<![CDATA[*********************************
The Abyss Looks Back - Part 3 of 7 (3/7)
by Kronos
**********************************
Friday, 6:13 p.m.
Minneapolis Bureau, Command Center
When Skinner and Mulder entered the command center at a little after six, the
excitement in the room was almost palpable. The two had come straight from
the hospital and Mulder still wore the casual clothes he'd left in. Oddly, he
looked fresh and ready to work, compared with the rumpled agents around
them.
Jenkins approached the two and lightly slapped Mulder on the arm. "Well,
Mulder, if I'd know all it would take was a concussion to make a break in the
case, I'd of given you one the first day you were here."
Gentle laughter filled the room at the ASAC's words and even Mulder smiled.
He'd come to like this man over the last few days and had wondered to himself
how he could have been so far off base with his original assessment.
"How are you feeling, Mulder?"
"I'm fine, sir. Thank you."
Jenkins stepped back to give both Mulder and Skinner the room to sit at the
table. Everyone quieted immediately.
Skinner decided not to waste time. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, I think you're
all aware by now that Agent Mulder's hypothesis has been confirmed. We now
know that all these children were abused by their parents and we are reasonably
certain that this fact is what ties them to the victim pool. It's now critical
that
we discover, as soon as possible, who knew about the abuse. Agent Mulder?"
For the first time, Skinner had deferred to his agent in front of the team,
making
it quite clear to everyone in the room who was going to be calling the shots.
Mulder nodded easily, stared at his clasped hands resting on the table in front
of
him, and quickly gathered his thoughts. Mulder then began outlining the
approach he intended to follow that evening.
Skinner didn't bother to wonder for long when Mulder had come up with these
plans. He determined that he just wouldn't be surprised by anything the
younger man did from now on. He focused on his agent once again.
"....so we either need to identify the next victim within the next three days or
find the killer. We all know this. The link is crucial not only in helping us
identify the pool, but will enable us now to investigate concretely the
possibility
that the killer knew the victims personally, at least to some degree. I believe
this to be a very strong possibility."
Scully understood what he really meant. They had discussed it at great length
in the past couple days. Mulder was positive the killer had interacted with the
victims physically, at least superficially, but wasn't prepared to make
unsubstantiated claims that might influence the team leaders, either in their
own
investigations or in the way they considered Mulder.
"The parents provide our best possibility for identifying who might have been
aware of the abuse within the families. I'll be interviewing the first two or
three
sets of parents tonight with Agent Tresky, Agent Scully and AD Skinner.
Hopefully, we'll be able to get started with cross matching tonight."
Mulder and Vickers had already generated multiple lists of thousands of names
that fit different aspects of Mulder's profile. As soon as they could discover
what people or groups of people might have had access to the fact that these
children had been abused, they'd be able to cross match the lists to start
narrowing the field of suspects. Hundreds would be manageable, tens would
definitely be better.
"Until we get preliminary reports to you, continue with the tasks that AD
Skinner previously outlined for you." Mulder nodded to the group in
dismissal, started to stand, and was interrupted by a question from Agent
Anderson, causing him to arrest his movement and sink back into the chair.
"Agent Mulder, you said we had three days. I thought we were looking at
something closer to a week." Mulder saw other agents around the table
nodding their heads at the comment, also looking confused. He had hoped they
wouldn't have to get into this now. Perhaps it was time to share his thoughts
with them. Maybe they could talk him out of his interpretation. God knew, he
didn't want to be right.
"Yes. I believe the assessment that he kidnaps on the same day of the month,
give or take a day, to be incorrect. I believe he kidnaps them during the full
moon, give or take a day. There's a distinction. Because last month had
thirty-
one days, the full moon is scheduled for four days from now, which is two
days earlier than the date the team had targeted."
Skinner could see the agents in the room move uncomfortably in their seats, a
couple of them looking sideways at the agent next to them, before turning back
at Mulder. Skinner could sense no disbelief, just mild shock and resignation.
He was surprised that none of the team leaders questioned Mulder's 'beliefs'
anymore. The child abuse link made them all believers in his leaps.
"I believe this man is educated and a professional. I believe that his work
necessitates travel every few months, which accounts for the two times the
children were taken a couple days before the full moon. He needed to make
sure he was done before having to leave town. If this is a month of travel,
it's
possible that we have only three days."
Mulder looked at them, no expression on his face, features frozen. Only his
eyes betrayed him. They were haunted, envisioning an eight year old girl with
braids, asleep in her bed, the next victim on the killer's list. Did she have
an
older brother, he wondered?
*************************
Friday, 8:04 p.m.
St. Paul, Dawson Home
They stood in the Dawson's family room. It was a little after eight. They'd
taken just enough time after the briefing for Mulder to go back to the hotel to
change. He once again looked the part of the bureau professional, despite the
bandage on forehead and hand.
Mulder had insisted on visiting these parents first. Tresky had argued, saying
they should be among the last. The father was confrontational, the mother a
space cadet, still in apparent shock even after months. Tresky insisted it
would
be a waste of time. Mulder just insisted. Mulder won.
Jake Dawson gestured to the couch and chairs, making a small attempt at
civility. Betty Dawson had not moved since their entry into her home. She
still
sat at the kitchen table, staring into the sunken family room, eyes occasionally
focusing on a pile of children's books in a corner, alternately on an empty fish
tank.
Mulder recognized the signs and felt for the woman. She'd have to make peace
with her own demons. Mulder wasn't there for her, though. He turned to face
Jake Dawson. Mulder remained standing even though the other agents had
taken seats. Dawson's eyes came to rest on him finally, sensing that this was
really the only person he needed to deal with.
Dawson was not tall, only about 5'7" or 5'8", but he was broad and muscular.
He easily outweighed Mulder by forty pounds if not more. One side of his
mouth upturned slightly when he recognized that Mulder was not going to sit,
in fact was challenging him, trying to intimidate him by his closeness and
superior height.
Dawson was not so easily intimidated. He had recognized Tresky when the
four came into his house, had talked with him before. These other three were
new to him and this one in front of him now, Mulder, must have been called in
on the case just recently. Dawson couldn't imagine why. The agent in front of
him looked like he was barely capable of walking straight, let alone finding the
killer of his son. The sneer on Dawson's face deepened.
Mulder recognized the signs of derision in Dawson, knew exactly what was
going through the man's mind, and decided to cut the legs out from under him
quickly. Mulder's own growing disdain of the man would make this easy,
even a pleasure. A matching sneer found its way to Mulder's features as well,
and eyes narrowed slightly before he spoke, his voice low and intense, but
demanding.
"Did Davy cry when you beat him, Dawson?"
Jake Dawson literally staggered - at the unexpected question, at the shock of
realizing someone knew the family's dark secret. He moved back a step from
the man he'd written off as no threat, his eyes wide, breathing labored.
Mulder maintained his advantage, closed the gap between them once again,
forcing Dawson to look up at him. He was vaguely aware of movement behind
him and was childishly pleased that he'd shocked his boss and Tresky. He
doubted Scully was shocked, perturbed with him perhaps, but not shocked.
"Did he cry out - say he was sorry? Did he beg you to stop? Did he beg your
forgiveness?"
Mulder fired off the questions, one after another, not giving Dawson time to
answer or react.
"How did you feel when you stood over your son with your fist raised to hit
him? Were you sorry? Did you regret it, Dawson? Did you try to make it up to
him afterwards? Did you buy him presents? Take him fishing? Promise you
wouldn't do it again?"
Mulder found himself breathing a bit too hard, recognized his voice had become
more strident, louder. He told himself to back down, back off. He'd rattled
the
man enough. The crack in his defenses was a fissure, the Grand Canyon of all
fissures. Mulder moved back slightly, became aware of a hand on his arm,
Scully's hand. She stood quietly beside him, then backed off when he did.
Mulder nodded towards her without losing eye contact with Dawson, letting her
know he was Okay, in control. He sensed her moving away. It didn't matter
to Dawson, though, who stood rooted to the floor, oblivious to everyone and
everything except Mulder, the man who'd just rocked his very foundations.
Mulder dropped his voice, asked quietly, gently now, "Mr. Dawson, did you
ever tell anyone? Did anyone ever find out? We have to know."
Dawson was deflated, a shell of a human being. He shook his head as a tear
made its way down his face. Mulder needed to be absolutely certain.
"Mr. Dawson, we believe that the kidnapper picked Davy because he knew.
It's absolutely crucial that we learn of anyone, anyone at all, who might have
known or found out. A priest, a lawyer, a social worker, a colleague, anyone?"
Dawson shook his head again, slowly, turned towards the kitchen and tried to
search out his wife's eyes. They were focused on a small baseball jacket that
hung over the rail dividing the kitchen and family room. Her eyes were still
dull, unaware.
"No one knew. No one." It came out as a muffled whisper.
Mulder stepped back further, withdrawing from the tragedy that surrounded
these people. He found he could no longer despise the man slumped dejectedly
in front of him. Mulder just wanted to leave now. He had to get out of this
house. He nodded at Dawson and turned, almost stumbled towards the front
door, suddenly aware of how drained he felt. The anger that had sustained him
to this point had leaked away.
Skinner and Tresky could say the right things, make any necessary farewells.
Mulder opened the door and pushed his way out into the cool evening, taking a
cleansing breath. Scully was with him, had followed him. He was glad of her
presence but could find no words with which to speak to her.
He made his way slowly to the car, put his arms on the hood and leaned over it,
hanging his head between them. Scully still hadn't spoken, but she was leaning
back against the car, next to him, sharing the quiet night. Mulder finally
stood
straight, then turned and adopted the same stance as his partner.
Skinner focused on his two agents immediately as he left the house with Tresky
several minutes later. Mulder and Scully stood side by side, mere inches
separating them, both leaning back against the side of the car, arms crossed.
Posterboy and girl of the Bureau, presenting a united front.....against what?
Him?
Skinner and Tresky stopped in front of the two agents.
"Agent Mulder, I'm not sure what you just accomplished in there." Although
spoken as a statement, it was obviously a question. Skinner needed some
reassurance that Mulder knew what he was doing, that he hadn't lashed out at
Dawson for personally motivated reasons. Tresky stood quietly beside him,
seemingly unsure of what to do or say.
Mulder looked up at him and Skinner was struck by his appearance. In mere
minutes the man had aged, started to collapse in on himself. Skinner almost
spoke again then, thinking to suggest they go back to the hotel to rest, but
Mulder's response cut him off.
"Sir, I know it doesn't seem like we learned anything, but we did. I knew that
of all the parents, the Dawsons were the least likely to have spoken to anyone
or
to have allowed anyone else to find out. We can pretty much eliminate three-
quarters, even more, of the lists we'd come up with -- those that required the
parents to have reached out to someone, to have initiated contact. I'm positive
our answer will involve something much more serendipitous for the killer."
Skinner glanced over at Tresky and saw the older agent nodding to himself. He
was somehow reassured by this gesture. Before he could say anything, Mulder
spoke once again.
"I'd like to see Angela Harrison next. Scully called and she's willing to see
us
tonight."
Even though Mulder was obviously tired, with the effects of his recent injuries
visibly resurfacing, Skinner decided that he'd follow Scully's lead. If she
thought this was a good idea, or at least wasn't objecting, then he'd go along
with the plan.
"All right, Agent Mulder. What do you hope to discover by speaking with
her?" This time Skinner wanted warning if Mulder planned on being
confrontational. His nerves were rattled enough without his own agent catching
him flatfooted.
"Sir, Mrs. Harrison filed for divorce six months prior to the abduction of her
son and had been separated for months before that. My understanding is that
she'd been pursuing sole custody. My guess would be that she filed for
divorce when she discovered that her husband had hurt the child. I believe
she'll be forthcoming and honest. She'll be able to provide us with possible
directions to actively investigate, while the Dawson's allowed us to eliminate
directions."
Skinner was once again impressed with his agent. By choosing the two
extremes of parental attitudes, they'd be able to almost immediately cut down
their investigative avenues to manageable numbers in a matter of hours.
"All right, let's go." Skinner nodded to Tresky, who headed for the driver's
seat. Skinner silently prayed that Mrs. Harrison lived close by. He was
starting to feel the years behind a desk catch up with him. The thought of his
hotel bed beckoned.
*************************
Friday, 11:12 p.m.
Minneapolis Bureau, Conference Room
It was slightly past 11 p.m. and they were back at the local bureau office.
Mulder and Scully were working closely with both Tresky's and Vickers' teams
to narrow the search limits for their killer. They'd managed to eliminate well
over eighty percent of their original pool and were prioritizing the remaining
possibilities.
Mulder was hopeful that discussions with the rest of the parents the next day
would help them to reduce the possibilities even further. He was concerned,
though, since he still believed that the key was the pattern to the victim
selection. Mulder was convinced that if they were to save the next child, they
would not do it by finding the killer, but by identifying the next potential
victim.
AD Skinner had left his agents and now sat with Dave Jenkins in his office.
Jenkins' expression was pensive, almost melancholy.
"I have to confess, Walt, I didn't really understand what you were after at
first.
I didn't look at them in any depth but did glance through them."
Dave Jenkins looked up from the thick set of files in front of him, picked them
up and handed them to his long-time friend. Skinner's expression mirrored his
own, the look of concern evident.
