Title:  Ascent to Hell - Part 1 of ? (1/?)
Author:  Kronos
E-Mail Address:  kronos1@adelphia.net
Rating: NC-17 for graphic violence, disturbing images, adult situations
Category:  XA
Spoilers:  Takes Place Sixth Season after How the Ghosts Stole 
Christmas
Keywords:  Mulder/Scully UST, Mulder/Scully/Skinner Friendship

Summary:  Kersh separates Mulder and Scully in an attempt to divert 
their work and drive them from the Bureau.  Mulder's been assigned to a 
case with the ISU.  Similarities to a case he became involved with 
while a trainee at the Academy take him, Scully, and Skinner on a trip 
to the past.  

Disclaimer:  The X-Files characters herein belong to 1013 Productions 
and Fox Broadcasting.  Usage is made without authorization but with 
utmost respect.  Other characters and story are mine.

Archive:  Anywhere appropriate with notice to author and name left 
attached.  Please archive at the Spookys site.

Author Notes: Since the beginning, I've been fascinated with Mulder's 
background in profiling.  This is an attempt to demonstrate one 
possible way in which he might have discovered his talents in this 
area.  It is also a completely different take on his childhood and 
relationship with his parents.  In this story, I chose to explore his 
evolution into the Mulder we now know in different ways than are 
commonly recognized.  Feedback is greatly appreciated and avidly 
anticipated.

Acknowledgments:  At present, this is being posted as a WIP.  Although 
I anticipate rewriting some parts prior to a final posting, I wish to 
acknowledge my editors and beta readers at this time.  My thanks to 
Vickie, Heidi, Ed, Jan, and Kristina for their beta reading of the 
parts thus far and for their keen eyes in correcting the smallest of 
detail errors.  My appreciation to Paula who performed as both beta 
reader and part-time editor.  And my utmost thanks go to Julie who 
continues to act as editor in chief, never allowing me to get away with 
inventing words or trying to pull a fast one with respect to detail.  
The story is unquestionably the better for her active and supportive 
involvement.  Thanks, Julie, and all my beta readers.


*******************************************
Ascent to Hell - Part 1 of ? (1/?)
by Kronos
*******************************************


Thursday, 4:32 p.m.
FBI Lab, Quantico, Virginia


Her back hurt.  Her shoulders hurt.  Her feet hurt.  Her little 
friggin' fingers hurt. All resulting from hour after hour standing at 
the autopsy table on the fourth day of yet another useless assignment.  
But more irritating and bothersome than any of the physical aches and 
pains was the nagging worry that had been creeping up on her all day.  
The worry that came from the knowledge that her partner was off on his 
own somewhere in the middle of a horrific case, with no support and no 
one to watch his back.  Damn Kersh anyway for doing this to them.  

Dana Scully's musings were interrupted by a clatter from behind.  She 
turned to see Sam Barrister on hands and knees, reaching under a table 
for a fallen tool. The young lab tech reminded her so much of Pendrell 
it hurt.  Short reddish-blonde hair, not too tall, expression always 
oozing with sincerity.  It was a bittersweet memory that elicited a sad 
smile.

"Everything okay over there, Sam?"

He made it to an upright position once more, groaning slightly as he 
straightened, then gave her a quick nod.

"Just clumsy.  It's like I have five thumbs on each hand today."

She watched him move to a chair and sink into it wearily, then focused 
her attention back onto the body in front of her.  It had been a long 
week already and the simple act of sitting suddenly sounded quite 
appealing.  The thought distracted her enough that his next words 
caught her by surprise.

"Dr. Scully, aren't you tired of this?"  

She turned back again, more slowly this time.  He must have caught her 
raised eyebrows because he rushed on, as if in explanation.  "It's just 
that it's been four straight days of bodies that even I could have 
autopsied.  There's nothing unusual or difficult in these cases.  I 
don't understand why they called you in."

She let out a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding and 
set down the tool she'd been holding as a delaying action.  After 
another second of thought, she decided to play it safe. She pulled down 
her mask before speaking.

"Well, Sam, AD Kersh evidently felt it was worth my time and effort.  
Look, I'm almost finished with this one. Why don't you start 
straightening things, and we'll be out of here in another fifteen 
minutes or so."

She just started to turn back to the body in front of her when her cell 
phone trilled out in the quiet room.  She stripped her gloves off 
quickly, even as she moved towards the little office to the right.  She 
managed to answer by the fourth ring.  

"Scully."

There was nothing but silence on the other end and it spoke more loudly 
to her than any words could have.  She stopped in her tracks, only a 
foot from the office door and waited it out, knowing instinctively who 
it was.  After thirty long seconds she broke the impasse.  Her voice 
wavered slightly when she spoke. "Mulder?  Is that you?"

She heard it then.  Heard the ragged intake of breath at the other end 
and she closed her eyes.  She wondered where he was.  Whether he was 
alone.  Whether he'd be able to sleep tonight.  Whether he'd gotten any 
sleep the night before. Her throat tightened so that she could barely 
whisper her next words.

"Mulder, please.  Talk to me."

The silence continued and she finally opened her eyes, realizing that 
she still stood in the autopsy bay with her young assistant staring at 
her in concern.  She gestured to Sam that she'd be taking the call 
inside the office and took a couple weary steps forward.  She closed 
the door and sank into the desk chair slowly.  The only illumination 
came through the almost closed blinds, resulting in horizontal stripes 
of light cutting across the darkened room.  She left the lights off, 
feeling a comfort in the darkness.

She licked her lips and decided she'd force him to talk with her now.  
Really talk.  No more 'I'm fine's and 'It's all going well's.  She 
tightened her grip on her cell phone and formed a fist with her left 
hand.  She swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

"Mulder, I heard they found another body last night.  The little girl 
who disappeared the other day.  It was on the news."

She'd heard it on the radio early in the morning and knew he'd be 
there, on the scene, even as they reported it.  Knew he'd been there 
since long before they'd reported it.

He spoke finally, the words forced and harsh, the exhaustion and 
despair evident in his words and tone.

"She turned seven two weeks ago.  She had blonde hair and green eyes.  
Her name was Sarah."

A picture of him formed in her mind.  He was alone -- she knew it.  She 
had an image of him sitting hunched over, elbows on knees, in a 
darkened room.  She pictured his shirt sleeves rolled up, his tie 
loosened and askew.  One hand holding the phone, the other occasionally 
rubbing his face, then running through his hair.  She knew he'd been 
working nonstop since the little girl disappeared, so it was a sure bet 
he hadn't shaved or changed.  His clothes would be rumpled and his 
beard would be a dark shadow by now.  

The image was so clear in her mind he could have been in the same room.  
She felt her chest tighten with the knowledge that he was not.  That he 
was miles away and all alone.  She had to force words past the 
tightness and knew they sounded strangled.

"Mulder, I'm so sorry."

She closed her eyes when she heard the stifled sob at the other end.  
She wrapped her left arm around her chest tightly and lowered her head.  
She felt so powerless.  Completely helpless.

"Scully."

Her name was a jolt in the quiet.  He'd said it with such longing.  Her 
eyes opened and she blinked rapidly to clear the tears that had pooled.  
Her words were a whisper when she managed to respond.

"Yes, Mulder?"

A pause again and then his words came hard and fast.

"He crushed her spine.  Broke her arm and separated her shoulder.  
Crushed her windpipe and caved in her skull.  We found a pink mark on 
the wall where the drywall had cracked from an impact.  It was from her 
barrette, when her head hit the wall.  And as sick as it is, I at least 
understand how that all happens.  But ..."

She allowed the silence to hang, knowing he'd continue when he could.

"Scully ... he bruised the soles of her feet."

His voice was filled with disbelief and disgust as he asked, "How is 
that possible?  What the hell did he do to her to bruise the soles of 
her feet?"

His breathing was ragged now and it was all she could do to keep from 
getting in a car and driving to him.

"Mulder, I can't imagine.  I'm so sorry."

She realized she'd already said it once, but couldn't help feeling that 
she should apologize to this man.  She should be there with him, 
helping him to figure it out, helping him to get through the day ... 
and the night.  She should have found a way instead of letting Kersh 
force her to Quantico.  Damn the man for not listening to reason.

"Scully, I have to go."

There was silence again, broken only by their uneven breathing.  She 
swallowed hard finally and forced herself to speak.  Forced herself to 
sound as normal as possible. "Mulder, what number will you be at 
tonight?"

He was slow in answering but finally said, "What?"  He was obviously 
distracted.  Thinking already about the case and what he would do next.

"What phone number?  What hotel?"

She heard fabric rustling.  Heard the creak of a chair and knew he had 
just stood.

"You can get me on my cell, Scully."

She pressed her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes tightly.  
Opened them again and looked up to the ceiling.  She took a deep breath 
and concentrated on keeping her tone even and nonjudgemental.

"Where have you been staying?"

She didn't want to be intrusive.  Didn't want to upset him.  But she 
had to know he was taking care of himself.

"There's a couch here and a shower in the gym."

Before she could respond he spoke again, his voice hard now.  

"It's where I need to be, Scully."

Subject closed.  She shook her head softly and said, "I understand."  
She didn't, not really.  But she knew enough to recognize the truth of 
his words.

"Mulder, please make sure you have your cell phone with you, okay?  If 
you go anywhere?  Will you do that?"

She could hear the exhaustion dragging at his words when he finally 
answered.

"I will.  Promise.  Gotta go, Scully."

"Okay."

The click in her ear turned into a buzz, signaling the abrupt end of 
the call.  She closed the phone and put it on the desk, then turned and 
rested her head on her folded arms.  She let the tears flow then, the 
release cathartic.  And in the quiet she whispered aloud, "Dear God in 
Heaven, please watch over my partner.  Keep him safe."

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


Friday, 4:23 a.m.
Bureau Office, Richmond, Virginia


The room was pitch black.  The only light making its way into the 
conference room was past the slightly ajar door.  Mulder shuddered as 
he shook off the remnants of the dream, featuring a little blonde girl 
in braids, pink barrettes keeping stray bits of hair out of her eyes. 
He rubbed at his face and pushed himself away from the couch.  He 
flicked the switch by the door and jerked in response to the light that 
flooded the room, almost blinding him.  He squinted, and raised a hand 
in front of his face as if to block the light.  

He paused, then raised his other hand to his head.  The stabbing light 
had only made his headache worse.  He rubbed his forehead lightly then 
rubbed at his temples.  Damn, he'd give anything for a decent nights 
sleep.

He dropped his arms then and made his way to the corner where his 
suitcase and a suit bag were crammed.  He pulled them away from the 
wall and unzipped the suitcase, then rummaged until he found a clean 
undershirt and boxers, socks and a still wrapped white shirt.  
Definitely time to get cleaned up.  He then pulled out his last clean 
suit from the hanging bag.  He grabbed his shaving kit and 
miscellaneous toiletries and headed for the gym, juggling his burdens 
awkwardly.  His steps dragged as made his way there, and the stillness 
that encompassed the building soothed him.

No one was stirring yet and he relished the quiet.  The solitude.  The 
last several days had been so filled with activity that he needed this 
time to decompress.  Once in the locker room he dropped his clean 
clothes on a bench, pulled a couple towels off a rack, then made his 
way to the first shower stall.  He'd fallen asleep in his suit again 
and knew it was a lost cause.  He wouldn't be able to wear it again 
until the dry cleaners did their magic with it.  Discarded clothing 
fell in a pile on the floor and he moved to turn on the water.  

It was a little slice of heaven.  Such a small pleasure, but one that 
had such power over him.  He braced his arms against the wall and 
leaned into the stream, allowing the water to beat down on his head.  
He didn't have to be anywhere for a couple hours.  No one expected 
anything out of him before then.  No one would be looking for him.  No 
one would even think about where he might be or what he might be doing.  
No one but Scully.

At the thought of his partner he closed his eyes and leaned forward, 
allowing the water to hit his shoulders and back.  He wondered if she'd 
realized what Kersh was doing.  He had a feeling this case wouldn't be 
the end of the man's strategy to get him to quit.  To get him to walk 
away.  Endless months of fertilizer duty and meaningless assignments 
hadn't done it, so now the AD was trying separating them.  And they had 
no recourse.  No one to go to for appeal.  

He tilted his head back and lifted his face to the spray, relishing the 
sharp needles of water that reminded him he was alive and could feel.  
He'd worked hard at closing off his feelings the last four days.  
Worked to disassociate himself from the horrors of this case.  He'd 
been successful, too, until he'd spoken with Scully the afternoon 
before.  The sharp longing for her company, for her friendship, gripped 
him by the heart, catching him unawares.  God, how he'd give anything 
to have her by his side.  He bit his lower lip hard to fight back the 
sob that threatened to break free.

A half-hour later he was back in the conference room, this time with 
lights shining starkly on the photos tacked to the walls.  He reflected 
again on the disturbing nature of the case.  Beyond the brutality, 
beyond the violence.  It was disturbing because he didn't understand 
the UNSUB -- the unknown subject.  He didn't know whether there was a 
single assailant or multiple assailants working together, despite the 
unusualness of such an arrangement.  Not only was the m.o. fluid and 
ever-changing, which wasn't in itself unusual, but the level of 
organization, the planning that went into the attacks, the victim 
choice, and even the actual damage inflicted on the victims varied from 
one attack to the next.  If it weren't for the phone call that 
inevitably came within a few hours of the kidnapping, these crimes 
wouldn't even have been considered to be linked.  It was the only thing 
that could be considered part of a signature with the exception of the 
violence perpetrated on the victims.

