From: "Katherine Adams" <suicidal_mickey_mouse@hotmail.com>
Date: Sun, 28 Apr 2002 05:34:09 +0000
Subject: Starkweather: Frequency Modulation
Source: direct

Meanwhile...
The Records Room
J Edgar Hoover Federal Building

"Eureka!" Monica Reyes had always wanted to say that when
she had discovered a link to a case. But now, alone in the
quiet room lined with multitudes of dusty file cabinets and
computers and the antiquated microfiche machines, she only
felt like a moron.

Still, that didn't stop her from excitedly printing the old
case file and taking it down to the X-Files offices. She
sat down at Doggett's desk since no one had really gotten
around to getting a desk of her own yet. That really didn't
bother her though. She never saw herself as a "desk" kind
of person. Besides, if she had a desk, they might expect
her to turn in her case reports on time, so why tempt fate?

She read the case thoroughly once, which took a full hour,
then again very quickly, which only took fifteen minutes.
She picked up Doggett's phone and dialed Scully's number.

Despite the splitting headache, Scully was determined to
show Mulder that she was not "a lightweight." She had
already showered and dressed when Reyes called. "How are
you feeling Dana?" Reyes asked warmly.

"Fine," Scully lied as she washed down two aspirin with
water. "Reyes, I'm sorry, I acted disgracefully last nigh-"

"Dana," Reyes chuckled. "I used to live in New Orleans.
I've seen much worse. I'm glad to hear that you're feeling
better, but actually I called to speak to you and Fox. I
think I found a connection, a possible break in the Sioux
City case."

"Really?" Scully walked out of her bedroom and into the
little dining area where her computer was kept. Sitting
down she said, "Let me get Mulder on the phone. Hold on,"
she covered the receiver with her hand. "MULDER!"

Mulder came out of the kitchen, carrying Will. He handed
Will to her and said, "Welcome back to the land of the
living."

"Mulder, Agent Reyes is on the phone-"

"Goody."

"-and she thinks she may have a possible connection to the
Sioux City case."

Mulder went back into the kitchen to get the other cordless
phone. He came back with the phone cradled in-between ear
and shoulder, leaning against the door frame, watching Will
pounding on the keyboard with his tiny little fists. "Will,
no no. That's not a toy."
"Agent Reyes, good morning," Mulder said as Scully situated
Will in the crook of her arm and gave him a squishy toy to
occupy his attention with.

Back at the X-Files office, Reyes was using the scanner at
Doggett's desk. "I'm scanning the case file so I can email
the specifics to you both, but I'd thought I'd give you a
run-down of what I found."

"Shoot," Mulder said watching Will throw his toy on the
floor. He crossed to him, picked the toy back up and handed
it to him. Will promptly threw it again and giggled. "I am
not a dog, son," he said with a sigh as he went to retrieve
the toy again.

"Pardon?"

"Not you Agent Reyes," Scully explained as she handed Will
a different toy to play with. "Will is playing fetch with
Mulder. What did you find."

"The interesting thing about this case that I found is that
it's NOT an X-File."

"Then how is it connected?" Mulder asked as he gave Will
the toy back to him again, which Will tossed again. "Kid,
come on, give me a break," Mulder whined.

"I'm trying to give you a break."

"Not you Agent Reyes," Scully said again. "Will again.
What's the case you found that you believe might be the
connection?"

"Well, it's a run of the mill drug bust, but who is
involved is what makes it interesting and makes me
wonder..."

"Who's involved?" Scully asked.....
"Remember that case I told you about that Arthur Dale was
sent to Sioux City for?" Reyes asked the partners.

"Yeah," Mulder said, "the Wiccans who were unjustly accused
of cattle mutilation. Dale's work cleared their names."

"Well, about two months later, one of the girls, an..."
Reyes riffled through her papers, "Elizabeth Cash, was
found dead at the KRRQ studios' parking lot. According to
the autopsy, she OD'ed on heroin."

"Heroin..." Mulder mused. "Scully... correct me if I'm
wrong-"

"Don't worry, I will."

Mulder glared at Scully. He -- or so he assumed -- had
worked really hard all morning to be nice to her hung-over
ass. "Heroin is a drug to be injected, right?"

"Yes, typically."

"To be injected, the drug must be boiled down into it's
liquid form, right?"

"Yes... where are you going with this?"
"Humor me Scully. When heroin is in a powdered form... does
it or does it not resemble cocaine?"

"Yes?"
"Scully, what are the effects of snorting heroin instead of
shooting it up?" Mulder caught Will's toy this time on the
fly. "Ah ha!!" Mulder grinned at the baby. "Scully, I think
this kid has a chance of playing for the Yankees."

"Um...." Scully was too busy trying to make her foggy brain
operate. "Well... death is usually the outcome of such drug
usage. Typically the body goes into overload, the heart
rate goes berserk, there's pulmonary distress,
unconsciousness, coma..."

"Choking?" Mulder asked her idly as he played with the
baby. "On bodily fluids?"

"Sometimes..." Scully said warily, feeling a Mulder-theory
hovering above her... "but... what does that have to do
with anything?"

"Reyes, what was it that you said about the credo of Wicca?
To paraphrase wasn't it "And do unto others as you want
done unto yourself?"

"Basically," Reyes said, secretly thrilled that Mulder
noted the connection that she found. "Like I said, most
credible religions believe in the "Golden Rule.""

"But there's something else... the laws of three... 'And
what you do to others shall be returned to you threefold?'"

"Mulder..." there was a warning note in Scully's voice.
"What if this is it, Scully? The law of three? What if the
girl who OD'ed came back somehow-"

"MULDER!" Now there was total exasperation in her voice.

"Well, wait, Scully, hear me out. This girl, this girl dies
at the station right? Now, she had to get her drugs
somewhere, so what if her dealer worked for the station. He
gives her bad dope, she dies, the afterlife is not all that
for her, she wants retribution for the dealer who's still
free and probably still at that station. Even Starkweather
herself is adamant that the killings are an inside job,
that it HAS to be someone who has exclusive knowledge of
the station-"

"Mulder-"
"Scully, think about. Three times three. We even said it in
our power conference call a few days ago, the killer is
preaching. The killer is sending out a message. The
message, Scully, is justice. Find the person who killed
Elizabeth Cash and the killings stop."

"Mulder... are you implying that a **ghost** is killing
these girls, simply to get our attention?"

"Worked, didn't it? Got my attention. How about you?"

"Mulder..." Scully took a deep breath. "As neatly wrapped
as your theory is packaged, it is seriously flawed. Based
on my few experiences with ghosts and that was mostly in
that haunted house you dragged me to at Christmas, ghosts
do not have a physical body to commit physical harm Mulder-
"

"There's all different kinds of ghosts, Scully. And this
one actually left a trail."

"A trail?"

"The pink goo. The ectoplasm."

"The WHAT!?!?! Mulder, that is a made up word from a
movie!!! Last time I checked, I was not assigned to the
"Ghostbuster" Division of the Federal Bureau of
Investigation!"
At this point, Reyes had put her phone on "Speaker" and
continued to scan the papers of the report with a sigh.
"Whenever you feel like getting back to me," she murmured
with a smile as Mulder and Scully continued to banter back
and forth about the possibilities that were out there...


KRRQ studios
9:15 PM Central time

Starkweather twirled around in the deejay's chair, bored.
Bored and tired more like it. She kept eyeing the
autographed bow and fiddle that was mounted on the wall
while she twirled.

She needed a release. Now. After she and Doggett had
nibbled through their massive meal at Bob's Bar, they had
brainstormed until Starkweather had to go back to the
station. Before Doggett took her back to Sioux City, they
made one futile phone call to Mulder and Scully, but no one
was answering at Mulder's and Scully's phone line was tied
up. Hopefully the original "Moose and Squirrel" were
cooking up a recipe that made sense with the ingredients
that were handed to them. But Starkweather highly doubted
it.

She chewed on a pen cap, turning her back to the computer
console. She was not broadcasting live, but actually just
monitoring the computer as it received the feed to a
satellite show they aired every Sunday night. She only had
to break in twice an hour to do the weather. Which left
lots of time to think.

And snoop. Which she and Doggett did for the two hours she
was there and came up with a whole lot of nothing. The
doors to all the important offices were locked and all the
computers that were out and about to access all had
security codes that Starkweather wasn't given. That wasn't
a problem, Doggett put in a call to the Lone Gunman and
they, happy as always to have a project, said they'd get
right on it.

They had given up around eight o'clock and Doggett went
back to his car and Starkweather had plunked down in the
deejay's chair and sat and listened to bad bad country
music. Then she was to go back to the dorms and get ready
for the welcome back party for Candelauria's brother who
was returning back to summer school after the death of his
sister. Which meant she MIGHT get to bed at four at the
very earliest, then she had to be at the station....
Starkweather closed her eyes, fighting fatigue.
She opened her eyes again and again eyed the violin.

"Oh well," she said with a shrug. Music always helped her
think. That is... good music.
She wheeled the chair up against the wall. She stood up on
the wobbly chair and reached for the violin.

"What are you doing???"

Starkweather gasped in fright and started to fall.

Ace rushed in and caught her. "Jesus," he said. "I'm sorry,
I didn't mean to scare you like that." He put her down, and
backed away, awkwardly. "But what the hell where you doing
up there?"

"I was getting that," she pointed at the fiddle.

Ace's jaw dropped. "That's autographed by Charlie Daniels!"