"I hate to jump to conclusions here, but it seems pretty obvious when you look
at them this way."
Skinner had opened the file on top of the stack and began reading about the
first
concussion his agent had received at the age of four, after 'falling down the
steps'. He moved on to the next accident which occurred at age five, a broken
arm from a fall out of a tree. Then came the burn from grabbing something off
the stove and spilling it on his chest, the bicycle accident, the baseball
accident,
the fall from the treehouse.
Skinner felt the stab between his eyes, a sure sign tension was getting the best
of him. He consciously loosened his grip from the files, closed them, sat back
in the chair. His ten minute overview was cursory at best, but left little
doubt in
his own mind that his agent had more than a passing experience with the issue
of child abuse. The question now was, what now? Should he involve Dana
Scully? Should he speak with Mulder? Damn the man anyway for making
everything so difficult.
Skinner closed his eyes and shook his head softly, feeling ashamed for trying to
assign any blame to Mulder. In truth, the man had managed to thrive despite
the wreck of his childhood. Skinner's appreciation and respect for Mulder
grew immeasurably with the realization. Skinner looked back to his friend to
gain his insights.
"Walt, I don't know whether this changes anything or not. The fact is that
we've made more progress with Mulder on the case in just three days then we
had in the previous several months. From our perspective, it's obvious we
want him working this. What I don't know is whether it's best for him, what
it'll do to him in the long run."
Skinner nodded as Jenkins vocalized his own thoughts. "Perhaps I should
speak with Scully about it. It's still possible these really were accidents,
after
all. I find it hard to believe that there was never any evidence of this in his
file.
Hell, the investigation into his sister's abduction should have uncovered this
kind of information, if it were true. And a few years ago I did my own research
into his family when his father was murdered and he was missing. Nothing
like this ever turned up, there was no hint of it anywhere."
"I don't understand it either, Walt. But it's very difficult to believe Mulder
was
that accident prone as a child. This is way outside the bell curve."
Skinner nodded in acknowledgment but at the same time remembered Mulder's
fall while running and then the concussion he'd just received by falling against
the hard tile in the bathroom. He also recalled that Mulder's present medical
file
had to be at least four times thicker than any other agent in the Bureau,
including his partner's who had a coma and cancer to her ledger. Maybe the
man was just accident prone, or lacked a sufficient sense of self-preservation.
Suddenly, Skinner's assumptions seemed too shaky. He knew he needed a
medical opinion. Damn, he pretty much had to bring Scully into this. She'd
never forgive him if he didn't.
*************************
Friday, 11:49 p.m.
Minneapolis Bureau, Conference Room
Scully had been trying to figure out how to get Mulder to quit and finally
decided on the direct approach. She stood, stretched out her back, her neck,
rotating it right and left. Before she could take any action, however, muffled
exclamations and the sound of chairs clattering caught her attention.
Agents Salvatore and Crowley, of all people, had Mulder's arms and were half
walking, half dragging him to a nearby chair. Scully hurried over to them and
was somewhat relieved to see that her partner was aware and softly arguing
with the two men, both of whom appeared to be ignoring him.
When Scully reached them, Crowley looked up at her and flushed slightly
before speaking.
"We were just finishing drawing up the tasks for tomorrow when he started to
keel over."
While not surprised by the news, Scully still wished she'd managed to get
Mulder out of there earlier so Crowley wouldn't have anything to use against
her partner. Still, Crowley didn't seem particularly pleased by the turn of
events, had even come across as concerned over her partner's welfare. In fact,
he had seemed to have been avoiding Mulder and Scully as much as possible
the entire night, as if he were embarrassed.
Mulder's voice sharpened finally and cut through Scully's introspective
musings. "Look, I'm fine. I just need to sit for a few minutes."
Ray Salvatore snorted and looked at Mulder fondly. "Buddy, I've seen snow
that wasn't as white as you are right now. Do us a favor, Mulder, and go to
bed. We need you sharp tomorrow and you're not doing anyone any favors if
you put yourself back in the hospital tonight."
Skinner and Jenson had walked into the command center in time to hear
Salvatore's comments. Both men immediately sized up the situation and
Skinner decided it was time his position was put to good use.
"Agent Scully, Agent Mulder, I think it's time we head out. In fact, I think
it's
time everyone headed out. Agent Salvatore's right, we all need to be sharp
tomorrow."
Scully had taken Salvatore's place and was now helping her partner to his feet
once again and into his jacket. Crowley still had Mulder's right arm and was
providing his own assistance.
Skinner didn't know what to think of this turn of events, but made no
comment. He put the stack of files he'd been carrying into his own briefcase,
slung it over his shoulder and made his way to his agent's side. He nodded to
Crowley in thanks and dismissal, nodded to Dave Jenson, then helped Scully
with a reeling Mulder.
Despite his objections, Mulder knew he needed the help. A haze had formed
across his vision, painting everything a muted blur. His head, which had
started to ache a couple hours ago, was now pounding so loud he was surprised
no one else could hear it. He felt the sweat break out on his forehead and
began
to doubt that he could walk down the block to the hotel. He closed his eyes
briefly while he fought down a sudden nausea, then opened them to place the
nearest trashcan, just in case.
Mulder was unaware of Scully and Skinner trading worried looks, but Jenson
saw and understood.
"Look, Walt, I'm heading out now. Why don't I pull up out front and I'll drive
you folks to the hotel. It's on the way, after all."
Skinner nodded to him in appreciation. "Okay, we'll meet you out front."
*************************
Saturday, 12:28 a.m.
Minneapolis Center Hotel
Mulder was safely tucked in bed, with remarkably little argument. Skinner took
Mulder's willingness as a sign that he must have been feeling terrible. Skinner
and Scully sat at the table in the living area of the suite, several thick files
spread
out on the table in front of them.
Scully had just completed looking through the first, from the Chilmark
Hospital, and was starting on the second, from Quonaquatog. She hadn't
spoken, hadn't really changed expression. Skinner was unsure whether this
was a good sign or not.
The pressure of waiting for a response was starting to get to him.
"Scully? Can you tell anything?"
Scully had almost completed her overview of the second file. She paused at
one point, looked at her boss and opened her mouth as if to speak. After an
interminable pause, she merely said, "One more minute please, sir," and
continued with the files. After several minutes more she closed the last file,
placed it neatly on top of the others, straightened in her chair, then looked up
at
her boss.
"Sir, I find it incredible that Agent Mulder could have had so many serious
accidents as a child, often the same supposed accident multiple times. I also
find it incredible that no one ever questioned these injuries, several of which
required hospital stays."
Scully was furious, more furious than Skinner had ever seen her. It was a
seething fury that threatened to erupt violently. He wasn't surprised when she
pushed back from the table and abruptly stood, then started pacing in jerky
movements around the room.
"God damn it."
As angry as she was, Skinner was glad to see she had the presence of mind to
keep her voice down. This was not a conversation he wanted Mulder to
overhear. Scully appeared to be cursing quietly and Skinner had no doubt of
the focus of her ire. He stood slowly and moved to block her pacing, one arm
raised slightly in front of him to get her attention. He needed her to be
thinking
clearly.
"Scully, we need to discuss this. I need your opinion on how this changes
things."
Scully now stood in front of him, hands on hips. Skinner believed with all his
being that the expression 'if looks could kill' had been written for this very
moment in time. He had thought Scully was angry at Mulder's father, his
parents, but now was suddenly concerned that perhaps she was angry at him
for some reason. The passionate fury exuding from the small woman in front
of him caused Skinner to actually take a small step back.
"Scully." He spoke her name quietly, questioningly, was relieved to see that
she no longer looked so angry. In fact, it appeared her anger had passed,
leaving her with slumped shoulders and a resigned expression.
"It's not right, sir. It's not fair. When I was growing up, the closest I ever
came to being abused was when Bill, Jr. and Charlie wouldn't stop tickling me.
Occasionally, my father would speak harshly if one of us misbehaved. It was
crushing when that happened. He would look so disappointed when he had to
raise his voice. But mostly, we were just happy. None of us kids ever doubted
how much our parents loved us. They showed us with every hug, every kiss
goodnight, every kind word."
Scully had tears in her eyes, threatening to spill, tears at the memories of
happy
days long past, at a security that enabled and fostered joyous innocence, at the
thought of such times that never were for her partner.
"I know, Scully. I understand. It was the same for me."
Skinner felt his own chest constrict, tried hard to control his breathing. Damn
these two for doing this to him. Scully looked bereft and he found himself
fighting the desire to hold her in his arms and offer comfort. She was his
agent. He was her boss. He wasn't her father, he wasn't even her friend, at
least at this point in time. But, why couldn't he be?
"Sir, if his father weren't already dead, I think I'd kill him myself."
Skinner couldn't help the weak grin this admission caused and responded,
"Agent Scully, I believe I would've gladly helped."
Scully had recovered her composure somewhat and now moved to sit at the
table once again. Skinner followed her lead, sitting again across from her.
Both stared at the pile of files which contained details on the numerous
injuries
Mulder had sustained throughout his youth.
Skinner sighed and looked at his agent sitting across from him. "So, Scully,
the question remains - what now? Does this change anything?"
Scully felt like laughing, could feel the hysterical bubble of laughter fighting
it's
way up from her stomach. Does it change anything? Shit, it changed
everything. Didn't it? Or did it? Just because this was information she was
learning for the first time, didn't mean it just came to be, out of thin air.
Mulder had lived with it all his life. Had been functioning quite well, in
fact.
He had a degree in psychology from Oxford, for cripes sake. Had worked with
the VCS for years, handled hundreds of cases, a large percentage of which dealt
with abuse of one form or another. No, this really changed nothing. Mulder
was who he was. He did things the way he did things. This information, this
knowledge which now took root in her psyche, would change nothing.
Scully knew that Mulder would do the job here. Would solve the case if they
all just got out of his way. And she and Skinner would be there to make sure
he didn't fall apart. It was the best they could do. But nothing would really
change. Not unless her partner ever wanted to discuss it, and if he ever did,
she'd be ready.
Scully felt calmer with the realization and could now look her boss in the eye,
without doubt.
"Sir, this changes nothing. Mulder will do the job and he'll be fine. We'll
make sure he stays fine."
Skinner nodded, reached across the table and quickly squeezed Scully's hand.
He'd help her make sure.
**************************
Saturday, 3:07 a.m.
Minneapolis Center Hotel
Skinner wasn't sure what had awakened him. He reached for his glasses, put
them on, and read the time. 3:07 a.m. Damn, surely Mulder wasn't up
already? He got out of bed, reached for his weapon, and quietly made his way
to his door. He'd left it cracked after going to bed.
As Skinner reached it and opened it further, he realized that the living area
was
still practically pitch black, so guessed that it wasn't Mulder moving around
that
he'd heard. He stood quietly, still not entering the living room, listening for
anything out of the ordinary. There it was again. A noise, a voice, it was
coming from Mulder's room. Damn, now what?
Skinner slowly made his way across the room, using only the little bit of
moonlight that found it's way in through a crack in the curtains to navigate.
When he reached his agent's door, he paused again, wondering if he really had
the right to intrude. A muffled cry decided him.
Skinner opened Mulder's door slowly, trying not to alarm the younger man. It
wouldn't due to get shot, after all. Wouldn't look very good in either of their
official bureau jackets.
Mulder lay on his back, wearing boxers and a T-shirt, sheets twisted around
legs and arms, testament to an unsettling rest. A light sheen of sweat stood
out
on his forehead, made more obvious by the light reflecting from the muted TV
across the room.
As Skinner took in the man's restlessness, Mulder jerked, simultaneously
crying out, "No, Daddy." Skinner was at a loss as to what should do. After
another thirty seconds of torture watching his agent in the throws of either a
nightmare or memory, he could stand it no longer.
Skinner approached the bed, laid his service weapon next to Mulder's on the
table, and knelt down. He reached one hand out to Mulder's shoulder and
shook slowly, saying "Mulder, wake up."
Skinner was unprepared for his agent's reaction. Still asleep, Mulder turned on
his side, facing Skinner, and curled around his knees. His breathing was
uneven, catching occasionally. Skinner realized that his agent was quietly
crying, while still asleep.
Skinner reached out once more and again shook the younger man's shoulder, a
little more forcefully this time. "Mulder, it's Okay, you're just dreaming."
Mulder only scrunched tighter at the touch and flinched at Skinner's voice.
Skinner became aware that Mulder was talking, saying something, somewhat
muffled because of his position.
"I'm sorry, Daddy. I won't do it again. Please, Daddy."
Skinner realized his agent was still asleep, caught up in a memory that wouldn't
let go. Mulder sounded as if he were only a small child, and Skinner's heart
broke at the thought of innocence so betrayed.
Skinner decided to go where his agent was, in the hopes of bringing him out of
the memory, or at least sending him into a more peaceful sleep. Keeping his
voice low and even he said, "Fox, it's Okay. I'm not mad, Fox. It's all right.
Just go to sleep now."
Skinner held his breath for several seconds, prayed he'd made the right move,
then continued his gentle words. The younger man started to calm somewhat,
and the tears slowly stopped as Skinner continued his soft whispering. After a
few shuddering breaths, Mulder's arms loosened from around his knees
somewhat.
