Part 4

XXXXX

FBI Field Office
Newark, NJ
April 8, 2000, 9:47 AM

Mulder was casually sipping a large cup of coffee in an interrogation 
room. Nice touch, he thought. Put a paranoid woman in an interrogation 
room like a common criminal. That should make her warm up to him all 
right. He startled a bit as the door suddenly sprung open and the woman 
in question was ushered in the room.

She was tiny. Barely five feet tall, with what they used to call "big" 
hair and really high heels. He smiled. The Scully Syndrome. 

Grace was not smiling at him. She looked him up and down, and sat 
carefully on the edge of the chair he gestured to.

"It won't collapse, I promise." He said.

"What?"

"The chair. It's not a trick chair. You're sitting in it like you're 
prepared to bolt."

"I am prepared to bolt. So, what is your story, Mr. Mulder?"

"I have a story?"

"You must. I mean, I can't figure out why in the world anyone suddenly 
cares about something that happened a couple of months ago when they 
didn't give a crap immediately after it happened."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Actually, there has been another abduction and 
we feel there might be a possible connection to yours. It's as simple 
as that. It would really help if you could go over the details of your 
kidnapping."

She narrowed her eyes.

"Can I get you some coffee?" Mulder asked.

"No," she said and added half-heartedly, "thank you. Jeez. See, this is 
what happens. I'm forgetting the manners my mama taught me. She must be 
rolling in her grave. I'll help."

"Okay. Do you mind if I tape our conversation?"

"Sure. Knock yourself out," she waited as he turned the recorder on. 
"Okay. The sad part is, there aren't that many details about the 
kidnapping. And, if you ask me, that's why no one cared about it or 
even gave it much thought. Maybe they felt I did it myself or had some 
friends who were playing some hokey trick on me. 

I left work on a Tuesday night. I work as a waitress at a local dinner. 
My car was parked in the back lot. It's dark back there. Just a single 
sensor light that went on as I passed behind the dumpster and went to 
the cars. I felt a sharp pinch on my leg. I looked down and saw 
nothing. Then, I must have passed out. I remember nothing until I felt 
this incredibly cold jolt. I mean, I just woke up instantly and 
realized I was under water. In my down jacket. You know how hard it is 
to surface when you're wearing wet duck feathers? So, I'm struggling to 
get up and the waves keep knocking me over. I don't think I was 
actually in water over my head but the freaking waves were doing a 
number on me worse than if I had been dropped in the middle of the 
ocean. And it was so cold. Those idiots who dump themselves in the 
freezing ocean on New Year's Day—I forget their names—they should all 
be locked up as menaces to society. Freaking lunatics."

"But you were rescued?"

"Yeah. And this is what I wanted to talk about to the fucking Feds. No 
offense," she nodded to him in deference. He smiled back. "I mean, I 
was happy to see him at that second. Who wouldn't be? I'm floundering 
around out there in my wet clothes that are bringing me down. I'm half 
drugged—that much I know. I've swallowed half the freezing Atlantic 
Ocean and here's this guy coming toward me. He immediately yells out 
that I shouldn't worry, he's gonna save me, so I didn't think of the 
guy who nabbed me. And, at that point, I wasn't even sure what had 
happened to get me into that water. All I really knew was I was 
drowning. Just like in my dreams. So, he barrels over the waves. He was 
a big, tall guy. I get sucked down again, and I feel him grab my jacket 
and pull me up. Then, he tosses me over his shoulder and walks to the 
shore. He dumps me on the dry sand, asks me if I'm all right and then 
says he's calling for help. I never saw him again. The cops and 
ambulance showed up a few minutes later. I think I was half out of it 
by the time they arrived."

"They received an anonymous phone call?"

"Yes."

"They couldn't trace it?"

"No. It was from a pay phone."

"And what bothers you about your rescuer?"

"Well, I can understand someone not wanting credit for doing something 
good. I mean, 'no good deed goes unpunished' and all that.  What I 
can't understand is how anyone could have been on that beach that 
night, unless he was up to no good. It was cold. When I say cold, I 
mean cold. It was about 7 degrees. And with the wind chill—it was 
worse. And I woke up when I hit the water. If I hadn't, I would have 
drowned. It's as simple as that. As it was, I was gonna drown in a few 
minutes.  So, you're asking me to believe that the kidnapper dumps me 
in the water, runs off, and a kind rescuing type of guy just happens to 
be walking along the freezing cold beach at 1:30 in the morning, sees 
me drowning and rescues me before I can drown? Nuh-uh. He was right 
there. That freak was the kidnapper. He must have dumped me, saw that I 
woke up instantly, walked a little distance from me and when I 
surfaced, played the role of the hero."