Mulder stared at the photos on the wall, as he paced the length of the 
room.  Old, young, black, white, male, female, rich, poor.  
Strangulation, gunshot, knifing, drowning.  The only similarity between 
the four victims was that their bodies were essentially unrecognizable 
by the time the assailant finished with them.  What the hell was going 
on here?  As far as anyone could recall or determine, there'd only been 
one case in the ISU's database that held any similarities.  A case with 
which he was intimately familiar.  God, it was so long ago.  Almost 
thirteen years, now.  Jesus, he wasn't sure if he could survive another 
nightmare like the DC Murders case.  

His eyes traveled up and down the wall, stopping on one of the pictures 
of little Sarah Canderfield, the latest victim.  The photo had been 
taken outside of a church, at what looked like a wedding.  The little 
girl was dressed in a blue velvet dress, with long puffy sleeves and a 
white lace collar.  Her long blonde hair hung straight and shone 
brightly in the winter sun.

His breath caught in his throat and his chest tightened as the long 
buried image of Lorri Kiley superimposed itself over Sarah's face.  He 
reached blindly for a chair and sank into it, his eyes glued to the 
photo of a little girl who could have been the reincarnation of the 
beautiful teenager who'd been killed almost thirteen years before.

He moved to the couch and fell onto it, exhausted and drained.  He 
draped an arm over his eyes to block the light and squeezed them shut 
more tightly.  The memory of the Lorri's face and the details of her 
murder flooded through him once again, as if it had happened yesterday.  
He couldn't avoid it or escape it.  And as he had then, a he'd done so 
many times after her murder, he imagined her kidnapping.  Imagined her 
deaths, as if he were there with her, the night it happened.

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

The night was cool, but clear so that the stars were visible even in 
the city.  The street was busy, with cars driving by every minute or so 
at least.  The church was large, designed with a steeple that reached 
far into the sky as if by its sheer height it could bring those inside 
closer to God.  The smells of food permeated the air because of the 
little restaurant down the street.  The restaurant's parking lot was 
full, with occasional customers leaving or arriving.  

It was quiet except for the stray sounds from the road.  The silence 
was broken suddenly by laughter and the light patter of the group of 
teenagers spilling out of the side door of the church.  It was obvious 
that some of those leaving the church were couples, while others walked 
singly amidst the crowd.  They all seemed friendly with each other.  
The twenty or so kids started to scatter as some headed for cars and 
some for the sidewalk.

A boy's voice called out into the night then.  "Hey, Lorri, come back.  
We'll take you home."

Lorri turned and waved back at them with a smile.  "I'm fine.  You guys 
go on.  See you tomorrow."

The boy looked disappointed, obviously wanting to be closer to the 
beautiful teenager.  Lorri wore a dark blue dress with long sleeves, a 
white lace collar giving the appearance of innocence.  Her long blonde 
hair flipped around her shoulders in the cool breeze.  She must have 
been cold because she wrapped her arms around her chest, burying her 
hands under her arms.

The others scattered and she was alone on the sidewalk.  She walked 
down a residential street, each house showing lights in the windows.  
Cars passed occasionally, breaking the quiet of the night.  She was 
lost in thoughts of Jay, the boy who'd offered her a ride, and she 
didn't hear the car stop next to her at first.

The driver called out to her.  She walked close and stopped by the 
passenger's side.  Lorri leaned over then, obviously trusting the 
person inside.  They talked for a moment or two and then Lorri stood up 
and opened the door, climbing inside.  The car drove off, and Lorri's 
fate was sealed.

Mulder wanted to scream out to her, to tell her to stop.  To turn away 
and run.  But he was incapable of changing the outcome, no matter how 
hard he wanted to.  And just as he had done so many years ago, he went 
with Lorri as she got in the car.  Drove with her and her assailant, as 
the inevitable approached.

He didn't know how long they drove, but they ended up stopping in a 
deserted parking lot.  He saw it all, but could do nothing to change 
what was happening.  He wanted to warn Lorri so badly but he was 
consigned to mute observation.  His chest ached with the desire to tell 
her to scream.  To get out of the car and run.  But instead, he watched 
as she sat and laughed with the driver.  He tried to see the 
assailant's face, but there was only a silhouette, sheathed in 
darkness.

Lorri laughed at something and turned her head to look out the 
passenger window.  The black entity moved then, throwing a ligature 
around the girl's neck.  And Mulder's own scream was cut off, as was 
hers.

Lorri struggled, raising her hands to her neck, unable to get her 
fingers under the tight rope that cut into her skin and cut off her air 
supply.  Little whimpers and pathetic grunts were the best she could 
manage.  She kicked her feet and pushed, trying to dislodge her 
assailant.  She raised a hand to her killer's arm and sunk her nails 
into his skin, leaving deep welling wounds.  But while she drew blood, 
it was too little, too late.  

He watched her struggle and was powerless to help.  Powerless to 
prevent it or change the course of events.  It was as if his own limbs 
were being restrained.  As if someone had placed a hand over his mouth 
so that he couldn't speak or scream out.  His heart pounded in his 
chest and he had to gasp just to get enough air to keep from passing 
out.

He watched as Lorri tried to move, tried to get away from her 
assailant, but she was growing ever more weak.  Her arms dropped 
finally and she fell back against the man's chest.  She stared out the 
window with glazed eyes.  Her last image before death was of the stars, 
shining so brightly in the clear sky.

The despair washed over Mulder as he realized once again his impotence.  
He watched the drama unfold through his mind's eye, but couldn't move.  
Couldn't act.  He could only watch in horror and disgust as the 
reconstructed memory played itself out.

The assailant pushed Lorri onto the floor of the front seat and then 
looked around, making sure no one had seen him.  Mulder was there, 
standing in the shadows, but the assailant looked right through him.  
The man pulled out of the parking lot then and drove and Mulder was 
still there.  Still watching, a disembodied participant of the horror 
that had occurred so long ago on a cool spring evening.

The assailant drove for an hour, then two. And Mulder was there, with 
him. The dark entity circled neighborhoods, stared into lit windows, 
drove through the mall parking lot.  The man watched the people there 
and Mulder could almost hear the man wondering aloud who they were and 
what they wanted out of life.  

The dark shape leaned forward occasionally and ran his hand over 
Lorri's cooling skin and through her hair.  And the voice murmured, "So 
soft, so silky.  Perfect.  Just perfect."  And Fox felt ill at the 
man's obvious pleasure as he communed with the dead body of Lorri 
Kiley.

The car drove on until well past midnight.  It was time then.  Time to 
let Lorri go.  The car pulled into the church parking lot and around to 
the back, by the dumpster.  It was safe.  No one was around.  

The assailant moved quickly, coming around the car to open the 
passenger door.  He pulled Lorri's body out and let it fall to the 
ground.  He rolled her onto her back and straightened her legs, then 
carefully arranged her hair so that it fanned out around her head in a 
halo of gold.  He folded her arms on her chest and pulled her necklace 
out from the dress so it could be clearly seen.  Then the assailant 
moved to her feet and removed her shoes and knee socks so that Lorri's 
feet were bare.  He made sure she was perfectly positioned, then closed 
the passenger door and returned to the driver's seat.  He pulled away 
slowly, careful of any potential witnesses.

The assailant was in the clear -- no one the wiser.  Fox watched the 
scene unfold and fought against the inevitability.  He wanted to scream 
out.  Wanted to see the bastard's face.  He ran after the car, not 
willing to let him get away yet.  And he finally managed to scream out 
into the night.  He ran as fast as he could, keeping up with the car as 
it pulled down the residential street and again he screamed.  A single 
word, echoing into the still night.  "Stop."  

He was gasping for air as he ran full out.  And then an amazing thing 
happened.  The car stopped.  He saw the red brake lights from twenty 
yards away, beacons in the night.  He sprinted the final distance, but 
started sliding to a stop when he realized the assailant was right 
there in front of him.  And as he tried to halt his forward motion, he 
was suddenly in the man's grip, being shaken.

He screamed out again, a lone strangled cry, "No."  And then the man 
was calling his name, over and over.  He forced his eyes to open and 
tried to focus on the face in front of him.  Tried to remember where he 
was and what was happening.  And then the face became clear and he 
realized it was Carl Chang, one of the team members.  Jesus, it wasn't 
enough that his dreams were filled with the four victims of this case, 
now his mind was drudging up long-buried memories of the case that 
launched his career as well as his signaled the end of anything 
resembling a normal sleep pattern.  The dream was a haunting reflection 
of his dreams during that case.  He didn't think he had the energy to 
cope with those memories right now, on top of his dreams about Sarah.

He waved Chang off and sat up slowly, rubbing his face wearily.  He 
looked at his watch and ran a hand through his hair.  Shit, only six-
thirty in the morning and he was already drained and exhausted.  He 
fought back the cloud of despair that crept over him and glanced once 
more at the wall with the photos.  Little Sarah's face looked back at 
him, giving him the strength to stand and start the day.

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

Friday, 6:34 a.m.
Washington D.C., Dana Scully Residence


Dana Scully rolled over and hit the snooze alarm for the third time.  
She was exhausted.  Not a good way to start a workday, but the last 
several nights had been spent mostly tossing and turning.  She'd been 
completely unsuccessful in turning her mind off.  Images of Mulder, 
alone and immersed in the Richmond murder case kept intruding at the 
most awkward times.  The call yesterday was just too much.  It hadn't 
even sounded like him.  

She sat up abruptly and switched off the alarm, swung her legs over the 
side of the bed and rubbed her face.  She had to do something to help 
him.  She knew he'd hate it.  Hate her intruding.  But he was her 
friend.  Her partner.  And he was in trouble.  It was time to talk with 
AD Kersh.

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


Friday, 7:36 a.m.
FBI Headquarters, AD Kersh's Office


Dana Scully recrossed her legs, smoothing the material of her tailored 
pants suit for the tenth time in as many minutes.  She was trying to 
decide exactly how to approach the man and whether it really mattered 
what approach she took.  She suspected it didn't.  She found it hard to 
believe that her partner was the only one they could find for this 
case.  Excuses of sick analysts and an overwhelming caseload would only 
go so far.  This was now the third case in which one of them was 
supposedly the only possible agent who could meaningfully contribute in 
the entire Bureau.  She had to admit that she'd bought the explanations 
the first time, was justifiably suspicious by the second, and was now 
just outraged. 

There was a movement to her right accompanied by what sounded like a 
stifled groan.  She turned to see AD Kersh walk in with briefcase in 
one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.  She'd barely stood when he 
stopped in front of her with a slightly irritated expression on his 
face.

"Agent Scully, I was under the impression you were supposed to be at 
Quantico."

She straightened even taller, smoothed down her jacket and took a 
breath before replying.  "That's correct, sir.  I was hoping to speak 
with you quickly before I headed there today."

She held her breath for the few seconds it took for him to decide 
whether to grant her request.  She knew she'd won the first battle when 
he nodded, looking resigned.

"Very well, Agent, come in."

She kept pace with him and waited while he got settled behind his desk.  
He didn't offer her a seat so she stood in front of her 'usual' chair, 
waiting for him to acknowledge her presence.  He did finally, with a 
brief nod.

"Sir, I would like to request that I be assigned to assist in the 
Richmond case.  I believe my skills would be better used ..."

She could tell before she'd finished the first sentence that it was a 
lost cause.  When he interrupted her, she wasn't even surprised.

"Agent Scully, you have been given your assignment.  Your skills are 
required at Quantico.  Is that clear?"

He hadn't even blinked.  Hadn't changed expression.  And she knew more 
surely than ever before that he would never act in her or her partner's 
best interest.  She nodded slightly and replied, "Yes, sir.  It's very 
clear."

She didn't even feel guilty when the door slammed harder than she'd 
intended on the way out.

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


Friday, 8:02 a.m.
Bureau Office, Richmond, Virginia


Mulder jerked as the conference room door swung open, slamming back 
against the wall.  He turned to stare at the man standing in the 
doorway, wondering what could have been behind the drama.  It was the 
SAC on the case, Carl Landers, and he appeared to be upset about 
something.

Mulder shot a questioning look at a couple of the other agents in the 
room, then turned back to the SAC.  Before he could say a word, the man 
started barking out orders.

"Singleton, Chang and Mulder -- I need you to go do follow-up with the 
victim's family, classmates, and teachers.  Mulder, the family's 
expecting you by nine.  Singleton and Chang take the school.  Also, 
Mulder, the parents want details about their daughter's death.  Give it 
to them."

A quiet fell over the room as the unusualness of the directive settled 
in.  Mulder felt his breath catch and was momentarily shocked.  He had 
to have heard wrong.  He took a tentative step forward and said, "Sir 
...", but was cut off before he could continue.

"I didn't ask for your input, Agent Mulder.  If you have problems 
carrying out your assignment, you may feel free to contact your 
supervisor."

The man turned then and left the room as abruptly as he'd entered it, 
leaving a residual anger that was almost palpable.  Understanding came 
to Mulder then as the SAC's words sank in.  He took a deep breath and 
glanced around the room warily.  He could see confusion on the faces of 
the men and women on the team.  None of them were looking at him, their 
gazes directed instead anywhere but at his face -- at the floor, the 
walls, the door -- all obviously uncomfortable.  

It wasn't an analyst's job to work follow-ups and certainly not to 
debrief the family on the cruelty inflicted on the victim in the last 
moments of their lives.  The analyst was supposed to have the freedom 
to go to crime scenes as he saw fit, interview whom he deemed 
necessary, and have access to all case information as needed.  The 
analyst was not supposed to be ordered to perform duties of the general 
team.  But Mulder understood something these men did not.  That AD 
Kersh's arm was long and was reaching his way even now.  He grimaced 
slightly as he internally acknowledged the reason for SAC Lander's bad 
mood.