"That's right, Fox. Just go to sleep now. Everything's all right. I'm not
angry
with you, Fox."
The use of his agent's first name seemed to have done the trick. Although he
still didn't look comfortable, at least Mulder lay reasonably straight and no
longer cried out for forgiveness.
Skinner breathed deeply, gently pulled the sheet up around his agent's
shoulders, and couldn't resist smoothing the matted hair from the sleeping
man's forehead.
"Sweet dreams, Fox." Skinner whispered the words softly as he stood. He
picked up his weapon and then made his way back across the room.
Scully's earlier words came to him suddenly, 'if his father weren't already
dead, I think I'd kill him myself.' Yes, indeed, Skinner understood exactly
what Scully had been feeling.
He paused at the door and looked back at his agent, who now rested peacefully.
Skinner tried to understand these feelings that had been surfacing over the last
couple days towards his two younger agents. He wanted to protect them, help
them, keep them from being hurt. Damned if he wasn't feeling ..... paternal
towards them.
Walter Skinner had never had these feelings before. It was, in fact, a major
sticking point in his marriage to Sharon. She had wanted children, but he
couldn't see himself, by any stretch of the imagination, in a parental role.
Now
he began to question whether he had been hasty.
Skinner took one last look at Mulder before closing the door quietly and going
back to bed. Sleep was long in coming.
**************************
Saturday, 7:04 a.m.
Minneapolis Center Hotel
Scully knocked at the suite a little after 7 a.m. and was surprised by the sight
of
a very scruffy and exhausted looking Skinner who opened the door. He looked
like he'd had a rough night and Scully prayed her boss's sleeplessness wasn't
related to her partner in any way.
"Hello, sir. Is it still too early? I can come back in a bit."
"It's all right, Scully, come on in. I'll be ready in about ten minutes. I'm
pretty
sure Mulder's up."
With that, Skinner turned and made his way back to his bedroom, leaving
Scully to close the suite door. She shocked herself by actually admiring her
boss's physique. He wore shorts and an FBI T-shirt that hugged his muscled
torso. While both Mulder and Skinner were essentially the same height, Skinner
looked more like a body builder, while Mulder had the long and lanky body of a
swimmer and runner.
Scully tore her eyes away from the body of her disappearing boss and realized
that Mulder stood in the door to his bedroom watching her. A grin was
plastered across his face. Had Scully been closer, though, she would have seen
that his eyes betrayed him, a slight frown taking residence, despite the grin.
As it was, Scully felt herself redden, the heat on her face almost unbearable.
She played it cool, though, unwilling to allow Mulder this round. She looked
him straight in the face before asking, "So, Mulder, are you about ready for
breakfast?"
Her partner genuinely smiled at her then, decided to go along, and replied,
"Yep, all set."
Mulder moved into the room and started packing his briefcase. He'd gotten in a
couple hours work this morning and had some new thoughts for the Pattern
Dumping team. It was the one thing he hadn't put a great deal of thought into
and he awoke that morning suddenly thinking the oversight would become
important. He'd also spent a little more time on the victim pattern that he was
convinced now involved the 3 x 3 matrix. He picked up the inevitable cards
and put them in his right suit pocket.
Mulder knew his partner was watching him, but refused to acknowledge the
awareness. It was odd. He watched Scully peripherally as she watched him,
and he wondered what she was thinking. Probably worried about him after last
night. Mulder was determined that he'd keep any lingering affects of the
concussion under tight wraps today. He'd have to pace himself. They were
running out of time.
**************************
Saturday, 5:21 p.m.
Minneapolis Bureau, Command Center
"Look, it's a test. He gave them a test and some of them made it to three days
before failing and some of them failed almost immediately." Mulder was trying
to control his voice. He knew the profile team was still split in their
thinking,
even though Vickers had come around. Actually, he figured half of them
thought he was insane while the other half thought him only mildly disturbed.
Most of the profile group was gathered around the conference table in the
command center. Several of them were on their feet, though, as was Mulder.
The tension was mounting.
"This man, this killer, does nothing without reason. He is smart, he's
educated. He's following a set of rules. It's just that they're so complex, we
don't understand them. It looks to us like there is no reason, no patterns.
But
there are."
Mulder's voice was beseeching. He had to get the profile team to understand
the killer's motivations before they could make any significant progress.
Alison Murphy looked up from the table, exhaustion clearly showing on her
features. "Look, Mulder. We're not trying to be difficult here. It's just
that if
we apply any standard profiling technique to this case, we get something totally
different from what you're proposing. How can you expect us to throw out
everything we've always known to be true, just on your say so."
Mulder was not offended by Alison's comment. Actually, he was relieved. It
was finally out in the open. The team had been skirting the issue of the
contradictory profiles for days and now they were going to address it.
Mulder stepped closer to the conference table and put both hands on it, leaning
forward slightly. He then stood straight once again and looked around the
room at the seven agents of the profile team. Vickers wore a look of chagrin.
He had evidently hoped to avoid this. Crowley still had his perpetual scowl,
but it was oddly coupled with confusion. No one was hostile, at least.
"Alison, I fully understand the dilemma. Please remember that I was a profiler
with the ISU in the VCS for almost three years." He didn't want them to accept
his profile just on his say so, but Mulder felt it crucial to remind them, even
tangentially, why he'd been asked to consult on this case in the first place.
He'd been the Golden Boy for a reason, after all.
"Profiling is not a science. It will never be a science. It will never be a
science
because science requires a body of laws that always hold, explaining why
things happen the way they happen. But with profiling, we attempt to explain
human nature, which almost by definition is unexplainable. The number of
variables that would be necessary to ever truly capture a person's motivations
and thought processes is almost infinite. And frankly, even if we could
produce a reasonable model built on some subset of the variables that we
believe to be the most crucial, interactions with those not in the model could
completely skew any results."
Mulder wasn't sure if they were following or not, was worried he was
becoming overly pedantic, but he had their attention still. Some part of him
was
aware that Skinner had entered partway through his words and stood by the
door.
"This is not to say that attempting to define rules and procedures to aid in
profiling is a waste of time. It's not at all. It's just that we must always
recognize that there is a difference between a model which explains behavior
after the fact and one which predicts it. It is for this very reason that the
ISU
continues to collect data, both quantitative and qualitative, from serial
killers and
other criminals. The additional data is continually added to the existing
models
to increase accuracy in the hopes that - someday - we might actually be able to
make predictions with a high degree of accuracy and confidence."
Mulder paused again, mentally reviewed the numerous discussions they'd had
within the ISU at various times over this exact issue. This was one thing both
he and Patterson agreed on.
"So, what this means for us is that it's fine to use the standard approaches for
profiling, but we should never," Mulder took extra care to stress the word so
they would understand how important he felt the point, "never assume a profile
generated by such means to be absolutely or even remotely correct."
If anything, there was more confusion and concern on the faces of the agents
facing him then there had been before. Mulder had to get this over with soon.
"The ISU exists because we recognize these models to be non-predictive. So
we have profilers, like Vickers, who have training in psychology, psychiatry,
sociology ... training that gives them a special insight to the criminal's
motivations and actions."
Mulder pulled out a chair from the conference table and practically collapsed in
it. It had already been a long day and the headache had come back in force.
All
he wanted was to go back to the hotel and collapse in bed. Mulder again looked
around the room at the collected agents, pausing on Skinner for a second before
continuing on. He took a deep breath and prepared to continue. It was time to
ask for the leap of faith.
"I know this isn't fair to you. I'm asking you to throw out everything you
know here and trust me. But I swear to you, the man we are looking for is
around 40 years old. He's educated, he's intelligent, he's a professional. He
comes into contact with these children because of his job. He's most likely
married with no children of his own. He does not live with parents. He has
not killed before this. He appeared perfectly ordinary until something happened
to start him on this journey of his. The kidnappings and killings were planned,
thought out to the last detail. He chooses the children for specific reasons, I
believe related to sex and ages. He knows beforehand what he's going to do
with them if they fail the test. He researches them and their families and
kidnaps them effortlessly, never leaving evidence, witnesses, or clues of any
kind. He brings them somewhere - not his house - not the eventual dumping
location. He tests them."
Mulder's voice cracked as he said this last. He was fading fast. He knew it
and had to get these agents on his side tonight. He took a sip of the cold
coffee
in front of him and went on. Amazingly, no one had interrupted him. He
wasn't sure what it meant.
"When they fail, as they all will, inevitably, he sexually assaults them,
brutalizes them, strangles them. He doesn't enjoy it. It's a chore that has to
be
done. A punishment to be meted out and he's the one that has to do it, has been
chosen to do it. He 's controlled, efficient, focused. Perhaps even saddened
by the fact that yet another possibility failed him."
Mulder's voice had become oddly monotone, seemingly even more calm, even
while his features became more haggard. It was a contrast that worried
Skinner, but he knew he couldn't interrupt. Every eye in the room was still on
Mulder, who now sat looking intently down at his clasped hands. No one had
moved a muscle for the past several minutes at least.
"When he's done, he moves them, taking no care whatsoever about the bodies.
They have, after all, failed him. But he folds the clothes, carefully,
scrupulously, and places them at the dumping site, always to the left of the
door, eight feet in and two to the left."
Heads jerked across the room. This was new. Why hadn't they heard anything
about this? And what in the world could it mean?
"But the bodies, the victim's bodies, he doesn't care about any more. They're
nothing to him. Failures don't count. They don't deserve consideration.
Failures deserve contempt. They deserve punishment. It's what he believes,
what he'd been taught."
Mulder's breathing was ragged now and a rustling here and there throughout
the room alerted Skinner to the fact that the growing concern on some faces
wasn't necessarily related to the case. Mulder had closed his eyes and his head
now dropped forward to his chest, almost touching the tightly linked hands on
the table in front of him. His rasping voice could barely be heard now.
"Then he goes home and looks at the name of the next child on his list.
Thinking, perhaps this will be the one. Maybe ... this time. Maybe."
A long thirty seconds made it evident to Skinner that Mulder had once again
become lost in his own thoughts. Skinner cleared his throat and took a step
forward, the movement drawing all eyes to him immediately, except for
Mulder's.
"Why don't we take a short break. We'll reconvene in fifteen minutes."
Everyone understood it was a directive to get out. Vickers was the last to
leave.
He found himself consumed with guilt. He had known Mulder years ago,
worked with him closely on numerous cases. He knew why Mulder had to get
out of Violent Crimes. He went too deep, always did. If he hadn't gotten out
of the VCS when he did, the job would have consumed him, like it had
Patterson. Vickers silently cursed himself for getting Mulder into this and
finally left the room, closing the door behind him.
Skinner took the couple steps necessary to bring himself to Mulder's side and
took the seat next to the younger man. He turned in the chair to look closely
at
his agent. Mulder sat still, breath uneven, perspiration dotting his forehead,
eyes clenched shut. Every once in a while, a slight grimace crossed his face.
Skinner lightly touched Mulder's arm and spoke his name. "Mulder."
His agent immediately opened his eyes and turned quickly toward Skinner,
wincing at the sudden movement. It dawned on Skinner then that this reaction
probably had more to do with the aftereffects of the concussion than the case.
"Mulder, you don't look very well. Is your head bothering you?"
Mulder had to concentrate hard to understand what his boss was asking him.
"A little, sir. I think I might lie down somewhere for a little bit. Maybe
take
some aspirin."
Skinner nodded, recognizing that Scully should probably look him over as
well.
I'll tell you what, Mulder. Why don't you lie down in here. I'll have someone
bring you some aspirin. I'll meet with the team out in the other conference
room."
Mulder nodded lightly at Skinner's words. He tried to stand and sank back in
the chair, gripping the arms, while he attempted to get the sudden nausea and
stabbing pain under control. He was unaware of his boss, who had opened the
command center door and was barking orders at Vickers to get Scully, now, as
well as water and aspirin. Skinner was then back at his side, Mulder not even
aware he'd been gone.
"Sir, I think I'll just sit here for a little bit if that's Okay." It came out
as a
whisper between clenched teeth.
"That's fine, Mulder. Just sit and rest. I have some water coming, and some
aspirin. Just relax, if you can, take it easy." Skinner gripped Mulder's
shoulder to give the man some reassurance. A quick knock interrupted his
thoughts and he was relieved to see Scully entering the room. Someone behind
her gave her bottled water, which she brought over to the table and put down,
along with her medical bag. She came prepared this time.
Skinner realized his hand was still gripping Mulder's shoulder and he self-
consciously dropped it. Scully looked at him enquiringly. He stood and
backed away slightly, moving to Mulder's other side, giving Scully room to sit
by her partner.
"Mulder, Scully's here. I think she'd like to take a quick look at you."
The younger man still hadn't moved, still sat with eyes closed tightly. Skinner
had no idea what was going through his mind. Mulder's strangled reply gave
him an idea.
"Scully, I just need to rest for a bit. You shouldn't have been disturbed. You
don't need to be here."
Skinner caught the flush that spread across Scully's face. He understood that
Mulder was embarrassed at what he perceived to be a sign of weakness in front
of his partner. Skinner hoped that Scully would also understand. He needn't
have worried. These two were partners, after all. Knew each other much better
than he possible could.