Mulder nodded and waited for her to continue. She seemed to be thinking 
out loud.

"Hell, can you even call it a kidnapping? My shift was over at 10. I 
was abducted for three and a half hours. So, someone grabs me, drives 
me to the shore, dumps me in the water and rescues me. Weird, huh? 
Unbelievable, huh? The Feds must have thought so for all the time they 
spent on my case. They didn't call me a liar to my face. I mean, after 
all, they did have a call about coming to rescue me and I sure as shit 
needed rescuing. I was in the hospital for a few days with hypothermia 
and all that crap but they didn't quite buy my story. Kept asking about 
friends or boyfriends with weird senses of humor. Hey, I have friends 
who laugh at South Park and crap like that. But they aren't cruel 
people who would try to drown me for a laugh."

Mulder put his hand to his mouth for a moment and leaned back.  She was 
squinting at him again. Finally, he leaned forward. "Did you get a good 
look at him at any time?"

"There was a full moon. I saw him as he hovered over me after he laid 
me out on the sand."

"You think you could work with the police artists to make a sketch? It 
would really help."

"Sure. I can try. I mean, I want to help this other person. I don't 
want some other woman feeling this way. All creeped out and non-
trusting and stuff."

He nodded. "You don't know anyone named Todd, do you?"

"Todd? No. I never met a Todd in my life."

"Do you belong to a Yahoo group called Dreamedy?"

"Not anymore. Real life became a lot more scary than a bunch of 
dreams."

"But when you did, what was your screen name?"

"Jersey Girl 71."

"That's what I thought. Did you have any personal connection to anyone 
on the list?"

"You think one of them did it?" She asked, leaning forward.

"Not necessarily."

"I didn't write to anyone off-list," Grace said. Mulder stood.

"Well, I think I'll go in and ask for a sketch artist.  Want that 
coffee now, while we wait?"

"Sure. Why not?" He finally got the smile she denied him when they 
first met. She looked nice when she smiled and he no longer felt his 
ass was in any danger of being kicked.

XXXXX

Scully's hotel room
2 P.M.

Scully laid face down on the bed, her upper body rested on her elbows, 
as she read over the files containing the reprinted posts from 
Dreamedy.

She had already compiled a small list of the differences between the 
two women's original descriptions of their worst nightmares and 
Jessica's own interpretations of their dreams.

She looked sharply at the door as it began to open. Before she even had 
a chance to reach for her gun, Mulder poked his head through the door.

"Mulder, I could have shot your head off."

"Not by keeping your gun on the dresser, " he said, looking at the 
furniture in question, then putting the appropriate sheepish expression 
on his face. "I sort of realized you could hurt me as I was opening the 
door.  I'm sorry. I got a spare keycard downstairs. Flashed my badge. I 
thought you might be napping."

"Napping?"

"Hey, there's s first time for everything. Actually, I thought you 
might still be asleep from last night. We got in very late and you 
didn't have to go anywhere." He shrugged. "Why not?"

"For the same reason you hauled your ass up," she frowned at him. "We 
have a case. For the record, I got up, had breakfast and have been 
working ever since."

Mulder removed his jacket, tie, shoes and socks and unbuttoned the top 
three buttons and cuffs of his dress shirt. He plopped down next to 
Scully in the same position she was in--face down--but he was doing 
nothing to hold his body up. He rested his head on his folded arms and 
looked at her instead.

"Tell me all you've done, Scully. I'm just gonna close my eyes for a 
minute while I'm listening."

"Don't be silly, Mulder. Take a nap. You're the one who needs it. Did 
you get any sleep at all last night?"

"An hour."

She shook her head, "The zip disk."

"Mmmm, hmmm. Don't be mad."

"I'm not. We'll talk about the case later."

"Just a couple of hours, Scully. Don't let me sleep any longer. I still 
want to try and arrange something this evening," he popped his head up, 
suddenly. "Frohike. I need to contact him."

She put her hand between his shoulder blades and pushed him down. She 
leaned over and whispered in his ear. "Relax. I called him. I gave him 
Jessica's ISP# and he's going to check and see if anyone hacked into 
her computer. He's going to do a little hacking himself to access the 
member list of the Dreamedy group and we'll take things from there, all 
right?"

