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:       Not really, but up to mid-S7
Archive:        As long as my name and everything stays attached
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 7 of 29
by Lovesfox


Unknown Location
Leesburg, VA
Friday
8:45 pm


Elliot slammed the door open as he walked into his room, hands 
fisted tightly and his nerves jangling.  The pleasure had completely 
faded, and only the anger remained.  Dana Scully was just like the 
others. Snobbish, worthless bitch...acting like she was better than 
he and Elizabeth.  That he was beneath her.  He couldn't understand 
why Elizabeth wanted to be friends with them.  She didn't need them 
because she had him.

He stumbled over to his chair and fell into it.  He rested his 
elbows on the desk, letting his head fall into his hands.  His 
thoughts were whirling and he was so confused.  An image flashed in 
his mind, of the stone monument that was all he had left of 
Elizabeth.  He moaned softly. Elizabeth was dead. So were all those 
other girls.  

Dana...Dana was different.  She was here because of Mulder.   
Elliot's head came up slowly.  He hadn't called Mulder in a while.  
Time to torment him some more.  He grabbed the cellular phone off 
the desk and dialed the number for Mulder.  It rang twice before 
he heard Mulder pant his name.  The sound of Mulder's voice had 
him perking up.  His tense muscles relaxed and he sat back 
comfortably in the chair.  "Agent Mulder, how are you?" he said 
pleasantly.  He chuckled at Mulder's terse reply, asking about 
Scully.

"She's...tied up right now," he answered.  Inspiration struck, and 
he almost wiggled in his seat.  All those weeks following Mulder and 
Dana, and he had never been able to absolutely confirm his 
suspicions about their relationship, although Mulder's declaration 
of love in the warehouse had been a strong indicator for one.  He 
was convinced they did have one though, despite Dana's unwillingness 
to admit to it. This would tear Mulder apart.  He inhaled deeply 
and weaved his tale, putting pauses in all the right places.  He 
smiled gleefully, thinking that he wasn't so bad an actor himself.

Mulder's reaction was all he had imagined.  The hoarseness of his 
voice, that sharp gasp of breath.  Perfect. If only he could have 
been able to see Mulder's face, that would have made it so much more 
rewarding.  He laughed and laughed.  He answered Mulder's question.  
"Do, Agent Mulder?  Why...anything I wanted."  He waited a moment 
and then added the capper.  "Mulder?"  He paused for a second.  
"Did you know she's a screamer?" 

Elliot laughed some more when he disconnected the call to Mulder, 
flipping the cell phone once like a cowboy with his sidearm and 
tucking it into his pocket.  What a stroke of genius taunting 
Mulder that way had been!  He could only imagine what the agent 
looked like after hearing those words, but what he pictured was 
more than enough to have his pleasure soaring.

He coasted on that wave for a few minutes, until his thoughts 
turned to Dana and his aborted rape again.  Then the anger flared 
anew and he got up from his chair with a violent motion, kicking 
it away from him with a shouted curse.  He stomped around the 
small room, one floor beneath Dana's, and mumbled under his breath. 
"Stupid bitch.  Can't even keep me excited."  He kicked the chair 
again on his next pass, barely feeling the bolt of pain through 
his foot.  

He contemplated going up and killing her right there and then, 
could almost feel her throat in his hands, see the panic and 
fear in her blue eyes, was actually heading to the door to go up 
there and do it.  

NO! He told himself.  It's not time yet.  He took a deep breath 
and then another, willing the rage to subside, forcing himself to 
walk over to the chair and sit down again. He was going to leave 
her alone, let her lay there and stew.  He saw her again as 
she had looked when he had lurched from the room.  Her pants 
down around her knees, bound hands up over her head, blood and 
tears covering her face as she lay curled in a ball.  Where was 
her pride now?

The thought of her tied up and helpless had things stirring again.  
He stood up, standing there, body trembling, but for a different 
reason now.  He began to walk to the door, ready to try again, but 
the memory of his failure held him back, causing the desire to wane 
slightly.  

He would not go to her.  An idea formed in his head, exciting him 
again, and he scanned the room, looking for the bundle of Dana's 
clothing.  He spied it in the corner on the small stand, and made 
his way stiffly to it, pawing through the pile, looking for 
something in particular.  His hands touched silk, and he pulled 
her panties free.  He ran them through his hands and then held 
them to his face, inhaling her musky scent.  

On quaking legs he made his way to his cot, one hand fumbling at 
the button and zipper of his pants.  He pulled his semi-erect flesh 
out, and lay down, bringing the panties down to wrap around him.  
He closed his eyes, picturing Elizabeth writhing beneath him, and 
began to move the silk up and down, squeezing rhythmically.  Moans 
and sighs slipped past his lips, and his hips moved with his 
pleasure.  The images behind his lids changed, from Elizabeth's 
face contorted with ecstasy, to Dana's fear-filled eyes and blood 
stained mouth.  

Gratification was quick as he came with a shout.  His tremors 
slowly ceased, his breaths returning to normal.  He pulled the 
panties away from himself and smiled.  What an interesting gift 
to send to Mulder.

***

9:30 pm

Scully groaned as she came out of whatever state she had fallen 
into - sleep, unconsciousness, she wasn't sure.  She just knew 
that she had been unaware for quite some time.  A glance at the 
small window revealed the pitch black of night, and her body was 
uncomfortably sore, most likely from lying in the same position 
for so long.  She was also extremely cold.  She shivered and 
stretched painfully.  Her thighs had cramped, and they burned as 
she forced them to straighten.  She realized then why she was 
cold.  Her track pants were down around her knees.  

