From: Vickie Moseley <vmoseley@fgi.net>
Subject: [xfcreative] NEW:  Out of the Cold (02 of 25)
Date: Friday, April 30, 1999 1:07 PM

From: Vickie Moseley <vmoseley@fgi.net>

Out of the Cold
by Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net
disclaimed in part 00
part two of twenty-five

January 31, 1991
3:35 am

Jerry was usually a sound sleeper, which helped a lot when it came
to rooming with Mulder.  He never knew that more often than not,
Mulder would awaken sometime during the night and turn on the
television to banish the nightmares that came in his sleep.  Mulder
never told his friend about his nightmares, and Jerry never
suspected anything was wrong.

So it was a big surprise to both of them when Mulder started
screaming as if the dogs of hell were chasing him.

Jerry shot out of bed like a rocket, grabbing for his service revolver
sitting next to the bed.  Mulder kept screaming for a good three
minutes, running out of breath and choking and coughing.  Finally,
when Jerry figured out they weren't under attack by an army of
psychopathic killers, he grabbed Mulder's arms and tried to break
him out of the dream.

Mulder's skin was on fire.  For the first time since arriving in
Billings, Jerry started to fear that his friend might really be sick. 
"Mulder.  Hey, Mulder.  Come on, guy.  Snap out of it," he
conjoled.  After several seconds, which seemed like an eternity to
Jerry, Mulder seemed to gain an awareness of his surroundings.  He
looked Jerry in the eyes and seemed confused.

"LaMana, get the hell out of my bed," he growled, and a cough
punctuated his words.  Slowly, he shoved Jerry aside, and stumbled
into the bathroom.

"You have a fever," Jerry informed him upon his return.  

Mulder promptly shot his friend a middle finger salute.  "Fever
this," he replied and crawled back into bed.

"You had a nightmare," Jerry said, not quite sure where he wanted
the conversation to go, but needing to say something.

"I figured that out," Mulder said, pulling the blankets up tightly
under his chin.  He felt miserable.  A solid dose of adrenaline
pumping in his veins was doing battle with his aching chest and
rubbery muscles.  Not to mention, he felt like he was cold beyond
his wildest nightmares.  "Turn the fucking heat up.  It's a fucking
freezer in here," he growled.  It was the only thing he could think of
that might help him feel better.

Jerry sat there for another moment, then reluctantly went over to
turn on the heater by the window.  "You should see a doctor,
Mulder.  Patterson said I needed to make sure you took care of
yourself."

"Do you get extra pay for 'babysitting duty?" Mulder sneered and
shivered.  "LaMana, I've got a cold.  It's a virus.  What the hell is a
doctor gonna do?  And what do we do if he says I need to go
home?  That would go over real well with Mother Bill, wouldn't
it?"

"He'll be more pissed if you keel over in the middle of a crime
scene," Jerry pointed out.

"I didn't keel over.  I slipped on the ice," Mulder said firmly.

"Mulder.  Look, if you're sick . . ."

"Jerry, I promise, if I am really sick, I will go to the doctor.  But in
the meantime, I want to sleep, so if you don't mind . . ."

"OK, Mulder.  But if you need me . . ."

"Go to sleep, Jerry.  The night I 'need' you, we're both in big
trouble," Mulder chuckled and the room settled down into silence
again.  It took a few minutes, but the discussion with Jerry had
given his body time to calm down.  Mulder fell asleep almost fast
enough to miss hearing Jerry's snoring.

Six am came awfully early.  Fox Mulder rolled over, his whole body
aching.  He coughed and something came from his lungs and
burned in his throat, threatening to choke off his air.  He rushed to
the bathroom, spitting out some truly vile looking greenish sputum
into the toilet.  "Shit," he muttered, leaning against the sink.  

He didn't think looking in the mirror was going to improve his
outlook on the day, and he was right.  He looked like death warmed
over.  Dark circles rimmed his eyes, giving him the look of a
raccoon.  His eyes held a glassy look, too, and the image in the
mirror shimmered on its own, making him wonder whether it was
his sight or its surface that was the problem.  

The outer room was unbearably hot.  He tugged at the tee shirt
he'd slept in, pulling it off and tossing it in the vicinity of his
suitcase.  He needed to take a shower, but standing had become an
activity too strenuous to contemplate, so he simply fell face first
onto his rumpled bed and fell into a deep sleep.