"Who?"

Ace covered his eyes in despair. "Oh brother." He looked at
her again. "How did you get this job?"

"Search me," Starkweather said seriously.

"'The devil went down to Georgia, he was lookin' for a soul
to steal'" Ace quoted for her.

A bell went off in Starkweather's head. "'He was in a bind,
he was way behind...' oh I know that song. Good song. I can
play that you know."

"Play what?"
"The fiddle solos on that song."

"You're shittin' me."

"Girl scouts honor. Put the song on a CD player and I'll
prove it."

Ace's blue eyes were twinkling. "NO body can play that solo
better than Charlie Daniels himself and I saw him in
concert live." Ace lost himself with his memories. "I got
to meet him backstage."

"Was he nice?"

"He was in a hurry. We posed for a picture, he signed the
violin for the station and was whisked off to his hotel."
Ace went to pop in a CD the only CD player in the station.
It could broadcast music over the air, but it was utilized
only when a really old and rarely requested song was in the
playlist for the day. Ace reached up and got the bow and
fiddle down and handed it to her. Starkweather blew the
dust off the strings. He cued up the CD players, switched a
button on the board so the CD player would play in "cue"
that is, the music would only be heard in the studio and
not the rest of the broadcasting area. "Okay hot shot," Ace
said, sitting down in the chair in the corner. "Prove it."

Starkweather cradled the fiddle under her chin and punched
play. The music blared and Starkweather kept up with
Charlie Daniels' fiddling, even the part where the "Devil"
was playing, where it sounded like the music itself was
from the bowels of hell.

"'I done told you once, you son-of-a-bitch," Starkweather
said along with the music, "'I'm the best there ever
is...'"

Doggett, meanwhile, back in his car, shook his head. The
woman never failed to surprise him, but it wasn't helping
them solve the case any faster.

I'll be damned," Ace said, immensely impressed. "How long
did it take you to learn that song?"

"Um..." Starkweather looked at her watch. "How long did it
take me to play that?"

Ace's jaw dropped again. "You are seriously messing with
me." He said. "That was NOT the first time you've played
that!"

"Um..." Now Starkweather was embarrassed. Her intellect,
she never had any problems bragging about. Her musical
abilities although she loved to show them off, explaining
them always unnerved her. "Yeah... if I hear a song, I can
play it."

"Who gave you music lessons?"

Again, Starkweather squirmed. "Nobody."
"Nobody?"

"I just sort of picked it up... along the way."

"How do you 'just' pick up the violin?"

For Starkweather, learning the violin had been just that,
she literally picked up her cousin's violin when they were
visiting her mother's sister in Boston and played a
flawless rendition of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" after
hearing her twelve year old cousin scratch it out.
Starkweather had been seven at the time.

To change the subject, she said, "I don't play a lot of
country though, I play classic stuff. Sometimes I like to
play themes from movies."

"Which movies?"

"Have you seen 'Schindler's List'?"

"Good movie."

Starkweather put the instrument to her chin again and began
to play the solo from Steven Spielberg's powerful film
about the Holocaust. As the instrument was transformed from
a fiddle to a violin Ace stood stock-still, mesmerized by
the haunting music while Doggett in his car outside found
himself strangely moved by the song's tragic beauty.

Meanwhile, Starkweather had lost herself in the music,
completely. Mind washed away from all care, all worry, all
apprehension, she let herself go into the power of the
music, living for the moment, living for the inspiration.
Feeling her fingers and arms create something that could
influence and dominate the mortal heart, for the power of
invoking emotions through stimuli via visuals like a
painting or audio such as music is what raised humans above
all animals. Starkweather felt the stress leave her body,
felt her mind clear, felt the fatigue evaporate from her
very being.

Perhaps it was a trick of her overwrought mind, perhaps it
was sleep deprivation. Perhaps through music, Starkweather
had unwittingly opened the doors to her spiritual side. She
had been playing with her eyes closed. When she opened
them, she turned her head to the side to crack her neck, a
habit that annoyed her partner. She looked out the window
and gasped again in fright.

"What?" Ace was instantly concerned. Doggett, meanwhile,
was getting out his gun.

"There's something out there," Starkweather said in a
trembling voice as she clearly saw the outline of a face
and a pair of glowing eyes in the glass of the window
pane....
Ace looked out the window. "I don't see anything honey," he
started to say, but Starkweather pushed past him and ran up
the stairs. Ace, after checking the time before the next
commercial break, followed her.

Meanwhile Doggett had bolted from the car, gun out, running
towards the station. He got to the door when Starkweather
threw it open.

"WHOA!" Ace said when he saw the gun.

"It's okay, it's okay," Doggett said, putting the gun down,
but not away. "I heard a commotion inside. What happened?"

"I saw someone looking in the window." Starkweather said,
voice still shaking. "I saw a face, staring eye level at
me."

"Jeri," Ace said gently. "We're in the basement. That ain't
possible."

"Sir," Doggett said politely. "Anything is possible in ou-"
Doggett coughed to cover up his pronoun blunder. "My
division. Stay here. I'm gonna have a look around."

Starkweather longed to come with him. She also longed to
feel the butt of her gun in her hands, but had to be
content to feel its coolness again her leg. She crossed her
arms and shivered, despite the heat, despite the light.

"Maybe I am seeing things," she mumbled.

"You haven't been gettin' a lot of sleep lately." Ace said.
"Your eyes must be playing tricks on you."
"Maybe..." But Starkweather looked down at the window
again.

Ace watched the color drain from her face, her eyes widen
in disbelief. "What is it?" he asked her.

Starkweather tried to speak but her voice came out in a
croak. She tried again but it only came out in a whisper.
"Look," she raised her arm and pointed, hand shaking worse
than her voice.

Ace looked, took a few steps towards the window, then
backpedaled quickly. He took Starkweather by the shoulders
and gently pushed her away from the building.

Starkweather, no wilting weeping willow by any means, was
grateful for Ace's steady nature. He had a bad fright, like
Starkweather but he wasn't hysterical or panicking.

"Agent Doggett!" he yelled in a normal, yet slightly
insistent tone. "C'mere!"

Doggett trotted back to them. "What is it."
"Look," Starkweather had regained her voice and pointed at
the window.

Doggett crouched down and examined the windowpane. "Oh my
God..."

The windowpane was completely covered in a slimy
translucent substance with just the slightest pink tinge.
Doggett turned back to his partner and the deejay. "You
sure this wasn't here before?"

"Positive," Starkweather said forcefully. "I TOLD you, I
saw a face in the window and I ran out of the studio..."

"Oh shit," Ace realized. "The clock said we had two minutes
before break..." Ace checked his watch. "I'll be right
back," he ran back inside giving Starkweather a chance to
talk to Doggett frankly.

"Doggett, I swear to God," she whispered. "I was not
hallucinating. I am not overtired and my mind is not
playing tricks on me. I saw a god damned face in the window
with glowing blue eyes."

"Well, I didn't see a face, but I see that shit," Doggett
gestured towards the window. "I'm gonna get samples and
ship it to Quantico."

"Email me the results and Scully's take on this whole
mess."

"Have you had a chance to talk to Mul-dah?"

"No." But that was all the further Starkweather could say
for Ace had come back out.

"Can I talk to you in private, sir?" Ace asked Doggett.

Doggett looked at Starkweather, who arched an eyebrow, very
Scully-like, but didn't say anything. "Sure," he said to
Ace and they walked away from Starkweather.

Ace lit a cigarette, inhaled and asked Doggett point blank.
"Look, is it safe for her to be here?" he asked, genuinely
concern. "I mean, the guy who killed Laura Light could be a
serial killer, right? Should I just send her home?"

Doggett was asking himself the same question. "I don't
know," he said vaguely.

"Look, I can take over for her, that's no big deal. I do
the overnight type of thing anyway, so I'd just be clocking
in earlier than usual. Once I explain things to the GM and
PD, they'll understand."

Doggett was undecided. Whatever Starkweather saw, it could
come back. He was convinced that she saw SOMETHING. She was
too pale and too rattled NOT to have seen something. What
concerned Doggett was her lack of sleep. She still had that
welcome back party to go to for Candelauria's brother plus
she had to get up to come back to the station tomorrow.

But if he sent her back to the dorms as if she was a weak,
dumb female, she was going to be livid.

<<Too bad>> Doggett decided. Whether she liked it or not,
he had seniority over her, he was officially in charge of
the investigation and to be point-blank, he was incredibly
worried about her safety at the moment. Whatever the killer
was, it was going after young women. He was going to pull
rank and damn the consequences with his partner.
"Will they understand if I told you to tell them that I
don't want her near this place until I give say so?"

Ace sighed. "They won't like it, but they'll understand."

"They better understand," Doggett said. "I don't think
it'll help their ratings if another girl gets killed, do
you?"

Ace glared at Doggett. "I said THEY wouldn't like it. I
don't give a rat's ass about ratings. I'm overnight.
Arbitron doesn't factor the overnight shift into the
ratings. I **knew** Laura, she was a nice girl. I was one
of her pallbearers. Jeri's a nice girl too and you know
what? I'm tired of bein' a pallbearer at nice girls'
funerals."

Doggett walked away from Ace, "Go home," he told
Starkweather.

Starkweather's eyes about fell out of her head. She opened
her mouth to protest but in the midst of male chivalry at
its worst and best, she clamped it shut tightly and folded
her arms. "I have to get my things from downstairs," she
said icily and turned on her heel.