Scully leaned close to her partner, trying to get a good look at his face. She
gently wrapped her fingers around his left wrist, to get a pulse.
"Mulder, Janice and I finished up twenty minutes ago. I was already heading
over here. I'm going to be meeting with the Forensics team in an hour, but
until then, I'm free. I had kind of hoped to catch up with you and maybe grab
some dinner. I was even going to buy. You're not trying to get rid of me, are
you?"
Scully was not overly concerned by her partner's rapid heartbeat, but wanted a
better look at his face. He appeared flush and she couldn't tell if it was the
lighting or not. Mulder had relaxed somewhat at her words and wasn't holding
himself so tightly anymore. He still hadn't really moved position, though.
"Mulder, I need you to turn towards me a little. Can you do that?"
Scully wasn't sure what was happening here. Mulder had suffered enough
concussions over the years that their respective responses were practically
ingrained. This was something different, though. By all accounts, the
concussion he'd received when he fell a couple nights ago, had been quite mild.
It shouldn't be affecting him this badly now. Mulder still hadn't moved and
Scully wasn't even sure if he'd heard her. She glanced at Skinner, a combined
look of concern and confusion crossing her face.
Skinner took a step closer and put his hands on the back of Mulder's chair to
physically turn the man towards Scully. Before he started manhandling the
younger man, he leaned close to his ear and said softly, "Mulder, Scully needs
you to turn a bit. Come on, turn sideways, I'll help."
With Scully holding his arms and Skinner moving the chair, they got Mulder
turned somewhat in the right direction. Mulder appeared to be even more out of
it and Skinner's concern grew exponentially.
Scully could see now that the flush and rapid breathing were definitely not her
imagination. Putting one hand lightly to Mulder's forehead, she felt the heat
emanating even before making contact. Dammit. How does he do it? Why the
hell does he have a fever?
Scully quickly turned to her bag and pulled out a thermoscan. Placing it firmly
in her partner's ear, she took a reading, then sat for a second wondering if it
could possibly be right. 101.8. Skinner leaned over to glance at the reading
and looked at Scully in alarm. That was way the hell too high for an adult.
What the hell was going on? Concussions didn't cause a fever, did they?
Scully put the thermoscan down and started a cursory examination of her
partner to attempt to gain insight on this latest attack on his well-being. She
felt
around his head and was reassured that the cut was not infected and the bump
had almost disappeared. Some good news at least, although the sweat
dampened hair was indication of something terribly wrong. She continued
down his shoulders, looked at the left arm, then the right. When she picked up
his right hand, she started at the quick intake of breath the action generated
in
her partner. It was the first real response he'd made since she came in the
room.
Scully quickly took off the bandage on his right hand and sighed at the angry
red and swollen palm. Of course, the cut was infected. Badly. This would
require more than her skill. They'd have to get him to the hospital
immediately.
At least she could get him started on antibiotics.
"Well, Mulder. You've got a nasty infection here. Unfortunately, on top of
your other injuries, it's hitting your body pretty hard. We're going to have to
get you to the hospital."
Scully looked up from her partner's hand to discover his eyes on her. He
seemed lucid, and ... appreciative. She smiled at him, touched his cheek
gently, then stood to help him out of the chair.
"Come on, partner. It'll be fast, I promise." She was relieved by the small
grin
that played around his mouth.
"So, Scully, does this mean no dinner? I thought you were buying."
"I'll owe you one. I have a feeling you might not really be in the mood to eat
tonight."
Skinner was staying out of the way, but keeping a close eye out just in case.
Mulder managed to stand under his own power and was now struggling into his
suit jacket. When he reached up to straighten the tie, he gasped at the pain in
his right hand. Scully reached up and tightened it for him, straightened it and
then buttoned his jacket.
"Thanks, Mom."
Scully only grinned in response and picked up her bag. "Come on. Can you
make it on your own?" It was a stupid question, she knew. The reality was
that he had to make it on his own. Outside the door was the entire profile team
and God knew who else. He had to make it on his own. Skinner understood
this as well, and decided to lead the way.
Skinner opened the door and exited a couple steps ahead of Scully and Mulder.
He caught Vicker's eye and gestured the man over, giving instructions to
continue with the discussions until he got back. He also asked for him to
arrange for a car and driver. He didn't tell Vickers where they were going.
Let
them speculate. It didn't really matter. It was already after dinnertime and
all
the teams had plenty to do without Mulder tonight.
**************************
Saturday, 8:09 p.m.
Minneapolis Hospital
Luckily, Scully's assessment of a quick in and out trip to the ER was accurate.
While the cut was infected and presently wreaking havoc on Mulder's system,
the antibiotics were expected to kick in quickly. Scully was sufficiently
reassured that she agreed to Mulder's plan to return to the bureau office to
work
for a few more hours. She knew, as did Mulder, that the days were short now.
If the break didn't come tomorrow or the next day, it would quite possibly be
too late.
The three headed back towards the car. Skinner was not quite so convinced of
the wisdom of Mulder's decision. He was surprised that Scully hadn't really
argued the point and was considering bringing it up again, had opened his
mouth to do so, when he realized Scully was looking at him, eyes begging him
to trust her judgment on this. He closed his mouth and rethought it. Balanced
the pros and cons. The truth was that Mulder was making progress. Even
injured or sick, he was moving them in a direction that brought the team ever
closer to both the killer and the next victim. Scully would be close by
tonight,
keeping an eye on her partner. Her eyes told Skinner she'd make sure he was
Okay. Skinner nodded at her and opened the car door for her.
The trip back was quiet, except for Mulder's light snoring. Skinner looked
back at the man with amusement. Evidently he could fall sleep anywhere
anytime. So how in the world was it possible he couldn't sleep more than four
or five hours a night. An enigma. He glanced over at Scully then and realized
she was also sleeping, or at least making a good approximation of it. They
looked like bookends, each leaning against the corner made by seatback and
door, heads back, mouths slightly open. He couldn't help but smile at the
picture they made, then realized that the exhaustion that was the cause for
these
naps wasn't likely to be relieved any time soon.
Skinner looked over at the young agent driving them and said quietly, "Could
you pull through a drive-thru somewhere? We need to pick up something for
dinner." Perhaps Mulder would be able to get something down. He knew
Scully and he would be able to. He was starting to understand why Mulder
was so thin. Skinner was pretty sure he'd already lost about five pounds so
far. Long days and nights of continuous, stressful work and missed meals
weren't exactly the way he'd normally choose to lose weight.
**************************
Saturday, 9:23 p.m.
Minneapolis Bureau, Command Center
Scully was looking at her partner with amazement and irritation. The man had
an iron constitution. He had practically inhaled his chicken sandwich, had
finished off his fries and was now eyeing the remainder of her sandwich. He
looked at her suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows.
"So whatta ya say, Scully. You gonna eat that, or what?"
Scully pushed the other half of her sandwich across the table and smiled in
return. "You know I hate you for being able to do that."
Skinner wasn't exactly sure what she meant. Actually, he'd been eyeing the
rest of her sandwich, too, and was irritated that Mulder, who was supposed to
have been too sick to eat, had gotten to it first. Oh well, he could always get
something else later. Mulder mumbled something around the sandwich that
sounded like a continuous stream of gibberish, "sowattidjanizay". To
Skinner's surprise, Scully answered.
"They've verified it for every scene now. They're somewhat chagrined they
didn't catch it earlier. Still don't know what it means, of course."
Mulder nodded and caught Skinner's confusion. Mumbled towards him around
a mouthful of fries, "theplacementoftheclothes". That the AD somehow made
out himself. Scully continued.
"They're also insistent about the blood patterns. I checked myself and I have
to
agree. I don't think you're going to win this one, Mulder."
Her partner merely shook his head, took a sip, then replied, "Doesn't make
sense, Scully." He seemed offended that some piece of evidence was actually
not fitting into his theory in the correct manner. "Gotta be an explanation,
something missed somewhere." Implying 'not by me'.
Scully wasn't about to tell him what was on her mind. That even Mulder could
make wrong guesses that don't pan out in the face of the evidence. She knew
better to say it out loud. Their boss, however, evidently hadn't yet figured it
out.
"What are you talking about, Mulder?"
Skinner caught Scully's grimace and decided he might have just made a tactical
error. Mulder turned in his seat to be able to better face his boss and
explained.
"Sir, the forensics team believes that the order in which the beatings occurred
are random, each child's bruising and injuries different. I don't believe this
to
be the case. This killer, this man we're looking for, is procedural. He writes
the script and then follows it. The team has verified that the beatings take
place
all at once, over a period of hours, not over days. He's following a script
that
means something to him. The order is important, just like the patterns are
important. The order is dictated - not random."
Skinner just looked at his agent, unsure how to respond. Then, despite
Scully's small shake of the head, he ventured, "But, Mulder, if the blood
patterns don't match, they don't match. There's no way around it."
Mulder was shaking his head more emphatically now, wearing a look of
irritation. "No, sir, there's an explanation. They just haven't found it yet."
He
turned to look across the table at his partner, so missed Skinner's version of a
grimace.
"Look, Scully, talk with Janice again. Look at it again and try to keep an open
mind. I'm telling you, there's an explanation that makes sense."
Scully's mouth dropped open slightly and she reddened at his suggestion to
'keep an open mind'. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.
Skinner was equally parts amazed and proud of her response, when it finally
came.
"Fine, Mulder, I'll make sure we keep an open mind and we'll check it again,
try to come up with any possible way it could have happened differently.
If....." Scully paused then and leaned forward slightly, as if this would help
to
make an impression on her partner. "If, Mulder, you try to keep an open mind
concerning the possibility that in this instance, he might have acted with some
randomness."
Skinner saw Mulder's expression darken, saw his agent open his mouth as if to
speak, pause, and then evidently reconsider. Following a martyred sigh, he
said merely, "Okay, Scully."
Mulder started clearing the refuse from his dinner and slowly stood. "I'm
meeting with Tresky to see if they turned up anything else from the parents,
then I'm meeting with Halston and his team. I think we're close on the victim
selection pattern." Mulder looked up at Skinner and asked, "Sir, do you think
you could see how Vickers and his team are doing. I think they've made quite a
bit of progress this evening, but I'd appreciate your input. Also, if you
could,
check on Brewster. I gave his team some ideas this morning and haven't had a
chance to touch base again."
Skinner nodded, realized this meant another couple hours tonight at least and
chose not to question whether Mulder was up to it. It was already speeding
towards 10 p.m. and he couldn't help thinking Mulder belonged in bed. Oh,
well, he'd continue to trust Scully's judgment on this matter. She'd certainly
called it right for now.
**************************
Saturday, 11:41 p.m.
Minneapolis Bureau, Conference Room
"Shit! Damn! He's Catholic!"
Every member of the pattern selection team froze and looked at Mulder , who
stood bent over the conference table staring at his arrangement of 3 x 3 cards.
Halston finally moved to stand next to him and looked over Mulder's shoulder
at the arrangement.
7 10 13
6 9 12
5 8 11
When Halston found no bells going off, he said, "I don't see what you're
seeing, Mulder. Help me out here, huh?"
Mulder still cursed quietly and Halston made out the phrase, "...can't believe
I'm so fucking stupid."
"Mulder, put us out of our misery here, huh? Tell us what you see."
Mulder finally regained control, then leaned forward with his arms propped on
the table. "It's the Genuflect .... Father, Son, Holy Ghost, but diagonal.
Then
he's making a cross, three down, then more across, except it's not clear
whether he'll go for the 12 year old boy or the 8 year old girl next."
Halston was again confused by the sudden discussion of sex of the victims.
They had barely discussed this as a parameter due to the fact that only two of
the victims had been girls so far. The team had basically written sex off as a
pattern parameter, but evidently Mulder hadn't.
The other agents were crowding around the table now, and Mulder could hear
their mutterings and soft expressions of dismay as they saw the pattern,
recognized it for what it was. He stood straight and pushed his way through
the bodies, made his way to the door and exited. He needed some quiet to think
this through.
The first and last column were boys, the middle girls. The order went upper
left to lower right (the Father, the Son), then lower left to upper right (and
the
Holy Ghost). Catholic. A safe bet. A Catholic with unresolved religious
issues? Then the cross. Top, left, middle. But would he continue the line to
the right and take the 12 year old boy next or would he bounce down to the 8
year old girl. Either pattern made sense. Damn! Even with the grid, it would
be impossible to determine for sure.
Mulder had made his way to the hallway and was wandering basically at
random, not particularly paying attention to where he was going. He was
surprised, then to discover he had wandered his way to the other side of the
building where Dave Jenkin's office was. As he started to walk past, he
noticed the door open and Jenkins sitting at his desk, a pile of papers in front
of
him. Mulder decided there was no time like the present to make his peace with
the man, once and for all. He stuck his head in the door and said, "Hello,
sir."
Jenkins looked up and smiled when he saw Mulder. He stood and waved at
Mulder to come in. He walked around his desk and stopped a couple feet from
the younger agent.
"So, Mulder, how are you? Did you need something? Would you like to sit
down?"
Mulder wasn't sure which question to take first, so he decided to answer in
order. "I'm fine, sir. I just needed to think and sometimes I find that a
little
walk does wonders for achieving clarity. I just happened to wander this way
and saw your door open. Thought I'd say hello."