At some point during her 'sleep' she had brought her bound arms 
down from over her head, and they had curled in the space between 
neck and shoulder.  She bent and unbent her elbows slowly, 
hissing at the pins and needles that signaled her nerves were 
alive.  Once they eased, she awkwardly maneuvered her body until 
she could grasp the hem of the track pants and pull them up over 
her hips.

Her motions awoke other pains in her body.  Pains from the blows 
he had rained over her body.  Her whole face hurt, but one cheek 
throbbed more than the other.  Her nose felt stuffed, with blood 
she knew, but she could tell it was not broken.  Her chest hurt 
too, he had landed a particularly good punch between her breasts, 
as well as one on her right shoulder.  

She managed to pull herself up into a sitting position, and as 
she swung her legs around, the material of her track pants chafed 
at the skin on her inner thighs.  She squeezed her eyes shut, 
feeling his hands as they scraped and pulled at her legs, trying 
to pry them open.  

She remembered the look in his eyes, his excitement pressing 
against her lower body.  Her fear of her lack of control, that she 
was helpless to stop him.  Her teeth started to chatter and her 
whole body was shivering. Her breaths were coming faster and she 
forced herself to draw air in through her mouth and exhale it 
slowly.  Delayed shock reaction. 

He did not rape you, he did not rape you, he did not rape you.  
She said it like a mantra, quietly in her mind, until she was 
calm. 

Rape.

As a law enforcement officer, she had encountered rapists and 
their victims on many occasions, had had to interview both 
parties, and had even had to autopsy victims who had not survived 
their attacks.  She had been angered and saddened by such 
occurrences.  She was aware of the statistics, that one out of 
six women in the U.S. are rape victims. She remembered some of 
the lectures she had attended on rape.  

It was a crime of violence, not a crime of passion.  It was 
about the need to control and to have power over someone, to 
dominate the victim.  This domination was often achieved by 
physical force, threats, duress or intimidation. One instructor 
had compared it to someone breaking into your house and stealing 
your valuables, except in the case of rape, it was the body and 
the spirit that was violated.  

As a woman, she had always had that fear of being raped somewhere 
in the corner of her mind.  Had been aware that it could happen 
to anyone, to her, at any time.  Her closest encounter in the 
past had been with Donnie Pfaster not too long ago, although she 
thought his interest had leaned more towards necrophilia than 
sexual assault.  Her nightmares that had resulted from his 
attack had yet to fade, and she knew she would be adding new ones 
from the attack by Elliot.

Although Elliot had not been successful, she still felt the 
helplessness, the loss of control and the shame.  She told 
herself to stop thinking about it.  She would only make herself 
sick.  

With effort, she managed to get herself on her feet, wobbling 
slightly.  She considered the distance to the door.  Did she 
really think he would forget to lock her in?  She could not 
remember much after she had curled up in a ball, could not recall 
if she had heard the sound of the lock being engaged.  Her feet 
were still unbound, so she made her way over to the door.  It 
was awkward grasping the doorknob, but she did, wiggling it 
back and forth.  

It was locked.  

She sighed; it had been a faint hope anyway.  She had not thought 
beyond getting out of the room.  She had no idea where she was, 
or where he was for that matter, and could only imagine trying 
to find her way to someone who could help.  

Scully shuffled slowly to the cot and lowered herself onto it, 
groaning slightly as she lay down.  She curled up on her side 
again, trying to generate some warmth.  She was not really tired, 
but there was little else to do.  She could try and overpower 
him the next time he came in, seeing as he had not drugged her 
recently, but she could be standing by the door for hours waiting 
for him to come back.  She also hoped he would not come back for
a while, she was a little afraid he would return to try again or 
to beat her some more.

She closed her eyes, rocking back and forth a little, for comfort 
and warmth.  She imagined Mulder lying down beside her, curling 
his big body around her, his arm around her waist, holding her 
tight.  Keeping her safe.  They had comforted each other before, 
with hugs and gentle touches, but she knew feeling him all 
around her would be the best comfort of all. Sometimes just 
knowing he was near had been enough for her to feel those 
ways - safe, comforted, even...loved.  She began to drift, 
thinking about him, of his declaration in the warehouse when he 
had thought she was dead.  

Even in her fear and pain at his suffering for believing she was 
dead, she had been thrilled to hear those words from him.  Yet a 
small part of her wondered if they had only been a product of his 
grief, not a true representation of his feelings for her.  She 
hoped not, for she knew she loved him.  She just hoped she would 
have a chance to tell him.

Please, God, let me have the chance.

***

Conference Room
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Friday
9:30 pm


Skinner instructed Agent Taylor to get back to him as soon as he 
and his partner learned anything.  The agent nodded and they left 
to go interview the owner of D.C. Duct Cleaning Services.  One of 
the techs had been running the information about the van, much as 
Skinner imagined Mulder's three friends were, and had traced it to 
a Michael Booth, who operated the business out of Georgetown.  

Skinner had spoken to the man himself, to learn that Mr. Booth did 
not have an employee named Elliot Andercott, nor did he recognize 
the name.  Mr. Booth had also told him he was in the process of 
replacing the fleet vans with new vehicles, and that there was a 
possibility one could be missing.  Skinner had told Booth that 
two agents would be coming to show him the composite sketch, and 
to check on the status of his vehicles.

Skinner looked at his watch again.  He was starting to grow 
concerned.  Mulder had been gone for quite some time.  At first, 
he had thought Mulder just needed to be by himself for a while.  
He knew that the agent often liked to walk about undisturbed as 
he thought about the case at hand, and was unwilling to 
interrupt or interfere.  Now he was wondering if something had 
happened.