"That went well," Doggett sighed. "Go in with her to make
sure she's okay." Doggett didn't know if the thing could
lurk inside the station undetected or not, but he wasn't
taking any chances.

Before Ace could go in though, Starkweather was already
out, carrying her backpack.

"And stay home tomorrow. That's an order," Doggett said,
hoping she would catch the double meaning.

She did, and she was pissed, as predicted. "Yes sir," she
said coldly, infuriated that she was being cut out of the
action. She climbed into her beat-up car and drove away.

Doggett closed his eyes. "I'll sit with you tonight," he
said wearily. "But I have to make a private phone call.
Will you be okay alone?"

Ace shrugged. "No pyschos tryin' to kill me. But if it's
all the same, if you want to make your call in private, why
don't you call from inside your car? I'll just hang outside
and have another cigarette. It's twenty-five minutes until
the next break."

So Doggett got back into the car to call Starkweather and
explain why he sent her home.

Before he could even speak, the first words out of her
mouth were: "Fuck you, man."
Doggett groaned.


Meanwhile...

Outside of Scully's apartment
10:32 PM Eastern Standard Time

Scully shut her car door with a groan. She had just spent
the last six hours with Agent Reyes, going over her
findings with the case. Although she had told Mulder
shortly before William was born, that he gave her the
courage to believe, Scully still had a long ways to go.
Aliens? Yes, she was convinced of the existence of
extraterrestrial life. Ghosts? That was harder for her to
swallow. But she and Reyes did come to a solid conclusion
that the death of Elizabeth Cash was connected. The
similarities between her death and the death of the other
victims could not be ignored. Plus, Elizabeth had been part
of the "coven" (for lack of a better word) that Arthur
Dales helped save, along with Alice Meecham. Reyes sent
Doggett an email to be sure and ask Alice Meecham about her
friend Elizabeth Cash. Reyes did not tell Scully about her
vision of the boy she saw weeping over Elizabeth's body,
but she did say she would not be surprised if Elizabeth had
an intimate relationship with someone who was directly tied
to the station. Which Scully could accept. The only problem
was who? And even if they got a name, most everyone there
used air names. Scully wondered if the X-Files was just the
new millenium's replacement for "Mission:Impossible."

Scully trudged up the walk and the small flight of stairs
that lead to her apartment. She grateful that they were
finally making some headway on this case. She was extremely
grateful that Mulder and William were finally feeling
better. The spots had finally faded from Mulder's face,
although he still had them everywhere else. But he swore up
and down they didn't itch anymore. And dear little William
was his sweet cuddly self again. Which made her very happy.
However, she also was very tired. Tired from the days of
sheer hell of tending to the two "sickies", tired from
researching the case, tired from her night of partying with
Reyes. She craved her bed. She fantasized about sliding in-
between her cool sheets and falling into the deep
nothingness of total and complete surrender to sleep.

Of course, that wasn't going to happen tonight....

Scully's apartment was almost completely dark when she let
herself in. But she couldn't help notice a soft light
emanating from her living room, so, putting her purse and
briefcase down and kicking off her shoes, she padded into
the living room soundlessly.

Mulder was sprawled out in her easy chair, as if he was
asleep, one long leg draped over the arm of the chair, the
other long leg stretched out in front of him. But Scully
must not have been as quiet as she thought she was for he
lifted his head when she came into the room. He raised his
arms, clasped the back of the chair with his hands and gave
her a sweet half-smile with a "Come hither" look in his
eyes.

"Mulder?" Scully asked.

"What is it Scully?" he returned the question with a
question all too innocently.

"It's just that... you're dressed."

Mulder had finally shed the pajamas bottoms he had been
living in for the past few days that he had been sick. He
had put on a nice shirt and a pair of well loved jeans.
And, instead of another oatmeal bath, he had actually taken
a shower and used soap, now, instead of smelling like hot
cereal, he smelled deliciously clean. He even shaved, which
in Scully's opinion, was about damn time. His arms were
still dotted with the ugly sores but again, Scully was
grateful that they no longer marred his face.

"Yeah," Mulder said as he quietly observed the petite woman
before him, wearing a pair of black dress slacks, a thin,
short-sleeved midnight blue blouse and the tiny golden
crucifix that always hung on a golden chain around her
neck. She was letting her hair grow longer, he noted and he
liked how it looked. "I finally feel like a human being
again."

"Did Boo go to sleep alright?"

"No problem. Out like a light."

"You didn't have to wait up for me."

Mulder held out his hand. "I know. I wanted to though."
Scully slipped her tiny hand into his big one and allowed
herself to be pulled towards him, to be drawn into his lap,
to rest her head on his chest, to let him stroke her hair
without protest. "Did you and Reyes make any progress on
the case?" he asked idly as he began to play with her hair,
watching it change to many shades of flame as he combed
through it with his fingers and watched it fall from his
hand, dancing in the lamplight.

Scully closed her eyes. "Mmm... I think so, and Mulder, I'm
sorry, but I'm not finding any real evidence of possible
supernatural phenomenon. I'm more inclined to believe that
this is the actions of a very disturbed individual,
possibly involved with drugs, who is using the mythology
and stereotypes of the Wiccan religion as a cover for his-"
"Sh, sh, sh," Mulder hushed her, now resting his cheek
against her head. "Scully, if you bring up the case, I'm
going to have to start arguing with you and I don't feel
like arguing right now."

"Then why did you ask?"

"I asked if you and Reyes if you had made any progress.
That's a close-ended question. A yes or no type of thing."

"MMMmmm... but Mulder, you know I don't just say yes or no.
So again, why did you ask?"

"I was being polite."

"Since when?"

"That hurts my feelings Scully," he murmured as he kissed
the back of her head, then worked downwards, moving her
hair so he could kiss the nape of her neck oh so
delicately, then down to the crook between her shoulder and
neck where he rested his head.

Scully reached around with her arm and cradled his head.
Now she was the one running fingers through hair. "So," she
said, "if you were just being polite and really didn't want
to hear about the case tonight, why are you dressed and
waiting for me?"

But Mulder didn't answer, he was too busy working on the
buttons of her blouse and Scully didn't fight him. She just
closed her eyes and became as limp as a rag doll. She
didn't even protest when he picked her up and instead of
bringing her to the bedroom, laying her down on the carpet.
She made a soft sound of mild discomfort when he laid on
top of her, for he always forget that he was far larger in
body than she was. "Sorry," he whispered as he kissed her
forehead.

She only closed her eyes for his kiss, head tilted up
towards his as she tugged off his shirt, eager to have no
barriers between him and her. "It's alright," she whispered
back.

And it really was alright, as far as she was concerned.

And mercifully, William slept through the night and there
were no frantic phone calls from Sioux City or Washington
DC.

And Mulder only left her twice, once to get up to turn off
the light. And the second time, to retrieve a blanket from
behind the couch because he didn't want Scully to have
carpet burns.

And then, it was just him and her and the moonlight....


Meanwhile...

Doggett got back into the car to call Starkweather and
explain why he sent her home.

Before he could even speak, the first words out of her
mouth were: "Fuck you, man."

Doggett groaned. "Listen to me, I didn't send you away
because I don't believe in your abilities to handle
yourself in a situation. I sent you away because you're
dog-tired and I'm giving you a chance to catch a nap before
that party you wanted to investigate and to catch up on
sleep tomorrow. I'm doin' you a favor."

Starkweather, only partially mollified, huffed, "Well...
okay... but I still totally resent being sent home like a
weak little girl."

"I hate to point somethin' out to you, Starkweather, but as
far as the station guys are concerned, you ARE a weak
little girl and we want them to continue to think like
that. In their minds, you're a stupid college kid. That's
your cover."

"How 'bout we change my cover to "well-read, cultured,
influential college student'?"

"Whatever, you know what I meant. So pull that burr out of
your ass, Doc. My decision had nothing to do with political
correctness. It had to do with letting you get some shut-
eye." Doggett looked out and saw Ace lighting another
cigarette, looking up at the radio towers, completely not
paying attention to him at all. "So, quit your bitching,
get back to the dorms and get some cot time. This ain't
over yet."

"What do you think that gooey stuff on the window is?"

"I dunno, but it looks like the same stuff that covered the
murder victims."
"Ew." Starkweather was at the bottom of the hill. Her
entire body ached. Actually, she loathed to admit it, but a
nap did sound blissful to her. "Okay... I'm at the school,
I am going to get some shut eye before the party."

"You're welcome."

"Thank you, Papa John," Starkweather said in a sing song
voice. Then, seriously, she asked, "Hey, Doggett...?"

"Yeah?"
"Did you believe me when I told you I saw a face in the
window?"

"I believe that you believed you saw a face in the window."
"That's a cop out answer."

Doggett sighed raggedly. "I don't know what you saw, but
you saw something and that something, whatever it was,
wasn't good. And I don't believe you're losing your mind
and I don't believe you were just seein' things. But I
didn't see anything and I was there the entire time Doc."

"Okay... well, that's a fair answer," Starkweather sighed.
"Remind me to call the Deputy Mayor tomorrow since I
unexpectedly have the day off."

"Go to sleep Starkweather."

"Talk to you soon." Starkweather hung up her cell and got
out of her car. She rubbed her eyes. "Good Lord," she
muttered as she leaned against the car. When she opened
them, she gasped in fright again. Not because there was
another ghost, but because Autumn Chamberlain had sneaked
up on her.

