Title: Revenge Author: Lovesfox E-mail: Lovesfox@rogers.com (Feed me, please) Web site: http://www.geocities.com/kim_djd/index.html Rating: NC-17 (violence, consensual M/S sex and strong language) Category: Implied UST then MSR, Angst, Story/X-File Classification: XRA Spoilers: Nothing specific, up to mid-S7 Archive: As long as my name and everything stays attached Please let me know though. Summary: An old case of Mulder's resurfaces seeking revenge Disclaimer: Alas, not mine. They belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions Dedication: To true friendship, through thick and thin. Thanks, T. Warning: This story contains some scenes of violence, a rape attempt, implied character death, references to incest, and graphic sex. Revenge Part 1 of 29 by Lovesfox Prologue Georgetown, D.C. Friday 7:30 am Whir. Click. The man lowered the camera with its heavy telephoto lens and let it rest on his lap, still watching his two subjects. A tall, dark-haired man guiding a slender, red-haired woman in very high heels down the front walk of the apartment building, his hand behind her, apparently resting at the small of her back. Their closeness, their connection, was now so obvious to him, as it hadn't been in the beginning, and had become more so with each subsequent observation. He lifted the camera once again when they neared their vehicle, parked across the street and several spaces away from his van, and made a few minute adjustments for a better focus. The man leaned in close to the woman and said something that made her smile, turning her head to look at him with unmistakable affection and amusement. Whir. Click. Click. Click. Once they were settled in their car, he placed the camera gently down on the passenger seat and started the van. They did not notice him, watching them through his window as they drove past, aand after their car had receded in his rear view mirror, he drove away in the opposite direction. He would be back later, this address and others long committed to memory. He had been watching the pair for weeks, individually and together, in various locations around Washington, Georgetown and Alexandria, and something had eventually become crystal clear. The red-haired woman was the one. *** Two Weeks Later Scully's Apartment Building Georgetown, D.C. Friday 6:40 pm Scully pulled her car into the only available parking space near her apartment building, behind a white panel van. She unbuckled and leaned over to grab her briefcase and purse from the passenger seat. She got out of the car with a weary sigh and pressed the lock button down before pushing the door shut with a quick bumping motion of her hip. She glanced at her watch. She hadn't decided yet if she wanted to head to her mother's tonight, or in the morning. Right now all she wanted was a very long, hot soak in the tub. Her eyes skimmed over the van as she approached it to walk just past it to the sidewalk leading to the front entrance of her building. She had a vague impression of partially obscured red lettering painted on the side of the van, a duct cleaning service. She thought briefly to herself that one of the tenants must be employed with the company, for she had seen the van quite a bit lately and had not received notice that there was work being done on the building's ducts. A car screeching its tires down the street had her turning her head back to look, and then two things happened. The side door of the van opened with a grinding sound, and a figure was jumping out close beside her. Her head whipped around and a hand with a cloth was suddenly over her nose and mouth, hard. She instinctively inhaled as her airway was blocked and smelled the distinct odor of chloroform. She felt her muscles loosen, and her grip on her belongings slacken. Blackness descended. *** The figure, a largish man in a white coverall with a breast pocket that bore the same red lettering as the van, 'D.C. Duct Cleaning', glanced quickly up and down the street as he hauled the unconscious woman into the back of the van. He arranged her body carefully on her side before pulling a canvas tarp over her, leaving clearance for air to get at her face. He jumped out of the van again and scooped up the dropped briefcase and purse, tossing them inside beside the tarp-covered body, before sliding the door shut with a bang. He gave the ground in front of the door the once over and caught the glitter of keys. With a small curse he bent and grabbed them, thankful to have spotted them. It was necessary to have her keys, for he needed to get inside her apartment. He could have broken in, he supposed, but that option was much riskier. He returned to the driver's side door and opening it, reached across to the thick envelope lying in the passenger side floor wwell. He picked it up, tucking it under his arm, and shut and locked the door. He walked calmly and casually up the walk of the apartment