He pushed his chair away from the table and rose tiredly, feeling 
the pull of muscles in his legs.  It would probably due him some 
good to walk around anyway.  He glanced around the room, seeing 
Allison sitting on the couch in the corner.  She looked exhausted, 
so he made his way over to her.  "Allison, why don't you call it 
a night?  I don't think much else is happening."  She nodded slowly 
and he continued, "Agent Mulder and I appreciate everything you've 
done."

She stood up, blinking her pretty brown eyes sleepily, and said 
in her soft voice, "I'm just glad to be of help, Sir.  Poor Agent 
Scully, I hope you find her soon."  She looked down at her feet 
and almost whispered, "Take care of Agent Mulder for her, Sir."  

Skinner watched her retreating back in surprise.  Take care of him 
for Scully?  Obviously their connection, their closeness, had been 
noticed by others beside himself.  He smiled faintly and said in 
his head, "I will."

He told one of the agents remaining that he was going to look for 
Agent Mulder, and headed out of the room.  He moved quickly through 
the empty hallway and looked in the nearest men's room.  It was 
empty, thankfully, no Mulder lying collapsed on the floor, and he 
then headed to the cafeteria.  Perhaps Mulder had finally decided 
to try and eat something.  But it too was empty, and the attendant 
on duty had not seen him at all, and she had been there the whole 
evening.

Skinner frowned, hoping Mulder had not left the building, 
determined to go to Leesburg and find Scully himself.  He would 
check Mulder's office in case he had gone down there for the 
needed privacy, and if he was not there, he would try calling him 
on his cellular phone.  Beyond that, he did not know what else 
he could do. Eschewing the elevator, he took the stairs, 
reaching the basement in moments.  

As he walked towards Mulder's office, he could see the light 
shining from the room.  Relief surged through his body and he 
quickened his steps.  The door was open and he entered without 
knocking, to find Mulder lying curled on the floor by his desk.

He could see that Mulder's eyes were shut, and he fell to his 
knees before the agent, calling his name urgently.  He felt for 
the pulse at Mulder's neck, sighing harshly when he felt the 
reassuring beat against his fingers.  The flesh at his neck 
was cool though, and Skinner slid his hand up to feel Mulder's 
forehead.  It was cool too, and damp.

"Mulder," he said, not quietly, but not too loudly either.  
He shook Mulder's shoulder, and again, rewarded by Mulder's eyes 
opening partially, and his questioning groan.  "Come on, Mulder, 
up you go."  Skinner eased both arms around Mulder and pulled 
hhim up until his back was resting against the desk.

Mulder was becoming more alert, blinking his eyes rapidly and 
stretching his legs out in front of him, although he still 
looked unsteady.  He looked around him, as if surprised to 
find himself sitting on the floor.

Skinner leaned back on his haunches, ready to catch Mulder if 
he toppled over and asked, "What happened Mulder?"

Mulder's face was blank for a second and then Skinner watched 
as horror filled his eyes.  His head ducked down and he 
mumbled something very low.

Skinner could not make the words out and said, "Mulder, what 
did you say?"

Mulder did not lift his head but his voice was a little louder 
this time, with no infliction whatsoever, toneless.  
"He raped her."

Jesus.  Skinner knew immediately Mulder was talking about Scully.  
His gut clenched, and he lurched to his feet to walk with jerky 
steps around the room, trying to control himself before he 
responded.  The thought of Scully being defiled, being hurt that 
way was too horrible for words.  Several slow, deep breaths, and 
he felt able to talk to Mulder.  He turned around to see Mulder 
still sitting on the hard floor, staring down at his lap.  "When 
did he call, Mulder?"

He thought Mulder had faded out again when he did not answer 
right away, and was just about to repeat the question when 
Mulder lifted his head to meet his gaze.

"A little while ago.  Call wasn't long enough to trace," Mulder 
said, his voice flat.  Keeping the emotions contained.  

Skinner still didn't know what to say.  Mulder seemed to sense 
this, and only shook his head.  He tried to get to his feet, 
and nearly fell back down.  Skinner leaped forward and grabbed 
Mulder by the upper arm, steadying him, only letting go when he 
was sure Mulder would not fall.  Skinner turned away and grabbed 
the phone on Mulder's desk.  He dialed an extension, and when 
one of the agents in the conference room answered, said, "Agent 
Mulder and I are leaving the building."  He rattled off Mulder's 
home phone number, and reminded the agent that they both had 
their cellular phones as well.  He hung up the phone and 
turned back to Mulder.  "Come on, Mulder.  You need to get out 
of here."

Mulder only nodded wearily and scooped up the cell phone from the 
desk, tucking it in his inner pocket.  He followed Skinner out of 
the office, and they walked silently to the parking garage to 
Skinner's Bureau-issued sedan.  As an AD, he had one that was 
permanently assigned to him.  He watched as Mulder climbed slowly 
into the car and did up his seat belt.

Skinner shot a glance at Mulder, sitting stiffly and silently, 
staring out the passenger window.   "Mulder, Elizabeth Andercott 
is dead."  He sensed more then saw Mulder's reaction, a little 
jolt of the agent's body.

"That's why he took Scully," Mulder stated quietly.  "During 
the investigation of the murders she was tried and convicted of, 
we learned that she and Elliot had an incestuous relationship."  
Out of the corner of his eye, Skinner saw Mulder's fisted hand 
pound slowly and rhythmically on his thigh.  "He's getting back 
at me for her death."  He shifted slightly in his seat, still 
looking out the window, fist still pounding, as if he were 
unaware of the movement.  "I think I found the clue he referred 
to."

"The pictures on the bed?" Skinner asked.

"Yes.  Elizabeth supposedly left a picture of the victim on 
their bed.  There bodies were usually found a day or two later."

"Supposedly?"