"You saw her tonight, didn't you?"

"Saw who?" Starkweather said suspiciously.

"Elizabeth."

"WHO??"

Autumn smiled and beckoned her. "Walk with me..."
Starkweather looked longingly at the dorms, thought about a
nap, moaned in despair and followed Autumn.

Autumn and Starkweather walked side by side, as if they
were good college buddies. Starkweather took a deep breath,
and crinkled her nose in disgust. "This city stinks."

"This entire city was built on blood," Autumn said
cryptically.
"How so?" Starkweather asked, taking a seat on a bench,
which was across the road from the chapel. She looked
through the thicket of trees behind her and if she tilted
her head, just so, she could see a fairly terrific view of
the city below, all lit up.

"The slaughterhouses is what made the city wealthy at
first," Autumn said, sitting down beside her. "All the
farmers would send their cattle and their pigs to be turned
into beef steaks and bacon." Autumn shrugged. "Honestly, I
don't know what happened. This used to be a wealthy city.
Now, it's a shithole." She lit a cigarette.

"Who's Elizabeth?"

"Liz Cash, along with Alice McCoy, Sarah Nelson and Breda
Vanvleet had a small coven when they were going to school
here at Rose Hill. They were the coven blamed for the
cattle mutilations that the FBI agent Arthur Dale cleared
their names for. I do not know what happened to Sarah or
Breda, for they moved back to their hometowns after they
graduated. Alice, however, got religious, renounced her
sinful ways and went on to grad school at USD in
Vermillion, South Dakota and then moved back here to get
married and punch out a few kids," Autumn made a face.

"And Elizabeth?"

Autumn sighed. "Wiccans do not have a true "leader" in our
religion, the way organized religions do with their priests
and rabbis and mullahs and so on and so forth. But she was
the one who introduced the girls into the craft and tutored
them in our ways so, she was tried and convicted in the
press of leading three good Christian girls astray."

"What happened?"

"Elizabeth had one little weakness. She liked to smoke the
happy weed and she liked to smoke the happy weed with
Alice's older brother, Stuart. Stuart introduced Elizabeth
to more racier types of drugs."

"Heroin, maybe...?"

"More like cocaine."

"How do you know this???" Starkweather demanded

"Can I finish?" Autumn asked, a little peevishly.

"Go ahead, but I want an answer to my question when you're
done."

"Liz was a private person by nature-"

"Was? You speak as if she was dead."

Autumn went on as if Starkweather hadn't spoken. "so when
the press came down mostly on her, she cracked. Her
dependency on narcotics and on Stuart increased. She
dropped out of school. Moved in with Stuart. Stopped
practicing Wiccan and became just a mundane junkie."

"What happened to her?"

Autumn puffed on her Camel, rolling the taste of the smoke
on her tongue before exhaling. "This is where it gets
fussy. See... Elizabeth had some dirt on Stuart, dirt that
would destroy his life. Stuart was getting tired of Liz. He
wanted a new girl."

"Did Stuart kill her?"

"Not on purpose," Autumn was quick to say. "Not on purpose.
But one night she met him at his part-time job to pick up a
bag from him. So they went out to his car and gave her the
wrong bag. So greedy for her drug, she couldn't even wait
anymore until she was in the safety of her own home. She
snorted it right then and there."

"And collapsed in the parking lot, suffered major
convulsions, suffocated on her own blood and vomit but
cause of death was probably a stroke because of lack of
oxygenated blood to the brain," Starkweather finished for
her.

"Yes."

"Was Stuart's part-time job at the radio station?"

"Yes."

"Is he still there?"

"Yes."

"Who is he?"

"I don't know."

"Shock, surprise," Starkweather mumbled. "Okay, back to my
original question - HOW do you know this stuff??"

"I held a seance and spoke to Elizabeth."

"SAY WHAT???"

Elizabeth is very angry," Autumn told Starkweather as she
looked up at the steeple of the chapel. "She kept Stuart's
secret to keep him out of jail. She understands that Stuart
made a mistake and was not intending to kill her... she
doesn't understand why he did not own up to his mistake and
let her rest in peace. Wiccans are all about the freedom of
making choices, even bad ones, but being adult enough to
own up the consequences of the bad choices."

"Rest in peace?"

"He buried her in an abandoned lot next to the station that
was covered with weeds. In those days, there were no
houses, no apartments, no nothing out there. The station
was literally in the middle of nowhere. It was in the
middle of the night, no one was around, the police didn't
even patrol the area back then, it was the perfect crime."

"Except that Elizabeth didn't stay buried, so to speak,"
Starkweather rolled her eyes. "I can not believe that I'm
having this conversation."

"Stuart is merely on the receiving end of the Law of
Three."
"'Any energy you send out will come back three-fold,"
Starkweather quoted. "So, Elizabeth is killing these girls
to get back at Stuart?" Starkweather shook her head. "That
doesn't make any sense. I thought the basic tenet of the
Witches' Rede was, 'An it harm none, do as ye will.' If
Wiccan is a religion of peace and nature, doesn't murder
violate every thing it stands for?"

Autumn knitted her eyebrows. "Elizabeth's spirit is not the
force behind the murders of these girls," she said slowly,
"that I can not explain. The only thing I understand
completely is that for the killings of the young women to
stop if for Stuart to be brought to justice. Witches
believe in justice, not revenge."

"So what, is it like bad karma that's following Stuart
around? That girls are just going to drop off like flies
until he raises his hand and says 'All right! I did it!
Guilty as charged!'" Starkweather slapped her palm to her
forehead. "I am NOT having this conversation."
"You saw Elizabeth tonight, that's why you are having this
conversation."
"I saw SOMETHING," Starkweather snapped. "But I don't know
what."

"What were you doing before you saw her," Autumn's eyebrows
knit together again.

"You don't seem to have the personality of someone to be
very open to the possibilities of spirit life, which is
essential to be able to communicate with souls on the Other
Side."

"Other side?" Starkweather said. "Oh brother."

"Well," Autumn persisted. "What were you doing?"

Starkweather mused for a bit. "I was playing the violin,"
she finally remembered. "I was talking to one of the full
time jocks and then I played the violin for him. I looked
over my shoulder because I saw something out of the corner
of my eye... and there was a god damned face in the
window... with glowing blue eyes."

Autumn nodded approvingly. "Music... so that's why you were
able to see the spirit tonight."

"Huh?"

"You were getting in touch of the side of you that you try
to deny."

"Which is???"

Autumn unfolded her long legs and started to walk away from
Starkweather. "Your humanity," she said with a wink.

Starkweather watched in wonder at Autumn's retreating
figure. She rubbed her eyes. "I'm losing it," she said
aloud. "I'm definitely losing it," she hoisted herself up
and dragged herself back to the dorms. She didn't even
bother to take the stairs up, like she preferred to do, for
one, stairs were good for toning the gluts and the calves
and the thighs and for two, elevators often could be death
traps.

She didn't even turn on the lights or change clothes or
even take off her shoes. She just collapsed onto her bed
and closed her eyes for what seemed like just a minute or
two. She sighed in relief, feeling tension release its
cruel grip on her body...

... and the lights came blazing on. "Omigod, Jeri," Tori
said, followed by Mandi and Jennifer. "Where you sleeping?"

Starkweather lifted her head, her long locks tangled in the
worst case of bed head that she had experienced in ages.
Her clothes felt glued to her body. She gave them a look
that could have melted sheet metal and snapped: "No, I
wasn't. It was merely the illusion of sleep as I went into
a trance so I could make evil Barbie Dollish Fem-bot
spontaneously combust by using the powers of my mind....
and damn, it didn't work."

Tori raised her eyebrows. "Well, I'm SORRY," she said in a
huff. "We weren't expecting you to be back so soon."

Starkweather rolled over and looked at the clock. In
reality, she had slept solidly for three hours. It had only
felt like three minutes. "Don't mind me, I'm stressed and
overtired. It's a good thing you woke me up, or I would
have missed the party."

Tori's eyebrows went up even higher. "You're going??"

Starkweather reached for her brushed and tried to comb
through the snarls of her hair. Her brush, to her
embarrassment and horror, got stuck in her knotted mane.
<<Shit!!>> she cursed to herself. "Yeah... last time I
checked, it was open invitation, right?" She let go of her
brush and was not really surprised that it clung to her
hair. Tori, Mandi and Jennifer looked at each and rolled
their eyes.

Starkweather could have leapt up and strangled them...


Later that night on the guys' floor...

Starkweather was having a miserable time.

She had managed to get the hairbrush out of her snarls
while she was shampooing her hair in the shower. The dorms
were still a giant sweatbox and still Starkweather slipped
into a pair of baggy, suffocating jeans because, dammit,
she had to carry her gun while on duty unless extreme
circumstances prevent it. <<Besides>>, Starkweather
consoled herself, <<if provoked enough, I could pop a cap
into Tori's ass and claim insanity.>>

And Starkweather also consoled herself when she slipped on
the body hugging midriff tank top she bought out of
desperation at Target that she, at the ripe old age of
twenty-eight almost twenty-nine, staring thirty right at
the face, that she had a better body than the Twit
Triplets. Petty and pathetic as the thought was, but, Tori
was an anorexic midget, Mandi had a bubble-butt and
Jennifer had a pretty face as long as it was dark.

Yes, it was petty and pathetic, but when Starkweather
observed her long, lean, almost teenagerish reflection in
the full length mirror, she smirked as she raked her
fingers through her long hair.