building and in the front door. Moments later he was in her apartment. He did what needed to be done, a small smile on his face. As he left, he shut the door, leaving it unlocked. He walked back outside, whistling under his breath, nodding casually at the woman he passed on the sidewalk. He tossed the keys in the air once, caught them and stuffed them inside one of his pockets. He pulled his own keys out of the other pocket and opened the driver's door and climbed inside. He stowed the items he had retrieved from the apartment on the floor, removed the Latex gloves he had been wearing, and started the van. He glanced back at the building once, smiling again, and pulled from the curb, driving away in the twilight of the evening. Lying beneath the curb where it had been lost in the shadows cast by the van, there remained an item that now shone in the light of the street lamp across the street. An Apollo 11 key chain. *** Skinner's Office J. Edgar Hoover Building Monday 8:45 am Mulder glanced at his watch again and tapped the fingers on his other hand on one knee. His foot jiggled every few minutes and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was very unusual for Scully to be late, especially for a meeting with their boss, and Mulder hoped she had a very good excuse when she got here. He had not talked to her since they had said good night on Friday. She had told him she might be spending the weekend at her mother's and would see him on Monday. He had called her Saturday morning, hoping to talk her into coming into the office to go over some interesting files he had unearthed, and had left a message on her machine. She had not called back nor left a message on his, so he assumed she had gone. Across the desk, Walter Skinner was busy signing off on what appeared to be expense reports. Their boss flicked a glance at Mulder, one eyebrow rising slightly in silent inquiry. He looked at his own watch very pointedly and then at the empty chair to Mulder's right. Mulder shrugged his shoulders. He had no idea what was keeping Scully. He knew if she had been delayed or had a problem she would call, and he had tried both her home number and cellular twice. Her answering machine had clicked on at home, and he had left a brief message telling her she was late. Her cellular had rung with no answer. "I can try her cell again, Sir," he said to Skinner, who nodded his assent. Mulder reached in his inner jacket pocket to pull out his cell phone when the sound of voices in the outer office came through the partially closed door. He and Skinner both looked up expectantly, Mulder prepared to greet Scully with the raised eyebrow look she used on him when he was late. Kimberley, Skinner's secretary, came in, carrying a legal-sized envelope in the familiar colors of a courier service. She smiled apologetically at Skinner. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Sir," she said, crossing the floor to hand the envelope to Mulder. "This came for Agent Mulder." Mulder took the envelope from her, studying it with curiosity. The label was written in black ink and read 'AGENT FOX MULDER' in block letters with the FBI Headquarters address beneath it. It was not overly thick, and as he ran his fingers along its stiff cardboard surface he could not tell what the envelope contained. Finally he slid his fingers along the flap, tearing the glued surface open. There was a manila envelope inside, and he pulled it out, seeing his name printed on it in block letters again. Skinner's chair squeaked and Mulder looked up briefly to see that the AD had leaned back with his chin resting on his palm, his elbow propped on the arm of the chair as he watched Mulder opening the package. He tore the flap of the manila envelope open, thinking that the contents felt like photographs, with that do not bend quality. He was correct. He pulled out a handful of 8 x 10 glossies. The first one had his eyebrows rising, a look of puzzlement on his face. It was a black and white picture of he and Scully, the graininess indicating it had more than likely been taken with a telephoto lens. He studied it for a moment and recognized the surroundings as being just outside a local restaurant he and his partner frequented at least a few times each month. They were both dressed in their 'FBI' attire, and he was unable to determine exactly when the photo could have been taken. Skinner cleared his throat, a subtle hint that he was curious. Mulder held the photo up so that the AD could see it, and watched the man's eyebrow rise in puzzlement as well. Mulder leaned forward to slide the glossy across Skinner's desk and then resumed his earlier position to look at the next photograph. He was peripherally aware of Skinner moving forward himself to pick up the picture. The next two photos were the two of them as well. One was outside Scully's building, walking down the path. He knew they must have been