Jenkins looked honestly pleased at the fact that Mulder felt comfortable enough
to stop by.
"Sir, I wanted to....." All of a sudden, it didn't seem to be quite so easy to
bring up their previous meeting. Jenkins saved him the need.
"You know, Mulder. I never got a chance to thank you eight years ago. You
were gone before I even knew it. You did a great job. I told Patterson he
didn't deserve you. I was glad to see you got out of ISU when you did."
Mulder was caught flatfooted. He finally readjusted the preconceived notions
that had taken root eight long years ago. "Well, thank you sir. I appreciate
it."
"How have things been going today, Mulder? I spoke with the team leaders at
different times today, but haven't heard any updates since about 8 p.m."
"Well, sir, actually we added a little more insight to the profile and figured
the
pattern for the victim selection. Unfortunately, we can't do more than to
narrow the selection to either a 12 year old boy or an 8 year old girl. We're
still
looking at other possible patterns. We've also made headway in the forensics
area. I was just about to head over to see Agent Brewster. I want to
investigate
the possibility that the victim selection and dumping selection site patterns
are
related. It's something that hasn't been considered."
Jenkins reached out and hit Mulder on the arm lightly, said with a smile,
"Mulder, you juggle better than most circus performers. I'm heading out.
Come on, I'll walk with you to Brewster's hide away."
Mulder was pleased by the praise. It wasn't often anyone vocalized such
thoughts, especially now that he was with the X-Files. Skinner certainly went
out of his way on occasion to give them 'Atta-agents", but even then it was
generally coupled with a criticism or caution.
Mulder preceded Jenkins out the door and politely waited until the man had
turned off the lights and gathered his belongings. Jenkins took the time to get
another look at Mulder.
He had heard from Walt about their latest ER experience and he was surprised
that Mulder was still up and running flat out at almost midnight. The boy
looked pale. Jenkins decided to talk with Walt or Agent Scully before heading
out. This boy certainly needed looking after.
**************************
Brewster's group was located just down the hall from Halston's victim
selection team. As Mulder neared the small meeting room where Brewster and
his agents were working, he heard his name called from down the hall. He
turned to see Halston and Ruiz walking towards him. Angela Ruiz had a smile
plastered across her face. Mulder was mildly confused. He seemed to recall
that Ruiz had been assigned to the dumping pattern team. Both Mulder and
Jenkins stooped and waited until the two agents approached. The greeting to
Jenkins was perfunctory. It was obvious that both agents were excited about
something. Mulder's interest was definitely piqued, as was Jenkins.
"Sir, hello. Mulder, come on, Angela's holding down the fort for Brewster.
He had to leave early tonight. Both pattern teams are in the large conference
room. We have something to show you."
Halston and Ruiz had already turned and were heading back the way they came.
Mulder and Jenkins exchanged smiles and started after them. There wasn't
much to get excited about lately. Mulder would take just about anything at this
point.
The conference room was packed with agents, way more than should have been
there for just the two pattern teams. Mulder quickly saw that just about
everyone was in the room. Evidently, someone had called an ad hoc meeting.
Good thing he had started heading back when he did. When Mulder and
Jenkins entered, a quiet expectation seemed to descend on the room. Mulder
and Jenkins saw Skinner and Scully across the room and angled towards them.
Jenkins broke the silence finally.
"What's happening?"
Skinner nodded to Mulder and Jenkins, then responded, loud enough for
everyone in the room to hear him. "Mulder's breakthrough with the victim
selection pattern also solved the dumping pattern. It's the same pattern.
We've
been able to identify the two regions wherein the next dumping site will be
contained."
Skinner then gestured at Angela Ruiz, who pointed at the skewed map of the
Twin Cities fastened on the wall. The map was covered with an erasable plastic
that permitted use of markers. Mulder immediately recognized a familiar
pattern.
"We've put up your 3 x 3 grid here, Mulder, to correspond with the victim
selection pattern. We turned the map so the grid was horizontal and vertical.
The locations fit perfectly with victim number."
1 5 4
6 7 ?
3 ? 2
Mulder nodded to himself. It was exactly the thought he'd wanted to share with
Brewster's team. He was happy to see that someone from the victim selection
team had thought about it and made the necessary walk down the hall to fill in
the other pattern team.
"We know now that the next site will definitely be in Minneapolis in one of
these two regions. Unfortunately, the regions themselves are still somewhat
large, but at least more manageable. Kilroy's got a digitized map of the city
and
is running a probability analysis right now to narrow the options in the two
regions based on previous site selection location within the regions."
Ruiz and her team, as well as the victim selection team members, were all
looking at Mulder expectantly. He smiled at them all and congratulated them,
spreading the praise liberally.
Skinner was impressed yet again by the people skills his normally recalcitrant
agent could implement when desired. He looked closely at the younger man
and saw he was a bit green around the gills. This was probably the right time
to
call it a night for everyone.
"Agents, I'd like to add my congratulations. Everyone made exceptional
progress today. I think perhaps this is the perfect time to call it a night.
We'll
all work better tomorrow after a good night's sleep."
The agents started drifting out, most of them looking pleased. Scully knew
better. She knew Mulder knew better. Her eyes met her partner's and saw a
matching pain. They both understood that the dumping site information would
only be useful after the death of another child.
**************************
Sunday, 12:53 a.m.
Minneapolis Center Hotel
Skinner was exhausted, but he couldn't sleep. He sat in the living area of the
suite at the table they'd turned into their command center. A single light
shined
over his shoulder onto the table. He had pulled out his set of cards, made the
first night there, and had arranged them in the victim selection pattern.
How had Mulder done it? From the first night, he'd been sure of the 3 x 3
pattern. He'd been sure of the 8 and 12 year olds that would complete the
pattern. He almost had the pattern yesterday. And all of a sudden today, he
saw the religious significance. Skinner didn't doubt the pattern. He didn't
doubt that their killer was a Catholic or lapsed Catholic. He just wanted to
know how Mulder did it.
It wasn't that Skinner felt insecure. He was surrounded by agents who had
skills far exceeding his in any number of areas. He understood that his job was
to marshal that excellence to get the best work out of them as a team and as
individuals. But Mulder seemed to be in a category by himself. It made
Skinner wonder what would become of the man. No wonder the Consortium
used him for target practice.
Skinner stood and stretched, pushed the cards into a pile, then turned out the
light. He had to get some sleep. Tomorrow would quite possibly be their last
chance.
**************************
End Part 3 of 7
*********************************
The Abyss Looks Back - Part 4 of 7 (4/7)
by Kronos
**********************************
Sunday, 4:42 p.m.
Minneapolis Bureau, Janice Anderson's Office
Scully looked across the cluttered desk at Janice, an expression of incredulity
dominating her features. Scully's friend shook her head in self-incrimination.
"How the hell was this missed? I can't believe this."
Scully looked down at the photo in her hand once again, using the magnifying
glass to see the significant detail more closely. She then exchanged the photo
with another one, again looking closely.
Scully mumbled, softly, "Dammit, how does the man do it?" She wasn't really
cursing at her partner. She was just amazed that he had once again been proved
correct against what she would have said a day ago were staggering odds. Or if
not correct, at least his theory was now plausible.
Janice couldn't keep the disgust out of her voice. "I don't know Dana. I don't
know now why none of us considered it. It just seemed so obvious to
everyone what had happened. All the evidence was consistent. Until Mulder
and then you insisted we look again......"
Janice was angry at herself. She and her team had broken the first rule of
forensic medicine and evidence gathering -- never assume. Let the evidence tell
the story, don't fit the evidence to a story.
"Janice, I did the same thing. Frankly, our assumptions were reasonable. This
evidence was so obscure, it's not surprising no one saw it originally."
Scully again looked at autopsy photos of the third victim that showed almost
invisible indentations in the skin around the left shin, indicating the
possibility
of slightly restrictive material. It was now theorized that these children had
been clothed at the initiation of the assault and beatings. Just not in their
own
clothes that they'd been kidnapped in and that were found at the crime scene.
Mulder's insistence that the beatings occurred in a specific pattern was now
indeed possible. The clothes and removal of the clothes would have affected
any blood splatter patterns. Mulder was still batting a thousand.
Scully put dropped the photos and the magnifying glance on the table in front of
her and stretched. She looked at her friend again and smiled reassuringly.
"Janice, your team did great to figure this out. I'm going to find Mulder and
fill
him in. I know he's been curious. He'll also want to know about the clothes.
I'll see you later."
**************************
Sunday, 4:49 p.m.
Minneapolis Bureau, ASAC Jenkin's Office
Skinner and Jenkins were both trying to calm the police chief standing in front
of them. The teams had narrowed the suspect lists to more manageable
numbers and were generating information on each suspect, running cross-match
searches, and attempting to eliminate as many names as possible. At the same
time, they were arranging to have every deserted or empty house and
commercial property in the two potential dumping site regions investigated.
Unfortunately, in their zeal, they had evidently forgotten that the local police
were not their errand boys.
The chief, after hearing complaints from at least twelve of his detectives,
decided to discuss the issue with the ASAC in person, even though it was
Sunday. He'd always had a good relationship with Jenkins and had been open
to working with Bureau in whatever way made sense. He'd made his people
available on this Twin Cities Strangler case, but this was going to far.
"The fact is we're close, Steve. We've got maybe a thousand suspects and
we're narrowing the list incredibly fast. Every additional officer you can help
put on the searches my agents have requested will get it narrowed that much
faster. As far as dumping site, we're hoping we won't need the information,
but we know the two regions that will contain the next site and would like to
investigate possibilities now in the hopes of catching him preparing the site."
Jenkins had adopted a conciliatory tone that seemed to be working. The police
chief was no longer openly hostile, merely frustrated.
"Steve, I'm sorry if my agents started dumping on your officers. I can only
tell
you that they've been working practically around the clock to prevent another
child from being taken, which could happen as early as tomorrow. We're
hoping it won't, but don't be surprised if you get that call. We've made
tremendous progress, as I've been telling you. We're close."
Jenkins paused and searched the older man's features for a clue on how his
speech was going over. It appeared the chief had calmed.
"Okay, Dave. I'll clear some more of my people for you. Who should I have
them contact?"
Jenkins smiled at the chief then glanced at Skinner, brow raised. "Have them
ask for Mulder. He'll coordinate efforts." Jenkins nodded and filled the chief
in on who, how, and where.
**************************
Sunday, 4:51 p.m.
Minneapolis Bureau, Command Center
Mulder sat in the command center alone. He had chased everyone else out over
an hour ago, making sure they had tasks to keep them busy for the rest of the
afternoon and into the evening. The teams were on autopilot now. They didn't
need him.
As he had several days before, Mulder sat surrounded by boxes of evidence.
He once again held a strand of shoelaces in his hands. Only the floor lamp in
the corner was on, casting soft shadows across the room. Every small move
was magnified in the dance of the shadows on the far wall.
Mulder was oblivious to the play of light. He was consumed with a single
thought, a single realization, a single truth. They had already failed. It was
late
afternoon and they didn't have enough puzzle pieces to prevent the next child
from being taken. It was going to happen and he could do nothing to stop it.
It
was going to happen tomorrow. A little girl, 8 years old, wasn't going to make
it home from school. Or a 12 year old boy wasn't going to make it to soccer
practice.
He raised his eyes when the door opened, then dropped them back to his hands
again, as his partner entered the room. Scully closed the door behind her and
walked around the table to sit next to Mulder.
"Hey." She knew he didn't really want her company, but she wasn't going to
leave him there, sitting in the dimly lit room, alone.
He surprised her when he said her name. "Scully." It came out with such
longing, such need, that she actually jerked in her seat, and turned her entire
body to look more closely at him.
"Scully, I don't know what to do. I don't know where to look anymore."
Mulder dropped the shoelaces back into the box at his feet, then kicked it away
from him. He leaned forward and propped his arms on his knees, hands
rubbing his face. He shook his head as if to clear it, then dropped his hands
and turned to look at his partner for the first time. His voice was rough with
emotion.
"Scully, do you feel it, too? Can you feel it?"
Scully felt tears come to her eyes, and fought to control them. She then
understood what Mulder had known for hours. That they wouldn't be able to
find the killer or the next victim in time, unless something unexpected broke
for
them. Another child would be kidnapped, hurt, tortured. An image of Emily
flashed through her mind and the tears spilled over, uncontrollable. Another
child lost while she sat helpless, unable to do anything.
Scully wrapped her arms around her body tightly, and bowed her head with the
undeniable realization. She felt adrift, out of control. But suddenly she was
aware of arms encircling her lightly and a voice telling her it was all right,
everything was going to be okay.
Scully knew that they would figure out something. They had to.
**************************
Sunday, 5:58 p.m.
Minneapolis Bureau, Command Center
Skinner found them an hour later. Scully was asleep on the couch and Mulder
sat in a chair across the room next to the soft light. Skinner paused a moment
when he entered the room, recognizing both a sense of deja vu mixed with
disconnect. Role reversals.
He stared at Scully for a moment and reassured himself that she looked well,
then walked over to Mulder. The younger agent had been reviewing the case
files again. In addition to the stack that sat on the chair next to him was a
stack
on his lap and another on the floor in front of him. Skinner nodded and pulled
a chair over from the table.