"I kept files on cases that had...bothered me, for lack of a 
better word, during my stint in BSU.  I had been reading it when 
Elliot called.  There had been inconsistencies in her statements, 
and things that just didn't jibe.  I always thought Elliot had 
been involved, and now I think he may have been the real murderer."

Skinner's hands tightened on the steering wheel, the knuckles 
showing white.  "We're going to find her, Mulder," he said.  
"We're getting closer."

"Not close enough," Mulder whispered.

***


Mulder's Apartment
Alexandria, VA
Saturday 
6:00 am


Mulder moved from the bathroom to his bedroom like an automaton.  
He had showered and shaved without thought, going through the 
motions mechanically.  His hands found boxers, socks, jeans and 
sweater in their proper drawers and he pulled them on silently, 
staring blankly forward.  

When he walked into the other room, he blinked in surprise to 
see Skinner, also dressed casually, poke his head out from the 
kitchen.  Mulder realized he remembered little beyond stumbling 
into his bed after the AD had driven them to his apartment, and 
that Skinner must have an overnight bag he kept in his car, much 
like he and Scully did.  

Scully.  

His footsteps faltered as a remnant of one of his many dreams 
sprang up before his eyes.  A man, and although his features 
were twisted and grotesque, he knew it was Elliot Andercott, 
crouched over a battered and screaming Scully.  Screaming his 
name.  

"...Mulder?  You okay?"  Skinner's voice faint through the haze 
of his mind.  He felt strong hands guiding him over to the couch, 
and then pushing him onto the cold leather.

Mulder dragged his hands over his face, banishing the horrifying 
picture and mumbled, "Fine.  I'm fine."  He managed to meet 
Skinner's worried eyes.  "Just a little tired," he said, and 
cleared his throat to rid it of its hoarseness.  It was true.  
He was exhausted in fact.  He had woken several times through 
the night in a tangle of sweaty sheets, tormented by nightmares 
of Scully being raped.

Skinner studied him skeptically for a moment and then turned 
and headed back to the kitchen.  "We'll have breakfast and 
then go in," the AD called over his shoulder.

Mulder rose slowly and shuffled into the kitchen.  He managed to 
force down some scrambled eggs and toast and drink half a cup of
coffee, although his stomach protested a little at the amount of 
food, having had so little in the last few days.  As Skinner 
efficiently dealt with the mess, Mulder went and found his boots.  
He laced them up quickly and pulled on his jacket, Skinner 
joining him and doing the same.

In moments they were in Skinner's car and headed to the Hoover 
building.  The drive was mostly silent, and Mulder kept his 
gaze trained on the scenery outside the passenger window, his 
eyes taking in very little.  Skinner seemed to be of a similar 
mood, he made no attempt at small talk.  

After about 15 minutes, the AD finally spoke.  "Agent Taylor 
called late last night.  The owner of D.C. Duct Cleaning, 
Michael Booth, confirmed he does not employ, nor has he ever 
employed an Elliot Andercott, and he did not recognize the 
composite.  However, one of his older fleet vehicles is missing, 
and he supplied the license plate number to Agent Taylor.  It 
has been faxed to the ASAC in Leesburg, and they are still on 
the lookout for the van."  He paused for a second as he made 
a lane change through the early morning traffic, and then 
continued.  "Mr. Booth also reported the theft of several 
uniforms, white coveralls with the Duct Cleaning logo on one 
breast pocket, that he thinks happened several weeks ago.  
He didn't bother reporting the incident, thinking it was too 
petty."

"Providing himself with a cover," Mulder said quietly.  "People 
don't get concerned when they see cable or utility vans around.  
They tend to fade into the background."  He caught Skinner's 
agreeing nod out of the corner of his eye, and resumed his 
silent study out the window.

After Skinner parked his car in the underground garage, they 
headed inside and made their way to the conference room.  As 
they walked down the hallway, a female voice called out both 
their names.  They stopped and turned, to see Kimberley 
striding quickly towards them, a shoebox-sized package in her 
hands.   

"This just came for you, Agent Mulder," she said, slightly out 
of breath.  She held out the package, its wrapping easily 
recognizable as the same courier service as the one that had 
delivered the photographs from Elliot Andercott.

Utter coldness ran through Mulder's body at the sight of it.  
He knew instantly that it was from Elliot, and his mind was 
assailed with images of what it could contain. They ran the 
gauntlet from pictures of Scully's naked, bruised body, to one 
of her fingers.  He shuddered violently and had to force 
himself to reach out and accept the package from Kimberley.  
She gave him an odd look, obviously having noticed his shaking 
fingers, and then told Skinner she would be in their office if 
he needed her.

Mulder barely heard her words or her fading footsteps as she 
left, and stood there for long seconds, staring uneasily at 
the box in his hands.   The same box lettering that spelled 
out his name and the FBI address like the last delivery was 
somewhat of a confirmation that it was indeed from Elliot.  
Again he felt Skinner's firm grip on his arm, and he was led 
inside the conference room, which was empty.  He sank into 
the first chair, placing the box on the table in front of 
him.  He took several deep breaths and then finally unsealed 
the package.

Skinner suddenly said, "Gloves, there could be prints!"  The 
AD left the room and Mulder exhaled harshly.  He hadn't even 
been thinking of fingerprints, just his fear about what he 
would find.  Cold sweat had sprung out on his forehead, and 
his earlier breakfast sat in his stomach like lead.  

Skinner returned moments later, carrying a box of Latex 
gloves.  He handed a pair to Mulder, and put one on himself.  
Mulder pulled them on and reached for the box.  His heart 
pounded with trepidation, and his mouth was as dry as cotton.  
He lifted the lid of the box to reveal what looked like 
packing paper.  He tore it away with shaking fingers and 
caught a glimpse of navy blue.  He stood up to get a better 
look inside, Skinner leaning in beside him to do the same.

