From: Vickie Moseley <vmoseley@fgi.net>
Subject: [xfcreative] NEW:  Out of the Cold (04 of 25)
Date: Friday, April 30, 1999 1:09 PM

From: Vickie Moseley <vmoseley@fgi.net>

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

FBI Regional Office
Portland, Oregon
February 2, 1991
4:43 pm

Jerry LaMana sipped at the now stale cup of coffee and stared out
at the blinding rain.  A winter storm had come up the coast,
bringing near freezing temperatures and rain.  There were
predictions for dropping temperatures and then sleet turning to
snow before the night was out.  Just perfect, LaMana thought. 
Tonight was the night their murderer was due to strike again.

The NCIC data base, all shining, new and improved, provided some
details that helped in their game of cat and mouse.  Mulder had
been right, Gail Crown was surprisingly simple to track.  She had
been in all of the cities at the time of each murder, giving Patterson
just enough information and evidence to arrange for an All Points
Bulletin.  With some further checking, using Stephen Paige's credit
card accounts, it was discovered what hotel the Great Stephano had
appeared in Portland, and the city police and FBI had the place
under strict surveillance, with Crown's picture circulated in the
general area as a suspect in a murder investigation.

The trap was set.  Now they waited for the mouse to take the bait.  

At lunchtime, Jerry had run back to the motel, found Mulder had
finally crawled under the covers, still dressed for the day, but was
still sound asleep.  Feeling just a touch self-conscious and praying
his friend wouldn't wake up and catch him in the act, Jerry felt
Mulder's forehead and found it too warm for the liking. 
Remembering the pill bottle again, Jerry got a fresh glass of water
and placed it on the bedside dresser, next to the pills, hoping
Mulder would see both when he woke up and looked at the clock. 
A scribbled note was set beside the water glass, detailing the game
plan for the day and the number of the Regional Office.  Feeling
he'd done everything he could, Jerry quietly left Mulder to his
dreams.

"What time is it?" Bill growled from the doorway.  

"Almost 5," Jerry said without leaving his view of the storm.

"Have you heard from Mulder, yet?" Patterson asked, coming to
stand next to LaMana.  "Shit, only a woman would kill a guy on a
night like this," he muttered.

"It's getting nasty.  And no, I haven't heard from Mulder.  I was
just about to call," Jerry said, reaching for the phone.  He dialed the
number and listened to it ring.  Four times.  Six times.  Eight times.

Patterson looked over from his own inspection of the storm.  "No
answer?"

"Maybe he's in the bathroom," Jerry offered.

"How high was his fever when you left?"  

"Jeez, Bill, I didn't take his temperature!  I just felt his head and it
felt a little too warm," Jerry retorted, his cheeks flushing.  He had a
horrible feeling that he never should have left his friend alone.

Bill took the phone out of LaMana's hand.  "Here, we'll call the
desk, have them go check on him.  He might have fallen, or he
might have a higher fever.  Our kids always ran up temps when the
sun went down," Bill explained, more for his own reassurance than
for LaMana.  Someone at the desk picked up.  "Yes, this is Special
Agent William Patterson.  We have an agent who is ill, he's in room
255.  We just tried to call him and we're not getting an answer.  I
was wondering if someone could go check on him for us or if
you've seen him in the coffee shop."

Bill listened to the answer and then went white.  "How long ago
was that, do you think?  Uh huh.  And was it storming there when
you saw him?"  Bill's features were tensing and he was straining
hard to control his anger.  "And you didn't think it was just a bit
unusual for a man to go out jogging in the middle of an ice storm
dressed for a business meeting and without any kind of coat or
jacket?" he demanded.  "Has he come back? . . . You're sure he's
not come back.  Thank you, you've been most helpful," Bill intoned
sarcastically.  He switch hooked the receiver and waited for another
line to pick up.  While he was waiting, he placed his hand over the
receiver and glared at LaMana.

"Mulder went jogging, in his suit pants and dress shoes.  He left the
lobby about an hour ago.  The grill girl saw him about three blocks
from the motel when she was on her way to work.  He hasn't
shown up back at the room yet."  

He waited in silence then cursed under his breath.  "I hate those
fucking cell phone recordings.  He must have left his cell phone in
the room," he growled, then hit the switch hook again and punched
the numbers on the phone hard enough to do some damage to the
plastic.  By the look on his face, the other line connected and Bill
turned his attention to the phone.  

"Yes, this is Special Agent Bill Patterson, I need to speak to Chief
Wilison, please.  . . . Andy, Bill Patterson.  Look, I've got a sick
agent out jogging . . . yeah, on a night like this.  We're at the . . .
oh, good you know the place.  Yeah, could you send a squad car
out to look for him.  Name of Mulder.  Six foot, slender, dark hair,
thin face.  He'll stick out, he's wearing a white button down shirt
and tie and dress trousers with wing tips.  . . . Well, like I said, he
was staying behind because he's sick, I think he's operating under a
high fever.  Yeah, I'm heading out now, do you still have my
cellular number?  Yeah, that's it.  Thanks, Andy.  I owe you one."

