*******************************************
Ascent to Hell - Part 15 of ? (15/?)
by Kronos (clb@roadrunner.com)
Rating:  NC-17
*******************************************


PAST
September 12, 1986
Thursday, 5:39 p.m.
Somewhere in Arlington, Virginia

Fox felt sick.  Lethargic.  Unfocused. He knew he'd 
been put in the backseat of a car.  The car was 
moving.  He saw flashes out the window.  Flashes of 
buildings, trees, sky.  Everything was moving.  He 
felt so sick.

There were dark clouds in the sky. Was it raining? It 
was humid, muggy, so that the air almost pulled at 
him.  Weighed him down. It smelled like rain. Then he 
made out little rivulets of water on the window.  It 
wasn't fair. Rainy days demanded a lover curled next 
to you in an inn out in the country.  A crackling fire 
and the smell of wood burning in the fireplace. He 
wondered if he'd ever know that satisfaction again.

He couldn't hear right. Things were muffled, as if 
everything were far away or as if something were 
stuffed in his ears.  He tried to shake his head to 
clear it, but all he accomplished was a shooting pain 
running through his neck.  

He concentrated hard and realized there were voices. 
There were two people.  Not just the girl, but a man, 
also.  He hadn't seen the man's face, but the voice 
was strange. So strange. The man was angry, excited, 
frightened… And the woman, the girl…  Fox wasn't sure 
how old she was.  Maybe just twenty or so.  She was 
controlled.  She was in control, in fact.  That became 
clear quickly, as the man jumped in to do whatever she 
told him.  Right now, she was evidently telling him 
where to turn. Fox saw her gesture and the man 
responded. Fox wondered where they were taking him.  
And why they'd taken him at all.

He forced himself to listen to their words.  To 
actually make out what they were saying. But it was 
beyond him just now.  So, he watched them. He knew 
they didn't realize he was awake.  Or perhaps they 
just didn't care. 

The man drove and now Fox could focus enough to see 
him more clearly. Every once in a while, the man would 
turn his head to the woman, whether for praise or 
directions, Fox wasn't sure.  The man was young, but 
older than the woman. He was likely in his mid-
twenties.  Possibly even late twenties.

It was obvious that the man had been in a fire at some 
point. He'd been terribly burned, the scars still 
looking inflamed themselves, even though Fox knew 
enough to recognize long healed injuries. It had 
happened many years before. And under the webbing of 
distorted, deformed flesh, Fox could tell that this 
had once been a handsome man.  Even now, there was an 
air of confidence. Fox could see that the man was big, 
strong, well-built. He wore nice clothes and his hair 
was cut precisely. Combed neatly.

Fox moved his eyes to the right and saw the woman. She 
really was quite stunning to look at, but there was 
something about her that made him cold. It was as if 
he could see that she was empty inside. Empty of 
humanity, but filled with something ever so much more 
frightening.  Pure evil.

And then she turned her head to look back at him, a 
small smile playing at her full lips, and Fox knew 
then that she'd been aware of his attention all along. 
She knew that he was awake and watching. She enjoyed 
his discomfort. His fear.

Fox shuddered slightly, thinking back to his own 
unofficial impressions of the UNSUB in the case. He'd 
thought there was a single killer.  After all, murder 
and torture was generally a very personal thing to 
most sociopaths.  But, all along there'd been two of 
them.  No wonder the killer's signature was so 
confusing.  No wonder the profilers had had such 
difficulty in this case.

Fox licked his lips, wishing he could move. His body 
still wouldn't do what he wanted. His commands to his 
arms and legs, fingers and toes, were being ignored. 
He chose then to think about these two killers.  
Whatever insights he might gain could only help him. 
Perhaps he could even manage to delay them long enough 
for Waring to find him.

Fox struggled to think it through.  To recall the rare 
situations in which killers had teamed up. He 
remembered a lecture from back at Oxford. The question 
under discussion was whether two narcissists could 
ever have a long-term stable relationship.

Fox closed his eyes and dredged up the details of the 
lecture, trying to fit the pieces into what he knew of 
the DC Murders case.  He had no doubt that these two 
were narcissistic sociopaths. The woman was quite 
obviously the one calling the shots. She was 
intelligent, that much was clear, showing the classic 
signs of a predominantly cerebral narcissist. The man 
was quite clearly somatic dominant, his body on 
display, flaunting his sexuality.

Fox opened his eyes once more and watched the 
interplay between the two.  At one point, the man 
reached out to touch the woman. Fox saw the quick 
flash of disgust cross her face before she smiled at 
her partner, slowly moving out from under his hand.  
Suddenly, it all became so very clear. She fit the 
textbook definition of a cerebral narcissist 
perfectly. She was asexual, obviously not caring about 
how she dressed or what she wore.  Fox cursed himself 
for not noticing the somewhat raggedy clothes when she 
came for him in the hospital.  He should have noticed 
the messy hair. The lack of make-up. The uneven 
fingernails.  

These two were so incredibly self-involved, it was 
amazing that they ever managed to plan for and carry 
out five murders in such an organized way.  But, Fox 
was quite certain the woman was the one for whom it 
was important. She was the one who planned.  She was 
the one who orchestrated everything. She was the one 
who wrote the notes.  The question was – why?

Fox felt that if he could figure out the answer to 
that question, he just might have a chance of stopping 
her, once and for all. And hopefully, save his own 
life in the process.

*******************************************

PAST
September 12, 1986
Thursday, 5:52 p.m.
F.B.I. Headquarters, Washington, D.C.

Walter looked around the room at the expressions of 
his team members. They got it.  They understood that 
this was both the break they'd been hoping for, and 
also a potential tragedy in the making.  