taken two weeks ago, for Scully's car had been in the shop for several days and he had been her taxi until it was ready. The other was of him opening her door, taken moments after the previous picture. The fourth photo from the stack was of the two of them yet again. His hand was on Scully's elbow, his head bent down to hers. It appeared as if he had said something to her that had made her laugh. Because the occurrence of Scully laughing was sadly a rarity, he remembered the moment with perfect clarity. They had been returning from a luncheon held in honor of a retiring agent, walking back to the Hoover building, and he had made a quip about the celebration that would happen within the FBI at the occasion of his retirement and her laughter had broke free. It had surprised him, and the resulting delighted grin that had covered his face had been captured in the fifth photo, as Scully had turned her head to reply. The two of them looked, he thought, like a successful, happy couple sharing a private moment in a very public place. He passed each photo to Skinner, who had pulled his chair back to his desk and was studying each one. The furrows on the AD's brow and around his mouth had grown deeper with each subsequent picture, indicating his growing concern. Mulder knew the same lines could probably be seen on his own face. The last photo had been taken just this past Thursday, for Mulder could clearly make out the basketballs that dotted the tie he had worn that day. Again, the two of them were outside, returning from lunch. They were quite close to each other, having that same appearance of a couple, for the crowds had been heavy and he had been pushed into her several times as they made their way back to work. After placing that photo onto Skinner's desk, Mulder peered into the manila envelope, wondering if there was a note or anything that would indicate why he had been sent these photos, or why they had been taken. A small square shaped item had gotten wedged in the bottom corner. He reached inside and plucked it between his fingers, recognizing the feel of it as being that of a Polaroid, pulling it free. He flipped it over and what he saw had his heart stopping in fear. It was a picture of Scully. Her eyes were closed, a strand of her hair falling across her face, and her mouth was open slackly. "Shit!" he exclaimed, jumping up with such force that the chair fell over backwards. He bolted towards the double doors that led out to the hallway, bypassing the outer office, hearing Skinner call out his name, his voice harsh and questioning. Mulder did not pause. He ran down the hallway, uncaring as he careened into and off people, heading for the exit to the stairs. Behind him he heard exclamations and cries of anger, as well as Skinner bellowing his name. He hit the door with the palm of one hand, and it crashed open into the wall. Fortunately no one was on the other side. He took the stairs two at a time, his jacket flaring open with his speed, the Polaroid still clutched in one hand. Two floors down he heard the sound of the door banging into the wall again, and then loud footsteps descending after him. "Mulder!" Skinner called, the sound echoing in the cement confines of the stairwell. "What the hell is going on?" "Scully," he yelled back, not slowing his descent in the least. "Something's happened to her." He reached the parking garage level at last, slamming through the door, Skinner now at his heels. The AD grabbed his shoulder, his sheer size and strength enough to force Mulder to a halt. He spun around and thrust the Polaroid in Skinner's face, the picture trembling in his hand. The AD gaped at the picture and a muttered four -letter word escaped his mouth. Mulder spun around again and resumed his race to his car, Skinner right behind him. He skidded to a halt at the driver's side, digging in his pocket for his keys. Pulling them out, he jabbed the door key into the lock and roughly yanked the door open. Skinner was rounding the car as he leaned over to pop the passenger door's lock and he started the car as the AD climbed inside. He pealed out of the parking spot, the tires squealing, and Skinner slammed his palm against the dashboard to brace himself, as the car almost seemed to go on two wheels. They roared through the garage, Mulder barely slowing as they turned onto the street, heading to Georgetown. *** Scully's Apartment Georgetown, D.C. Monday 9:30 am Mulder ran down the hallway to Scully's apartment with Skinner following. The sight of her car parked at the curb had briefly slowed his footsteps before he raced up the walk. He stopped at her door, hands raised and ready to pound on its surface, when some instinct had him reaching out to grasp the doorknob, turning it gently. It was unlocked. He shot Skinner a glance, and both men reached inside their jackets to draw their weapons. With a nod at Skinner, Mulder opened the door