He took another deep breath and tried to calm his racing heart and 
troubled thoughts.  As much as he hated the idea, he didn't have much 
say in the matter.  Who could he complain to, after all?  Best to steel 
himself and get it over with as fast as possible.  He turned around and 
nodded towards Singleton and Chang.  "So who's driving?"

Without waiting to see whether they were ready or not, he started 
gathering files to review on the way.  He packed his briefcase, 
fighting off the sense of dread that continued to stalk him.  He 
rationalized that he needed some time to get a handle on the UNSUB 
anyway and it could be done in the car just as easily as in the 
conference room.  And besides, he needed something to keep his mind off 
what he was being forced to do.  He started for the door and glanced 
back at Chang and Singleton.

"Come on, agents.  You heard the man.  Time to go."

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


Friday, 8:47 a.m.
FBI Lab, Quantico, Virginia


Scully pulled the phone closer to her and dialed a familiar number.  
She felt the need to admit to Mulder what she'd done.  He'd probably 
laugh at her for being so gullible as to think Kersh would do anything 
to help them.  The cell phone rang for the fifth time, then the sixth.  
She was just getting ready to hang up in frustration and worry when 
someone finally answered.

"Hello?"

The strange voice caused her heart to immediately beat faster.  She 
knew the number was right, after all.

"This is Agent Scully.  Who is this?"

"This is Agent Friedman.  Can I help you?"

Scully shook her head in frustration, wondering why her partner wasn't 
answering his own phone.  Thoughts of an injured or missing Mulder 
filled her head.

"I was calling for Agent Mulder.  Is he there?"

She could swear she heard a sigh before Friedman answered.  

"No, I'm sorry, Agent Scully.  He's out right now.  Can I take a 
message?"

She stared at the desk for a few seconds before answering, feeling 
uneasy about leaving a message with a man she didn't know.  Before she 
could decide, however, the man on the other end said, "I'm sorry, I 
just realized something.  Is this Dana Scully, the MD?"

She closed her mouth abruptly, then said, "Yes, it is."

A gentle laugh preceded the man's next words.  "Dana, this is Jerry.  
Jerry Friedman.  We went through the Academy together."

An image of a tall, slender man, blonde with intense brown eyes popped 
into her head and the smile came immediately after, despite the 
lingering worry for her partner.

"Jerry, it's good to speak to you.  It's been a while."

"It sure has.  So what do you want with Mulder, Dana?"

The abrupt change of topic caught her off guard only for a moment.

"Actually, he's my partner.  I'm stuck at Quantico while he's working 
the Richmond case.  I was just checking in with him."  She finally 
remembered her earlier question and asked, "Why are you answering 
Mulder's cell phone, Jerry?"

"Actually, I didn't even realize it was his.  I heard a ringing coming 
from the corner of the room and tracked it down to a suit pocket.  
Mulder must have forgotten to take it out when he changed this 
morning."

She couldn't help the sigh of frustration that she knew would be 
clearly audible.

"Dana ..."

She realized suddenly that Jerry's voice had turned serious and she 
immediately became concerned.

"Jerry, is everything all right down there?"  After only a moment's 
hesitation she continued her thought, almost afraid of what his answer 
might be.  "Is Mulder all right?"

His voice was obviously strained when he replied.  "It's rough.  
Everyone's on edge.  Mulder's been working the case practically round 
the clock.  We're all a bit frayed right now."

He was sounding defensive about something and she instinctively knew 
something was wrong.  That something had happened.  She fought down the 
rising panic.

"What, Jerry?  What's happened?  Where's Mulder?"

This time it was his sigh that could be heard quite clearly, then his 
voice dropped, as if he were trying to avoid being overheard.

"He's taking follow-up statements with the victim's family."

"What?  What's he doing that for?  He's supposed to be working on the 
profile."

She felt the pressure starting to build behind her eyes and strained to 
pay attention to his response.

"I know, I know.  It's weird.  I've known the SAC on this case for five 
years.  He's a good man.  Fair.  This morning he ordered Mulder out to 
do the follow-ups and also to debrief the parents on what the assailant 
did to the little girl.  I swear he was angry and frustrated.  I got 
the impression it wasn't his idea but that he didn't have any choice."

She closed her eyes and lowered her head, knowing immediately what had 
happened.  Damn it!  It was because of her.  If she'd just kept her 
mouth closed and hadn't interfered, this wouldn't have happened.

"Dana, you still there?"

Her voice dragged with weariness when she answered.  "Yes, still here.  
Jerry, could you do me a favor please?  Could you make sure Mulder's 
phone is charged and get it back to him when he comes in?  I know it's 
asking a lot, but I'd really appreciate it."

"No problem.  I should be seeing him later this afternoon at the team 
meeting."

"Could you do one last thing for me, Jerry?"

"Sure.  Name it."

"Could you ..."  She paused, felt a flash of paranoia and decided not 
to ask the favor she'd really wanted to, so finished, " ... could you 
ask Mulder to call me when he gets a chance?"

There was silence for just a second and then her old classmate said, 
"No problem.  And Dana?"

"Yes?"

"I'll keep my eye out for him, too, okay?"

She laughed then, for the first time in days.

"You haven't changed, have you?"

"I think I'll take that as a compliment.  Later, Dana."

"Bye."

She hung up the phone, at once concerned and relieved.  At least she 
knew there was someone she could call if she needed to.  She sighed 
heavily and stood.  Time to start yet another meaningless autopsy.  She 
wondered idly just where Kersh had managed to get hold of so many 
bodies. 

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


Friday, 9:04 a.m.
Richmond, Virginia, Canderfield Residence


Mulder watched Chang and Singleton drive away, then turned back to the 
woman standing silently in the doorway. Alexis Canderfield was a 
beautiful woman, tall and graceful with short, dark blonde hair that 
hung in soft waves about her face.  He knew that she was in her mid-
thirties, but appeared old beyond her years.

He took a deep breath, then followed her into the living room.  They 
both stopped in front of her husband, Jason.  Mulder reached out and 
shook the man's hand.  Where Alexis was fair and blonde, Jason 
Canderfield was dark complexioned with dark brown hair and brown eyes.  
He seemed to be almost incapable of action or speech.  Mulder took the 
initiative, keeping his voice soft and steady.

"Sir, I'm very sorry for your loss.  I was told you and your wife had 
some questions that I might be able to answer for you."

The man merely nodded and finally gestured to a chair.  Mulder almost 
dropped into it, the exhaustion hitting him hard.  The knowledge of 
what he was about to relay to the parents was a weight hanging over his 
head.  He felt his breath quicken and the sweat begin to roll down his 
back.  He gripped the arms of the chair tightly and steeled himself for 
the inevitable.

It was Alexis who spoke first.  "Agent Mulder, we want to know what he 
did to her.  They haven't told us yet.  We want to know what she went 
through, what he did to her.  I have to know."

He doubted that she was even aware of the switch from 'we' to 'I' and 
glanced over at Jason Canderfield to see the man's reaction.  It was as 
he'd expected.  The father would be more than happy to bury his head 
just now and not hear another word, but the mother wanted to know every 
last detail.  It was a familiar dynamic among family members and 
friends following a violent murder, but was one he'd generally only 
read or heard about.  He'd never been instructed to perform this 
particular duty in all his years with the Bureau and had no desire to 
do so now.  The closest he'd come was in the Roche case and that 
certainly hadn't involved debriefing the remaining parent about how the 
victim had suffered.  And that time, he'd had his partner next to him.  
He didn't feel qualified to perform this task, despite his psychology 
and criminal profiling background.  He cleared his throat and turned to 
Alexis, his hands clasped tightly on the arms of the chair.

"Ma'am, I'll answer your questions and provide whatever information I 
can, but I want to be sure you understand that it doesn't have to be 
now, so soon after ..."

She cut him off sharply, saying, "No, it does have to be now.  I need 
to know."

He nodded and looked again towards the father, wanting to give him an 
out.  He leaned forward a bit in the chair, as if the movement would 
lend more legitimacy to his words.  "Sir, you don't have to hear this 
now.  Perhaps I can answer your wife's questions and then speak with 
you afterwards."

Canderfield blanched and turned to his wife, then seemed to stand 
straighter.  Mulder knew the man felt as if he had to stay, for his 
wife as well as for the memory of his daughter.  The knowledge tore at 
Mulder, making him feel impotent.  

He didn't want to allow this to happen.  He mentally cursed the SAC for 
putting him in this position and decided to try once more.  He looked 
first at Jason Canderfield and then settled his gaze on Alexis.

"I think it's important for you to both realize that different people 
need different things to help them understand and to cope following a 
crime of this nature.  There's no such thing as the right course of 
action for the survivors.  You each need to do what you have to but it 
might not be the same thing for both of you."

He held his breath, praying the message would sink in through the 
lingering shock that paralyzed their every thought and made every 
action near impossible.  He watched as Alexis turned to her husband and 
reached out her hand.  Jason walked the two steps necessary to reach 
her and grabbed it, as if it were a lifeline to sanity, as perhaps it 
was. She raised her other hand to his face tenderly and said, "Wait for 
me in the family room.  Please, Jay?"  The man nodded, obviously filled 
with relief even as tears fell down his face, then turned and walked 
out of the room.

It was a show of strength on both their parts that left Mulder amazed 
at the resiliency of his fellow men.  His throat was tight when he 
turned his gaze back to Alexis.  She was staring at him with gratitude 
and he felt a momentary connection with this women who was consumed 
with the desire to know the truth, regardless of the brutality of that 
knowledge.  

"What can I tell you, ma'am?"

And while his voice wavered, hers did not.

"Everything.  Every single detail you know and have access to.  I don't 
want it to be sanitized.  I need to hear it all."

He nodded wearily and considered what he'd say to the woman.  Tried to 
decide how best to start.  He hated this and hated Kersh for arranging 
it.  More than anything, he hated the fact that he had to do it alone.  
His voice didn't come at first and he had to will himself to be strong.

He looked into the woman's eyes and felt a calmness settle over him.  
She understood.  She knew what this was doing to him, but her need to 
know the truth was all-consuming.  He breathed deeply and gripped the 
chair arms tightly before starting.

"Sarah was taken from the Jackson Heights park between 5 and 5:30 p.m. 
The car he used had been stolen two days before.  He left it at the 
site where we found her.  We found trace evidence suggesting he 
transported her in the trunk.  We believe he used duct tape around her 
wrists and ankles to restrain her and tape on her mouth to keep her 
quiet.  We believe he didn't hurt her, didn't touch her for the first 
fifteen to sixteen hours."

He paused, knowing that the hard part was still ahead.  Sarah's mother 
hadn't moved.  Had barely even breathed.  His own breathing had sped so 
that he feared he was going to hyperventilate.  His throat was now so 
tight he could hardly swallow.  He closed his eyes for a moment and 
wished once again that his partner was with him.  He needed her so 
badly it was a physical pain that gripped his chest and sapped his 
will.  Left him shaking in despair.

He remembered back to something Scully once said.  The sooner we start, 
the sooner it'll be over.  It was true then and he knew it was true 
now.  No more putting this off.  He wiped at the sweat on his forehead 
and steeled himself to continue.

Almost forty minutes later, he pushed himself up out of the chair and 
walked over to Sarah's mother.  The woman was quiet now, her driving 
need to know extinguished, as she'd relived every horror that had been 
forced on her little girl.  He rested his hand on her shoulder and had 
started towards the kitchen when she grabbed it, squeezing tightly.  
Her words were simple but cut him to the quick.  

"Thank you."  

He could merely nod before stumbling towards the family room where 
Jason Canderfield still waited for him.  God, how could she thank him?  
It felt almost obscene.  He'd told her everything, every sick fact.  
Told her about every wound, every contusion, every horrible act 
perpetrated on the little girl.  His eyes clouded momentarily and he 
had to pause outside the room to rub at them.  He was filled with grief 
at the knowledge that this family would never be the same.  That there 
was another little girl, Sarah's big sister Morgan, who would never 
know the joy of sharing adolescent secrets with her sister.  He 
wondered if the family would survive or if they'd be torn apart as his 
own had been.  He prayed they'd find the way back towards some kind of 
stability and normality.

He moved into the kitchen, noting the refridgerator covered with 
children's artwork. There were two clay handprints on the wall next to 
the sink and his steps faltered when he saw the scrawl 'Sarah' under 
one of them.  He blinked hard and continued on, finally stepping down 
into the dimly lit family room.

Jason Canderfield was there, staring at a television that wasn't even 
turned on.  Mulder again raised his hand to his eyes and fought back 
the nearly overwhelming emotion that washed over him.  He had to keep 
it together for just a few more minutes.  Just another hour and he'd be 
out of here, out of this house and heading back to his files and 
reports.  His voice was rough when he was finally able to speak.

"Sir, I'm very sorry to bother you, but I wonder if we might talk for a 
little bit.  There were just a few details I needed to clarify for the 
official report."

The man nodded to him and Mulder again sat, this time on the vacant 
couch.  The police detectives and one of the Bureau team had already 
recorded the family's statements but there were just a few loose ends 
that still needed to be addressed.  Mulder knew his time would be 
better spent working on his profile, but it was still important and at 
least he could empathize with the family.  It was a draining 
experience, though, and the thirty minutes he spent trying to draw 
information out of Jason Canderfield were almost as trying as those 
spent providing information to Alexis.  

At the end of it, Mulder stood wearily and reached out to shake Jason 
Canderfield's hand.  The man was shell-shocked and it took a few 
seconds before he actually responded.  Mulder was filled with pity for 
the man.

"Thank you for your time, sir.  Again, I'm very sorry."

The man was only in his mid-thirties but looked to be much older.  
Mulder understood.  He'd seen it too many times before.  The grief, the 
shock, the guilt of losing a child had weighed heavily on Canderfield, 
and Mulder knew it would only get worse before it got better.  There 
was still one other person he had to speak with, and he steeled himself 
once more before asking the man in front of him for permission.

