 
out a hundred times before, and so have you.  We both know 
the ending."

"He will pay," Chris said as Scully pushed past him.  "Dana--
"  She stopped with her hand on the knob.

"I'll be sure to read about it in the papers," she said, and 
opened the door back into chaos and confusion.

XxX

Mulder tacked her map to the wall of the office.  Where 
Scully had made delicate pencil marks to indicate the 
location of each alleged abduction, Mulder thrust in a 
pushpin.  Scully only hypothesized; he committed.  He marked 
off the Xs corresponding to the people who had lived inside 
Sanctuary House with red pins, and for the others he used 
blue.  The reds formed a narrow band across the southern 
United States.

"Hey, Scully," he said as she returned.  "Check this out.  It 
looks like Rentham was targeting abductees from a particular 
area."

"Great," she answered dully, not even bothering to look at 
his work.  She walked to her table and lowered herself into 
the high-backed chair.

"I called a couple of MUFON groups down there," he continued, 
but Scully did not seem to be paying much attention.  "You 
were right, Scully.  Just like us, they've never heard of 
him.  So where was he getting all his information?"

"I don't know, Mulder.  He's dead.  At this point it hardly 
matters."

"Of course it matters.  C'mon Scully, even you have to admit 
there's something strange going on here, with the giant 
database of abductees we found in his basement, Rentham's 
body disappearing, and then the Sanctuary House members all 
vanishing overnight."

"I don't have to admit anything," she snapped.

"Um."  He ducked his head, jostling loose pushpins around in 
his palm.  "Okay."

Scully sighed and leaned her head into her hands.  "Whatever 
you want, Mulder, okay?  If you think this case is still 
worth pursuing, then by all means, let's pursue it.  But 
Rentham is dead.  Tina Appleby is dead.  The pattern of 
abductions, while interesting, is meaningless without either 
Rentham or the victims available to answer questions.  I just 
don't know where you expect us to go from here."

Mulder advanced another step, still jiggling the tacks.  "I 
was thinking of going back to New Orleans and looking into 
Miriam Rentham's death some more."

"Fine," Scully said, "When do you want to leave?"

"You're through with Chris Clark for the time being?  Because 
we can work around--"

"Oh, no.  We're through."

"Oh.  Well, anytime you need time off--"

"It's over, Mulder, okay?  They're not going forward with my 
case."

"What?  What are you talking about?"

"Lack of evidence.  They can prove Gregory Watts is a rapist.  
They just can't prove he is my rapist."

"Ten women, same M.O."

"Not admissible.  They severed the cases.  Clark is going 
forward with five of them, and the rest are on hold."

"On hold?"

"Indefinitely."  She sighed again and seemed to drag herself 
back to the work in front of her.  "I don't know why I ever 
expected anything different."

"Scully--"

"No.  Mulder.  I do *not* want to talk about this."  She 
pushed back her chair and stood up.  "I'll be back in a 
minute and we can figure out New Orleans."

He stood, head bowed, in the center of the room as her heels 
echoed down the hall.  Only when she was totally gone did he 
swallow his scream and hurl the tacks against the wall.

XxXxX

Night came thick and steamy.  Mulder's air conditioning 
rattled the walls, but the old building could not pump enough 
cold to really make it worth the while.  Mulder tried a cool 
shower instead.  Afterward, he slipped on just a pair of 
boxers and headed to the living room with his wet hair spiked 
and a towel around his neck.  He drowned his sorrow in iced 
tea while the evening news flickered on the TV screen.  
Mulder propped large, bare feet on his coffee table.

"In local news tonight, a judge agreed with Nora Bellamy that 
there is not enough evidence to link 20 year old college 
student Gregory Watts to all ten rape cases. The camera 
shifted to outside the courthouse where Bellamy stood with 
Watts at her side.

"Of course Judge Walker agreed," she was saying.  "Greg has 
been made a scapegoat so that Arlington and Kings County 
police officers don't look as inept as they truly are.  Greg 
is not a rapist.  He is an honor student with no history of 
violence whatsoever.  My heart goes out to those women who 
have been hurt, but stringing up my client is not the answer.  
Greg is as much a victim here as they are."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Mulder said, sitting up.  "Hold your 
client/attorney meetings in a dark parking lot, and we'll see 
how you feel about poor little Greggy then."

The camera turned on Watts then.  He looked about fifteen 
years old, with his wide eyes and slicked-down hair parted in 
the middle.  "I just want to say thanks to Nora for helping 
me, and to my mom and dad for standing by me through this 
mess.  I didn't hurt those women, but I hope they catch who 
did really soon.  Thanks."

Most people would have missed it, but Mulder had spent years 
inside the box with sociopaths. Gregory Watts tried for 
solemn innocence, but at the very last minute, the corners of 
his mouth twitched up in a smile.  He was ready to get away 
with it.

Rage flew through Mulder like lightning to a rod.  "You 
sonofabitch.  You goddamn sonofa--"

Mulder stormed through his apartment, pulling on clothes, 
simmering his anger.  When he was done, Watts wasn't going to 
be smiling.  He would never smile again.

Mulder grabbed his keys and gun and went back to Plumtree 
Lane.

XxXxX

In the black of night even the loveliest neighborhood took on 
a seedy appearance with houses fading to gray and restless 
teenagers roaming the block.  Mulder circled once, searching 
for Savioshy's men, and concluded that surveillance had been 
abandoned.  The black hate grew stronger.  You can rape ten 
women, but don't abuse the department's overtime.

Mulder parked in the shadows and hunched down in the seat.  
Light shone from several windows in the Watts family home.  
He considered ringing the bell and holding a gun to the head 
of the first person who answered.  Do you know what kind of 
monster your son is?

He sat for some time, SIG heavy in his hand, watching the 
door.  Watts hadn't been able to visit his stash or stage a 
strike in over a week.  He was probably inside pacing the 
floor and sweating.  As if on cue, the curtain on the top 
floor moved.  Mulder slouched again, his pulse racing.  Not 
five minutes later the front door opened and Watts trotted 
across the front lawn.  He jangled keys to the Ford Explorer, 
a spring in his step, and soon the roar of the large engine 
filled the quiet night.

Mulder held his breath as Watts drove right past.

Hunting time.

He started his car and followed.

XxXxX

End chapter nine.

All feedback welcome syn_tax6@yahoo.com