Still, her body was a small comfort only. The party to
welcome back Sandy Gallimore, brother of the dearly
departed Laura Light aka Candelauria Gallimore aka Candi,
was hot, constricting and boring as hell. Mostly loud music
and much beer consumed by minors. Starkweather couldn't
even see in the crush of people. The Barbie Posse had
completely abandoned her and sequestered themselves on
Bob's couch, giving Starkweather dirty looks and whispering
most obviously. Starkweather felt like she was back in high
school, odd girl out and she hated them for making her feel
that way, then hated herself for letting them make her feel
that way.

<<This was a freakin' waste of time>> she seethed and she
got up to leave when:

"Jeri!"

The Doughboy stood in front of her, blocking her way.

Starkweather smiled gamely.

"Hi Barry," Starkweather said, trying to be nice.

The Doughboy's face stretched out into the silliest grin
she had ever witnessed on a boy. He might as well have held
up a flashing sign over his head "LOOK EVERYBODY - SHE
REMEMBERED MY NAME!!!!" "Isn't this a great party?" he
gushed, holding two cans of Old Milwaukee Light.

"No."
That flat remark threw him off-guard. "Well... maybe...
uh... could I...  like a beer?" His smile stretched out even
bigger. Starkweather's stomach turned at the sight of his
yellowed teeth.

"No." Starkweather was trying to look around Barry's
massive body for a glimpse of Candelauria's brother. The
only person she recognized, was Autumn Chamberlain, who
smiled and winked at her and disappeared out the door and
into the hallway.

"Can I sit here?" Barry patted the beanbag chair that was
next to the battered armchair Starkweather was sulking on.

"Sure." <<LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!!!!>> she screamed on the
inside.

The Twit Triplets appraised Starkweather's current
situation and tittered nastily.

Feeling sorry for herself, feeling like a failure because
she was discovering nothing during her investigation,
feeling like a fool because a gaggle of girls were laughing
at her for some unknown reason, Starkweather heaved a big
sigh. Her feline eyes began to roam around Bob's room,
watching people go in and out, not worried about possible
Residential Assistants or security guards lurking about,
looking for a party to bust. Hell, most of the RA's and
guards were partying WITH the students. Barry was babbling,
but she wasn't paying attention.

Her eyes spotted a lovely electric guitar sitting in the
corner.

Bob had just come in, eyes on Tori and her minimal
clothing. Starkweather stopped his line of attack by asking
"Who's guitar is that?"

"That?" Bob was taken aback, mainly because this was her
first civil words to him since she punched him in the nose.
"Mine."

"Can I play with it?"
Bob snickered as his friends joined him. "That's too much
guitar for you, Jeri."

Starkweather arched her eyebrow. "Really..." She stood up
and tilted her head in a manner that she knew was girlishly
charming. Her lips parted into a smile. "I'd like to try
though, I've been practicing."

By this time, some of Bob's friends joined him. Snickering,
Bob handed her the guitar. He pulled the cord into the amp
and turned it on. "So what's it going to be?" Bob asked as
he flopped onto the couch, full of beer, full of hormones.
He cuddled Tori to him. "Peter, Paul and Mary? 'Bridge over
Troubled Water'?"

Starkweather had leaned over to Bob's massive stereo
system. Carefully cradling the guitar, she looked through
his collection of CDs quickly, selected one, threw into the
CD player, skipped to number five. Told Bob "Just press
play when I tell you too," and carefully adjusted the
volume of the amp and of the stereo speakers so there
wouldn't be feedback.

She nodded to Bob, who pressed play.

The stereo was slightly lower than Starkweather's amp so
her playing would be more noticeable over the CD, but still
blend into song... kind of....

"There's something wrong with the world today
I don't know what it is
Something's wrong with our eyes
We're seeing things in a different way
And God knows it ain't his
It sure ain't no surprise
We're living on the edge
There's something wrong with the world today
The light bulb's getting dim-"

Here Starkweather glared pointedly at Tori as Steven Tyler
screamed from the stereo and Starkweather's small hands
coaxed screaming harmonies from the instrument that was
supposed to be "too much" for her.

"-There's meltdown in the sky
If you can judge a wise man
By the color of his skin
Then mister you're a better man than I
We're living on the edge
You can't help yourself from fallin'
Livin' on the edge
You can't help at all
Livin' on edge
You can't stop yourself from fallin'
Livin' on the edge
"Tell me what you think about your
sit- u - a - tion
Complication - aggravation
Is getting to you
If Chicken Little tells you that the sky is fallin'
Even it if wasn't, would you still come crawlin'
Back again
I bet you would my friend
Again & Again & Again & Again & Again.... "

Most of the kids there started listening out of curiosity.
But Starkweather knew she had them eating out of her hand
when she got to the big guitar solo in that Aerosmith song.

Anyway, her little moment in the spotlight not only
assuaged her ego, but necessarily relieved much pent-up
tension.

"Complication - aggravation
Is getting to you."

<<Testify Brother Tyler, testify>> Starkweather thought to
herself as she got the aggravation out of her.
Unfortunately the complication was still there. She wasn't
one of THEM. Not a college student. An agent of the Federal
Bureau of Investigation. Investigating a murder.
As the song faded away, she held the guitar out to Bob. "Do
you want to play??" she asked sickeningly sweet.

Seth butted in, "Dude, I have this friend who is looking
for a new guitar player in his band and he was just sayin'
how sweet it would be if he could find a chick who could
play." He beamed at Starkweather.

"Maybe she should have played 'Dude Looks Like a Lady'."
Tori said, shorts in a knot because now Bob's complete and
undivided attention was focused on the Hurricane in the
tight top, low-riding baggy jeans thick long hair and
feline eyes.

Those feline eyes rested on Tori again. "Yeah, I 'specially
like the line 'Then she whipped out her gun/Tried to blow
me away.'" Those feline eyes were slits as Starkweather
sneered at the girl before prancing out of the dorm room.

<<Waste of time. Waste of f*cking time.>> she sighed to
herself. <<Oh well, at least I can go out on a high note
and go to slee-"

"Jeri!"

Barry had followed her out. <<WHY!?!?!??!?!?!??!>> she
wanted to scream.

Barry stumbled towards her. "You were AWESOME!!!" he
panted.

For a split second, he reminded her of Chris Farley. Then
she dismissed the thought. Chris Farley had actually been
cool.

"You rocked, man, better than... better than... Steven
Perry!"

"Joe Perry?" Starkweather corrected him unmercifully while
thinking <<He can't tell the difference between Steven
Tyler and Joe Perry???? What a loser.>>

"And I just have to tell you somethin'" he slurred, taking
her hand.

Starkweather let him hold her hand but the rest of her body
backed away from him as far as she could. "Yeah??????????"
<<Maybe I'll luck out and he'll tell me something helpful
about Candelauria.>>

"I think I'm in love with you."

"What?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?"

"I just, I can't stop thinking about you, ever since that
day we shared in the library, then going out to dinner-"

"Barry, it was McDonalds."
"I know! We have a connection, you and I." He was slurring
his words very badly. He clasped her mean lean guitar
playing hand between his big sticky palms. Starkweather did
not even bother to hide her revulsion. The expression of
horror on her face was almost comical. "I think you're a
special girl, Jeri O'Brien and I know I don't deserve you
because I'm fat and slow but I just think you're so cool
and beautiful and smart and kick-ass. I don't expect a
relationship right away-"

"WHAT?!??!?!??!?!?!"

"We can start slow at first. Go out to lunch again. But I
just wanna let you know, Jeri, I'll treat you like a queen
if you let me." He kissed the top of the hand that normally
bore a wedding ring.

Starkweather started at him as if he was one of Mulder's
mythical grays he always droned on about. "Barry, how much
did you have to drink?" she blurted out.

"Two," he grinned. He squeezed her hand. "Whatdaya say????"

"FUCK no," Starkweather snapped and pulled her hand away.
"I have a man. Back home."

Now Barry scowled. "No you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"What's his name?" He challenged her.

"Benjamin Starkweather, now leave me alone," Case or no
case, she was NOT staying with this looney-toony. Besides,
if she would stay any longer, she had a feeling that
Doggett would kill her if he found out. She tried to push
past him, but he grabbed her shoulders and slammed her
against the wall, hurting her a little. Starkweather may be
athletic, but Barry was just plain HUGE.

"Now, listen here-" he started but a voice interrupted him.

"Barry, dude," Sandy Gallimore put his hand on Barry's
shoulder. "Chill out. The lady said she had a man. She's
got a man. Leave her be." Sandy's tone was completely
unruffled. "Besides, I heard Mandi had the hots for you."

"Really?" Barry let up on Starkweather and went in pursuit
of Mandi.

Sandy dropped a wink at Starkweather. "Mandi's a bitch." He
whispered. "Wanna get out of here?"

"Please," Starkweather said and followed Sandy Gallimore
out the door.


Starkweather and Sandy walked outside towards "the mall", a
space of greenery which was bordered by the classroom
buildings, the library and the other dorms, all empty. In
between the library and the main classroom building was an
ultra-modern metal scuplture of figures dancing.
Starkweather and Sandy stopped in front of the statue and
stared at it. "God, that's ugly," Starkweather finally
said.

Sandy smiled. Starkweather glanced at him through the
corner of her eyes. Nice looking boy, really. The type of
boy she lusted after when she was young. Starkweather
stifled a sigh and felt her age.