Walter ran his hand over his somewhat rumpled tie and 
adjusted his glasses.  He took a deep breath before 
continuing.  In the corner sat SAC Keenan.  The man 
hadn't blamed Walter, even though he blamed himself.  
Damn it!  It was his fault.  All of it.  It was his 
job to keep the kid safe and the first time he thought 
he could relax, the kid got abducted by the killer.  
How in the world was it even possible?

He shook himself mentally and realized that these 
people were all waiting for him.  Waiting for him to 
tell them what to do, where to go, how to save Trainee 
Fox Mulder.

He turned on the slide projector and stepped to the 
side, picking up a pointer as he went.  On the screen 
was a slide of Fox's page of doodles.  Figuring out 
what he was thinking might be their one shot of saving 
the kid.

"We believe, after discussions with one of Fox's 
instructors at Quantico who'd spoken quite a bit with 
the trainee, that Fox Mulder had an insight into the 
UNSUB's motivations.  We believe that it's possible 
that he saw the killer, in fact, just prior to the car 
accident or immediately afterwards. We believe that 
this is why he was targeted by the killer and taken."

He gestured to the page on the screen.  "This is all 
we have to go on. As you know, none of our prior leads 
panned out.  To some extent, with the exception of a 
relatively detailed profile, we are back to square one 
in figuring this out."  He tapped the screen.  "Except 
for these notes."

Walter paused and looked at the sheet.  It was covered 
in doodles, words that had been set down completely 
randomly, some in block letters, some in script.  
There were incomplete sentences and questions.  Just 
enough words to possibly make out what the trainee was 
thinking.  There was a sketch of a car – a small-sized 
wagon. Other little sketches that he couldn't really 
make out.

"We need to interpret, guess, divine…  whatever the 
hell is necessary, to figure out what the kid was 
thinking. We need your ideas. We've developed some of 
our own, based on Dean Waring's input, but we need to 
think out of the box and avoid falling into a trap of 
assuming that this trainee was being logical when 
writing these things down."

He could see confusion on some faces. "Trainee Fox 
Mulder has a graduate degree in psychology from 
Oxford. The man's extremely intelligent.  He also 
seems to have an ability to get into the mind of the 
killer."

Walter gestured to one of the team members.  "Chris 
here has training in psychology. He says that this 
sheet of Fox's is a result of a free-form writing and 
drawing exercise.  That Fox was allowing his mind to 
wander while writing down or sketching whatever was 
surfacing."

Some of the agents in the room looked uncomfortable. 
It was likely that none of them had ever participated 
in such an exercise. They were more likely to be list-
makers, in fact, trying to bring organization to their 
jobs. 

"So, this is what we have. We are going to split into 
three teams.  You will have 30 minutes to brainstorm 
and discuss this page.  Write down theories, no matter 
how crazy. At the end of that time, I want one person 
from each group ready to report back and provide us 
some avenues of search and investigation."

Doug quickly organized the agents into groups, then 
approached Walter.  Doug said, "What do you think?"

Walter rubbed his eyes, under the glasses.  Shook his 
head. "I just don't know, Doug. I just don't know."

Thirty minutes later, the first team started reporting 
back.  "Sir, we believe that the trainee suspected 
someone with the Bureau.  In fact, we think he 
suspected someone from Quantico to be involved."

Walter nodded. It wasn't a surprise. In fact, Waring, 
Keenan, he and Doug had come to the same conclusions, 
based on some of the sentence and question fragments 
on the sheet.  "Anything else?"

The man reporting looked a bit nervous.  "Something 
odd, sir."

Walter again nodded.  "Go on."

"We believe… We think that Fox…"

Walter could see the man was more than just hesitant.  
It seemed he was embarrassed.

"Go on, Agent."

"We think that Trainee Mulder was convinced that there 
were two separate personalities operating. That one 
was …female and dominant and that the other was male 
and subservient."

Again, Walter merely nodded.  

The man was encouraged. "We also believe that he did 
see the killer.  There's a sketch in the upper right 
hand corner. We discussed it quite a bit, trying to 
determine what it might be.  Some of our group members 
believe it's part of a face.  A man's face, with 
scars."

Walter hadn't seen that himself.  He saw others around 
the room nodding.  He said, "Did the other groups also 
think this?"

He saw Sarah Michaels raise a hand.  "Sir, our group 
also came to that conclusion."

Walter turned to Doug.  Doug said to the group, "What 
kind of scars?  Is this something we can describe 
enough to put out an APB?"

Walter was looking at the sketch while they were 
talking – trying to make sense of it. Trying to see 
what these groups had seen.

Sarah said, "We have a conjecture, sir. While we 
couldn't really tell from Fox's sketch, there's that 
little sketch close to it.  It's of a flame. Some of 
us thought … perhaps fire?"

Doug also turned to the screen where the sheet was 
being projected.  Walter took a step closer. Sarah was 
right.  It was a leap, but just possibly the right 
kind of leap.  He turned back and said, "Thank you.  
Sarah, what else from your group?"

"Not much else, sir.  Some members did feel that there 
was more to the sketch of the car than you originally 
see at first glance.  If you look closely, sir, you 
can see two heads in the front of the car."

Again, Walter turned and looked, even getting to 
within a foot of the screen.  Again, she was right.  
What did that mean, though?  He turned back to her, 
gaze sweeping over the others in her group.  
"Interpretation?"

Sarah looked uncomfortable now.  "One of two things, 
sir. Either he'd been thinking along the lines of a 
split personality and he sketched out the two 
personalities side by side..."

"Or?"

"Or maybe he really did catch sight of the car and, 
without even knowing it, saw two people in it. Maybe 
he saw that there were really two killers, but he 
didn't realize that he knew it.  But, through free-
form sketching, what he knew at a subconscious level 
surfaced."