"Mulder, everything all right?"
Mulder knew his boss was really asking 'is Scully okay?' He forced himself to
sound as normal as possible when he replied.
"Yes, sir. Agent Scully was .... a little tired. She's just taking a quick
nap."
Skinner nodded, looking closely at the younger man. Mulder's tie hung loose
and askew, the top button of his shirt was unfastened, sleeves were rolled
almost to elbows. His jacket lay draped over the chair next to him. The
bandage on his right hand encased not only the entire palm, but his wrist and
lower forearm as well. Skinner decided that despite the bandages and wan
complexion, his agent seemed to be doing reasonably well physically. But,
Skinner wasn't reassured by the beaten down, resigned image sitting in front of
him. Mulder was looking down at a crime scene photo from one of the case
files, one finger idly tracing the length of the body in the picture, up and
down.
Skinner decided it was time to fill Mulder in on his conversation with Jenkins
and the police chief.
"The police chief's committed another twenty of his people for the next couple
days to compile data on our lists of suspects and to investigate the possible
dumping sites."
Mulder nodded, still not looking up from the photo. Skinner was pretty sure
the man wasn't really seeing the image on the page. He didn't know how much
more of this apparent apathy he could take. He didn't understand what was
happening.
"Mulder, what's wrong?"
Mulder looked up at his boss for just a moment, still fighting to remain calm,
to
appear normal.
"Nothing, sir. Just reviewing the case files again."
Skinner was about at his limit. He'd been pulling strings and smoothing ruffled
feathers for days, making sure the path was clear for Mulder to do whatever he
needed to do. Now the man just sat there, apparently doing nothing. Skinner
reached out and grabbed the case file from Mulder's lap, daring the younger
man to ignore him. Mulder finally raised his eyes but seemed to be focusing on
a point just beyond Skinner's shoulder. The younger man wouldn't look his
boss in the eye.
Mulder took a deep breath, but Skinner noticed the slight catch and the light
shudder that followed. Mulder's face was impassive, but there was something
compelling about his lack of expression. It spoke more loudly to Skinner than
any obvious anger, frustration, or disappointment would have.
Skinner was honestly concerned now, and wasn't about to be put off.
Whatever was in his power, he'd do. He just needed to know what Mulder
needed.
"Mulder, what's wrong?"
"Sir ..." Mulder paused as his voice cracked slightly. He fought for control
and
finally realized it wasn't worth the effort. There was no purpose. Skinner had
proven over the years, and especially the last days, that he could be trusted.
Perhaps he could even be trusted with Mulder's insecurities and shortcomings.
This realization was such a relief to Mulder. The mask he'd been forced to
wear in front of the team had taken it's toll. He and Scully had few masks left
between them and now he was letting Skinner in, as well.
Skinner watched as Mulder's entire body slumped. The younger man's
shoulders dropped and his head sagged down on his chest for a span of ten or
more seconds, his hands turned up slightly as if in supplication. Skinner
waited the younger man out, knowing he would speak when he was ready.
When Mulder did finally respond, his quiet voice was ragged with the emotions
fighting for control.
"Sir, the teams have made remarkable progress. They've done an excellent job.
No one could have done any better in the time we've had here. But the reality
is, sir, that there's nothing we've come up with that could possibly narrow the
list down to anything sufficiently manageable to allow us to identify the
killer."
Mulder lightly gripped his hands on his lap, fought to raise his head, and
finally
looked his boss in the eye.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't have any more ideas, any new leads to follow.
Another child will be taken. Maybe even tomorrow. It's inevitable."
And Skinner understood in one epiphanous moment, that this man blamed
himself. Would always blame himself. Mulder viewed this as his personal
failure. Probably Scully felt she shared the blame. The two of them always
took on more than their fair share of guilt, after all.
Did Mulder actually think that Skinner hadn't known this likely outcome? He
and Jenkins had discussed various gameplans days ago for what they believed
would be this eventuality. But evidently Mulder, and probably Scully as well,
had actually believed they would get to the killer first. Would accomplish in
mere days what thirty plus agents hadn't been able to do in seven months.
Skinner felt a vague sense of guilt at the recognition that he had doubted these
two people. But perhaps, by definition, he had to be more grounded in reality
than his two X-Files agents. Suspension of belief certainly helped in their
work. But he was an Assistant Director. He dealt with reality. And the
reality
now was that his agent sat in front of him, nearly torn apart with the belief
that
because of what he perceived to be his failure, a child would be kidnapped,
tortured, assaulted, and killed. No wonder the man had to get out of the VCS,
if he took every loss so to heart, so personally.
"Mulder." Skinner spoke with as much sincerity as he could muster, knowing
the importance of the moment. "Mulder, this is in no way your fault. It's in
no
way Scully's fault. It's not the fault of Dave Jenkins or the team leaders or
the
team members. If another child is taken, the only blame rests with one sick
man. You know that."
Skinner eyed Mulder carefully, sensing that the man sitting before him was near
a breaking point. He'd never seen Mulder so openly vulnerable. Right now,
Skinner could almost care less about the case. All he knew was that he hated
what it was doing to his agent.
Skinner reached one hand out and gripped Mulder's upper arm. He needed to
demonstrate his support in more than just words.
"Mulder, I have come to respect you and your abilities more over the last
several days than .... well, than I ever would have thought possible. You have
brought this team, this team that had essentially given up just a week ago, to a
point where we actually have a hope of catching this guy. And even if another
child is taken, God forbid, we still have a chance to catch him before he kills
again."
Skinner squeezed his agent's arm once more and then dropped his hand.
"But, Mulder, if we don't get him in time, which you have to know is a real
possibility, it will have had nothing to do with you -- nothing."
He could see the battle raging within his agent. When Mulder nearly collapsed
forward, arms crossed on knees, head practically hidden in folded arms, it was
obvious to Skinner by the lightly shaking frame that this man would never truly
believe himself to be blameless. And in truth, Skinner himself was not really
so
hardened that he didn't feel guilt, didn't feel that he should have been able to
contribute more in some way.
Skinner sighed deeply and rested his hand on the younger man's back, letting
him know he wasn't alone, that he had a friend. When the soft trembling
gradually came to a stop, Skinner again dropped his hand and stood.
Skinner decided that there was really nothing more to be accomplished by his
agents tonight. He was going to get them both to eat a real dinner and
hopefully
get them in bed early. He believed Mulder to be right. He felt it too.
Tomorrow was going to be the day.
**************************
Sunday, 6:49 p.m.
Minneapolis Restaurant
Skinner had essentially ordered Scully to come eat with them. Oddly, Mulder
had offered no arguments at all. They were seated at a table in the middle of a
crowded yuppie restaurant, a sea of seriousness amidst the lighthearted chatter
of those around them. Skinner ordered a beer, causing both Mulder and Scully
to widen their eyes in surprise. Mulder quickly changed his iced tea order to a
beer, as well, and Scully ordered a white wine.
She couldn't help the smile that found it's way to her face at the speed with
which her partner abandoned his no drinking while on duty rule. Of course,
they weren't really on duty. And their boss knew best, right?
Scully decided it was time to relax. She quickly and efficiently took of her
jacket, threw it across the table onto the empty chair, and undid the top button
of her dress shirt, looking in challenge at the two men sitting on either side
of
her. Mulder actually laughed out loud and Skinner had a grin that she'd never
seen before in all the years she'd known her boss. Scully was pleased she'd
managed to cause such reactions. They needed whatever levity they could
dredge up tonight.
Mulder adopted his most sultry voice and said with an exaggerated leer,
"Scully, you're turnin' me on."
She grinned at her partner, and the grin widened even further when she saw
him remove his jacket and loosen his tie. Both agents turned to their boss
expectantly. Scully was a bit unsure whether their usually rigid superior would
join them in getting more comfortable. He didn't disappoint. With little
fanfare, Skinner tossed his jacket on the chair and did Mulder one better by
actually removing his tie and throwing it after his jacket.
The now apparent holstered guns caused a few raised eyebrows, but these
patrons were well aware and quite used to the FBI agents who frequented the
restaurant.
Just then, the drinks came and Skinner raised his glass in the air, saying
merely, "Agents." Both Mulder and Scully raised their respective drinks,
Mulder taking a long swig, Scully merely sipping appreciatively.
Mulder relaxed a bit into his chair, realizing he had needed this release. He'd
become so wound up over the last few days that he'd been having difficulty
concentrating, keeping his emotions and thoughts under control. He'd been
embarrassed initially by his breakdown in front of Skinner, but knew the man
held him in no lesser regard because of it. Mulder really did trust and like
the
older man.
Mulder took another long swig, practically draining the bottle. He hadn't even
poured the beer into the glass the waitress had brought. Waste of time, after
all.
What was the point? It had been quite a while since Mulder'd had any alcohol.
He wasn't a drinker usually, except in social situations, but for some reason
he
felt the need to get plastered tonight. Skinner had evidently decided the same
thing for himself, because Mulder noticed his boss finish off his own bottle
right after he did. In fact, Skinner was gesturing to the waitress for another
round.
Mulder looked over at his partner to try to gage whether she objected and was
reassured to see her smile at him. She took another light sip while he watched,
letting him know that she planned on staying sober, then reached over to
squeeze his hand quickly. Mulder smiled back at her, and told himself once
again that he didn't deserve her in his life.
He sank even further in his seat and stretched his legs out to the side under
the
unused chair to the left of him. The waitress came back and they placed their
orders. Skinner was relieved to see that both his agents were ordering
something akin to real food. The drive-thru and take-out meals of the last
several days had really been getting to him. Skinner tacked on an appetizer and
asked the girl to rush it as much as possible. Alcohol was one thing, alcohol
on
an empty stomach quite another.
Skinner was not planning on getting drunk and in fact would probably drink
very little the rest of the night. He had never advocated drinking as a means
of
escape and wasn't planning on starting now. But, by God, Mulder needed to
cut loose a little. The next few days were going to be hell. There certainly
wasn't going to be time for relaxing any time soon.
Skinner decided to open a conversation on a relatively safe subject.
"So, Scully, how long have you known Janice?"
Scully grinned suddenly, the memory of their first meeting flashing through her
mind.
"I've known her since med school, sir. Actually, since the very first day. We
had the exact same schedule and for some reason kept ending up right by each
other in all our classes. The last class involved lab work and we just looked
at
each other and figured it was fated, so we introduced ourselves and became lab
partners. Actually, it was a good thing because I don't think I would have
made it through the course without her."
Scully took another sip of her wine, still smiling at the recollection. Janice
had
hardly been a knockout then and neither had she. Time solves many problems,
she reminded herself. She looked up to find both her partner and boss smiling
at her.
An honestly smiling Scully was a pleasure to behold.
"Anyway, we became pretty good friends and tried to be lab partners whenever
our schedules permitted. After med school, I was recruited by the Bureau and
Janice had planned to go back to her hometown to take up practice. But in one
of the only truly unplanned actions of her life, she went to Venice Beach for a
year and worked in an AIDS clinic. I never really understood why, never really
asked, actually. Then the next thing I know, she called me up and told me she
was going to be training at Quantico, that she'd signed up with the Bureau."
Scully shook her head to herself, once again remembering the uncharacteristic
move of her friend.
Skinner interrupted her musings by saying, "She's a well-respected agent and
pathologist. She's really found a niche in crime scene analysis."
Mulder was content to let the conversation flow around him. He was on his
third beer and was munching on sour cream and melted cheese laden potato
skins, liberally doused with bacon bits. He never would have ordered them
himself, knowing Scully's views on fat and cholesterol, but he figured he was
safe tonight since his boss had done the dastardly deed.
Mulder let his gaze wander around the room, noting the clone-like professionals
surrounding them. Both men and women alike wore suits for the most part.
They all seemed to have fake smiles plastered on their faces, and were engaged
in fake conversations. Mulder wondered whether they were really fake or
whether it was just a need of his to think that those around him were unhappy
and discontent, mere actors in the play of life.
*Jesus*, he thought to himself, *you're getting a bit maudlin, aren't you,
Mulder?*
He cursed himself for having such insipid thoughts and wrote it off to the beer.
Speaking of which, where the hell was that waitress?
**************************
Skinner had been enjoying his conversation with Scully. Neither of them had
ever really had an opportunity to talk as acquaintances, outside of work. He
noticed that Scully's eyes kept straying to the left. He couldn't blame her.
He
had been doing the same thing, after all, sneaking looks across the table to
make
sure Mulder was all right. The younger man was pretty much out of it. He'd
eaten his meal, but had downed at least five beers, maybe even six. Skinner
was surprised by his agent's reaction though. The man had just gotten quiet.
He appeared relaxed, was slouched in his seat, arms resting comfortably on the
chair arms, his legs crossed. He also seemed to be oddly alert, while being
simultaneously unaware. A definite disconnect. It appeared to Skinner that
Mulder sometimes listened in on Scully's and his conversation, sometimes
focused on others in the restaurant. But it didn't really appear as if he were
actually hearing anything or processing it. Skinner couldn't begin to guess
what was going through the man's mind. Skinner was still nursing his second
beer and Scully had only had a single glass of wine. Both had had the same
thought.