"Yeah, Candi thought it was butt-ugly too," Sandy said. He
ran his long fingers through his shaggy blondish brown
hair. "Candi wasn't big into art." Awkward silence. "Don't
worry about Barry," Sandy told her. He shook his head.
"Don't take this the wrong way, but he chases after
anything that has tits and two to four legs. He tried to
fuck with my sister, but-" he laughed, shaking his head.

"But what?"

"Well he followed her around like a sad puppy dog and he
was always trying to get her alcohol and dope and Candi was
always like 'Barry, I don't do that shit,' but he somehow
got it in his head that booze and drugs are like women
magnets."

Starkweather was staring at him open mouthed. "She
didn't...?"

"Didn't what?" Now Sandy was defensive.

"Um..." Starkweather shrugged. "Look. I'm new. Okay? I
don't know what the hell is going on. I didn't know your
sister and I really don't know you. I appreciate you
helping me out with Barry-" <<although a sharp kick to his
la-la's would have solved that problem>> she thought
caustically "-and taking me out here, but... there's...
what I've heard... the rumors at the station..." <<My
God... there goes our new untraceable drug theory>> she
thought.

"What?"

"Well, some people seem to think she overdosed on
something."

Sandy turned to her, his handsome lean face clouded over in
darkness. "Really." It was a statement.

"I- I-... I'm sorry. Like I said, I don't-"

He held a hand up. "It's okay, Jeri. I know you don't know
what the fuck's goin' on. That's why I took you out here. I
wanted to talk to you. About Candi."

"Why?"

He let his hand drop. "Because everyone is wrong. The cops.
The FBI. Everyone. It was no drug that killed her. No
madman."

"What... what do you think killed her then?"
Sandy took her hand. He looked at the ground. Starkweather
felt an intense rush....a sweeping change through her
body.... similar to... to what? When she first had sex....
no. When she met her husband.... no.... When she... when
she....when she first met John Doggett... no...

<<Stop it Jerilyn.>> But she looked up at him with wide
eyes. "Tell me," she whispered.

"That station killed her," Sandy said, almost feverishly.
"That station killed her just as sure as you and I stand
here, but I can't prove it. But I can't let another girl
die. Jeri O'Brien, I don't know you. I don't know you at
all. But you **must** quit the station. Please save
yourself and go back to Omaha."

Then it hit here when she felt this way before and it had
nothing to do with attraction, but with power and charisma.
"You sound just as obnoxious and paranoid as my older
brother," she said and slipped her hand out of his..

Sandy shook his head. "I'm not one of those freaks who just
believes the first thing that I hear. I'm a criminal
justice major. I do not believe into jumping to conclusions
without proof. But... I just know... I just know it's that
station. Something not right's going on there. I even told
Candi I thought the way they treated her was wrong. That
they treated her like garbage."

"How?"

"They assumed she was going to live and die for that damn
place even though it was just an internship, even though
she was getting paid only six dollars an hour. They
interfered with her school, her sleep, her life. The
problem was, Candi bought into it. She thought she was
working her way into a full-time position. They just saw
her as cheap labor."

Starkweather mulled that over in her head. Her brother said
Candi didn't do drugs. The fax that the tox report came
back clean supported his claim. Barry, however said he and
Candi used to smoke the happy weed together. Barry,
however, was a worthless piece of human waste, which
disputes *his* claim.

"She did die for that station," Starkweather reminded him
gently.

"Look how they're repaying her," Sandy said bitterly. "I
tell you Jeri, someone in that station is guilty as sin."
Starkweather, for the first time in days, felt a chill. But
she was not glad because it was almost exactly what she had
said to Doggett awhile back. Plus Autumn's weird little
voyage into the beyond said the killer of Elizabeth Cash
was still working at the station. <<Like that would be
admissible in a court>> she told herself.

Still...

Still...

<<Oh, God in Heaven, the Mulder genes are rearing their
ugly heads,>> she moaned to herself even as she asked "Who
do you think that could be? It doesn't help me if I don't
know who's guilty as sin."

Sandy shook his head. "I don't know," he said rather
anticlimactic.

Starkweather looked at him. "I can't leave."

Sandy looked at her sadly. "Then at least don't stay there
alone."

"I'm not alone," Starkweather assured him. <<My buddy
Beretta is with me at all times.>>

"When do you work next?" Sandy asked. "I'll come with you."

"I.. I don't know when." Doggett had told her not to come
to the station like she was supposed to. And dammit, she
wasn't. She was going to sleep for a little while.

"Okay," Sandy heaved a sigh. "I'm not trying to scare you
Jeri, it's just that... it's just that my sister died a
nasty death and... I don't wanna see that happen again."

"It's not," Starkweather assured him as she thought <<In
fact, I'm going to make a phone call to someone in the
morning to ensure it doesn't.>>



The women's bathroom
First floor lobby of Oona Hall
6:15 AM Central Time

Starkweather, still in her clothes from last night, crept
down to the ladies' room she had noted was next to the
admissions office on First Floor Oona Hall. Tiptoeing, she
carried a small backpack with her. The hall itself was
filled with dim light of an early dawn but even the weakest
light of morning did not dispel the gloom of the hall.
<<Jesus, this place looks creepy>> she shuddered as she
shut herself into the bathroom, locking the door.
The bathroom only had two stalls. After kicking the stall
doors open, just to double check, she sat on the floor,
against the main door, even though she locked it. She
opened her little backpack, pulled out a small sketchbook,
a charcoal pencil and her cell phone. She dialed. "Come on,
come on..."

"Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Yes, Reyes, I do. I know it's five in DC and I'm sorry,
but I need your help. I think I stumbled across a lead, a
big one...but a Mulderish one."

Monica Reyes was instantly awake. "Yes??"

"Did you get the pen I sent you?"

"Yes."

"Did you feel anything...?"

"I saw something... Jerilyn..."

"What??"

"I think whoever this pen belongs to... is the murderer."

"Of Elizabeth Cash?"

"How did you kno-"

"Look, I... I can't fricken believe I'm saying this or even
buying into this, but I'll explain everything to you and
the rest of the kids in an email later today. I need to
know what you saw." Starkweather cradled the phone to her
ear with her shoulder, "I don't have a lot of time, Reyes."

Reyes told her about the vision, about the great pain and
anguish she felt. "For a minute, Jerilyn, I felt like I
couldn't breathe."

"Describe the boy over Elizabeth's body."

Reyes did as Starkweather sketched. "Does he look
familiar?" Reyes asked when she was finished.

Starkweather pursued her lips. "I.... Jiminy Christmas...."

"Jerilyn?"

"He looks familiar, but... shit I can't put my finger on
it... but... my God... Reyes... it IS someone at the
station, I know it, I just don't know... I'm just not
sure... besides... this still isn't admissible in a court
of law."

"But it's a start," Reyes said firmly.

"Yes," Starkweather whispered into her phone. "It's
actually a very good start. Because I am sure of one
thing."

"What?"

"The killer is a disc jockey," Starkweather stared at the
charcoal composite of a young man with big eyes, a long
nose and long hair. "It's one of the guys... it's one of
the younger deejays." Her heart sank when she thought of
Ace. She hoped it wasn't him. She really liked him. "It has
to be one of them."

"Reyes, there's just one thing I need cleared up before we
can go forward, but I think once we do, all kind of doors
will be opened."

"What kind of doors?"

"Doors to judge's chambers where they will sign search
warrants."

"What do you need?"

"Two things, we need to find Elizabeth Cash's body-"

Reyes interrupted. "What are you talking about? Cash's body
WAS found... in the KRRQ studios."

"I thought that was Melinda Widlowsky. In 1985? She was a
practicing Wiccan?? Rose Hill student. Originally from
Colorado?"

"Yes, but there was also Elizabeth Cash. HER body was
found. In the parking lot of the radio station."

Starkweather frowned. This did not jive with Autumn's
seance. "She was Wiccan too, correct?"

"Yes."
"But her body was.... found????"

"Yes."

"ALL of it?"

Reyes sat up in bed. "Yes... why...what??"

Starkweather sounded desperate. "Reyes, we're running out
of time. I'M running out of time. There's something screwy
with the Cash case. She was one of the girls involved with
the cattle mutilation scandal. There was something
different with her murder. Something different from all of
the other girls. What???"

Reyes reached over, switched on the light and opened the
thick case file on her night stand. "Starkweather, the only
thing different from Cash's death and the death of the
other girls is that her necklace was..." she read directly
from the case file. "...missing, possibly stolen.'"

"That's it? What's special about the necklace?"

"It was a gift, an heirloom from her grandmother..." Reyes
sucked in her breath. "My God, how could Scully and I
missed this?"

"Missed WHAT??? Reyes, I have to get up back to my room
before my idiot roommate thinks I fell in."

"The necklace was an antique locket from her grandmother...
a Lacrissa Widlowsky."
"Fuck me, Melinda and Elizabeth are related. What year did
Melinda bit it?"
"1985."

"And Elizabeth?"

"1984."

"What brought Melinda to the same station where a relative
and fellow broomstick jockey bought the farm."

"I'm all over that."

"One more favor and I'm spent."

"Name it."

"Make Mulder feel useful. Have him email me all info he has
about black magick. Magick spelled 'm-a-g-i-c-k.'"

"Jerilyn, are you entertaining the idea that there are
supernatural forces at work here?"