Walter was caught by surprise.  Two killers?  Was that 
possible?  Was that what Fox Mulder had stumbled onto?  
Another hand raised.  Walter gestured towards the man 
to speak.

"Sir, our group spent some time focused on another 
part of the page. Sir, we believe we know who Fox 
suspected."

Walter was surprised.  He didn't recall anything that 
would lead to a specific person.  "Who?"

The man cleared his throat, obviously nervous about 
potentially ruining someone's career over a mistake.  
"Instructor Malloy at Quantico, sir."

At first, Walter thought he hadn't heard correctly.  
After all, Malloy had been an instructor even when he 
went through. He knew the man.  Of course, he'd seen 
Malloy's name, but it was listed amongst a group of 
seven or eight other instructors from Quantico. He 
hadn't really thought it was important.  Walter 
quickly regrouped and asked, "Why?  What makes you 
suspect him?"

The man quickly said, "We don't, sir.  We think Fox 
Mulder did."

Walter was impatient now.  "Why?"

"Sir, it's hard to really say.  Malloy's name was on 
the sheet."

"So were other names.  Why do you think Malloy's was 
significant?"

The younger man paused, then seemed more confident 
when he answered.  "Malloy's name was written in block 
letters, very bold.  None of the other names were.  
Malloy's name was close to the car and it seems that 
there might even be a faint line that connects 
Malloy's name to the sketch of the car."

Walter nodded thoughtfully, looking at the sketch once 
more. He could see the faint line.

"Sir, there's one more thing."

Walter turned back. "Yes?"

"Sir, the other names were both first and second 
names.  Malloy's name is the only one listed with just 
a last name."

Walter felt like laughing.  Had to force himself not 
to.  This was insane.  Malloy had been with the Bureau 
for years. He was a respected agent and a sought after 
instructor.  Were they supposed to destroy his career 
because of a faint line on a scribble page?

Walter regrouped and decided not to prejudge. To keep 
an open mind.  "How do you suppose Malloy factors into 
this?  He doesn't have facial scars."

No one spoke.  He saw the expressions of confusion and 
doubt.  "That's all right.  I asked for thinking out 
of the box.  Is there any more input?  Anything at 
all?"

He saw heads shaking all around.  "Okay, people.  Take 
five.  We'll reconvene in a few minutes to discuss 
strategy."

As the other agents headed out of the room, Doug and 
Keenan approached him.  Keenan spoke first.  "Walter, 
I'm a bit worried here.  I know John Malloy.  I've 
known him for years.  We actually served on the 
Arlington police force together before transferring 
into the Bureau.  I just don't see how he could 
possibly have anything to do with this.  And I would 
prefer to not have the man's career destroyed over 
nothing."

Walter understood completely, but wasn't sure they 
could afford to just discard the theory.  Doug said, 
"How about this?  We do a background check, including 
vehicles owned for the past twenty or even twenty-five 
years. If anything comes up the slightest bit fishy, 
we bring him in."

Walter looked to Keenan.  The man nodded, hesitantly.  
"I'd rather talk with him at Quantico, though."

Walter gathered his courage and asked, "Do you think 
you should be present, sir?"

He saw the flash of anger in Keenan's eyes, but then 
the normal mantle of calm prevailed. Keenan sighed 
deeply.  "I guess not. I better not let my friendship 
interfere in the investigation." Keenan looked at both 
of them closely.  "Just promise me, boys.  You be 
sensitive to the man's contributions and career.  
Don't ruin him for nothing."

Walter nodded, exchanging looks with Doug.  They 
understood.  They'd be as careful as possible, as long 
as Fox's life wasn't put further at risk.

*******************************************

Present Day
Monday, 4:49 p.m.
Mercy Hospital, Richmond, Virginia

Scully wondered what had hit her.  Her head was 
pounding.  The blood was rushing in her ears, so that 
she couldn't hear anything else.  She forced her eyes 
open but squeezed them closed again. There was a 
bright light shining directly into her face. She could 
even feel the heat of it on her skin.  Where the hell 
was she and what was happening?

Then, someone took her hand. Someone was rubbing her 
arm with soft fingers.

"Mulder?"  Her voice sounded weak, even to her own 
ears.

"No, sweetheart.  It's Mom."

And then it all came rushing back.  Scully knew where 
she was and what was happening. Mulder had been taken 
and she was alone.  Bereft once more. Tears rushed to 
her eyes and she raised a shaky hand to wipe them 
away.  No time for that now.  Scully forced herself 
up, slowly, even though her mother was protesting.

"It's okay, Mom.  I'm fine."

"Fine?  You hit your head on the side of the nurse's 
desk.  You have seven stitches."

Well, that explained why her head hurt. She blinked 
several times, realizing that a little bit of dried 
blood was stuck to her lashes.  "Mom, can you bring me 
a washcloth, please?"

She could tell her mother wasn't very happy with her, 
but she went over to speak with a nurse anyway.  It 
gave Scully time to look around and get a sense of 
where she was.  She recognized the emergency room and 
decided they must have wheeled her down from the CCU 
after she'd taken her little nosedive.

She heard a familiar voice outside the curtained off 
area where she sat and pushed herself to her feet.  
She needed to speak with Skinner. 

Her mother let out a startled exclamation that must 
have warned her former boss that she was coming.  He 
reached out a hand and pushed the curtain back, just 
as she was approaching it.  She took note of the 
concern and worry immediately, knowing it wasn't only 
for Mulder.

"Sir?  Any word?"

Skinner flicked his glance towards her mother briefly 
before coming to rest on her once more.  She was 
annoyed at what she felt to be unnecessary 
overprotection.

"Sir?  Please."