and they burst in, each covering a different direction with their guns. The apartment was silent, and still. Mulder scanned the room, heart still pumping madly, not only from the mad dash from the car, but also from the thought that had been running through his brain since seeing the Polaroid. Over and over. He knew somehow, just as he had known the door was unlocked, that she was not there. His breath panted in and out of his partially opened mouth, and he lowered his gun arm slowly, feeling the adrenaline rush end. His shoulders slumped and one hand went up to wipe the sweat that had beaded on his forehead. A few feet away from him, Skinner too seemed to sense there was no immediate threat in the apartment, his own gun lowering to his side, body uncoiling from the tense crouch he had assumed as his gun swept the room. He opened his mouth; the muscles in his jaw working, and then closed it again, saying nothing. Mulder did not know what to do next, where to begin. Following his instinct yet again, he walked down the hall to Scully's bedroom, aware of Skinner following him. Her door was wide open and he stepped inside. He froze in place, his eyes immediately fixated on her bed. Pictures, 8 x 10 glossies, covered its entire surface. He walked over to the bed, his steps wooden. From what he could see after scanning them quickly, the pictures were all either of he and Scully together, or of Scully alone. He sensed Skinner next to him and they exchanged glances. Mulder shoved his gun in his holster and reached down almost hesitantly to pick up one of the photos. It was a close-up of Scully's face, her lips rising in a slight smile as she looked at something off to the side. He had no idea when it had been taken. "Mulder," Skinner's voice was low. "We need to get a forensics team in here." Mulder nodded absently, staring intently at the picture of Scully, talking silently to her in his mind. Where are you, Scully? "I'm going to call the Bureau, arrange for that team," Skinner said. Mulder did not reply and as the AD reached into his jacket pocket for his phone, he looked around Scully's bedroom. Nothing seemed out of place, the room was neat and tidy, the shades partly down over the window, her closet door slightly ajar. His eyes were drawn to something lying on her dresser. A cellular phone. He moved over to the dresser and stared down at it. Skinner had stopped in mid-dial and came over to stand beside Mulder. "Is it Scully's?" he asked, looking at the phone as well. Mulder shook his head, unable to take his eyes off of the phone. "No," was his quiet response. "It was put here for a reason." He turned his head to look at Skinner again. "There could be prints." He turned and left the room, walking into the bathroom. Scully had a box of Latex gloves beneath her sink. It would probably seem odd to others, but when he thought about the number of crimes committed in her apartment, it actually made a sick kind of sense. He pulled the box out and set it on the counter, removing a pair for himself and one for Skinner. Faintly he could hear Skinner's deep baritone from the other room, probably calling for the forensics team. He went back into the bedroom to see the AD putting his phone back into his inner jacket pocket. He handed the gloves to the AD, who took them with a grimace. Scully's apartment had become a crime scene. Again. A shrill ring had them both jumping. It was the cell phone on Scully's dresser. Mulder quickly pulled on the gloves and picked it up gingerly. He took a deep breath and then pressed send, reluctantly, but knowing he had to. Bringing the phone close to his ear, but not touching, he was about to say his name, when he heard a male voice. "Agent Mulder." The voice was tinny, and there was static. "Did you like the pictures?" What came out of his mouth was not what he had intended. "Where the hell is she, you bastard?" "Careful, Agent Mulder," the voice warned. "You wouldn't want me to get angry, would you?" Cold, numbing fear ran through him. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. He was babbling inside his mind...Where is she?...Did you hurt her?...What do you want? Mulder became aware of Skinner gesturing frantically at him. He nodded at the AD, taking another deep breath. "No, I wouldn't want that," he replied finally. He began to pace, his elbow up in the air as he held the phone awkwardly at his ear. All of his psychologist skills had fled. He could only think of Scully, taken again. "May I talk to her?" he asked, his voice sounding flat in his ears. There was silence for so long, Mulder thought he had lost the connection. "Hello? Are you there?" he said, a little more forcefully. A burst of static, and then, "...Mulder?" A voice he would know anywhere. Scully's voice. "Scully?" he cried, whipping around to stare wild-eyed at Skinner. "Scully, are you alright?" She had sounded so weak, so tired, his name