"I'm not just entertaining the idea, I'm buying it drinks
and dancing the Macarena with it. I gotta go, I'll explain
everything in an email."

Starkweather threw her belongings in her bag and sprinted
up the stairs. As she reached the top of the stairs, she
heard an ear-piercing scream... from Autumn's room.
Starkweather slung the backpack onto her back and ran to
Autumn's. She pounded on the door. "Autumn!!! Autumn, it's
me."

Autumn flung open the door, white as snow.

"What happened?" Starkweather whispered.
"I had a bad dream," she whispered back.

Starkweather noticed she was trembling. "Must have been a
hell of a dream." She reached for Autumn, her skin was cold
to the touch.

"Come in," Autumn beckoned her. Starkweather stepped into
her tiny room. Autumn, still shaking, sat on the floor on
one of her massive pillows. She wrapped herself up in a
heavy afghan quilt. Starkweather, meanwhile, was already
feeling the promise of another hot and miserable day. "I
dreamt about a girl, a deranged girl. Bitterly anger. I
dreamt about her coming to the station. Threatening
Elizabeth's killer."

"Then what?"

Autumn wrapped the quilt tighter around herself. "Normally
I don't get auditory when I'm having my visions, I only get
the visuals. But this time I could hear what they were
saying too. The boy, the killer. He was laughing at this
girl. But this girl... she laughed at him. She cursed him.
She told him by the power of three times three what he's
sown, he will reap. She said that three times..." Autumn
closed her eyes and hung her head.
"What happened?"

Autumn peeked up. Her eyes were brimming with frightened
tears. "She took a plasic baggie out of her pocket. It was
filled with a white powder. She stuck her nose in it and
inhaled... she went into convulsions, she was vomiting and
bleeding... oh god, Agent Starkweather," she whispered
urgently, "it was so fucking scary."

"What?"

"As her body ceased to breath, I could see her spirit, her
sould rise from it. I've... I... I can tell when people
about to die because I see three glowing figures behind
them. I think they're angels. Or maybe walk-ins."

"Walk-ins?"

"Old souls, that exist in the starlight. They're usually
around children. They take the child's soul and
consciousness right before an horrible act of violence
takes their life. But..." Autumn shivered. "This was no
angel. Her aura, her soul was mangled and black. Twisted. I
watched her soul transform into something I've never seen
before. I think... I think I witnessed someone turn into a
ghost or a poltergeist."
"What..." Starkweather said uneasily, "did it look like."

"It had no shape. It had no face. It was just this
maglignant being with glowing blue eyes."

Starkweather inhaled sharply. <<Well, this is all fine and
dandy, but this doesn't help me find enough evidence to
smoke out the killer and throw his or her ass in jail.>>
"What else happened?"

Autumn's hand poked out of the blanket and reached for her
pack of Camels. She pulled one out of the pack.
Starkweather found her lighter and did the honors. Autumn
inhaled. Her hand still shook. "I heard a voice. The voice
said, 'Stay out of this wannabe witch' and... I couldn't
breathe. I felt that if I didn't scream, I'd suffocate. So
I screamed. Then I woke up."

"You said that Wiccans do not believe in revenge, but in
justice, correct?" Starkweather asked. Autumn nodded.
Starkweather sighed. "Normally I don't buy the supernatural
stuff, but in my line of work, I can't afford to have a
completely closed mind. Wicca is a religion, correct?"
Autumn nodded again. Starkweather went on. "And, like any
religion, Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hindu, Buddhist, so
on and so forth, can be twisted and manipulated to serve
one's own purpose, correct?" Autumn nodded again.
Starkweather took a deep breath and took a chance <<and if
I'm wrong, we're all going to swing for it>> she told
herself gloomily, "We just received information that one of
the girls who died at the station was a relative of
Elizabeth Cash. It was confirmed that she was a practicing
Wiccan." Autumn's head bobbed up and turned to face
Starkweather. "Is it possible that this girl could have
perverted the tenets of the Witch's Rede to avenge her
relative's death?"

Autumn looked up at the ceiling. "Black Magick." she
nodded, "It makes sense. She killed herself the same way
Elizabeth was killed to gain even more power. Power she
wouldn't have access to on this plane... Jesus... and now
she's abusing the powers of the other side in killing these
girls. And she won't stop until the killer is brought to
justice." Autumn turned whiter.

"If that is possible, of course," Starkweather said calmly.

Autumn hung her head again. "Agent Starkweather, you have
no idea what is possible and what is not...."


Tori and Jeri's dorm room
7:30 AM Central Time

After making sure Autumn was okay, Starkweather drug
herself back to her room. Despite the warning <<you have no
idea what is possible and what is not>> Starkweather's mind
was too fogged by exhaustion to even process it. She let
herself into her room and fell upon her bed.

Some time later, the phone rang. Starkweather, so dead to
the world, didn't even move. Tori, however, jumped up,
startled out of a hung over sleep.

"Dammit," she cursed and she leaped down from her loft and
grabbed the phone. "HELLO?" she said rudely. She listened
for a bit. "Yeah, she's here, hold on..." she went to
Starkweather's bed and shook her awake. "Jeri? Get up."

"Touch me again and I'll break all of your fingers,"
Starkweather growled.

"It's your boss," Tori held the cordless phone out to her.

Starkweather, still have asleep, thought she was talking
about Assistant Director Skinner. She grabbed the phone.
"Sir?"

"Jeri, where the hell are you???"
Starkweather blinked. Checked the clock. "Reece?"

"YOU'RE AN HOUR AND A HALF LATE TO YOUR SHIFT? DO YOU
**NOT** VALUE YOUR JOB!!!" the program director shrieked at
her. "I CAN HAVE YOU FIRED YOU KNOW! INTERNS ARE A DIME A
DOZEN. WHEN I PUT YOU DOWN ON THE SCHEDULE I EXPECT YOU TO
BE THERE. WHY THE HELL ARE YOU NOT HERE???? I SHOULD WRITE
YOU UP. I SHOULD FIRE YOU AND SEND YOU BACK TO FUCKING
OMAHA!!! JUST LET YOU FAIL."

For a minute, Starkweather felt as panicked as she did the
first time the Reveille woke her up during her Basic
Training for the Air Force. Then she collected herself.
"Reece, the FBI agent last night told me that it was too
dangerous for me to come in. He ordered me to stay home
until he gave leave. Didn't Ace tell you?"

"No," Reece said, still sounding peeved but not at her.
"Looks like I'm going to have to write nasty memos. I hate
writing nasty memos. I'm sorry I called and woke you up
man, I just didn't know what was going on and I needed to
know where my part-timers are you know. Because of all the
craziness going on around here."

Starkweather could see him bobbing his head up and down
like a crane as he spoke. "I understand," she said mildly
while she thought <<you prick>> "I should have called you
myself." <<Thanks Ace>> she seethed.

"No don't worry about it don't worry about it," he was
talking rapidly now. "But you'll be in tomorrow, right?"

"What?"
"Well... you know, it was good of you to listen to the FBI
guy 'cause that's what he's there for, to keep you safe-"

<<Dude, you have no idea>> Starkweather thought....


"... but you know that he's over-reacting right?"

"Over-reacting?" Starkweather asked blandly.

"Sure sure," Reece said. "Those guys tend to freak out over
the littlest things."

Starkweather, who had never seen Doggett freak out, said,
"I see."

"So go ahead and take today off, you did the right thing,
but I need you to come in tomorrow."

Starkweather bit her lip, eyebrows furrowed. "Okay," she
finally said slowly. "No problem. But, say, if something
like this should, God forbid, happen again... could I have
your home number so I can call you myself right away?"

"Oh sure sure. It's 255-0507."

"Thanks."

Reece Jackson finally left her alone. Starkweather, once
she heard Tori snoring again, took out her little Toshiba
computer notebook and sent an email out to the Lone Gunmen:

"Guys... still waiting on info on Imogene Autumn
Chamberlain. Make that second priority after this. Need all
the information on whoever's name is on the books for this
phone number: 712-255-0507. He goes by the name Reece
Jackson, but that's not his real name. I need his name,
social security number, address, level of education
reached, employment history, blood type, criminal records,
library card, anything... I think this man is dirty, I
think he's involved with the murders. Get it to me ASAP and
I will make you my world famous Better than Sex Chocolate
Cake. Or I'll buy you much beer. Whatever you prefer.
Thanks guys. - Agent Starkweather."

Starkweather encrypted the email, sent it and fell back
asleep. Around four that afternoon, the phone rang, waking
her from a dead sleep again....


Meanwhile...

Back in Washington DC
The Lone Gunmen Lair
"Dudes," Langly beamed. "Starkweather just emailed me."

Frohike and Byers shared a smile before going over to
Langly's computer. The hapless wanna-be hippie with the
thick glasses had the world's most pathetic crush on the
feisty Dr. Starkweather. It was so pathetic in fact, that
it completely put Frohike's crush for the enigmatic and
"scrumptious" Dr. Scully in the shade.

Langly had just finished decoding Starkweather's email.
"Damn... Better than Sex Chocolate Cake..."

"She must be desperate," Frohike concluded.

"Well gentlemen," Byers said, smoothing his tie. "Let's get
to work. I think you and Langly," he said to Frohike,
"should double up on researching the phone number while I
complete our research on Imogene Autumn Chamberlain."

Meanwhile, Frohike was still reading the email. "Hey she
said Better than Sex Chocolate Cake OR much beer. I'm
leaning for the much beer."