One side of his lip trembled slightly, as if he almost 
smiled before answering.  "Our three teams already 
moved.  We've already ruled out one of the three 
suspects.  We've got one of the remaining two located 
and are initiating surveillance.  Frankly, the fact 
that we know where he is suggests that he's not the 
one.  We're searching for our third suspect right now.  
The Director has authorized us to use whatever means 
at our disposal, including the Press.  We're getting 
ready to release a statement very soon."

Scully felt her mother at her side and looked into the 
concerned face.  Then, a wet washcloth materialized.  
Well, first things first.  She swiped at the dried 
blood, making sure not to touch the stitches.  It gave 
her time to think.  To consider.

She turned to Skinner and said, "I want to see the 
file on this third man.  Everything you have."

Skinner smiled slightly and nodded.  "If you're up for 
it, I'll drive you to the Bureau office."

Scully nodded, then thought of something that needed 
to be done.  "What about security cameras around the 
hospital?  Inside and out.  Have they been checked?"

Skinner sighed.  "We already scanned the internal 
cameras. Same as before. The guy never shows his face 
or even part of his face to any security camera.  He 
entered the hospital dressed as an intern. Had some 
sort of official looking badge. He took a gurney from 
the emergency room entrance, which is where he entered 
the building, then took an elevator up to CCU. He 
waited until a doctor entered, then followed in. 
Looked like he belonged. He waited until the nurses 
were distracted and took Mulder's file. Scribbled in 
it, then slipped it back.  By the time the nurses came 
back, they just waved him through, once they saw the 
note in the medical records."

"Did any of the nurses have a description?"

"Not much of a one. Medium height, not too young, not 
too old, brown hair, no identifying features."

Scully was filled with fury. She couldn't really blame 
the nurses. She knew they were continuously juggling 
input and demands from numerous doctors, specialists, 
and family members. But, still!  There's common sense. 
She took a deep breath before continuing. "What about 
outside the hospital?  Has anyone checked security 
video in a radius from the hospital?"

Skinner again nodded. "We've got twenty agents already 
scouring every bank, store, and restaurant security 
camera within a three mile radius. It'll take a while, 
but we're doing it."

With that, Scully had to be happy.  She nodded 
confidently. "Let's go, sir."  Scully almost forgot 
her mother, standing next to her.  And somewhere, 
Mulder's mother was likely waiting. The woman was most 
likely frantic.  She turned to her mother and said, 
"Mom, can you take care of Mrs. Mulder?  Perhaps you 
can both go back to our hotel.  Stay in your room.  
We'll contact you there as soon as we know anything."

She could see her mother start to argue, but then 
stop.  Maggie's shoulder's slumped a bit before she 
replied.  "I'll do that.  We'll be fine.  Just find 
this man.  Bring Fox back."

Scully had no doubts that they would.  "Don't worry.  
I will."  There was no room for doubt whatsoever.

*******************************************

Present Day
Monday, 4:49 p.m.
Somewhere in Richmond, Virginia

Mulder came to awareness slowly. His entire body hurt. 
His head throbbed. The blood was rushing in his ears, 
making it difficult to concentrate.  He tried to open 
his eyes, but it was too bright.  Something was 
shining in his face.  He forced his eyes open and 
realized it was the sun, beating in through a class 
window. And then he realized he was in a moving car. 

Mulder could feel the motion, the rocking and the 
bouncing. It must be a secondary road or even a dirt 
road. The motion was starting to make him sick. Where 
the hell was he?  Why wasn't he with Scully?

His body had been thrown into the back seat with an 
obvious lack of care. He could feel stickiness at his 
ribs. Along his ear. He suspected that stitches had 
pulled.  His head was propped up between the back seat 
and passenger side back door.  His right arm and right 
leg both fell off the seat to the floor. His left leg 
was shoved up, with his foot against the driver's side 
rear door. His left arm was awkwardly raised up, above 
his head. He could actually feel the glass with his 
fingers. It felt cool, even though he knew the sun was 
shining.  Where the hell was Scully?

The thought of his partner sent a pang deep down, that 
echoed off the barriers in his mind. Without even 
thinking, he said her name. A whispered, heartfelt 
plea.  "Scully." He was suddenly consumed with desire 
for her presence. For her soft touch. For her Scully 
smell. He yearned for her. Yearned in a way he'd never 
known before in his life.

He heard movement from the front seat.  Forced himself 
to focus through the glimmering tears that obstructed 
his vision. He blinked them away. He was determined to 
see his partner again.  He would not allow it to end 
this way.  Not after all they'd been through.

He turned his head just slightly to make out the man 
in the driver's seat. Not a particularly large man, 
but one who was fit. The man had brown hair, lightly 
tanned skin, seemed nondescript. It was all Mulder 
could make out. Mulder knew it was the killer, but 
couldn't for the life of him figure out how the man 
had taken him. He had no memory of the event. The last 
thing he knew, he was being taken for a CT scan. 

Mulder had to figure out why this man had taken him.  
Why now?  He forced himself to concentrate, realizing 
that any insights he might gain could possibly help 
save his life. He tried hard not to think too much 
about the DC Murders case. The parallels between what 
happened back then and what was happening now were 
just too frightening to consider.

*******************************************

PAST
September 12, 1986
Thursday, 5:52 p.m.
Somewhere in Virginia

Fox was lying awkwardly on the back seat, his head 
angled slightly up and forward, the rest of his body 
parts lodged uncomfortably wherever they'd fallen when 
he'd been thrown in the car. 

Fox stared out the window, seeing that the sky was 
starting to darken. He wondered if maybe these two 
were killing time, waiting for darkness, before doing 
whatever they were going to do. He shuddered at the 
thought.  Wondered what in hell they had in store for 
hind whether he'd ever see the bright sun of day 
again.

He decided to try to engage them in conversation. 
Maybe he could find out what they were planning, then 
somehow get a message to the Bureau.  It was at least 
worth a try.