"Sir, I wonder if I might speak to Morgan for a few minutes?"

Canderfield's shoulders slumped even more and his head fell forward.  
Mulder again understood.  Not only was one daughter kidnapped, 
tortured, and killed, but the man couldn't even keep his other daughter 
safe from the trauma of being questioned by the FBI.  But regardless of 
the pity Mulder felt, he knew he still had to speak to the child.

"Sir, it's very important."

He waited for the nod, then gripped the man's shoulder briefly as he 
walked towards the staircase leading upstairs to the bedrooms.  He 
stopped partway up to look at the photos on the walls.  Pictures of the 
family in happier days covered both sides of the stairway.  One looked 
as if it might have been from the Christmas just past and showed Sarah 
and big sister Morgan sitting arm in arm in front of the Christmas 
tree, smiles incredibly wide, with wrapping paper, ribbon, and bows in 
a pile around them.  He forced himself to continue to the second floor 
and paused at the landing.

The soft strains of music wafted down the hallway.  He followed the 
sound to a closed door and paused for a moment before knocking.  There 
was a sign on the door, written in a childish scrawl, which clearly 
stated 'Sarah's Castle.'  He cleared his throat and steeled himself, 
then knocked lightly.

He swung the door open when he heard the little girl's voice and 
stopped at the threshold.  She was a pretty little girl, small for her 
age.  She had light brown hair and striking blue eyes, so pale they 
almost seemed transparent.  She stared at him, a serious expression 
dominating her features.  She was ten going on thirty.  He knew she'd 
lost a childhood innocence that could never be regained and he was 
filled with sorrow at the loss.

His voice was low and soft when he said, "Hello Morgan, my name's Fox.  
I'm an agent with the FBI."

She didn't move, didn't acknowledge him at all.  He took a single step 
into the room, eyes still on her and added, "I was just talking with 
your Dad and he said it would be okay if we talked for a few minutes.  
Is that all right with you?"

She nodded finally so he stepped farther into the room, then carefully 
lowered himself to the floor.  He looked around and knew that 
everything had been left exactly as Sarah had left it.  A pair of dress 
shoes lay discarded in the corner.  A set of tinker toys was scattered 
across the floor.  Toys were spilling out of the pink chest against the 
left wall.  A book was open on the bedside table.  Morgan sat on the 
foot of the bed, a doll clutched tightly in her arms.  She'd followed 
his every move but had made no movement of her own.

He crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knees.  He had to tread 
lightly.  He had no desire to instill even more pain into this little 
girl's life.

"Morgan, I'm very sorry about Sarah.  I know what it's like to lose a 
little sister.  I lost my sister Samantha when I was just a little 
older than you are now.  I know it hurts."

He watched as she pulled the doll even closer to her chest, her 
delicate fingers plucking at the material of the doll's dress 
nervously.

"I want to find out who took Sarah from you.  I want to punish him and 
make sure he can never hurt anyone again."

He watched the pale eyes close tight.  Watched as Morgan started 
rocking back and forth, back and forth.  This was a little girl who 
needed help, badly.  He closed his own eyes and listened as yet another 
song started on the tape player.  It was something fast and light, 
cheerful.  It seemed terribly wrong that it should be playing at such a 
time.  He looked at Morgan again and was surprised to find her staring 
at him, once again sitting still.  She spoke finally and her words 
filled him with despair.

"Are you going to make him suffer?  Will you torture him like he 
tortured Sarah?"

He schooled his expression into blankness, forced his voice to remain 
steady as he said, "I believe that everyone gets what they deserve 
eventually. "

"Do you believe in God?"

His breath hitched as he considered the question, unsure what the 
little girl was after, but not willing to put her off. He swallowed and 
licked his lips before answering, feeling terribly uneasy with the 
thrust of the conversation.

"I don't know.  I believe in Fate.  That things happen for a reason."

"I want to believe in God because if there's a God that means there's a 
Heaven and if there's a Heaven that means there's a Hell.  I want him 
to burn in Hell forever for what he's done to Sarah."

He nodded his head slowly, seriously.  Perhaps she was in better shape 
than he had thought.  At least this response was a healthy one, all 
things considered.

"For your sake -- and Sarah's -- so do I."

She returned his nod and then breathed heavily, her shoulders slumping 
as if weighed down heavily.  Her eyes were on the doll in her hands and 
he dropped his own eyes to look at it himself.  It looked like a 
mermaid doll, with long reddish hair.

"That's a pretty doll, Morgan.  What's her name?"

Morgan looked up at him, her forehead creased lightly and said, "It's 
Ariel."  She said it as if it were obvious, as if he should have known.  

He nodded slowly and she must have understood that he still didn't get 
the reference so she added,  as if to a slow-witted child, "From 'The 
Little Mermaid'."

Memories of reports of another Disney box-office smash flitted through 
his mind and he smiled.  He finally noticed the bedspread covered with 
mermaids and other characters.  Finally noticed the little figurines 
next to the book by the bed.  Finally put two and two together and 
recognized the song that was playing as one from the movie.  Morgan's 
soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Sarah was Ariel for Halloween."

He smiled, the image bittersweet.

"I bet she made a beautiful mermaid."

Morgan nodded seriously, then said in a quivering voice, "I yelled at 
her."

He held her eyes and willed her to believe what he said.  "That's what 
sisters are supposed to do.  It's part of being a family.  It doesn't 
mean you didn't love her.  And she knew that."

A tear slipped down her cheek and he fought an urge to go to her and 
wrap his arms around her.  He shifted his legs slightly, quietly, not 
wanting to disturb her thoughts.  The floor was a bit hard for such an 
extended discussion.  She sniffed loudly and wiped at the tears with 
the back of one hand.

"When the police came they asked me lots of questions."

He waited for a moment, expecting more, then realized she'd said 
enough.  She wanted to know what he wanted from her.

"Yes, they had to ask questions to try to find out what happened.  What 
people remembered -- especially Sarah's family.  I want to ask you some 
questions, too, if that's all right."

"So you can find him and punish him?"

His breath caught again as suddenly an image of little Sarah's mangled 
body came to him.  "Yes, so I can find him."  And he continued the 
thought silently, '... and punish him.'

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


Friday, 2:47 p.m.
Bureau Office, Richmond, Virginia


Mulder checked his watch and sighed.  Just thirteen minutes until the 
team meeting.  Thirteen minutes to try to make sense of this case.  
They expected a profile.  They expected him to waltz in and tell them 
who they were looking for.  Sex, age, employment status, what kind of 
car the UNSUB drove, whether he lived alone, had a wife, loved his 
mommy.  They expected a profile today, just as they expected one 
yesterday and the day before.  Hell, the ISU profilers were renowned 
for giving telephone profiles based on a fifteen-minute background of 
the case.  He'd now been on this case for four days.  Four fucking days 
and no profile.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on knees, covering his face 
with his hands.  After several haggard breaths he rubbed hard, as if he 
could rub understanding and enlightenment in, then dropped his hands 
away.  He clutched them between his legs and looked around the room, 
eyes focusing on the photos once again, as they had so many times over 
the past few days.

Sarah's was there on the end, her school picture and the wedding photo 
tacked right next to a crime scene photo.  The dichotomy was 
staggering.  It took his breath away and he stood, then walked closer 
to them.  What was the UNSUB looking for and did he find it when he 
kidnapped Sarah?  Had he found it when he'd kidnapped Andrew and Eliot 
and Donna?  When he'd tortured them and eventually killed them?  And if 
so, what was it?  What was the thing that tied these four victims 
together?  Or was it that there was nothing but the fact that they were 
in the wrong place at the wrong time, as with the DC Murders case so 
many years ago.  A desperate randomness to confuse and mislead.

He looked at his watch again and groaned.  Seven minutes.  Jesus, what 
was the point in delaying the inevitable.  He walked to the other side 
of the room and retrieved his jacket.  Pulled it on and jerked down the 
sleeves of his shirt.  It dawned on him then that he had no clean suits 
after this.  He looked at the pile of clothes in the corner and shook 
his head.  Oh well, this suit had another day of life at least.  Maybe 
he could get Scully to arrange for a courier to bring him some clothes 
from home.  He shook his head and grabbed his notepad, then headed out.  
The meeting was two floors up. Two floors and five minutes until D-day.

He was just reaching for the handle to the stairway door when he heard 
his name called.  He stopped and turned, then nodded as one of the team 
members jogged towards him.  It was an agent who'd just been assigned 
to the case the day before.  He searched his memory and came up with a 
name.

"Agent Friedman, what can I do for you?"

The man smiled at him and held something out.  Closer inspection 
revealed a cell phone and his stomach did a little flip at the sight.  
He looked up at Friedman in confusion.

Friedman was smiling as he spoke.  "I was in the conference room when 
it rang.  I answered it and it turned out to be Dana Scully.  We went 
to the Academy together.  Anyway, she asked if I'd make sure it was 
charged and you got it back so ... here it is."

Mulder could feel his face flush suddenly as he reached for it and 
wasn't exactly sure how to respond.  Friedman must have sensed it 
because he punched Mulder in the arm lightly and said, "Dana hasn't 
changed.  Always looking out for everyone else.  Anyway, she wanted me 
to ask you to call her when you got the chance."

Mulder nodded and slipped the phone into his suit pocket.

"Thank you, Agent Friedman, I appreciate your taking the time."

Friedman opened the stairwell door and gestured for Mulder to go first.  
"No problem.  Listen, call me Jerry.  And tell Dana I said 'hi' when 
you talk to her."

"Sure."

"So, how long have you two been partners?"

Mulder glanced over and decided there was only sincere interest behind 
the question.

"Almost six years now."

"Wow.  I had no idea.  So why isn't she here?"

Mulder sighed as he made another turn to the next landing.  "Excellent 
question, Jerry.  I wish I knew."

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


Friday, 5:12 p.m.
FBI Lab, Quantico, Virginia


Dana looked at her watch once more and sighed.  She knew the team 
meeting started at three so it was quite possibly still going on.  Oh 
well, she'd catch up with him sometime tonight.  She hung her lab coat 
on a hook and grabbed her briefcase and purse.  Time to go home.  

She was just flicking off the lights when her cell phone rang.  She had 
it out and open before the third ring and answered breathlessly.

"Scully."

"Hey, it's me."

She was flooded with relief and took a moment to answer.

"Hey.  How's it going?"

She heard a thud at the other end and imagined something dropped onto a 
table.  There was a squeak and rustling then and she figured he'd sat 
down.  He still hadn't answered and she was beginning to wonder if he'd 
heard her.  His voice was strained when he finally spoke.

"Not very well, actually."

She was shocked at the admission.  She moved to a chair and pulled it 
out, dropping her briefcase and purse onto a table.

"Why?  What's wrong?"

His sigh was heavy and obviously troubled.

"I can't ... I can't figure this one out."

His candid confession scared her more than anything else could have.  
Her mouth went dry and she raised her free hand to her neck, her 
fingers reaching for her cross without even realizing it.  Her partner 
was speaking in a frightening monotone.  

"I can't come up with a profile.  This case defies categorization of 
any kind.  He or they -- whatever.  He's going to kill again and again.  
Our only chance of catching him will be if he makes a mistake."

His voice cracked on the last word and then the silence stretched long.  
She heard a rustling at the other end of the phone and wondered what he 
was doing.  How he was dealing with the frustration.  

"Scully, I had to tell the team that today.  I had to tell them I 
couldn't come up with a profile.  I don't think they understood."

The monotone was gone now, the barricade breached, the walls crumbling.  

"Scully, no one could do this.  No one could profile this bastard.  
It's as if ..."

She swiped at a tear angrily and said, "What, Mulder?  As if what?"

The rasp of his voice cut like a knife.

"It's like he knows all the rules, knows all our categorizations, and 
is intentionally trying to confuse us.  Like it's all planned.  It's 
like the DC Murders case.  I swear it is."

His voice had dropped off towards the end so she could barely hear him.

"What case?  What case is it like?  I didn't hear you."

The silence was unbroken except for their breathing.  There was a 
rhythm to the silence, just as there was a rhythm to their friendship.  

"Mulder, what case is it like?"

He was withdrawn and distant when he answered. 

"It's nothing, Scully.  Never mind."

She heard him draw a shuddering breath and then he continued.  "Look, I 
have a favor to ask."

She pursed her lips and decided to let it pass for now.  "Yeah?"

"Could you maybe go to my apartment and get some clean clothes for me?  
I pretty much need everything.  I'll have one of the secretaries here 
arrange for transportation.  I'll give them your cell number, if that's 
okay."

"Sure, Mulder.  No problem."

She heard him exhale almost explosively, then he said, "Thanks, 
Scully."

She couldn't help taking a little jab at him, though. "You know you 
could have your things brought to the dry cleaners."

She heard a soft chuckle before he responded.  "That's the second line 
of defense. I'll arrange it first thing on Monday."

The silence dragged again, neither of them willing to let the other go 
yet.  She spoke finally, her voice filled with feeling.

"I miss you, Mulder."

She could imagine the smile.  Imagine the cloud pulling back just 
slightly.

"I miss you, too, Scully."

And then she was left with a click and the accompanying buzz that 
signaled the end of the call.  It took her several minutes to gather 
enough energy to stand and collect her things once more to leave.