"Mmmm," she watched his lips as they formed the silent words, "and you 
wonder why I love you." 

She smiled. He never quite said that out loud.

But it was enough. For now.

XXXX

Scully's hotel room
3:45 PM


Scully was still making notes when she felt Mulder's hand reach out and 
grab the list she made earlier. Even half-asleep, he had unerring 
accuracy.

"You still had fifteen minutes," she said, looking over her shoulder at 
the alarm clock, yet knowing he'd never go back to sleep.

"Don't need it. What's this?"

"A comparison between Tina and Grace's original nightmares and what 
Jessica dreamed. You did confirm that they were on that mailing list?"

"Yes. Grace in person, Tina by cell phone in the car. Remind me to 
recharge my battery, by the way. This list is perfect. She definitely 
got the details right."

Scully raised her eyebrow. "Tina's list has 'potato chips and Poland 
Springs.'"

"Yes, and both were thoughtfully provided by her kidnapper. 'Dry ice,'" 
he read. "Okay, this is more symbolic of something that produces smoke 
but is harmless. So, it's an accurate detail of the homemade smoke 
bombs. "

Mulder laughed as he read down the list.

"What's so funny?" Scully asked.

"Grace's list—'ducks.'"

"Yes. That's why I put a question mark after it. I'm not sure it wasn't 
a typo."

"She was wearing a down jacket."

Scully smiled. "So, she was cooperative after all?"

"Yes. There was a little resistance, at first . . ."

"Then you flashed her those baby hazels . . ."

"Baby hazels. That's a scary thought. Actually, I think she just wanted 
someone to believe her. Her abduction was so short and witness-free 
that I'm not sure anyone took her seriously. The fact that her case 
ended up in the newspaper was due mostly to her knowing someone on a 
local paper who pushed for it to get picked up by one that was city-
wide. She thought it might help get the guy. It didn't. She does have a 
good memory for detail, by the way," he got off the bed and walked over 
to where he deposited his jacket when he came in the room. He sighed as 
he dug through the inner pocket. "I'm getting old, Scully. I used to be 
able to stay up for days but I was so tired I forgot to show you this." 

He handed her a sheet of paper that had a computer-generated picture of 
their suspect. The face Scully looked at was not one she'd normally 
envision under the circumstances but years of law enforcement told her 
there was no such thing as 'normal.'

He was a heavy-set, slightly balding man with a friendly face. She 
wondered how the sketch artist worked that one out. Most of these 
pictures looked like mug shots or DMV photos, not like head shots being 
submitted for a remake of Mr. Roger's Neighborhood.

The phone rang and Scully picked it up. "The lovely Dr. Scully, I 
presume."

"Hello, Melvin," she teased.

"I know you can't see me, but I'm trembling over the intimacy, Dana, my 
love. Tell that partner of yours to switch on the laptop.  I've sent 
you both a present."

"What is it, Frohike?" she said, gesturing to Mulder and the laptop on 
her desk.

"I found out who has been hacking into Jessica Lawrence's computer. 
Well, I mean, aside from the usual spam artists and potential virus-
spreaders. He has been doing it so often it wasn't hard to find. A man 
named Todd Spector. 36-years old. Lives in Staten Island in a home he 
inherited from his grandmother. He's a divorced father of a 3 year-old 
son. Former IT professional let go due to 'bizarre and unprofessional' 
behavior, which was not detailed in his personnel records, at least not 
the computerized ones. He seems to be living off an inheritance his 
mother left him when she passed away last year. Anyway, aside from all 
of that, he made quite the hobby out of hacking Jessica's computer. His 
last attempt was just last night.  He did, indeed, know she was part of 
Dreamedy and signed up himself, sometime last August, but never 
participated.

I sent you his both his driver's license photo and the one his company 
had on file for him, along with all current and past addresses and 
phone numbers. You can shower me with affection now, Scully."

"Consider yourself showered."

"Ah, beautiful and amusing. I shall await your next request for 
information with bated breath."

"Thank you, Frohike."

"Any time, toots," he said, and hung up.

"Frohike just called me, 'toots," she informed Mulder as she walked 
toward him and the laptop.

"Want me to beat him up for you?"

"No, I'll enjoy doing that myself. What have you got?"

"We've got ourselves a match. Take a look." He held up the computer-
generated photo next to the ones on the screen. They were all, in fact, 
pictures of Todd Spector: Suspect Number One.

End of Part 4