Skinner realized that both he and Scully had stopped speaking and were looking
at Mulder. As they watched, the agent's head slowly fell back so that he was
staring up at the ceiling. After several seconds, his eyes closed, in slow
motion.
Scully couldn't figure out what was keeping her partner in his seat. He was
already so low that his rear end was practically hanging off the edge. She'd
leaned around the table to look. Evidently the laws of physics had decided to
give Mulder a break tonight. She looked over at her boss and raised her
eyebrows and was delighted to see his easy smile in response.
"Come on, Scully, let's get him home."
Skinner looked around, searching for the waitress and flagged her over when
he caught her attention. Scully and Skinner started putting on jackets and
overcoats. Skinner stuffed his tie in a pocket and picked up Mulder's jacket.
He stood for a moment debating what to do next. A look at Scully confirmed
that she had no better idea. While no heavyweight, Mulder was still a good 170
plus pounds of dead weight, spread over a six foot length. He wasn't going to
be easy to wrestle back to the hotel.
Considering how often Mulder had surprised him in the past, Skinner decided
to try something unusual.
"Hey, Mulder, we're ready to leave, come on."
He was only slightly amazed when Mulder opened his eyes, sat up straight, and
stood, reaching for his jacket. Skinner relinquished it and passed over the
man's overcoat as well.
Scully was dumbfounded. Her partner had essentially drunk an entire six-pack,
the first several on an empty stomach. He now seemed to be essentially
unaffected. And how had Skinner known?
Skinner actually looked chagrined that his ploy had worked. Scully was now
observing her partner closely and realized he was on auto-pilot. He seemed to
be following directions, but wasn't really aware of what was happening. They
still weren't home free.
"Come on, partner, we're not far from home."
Scully took his arm and pulled slightly to get him started in the right
direction.
Mulder was concentrating hard, watching his feet, making sure they moved one
at a time and in an orderly fashion.
Skinner gave them room and gestured for Scully to precede him. He watched
his two agents walking ahead of him and again his thoughts turned to their
relationship. Every look that passed between them showed the love they had
for each other. There was no doubt in his mind that Scully loved Mulder and
Mulder loved Scully. Either one would readily kill for the other, would happily
risk their own lives, already had on occasion, in fact. Somehow, these two fit
together. Skinner was glad they'd each found someone they could trust so
deeply.
A small voice told him that this was what was missing in his own marriage to
Sharon. He'd loved her. Hell, he still did. But he hadn't trusted her enough
to
fully let her into his life, and he was pretty sure she hadn't either. It was
strange when he thought of it in that light. Mulder and Scully's partnership,
which he was positive had never crossed any sexual lines, was a more honest
marriage than his own had been.
Skinner consciously cleared his mind of such thoughts and turned his attention
to making sure they all got back to the hotel in one piece. He retrieved the
car
from the valet and stood at the driver's door until he was sure Mulder and
Scully were in safely. Scully had maneuvered her partner into the back and
then slid in beside him. Skinner doubted she was even aware that Mulder was
holding her hand.
Skinner smiled to himself and started the engine. Turning the lights on
revealed
the digital time on the dash. Only a little after 9 p.m. This was a first. It
would
feel good to get one full nights sleep for a change.
**************************
Monday, 4:03 a.m.
Minneapolis Center Hotel
Skinner woke around 4 a.m. and after tossing and turning for a good ten
minutes realized he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep until he'd checked on
his agent. He heaved himself up out of bed, reaching for his glasses. This was
a familiar path, so he didn't even turn on the light by his bed. He opened his
door and was halfway across the room when he froze. Mulder's door was
wide open and he could see that the TV wasn't on. Skinner had become used to
the fact that his agent had the television on wherever he was in the suite, even
while working. Skinner considered going back for his gun and then managed to
convince himself Mulder had just gone to sleep without turning it on for a
change.
Skinner walked slowly across the room and quietly swung his agent's door
open the last few inches. The sight that greeted him sent a chill down his
spine.
Mulder's bed was empty. The door to the bathroom was wide open. It was
obvious he wasn't there. Skinner quickly walked back into the living area and
turned on a light. As he turned to another one, he saw the note taped to the
lamp by his bedroom door. He quickly crossed the room, turned on the light
and grabbed the note.
Sir,
I had an idea I wanted to check out.
I'll be at the Bureau.
Mulder
Damn, the man, anyway! He was supposed to be sleeping off a drunk, not
traipsing around the town at 4 something a.m.!!! Jesus, 4 a.m. Skinner
glanced into his bedroom and looked with longing at his rumpled bed. The soft
sheets were still calling his name. The paper in his hand was also speaking to
him, though.
Skinner sighed, grimaced slightly, and then smiled. Life was certainly
interesting around Mulder. His only real question now was whether to wake
Scully or not. Hell, if Mulder could leave notes, so could he. Skinner headed
into his bedroom to get ready for the day, planning out what he'd say in the
note he was going to leave for Scully. He knew she had the patience of Job.
He just prayed she had the compassion and understanding to match.
**************************
Monday, 4:41 a.m.
Minneapolis Bureau, Command Center
Mulder had been walking a path into the carpet in the command center. He
wore running shorts and T-shirt, socks and running shoes. He hadn't shaved,
and an even layer of stubble gave him a somewhat ruffian look. Hair pointed in
all directions, the result of too many fingers pulling through the unruly mess.
His knees and right elbow were visibly scabbed over and bruises of purple,
black, green and yellow dotted his right thigh and shin. All in all, not the
picture of the consummate Bureau professional.
Mulder had moved all the chairs away from the conference table and pushed it
away from the wall that held the photos of the crime scenes and victims. He
needed the room. He had been walking the length of the room, at a distance of
seven feet from the wall, for the past forty-five minutes or so. He walked
slowly. When he reached the end of the photos, he slowly turned, eyes never
leaving the wall, and walked the length once again. At the other end of the
room, he'd repeat the process.
Mulder was so engrossed in the photos that he was unaware of Skinner's light
knock and then entry into the room.
As Skinner pushed the door open, he quickly realized it was partly blocked by
the conference room table, which had been pushed away from the far wall. He
forced his way in, closing the door behind him. His eyes moved to Mulder and
he froze. Not from the sight of the man's physical condition, which in itself
would normally have given Skinner pause, but from the overwhelming feeling
that Mulder was on to something. Skinner didn't know how he knew it, but the
look was there.
Skinner moved into the room a little further and quietly made his way to a chair
at one end. He kept his eyes on his agent, wondering what it was Mulder was
seeing. It was obvious that Mulder was intent on the photos. His eyes never
left the wall. From the first victim to the last, the photos displayed
overviews
of all the crime scenes as well as close-ups of the victim's abused bodies.
After thirty or so minutes, Skinner realized that his agent was pausing
slightly,
almost unnoticeably in fact, at the same place in his pacing ..... in front of
the
photos of the fifth victim. Each time, there was a slight hesitation, a
fraction of
a second, a foot fall delayed.
Skinner sat straighter in his chair and watched more closely. After another
five
minutes or so, he recognized the pause to be significantly longer. Then his
agent started walking faster and stopped to the far left, in front of the first
victim's photos and information. He faced the wall head on. He then moved to
the second victim, the third and on down the line, looking closely at each
station. Once he reached the end, he moved back to the photos of the fifth
victim. He then took a couple more steps back until he was leaning against the
conference table. He swept his eyes from left to right, taking in the entire
wall,
then said, softly and quietly, "Fuck me."
Skinner was as amazed at the fact that Mulder had uttered the word as he was at
how it had been said.
"Mulder?"
His agent turned around so fast, it was obvious he'd been completely unaware
of Skinner's presence. Mulder put one hand up to his chest for a second and
leaned over the table, letting out a breath explosively.
"Jesus, sir, don't do that."
"Sorry, Mulder, I thought you knew I was here."
Skinner checked his watch, realized he'd been sitting there for about forty-five
minutes or so. He looked back to Mulder and saw that his agent had pulled
over a chair and sunk into it.
"Mulder, what is it? What did you see?"
Skinner was surprised to see Mulder smile. The man looked feral, ready to
attack, suddenly deserving of his first name.
"He knew number five. I don't mean just knew her - I mean he really knew
her."
Skinner stood and walked to the wall of photos, stopping in front of those
depicting the crime scene of the fifth victim, 10 year old Kirstie Sanders. He
stared at the collection of photos, then moved to the right. When he reached
the
end, he turned and headed back again, much the same as Mulder had done
earlier. When he had completed the circuit, he turned and looked at his agent,
eyebrow raised.
"What do you see?"
If Skinner had really thought about his question, he would have realized how
odd it was. They had both looked at the photos, studied them, but evidently
only Mulder had seen. Skinner wanted to see it, too, whatever it was.
"Sir, the sites used to dump the bodies have all been commercial properties,
with the exception of site five. Site five was a house that was being prepared
for remodeling. The family had temporarily moved out."
Skinner nodded, but added, "Yes, Mulder, but each site was essentially unique,
with little commonality beyond the fact they were deserted for at least a few
days prior to the dumping. We talked about this and decided it wasn't really
that unusual for one of the sites to be a house since it satisfied the
criteria."
Mulder was nodding at him, obviously anxious for his boss to finish so he
could explain.
"Yes, sir, I know that. Keep with me for a minute. All the other sites were
commercial sites and all the other victims were just dumped with absolutely no
care given to the bodies whatsoever. Number five was placed. She was on her
back, flat. None of the others were. Most of them were partly on their sides,
limbs falling wherever. But not number five."
Skinner realized his agent hadn't actually said the little girl's name. It was
somewhat disconcerting to hear Mulder talk about number five and to know that
in reality this was a little girl, dead now for some three months.
"Isn't it possible it's just a coincidence? That the victim just.....fell that
way?
And even if not, how does that mean the killer knew her?"
"Sir, this man is procedural. He always does things the same way. The way
he carried the victims, the way he .... disposed .... of them. It would always
be the same. Except with number five, it's not the same. He did something
different. He carried her differently. He placed her on the ground
differently.
It's something we'd recognized before, but hadn't put together with everything
else."
Skinner wondered what 'everything else' was.
"You see, sir, all these other sites, the commercial properties, they all had
hard
floors. Here, cement, here, cement, here, hard wood, here, tile..... Always a
hard floor. Except site five. Carpet."
Skinner still gazed at Mulder, silent, not moving. Somehow, his agent had
decided that a slightly different site with carpet and a body laying flatter
than the
others equaled some level of intimacy between victim and killer.
Mulder saw Skinner shake his head slightly as if to clear it. He had to make
his
boss understand. This represented a huge break in the case.
"Sir, number five failed the test early on. In fact, she barely made it through
the
first day. So he wasn't taking special care of her because he'd become attached
over time. That doesn't follow. But he did take special care, had even set it
up
before hand. He made sure the surroundings were more pleasant than the
others. The floor softer. Made sure she was 'comfortable' when he placed her
there."
Mulder was up and pacing the room, animated now. Skinner tiredly wondered
to himself whether anything could keep the man down for long.
"I need to talk with her parents myself. I need to visit with her teachers,
with
doctors. Absolutely any adult she may have had contact with. I need to revisit
the site. I need to...."
"Mulder, hold up." Skinner had to put the brakes on before his agent started
pounding on doors at 5:30 a.m. Mulder had stopped in the middle of the room
and looked at his boss questioningly.
"Mulder, it's barely 5:30 a.m. You're in jogging clothes. You're a mess."
It was almost comical to watch his agent glance down at himself, arms to the
side and away from his body as if to get a better look, evidently having
forgotten his state of dress .... or undress, as it were.
"Look, Mulder. Why don't you head back to the hotel. Shower, dress, fill in
Scully. I'll make some calls to a couple of the team leaders and to Dave
Jenkins. Get things rolling. By the time you and Scully get here, we should be
able to begin moving on some of these issues."
Mulder was already heading to the door, accepting his boss' plan without
argument. As Mulder clambered around the chairs to squeeze his way out the
door, Skinner could only shake his head once again at his contrary agent. A
damned enigma, that's all there was to it.
Skinner stood and started pulling the conference table back to the middle of the
room. Damned if he were going to keep climbing around it just to get in and
out of the room.
**************************
Monday, 8:55 a.m.
St. Paul, Fifth Crime Scene
Mulder, Scully, and Patty Sachs were at the fifth site once again. Although it
had been almost three months since the body of Kirstie Sanders had been found
in the house, it still sat empty, renovations never completed. A For Sale sign
was in the front yard, indication that the owners had moved.
It was only a bit before 9 a.m., but every team member had already put in at
least over an hour of frantic work. The team leaders had scrambled their people
quickly upon hearing of Mulder's breakthrough and each team had evaluated
it's position based on the new information. Skinner had been coordinating
information between the teams and keeping them all on track. Vickers and
Anderson had latched onto the information most quickly, of all the team leaders.
Janice Anderson had been the one to originally point out the difference between
the fifth victim's body position and the others, but no one could confirm
whether it was a fortuitous happenstance or a result of intent. She felt
vindicated. Vickers had also been bothered by Janice's original observation
since the profile they'd developed stated that the killer knew of his victims,
was
aware of and had access to personal data and history, but didn't actually know
them personally. He and his team could now officially modify the profile to
include the possibility that the killer would treat a known victim slightly
differently than the others. Oddly enough, Crowley had seemed the most
relieved by Mulder's news. He'd appeared to immediately accept the
information, even though a few days ago he would have argued on principle
alone.