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


Friday, 9:36 p.m.
Bureau Gym, Richmond, Virginia


The slap-slap of his feet on the track, the swoosh of his shirt every 
time his arms swung, the sharp intake and exhale of his breath.  These 
were the only sounds in the gym at this time of night.  Mulder 
stretched his gait further, pushing harder during the last lap.  When 
he came around to where he'd started some four miles ago, he dropped to 
a slow jog and eventually slowed to a walk.  He shook his arms and 
concentrated on bringing his breathing back to something approaching 
normal.  He stopped by the towel he'd left by the entrance and picked 
it up, running it over his face and arms.  He was dripping with sweat 
and realized just how long it had been since he'd exercised -- way the 
hell too long.

He shook his head and walked a bit more, then leaned over, hands on 
knees.  It was taking too long to come back down from the run.  He was 
starting to get out of shape.  It had felt good, though.  He'd managed 
to clear his head and was ready to tackle the case again with fresher 
eyes.  There was a solution there somewhere, he just had to find the 
key.

A half-hour later, showered and dressed in clean sweats, he opened the 
conference room door and was assaulted by the smells of hot food.  What 
the hell?  There was a box sitting on the table, several bags nestled 
inside.  He leaned over and withdrew a note.


Mulder,
Figured you could use some real food for a change.
Hope you like Chinese.  See you tomorrow.
Jerry


Huh!  Either the guy was being sincerely nice or he was trying to get 
on Scully's good side.  Mulder smiled and decided either way, he was 
benefiting, so what the hell.  He threw his dirty clothes in a corner, 
not even looking to see whether they made it all the way, and started 
pulling out cartons.  His stomach growled loudly and he realized then 
just how hungry he was.

"Jerry old pal, I owe you one."

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

Two hours later, he sat with files spread across the table, arranged by 
victim from left to right.  On the wall on the far side of the table 
were the photos of victims and crime scenes.  He stood slightly bent 
over, with arms propped on the edge of the table, gaze moving from 
written word in the files to the photos on the wall.  He straightened 
and moved back to lean against the near wall, then closed his eyes.

Out loud he began reciting facts, as if to an audience.

"Victim 1, seventy-two year old black female, Donna Wilcox, widowed, 
taken from her home between 1 and 6 a.m.  Drugged.  Phone call received 
by 911 from self-declared kidnapper at 6:03 a.m.  Police verify 
abduction by 7 a.m.  Victim's body found the next morning following a 
second phone call to 911 at 6:21 a.m.  Both calls made from diverse 
locations, public phones, voice distortion equipment used.  No prints, 
no witnesses, no forensic evidence.  Victim beaten, tortured, 
eventually shot."

He took a deep breath and shifted his weight slightly, eyes still 
closed.

"Victim 2, thirty-three year old white male, Eliot Rosen, married, two 
children, taken from parking garage at work, approximately 7 p.m.  
Drugged.  Phone call received by 911 from self-declared kidnapper at 
7:32 p.m.  Police verify abduction by 8:30 p.m.  Phone call to 911 the 
following day at 7:48 p.m.  Police find victim within the hour.  Same 
procedure on phone calls.  Victim beaten, tortured, knifed to death.  
No prints, no witnesses, no forensic evidence."

He raised his left hand to his face and rubbed at his eyes.  Drew his 
hand down over his face wearily, letting it drop back to his side.

"Victim 3, fifty-one year old Hispanic male, Andrew Alvazedo, divorced, 
no children, taken from home, between 11 p.m. and 3 a.m.  Drugged.  
Phone call received by 911 operator at 3:05 a.m.  Police verify by 3:45 
a.m.  Phone call next morning at 3:31 a.m.  Victim found by 4 a.m., 
beaten, tortured, drowned in fresh water.  No prints, no witnesses, no 
forensic evidence."

He drew in a shaky breath and opened his eyes, turned his head to the 
right where Sarah's school picture was tacked on the wall.  

"Victim 4, seven year old white female, Sarah Canderfield."

He couldn't speak for a moment as he thought of the life extinguished 
before it had really even begun.  His fists curled tightly almost of 
their own accord and he had to force his hands open.  He laid them flat 
against the wall before continuing.

"Taken from a public park, between 5 and 5:30 p.m., with her entire 
Brownie troop nearby.  Drugged.  Phone call to 911 operator at 5:37 
p.m., verified by 6 p.m.  Phone call received next day at 6:02 p.m.  
Victim found within the hour, ligature strangulation.  No prints, no 
witnesses, no fucking forensic evidence."

He stood, hands flat against the wall, low at his sides, allowing the 
silence to surround him.  His breathing stilled finally and he opened 
his eyes.  Pushed himself away from the wall and sank into a chair 
slowly, tiredly.  He pulled over a pad of paper and pen and began his 
list, as he had so many times over the past several days.  For some 
reason, though, the image was clearer in his mind than it had been 
before.  He was surer than ever that this was a single assailant.  He 
couldn't point to any particular event or piece of data that had 
convinced him but he was sure now.  It simply felt right.


Challenge offered to police.  Game player.  Hunter?
Twenty-four hour grace period given before victim killed.
Smart.  Cocky.  Careful.
Leaves no evidence.  Knows procedures?
Previous record?  Doubtful.
Moves quickly.  Mobile.  
Blends in.  Not noticeable.  Uniform?
Steals transport vehicle - no witnesses.
Strong.  Can move 200-lb. man.
Access to prescription medication.  Drugs victims.
Kidnaps outside of work hours.  Has job?
Motivation?  No sexual assault.  Show superiority?
Flaunts authority.  


An image was finally beginning to form of a big man, strong, finally 
succumbing to violent urges due to some precipitating stressor out of 
his control -- a lost job, a failed marriage, an unnatural death in the 
family.  The UNSUB was spitting in the eye of the police establishment, 
an entity with which he himself might be affiliated.  The man didn't 
care about his victims -- about who he or she was -- because it didn't 
matter.  The victim was merely a means to an end.  Merely the physical 
embodiment of that which frustrated and angered him.  The victim 
existed for him solely to provide for his release.  To be beaten, 
tortured, and killed so that he might feel his superiority and have the 
opportunity to flaunt it to the world.  The UNSUB knew enough about 
evidence gathering to prevent leaving anything useful that could be 
used to identify him.  He was able to blend in so effectively that not 
one person noticed him.  Not when placing 8 different phone calls from 
public phones, not when kidnapping Eliot Rosen from a busy parking 
garage, not even when kidnapping little Sarah within earshot of her 
friends and den mother in the Brownie troop.

Mulder wrote his notes on the pad in front of him, almost frantic to 
get it down while he thought of it all.  His understanding of the UNSUB 
was growing with every second now, the image so clear he could 
practically see the man standing in front of him.  His hand was 
starting to cramp by the end of an intense ten minutes, when he set the 
pen down and reread his notes.  It was a start.  He needed to flesh it 
out before the team meeting in the morning, but it was finally 
something concrete that he had faith in.  The other thing he had faith 
in was that the UNSUB was escalating.   It was obvious after Sarah was 
taken, a mere week after Andrew Alvazedo.  And it could happen any time 
now -- any minute.  Most likely at night.  And it would be another 
child, he was sure of it. The ultimate demonstration of superiority -- 
robbing a small child from the sanctity of its bed, right from under 
the watchful eyes of his or her loving parents.  

He pushed back from the table and stood shakily.  He was exhausted.  He 
looked at his watch and saw that it was well after one in the morning.  
He had to get some sleep tonight if he were going to be of any good to 
that child when it counted.  He cracked open the conference room door, 
then flicked off the overhead light.  After making his way to the couch 
he almost collapsed on it, his body sending definite signals that it 
needed rest.  But his mind was sending very different signals.  It was 
racing, flitting from one thought to another.  He couldn't turn it off.  
Couldn't slow it down.  

After ten minutes, he pulled himself up and reached for the phone next 
to the couch, then dialed a familiar number.  He laid back down again, 
cradling the phone partly on the pillow, and closed his eyes.  Her 
voice answered, slurred with sleepiness, and he smiled at the 
familiarity of it.  Almost cried at the awareness of the distance 
between them.

"Mmmm.   H'lo.  Scully."

"It's me.  You awake?"

He could hear a rustle and knew she'd just sat up.  Was probably 
rubbing her face, pushing her hair out of her eyes.  Turning to the 
clock to read the time.

"Yeah, I am now.  Mulder, what time is it?"

He smiled again and said, "It's around 1:30 or so.  Sorry to wake you."

"That's okay.  What's wrong?  Why aren't you sleeping?"

Trust Scully to jump right to the nitty gritty.

"Haven't been able to.  I'm understanding him now.  I have a handle on 
him.  He's going to grab someone soon.  Either tonight or tomorrow 
night."

His voice wavered and he was frustrated at the lack of control.

"Scully, it'll be another child.  I know it will."

He couldn't mask the desolation.  Couldn't pretend he wasn't feeling 
it.  Not to Scully.

"God, Mulder.  I'm so sorry."

Her words didn't make a lot of sense, but they helped somehow.  Just 
knowing that she cared enough about him to feel his pain, to want to 
help with it.  He sniffed, then cleared his throat.  It was so tight 
suddenly he could barely breathe.  He wished she were with him, right 
next to him.  He wanted her there so badly it almost hurt.  The most he 
could manage was a hoarse whisper when he spoke.

"Scully, I'm so tired."

He could tell that her own voice was on the verge of tears when she 
replied. "I know Mulder.  I know you are.  You have to sleep.  There's 
nothing you can do right now.  You have to clear your mind.  
Concentrate on an old case.  Something we worked together.  Think about 
..."

There was silence for a few seconds as she thought about it.

"Mulder, you remember the circus case?  Think about that and about all 
the crazy characters we met."

A smile lit his face once more as he remembered his partner sticking a 
cricket in her mouth - or pretending to.  

"Mulder, I'm coming down tomorrow.  I picked up some of your things, 
enough to get you through most of next week.  I don't have anything 
else to do this weekend, so I figured I might as well be your clothes 
courier."

She'd been rushing through her explanation as if she were expecting him 
to object, but he wasn't going to.  Not in a million years.  His heart 
had fluttered as soon as she'd said it and he was filled once again 
with the desire to see her face.  To speak with her.  Just to sit next 
to her.  The smile was there again, on his face.  That dorky smile he 
knew appeared whenever he thought about her.  Whenever he thought about 
how much he cherished her friendship.  

He cleared his throat again and rolled onto his right side, wrapping 
his left arm around his chest tightly. 

"Thanks, Scully."

"No problem.  Close your eyes, Mulder.  Sleep.  I'll see you in the 
morning."

He nodded, as if she were there with him, and reached awkwardly over 
his head to drop the phone in its cradle.  He was still smiling, 
thinking about tattooed geeks and nerveless blockheads when he drifted 
off to sleep five minutes later.

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


Saturday, 3:48 a.m.
Bureau Office, Richmond, Virginia


The neighborhood was dark as Mulder walked down the quiet tree-lined 
street.  Occasional street lamps shone their light on the rows of 
suburban homes.  He looked to the left and saw the open door.  It was a 
pit of absolute blackness in the murky dark, a black hole that pulled 
him towards it.  He walked slowly, fighting the feeling of doom that 
rose up in him with every step.  He wanted to turn away.  Wanted to 
run, but the open doorway beckoned.

The steps were slick with a coat of water from the earlier rain.  Beads 
of water still dropped from the porch overhang -- the splats providing 
the only sound in or around the house.  He crossed the porch and 
paused, holding his breath, listening for more.  Hoping for the joyful 
sound of laughter, or even the angry sounds of an argument.  Anything 
at all that would signal that all was normal.  But there was nothing.  
Nothing at all, and the utter absence of sound was terrifying.

He exhaled almost explosively and raised his hand to wipe at the sweat 
on his face.  His heart was beating so loudly now that he thought it a 
miracle no one else heard it.  That no one came to investigate.  And 
now he feared there was no one alive in the house to hear it.

He stepped over the threshold and stood in silence, waiting for his 
eyes to adjust to the darkness inside.  Gradually, the murky outline of 
furniture became clear and he stepped forward.  Looked to the right and 
saw the toys.  A plastic Fischer-Price lawnmower and a rocking horse 
were in the middle of the living room floor.  He felt his breath catch 
and looked to the left.  The dining room was spotless, pristine, except 
for a little boot, lying haphazardly on its side by a chair.

He wiped at his face again and looked up the stairs.  There was a sound 
now.  It hadn't been there before, he was sure, but now there was a 
creaking.  It was cyclic, sounding out every few seconds.  Creak, 
nothing, creak, nothing.

He grabbed the rail with his left hand and started up the stairs.  The 
sense of foreboding increased and became almost overwhelming so that he 
stopped on the last stair, as if not taking the final step to the 
landing would stave off whatever disaster awaited him.  Awaited the 
household.

His breathing was harsh now, uncontrollable.  He closed his eyes 
tightly for a long moment, and had to shake his head to attempt some 
composure.  He took the step then, and turned to the right.  All the 
doors were closed but one, at the far end, and it again beckoned to 
him.  Taunted him.  Daring him to enter and challenging him not to.

He moved as if in a trance, unable to avoid the call.  The creak, creak 
was still there, coming from the far room and it seemed as if the 
hallway stretched out before him, making his journey long.  But then he 
was there, just a step away and he froze, unsure whether he could make 
it to the end.  

The darkness weighed on him, choked him so that he could barely take in 
a breath.  His feet were leaden as he finally entered the room. There 
was a soft light to the right, a nightlight, but it wasn't enough to 
allow him to see.  He reached his right hand out to the wall to feel 
for a switch and found it after a moment's search.  He flicked it on 
then, bathing the room in light.

And the blood was everywhere.  It coated the walls in stripes and 
colored the sheets of the toddler bed.  It dripped to the floor and 
soaked the rug in a dark puddle.  And the mother in the rocker cried 
softly, her arms empty and open wide, her eyes beseeching and 
reproachful.  And she asked him with an agonized voice, "Why?"