He would have to appeal to their vanity. The man to 
his physical vanity, the woman to her intellectual 
vanity. It was the woman who'd be the challenge.  She 
was the one in control. She was the one he'd have to 
manipulate. He only hoped he was smarter than she was.  

Fox cleared his throat before speaking. He needed to 
convince her that he was worth speaking to. He 
concentrated on striking the right tone.  "I know what 
you want."

The woman laughed. She never even turned around.  At 
least he got a look in the mirror from the man.

"The Bureau will know that you took me. They'll figure 
out soon enough that I didn't leave on my own."

There was no response at all.

"We'd already figured out we were looking for two 
people. The notes gave you away."

There was nothing that said he couldn't lie to the bad 
guys.  Besides, he'd sort of known there were two of 
them.

"The notes were just too feminine.  Couldn't mask it, 
no matter how hard you tried."

He could see the woman's jaw clench, but she gave no 
other reaction.

"And a couple of the murders were just too… exotic for 
a man."

There was a slight smile at that.  Fox tried to move a 
little and discovered that his extremities were 
finally listening to his brain again.  He rolled 
slightly in the seat so he was a bit more comfortable. 
At least his head wasn't cocked at an unnatural angle 
anymore.

"Of course, we'd already figured out that the killers 
were sexually dysfunctional."

The man's eyes in the mirror were hard and angry. 

"And we'd also figured out that the woman was the 
intelligent one of the partnership."

The man actually turned his head to glare at him at 
that.  The woman smirked.  Maybe this was the key.  
Get the man so angry that he'd do something stupid.  

Fox's throat was dry.  Scratchy.  He desperately 
wanted something cool to drink. He was pretty sure the 
only way he'd get it was to extract himself from this 
mess.

"It was really quite obvious.  The team figured out 
early on that the man of the partnership wasn't up to 
any serious planning on his own."  Fox licked his 
lips.  He was pretty sure the expression 'playing with 
fire' might apply in this situation.  "We knew the man 
was just the brawn. The one doing all the dirty work."

Fox was certain he heard the man growl. 

"What we haven't figured out just yet is what the 
connection is to Quantico.  It's only a matter of 
time, though."

That finally resulted in a reaction.  The girl looked 
nervous for the first time. The man had reacted 
sharply, turning to her. Fox got the impression that 
he was ready to speak to her but stopped when she 
raised her finger in warning.

"The team was starting to look at all the instructors 
at Quantico. We knew there was a connection between 
you."

Fox could see the girl lick her lips. She glanced back 
at him briefly, delivering an expression filled with 
disgust, before turning back to her partner.  And in 
that heartbeat of a glance, Fox saw something. 
Something that leapt out at him, took his breath away, 
and made him finally understand the connection to the 
instructors.

He swallowed hard and said, "I know about your father. 
It's not something you can keep secret, you know."

The man finally broke.  "What are we going to do now?  
We can't go where we were planning.  They'll find us.  
We need…"

The girl hissed at him.  Actually hissed.  Then said, 
"Shut up. Let me think."

Fox followed up.  "Like I said, we knew the woman of 
the partnership was calling the shots.  We also knew 
she… you, that is… thought you were smarter than you 
actually are."

She saw her nostrils flare as she turned to look at 
him once more from the front passenger seat.  Her 
voice dripped sarcasm.  "And just what does a trainee 
know about the details of any case.  You're just 
guessing.  Don't think we don't know all about you, 
Trainee Fox Mulder."

He forced himself to look unconcerned. Forced a smile. 
"Of course you know all about me.  After all, you've 
been getting second hand reports on the 
investigation."

It was a shot in the dark. A first hand report would 
mean a member of the team directly. Fox was darned 
sure it wasn't one of the team members. Besides, they 
were all stationed out of Headquarters. No, he was 
certain it was an instructor.  And he was now almost 
positive which one and what the relationship was.

"All the instructors know me, after all.  And I know a 
few of them very well."

The woman looked like she wanted to speak, but forced 
herself to silence. She turned slowly in the seat and 
looked out the windshield.  He heard her mutter 
something under her breath, but he couldn't really 
make it out.  Then, she sat up straighter and pointed 
to the left. 

"Turn in there."

Fox wished he could see where they were.  He wondered 
if he could attempt to sit up.  Neither his hands nor 
legs were restrained, but he still didn't have full 
control.  Just shifting to a more comfortable position 
a few minutes before had been incredibly difficult.

He stared out the side window and saw the tops of 
trees.  He knew they'd been driving for quite a while.  
It wasn't difficult to assume that they were pretty 
far out from any city. Where the hell were they?  And 
what could he do to gain control?

*******************************************

PAST
September 12, 1986
Thursday, 6:48 p.m.
F.B.I Headquarters, Washington D.C. 

Walter pushed himself up from the table and stretched 
his back. He loosened his tie and rolled up his 
sleeves. His jacket had been discarded a while before. 
Just as he was deciding whether to search for more 
caffeine or for food, one of his team yelled out to 
him.

"Sir, I've found something."

Walter turned to see one of the younger agents on the 
team running towards him, a piece of paper in his 
hand.  "What do you have?"

Doug sat up straighter and Keenan stood.  The kid 
handed the sheet to Walter and he started scanning it, 
even as the young agent started speaking.  "We did 
vehicle searches on every single instructor at the 
Academy - again. We broadened our search to include 
vehicles of family members and went back twenty years. 
We found nine who had a station wagon of any type 
registered to them or a family member in the last 
twenty years. Three of these had station wagons that 
matched the description Fox Mulder gave after the 
crash. One of these…"

Walter cursed.  "Malloy."

Keenan said softly, "I'll be damned."