"Now we're looking for a killer _and_ Mulder," Patterson huffed
and headed out the door with LaMana close on his heels.

Docks along the Columbia River
6:35 pm

Mulder was more than out of breath.  He seriously thought he
would never be able to get a breath again.  He sucked in the air but
it stopped somewhere in his throat, not reaching down into his
oxygen starved lungs.  He was dizzy and weak and freezing cold.

And he had no idea where in the hell he was.

He'd been dreaming.  In the dream, he's been running and it felt so
good.  But the dream changed and he was no longer running for
enjoyment, he was chasing someone.  The killer.

Abigail Crown appeared in his dream, just steps ahead of him.  She
would turn a corner and he'd race to catch up with her, before he
lost her trail completely.  She led him all the way from the safety of
the neighborhood surrounding his motel to the docks by the river,
over a mile away.  Then she had disappeared, right before his eyes.

If he could breathe, he'd try to find her.  As it was, he started
coughing again, tasting something thick and strong, like blood in his
mouth and he dropped to the ground.  His last conscious thought
was that he had to get warm.

Sometime later, Patterson's voice was booming somewhere above
him, demanding to know where the ambulance was.  Mulder tried
to open his eyes, but nothing on his body seemed to want to work
right.  He could feel the weight of something covering him, but it
did nothing for the cold dampness that chilled his skin.

"Mulder, can you hear me?"  It was Jerry, sounding cold, wet and
worried.  Mulder wanted more than anything to answer his friend,
but his throat was occupied sucking the small amount of air into his
lungs.

"He's delirious, LaMana."  Patterson again, sounding disgusted and
frustrated.  "God damn it to Hell!  Where is that damned
ambulance?"

"Coroner's wagon just arrived."  Mulder couldn't place that voice,
but what they said definitely got his attention.  Was he dead?  Then
why had Jerry asked if he could hear him?  And why was Bill so
concerned about where the ambulance was?

"So it looks like a murder/suicide?"  Another voice, different than
that last.  "Damn it, Bill.  How did your man know how to find
them?"

"I don't know," Bill said gruffly.  A siren cut off his words.  "Thank
God in heaven, it's about time!"

Everything went gray for a while, and when Mulder realized where
he was, he was lying on his back, with a mask over his face.  His
chest and legs were covered with warm, dry blankets and he could
feel a pressure across him.  Web belting, no doubt to keep him stable
on the gurney.  There was something taped to his left hand,
something felt warm in his veins of that arm.  

"Where are you taking him?  We'll follow behind you."  It was Bill
again.  This time, probably due to the increased oxygen in his
bloodstream, Mulder's eyes actually obeyed his command to open. 
He blinked at the rain and snow falling on his lashes.  It was too
hard to keep them open, so he let his eyes close again.

"Memorial.  It's just up the road about five miles.  Keep on this
road here and you can't miss it.  Do you have his medical
information?"

"It's on file at the Bureau."  

"We're gonna need a history.  Can you get it for us?  Next of kin
should be notified immediately, too.  We might need sign off."

"I'll handle that."  Silence as he was slid into the vehicle.  "How is
he?  Will he be OK?"  

Bill I never knew you cared, Mulder mused bitterly.

"We need to get him in, sir.  They'll know more at the hospital." 
The slamming of the doors cut off further discussion with Bill.

Portland Memorial Medical Center
February 3, 1991
9:00 pm

Jerry was cold, but it wasn't the temperature.  He sat in one of the
institutional plastic and tubular metal chairs in the waiting room,
staring at the television screen.  He had no idea what was on.  It
could have been the weather channel for all he cared.  He just didn't
want to keep staring at the door that led to the exam and treatment
rooms.

Mulder had been back there for almost three hours.  A nurse had
come out not long after they'd arrived to ask about Mulder's
general condition, when he began feeling sick, was he on any
medication, did Jerry know of any allergies.  Jerry had told her
about the antibiotics, and that Mulder had been taking cough
medicine.  She seemed awfully concerned to find out whether it was
expectorant or suppressant, but Jerry couldn't remember.  

Finally, the nurse asked if the Mulders had been notified about their
son, but Jerry didn't know that either.  That was Bill's department
and he hadn't returned.  Jerry looked at his watch again and
wondered if Bill was ever coming back.

As if on cue, Bill walked into the waiting lounge.  He looked totally
exhausted.  He slumped down in the chair next to Jerry.

"Did you get hold of the Mulders?" Jerry asked anxiously.

"Yeah, finally.  I had a hard time, his mother moved not too long
ago and Mulder forgot to update the file.  But I finally spoke with
them both."  Bill leaned forward, removed his glasses and ran a
hand over his eyes.  "And I got the Bureau to fax his medical
records."

"Are his folks coming out?" Jerry asked, somehow relieved to hear
that at least they knew of their son's condition.

"His mom is on the next flight out.  Weather is shitty out east, too. 
But his dad can't come tonight, apparently.  He wanted us to fly
Mulder home."

"I don't think the doctors will allow that," Jerry murmured.

"They won't.  His doctor said his condition is too tenuous and he
would only evac if it was a medical emergency."