almost slurred. His heart jackhammered in his chest. "SCULLY!" The male voice again, more clearly. "That's enough for now, Agent Mulder." "Wait!" Mulder exclaimed. "Who are you? What do you want?" He bit the next words back, knowing they would not be answered. Where is she? "All in due time, Agent Mulder," the man said. There was another burst of static and then nothing. Mulder pulled the phone away from his ear. "Fuck," he whispered. He wanted to throw the phone across the room, he wanted to kick and punch and scream. He did nothing, just turned and stared at the photographs on her bed, as if the answers were there, waiting to be found. Skinner reached out, making contact with him. "Mulder," he said. The AD's voice was low and controlled, but Mulder could feel the tenseness in the fingers that grasped his forearm. "Who was it? Was it Scully?" "I don't...I didn't recognize the voice," Mulder answered. "But he has Scully. She said my name." He turned to look at their boss. "She sounded...she sounded so weak. So scared." As he said those last words, he was finally admitting to himself that there had been more in her voice than just tiredness. He had heard fear, and confusion. He had listened to Scully's voice for seven years, sometimes it had been all that had kept him sane, and he knew every nuance, every inflection. And that one word, his name, had transmitted everything to him. *** 11:45 am Skinner divided his attention between Mulder, seated at Scully's table sifting through the photographs the agent had painstakingly collected off her bed, over and over, and the fingerprint analyst busy in Scully's bedroom. The cell phone, it had been determined as soon as the team had arrived, had been completely clean of fingerprints, and now sat at Mulder's elbow. It had yet to ring again. Once Scully's bedroom, and most importantly the picture-covered bed, had been photographed, Skinner had allowed Mulder to take them. He had been sitting and staring at each one ever since. He had not spoken since telling Skinner about Scully's voice on the phone, and Skinner knew Mulder was deep inside his own mind, tormenting himself with thoughts of his partner, and what was happening or had happened to her. Skinner also knew he was helpless to stop Mulder from that torment. Skinner stood by the living room window, not far from Mulder, and sighed harshly. His body was tense, coiled tightly. He needed action, to do something. Sitting and waiting had never been his game, although in his position at the Bureau, it was a necessary evil. It just seemed that too many times he had had to do so for Mulder and Scully both. Scully. Skinner felt his mouth go dry. It was frightening how many times this woman had been kidnapped and held hostage. He supposed in the nature of their work they encountered or were exposed to all types of psychotic individuals, but it seemed so...unfair was not a strong enough word, perhaps tragic, that she was so often a target. A victim. He also could not keep one horrifying thought from his head. Would this be the last time? He had been trying to keep his feelings distant, separate from the burgeoning investigation. He was failing miserably. The image of Scully in that Polaroid kept creeping into his consciousness, along with Mulder's words, 'so weak, so scared'. One of the tech's voices pulled him from his thoughts. "Sir?" Skinner turned from his stance at the window to see the blonde, bespectacled agent, Dryer, he thought, standing at the little table by Scully's front door. The agent was gesturing at her answering machine, and as Skinner strode over there, he could see that the red message light was flashing. He had a vague recollection of glancing at the machine as he and Mulder had swept into the apartment. He must not have noticed the red light. He nodded at Dryer, saying, "Thank-you. We'll take care of that." He could see the traces of powder, it had already been dusted for fingerprints. "Mulder," he called. No reaction. He raised his voice. "Mulder." Still nothing. In long strides he was at Mulder's side. He placed his hand on Mulder's shoulder, and felt the jolt go through Mulder's body. His agent looked at him, life slowly creeping back into his eyes, the blank expression changing to one of surprise. "Mulder, we need to check Scully's answering machine, the message light is flashing." The chair scraped noisily as Mulder pushed it back in his haste to rise from the table. He almost raced to the machine, and then stood there, his fists clenched. Skinner joined him and watched Mulder lift his finger slowly and press 'Play'. Beep. "Dana, honey, have you decided if you're going to stay here this weekend? It's eight o'clock now and I'm going out for about an hour, leave me a message and let me know, please, dear." Margaret Scully. Skinner heard Mulder's indrawn hiss of breath. The agent's lips were moving, and he barely caught the muttered