Walter looked over at Doug.  Both turned to Keenan.  
The older agent looked as if he'd aged ten years.  
Keenan nodded to them.  "Go on, boys.  Go get him. 
I'll stay here and coordinate things from this end.  
Give me a call when you get him."

Walter grabbed his jacket and was running in a 
heartbeat. This was it. He felt it. This case would be 
over tonight.  One way or the other.

The drive to Quantico was torture. Doug was behind the 
wheel, cursing most of the way. They couldn't talk to 
each other.  Even though Walter remained silent, he 
understood Doug's need for release.  Walter tried to 
tune out the continuous stream of invective and think 
about what they were going to do when they found 
Malloy. 

They knew he was supposed to be at Quantico.  In fact, 
there was a debriefing going on with the trainees 
following an exercise in Hogan's Alley.  Malloy and 
Waring were going to be there, amongst other 
instructors. The trainees were about to get a first-
hand look at FBI arrest and apprehend procedures. 

Walter sighed and laid his head back against the 
headrest. Damn.  This was all going to happen in front 
of Dean Waring. For some reason, that was the most 
distressing part of what was going to happen tonight. 
He wondered what Dean would say. Walter imagined the 
look of disappointment and disgust that would be on 
his old friend's face and a stab of regret hit him 
hard.  Damn.

Before he could think much more, they were there.  
Doug was out of the car before him, running towards 
the lecture hall.  Walter was right on his heels as 
they burst through the door.  And as if they were in 
communication with each other, they both slowed 
slightly, marching down the steps, side by side.

As luck would have it, Waring and Malloy were on the 
stage below. Waring had been speaking and came to an 
abrupt stop at their entrance. The trainees and other 
instructors all turned as one at the slam of the door.  
Walter had eyes only for Malloy.  He knew Doug would 
be the same.  Nothing else mattered right now.

A few steps from the bottom, Walter said, "John 
Malloy, you are under arrest for five counts of murder 
in the first degree, conspiracy to murder, attempted 
murder and abduction."  Damn, that felt good.  But 
then, before he reached Malloy, a hand was pushing at 
his chest and someone was yelling at him.

"Walter!  What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Walter blinked and managed to focus on Dean Waring.  
Doug never stopped.  He already was by Malloy's side 
and was instructing the man to put his hands behind 
him. Reading the man his Miranda rights. 

Walter stared at Waring.  "I'm sorry.  We found 
irrefutable evidence that he's linked to these 
crimes."

He vaguely heard, in the background, the murmuring of 
the class.  But over that, he heard Malloy himself.  
Walter saw him and was struck at the look of complete 
and utter confusion.  Malloy seemed unable to speak.  
The man was saying ,"What?, What?", over and over.  A 
little feeling of alarm started deep in Walter's gut. 
Doug had the man handcuffed. Malloy was looking around 
as if he were in shock.

Walter felt his arm squeezed.  Waring said, "You're 
wrong.  I'm telling you, Walter, you're wrong."

Walter clenched his jaw.  He leaned in close and said, 
"We know there's some link to the Bureau and suspect a 
link at Quantico. We just found out that Malloy's wife 
drove a blue Ford Escort station wagon that matches 
the description Fox gave as well as the vehicle seen 
after Margie's abduction. Isn't that just a bit 
convenient, Dean?"

Dean pulled back, surprised.  The older man turned to 
Malloy and Walter saw Malloy focus on him. Malloy 
said, "Dean, what's happening? What are they talking 
about?"

Dean shook his head, as if to clear it, then turned to 
the class.  "You are all dismissed.  Immediately."  
The man's tone made it clear that everyone better get 
out in the next minute.  Walter was surprised to see a 
young woman approach.  The woman looked familiar. 
Walter was pretty sure he'd seen her with Fox on an 
earlier occasion.  She looked stressed. Tired.  Like 
she'd been crying.

The young trainee approached Waring and asked, "Sir, 
is it about Fox? Have they found him?  Is he…?"

Waring just shook his head.  "Nothing yet, Trainee 
Kudla.  Go on, now.  You'll hear when we find him."

The young woman nodded, glanced at Walter, then left 
the room. She was the last to leave.

Walter was starting to get impatient, but Doug was 
evidently already there.  The other man said, "Come 
on, Walt.  We need to get him back to Headquarters."

Walter looked over at Doug and nodded.  Then, pulled 
his arm slowly out of Dean's grip.  He said, "I'm 
sorry, Dean."  Then turned, and started up the steps.  
He heard Doug behind him, telling Malloy to start 
walking.  But then, Dean was at his side again, 
speaking urgently.

"Walter, think this through.  Just because they owned 
a vehicle some fifteen or whatever years ago doesn't 
mean John even still has it.  And you know he doesn't 
fit the profile.  Not remotely. I'm telling you, I 
know this man. He is not a murderer."

Walter stopped, disgusted.  He was exhausted. He 
didn't want to have this conversation. He just wanted 
it all to be over.  But, there was Dean, trying to 
convince him to stop and think.  Damn it!  Why did 
Dean have to be there?

Walter stopped, gesturing for Doug to stop as well.  
Took a good look at Malloy.  Damn!  All he saw was 
confusion.  Mystification.  He cursed to himself.  

"Okay, let's take a moment.  Agent Malloy, are you 
willing to answer a few questions here, without the 
presence of a lawyer?"

Malloy still looked stunned, but nodded.  "Anything. 
This is a mistake. Ask me anything."

Walter could see Doug getting angry, but he tried to 
ignore his partner and think a bit more clearly. The 
problem was, there just wasn't time for gentle.  "Tell 
me about your car."

The man shook his head in confusion.  "My car?"

"What do you drive?"

"I just bought a Ford Taurus."

"What else do you own?"

"Nothing.  That's it.  I traded in my old car when I 
bought this."

Walter was surprised. He really hadn't expected the 
man to lie.  "What was the car you traded?"