Jerry had groggily opened his eyes when Mulder had slammed the
bathroom door shut.  Now, with his partner doing a 'dead man's
float' on the other bed, Jerry dragged himself and a clean suit into
the bathroom to shower and change.  He'd already decided that
their first stop, regardless of objections, was to the nearest
doctor/emergency room/prompt care medical clinic.  And he was
more than willing to use his weapon to back up his intent.

Mulder hadn't moved a muscle when Jerry stepped out of the
bathroom, fully dressed for the day.  Jerry walked over to the bed,
and tugged at Mulder's size 12 feet.  "Throw some clothes on," he
ordered.  "We're gonna find a doctor."

More than anything, Mulder wanted to tell Jerry to have explicit
sexual favors with himself, but he knew it had gone beyond that. 
Jerry got serious about precious little, but when he did, there
weren't many ways to stop him.  Mulder tried, anyway.  "Will you
let me eat first?" he whined.

"What do you want to eat?" Jerry asked, not quite as sternly as his
earlier command, but still firm in his intentions.  "We can stop along
the way."

"Hot tea, with lemon," Mulder requested, struggling to a sitting
position and pulling on the dress pants he'd left hanging over the
desk chair back.  "And a goodly shot of Jack Daniels."

Jerry grinned.  "Well, at least you aren't at death's door," he shot
back.  "You're still requesting brand names," he added, and helped
Mulder locate a shirt, his socks and shoes.  "C'mon.  If you're fast,
we might get you back before 'Mother Bill' finds out."

Billings Memorial Medical Center
January 31, 1991
8:30 am

"You have a nasty case of bronchitis, Agent Mulder.  We'll send
this specimen to the lab, but I'm betting that you've developed a
secondary infection in the lungs already.  I'm prescribing an
antibiotic, you must take all of it, and an expectorant.  You will
cough, but it will be a productive cough, it will bring the infection
up and out of the lungs."  Mulder winced at the description and
fought back the urge to throw up on the doctor's shoes.  The
doctor didn't seem to notice and continued.

"I want you to drink 8 to 10 glasses of water a day, and it wouldn't
hurt to take as many hot showers as you can tolerate.  The humidity
will open the airways and moisten the lining of the lungs.  Plus
you'll feel a heck of a lot better.  And, of course, bed rest until the
fever is gone," the doctor said with a knowing smile.  "That will
probably be no more than four or five days.  When you get home,
check with your own doctor before going back to work.  Oh, and
any over the counter pain reliever for the fever and aches."  

The man smiled that patented 'doctor' smile at the agent and 
handed him two prescription slips.  "We have a pharmacy here in
the hospital.  They can fill those while you wait."  Without further
notice, he turned and left the cubicle.

Jerry was just finishing up a five year old Sports Illustrated.  "Hey,
what did the doctor say?" he asked cheerfully.

"I have a cold," Mulder lied.  "He gave me a prescription for a
cough syrup that should help me with this cough.  Other than that,
he said to get enough sleep at night and I'll be fine."  

All the time Mulder was talking, Jerry noted that he wouldn't look
him in the eye.  "That so?" Jerry asked, instantly suspicious. 
"Mulder, you aren't shittin' me, are you?" he finally inquired,
making sure he had a good look at Mulder's eyes when he replied.

"Jer, honest, I'm fine," he said and waved a white prescription slip
in front of him.  "The pharmacy is right up there.  I'll go get this
filled and you can go bring the car around.  That way I won't be
out in the cold that long," he reasoned.

Jerry looked like he didn't want to buy that, but couldn't figure out
what was amiss, so went to get the car.  Mulder heaved a sigh of
relief and went off to fill the scripts.

"Got everything," Jerry sneered sarcastically as Mulder finally got
in the car.  While he was standing at the counter, waiting for the
pharmacist to fill the prescriptions, he'd noticed displays for
Tylenol and cough suppressant that guaranteed to stop a cough.  It
sounded good to Mulder, so he'd picked up bottles of those, as
well.

"If you're gonna 'mother hen' me, LaMana, you better not
complain when I _do_ get medical attention," Mulder growled.  He
stuffed the antibiotic in his overcoat pocket, then put the pain
reliever and cough formulas in his suit coat pocket.  "Let's roll," he
said to Jerry, who pointed that car back to the motel.

Billings Police station
10:35 am

Patterson was waiting for them when they arrived.  "You better
have a good excuse . . ."

Jerry cut him off.  "I took him to a doctor this morning," he
explained.