words. "Gotta call Mrs. Scully." Beep. "Hey, Scully, it's me. Listen, if you don't have plans, call me on my cell. I found some interesting files I want to go through. Talk to you later." Mulder. Beep. "Dana, it's mom. I guess you got home too late last night to call. I'll be out for a bit this morning. Let me know what you've decided. Talk to you later, honey." Margaret Scully. Beep. "Scully, what's up? We've got a meeting with the Skinner, he's gonna pop a gasket. Get your little feet in gear." Mulder. Beep. There were no more. Skinner's facial muscles had twitched at the last message, his hands going to his hips. Beside him, Mulder was drawn as taut as a wire, his face stony. "Mulder?" Skinner asked. "I think she was...taken...Friday night," was Mulder's whispered response. "She told me she was probably going to her mother's for the weekend. I called her Saturday morning just after seven, so that first call from her mother must have been Friday night." He swallowed noisily. "I don't think she made it." Skinner felt a lump rise in his own throat. Jesus, some psycho's had her for almost three days. He stared at Mulder, who was still standing and staring down at the answering machine. Skinner sensed Mulder was blaming himself, wondering why he hadn't known sooner. How he could have expected himself to know did not matter, he just should have. He knew he was right at Mulder's next words. Words Skinner did not think Mulder was aware he was speaking. "Stupid. Why? Should have known. Why didn't I call again? I should have come by, checked on her. Should have. Stupid." "Mulder." Skinner said the word harshly, to snap Mulder out of his trance, his verbal chastisement of himself. He saw Mulder's shoulders tremor slightly and then his head was up and turning to meet Skinner's gaze. "We need to confirm that Scully did not go to her mother's, try and pinpoint a timeline of sorts." "I'll call Mrs. Scully," Mulder said firmly, but the look in his eyes showed his reluctance. "Would you like me to call her?" Skinner offered, understanding that Mulder was dreading having to inform Mrs. Scully that her daughter was missing yet again. Just as he wondered how Scully could survive so much, Skinner also wondered how her mother did as well. They were both extremely strong women, despite their somewhat fragile appearance. Skinner knew Scully would bristle at being thought of as fragile, but in his eyes, she was. Fragility wrapped around steel. Mulder shook his head. "I'll do it." He took a deep breath and reached for the phone. Skinner walked away, he did not want to hear this conversation. He pulled his cellular out of his pocket again, he needed to arrange for agents to come and canvass the neighborhood, as well as conduct interviews with the tenants of the building. *** 4:30 pm Mulder rose from his seat at the table, running his hands through his hair for the hundredth time. He had been staring at the photographs from Scully's bed for so long, he was starting to see double. His eyes burned and stung, and he was vaguely aware of a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. Yet he knew he could not eat, the thought of food made him nauseous. His glance flicked to the cell phone that had not left his sight for a moment. He willed it to ring. He needed to hear her voice, to know that she was still...alive. He shied away from that thought immediately. She was not dead. He would know if she were dead, wouldn't he? He sighed heavily, and began to pace. His path took him past the windows, overlooking the street in front of Scully's building. He stopped at the window and stared down at all the cars. It was easy to spot the bureau sedans, parked sporadically up and down the street. Scully's car. The thought hit him like a lightening bolt. They had forgotten about Scully's car. He turned back to the room and called over to Agent Dryer who was manning Scully's phone, in the off chance her abductor called on her home number. "Have you seen AD Skinner?" The agent replied, "He's with Agent Taylor, conducting interviews on Agent Scully's neighbors." Mulder remembered now the AD coming over and telling him he would be assisting the agents in interviewing the tenants of the building. He went back to the table and picked up the cell phone, tucking it carefully into his pocket. He scooped up his jacket from the back of the chair where he had draped it hours ago and slipped it on, heading to the door. "I'm just going outside to look at Agent Scully's car," he told Dryer. A few minutes later he was on the sidewalk standing in front of Scully's car. He bent and peered inside the driver's side window. The car was empty. He checked the driver's door handle and it was locked. He made a circuit of the car, checking all the doors. The results were the same. There was no sign of disturbance or interference, so it was probably a safe assumption that she had been taken after