"A …"  The man actually looked embarrassed. " A 1980 
Toyota Corolla."

Doug growled.  "Come on. This is a waste of time."

Walter nodded, almost distracted.  He was trying to 
figure out why the man wouldn't admit to owning the 
Ford Escort station wagon.  "What else?  What other 
cars do you have?"

Malloy shook his head, angrily.  "Nothing.  That's it, 
I swear?"

Walter looked at him closely. He would swear the man 
was telling the truth.  "What about your wife's car?"

Malloy looked as if he'd been slapped. Even Waring 
hissed.  Malloy said in a strangled whisper, "My wife 
died – nine years ago."

Walter bit his lip.  Was this truly all a mistake?  
"What happened to her car? To the blue Ford Escort 
station wagon."

Malloy seemed to regain some balance, although the 
look of mystification was back. "Fran's car? I gave 
that to my son years ago.  When he went to college."  
The man forced himself to stand straighter.  "Why?  Is 
that what this is about? Fran's car?"

Walter looked to Dean and Doug, wondering what to do 
next.  Waring solved the issue for him.

Dean asked, "Where's Sean now? We need to contact him 
immediately."

Malloy looked like he was going to put up a fight for 
the first time.  "Why? He's a good boy.  A good man.  
I don't want him getting in trouble over some damned 
mistake.  I don't want his career ruined."

Walter paused, thinking, but finally asked, "What 
career?  What does he do?"

Malloy looked as if he wouldn't answer for a moment, 
but then he said, "He's an officer with the Prince 
George Sheriff's Office in Maryland." 

Walter looked to Waring and nodded.  The man ran up 
the stairs to the projection booth where there was a 
phone.  He turned to Doug and saw that his partner 
wasn't quite so pissed off at him.  "You okay with 
this, Doug?"

The man slumped his shoulders a bit.  "Yeah.  We gotta 
get to the bottom of this fast, though, Walt.  That 
kid's runnin' out of time."

Malloy turned to Doug.  "Who?  Fox?  Is this about Fox 
Mulder? You know something?" And then comprehension 
came to the man.  "You think Fran's car was involved? 
Is that what this is about?"  Malloy shook his head.  
"I don't think Sean's driven that car for years.  I 
doubt he still has it."

Walter said, "We'll find out.  Give Dean a minute and 
then we'll know."

A couple minutes later, Waring returned, practically 
running down the steps.  He spoke directly to Malloy.  
"John, they piped me through to your son. He said he 
gave that car to your daughter two years ago so she 
could visit him from college.  He said she begged him 
not to tell you. That she swore you wouldn't let her 
keep it."

Walter looked at Doug, realization coming to both of 
them at once. Walter turned to Malloy quickly.  
"What's her name?  Where would she be right now?"

Malloy looked like his foundations were collapsing 
around him. He looked lost. 

Walter gestured to Doug to remove the handcuffs.  
"Agent Malloy, we need to know about your daughter.  A 
man's life is at stake here."

That got through to the man.  Malloy looked at him and 
said, "My daughter's name is Cynthia.  She prefers to 
be called Cyn."  A little shudder passed through him 
when he said it. 

Walter urged, "Sir.  Please."

Malloy absently rubbed one wrist as he nodded. "She 
goes to University of Maryland, College Park.  She's 
brilliant - got a full scholarship. She's majoring in 
Psychology. She's interested in forensic psychology. 
She wants to work with the police, just like me and 
Sean. She just started her senior year."

To Walter, it seemed as if Malloy were trying to 
convince them they were wrong just by throwing the 
girl's credentials at them.  Unfortunately, everything 
the man said just made her more plausible as one of 
the killers.

"Are you sure she's been at school?"

The man swallowed hard. Walter could see him 
struggling.  His eyes lost focus as he answered. "She 
didn't want to go back. We've been fighting about it 
for months. Since the middle of last school year."

Malloy mumbled something Walter didn't catch and then 
Walter heard, "That damned boyfriend."

And then things really clicked. "Can you describe this 
boyfriend? Do you know his name?"

The man actually had tears in his eyes.  Malloy looked 
at Waring, as if not hearing the question. "Do you 
really think she's involved? Is that possible, Dean?"

Walter saw Dean shrug a bit. Then, his old friend and 
instructor said to Malloy, "I don't really know. 
You've told me stories, though, John. She's always 
been a bit… defiant. Independent. Resentful, even.  
Hasn't she? Didn't you tell me she blamed you for 
Fran's death."

Malloy looked deflated. Ready to fall down.  Suddenly, 
Walter was filled with compassion for the man. If his 
daughter were somehow involved in these crimes or, God 
forbid, guilty of them, he was quite certain that John 
Malloy had no knowledge of it.

Walter took Malloy's arm gently.  "Sir, would you like 
to sit down?"  The man sank into a seat, still shaking 
his head.

Walter licked his lips, worried now about how much 
more the man could take.  "Agent Malloy, we need to 
find her and fast.  She may be with this man. They may 
have Trainee Mulder.  Sir, it's been several hours now 
since he was taken from the hospital."  Walter felt a 
renewed urgency, just thinking about the kid.  His 
voice was strained when he said, "Please, sir.  Please 
help us find Fox."

The man finally turned and seemed to focus on him.  
Malloy started nodding, then pushed himself up from 
the seat. "Yes, yes, of course. We need to find him 
soon."  Malloy blinked a few times and then nodded, 
more confident.  The man took a deep breath and 
finally said, "I know a few places she goes. They'll 
probably want to find a secluded place."  Malloy 
turned to Waring, as if seeking his input.

"They'll want to be away from people for…"  Walter 
could see that Malloy just couldn't say it out loud.  
But, at least the man was open to thinking about it.  
"Was Fox awake? Will he be able to talk with them?"