He was puzzled at first.  What the hell was it?  Then something 
clicked, and he felt like he had been hit in the solar plexus.  
His breath whooshed out and he had to close his eyes for a 
second.  

It was a pair of woman's silk panties.  

He was not intimately familiar with Scully's lingerie, but 
just as he had known the package was from Elliot, he knew 
these were Scully's panties.  

Skinner made a questioning noise, and Mulder poked one 
Latex-clad finger at the panties, moving them delicately 
aside.  There was nothing else inside the box.  It didn't 
make sense.  There had to be more than just the panties.  
It was obviously a message of some sort.  He stood up 
suddenly, the chair nearly tipping over with the swiftness 
of the movement, and grabbed the box.  "We need to get
this to the lab," he said, and headed out.

***

Unknown Location
Leesburg, VA
Saturday
8:00 am


The door slamming into the wall woke Scully, and she had to 
stifle the startled shriek that came to her lips at the very 
loud and sudden sound.  Her eyes had popped open instantly to 
see Elliot stomping towards her.  Her heart started to pound with 
dread, and she struggled to rise, her weakened body a hindrance.  
She only made it up awkwardly on one elbow before he was at the 
cot, reaching out to grab her upper arm with a cruel grip.

He yanked her up and off the cot, barely letting her get her 
balance before he was dragging her out of the room and down the 
hall.  She had to step quickly, almost running to keep up with 
him.  He took her back to the shower room and shoved her inside.  

She fell with the force of his push, but managed to twist so that 
she took the impact on her side.  With her hands bound in front 
of her as they were, it was very likely landing on them would 
cause some serious damage.  As it was, the jolt to her body as 
she hit the ground had her teeth snapping in her mouth, and made 
her cry out with pain.

Elliot sneered from his position at the door.  "Get up and do your 
business, before I change my mind."  He folded his arms across his 
chest, making no move to help her up.  

It was even harder to get up this time, her hip and shoulder 
ached, but with effort she rolled to her knees, propping her upper 
body up by her bound wrists.  The pressure was intensely painful, 
and with a loud grunt she heaved herself to her feet.  She limped 
over to toilet, blocked by a metal half-wall, and after wrestling 
with her pants, was finally able to relieve her full bladder.  
Getting the track pants back up was a little more difficult and 
she wanted to cry with frustration.  She bit her lip, unwilling to 
give him the satisfaction, and with a burst of strength, finished 
the job.  She stepped clear of the semi-stall, to see Elliot 
standing there with a smirk.  It was so tempting to rush at him and 
wipe it off his face, but she knew she would get no more than a few 
feet before he moved.  She also knew he had the greater advantage.

"Clean yourself up," was his next command, as he pointed with one 
finger at the opposite wall.

Scully looked over to see a sink with a small mirror above it.  
There were also some toiletries lying on the small ledge beneath 
the mirror, along with a towel.  She looked in the mirror and the 
sight of her own face shocked her.  One cheek had a dark bruise, 
her lip was puffy and red, and there was dried, crusted blood 
around her nose, with one thin streak across her other cheek, where 
the blood had flown as she had lain on the floor.   

She turned the water on and moistened one end of the towel, dabbing 
gently to clean the blood off.  She washed her face with the bar of 
soap and then brushed her teeth, mindful of her split lip, which was 
stinging.  She shot a glance in Elliot's direction, but he did not 
seem to be paying her much attention.  She bent closer and with 
difficulty, cupped her hands together under the water.  She drank 
several mouthfuls, the coolness easing her parched throat. She felt 
it hit her empty stomach, and knew she should not overdo it.  She 
turned the water off and dried her face and hands off.  She saw that 
he had even provided a hairbrush, and she ran it through her tangled 
hair a few times, wincing as she tugged at one knot at the back of 
her head.  Her head throbbed there, and she lifted her hand and 
touched with careful fingers, finding a small bump.  

She closed her eyes, assailed by a flashback, Elliot's angry face 
as he crouched above her, his hand connecting with her cheek, his 
fist inflicting blows all over her body.  She remembered her head 
slamming down on the hard, tiled floor a couple times, and blinked 
her eyes rapidly to clear the vision.

"You're done here." His voice was in his ear at the same instant 
his hand clamped around her upper arm.  She jumped, she hadn't even 
heard him coming.  The hairbrush fell from her hands, clattering 
loudly as it fell in the sink.  He paid it no mind, and pulled on 
her arm.

When they got back to her room, he propelled her towards the cot.  
She stumbled into it, and looked up to see him looming over her, 
a piece of rope in his hands.  Before she could react, his knee was 
in her stomach, pinning her to the mattress.  He tied her ankles 
together tightly and then lifted his knee away from her, even as his 
hand was reaching inside his jacket pocket.  He pulled out a syringe,
and held it up.  "This way I'll know you can't get in any trouble." 

He shoved her sleeve up and injected her, giving her a rough nudge
to push her more completely onto the cot.  A moment later he was 
gone, the lock clicking into place.

Already her aches and pains were fading as the drug took hold of 
her system.  She felt her eyes grow heavy, and could keep them open 
no longer.  

***

9:00 am

Elliot walked away from Dana's room; glad to know she was safely 
secure with her bindings and her drugged sleep.  He had forgotten 
to take care of that earlier in the morning, being in such a hurry 
to get out and set-up the arrangements for the delivery of Mulder's 
package.  He had not realized his error until he was on the way 
back, and he had rushed to her room as soon as he gotten there, 
angry with himself, and with her, for making him forget.  