Patterson stared holes in both of them for a moment.  "OK, don't
keep me in suspense.  What did he tell you?"

"I have a cold," Mulder said flatly.  "I have stuff for it," he added,
pulling out the expectorant from his pockets to show the older man.

Patterson leaned over to read the pharmacy label, then narrowed his
gaze at Mulder.  "Make sure you take that stuff," Patterson
growled.  "And watch it next time you walk on ice."

"Duly noted," Mulder grumbled.  "Did the autopsy reports come
back?"

Patterson nodded and handed a file to Mulder.  "I got them about
three this morning.  From the looks of it, the victim was killed at
the scene.  But the knife strokes and the rest of the damage appears
to be done by our guy," he noted.

Mulder was reading and nodding.  "No prints off the body?"

"No.  The ME figures gloves were used."

"Toxicology?" Mulder asked, flipping through the pages of the
report.

"Normal levels on everything.  No drugs, if that's your question,"
Bill replied.

"That doesn't make sense," Mulder said to himself.

"What, that there were no drugs?" Jerry asked.

"No, that the victim just stood there and let someone kill
him--there are no signs of a struggle, either."

"Blow to the head?" Jerry suggested.

"No sign of it," Mulder said, skimming the file again.

"Maybe the first cut was fatal," Bill chimed in.

"Not according to the ME.  Victim bled to death.  That takes time,
especially in below freezing weather.  The body bleeds more slowly
in the cold," he explained, pacing the room.  A coughing fit snuck
up on him and almost brought him to his knees.  When he could
straighten again, both Bill and Jerry were staring intently at him, not
moving.

"Sorry about that," he said, and reached into his suit coat.  He
opened the expectorant and took a big swig.  "You're driving for
the rest of the day," he informed Jerry.

"Maybe you should stay here and rest," Patterson interjected. 
Mulder was instantly suspicious.  Patterson was _never_ 'nice' to
any of his agents, unless he had something up his sleeve.  Mulder
didn't really want a plane ticket home and the shit work he'd be
saddled with if he was removed from the case for illness.

"Nope, Bill.  I got things to do, people to see.  Newspapers to
read," Mulder said with a lopsided grin.  "There is a library in
beautiful downtown Billings, I assume?"

"Probably," Jerry said, pulling the phone book out of the bedside
dresser.  "Yeah, here's the address.  You want to go to the
library?"

"Yep, gonna catch up on my reading," Mulder informed them and
grabbed his coat as he headed out the door.

"Keep an eye on him," Bill warned.  "I don't think this is just a cold
anymore."

"Neither do I," Jerry admitted and followed his friend to the car.

Billings Public Library
4:35 pm

The expectorant, Mulder quickly discovered, did not help his
cough.  It made him cough more, which was the last thing his
stomach muscles wanted.  An hour after taking it, he pulled out the
cough suppressant and took a good swig from that bottle.  Half an
hour later, he found himself in the bathroom, tossing up both
substances and the Egg McMuffin he'd snagged on the way to the
library, but he felt better.  His stomach finally settled and he wasn't
coughing so much.  He went to the periodicals section and got to
work looking through back issues of the local newspapers.

By late afternoon, he was wearing out.  Mulder sat back, took his
glasses off and rolled his shoulders.  He'd been searching for hours,
but he had a sizable stack of xeroxed pages next to his microfiche
reader.  Jerry was snoozing in the chair across from him and Mulder
woke him up with a short kick of his chair.

"Whaa!" Jerry startled, then glared at his partner.

"I'm done.  We can go back to the motel," Mulder said, getting up
and pulling on his suit jacket.

"Did you need to take anymore cough stuff," Jerry noted.  He'd
been keeping track of the time, alerting Mulder every four hours
when he needed another dose.  Mulder had figured out his earlier
mistake and had been sticking with the suppressant for the rest of
the afternoon.

"Not till 5," Mulder reminded him.  "Want to grab a pizza?  I saw a
familiar red roof about a block from the motel."

"Works for me--but none of that anchovies crap.  I want pizza, not
seafood," Jerry growled.

"Philistine," Mulder shot back and purposefully let the door close in
Jerry's face.  Jerry caught the door and shot Mulder a glare.

"You must be feeling better," he commented dryly.

"A little.  The Tylenol and the cough formula are doing the job. I'll
be fine in a couple of days," Mulder assured him.  Of course, he
wasn't about to tell Jerry about the headache that was threatening
to split his skull in two.  Mulder had convinced himself about 2 in
the afternoon that it was from staring at the fiche reader, and
drinking the two cups of coffee at lunch.  Now he was hoping some
food might deaden the pain.   He was also praying his stomach
would agree with the plan.