Walter shrugged.  "We're just not sure. We know he was 
given some kind of drug before he was taken from the 
hospital. We don't know what it was, though."

Malloy nodded.  "Look, Cynthia had a prescription for 
valium." The man looked ill, swallowing hard, then 
turned to Walter.  "My guess is she gave him that."  
Walter nodded for him to continue.  Malloy said, "If 
that's the case, he would have been conscious for some 
period of time. He'd be trying to talk his way out of 
it."

Walter agreed it all made sense.  He said to Malloy, 
"Let's go to the car. You can show us where you think 
they might go on a map.  Then, we'll call into Keenan 
so they can start some searches.  Contact local 
officials."

Doug spoke for the first time in a while.  "We need 
pictures. Of your daughter and her boyfriend.  Any 
information you have on him is critical. We'll be 
putting it on the news and getting it to the papers as 
soon as we can."

Malloy seemed to blanch yet again, but the man said, 
"I have a photo of Cynthia in my wallet."  He pulled 
it out, opened the wallet slowly and stared at the 
picture.  Then, he looked up at Waring, tears rolling 
down his face once more.  "This won't help. This is 
from when she was just fifteen.  She hasn't let me 
take a picture of her since then."

Dean attempted a smile.  He said, "Don't worry, John.  
We can have the photo aged at the lab."

Walter felt a lump in his throat.  He glanced at Doug, 
whose daughter was the light of his life. Doug looked 
ready to cry himself.  Finally, Walter cleared his 
throat and said, "What about the man.  The boyfriend. 
What can you tell us?"

Malloy's expression grew hard. His nostrils flared. 
"That bastard. It's his fault.  That's when she 
started talking about dropping out of school.  One 
year to go and that bastard is trying to get her to 
drop out."

"Sir, what about a name.  An address.  Anything."

Doug said, "A description. As detailed as you can make 
it."

Malloy nodded and started reciting what facts he knew, 
as they started for the car.

*******************************************

Present Day
Monday, 7:23 p.m.
Richmond Bureau, Richmond, Virginia

Skinner watched Scully carefully, even as he received 
reports and interacted with Landers and the team. 
She'd started out hell on wheels, but in the last 
fifteen minutes or so she'd gone quiet.  She'd 
withdrawn, vocally, emotionally, and physically.  She 
now stood at a window, forehead pressed to the glass, 
arms wrapped around her body in an image of complete 
dejection. 

Skinner wasn't sure if he would be welcome into her 
world.  After a lull in activity, he decided to find 
out. He approached carefully, making sure he scuffed 
his feet on the carpet so she'd know he was coming.  
He stopped just a foot behind her.

Skinner's voice was soft and low when he asked, "Are 
you all right, Scully?"

He could see a little smile flash that faded quickly.  
Then silence.  He wondered if this meant he should 
leave.  He'd just decided he should when she said, 
"It's almost totally dark, now. The last rays are 
disappearing, even as we speak."

Skinner wasn't sure of the significance, so he kept 
quiet.

"I know Mulder seems to love the dark."  She smiled 
even more before it faded again. "He doesn't really, 
though. He hates it. He always leaves something on. 
The television, a lamp in another room, even the light 
on his fishtank.  Something that'll provide just a 
little light, for when he wakes in the night."

Skinner understood, or at least thought he did.  He 
still kept quite.  He could see Scully was looking out 
at the city.  At least what they could see from the 
fifth floor. Lights were starting to show in the 
gloom. Little pinpricks here and there, that ended up 
illuminating the city center.

Scully pushed away from the glass as the last rays 
faded to black.  As she looked at him, he felt a lurch 
in his chest.  He knew what she wanted, even though 
she couldn't admit the weakness.

He smiled to her, resting a hand on her shoulder, and 
said, "We'll find him. He's strong. He's aware now. 
He'll fight for his own release.  You know that, 
Scully.  Mulder can use words to fight his battles and 
manipulate people better than anyone else I know."

Scully truly smiled at that.  "I know.  Thank you, 
sir."

Skinner gave one last squeeze of her shoulder before 
suggesting, "Why don't you come sit down?  We're 
starting to get more details about that car that was 
captured on the bank video.  I heard that the photo 
lab was rushing prints down. They should be here any 
minute."

He was reassured when she nodded and started walking 
back towards the table.

A few minutes later, a young agent came rushing into 
the room, photos in hand.  "Sir, we have them.  I 
think this might be him."

Everyone in the room went still and quiet.  Skinner 
practically barked at the man. "Let me see."

The photos were spread out on the table in front of 
him, Scully and Landers. Skinner could hear Scully's 
breath catch in the stillness.  She reached out a 
finger and caressed one of the photos. When she turned 
to him, Skinner smiled and nodded to her. "It's him."  
She smiled back.  "It's Mulder."

In the photo, enhanced to the greatest degree 
possible, was a clear hand that stretched up from the 
back seat of the car to rest against the back window. 
Enough of the hand and arm was showing in the window 
so that a sharp eye could make out a hospital band 
wrapped around the wrist.

Skinner stood up.  "All right, people. This is clearly 
not any of the vehicles we already have APBs out on. 
Let's get this updated information out to the police 
immediately. And now that we know what kind of 
automobile we're looking for and where this vehicle 
was, I want you to focus all your efforts on the 
security cameras along this path.  From the hospital 
to this bank and beyond. I want make, model, year, and 
tag number.  Get moving, people."

Everyone in the room seemed energized. They had a real 
shot at this now. Skinner turned to Scully and stopped 
what he'd been about to say.  Her finger was back on 
the photo, lightly running back and forth across the 
image of that hand.  Mulder's hand.

*******************************************

End Part 15 of ?
(Feedback to clb@roadrunner.com greatly appreciated)