Fortunately she had still been sleeping, and he had a small measure 
of revenge when he scared her awake. The look in her eyes, her 
pitiful struggles to rise.  They had almost been enough to tempt 
him away from his plans for the morning.  He had known however that 
he could not.  Not then, but maybe later.

He had rushed her into the shower room, to let her relieve herself 
and get cleaned up.  He had been tempted to leave her alone all day,
but the memories of Elizabeth left in her own waste had always 
distressed him so, that he just couldn't do that to Dana, no matter 
how much the thought of punishing her thrilled him, or how angry he 
was.  He had however, enjoyed watching her scramble to keep up with 
him, and pushing her around.  When she had fallen to the floor in 
the shower room, crying out with pain, it was all he could do to 
stifle his laugh of pleasure.  And the almost uncontrollable urge 
to hurt her more.  

It was the thought of Mulder that had him stopping. When he hurt 
her again, he wanted Mulder to know. 

Thinking of Mulder, he remembered his early morning chore.  He 
looked at his watch, thinking that Mulder should have received the 
panties by now.  His steps lightened as he tried to imagine Mulder's 
reaction.  Would he know they were hers?  Would he somehow sense 
what had been done in them?  Elliot hoped so.  He wondered if he 
should call now, or wait a little while.  His fingers itched to 
grab the phone, to dial the magic number that would connect him 
to Mulder.  But was it too soon?

As he debated, the incident that had happened while he was coming 
back to the hospital flicked through his head.  A dark sedan had 
seemed to be following him through town, and he had been able to 
make out two men in suits in the front seat.  They immediately 
made him think of undercover police officers, and he had to resist 
the urge to speed up.  

Instead he had pulled into a donut shop parking lot and sat for 
the longest time.   The sedan had not turned into the lot after 
him, and when he finally left, he had not seen it again.  To be 
on the safe side, he had driven around for a while before heading 
back, watching in his rear view mirror the whole way.  Obviously 
Dana's message about the van had been received, and Mulder had 
figured out he was using it to get around.  Elliot had hoped it 
and his supposed cover would have lasted a little longer.  More 
blame to lay at Dana's feet. Bitch.  He was tempted to go back 
and punish her, but he needed to go out and ditch the van, as 
well as find a replacement vehicle.

The van was parked at the back of the remaining wing, out of 
sight of any prying eyes that might drive out this far in the 
country.  Although the hospital had been gone for over four 
years, there had been nothing  done about the land on which it 
had sat, nor were there any real estate developments nearby.  
Which made it a perfect location for hiding out.  

Elliot climbed inside the van and drove carefully along the 
ruins of the drive, avoiding the potholes he knew were there 
from his many trips along it.  He had planned to go back into 
Leesburg, but if those really had been policemen before, it 
might be wiser to go somewhere else to dump the van.  Small 
towns were too risky; he would have to go to a big city.  

He chose Arlington, and headed off.

***

Conference Room
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Saturday
10:00 am


Skinner moved swiftly down the hall and through the fire exit 
door to the stairs, heading for Mulder's office. He wanted to 
check on the agent, who had gone to his own office after taking 
the delivery package to the lab, and Skinner was a little 
concerned, as he had not seen Mulder for quite some time.  
He hoped that Elliot Andercott had not called again, to torment 
Mulder further.  

Mulder had been very agitated about the discovery of what the 
package contained, and even more so after Skinner had asked him 
why he thought the panties were Scully's.  

Mulder had almost stammered, seeming very flustered, until he 
had recovered, replying that the circumstances almost certainly 
insured that they were indeed Scully's. 

The agent had burst into the lab, startling the two technicians 
on duty, demanding they run every possible test on the box and 
its contents.  One of the techs had looked hesitantly from Mulder 
to him, and once he had ordered them to make it their top priority, 
they had moved with haste.  

Mulder had hovered, alternately pacing back and forth or looking 
over their shoulders, until Skinner had firmly asked Mulder to 
leave them to their work.  Mulder had acquiesced reluctantly, and 
then as they walked down the hallway towards the conference room, 
sworn loudly.  

Skinner had looked at him, startled by the sudden outburst, and 
Mulder had tersely explained he had not finished reading the file 
on Elizabeth Andercott, or his notes on her brother.  The agent 
had then rushed off to his office, and Skinner had continued on 
to the conference room to check for any new developments.

Not long after he had arrived there, he had received a call 
from the ASAC in Leesburg, informing him of a confirmed sighting 
of the white van.  The two agents in the surveillance car had not 
been able to get too close to the van to identify the driver, but 
they had seen a male with dark hair.  They noted that the suspect 
had seemed to be aware that they were following him, and had pulled 
into a parking lot.  The agents had broken off the tail, and due 
to a radio mix-up, had been unable to arrange for another unit 
to continue it.  Skinner had royally chewed the ASAC's ass over 
the phone, and after he had hung up, had looked up to see everyone 
in the room was staring at him.  He had growled for them to get 
back to work, watching as they scurried to do so, and decided he 
needed to get out of the room for a while.  And to check on 
Mulder.  

Allison had been in one corner of the room watching him as well, 
only she had been looking at him with sympathy, and something else.  
Interest?  He had let his admiring eyes sweep her figure, up her 
long legs to her pretty, sun-streaked hair.  He had felt a flash of 
shame for allowing himself to be distracted by a woman, albeit a 
very attractive woman, during the investigation into Scully's 
kidnapping.  There was time for that later, when Scully had been 
found.  He had nodded briefly at Allison, who had smiled at him 
when he looked her over, and had left the room.