exiting the car. However, it was undetermined as to whether she had ever made it up to her apartment. The messages on her machine could indicate she had never gone up, but because they did not know exactly what time she had parked her car, the calls could have come after she had been home and taken. He thought back to Friday evening, remembered talking to her as she put on her jacket and gathered her things. She had told him she had to run a couple of errands on the way home, and made a joke about leaving early, looking at her watch with a smirk. It had been not quite 5:30, he recalled, for he had looked at his own watch, and laughed, knowing she had meant it really wasn't early for most people, but for the two of them. He often stayed very late or all night, and she had put in many an extra hour as well. So, if she had left at 5:30, with the evening traffic, and her errands to carry out, the earliest she could have made it home was probably 6:30. If they could pinpoint when Mrs. Scully had phoned, they would be able to narrow down the timeframe in which she could have been taken. Mulder glanced up at the apartment buildings that lined the street. So many windows, so many people. Was there a chance one person could have looked out their window at just the right moment, and seen Scully coming home, seen someone confronting her, seen someone grab her? He hoped like hell that someone had. The space in front of Scully's car was vacant and his keen eyes spotted something on the ground, close to the curb. He walked over and looked down onto the road. It was a small metal circle, like part of a key chain, maybe. His fingers reached out and picked it up, flipping it over. His eyes fluttered shut, and memories flicked past them... Scully's apprehension as she held the small box he had given her in the pub, the teasing about implants, and her surprise as she beheld the Apollo Eleven key chain... A car drove by, and he blinked, startled. The metal circle had broken off its chain. Mulder looked at the curb, and then stood, judging the distance from approximately Scully's waist height to the ground. If she had been grabbed here, and dropped her keys, the key chain could have hit the curb with enough force to break. It was not concrete proof, but it was a start. Mulder turned and headed back towards Scully's building, the metal circle clenched tightly in his fist. The phone, his only connection to Scully, rang in his pocket and he stopped dead in his tracks. He reached in and struggled to pull it out, his heart beat rapidly accelerating. "Mulder." "Agent Mulder. Learn anything interesting?" Mulder strained to hear familiarity in the voice, to recognize the speaker. If he could find out who it was, maybe it would give him an edge, put him in a better position to find Scully. Whole and unharmed. Try and keep him talking, Mulder thought to himself. He wished he were back in the apartment, and had access to a pen and paper. He trusted his memory, but would prefer to have a back up. "What do you mean?" he asked, keeping his voice calm and level. "From Agent Scully's car?" the man asked questioningly. Mulder could hear humor in the voice, an almost taunting, and he tensed. Then the words registered and he whipped around, gaze scanning up and down the street. Was he being watched right now? Was the bastard somewhere nearby, watching him? Was Scully there, bound and helpless? "Don't waste your time looking for me, Agent Mulder. I'm long gone." Mulder caught the use of the pronoun 'I'. Was Scully not with him? He must have her stashed somewhere, while he moved about, obviously watching him, and Scully's apartment building. He inhaled sharply, a terrible thought filling his head. Had he already killed her and dumped her body, and was merely stringing him along for his personal pleasure? The words tumbled out in his fear. "Who are you? Where is she?" "I'm disappointed, Agent Mulder. I thought we had quite a connection, once. I had hoped you would remember me." There was a burst of static, and then noises he did not recognize. He cursed inwardly, wishing there was someway to record these calls, so they could analyze every sound later. The noises cleared and Mulder realized the man had been speaking. "...left you a clue, Agent Mulder. Your skills of intuition, have they slowed with time? I'll leave you to your thoughts, maybe something will come to you." "Wait!" Mulder said into the phone. "May I talk to her?" He hoped his voice did not sound as pleading to the man as it did in his own ears. "Perhaps another time, Agent Mulder." Click. Mulder closed his eyes, the phone still pressed to his ear. His free hand clenched into a fist and then he forced a deep breath into his lungs and out. And again. Opening his eyes, he glanced once more up and down the block before heading back inside. The man had said he left a clue. Mulder was determined to find it. *** end Part 1 of 29