"Go call Mulder," Langly shoved Frohike away from him. He
shut down Napster and logged into the Yellow Pages. "Let's
let our fingers do the walkin'," he said as he started to
pound away at the keyboard.

Frohike picked up one of their many cellphones...

Scully was already up when the phone rang. Despite the
unexpected late night with Mulder, she was awake at her
usual ungodly hour along with William. She was on the
floor, playing with her son, building a tower of building
blocks for Will to knock over at his whim. He was getting
SO big now! Scully had been marveling over her child. He
could sit up by himself now and was trying to scootch along
on his tummy although he hadn't quite figured out that one
yet. When the phone rang, Will pointed and made noises at
the noisy instrument.

"Yes, Will the phone's ringing," Scully sat up to grab the
cordless. "Hello?"

"Agent Scully?"

"Good morning Frohike."

"I didn't wake you?"

"No, I've been up for awhile."

"How's the baby? Is he feeling better?"

"Which baby?" Scully couldn't help herself.

"The little one."

"He's feeling much better, aren't you sweetie?" Scully said
to Will who promptly destroyed the tower Mommy made for
him.

"Where's the big baby? Starkweather asked me to relay a
message to him about the X-File she and Dog-man are working
on."

"He's still sleeping."

"What are you wearing?"

"WHAT?!?!?"

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Frohike closed his eyes in horror. "I
can't believe I said that out loud."

"**I** can't believe you said that out loud."

"Scully, I'm so sorry, god I'm sorry. Really really sorry.
Really."

"Really?"

"Really... um... okay I want to die."

"Would you rather talk to Mulder?"

Frohike would have rather crawled under a rock and stayed
there for about twenty years but instead he said "Sure."

Scully scooped up William and went into her bedroom. Mulder
was still snuggled under the covers. His dark hair was
still tousled from last night. One bare arm was clutching
the corner of her comforter. His face was perfectly calm in
repose. He so rarely looked peaceful, Scully hated to wake
him, especially for Frohike, but since it was something
about the case in Sioux City, she sat down on the bed and
breathed his name into his ear.

"Wake me again and I'll break all your fingers," Mulder
grumbled, unconsciously mirroring Starkweather's comment to
Tori, although his tone of voice was much nicer than hers.
Plus he wrapped his free arm around her tiny waist.

"Mulder, it's business. It's about the radio station X-File
Doggett and Starkweather are working on."

Mulder's eyes flew open. "Everything okay?"

"I'm assuming so. Otherwise Frohike would have told me."

"Frohike?"

"He's on the phone. He wants to speak to you." Then Scully
whispered to him, "Tell him what you're wearing."

"What?!?!?!"

"Just do it," Scully handed him the phone and carried Will
away.

Mulder shook his head. And people thought she didn't have a
sense of humor. "Hello?"

"Mulder, it's Frohike."

"Hi Frohike, I'm laying in bed wearing nothing but a pair
of the pink silk boxers with the face of Elvis screen-
printed on the ass. I got 'em when I went down to Gracelan-
"

"OH GOD, SHE TOLD YOU!!!!!" Frohike lamented aloud.

After Mulder finished humiliating Frohike, he slipped on
the pair of gray fleece sweat pants that now practically
lived over at Scully's. He sighed, realizing that he hadn't
been to his apartment in over a week now. He wondered if he
had any living fish left.

Feeling better than he had in days, he padded into the
kitchen. Will was already in his high chair, being fed
oatmeal. Scully looked up at him. "There's coffee brewing."

"I knew I kept you around for some reason," Mulder
deadpanned as he made a beeline for the burbling coffee-
maker. "Hey Boo," Mulder stopped to kiss the boy on the
head, then continued his journey to caffienation.

"What did Frohike want?" Scully asked while deftly wiping a
glob of oatmeal off Will's chin.

"To know what you were wearing," Mulder said flatly. "I
told him you were wearing a black leather corset from
Victoria's Secret and a pair of crotchless panties from
Frederick's of Hollywood. I think he passed out."

"Mulder."

Mulder poured himself a cup of coffee. "Want some?" he
asked her. When she shook her head, he came and sat down by
her. "He was relaying a message from Starkweather. She
seems to think that the program director is involved some
how."
"The program director.... Reece Jackson..." she shook her
head. "Problem is, that's not his real name. And the radio
station is being absolutely uncooperative about releasing
personal information. Agent Reyes emailed me earlier this
morning. I guess Starkweather woke her up at the crack of
dawn and they did a little brainstorming."

"Anything productive?"

"Productive enough that Agent Reyes said she figured out a
connection and is going to Judge Nelson today to obtain a
search warrant to overrule the confidentiality clauses of
the radio stations contacts."

"What's the connection?" Mulder sipped his coffee and still
burned his tongue. "Ow."

"Agent Reyes, after she got off the phone with Agent
Starkweather, went to the KRRQ website on a hunch.
Starkweather told her she has good reason to believe that
who ever is causing the deaths of these girls, be it murder
through supernatural means or peddling of lethal drugs,"
she looked at Mulder pointedly before resuming the feeding
of William. "Is still at the station, who has been at the
station from the start."

"Makes sense," Mulder said thoughtfully. "I read
Starkweather's profile. I'd have to agree with her
findings. Who's been there since 1984?"

"Four disc jockeys," Scully said, wiping Will's face again.
"Three for the FM station, one for the AM station."

"What are their air names?"

"John Kelly is the news anchor for the AM station. He has
access and no alibi, but no motive. Reece Jackson, the
program director for the FM side. He has access, but he has
an alibi and no motive The same goes for the other two.
Taran, the promotions director and afternoon deejay. And
Ace, the overnighter."

"Hmmm..." Mulder mulled this over in his head. "Is Taran
male or female?"

"Female."

"Taran might have motive if she was neurotically concerned
about competition but I don't see her as the big mover and
shaker in this whole ordeal..."

"Who are you leaning towards?"
"How old is John Kelly? Is he a young buck or an old news
hound?"

"More like ancient news hound. According to his online bio,
he's been with the station since February 1968."

"The dawning of the age of Aquarius." Mulder blew on his
coffee before drinking it this time. "I'm in Starkweather's
camp. I'm leaning toward the program director."

"So you've abandoned the possibility of supernatural
possibilities?"

Mulder looked at her blankly. "Scully... this is me we're
talking to."

"Damn," Scully muttered. "Mulder, just for once, can't you
accept that a crime may be nothing more than an atrocity
committed by a mentally ill or morally impaired human
being??"

"Nope."

Scully sighed and went to lift William out of his high
chair. "What straw, pray tell, are you clinging to this
time to blame this crime on the acts of the unknown?" She
placed Will in his playpen and gave him some toys to play
with.

Before Mulder could retort, the phone rang. With a sigh,
Scully picked it up. "Hello?"

"Dana, it's Monica Reyes, did you receive my email."

"Yes. Yes I did."

"Well, I forgot to tell you something. Starkweather asked
me to relay a message to Mulder. She asked me to ask him to
research black magick. Magick spelled m-a-g-i-c-k."

Scully's shoulders drooped. "Let me ask," she covered the
mouthpiece with her hands. "Before you say I told you so...
Starkweather needs you to do some research on black
magick."

"I told you so."

Scully glowered at him. "He's all over it," she said to
Reyes.

"Is he feeling better?"

"He must be," Scully grumbled.

"I got to go, I've got another call coming in and I think
its Doggett."
"Keep us updated, Agent Reyes."

"I will. Tell Fox thank you."

Scully hung up the phone and turned to face Mulder. He was
leaning back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head,
big arrogant grin crossing his face.

"Don't even Mulde-"

"You know Scully, it hurts me to be right all the time."

Scully took a handful of William's uneaten oatmeal and
flung it at him. It splattered on his bare chest. "Ew." He
flicked the mush off of him. "Mature Scully," he said,
dragging his fingers across the chocolate cake Maggie
Scully had made for them when she had come for a visit last
week, "real mature..." he took another glob of frosting
with his other hand.

"Mulder..." Scully warned him, grabbing Will's bowl. "Don't
make me use this..."

"Use what?" Mulder asked all too innocently as he began to
circle the table, reaching out with his frosting covered
hand.

Will watched from his playpen, fascinated.

Scully faked right, then darted left, trying to make it to
the living room, but Mulder was faster with his long legs.
He tackled her and pinned her. "Mulder!!! DON'T!!!" Scully
squealed as Mulder painted her cheeks with frosting.

"That's not what you were saying last night," Mulder
taunted her as he smeared frosting down her forehead to her
chin.

Still holding the bowl, Scully took the cold oatmeal and
dumped it on his head. Oatmeal dripped from his hair.
"Truce?" Scully asked sweetly.

Will shrieked with laughter and clapped his hands.

Mulder flicked oatmeal from his eyes. "Truce." He stood up
and held out his hand for Scully. "Last one to the bathroom
gets to change Will," Mulder announced as he pushed her
aside and darted to the bathroom. Scully was hot on his
heels, but he slammed the door in her face, her chocolate
coated face.

"Mulder...you... you... YOU JERK!!" Scully threatened half-
heartedly.
Over the sound of the shower, Mulder sang "Sticks and
stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me."

Scully went back to William who burst into new giggles when
he saw Mommy's dirty face. "Yes, Mommy looks silly, doesn't
she?" she asked him as she crouched down by his playpen.
"Mommy feels silly too....