Skinner took the stairs two at a time and in moments was rapping 
at Mulder's door.  He did not wait for a reply, merely walked in, 
to see Mulder bent over his desk, which was covered in papers.  
Mulder looked up at the noise and jutted his chin at Skinner in 
lieu of a greeting.  Skinner's eyes glanced over the mess of 
Mulder's desk, seeing the cell phone sitting within easy reach 
of Mulder's hands.  "Did he call?" he asked gruffly.

Mulder shook his head.  "No, but I'm sure he will.  He'll want to 
hear my reaction to his...gift," Mulder replied bitterly.  
"Everything he's done has been aimed at getting a reaction from 
me."  He slumped back in his chair, one hand going up to drag 
across his mouth.  "And I'm certainly giving him one," he said 
with disgust.  "I can't control..." his voice died off, and he 
squeezed his eyes shut, face contorted in a grimace of pain.

Skinner knew Mulder was thinking of Scully in the clutches of an 
obvious psychotic individual, his own thoughts had been continually 
drifting that way.  They were starting to go there again, and he 
forced them out.  He needed to do so, in order to function in his 
capacity not only as AD, but as the agent in charge of the 
investigation.  It was harder to do so with his dreams.  Those 
the night before, as he slept uncomfortably on Mulder's couch, had 
been filled of her being attacked, or of he and Mulder arriving too 
late to rescue her.  "Mulder, I know you've probably already told 
yourself this, but you need to concentrate on the investigation,
try not to think about Scully.  I know it's difficult, but you have 
to."

He watched as Mulder schooled his features, straightening in his 
chair, and then filled Mulder in on the latest information.  "The 
ASAC in Leesburg called a little while ago.  Two of his agents had 
a confirmed sighting of the van, and a possible sighting of 
Andercott.  They had to break off surveillance, and as a result of 
a..." He paused, the muscle in his jaw ticking wildly.  "...a 
screw-up, the second team was not able to continue it."  

Anger tightened Mulder's features and he whispered an expletive, and 
then took a deep breath. "I think we need to go to Leesburg," Mulder 
said.  "I want to leave once we get the results back from the lab."  

He shuffled through the papers on his desk, and then held the one he 
wanted out to Skinner.  "The psychiatric hospital Elizabeth 
Andercott was transferred to from the State Hospital was on the 
outskirts of Leesburg.  It's closed now, but he has other 
connections there." 

Mulder sat back slightly in his chair, and his voice took on 
a slight lecturing tone.  "Martin and Sylvia Andercott, the parents 
of twins Elliot and Elizabeth, were killed in a car accident when 
the twins were only five.  They were sent to live with Sylvia's 
sister, Sandra Doyle in Leesburg.  Sandra Doyle died five years ago, 
and I had hoped to find that Elliot was living in the house she had 
owned. No such luck.  The house had been heavily mortgaged, and was 
sold by the bank that held the mortgage.  I called Frohike, and the
guys are looking into the DMV records to see if they can find an 
address for Elliot."

Skinner frowned at the mention of Mulder's friends hacking into the 
DMV, and then shook his head.  If it helped find Scully, he could 
overlook it.  "Do you think it's wise moving there now, before we 
have anything concrete?  What if he sees you, or is tipped off 
further by the increased FBI presence?  It could push him into...
something hasty."  He had been about to say 'killing Scully', but 
had stopped the words just in time.

He could see by the look on Mulder's face that the agent knew what 
his intended words had been, but Mulder only sighed wearily.  "He 
could string me along for as long as he wants.  He's in control 
right now, and I think we need to take the initiative." Mulder's 
eyes were dark and tortured.  "I would never do anything to put 
Scully at greater risk."  He looked down, staring at his hands, 
which had curled into fists on his desk and then said, "I think 
that he's building up to something, and that whatever that something 
is, he's going to want me there.  He won't kill her yet, not until 
I'm there."

Skinner stared at him for long moments and then gave a brisk nod.  
"I'll make the arrangements," he said, and left Mulder alone in his 
office.

***

Mulder's Office
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Saturday
1 pm


The phone rang in the silence, startling Mulder from his study of 
the papers in front of him.  At first he thought it was the phone, 
but it was only his desk phone.  He scooped the receiver up eagerly, 
hoping it was the lab with the results on the package from Elliot. 
"Mulder," he said briskly.

"Fox?  It's Maggie Scully," he heard.  Her voice was soft and a 
little hesitant, quavering slightly.

Mulder closed his eyes and brought one hand up to pinch the bridge 
of his nose.  He had not called Mrs. Scully in several days, and he 
knew she had to be frantic.  He was surprised she had not tried to 
call sooner, and then had a vague flash of memory - the red light 
flashing on his answering machine, which he had not checked.  He 
wondered if she had tried to call him, and had not been able to 
reach him.  He felt like a heel. 

"Hey, Mrs. Scully," he replied softly.  "How are you?"  Idiot, he 
thought.  How is she?  What do you think? Worried as hell about her 
daughter.

"I'm fine, thank-you for asking, Fox," she answered, ever the 
genteel lady.  "How are you doing, Fox?"

Mulder could read her tone.  She was not asking to be polite.  
She was genuinely concerned for him.  He was not worthy of her 
concern, but he knew he had it.  Just as he would have Scully's, 
immediately and without reservation.  He revised his opinion; 
not only was he not worthy, he did not deserve either of the 
Scully women. He sighed and then replied,  "I'm doing okay, 
Mrs. Scully."  He hesitated, and then blurted, "I'm sorry I 
haven't called you."

"I understand, Fox, I know you're doing everything you can to 
find Dana," she said.  Her words wobbled a little, and he pictured 
her clutching the phone tightly, fighting back tears.  He heard 
her clear her throat and when she spoke again, her voice was much 
stronger.  "Have you heard from her, Fox?"