They ordered a large supreme, with no mention of anchovies, and
iced tea for Mulder, diet Pepsi for Jerry.  A waitress seated them at
a booth and Mulder pulled out the stack of copies he'd made at the
library.

"What were you looking for today?  And did you find it?" Jerry
asked, trying to get his mind off the long wait for the pizza.

"I didn't know what I was looking for, but I found something
interesting."  Mulder tossed one of the pages he'd copied over to
his friend.

"These are the entertainment pages," Jerry said, not bothering to
hide his confusion.

"I know.  Check this entry."  Mulder reached over and circled an
article with his still unwrapped straw.

"An illusionist?  So?" Jerry shrugged and handed the paper back to
Mulder.

"A specific illusionist.  He was pretty well known, actually.  He
even finished in the finals on 'Star Search'," Mulder grinned.

"Mulder, what exactly is in that cough syrup?" Jerry asked
derisively.

"Jerry, look at this.  I found a couple of papers which detailed the
guy's entire tour.  The Great Stephano," Mulder said, handing over
more pages.

Jerry read the pages, then looked at the date line.  "Mulder, these
papers are from _last_ year," he pointed out.  He looked up to
notice the pizza had arrived and Mulder had already beat him to the
first slice.

"I know," Mulder said, happily munching on a piece of pizza. 
"Eeow!  That's hot.  Watch the cheese," he warned his friend.

"So if this guy was touring a year ago, why are you interested?"
Jerry asked, putting the papers down to grab his own slice before
Mulder got the ones with all the cheese.

"Because, he traveled the exact same route as our killer," Mulder
stated calmly.

"But he did it a year ago," Jerry repeated.  "Unless you think this
guy's the killer," he said, his eyes glowing with anticipation.

"Would be a bit hard," Mulder said with a grin.  "Poor Stephano
was murdered--in Denver.  The one year anniversary of that killing
is a month and a half from today," he added, shaking  a flourish of
romano cheese on his second slice.  "And they haven't found the
killer."

"So if he didn't do it?  Mulder, I'm confused," Jerry stated.

"Jerry, he didn't commit these murders," Mulder said patiently, as if
to a child.  "But someone who knows him did.  I'm thinking it
might be the same person who killed him."

"How did he die?" Jerry asked, shifting through papers.

"Stabbing, in the parking lot of the airport.  Not the dramatics of
our more recent murders, but that was the first murder, it's been
refined with time," Mulder shrugged and grabbed a third slice of
pie.

"Hey, I wanted that one!" Jerry objected.  "You makin' up for lost
time or something?"

"Nah, I think this cough syrup is making me hungry," Mulder
smiled sheepishly.  He was famished, he hadn't eaten anything all
day, at least any thing that had stayed with him.  

"So are you going to write this theory up and give it to Bill?" Jerry
asked, nabbing another piece before Mulder got it.

"And make him think his death threats work?  Never," Mulder
smiled.  "No, so far it's just a theory.  I would be stupid to give it
to Bill.  I need more to go on.  But it's a place to start.  And if
nothing else, it gives us more cities to notify."

"Notify how?  Tell every male in each city between the ages of 20
and 42 to stay away from abandoned warehouses and railyards? 
You don't think that's gonna cause a panic?"

"Probably," he admitted darkly.   "Well, we have three days, then,
to find this guy and bring him in.  I guess we better get on it,"
Mulder said, wiping his mouth and finishing off his tea.

Stay and Save Motel
12:15 pm

"You think the killer is somehow connected to this illusionist?" Bill
said slowly, brow furrowed in concentration or anger, Mulder
could never be sure which.

Mulder nodded.  "And the matchbooks, they're all from motels
where Stephano, whose real name is Stephen Paige, appeared as a
lounge act.  They track his tour route perfectly," Mulder said
evenly, not dropping his gaze from the older man.  To blink would
have been a sign of weakness and he'd never allow that to happen.

"Did he have any family?  Maybe this is revenge run amok?"
Patterson suggested.

"I thought of that," Mulder agreed.  "Unfortunately, the only family
Paige had was an elderly aunt who is residing in a nursing home in
Springfield, Illinois.  He was orphaned at a young age and his aunt
raised him.   I thought I might fly back that way and talk to her."