Mulder jerked upright, his eyes searching his surroundings frantically, 
trying to make sense of what he was seeing.  Trying to remember where 
he was and why.  It came to him then, flooded through him, and left him 
shaking with the knowledge that his dream could be true, even now.  His 
heart pounded and the sweat dripped down his face, his neck.  His hands 
reached out as if he were a blind man seeking something he'd lost.  He 
could still see the woman, sitting there, looking right at him.  He 
closed his eyes and she was still there, accusing him with her silent 
stare.  The sound of his ragged breathing cut through the room and 
bounced off the walls.  He was impotent, lost.  He didn't know what to 
do.  He needed Scully.  She'd know.  He wanted her there with him so 
badly.  The desire sliced through him and he wasn't even aware when he 
called her name out into the darkness.

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

End Part 1 of ?

*******************************************
Ascent to Hell - Part 2 of ? (2/?)
by Kronos (kronos1@adelphia.net)
*******************************************

Saturday, 3:56 a.m.
Washington D.C., Dana Scully Residence


The harsh ringing woke her once more, but this time she was immediately 
alert, her mind sharp when she answered.  She already knew who it was.

"Mulder?"

His ragged breathing sent her heart racing as she struggled to 
understand what could have happened in the last couple hours.

"Mulder, are you all right? What's happened?"

His words came in a rush, almost jumbled as they fell over one another. 

"Scully, he's going to do it again and I can't prevent it.  I know him 
now, I know what he wants and what he does.  I know, but it doesn't 
matter because he'll take whoever's convenient.  It doesn't matter to 
him except it'll be a baby, Scully, just a baby, and I can't stop it.  
He's probably already found the one, probably followed the mother from 
the store or from day care.  He's found the house and he'll do it soon.  
He'll take the baby just to show he can, to rub our faces in it.  And 
he'll torture it, Scully.  Oh God, he'll do what he's done to the 
others.  He's getting ready right now, I know it.  It's like the DC 
Murders case.  He's confusing us on purpose, just like then.  God, 
Scully, the blood was everywhere, it was everywhere and the mother was 
lost.  She was so lost."

She could barely breathe herself and fought to keep calm.  She had to 
say his name several times to get his attention -- to stop him from his 
almost rambling litany.  

"Listen to me, Mulder.  Stop and listen.  Mulder, you had a dream, 
right?  You dreamt that a baby was taken but it was just a dream."  She 
was up now and moving about the room, as she spoke to him.  She 
balanced the phone on her shoulder as she set out to gather clothes.  
"No baby's been taken, Mulder.  Not yet anyway.  They would have called 
if one had been.  But Mulder, even if a baby has been taken, it's not 
your fault and you couldn't have prevented it.  No one can prevent it.  
Do you hear me, Mulder?  Are you listening to me?"

She could tell he'd calmed somewhat and knew that he'd been only partly 
awake when he called her.  "You there, Mulder?"  She had struggled to 
pull jeans and a sweater on and was reaching for her socks and tennis 
shoes, juggling the phone from one shoulder to another, when he 
responded finally.

"Yeah.  Yeah, I'm here."

She could hear the embarrassment in his voice and knew what was coming 
before he said it.

"God, Scully, I'm sorry for waking you.  I don't know what I was 
thinking.  I'm an idiot.  I'm sorry.  Go back to bed, okay?"

"Mulder, you know you can call me any time.  You know that, right?  
This is a horrific case and you shouldn't be there by yourself.  I wish 
I were there to help.  I will be soon, if only for a short time.  Okay?  
Just hang on for a bit longer."

She knew she was offering empty promises.  She'd visit for a few hours, 
help in any way she could, then she'd be back in DC and he'd still be 
there by himself.  This situation was untenable.  There had to be a 
solution.  A way out, for both of them.

"It's okay.  I'm okay.  Look, go back to sleep, Scully.  I'll see you 
later today."

And while her heart was heavy with dread, she knew she had no choice 
but to agree.  "All right, Mulder.  Soon."

She hung up the phone, and sat in the stillness.  She closed her eyes 
and gathered her thoughts and determination.  Time to move, Dana.  She 
reached down and slipped on her tennis shoes quickly, then stood.  
Grabbed her weapon and identification and pulled on a jacket, then 
unplugged her cell phone from the recharger and pocketed her keys.  
Time to head out.

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


Saturday, 4:42 a.m.
Washington D.C., Walter Skinner Residence


Walter Skinner jerked awake and fumbled for the alarm.  It kept 
buzzing, over and over.  No matter what button he hit on the damned 
thing, it kept buzzing.  Then it dawned on him that it wasn't his alarm 
at all, but the phone.  He grabbed at the handset and answered in a 
fuzzy voice.  "Skinner."

He cringed slightly when he recognized the voice at the other end.  
This couldn't be good.

"Sir, I'm sorry to bother you so early, but it's very important."

He heard a groan and then realized it came from him.  Not very 
professional, Walter.

"Agent Scully, what can I do for you at ..."

He fumbled for his glasses and looked at the clock by his bed.  Then he 
groaned again and continued, "...almost 4:45 in the morning."

"Sir, I am sorry, but I really need to speak to you."

"Agent Scully, I've explained this to you before.  We are not to have 
contact.  I am no longer your supervisor.  You need to work through AD 
Kersh."

"Sir, with all due respect, AD Kersh is trying his hardest to drive 
Mulder out of the Bureau and might just kill him in the process."

Well, that was an eye opener, to be sure.  He sighed and sat up, 
flicking on the light in the process.  He raised his left hand to his 
face and pinched the bridge of his nose, then rubbed his eyes.  He 
couldn't help himself.  He knew he had to see her.  "Where are you, 
Scully?"

"Outside your apartment building."

He grinned slightly and stifled a chuckle.  Tenacious, was Dana Scully.  
He sighed again, shook his head to himself, then said, "Give me five 
minutes.  I'll let the doorman know you're coming."

He could hear the relief in her voice when she said, "Thank you, sir."

Five minutes later, he headed for the door in jeans and a long sleeved 
tee shirt.  He ran a hand over his head then reached for the knob just 
a moment before the knock came.  He swung it open and stepped back, 
then gestured for her to enter.  She looked stressed -- and very tired.  
He couldn't help sighing yet again.  Jesus, this was killing him.

He walked over to a chair and sank into it, waiting as she settled onto 
the couch.  "So, what's going on?"

She was sitting on the very edge of the couch, tense and rigid.  "Sir, 
you may have heard that Mulder and I have been assigned to background 
checks and ... fertilizer detail.  But over the past two months, AD 
Kersh has made assignments that have resulted in Agent Mulder and 
myself being separated for up to weeks at a time.  And now -- Agent 
Mulder has been working the Richmond murder case for the past week, 
while I've been loaned out to the Quantico labs.  Sir ..."

He knew suddenly where this was heading and could understand her 
concern.  He'd shielded Mulder as best he could as the man's 
supervisor, especially after the Mostow case, and now it seemed the 
agent's skill at profiling was being used against him.  He leaned 
forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped between them, as she continued. 

"I believe AD Kersh has given the SAC instructions to push him.  Kersh 
is trying to drive him to quit and I'm afraid ..."

He could see her hesitate and took advantage of the temporary lull.  
"How's he doing?"

She seemed to collapse even as he watched -- to grow smaller before his 
eyes.  "Not well, sir.  I'm going there now."  As if to add some levity 
to the discussion she added,  "He ran out of clothes so I'm 
replenishing the stock."

A small smile crossed her face in a flash and he could imagine the 
turmoil behind the facade.  "I haven't been keeping up with the case, 
Scully.  I didn't know.  I'm sorry."

He pushed himself up off the chair and walked over to the balcony 
doors.  It was still dark outside, with an hour or more to go before 
sunrise.  He leaned on the door jam for a moment, lost in thought, then 
pushed himself back.  When he turned, Scully hadn't moved, except to 
lean forward slightly.  She looked lost.

He strode back towards her, more frustrated than ever.  He stopped in 
front of her, a few feet away and waited for her to look up at him.  
"Scully, I don't know what I can do.  My hands are basically tied.  I 
have no control over you and Mulder anymore and no influence over your 
assignments."

Her eyes dropped again and he could sense the defeat that had taken 
residence, threatening to overwhelm.

He dropped into a crouch before her and grabbed a hand for just a 
second to get her attention.  His voice was soft when he said, "Tell me 
a way that I can help and I'll do it.  What can I do, Scully?"

She was looking at him again, her forehead creased, her eyes glistening 
with unshed tears.  She shook her head just once and said softly, "I 
don't know.  I'm not sure why I came here, sir, I just .. I didn't know 
where else to turn."

He moved to the couch then and sank next to her wearily.  It had taken 
a long time to gain her trust and a small part of him was pleased by 
her words.  Still, the thought of Mulder being driven to perform his 
magic with no moral support, with no one to look after his interests 
and emotional well-being, was disturbing.  A fleeting memory of the 
younger man's face following the capture of Patterson several years ago 
came to him.  His agent's expression had seemed professionally blank at 
first until closer inspection revealed the tremor at the corner of his 
mouth, the eyes that held a wildness that couldn't be masked.  The 
occasional stumbling steps and shaking hands denoted a physical 
exhaustion suggesting imminent collapse.  It had taken a week of 
continuous harassment by his partner to take it easy and enforced mild 
assignments from Skinner himself before Mulder had started to seem more 
like himself.

It almost surprised him when she spoke again, breaking his reverie.

"I guess I hoped you'd know what to do.  All I know is that we can't go 
on like this.  Mulder can't.  The assignments have been much worse for 
him than for me.  This case ..."

She turned away from him and was now staring across the room, mouth 
open slightly, breathing heavily.  He reached for her hand again, 
holding on a bit longer this time, and waited until she turned back to 
him.

"What, Scully?  What about this case?"

She shook her head and licked her lips, almost nervously.  Her eyes 
were intent on his as she continued.

"I have no idea whether he's been eating or sleeping.  I've gotten 
calls from him at all hours.  The little sleep he has gotten has been 
on the couch in the command center.  In addition to pushing him for a 
profile that he's had an extremely hard time developing, the SAC's had 
him taking victim statements.  And ... I was told he was assigned to 
answer the parents' questions about what the assailant did to the 
little girl."

Skinner had to fight to keep from grinding his teeth.  "That's crazy.  
Richmond PD has a victim support unit with people trained to do that."

She merely looked over at him knowingly and shook her head again before 
continuing.  "This morning -- an hour or so ago -- he called, half 
asleep, just awake from a dream."  She gave a snort, harsh and short 
and said, "He sounded so ..."  Her voice dropped off again and he could 
tell she was lost in the remembrance.  

He was filled with anger suddenly.  An anger so sharp that his nostrils 
flared and eyes narrowed.  Damn the men who would allow the waste of 
such talents.  Who would sanction the unconscionable abuse of the 
government's power and resources in this way.  He sensed movement and 
turned to look at Scully again.  She appeared almost frightened and he 
realized that his anger must have taken on a life of its own and 
alerted her to its presence.  He softened immediately at the awareness 
and did something so uncharacteristic that it probably shocked him more 
than it did his former agent.  He put his arm around her and hugged her 
for a moment, saying, "We'll figure something out, Scully.  There has 
to be a way."

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


Saturday, 5:49 a.m.
Southwest of Washington D.C.


The sky was beginning to lighten, and Scully's heart felt easier at the 
knowledge that the sun would still rise in the morning and would set 
again this evening.  Few things in life were as reliable.  She glanced 
toward the passenger seat, making sure the cell phone was still ready 
to grab.  It was just a feeling, a hunch, but somehow she knew Mulder 
was right and another child would be taken or already had been.  She 
shuddered slightly, almost physically ill at the thought, and prayed 
that for once, Mulder would be proven wrong.

She glanced at her watch and for a moment only regretted the time lost 
while at AD Skinner's, but then she was filled with warmth at the 
knowledge that she and Mulder had a friend who would help them in any 
way possible.  Now they had to be creative enough to figure out how to 
make use of Skinner's good will.

The trill of the phone sent a shiver down her spine as she reached out 
her right hand to feel for it.  She flipped it open and barely managed 
to say her name before her partner began speaking.

"It's me.  I'm at the Rossbacher's now, where their three year old son, 
Christian, was taken from his bed sometime between 4:45 and 5:15.  The 
bastard called 911 at 5:23 to gloat."  He'd said it with no inflection, 
seemingly no emotion whatsoever, but she knew he was in turmoil.

"I'm on the way, Mulder.  I'll be there soon.  Will you be at the crime 
scene or the Bureau?"  She glanced at her watch then checked the 
dashboard clock.  She stepped on the accelerator even more and almost 
missed his answer.  "What?  What did you say, Mulder?"

"I'm not sure.  Give me a call when you get close."

"All right, I will."

The silence hung then, as it had so many times over the past week.  She 
didn't want to hang up, feeling that if she did, he'd be lost to her.  
It was ridiculous, silly even, but she couldn't shake the feeling.

"Gotta go, Scully.  See you soon."  His voice was again filled with 
longing and she could only nod into the dark as he disconnected.

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


Saturday, 6:37 a.m.
Washington D.C. Ronald Reagan National Airport


Skinner had heard it on the news not long after Scully left and knew he 
couldn't sit idly by any longer.  He'd taken a glance at his gym bag 
and decided he could work out any time.  It had been the high point of 
his weekend plans and getting away for a while would probably be a 
blessing in disguise, especially if he could help out Mulder in some 
way.

He glanced at the display, then slung his bag over his shoulder and 
headed for his gate.  He'd be close on Scully's heels at this rate.