What could he say?  "Yes, Mrs. Scully, the other day.  She's 
doing okay," he said with a wince.  LIAR! His mind screamed.  
He could not tell her the truth, and hoped she could not hear the 
lie in his voice.  

If she could, she chose not to call him on it.  "Thank-you, Fox,"
she said.  "Are you sure..." Her voice trailed off, as if she was 
having difficulty finding words, and then she spoke quickly, "Fox, 
are you eating and sleeping properly?"

Mulder closed his eyes again at the rush of warmth and caring 
that flooded him after her question.  If he were with Mrs. Scully 
right now, he would hug her as tightly as he could.  His own mother
would not have shown this concern.  

She spoke again before he could answer.  "Fox, you have to take 
care of yourself.  You need to be strong for Dana."

"I know, Mrs. Scully.  I'm trying," he said.  The rest of his words 
were in his head.  If she dies, I will die.  And he knew he would.  
If not from avenging her death, then from sheer grief.  He shook 
his head to stop his dark thoughts.  Scully will be fine.  She 
had to be. 

It was as if she had heard his thoughts.  "You'll both be fine," 
she said.  "You'll find her."  She said the words matter-of-factly, 
affirming her belief in his abilities.  "Fox, you know that if you 
need to talk to someone, you can call me, or come by the house, any 
time at all."

"Thanks, Mrs. Scully, I do know that.  I appreciate it very much. 
I'll call as soon as we hear anything, okay?" he said.

"Thank-you, Fox.  Now take care of yourself, please, for Dana, and 
for me."

"I will, Mrs. Scully."

He hung the phone up gently after her goodbye.  As worried as he 
was about Scully, the call from her mother had cheered him 
immensely.  He knew he should go see her when he got a chance.  

Mulder looked at his watch, wondering if he should phone the lab 
again.  He really did not know how long the testing should take, but 
hopefully Skinner's order had pushed them into moving as quickly as 
they could.  The phone rang again, and he scooped it up.  "Mulder."

"Mulder, the lab called.  They have the preliminary results." 
Skinner's voice was clipped.

"I'll be right up," Mulder replied.  He hung up the phone, scooped 
up the cell phone and shoved it into his jeans pocket and strode 
quickly from the room.  He took the stairs two at a time, and ended 
up jogging down the hall to the lab offices.  The force he used to 
push the door open was a little stronger then he had intended, and 
it crashed loudly into the wall.  Skinner was already there, 
standing with the tech from earlier at one of the stations, and 
they both looked up in surprise at the noise.  Mulder grimaced and 
shrugged his shoulders, muttering, "Sorry," as he made his way to 
them.

The tech looked at him nervously, and Mulder frowned.  He didn't 
care if he scared the shit out of the man, as long as he got the 
results.  "What have you got?" he said brusquely.

"Um, as I was about to tell Assistant Director Skinner, these are 
just preliminary results.  We run them a few times to be sure," 
the tech's voice had started out low, but grew stronger as he 
continued to speak.  His Adam's apple bobbed nervously though, as 
he shot glances from Mulder to Skinner, clearly overwhelmed by 
both their presence.  "There were no fingerprints on the box, and 
as you may or may not know, fingerprints cannot be lifted from 
fabrics." He cleared his throat a little.  "The um, underpants 
are one hundred percent silk, size medium, and made by Victoria's 
Secret."  He looked down for a minute, and swallowed noisily.  
It was obvious to Mulder that the tech was aware of the 
investigation into Scully's kidnapping, and that he thought the 
panties were hers.  "We, uh, found..." He paused and then took 
aa deep breath.  "There was semen all over the panties," he 
blurted.

Mulder grit his teeth, rage stiffening his body, and just managed 
to bite back the string of expletives that were on the tip of his 
tongue.  Even though it was what he had suspected in one corner of 
his mind that they would find, it still angered him.  His insides 
felt like he had chewed glass.  He could feel the blood pulsing in 
the vein in his head, hard and furious, and wondered how it was 
possible that it didn't explode from the pressure. Another thought 
struck him suddenly, one that disturbed him greatly and caused his 
guts to twist further.  How had the semen gotten on the panties?  
Had the man used them to clean himself off after he raped Scully, 
or had he used them to further his own pleasure?  Both thoughts 
thoroughly disgusted him, and sent another wave of rage through 
his body.  The tech was studying the computer screen in front of 
him, while Skinner stood silently, his own mouth twisted into a 
grimace as well, the muscle in his jaw twitching again.

"Did you test...the semen for blood type?" Mulder asked.  Amazing, 
his voice sounded normal.

The tech jerked his head in a nod.  "Yes, sir.  The blood type is 
AB negative."

The same as the blood found at the warehouse.  Mulder hoped that 
meant Scully had been able to hurt the bastard somehow.  It was 
also the same blood type as Elizabeth Andercott, which was 
understandable, as they were twins.  "What else?" he asked.

"We also found pubic hairs.  Two types.  DNA shows that one type 
is um, consistent with Agent Scully's DNA.  The other is definitely 
male, although we had no records on file for the DNA type."

Confirmation that the panties were indeed Scully's, as he had 
immediately known.  Mulder clenched his fists to hold back the 
urge to throttle someone, anyone, and nodded at the tech. He 
managed to say, "Thank-you."  

He turned and walked stiffly away, listening to Skinner 
speaking to the tech, asking him to send the report to him as 
soon as it was done.  The AD also reminded the tech to enter 
the box and its contents as evidence in the investigation for 
when the suspect was brought to trial.

Mulder's grin was feral.  Evidence didn't matter. There would be 
no trial.  He was going to kill the son-of-a-bitch when he 
found him.

***

end Part 7 of 29