Now, Mulder and Scully were at the fifth site, hoping that the new information
would somehow lead to further enlightenment. Mulder had placed every crime
scene photo from the file in its appropriate location in the living room, where
the fifth victim had been found. He wandered around the room, trying to
envision what it had been like. In his hands, he held Kirstie's red and black
plaid sweater. He stopped within inches of where Kirstie's body had been
found and closed his eyes, imagining the way it was.
The feel of the chill in the winter air, the smell of sanded wood, spackling,
fresh paint. The only light shining in dimly from the street lamps through the
front windows and from the recently full moon through the back windows.
First the clothes were laid out - carefully, deliberately. They had a specific
place. And then the body, adding new smells, of vomit, blood and urine.
Smells from the killer, too. No sweat - there was no fear and he hadn't exerted
himself overmuch. Kirstie was a small girl for her age. No, he smelled of
aftershave and cologne. He wore his suit, his good navy wool suit, but he had
his black overcoat on to prevent any mess from dirtying it. His shoes were
shined to a high gloss. He'd scuffed the right one coming in and had left a
small mark on the baseboard by the door. He'd get them shined again
tomorrow. He wore gloves, wouldn't due to leave prints or DNA after all. He
carried Kirstie's body out away from his own, attempting to keep himself clean.
This was different from the others. The others he'd thrown over his shoulder
and dropped. They were nothing, after all. Just failures. But he owed Kirstie
something. She'd been nice to him. She'd even liked him once. He had felt a
twinge of disappointment that she'd failed so early in the testing. Of them
all,
he thought she'd be the one. He had wanted her to be the one to make it, to
keep him company. To be his friend ..... a part of his family .... his ....
sister???
Mulder's eyes flew open and he gasped. Is that what this was about?
Replacement for a lost sibling? But there were both boys and girls taken? How
did that make sense? Had the man lost two siblings, a brother and a sister? Or
was it that he didn't care about the sex of his 'new' sibling as long as they
passed the test. The test his own sibling failed? Had a parent killed this
man's
brother or sister, leaving him alone? Did the sibling's failure cause him to be
next in the testing or had he already passed the test? Or was he exempt from
the
test altogether for some reason?
Scully saw her partner jerk, as if from a blow. He dropped the sweater he'd
been gripping and ran out of the living room, before she could even move. A
couple seconds later, both she and Patty Sachs clearly heard the front door
slam. Scully looked over at Patty, requested that the younger agent gather the
scattered evidence and then meet her by the car. Scully figured that would give
her enough time with her partner to make sure he was all right. She had no idea
what had caused his reaction, but she was definitely going to find out.
**************************
Mulder couldn't breathe. He was gasping for air, fighting to draw it into his
lungs, but his body wasn't satisfied. He heard his partner murmuring at his
side and the words finally broke through to him.
"Mulder, you have to slow down, you're beginning to hyperventilate. Slow it
down, breathe as deeply as you can. Come on, partner, you can do it. Just
slow it down, nice and easy. Deep breaths."
Her voice was soothing, reassuring. Mulder finally felt himself begin to gain
control once again. Unfortunately, the spots and lightheadedness weren't going
away. He was scared he was going to pass out. Scully was again speaking to
him, this time encouraging him to sit on the stairs and lean his head down
between his knees. He allowed her to guide him, trusting her explicitly in this
as in all else.
Scully knew her partner was okay several minutes later when she saw him
slowly raise his head and look at her, a self-conscious smile making its way to
his face.
"Sorry, Scully. Don't know what happened."
Scully seriously doubted that. He knew exactly what had happened but for
some reason, wasn't about to share it with her just yet. Her eyes narrowed
slightly as she assessed whether her partner was able to be badgered just yet.
She decided it was his lucky day and let it pass.
Scully was worried. In all the years she'd known her partner, seen him in a
multitude of stressful circumstances, she'd never, ever seen him panic. And it
sure as hell seemed to her that he had just suffered a major panic attack.
Maybe
she wouldn't get it out of him right now, but this was definitely not a dead
issue.
"So, how are you feeling?"
Mulder had the gall to say, "I'm fine, Scully."
Scully was now irritated. She knew that number one - he wasn't, and number
two - he did it just to get back at her for all the times she'd used the same
expression ..... just as falsely. Damn it! And she couldn't even call him on
it
either.
"Well, in that case, Mulder, we're ready to go. We're supposed to meet up
with AD Skinner and Vickers at the Sander's house in fifteen minutes. We'll
have to push it."
Her partner nodded to her and stood up, not arguing with her supportive hand
under his elbow. Patty Sachs was waiting at the car. Scully had come to
appreciate the woman's discretion and wondered idly what she was thinking
about this latest installment of the Spooky Film Festival.
For Mulder's part, all he wanted was a few minutes in the car to close his eyes,
to concentrate undisturbed, to banish the intrusive thoughts that had surfaced
back to the dark recesses of his mind so he could move forward on this case.
The thoughts were consuming him and he had to push them away. Parents and
tests. Children and tests. Parents choosing their children for tests.
Samantha
or Fox, Fox or Samantha. He had to concentrate. He had to push the thought
away, at least for now.
**************************
Monday, 10:07 a.m.
Minneapolis, Sanders' Residence
Scully sat with Mrs. Sanders at the kitchen table. She made a pretense of
drinking the unpalatable coffee that the woman had made. The men were in the
back yard. If Scully leaned to the right slightly, she could occasionally catch
site of them, as they moved about. Mulder had suggested the arrangement to
her in the car. It had been much easier to accomplish than she originally
thought it would be.
"You really think we know him? That he knew Kirstie?"
"We're pretty sure, ma'am."
They'd already gone over this several times, but the woman seemed to be
struggling with the notion that someone who might have been a friend of the
family or a close acquaintance could have done this to her daughter.
"We gave a full list of everyone to the police when it happened."
"I know ma'am. I'm going to ask slightly different questions, though. A little
more focused than the police. They didn't really have much to go on at the
time."
"Okay, I understand. Go ahead."
"All right, ma'am. I'd like you to think only of those men whom you and your
family know who wear suits. So these would be businessmen, professionals,
or men who like to dress up."
Scully saw the crinkle in the woman's forehead. This wasn't exactly a white
collar neighborhood, after all.
"A business type suit?"
"Yes, ma'am. The type that the agents outside are wearing."
"But we don't really know any folks like that. Our friends wouldn't wear those
kind of clothes, except maybe to church or weddings ..... or funerals."
"I understand, ma'am. The man might not be a friend, though. He might be
someone you see professionally."
The woman again looked confused and Scully found herself praying that
Mulder and the others were having better luck with the husband. She went
back to her questioning reluctantly.
**************************
"So?" Her partner looked at her with raised eyebrows and a hopeful
expression.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Mulder, but I don't think I got anything. I made a
list
of some possibilities, but none of them really seemed right. I'm sorry."
Skinner was incredibly frustrated. It had been a long time since he'd been
involved in field work and he'd forgotten how difficult these types of
interviews often were. No matter how well meaning people might be, they
couldn't give the right answer unless the right question was asked and
unfortunately, the agent generally had no idea what questions to ask.
Skinner was pretty sure they'd gotten nothing here. He looked over at Mulder
and Vickers, who were comparing notes with Scully. None of them seemed
ready to give up. Skinner sure wouldn't either. He glanced down at his watch
and saw that it was practically lunch time. Maybe he could convince these
people to eat.
Skinner was mildly amused at himself. All he seemed to think about lately was
sleep and food. It's true, you never know how much you appreciate something
until you no longer have it. And sleep and food had definitely been lacking
continuity of late. Skinner approached the agents quietly, waiting for a break
in
their conversation.
"Agents, it's about noon. May I suggest we get something to eat and head back
to the Bureau?"
Skinner was relieved to see that at least Scully smiled in response. Vickers
also
looked grateful, but it was obvious Mulder had other thoughts.
"Sir, I really need to talk with the team leaders. Can you drop me off on the
way?"
Skinner knew immediately that it was a lost cause. If Mulder had to go back
immediately, the rest of them would follow.
"Okay, Mulder, we'll pick something up on the way. It'll be quick, I promise."
Mulder finally acquiesced, although not particularly happily. Skinner gestured
to the car and got in the driver's seat. He needed to do something to feel
useful,
even if it were chauffeuring his agents.
**************************
Monday, 6:47 p.m.
Minneapolis Bureau, Conference Room
Late afternoon came and went and the tension in the command center escalated.
Today was the earliest they had expected a child might be taken. All were
praying fervently for more time. Even a day. They were so close to narrowing
the list of suspects to something manageable. They were so close to narrowing
the possible dumping sites. They were so close. They needed the time. They
were all praying for the time.
Mulder was in the large conference room adjacent to their command center. The
room was noisy, with several smaller groups of agents discussing aspects of
the case. Every once in awhile, a voice could be heard raised either in
frustration or even anger. Everyone had learned to stay clear of Mulder and the
thirty foot long path he'd been pacing for the past half hour. He had a cell
phone to his ear and occasionally would put the free hand up to his other ear to
block out the sounds in the room. At times, another agent would walk beside
him, filling him on some new detail or asking his opinion on an issue.
Sometimes, he'd be doing both at once.
It was making Skinner tired just watching. He was working with Scully and
the forensics group in the command center, but would look out the open door
occasionally to see his agent pacing the room. They'd finally verified what
Mulder had known all along. Had insisted on. They'd confirmed that fibers
retrieved from the last five crime scenes were consistent with treated wool
typically used in high quality men's business suits. Black fibers from two of
the scenes matched and were consistent with material used in an overcoat,
treated for water resistance. Skinner had already set the Commonalities team
and the available police officers to searching for Dry Cleaners that might have
cleaned a man's black overcoat within the weeks after each of the murders. The
numbers of possibilities were staggering.
Skinner sat discussing their next move with Scully and Anderson when Mulder
burst through the door, causing every agent to stop what they were doing to
look at him. The man remained oblivious to the attention as he strode across
the
room to stop at Scully's side. He placed his palms on the table next to her and
rocked back and forth slightly, evidence of a restless energy barely restrained.
"I got a call from the detectives checking prospective dump sites. They've
targeted seven prime sites. I'm going to check them out. You want to come?"
Scully glanced around the room, knowing that she couldn't afford to leave at
this juncture. They had too many balls in the air. But she was worried about
her partner and paused for a moment to weigh pros and cons before
responding.
"Sorry, Mulder. You're on your own this time. We're making quite a bit of
progress here."
Mulder nodded to his partner in understanding and stood straight. He stretched
his back, leaning to one side and then the other.
"So what've you found, Scully?"
His partner filled him in on their latest developments. Skinner watched the
exchange from the other side of the table. Mulder showed no obvious
disappointment in his partner's refusal, but Skinner couldn't help thinking it
was there anyway. Perhaps it was more than disappointment. Could it even be
fear? And Scully appeared to hesitate a bit too long before answering,
obviously concerned.
Skinner had done all he could here and decided to invite himself along to the
prospective sites. They were all carrying cell phones with local numbers so
could be reached easily. He saw the younger man preparing to leave the room
again and stood, effectively getting his attention.
"Mulder, I'll go with you, if you don't mind. I'm finished here."
It seemed his younger agent was pleased, but Skinner couldn't really be sure.
"Of course, sir. I'd appreciate your input."
Scully was relieved. After their experience this morning at the Sanders' house,
she certainly would have preferred to accompany her partner. She'd spoken
with him a few times since returning to the Bureau office and he'd easily
deflected her questions, leaving the earlier episode still undiscussed. She
knew
Skinner would look out for her partner in her place.
Scully watched them leave the room. Mulder was wired, practically bouncing
off the walls. His hands were in continuous motion, fidgeting with his suit
jacket, a pen, a piece of lint, a speck on the wall ..... who knew what. She'd
seen him pacing outside the door, had seen it all before. And his suit appeared
to hang on his frame much too loosely. Wasn't a whole lot she could do about
that. Who could think about eating? Hell, her own suits were starting to bag.
Scully turned back to Janice, who she realized was still looking at the empty
doorway. Scully couldn't help the little surge of jealousy that passed through
her. Janice turned back to her friend, coloring slightly. Scully wondered just
which of the two men the woman had been watching so closely. And was it
really any of Scully's business either way?
**************************
Mulder was blinded by a flash of intense light as he exited the building. He
was so surprised and shocked he put a hand up in protection and stopped in his
tracks, causing Skinner to bump into him. A small part of his mind laughed at
the image of the domino effect that had probably occurred behind him.
He could see now and wasn't pleased. The photographer was continuing to take
pictures, but luckily was no longer right in front of him. The reporter had a
microphone stuck in Mulder's face, two inches from his mouth. He resisted the
urge to grab it and stick it where the sun don't shine. He'd evidently been
asked a question, but a search of short term memory could produce no
meaningful recollection. Mulder pushed past the two, saying nothing. He
heard Skinner behind him repeating the mantra, "No comment" to any and
every question asked.
Let the circus begin.
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