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


Saturday, 7:32 a.m.
Richmond, Virginia, Rossbacher Residence


Mulder gradually became aware of a presence close by and turned 
slightly to see Jerry Friedman hovering to his right, watching him 
closely with what seemed like concern.  Instead of being annoyed, he 
was filled with appreciation and summoned up a tired smile.  He looked 
straight again and felt a chill at the sight of the empty red and green 
plastic toddler bed in the corner, stuffed animals lining three of the 
sides.  It was so similar to the one in his dream he could almost see 
the blood, even though he knew it wasn't really there.  And it was a 
mirror image of little Kevin's room all those years ago.  Jeez, first 
Lorri Kiley haunted his dreams and now Kevin Fletcher.

He closed his eyes and shook off the almost overwhelming dread that 
caused his hands to shake and his knees to weaken.  The last thing he 
needed now was to get lost in the details of the DC Murders case.  
There were haunting similarities, but also striking differences.  He 
sighed and glanced around at the various people milling about.

He'd been standing in the center of the room for some time and knew it 
was making the team nervous.  The forensics people flowed around him, 
evidently unwilling to ask him to move.  He wanted them all to leave.  
To just let him stand in silence.  He wanted the immersion in the 
victim's environment.  He needed it.  He sighed and turned to the man 
behind him once again.

"Jerry, could you clear the room for me as soon as possible?  Just for 
a few minutes?"

The agent merely nodded and headed off to the leader of the evidence 
gathering team.  Mulder was aware of a short but heated conversation 
and then heard the sharp command of the team leader to wrap things up 
quickly.  Men and women started leaving, one by one, until there was 
only Jerry left.  The other agent said, "I'll be downstairs.  Let me 
know if you need anything."

He didn't respond, already focusing on the rocking chair in the corner.  
He moved slowly towards it and reached out to caress the arm.  He sat 
in it then and leaned back, closing his eyes.  He rocked slowly and the 
chair made a sound with every move -- a creak, creak, creak that filled 
the stillness.  

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

Dana knew she'd found the right neighborhood when she spotted the 
flashing lights and news vans.  She drove to the barricade and pulled 
out her badge, partly surprised when she was waved in so easily.  She 
got as close to the house as she could and then parked.  It was a zoo.

She approached the house and flashed her badge once more, saying, "I 
was told to meet Agent Mulder here."  The police officer stared at her 
in silence for a moment, looked down at her badge suspiciously, then 
looked back at her, sweeping his eyes over her from head to foot.  She 
realized then that she was still dressed in her jeans and sweater.  She 
was wearing tennis shoes, for God's sake. She felt the flush but 
ignored it, saying in her most professional voice, "Is there some 
problem, officer?"

The young man stood straighter, but still hesitated.  Then she heard a 
familiar voice saying, "Dana, is that you?"

She turned and looked behind the officer at the door to see Jerry 
Friedman walking her way.  She smiled at him, even as she grabbed her 
identification out of the officer's hands and pushed her way past him.  
"Hi Jerry, it's good to see you again."

Her old classmate grabbed her hands and leaned down to kiss her on the 
cheek.  "Good to see you, too.  I didn't know you were coming, Dana."

"Just decided this morning.  I was already en route when Mulder called 
to tell me about this latest kidnapping."

They walked further into the house and stopped in the living room.  She 
looked around at the mass of bodies, wondering just where her partner 
was.  

As if reading her mind, Jerry said, "He's upstairs in the victim's 
room.  He wanted some time alone."

She nodded slowly and raised her eyes to his face.  Jerry looked as if 
he were worried, or at least concerned.  She licked her lips and drew 
in a deep breath before asking, "How long has he been there?"

"About fifteen minutes or so."

She nodded and turned to the stairs without a word.  Jerry would 
understand.

As she approached the landing she was sure she heard a noise.  There 
was a creaking coming from the end of the hall to the right.  She moved 
in that direction and stopped in front of the open door, taking in the 
sight of the room and her partner inside.

He was in a rocking chair in the far corner, rocking slowly even while 
hunched forward with his hands clasped in his lap.  He was staring 
straight at her, but she knew he wasn't actually seeing her.  She'd 
seen the look he wore now after the Roche case, and her throat 
tightened in fear and apprehension.

She moved straight towards him until she was only a foot or two away, 
then knelt in front of him, taking his hands in hers.  His face was 
gaunt and unshaved, the weariness painting a paleness that stood out 
starkly against the dark hair that fell limply on his forehead.  He was 
staring right through her and she watched as his eyes gradually focused 
on her.  They filled with tears suddenly and he gasped.  He'd finally 
figured out what he was looking at.

"Scully?"  It was said tremulously, almost in disbelief.  

"Yeah, Mulder, it's me."

She knew he wasn't aware of the tears that fell down his face.  She 
moved forward and wrapped her arms around him gently, as if he were 
breakable.  She could feel him tense at first and then relax into the 
embrace.  He grabbed her tightly then and she could feel his face 
pushed hard against her shoulder.  He was trembling, whether in 
exhaustion or because of overwhelming emotion she wasn't sure.  She 
turned just enough to kiss his forehead lightly, wanting him to know 
that she was there and he wasn't alone.  She rested her chin firmly on 
the top of his head then and waited, letting him set the pace.

After only a minute, she felt him pull away and dropped her arms, but 
she took his left hand in her right, unwilling to cut off all contact.  
He allowed the gesture, even while he raised his right hand to rub at 
his face and wipe at the tears that remained.  She watched him take a 
shaky breath and he finally raised his head to look at her.

He whispered, "I'm sorry," softly and she just shook her head, denying 
him the apology.

"No.  Don't."  It was enough.  She saw the acceptance in his face, and 
his forehead smoothed slightly.  They knew each other so well.

She shook his hand and squeezed it, then stood, saying, "Is there 
anything I can help with, Mulder?"

He raised himself out of the chair slowly, and she couldn't help but 
notice the shakiness in the movement.  He'd pushed himself too far 
already and she knew he wouldn't stop now.  Not when a child was out 
there with a death sentence counting down.

He rubbed at his face once more, with both hands, then dropped them to 
his sides.  She waited him out, knowing he was deciding on the best 
course of action.  When he turned to look down at her again, she saw 
the regret in his face and knew he wasn't entirely pleased with the 
decisions he'd made.

"Can you work with the forensics team, Scully?  Look over everything 
they've collected.  Then come to the Bureau and look over the autopsies 
on the other victims."  He ran a hand through his hair, and shook his 
head abruptly.  "What am I saying?  I don't have any control in this 
case.  I don't even know if they'll allow you to look at anything.  I'd 
like you to try, though."

It wasn't the answer she'd been hoping for, but it was the one she 
expected.  Even though she'd much rather be by his side, they both knew 
that anything she might be able to do to help find Christian Rossbacher 
would ultimately be best for both of them as well.  She nodded and took 
his arm, pulling at him gently.  "Come on.  Let's go downstairs.  Maybe 
Jerry can introduce me to the right people."

She was relieved when he followed her without question.  She looked 
back at him and asked, "What are you going to do, Mulder?"

He took a shaky breath and said, "I'm going back to the Bureau.  I need 
to listen to the 911 tapes again.  All of them, from all the victims.  
The calls are a challenge to us to find him, but that implies he's 
given us a means to find him.  It has to be there somewhere and we 
don't have a lot of time."

She swallowed and nodded in understanding.  They'd reached the ground 
floor and she moved towards the living room again, where Jerry had been 
earlier.  She saw him finally, standing with a group of agents, 
embroiled in what looked like an argument.  She glanced back at her 
partner and realized he hadn't noticed.  Wasn't really paying attention 
to much of anything.  She pulled at him again, for just a moment, to 
get him moving in the right direction, then started across the room.  

One of the agents noticed their approach and she saw his eyes flicker 
from Mulder to her and back again.  The man must have said something to 
the others because the entire group turned to stare at them.  

She was relieved to see Jerry smile a bit, then he said, "Agent Dana 
Scully, let me introduce you to a few of the team members."  He 
gestured to the two men to his right and said, "This is Roger Singleton 
and this is Carl Chang."  He then waved to his left and said, "And this 
is Andres Sachs."

She nodded to them, pleased to see no overt hostility in their 
expressions.  She noticed that they seemed to take turns glancing at 
her partner and she took a moment to glance back at him herself.  She 
understood then.  

Mulder was staring off to the right, his gaze intent on a plastic 
rocking horse in the corner.  His face was so pale it appeared almost 
translucent.  It dawned on her that these men were worried about her 
partner and she felt slightly easier knowing she wasn't alone in 
wanting to watch over him.  She stepped back so she stood next to him 
and reached out to touch his arm.  

She looked back to Jerry and said diplomatically, "I know that Mulder's 
going back to the Bureau to review the assailant's 911 tapes, but I'd 
be happy to lend my services if you feel it would be useful."

Jerry smiled again and glanced at the others before saying, "Come on.  
I'll introduce you to Ketter.  He's in charge of the evidence gathering 
team."

She turned back to her partner and smiled at him, thankful that he was 
paying attention to the conversation once again.

"I'll see you at the Bureau later.  I'll have someone drop your clothes 
off there in the meantime though, okay?"

His nod was brief and the lightening of his features assured her he'd 
be all right until she saw him again.  "See you, Scully."

She nodded to Jerry and followed him out to the front of the house.  
The sky had clouded up so that it was dark and menacing.  She knew the 
rain would fall soon.

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

Saturday, 10:18 a.m.
Bureau Office, Richmond, Virginia


Walter Skinner strode confidently down the hallway of the Richmond 
Bureau, seeking the office of Carl Landers, the SAC on the case Mulder 
was working.  He might not be Mulder's direct supervisor anymore, and 
he might not be directly involved in this case, but by God he was still 
an AD with the Bureau.

He arrived at the appropriate door and knocked sharply, then turned the 
knob and pushed when he heard an acknowledgment  from inside.  He 
stepped in and smiled at the man behind the desk.  He knew Carl from 
way back and had always thought of him as a reasonable man.

Landers stared at him for a second before recognition settled in.  Then 
he smiled back and said, "Walter, it's been a while.  What brings you 
to Richmond?"

Skinner stepped forward and shook the man's hand, answering, "Hi Carl.  
Good to see you again."  He took a seat even though it hadn't been 
offered and decided to cut to the chase, "I'm here about Agent Fox 
Mulder."

He was surprised at Landers' reaction.  The man actually flinched 
before schooling his features into feigned disinterest.

"Carl, Mulder used to be one of my agents.  I was his direct supervisor 
for almost five years before he and his partner, Dana Scully, were 
reassigned due to internal politics.  I'll be honest with you, I have 
no authority over him now, but as an AD with the Bureau, I am very 
concerned when any agent is put in a position that endangers his well-
being.  I believe this has happened with Agent Mulder."

Landers was no longer attempting to appear nonchalant, but was now 
sitting with his head bowed and hands clasped tightly on the desk in 
front of him.  Skinner let the silence stretch, waiting for the SAC to 
look up.  The man did finally, with a sigh.

"I have superiors, too, Walter.  What was I supposed to do?"

"Believe it or not, I do understand, Carl.  Better than you might 
think.  But I'm telling you now that Mulder can not be pushed on this 
case unless you want to kill him or get him killed.  It's time to take 
a stand."

He let the silence stretch again, then said, "So what's it going to 
be?"

He could tell the other man was waging an internal struggle which 
finally ended when Landers slammed both hands on his desk and stood 
abruptly.  His voice was harsh when he said, "Fuck this crap.  Walter, 
I was told to make Mulder's life as miserable as possible, as long as 
the case wasn't compromised.  I was instructed ..."  Landers stressed 
the word, saying it as if it were obscene.  "... instructed to do 
whatever it took to break him."  The man turned towards him then, hands 
out as if in supplication and said, "Who the hell are these people, 
Walt?  What gives them the right?"

Skinner almost felt sorry for the SAC, even while fighting his own 
anger and frustration.  "I'm not sure, Carl.  What I do know is that 
they finally got tired of me protecting my agents, and assigned them to 
AD Kersh as the solution."

Landers was obviously upset when he said, "If they want to get rid of 
Mulder so badly, why don't they just cut him loose from the Bureau?  I 
don't understand what's happening here, Walter.  What the hell did 
Mulder and this Scully do?"

He almost snorted at the question but managed to restrain himself.

"They didn't do anything except uncover a conspiracy in which our own 
government has been a lead player.  They became too uncomfortable to 
the wrong people.  They got too close and now they're paying for it.  I 
don't want them to pay with their lives -- or their sanity.  They 
deserve better."

Landers sagged somewhat before sinking back into his chair in defeat.  
The SAC stared at him with confused disbelief.

"A conspiracy?  What kind of conspiracy?  I don't understand."

He shook his head at the SAC and said, "You don't want to understand, 
Carl, believe me.  Just do me a favor -- do Mulder and Scully a favor -
- and lay off a bit."

"I will, Walter, I will."  The man stood up then and added, "Come on.  
I'll show you where Mulder's been hanging out."

Skinner waited for Landers to precede him then followed him out the 
door and to the left.

"He's down a floor in one of our conference rooms.  I have to tell you, 
Walter, the man's good.  We had two other profilers try their hand at 
this and they got nowhere.  The ISU Chief recommended your man over his 
own people.  Mulder was assigned after the third victim and was able to 
come up with a profile that makes sense finally.  Now with this latest 
kidnapping ..."

Landers let the sentence hang and he could guess what the man was 
thinking.

"You think Mulder might be able to figure it?"

The SAC pulled open the door to the stairway and gestured for him to 
enter first.

"Yeah, I do.  He seems to have a handle on the UNSUB.  He knows him.  I 
swear he's able to think like our assailant.  I'm hoping he'll also be 
able to anticipate.  Maybe figure out what kind of challenge the 
UNSUB's making.  The victim just turned three.  It's a media 
nightmare."  Landers turned the corner to the next landing and 
muttered,  "As well as any parent's."