"Where is the killer likely to hit next?" Bill asked, shifting papers to
find the tour route listing again.

"He hits Oregon.  Portland, to be exact, before coming back this
way for a stop in Reno."

"I'll alert those cities.  But we can't put out any APBs until we
have more to go on--like a description," added with a sour look.

"I know.  I don't like this any better than you do, Bill.  We know
where he's going to be, but not who he is or what he looks like. 
It's frustrating as hell," Mulder growled.

Bill glanced at his watch.  "It's close to one am.  You won't be able
to get a flight . . ."

"I'm booked on a flight to St. Louis at 7:15 this morning.  Two and
a half hours there, then it's an hour connecting flight to
Springfield," Mulder said, picking up his papers and stacking them
neatly to fit in his briefcase.  He grabbed his over coat to place by
the door and his hand brushed the paper bag that held the
prescriptions from the pharmacy, still untouched.  As if contact
with the bag had triggered it, his lungs began to burn and he felt
very tired.  "Look, Bill, 5:45 is gonna come awful early."

Bill took the hint and got up from his chair.  "When will you be
back?"

"I have a flight out of St. Louis at 8:30 tonight.  I figured I would
catch up with you in Portland," Mulder said, going to open the
door for his boss.

"Call me if you find anything," Patterson ordered and for once,
Mulder decided it was too serious a matter to respond with a
snappy retort.

"I will," he replied and closed the door.

Jerry had been sitting quietly through the whole discourse with Bill. 
"You really think an old lady in Illinois is going to lead us to the
killer?" Jerry asked sincerely.  It wasn't that Jerry didn't _believe_
that Mulder could know these things, it was just so damned
confusing to Jerry.  The leaps of logic, the instinctual insights, the
whole 'Spooky' persona was a little too much for Jerry.  Jerry saw
Mulder as a smart guy, a good agent, and a friend.  As for his
pseudo-psychic ability to read a killer's mind, Jerry would just as
soon not think about it.

But that was an area where they both agreed.  Mulder would just as
soon not think about it, either.  "I'm pretty sure, Jer.  Pretty sure."

"I'll drive you to the airport," Jerry offered.

Mulder smiled over at his friend.  "You don't have to," Mulder said
with a shake of his head.  "Jerry, I don't know how to tell you,
man, but you could use some 'beauty sleep'," he teased.

"Har Har," Jerry sneered, but gave Mulder the once over.  "You
shouldn't be driving with that cough stuff and as tired as you're
gonna be."

Mulder thought for a moment, and had to admit Jerry was right. 
"OK, Mom, you can drive me to the airport.  But when you try to
kiss me goodbye . . ."

"YUCK!  Don't make me puke!" Jerry exclaimed and headed off to
the bathroom.  He came out a minute later and crawled under the
covers.

"I'm taking my shower now, save time in the morning," Mulder
told him and stepped into the warm bathroom.

He turned on the water full blast and sat down on the toilet seat. 
For some reason, he was dizzy.  He drew in a deep breath, thinking
the steam would offer some assistance, but he couldn't get more
than a small gulp of air.  More than anything he wanted to cough
but the suppressant was doing its job.  Mulder thought about taking
the expectorant, but remembered how that had ended and thought
better of it.

There was another alternative, though.  The prescription of
antibiotics was still out in the bedroom. He'd take a couple, just to
make up for lost time.
 
Sneaking the door open, he moved over to his briefcase as quietly
as possible, hoping Jerry had already fallen asleep.  He need not
have worried, Jerry was dead to the world.  

Mulder grabbed the bag of medicine and went back into the
bathroom.  He popped two of the antibiotics and chased them with
a half a glass of water.  Hopefully, he thought, the antibiotics would
knock out what ever was causing him such shortness of breath.  

He stepped into the shower and let the steam enter his lungs as
much as it could and the hot water pound at the aches in his
muscles.  Half an hour later, feeling almost human, he toweled off
and crawled into bed, immediately getting started on his 3 and a
half hour nap.

end of part two
Vickie

Come visit my web page, brought to you by the fabulous Shirley Smiley!

http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dimension/5821/index.html

Now featuring 'Out of the Cold':

"Bill Patterson stood in the door way, looking to Mulder just like
one of God's avenging angels.  His thinning hair and dark rimmed
glasses lead to the confusing image that this man was a scholar, a
teacher.  Mulder alone knew the truth.  This man was the Marquis
de Sade, with a badge and gun."

Out of the Cold, part one, by Vickie Moseley



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