"Then you talked to the doctor?" Jerry replied, a little jealous that
Bill was more informed than he was.

"Yeah, for a minute.  They're running tests but from the x ray it's
definitely double pneumonia.  Probably bacterial, which I guess is
bad.  Once they finish the tests, they're moving him up to Intensive
Care."  Bill sat back, it tired him just to think about it.

"Will they let us see him up there?"

"I don't know, LaMana.  Probably not, we're not immediate family. 
Maybe they'll give us a minute before they move him, I just don't
know."

The two men fell silent, each with their own thoughts and prayers.

"Bill, he knew," Jerry stated, breaking the stillness.

"Knew what?  About Crown and where she'd take her next
victim?" Bill asked gruffly and stood up to pace.  "He did the
profile, he climbed into her head, he followed the leads."

"But there weren't any leads to the docks.  And we had nothing. 
We were staked out at the hotel, we were miles off," Jerry pointed
out.  

"What do you want me to say, LaMana?  That it's 'spooky'?  The
son of a bitch could be dying!  Hell of a lot of good being spooky
did him this time!" Bill roared.

The door that Jerry had not wanted to look at opened, and a blue
clad nurse waved at them to get their attention.  "Gentlemen. 
Would you care to see Mr. Mulder for a moment?"

Bill glanced over at Jerry and suddenly Jerry knew why the older
man had shouted.  Bill was scared.  He knew how close Mulder
was to dying and it scared him.  Jerry felt the same, but knew that
he wanted to see his friend, fear or no fear.  "Yes, we would," Jerry
answered for them both.  Silently, Bill followed Jerry and the nurse
into the exam area.

Mulder had never been this cold.  Not that his memory was that
good at the moment, but he'd never felt this bad, never wanted to
be totally senseless as much as he did right then.  And the cold was
not leaving, no matter how many blankets the nice nurses piled on
him.

Taura was the nicest.  She was young and pretty and if he lived
through this, he was going to get her number and see if he could
have her baby.   When he first came around and had been so cold, 
she'd been the one to figure out his whimpers and cover him with a
blanket fresh from a warmer.  It had helped, for a while.  But the
chills came back.  Taura couldn't get him any warmer, but she
stood by him, and talked to him and it made him feel a little less
scared, a little less lonely.

But not less cold.

His eyes would open and close of their own accord, and he would
try to focus every once in a while.  He opened them one time and
Bill was standing beside him, leaning over, talking to him.  Bill told
him that his mother was on the way.  In a while Bill was replaced
with Jerry, telling him that everyone hoped he was feeling better
soon.  Mulder hoped soon came real quick because at that moment,
he just hoped he'd be unconscious again.  Bill and Jerry left and he
was moving, but he couldn't make his throat work to ask where he
was being taken.  He'd just have to wait and see.

He'd faded out waiting for the elevator, now he was very much
awake as he was shifted from the gurney to the bed.  Try as they
might to be gentle, an IV line was pulled, and Mulder himself began
coughing, a dry hacking that seemed to last forever and
accomplished nothing more than  to leave him gasping for breath,
weak and hurting.  He was more than happy when everyone
decided they were satisfied with his transition and left him the hell
alone.

But he really didn't want to be alone.  He just wanted people to
stop touching him.  His skin hurt, it felt fragile, like the next needle
prick or monitor pad would shatter it into a million pieces.  His eyes
were burning like fires had been lit in them.  He didn't even want to
contemplate the pain in his chest every time he breathed.

"Mr. Mulder?"  Had to be a nurse, the voice was too polite to be a
doctor.  When he didn't answer, it came again.  "Mr. Mulder?"  He
managed to get control of his eyelids and opened his eyes to slits
against the harsh lights of the room.

"I'm Jan, I'm your nurse.  I know you're hurting right now, but the
doctor has ordered some medicine for the chest pain and to help
bring the fever down.  It's going to make you sleepy, but you
probably won't mind that either."  He couldn't make out much of
her face, but he could hear her smile and it was beautiful.

Suddenly, he felt the same warmth he'd felt before when Taura had
put the blanket from the warmer on him.  Now he'd have to figure
out how to have Jan's baby, too, he mused groggily.  "That should
help with the chills, until this takes effect."  He could feel
something cold move through the IV line, but at least it didn't hurt. 
He sighed in relief.  "I'm putting the call button right here."  He felt
a cold thing, round and hard in his right hand.  "But I'll be checking
on you and I can hear you out there if you need me.  Just go to
sleep.  When you wake up, I'll bet your family will be here."

His only thought, as he drifted off, was how in the world had they
found Samantha and why hadn't they told him sooner?

end of part four
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



------------------------------------------------------------------------
Did you know that ONElist hosts some of the largest lists on the Internet?
http://www.ONElist.com
Our scaleable system is the most reliable free e-mail service on the Internet!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------

The X-Files Creative Mailing List

Archived at http://www.xemplary.com

To subscribe, go to http://www.onelist.com/subscribe/xfcreative

To unsubscribe, go to http://www.onelist.com and click on the Member Center button