Skinner merely nodded, knowing that Landers had several children 
himself.  The SAC again held open the door as they exited the stairway 
and took a right.  They'd only taken a few steps when the man came to a 
stop and turned towards him.

"Look, Walter, I can't say I understand what's going on and why.  I do 
know Mulder deserves better than what I've shown him here.  But we now 
have less than nineteen hours to find this child if we're going to get 
him back alive.  What am I supposed to do?"

He could see the honest concern and frustration, and empathized with 
his old acquaintance.

"Carl, you don't have to push Mulder.  If it's in his power, he'll do 
absolutely anything to find this child, regardless of what it might do 
to him personally.  His partner is on her way here -- is probably even 
in town already, in fact -- and I recommend you use her.  You won't 
find a better forensic pathologist and frankly, you won't find a better 
team.  Let them work together.  They can't perform miracles, but I have 
faith that if anyone can find this child, they can."

He waited for the nod before adding, "Now, show me where Mulder is.  
I'd like to keep him in one piece long enough for him to be able to 
work whatever magic he can."

The SAC nodded again and looked chagrined as he said, "I have to admit 
I haven't treated him very well.  He's been working pretty much around 
the clock on this, sleeping and eating here.  He's showing it, too."

Skinner nodded his understanding, already prepared for such news.  
"Where is he, Carl?"

The man turned and continued down the hall, stopping outside a closed 
door.  He gestured to it and said, "Here you go.  I think Mulder's the 
only one here now."

Skinner nodded slowly and thanked the man, then watched as Landers 
turned and walked away.  He knocked lightly, waiting for some sign to 
enter.  After several seconds of silence and another light knock that 
went unanswered, he opened the door.  It was practically dark inside, 
the only light coming from a small lamp in the far left corner.  

He took a step into the gloom and looked around, searching for a 
familiar figure.  He saw Mulder finally off to the right, almost in a 
corner, sitting hunched over.  He took another step in and considered 
turning on the overhead lights, then discarded the notion.  He walked 
slowly to the right, along the length of the conference table, then 
followed the end of it around and stopped in front of his former agent.

Mulder sat with elbows on knees, eyes closed tightly, with hands 
gripping what appeared to be a small tape recorder.  A wire snaked up 
to attach to a set of earphones, which at least explained why the 
younger man hadn't seemed to hear his approach.  His suit jacket had 
been discarded and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, practically to his 
elbows.  His tie was loosened and twisted haphazardly, his shirt so 
wrinkled it appeared as if it had been slept in.  

Skinner pulled out a chair and sat heavily, some four feet away, 
deciding to wait until the tape finished.  He took the opportunity to 
study his former agent.  The disheveled appearance was an obvious 
indication that all was not well.  Added to this was the lightly 
shaking hands, the lines of exhaustion on the man's face, and the 
uneven breathing.  Worst of all was the fact that Mulder had still not 
noticed his presence, even though he'd made no special effort to be 
quiet when entering.

Skinner sat, increasingly uncomfortable, a few chairs away.  His former 
agent had still not moved except for the rise and fall of his chest.  
He turned his eyes away from the still figure, then sat back in the 
chair and rested his elbows on the arms.  He forced his fists to 
unclench, stretched his fingers straight, then allowed them to hang 
loosely.  He looked up at the photos on the wall, his gaze drawn 
irresistibly to the last one in the line of five -- a little boy, still 
looking like a baby.  His brown hair and intense brown eyes were offset 
by a wide toothy smile that gave him an impish appearance.  This must 
be the latest kidnap victim, little Christian Rossbacher.  

He heard a sharp scraping sound to his left and turned quickly.  He was 
shocked to see Mulder standing straight, arm raised high, tape player 
clenched in his right hand, ready to launch it against the wall 
directly behind Skinner's own head.  For a fraction of a second he 
debated whether to throw himself out of the way or try to get the man's 
attention.  It became a moot point when he saw Mulder's eyes focus on 
him finally. The younger man's face was a mask of confusion and 
bewilderment, mixed with a heavy dose of frustration.

Not sure whether his former agent was actually seeing him or not, 
Skinner drew in a quick breath and asked softly, "Mulder?"

The lightning quick expressions that passed across the other man's face 
were almost painful to watch.  Mulder had dropped his arm now, the tape 
player evidently forgotten, and was staring directly at him.  The 
younger man seemed to be struggling to catch his breath and Skinner was 
starting to get worried.  He stood slowly and approached his former 
agent, wondering just what the hell was going on.  When he was just a 
foot away, he spoke again. "Mulder?"

The response was dramatic this time, as the younger man jerked 
backwards, dropping the tape player on the floor with a clatter.  
Mulder gasped and raised a hand towards him, as if unsure whether he 
were actually there.  

Mulder's voice wavered when he asked, "Sir?  Is it you?"

He grasped the outstretched hand for a moment, then took the other 
man's arm to guide him to a seat, saying, "Yeah, it's me, Mulder.  Come 
on and sit down." 

He guided the man to a chair, then pulled up another one next to it.  
He couldn't pull his eyes off Mulder's face.  He'd seen the man 
furious, frustrated, anxious and worried, but he couldn't recall this 
look of hopelessness and fragility in all his years of working with 
him.  It was downright frightening.

"Mulder, are you all right?"

The younger man sat for another moment as if in a daze and then started 
laughing harshly -- a sharp, self-deprecating laugh that cut through 
the silent room.  It made Skinner even more concerned.  Mulder was 
leaning over, arms propped on knees and hands covering his face.  He 
decided to wait for the younger man to calm before attempting to speak 
with him, but Mulder broke the silence himself.  

"I didn't think you were real."  Another harsh laugh and then, "I 
thought I was starting to hallucinate." 

Skinner shifted in the chair, wondering how to respond, when Mulder 
asked in a curious tone, "Why are you here, sir?"  His former agent had 
dropped his hands between his splayed legs and was now staring at him.  
It was clear that the emotion was still near the surface so he decided 
to tread very lightly.

"Last time I checked, I was still an AD with some authority over VCS 
cases, Mulder.  I thought I'd stop by and see how things were going.  
The Bureau's getting a lot of press over this one."

Mulder's head was tilted, as if to better determine the veracity of his 
words.  His former agent evidently came to a conclusion when he said, 
"Bullshit, sir."

Skinner couldn't help the grin that surfaced.  Couldn't get much past 
Mulder.

"You're right.  I'm here to try to keep you out of trouble."  He pushed 
himself up off the chair and added, "And that means the first thing I'm 
doing is dragging you out of here.  Come on, we're going to get 
something to eat."

Mulder's almost relaxed  posture was immediately  replaced by a stiff 
spine and clenched fists once more.  Not allowing the younger man time 
to object, Skinner said, "I just came from SAC Landers' office.  He 
knows you've been pushing hard on this case."

The younger man again looked confused and he could at least understand 
why this time.  Last time Mulder knew, the SAC was the one doing most 
of the pushing.

Skinner cleared his throat and waited for Mulder to focus his attention 
on him. He didn't want the man to get offended by the fact that he was 
interfering so had to feel his way carefully. "I've known Landers for a 
long time, Mulder.  Believe it or not, he's really not a bad guy -- 
usually."  He waited for the inevitable disbelief to show on his 
agent's face before continuing.  "You have to understand that 
everyone's not as good as you are at ignoring their supervisors."

He adopted a grin when he said the last part, hoping to take some of 
the sting out of the remark.  He waited until the other man relaxed a 
bit into the chair, signaling acceptance, then said again, "Come on, 
let's go get something to eat."

Mulder tensed once more and gripped the chair arms as if it 
unconsciously thinking he'd have to be pried away.  Skinner sighed at 
the sight, wondering just how the hell the exhausted and run down man 
sitting across from him was going to make it through the rest of this 
case.  He forced a patience he didn't really feel when he spoke again.

"You're not going to do that little boy any good if you can't think 
straight or even sit straight.  You're taking a half hour break. I 
never got breakfast and it's almost lunch time now, so come on.  Move 
it, agent."

He'd said the last part in his most AD-like voice and it must have done 
the trick.  Mulder stood and stumbled awkwardly to where his rumpled 
suit jacket was tossed over the arm of the couch he'd obviously been 
sleeping on.  Mulder pulled it on slowly, every move deliberate, and 
Skinner could see the struggle against exhaustion that was being waged.

Mulder turned back to him, finally, and then stood as if awaiting 
further instructions.  Skinner sighed heavily and walked towards the 
man, taking his agent's arm once more.  

"Come on, Mulder, I have a car out front."

The younger man just nodded and allowed himself to be maneuvered.  It 
was all Skinner could do to keep from grinding his teeth.  Damn that 
smug smoking son of a bitch anyway.  And damn Kersh for not having more 
of a backbone.

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


Saturday, 10:51 a.m.
Bureau Lab, Richmond, Virginia


Scully tossed the file onto the table and glanced to her right, where 
Jerry Friedman sat reading another report. Bill Ketter had been 
surprisingly forthcoming, helping Jerry to gather all the forensic and 
autopsy reports from each of the crimes.  She'd scanned them all 
briefly and was chilled by the knowledge that Christian Rossbacher 
would soon be subjected to the torture and violence the assailant had 
imposed on the other victims.  Unless Mulder could actually figure the 
UNSUB out in time.

She shook her head slightly, almost angry with herself for even 
thinking it.  Her partner had enough pressure without having the life 
and death of a baby on his conscience.  Of course, he'd feel 
responsible anyway, regardless.

She closed her eyes briefly at the thought and wondered where he was 
now and what he was doing.  She glanced down at her watch, resolving to 
check on him soon.  She wanted to help him however she could, but 
couldn't help thinking that what he really needed was her support more 
than her forensic expertise.

She looked over to her right again and saw that Jerry was staring at 
her, so she asked, "What's the deal on the voice analysis?  Definitely 
the same guy each time?"

He nodded and replied, "Same guy.  Caucasian, slight mid-western 
accent.  Between twenty and forty.  Intelligent."

She considered the description for a few seconds and then asked, "Any 
progress being made in identifying a suspect list, based on the voice 
analysis description and Mulder's profile?"

Jerry was shaking his head.  "No way.  Just not enough there.  It 
pretty much covers 15-20% of the male population of Richmond and the 
surrounding area."

She was ready to ask for more details when she realized that Jerry 
seemed to want to say more.  She decided to give him the opening.

"You're thinking something, Jerry.  What?"

He grinned at her wryly, then just stared at her for a few moments 
before replying.

"It's something Mulder asked me to track down on the side.  He tried 
bringing it up in a team meeting and evidently again to the SAC later 
but got shot down both times.  Pretty decisively the second time from 
what I heard."

"What did he want to know?"

"He asked me to compile a list of all males, age 24-35, who'd had any 
law enforcement or military background, who'd applied to the Bureau and 
either been rejected outright, failed out of the Academy, or were 
kicked out later."

"When was this?"

"He called me yesterday afternoon, right after he got back from the 
Canderfield's, I think.  I had to call in a few favors.  No one was 
very anxious to go behind SAC Landers' back.  Neither was I, to tell 
the truth."

She could imagine how difficult it must have been for him and was 
filled with gratitude that there were still people like Jerry willing 
to do what was right, regardless of the politics involved.

"I know Mulder appreciates it.  So do I, Jerry."

He gave her a small smile, and lowered his head as if in embarrassment.  
When he looked up again, the smile had been replaced by an intense 
expression that caught her by surprise.

"Dana?"

She knew enough to be worried, but wasn't completely sure why.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering ..."  He stopped abruptly and she could see the flush 
that colored his cheeks and forehead.  She couldn't imagine what was 
troubling him and started to wonder if he knew something about Mulder 
that he wasn't telling her.

Her voice was tinged with concern when she asked, "What is it, Jerry?"

"I know it's a personal question, but I noticed you didn't have a 
wedding ring on and was just wondering if you were married or seeing 
anyone -- you know, seriously?"

She was completely caught by surprise and needed a few moments to 
gather her wits.  Then she realized she was flattered.  It had been a 
long time since she'd been asked out.  At least that's what she took 
this to be.  But as flattered as she was, she knew her heart had been 
claimed long ago.  She turned to him and said kindly, "No, I'm not 
married and I'm not really seeing anyone seriously."

She dropped her gaze for a moment trying to decide how to say it so 
that it wouldn't hurt his feelings.  She was just getting ready to 
speak when he beat her to it.

"So just how good a friend is this Mulder, anyway?"

Her first reaction was to object strenuously, to deny the implication, 
but then she saw the smile and the twinkle in his eye.

She smiled back at him and said, "It's not like that, Jerry.  It's 
complicated."

"When wasn't it with you, Dana?"

She laughed with him then, comfortable with the knowledge that she and 
her partner had a friend here in Richmond.

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


Saturday, 11:03 a.m.
Bureau Office, Richmond, Virginia


Skinner led the way down the hallways of the Richmond Bureau, turning 
occasionally to make sure Mulder was still with him.  He got to the 
front doors and grabbed the handle, waiting for the younger man to 
precede him.  He swung open the door, waited for Mulder to pass, and 
then almost walked into his agent's back.  The man had stopped dead in 
his tracks just outside the portals.  He started to chastise him when 
he realized finally what was happening.

A surge of noise assaulted him as he came even with his former agent.  
Everywhere he looked, the flashing lights of cameras practically 
blinded him.  The press.  Why the hell hadn't he thought about this?  
They'd evidently gotten tired of waiting around the Rossbacher's and 
had set up shop at the Bureau sometime within the last hour.  

One particularly tenacious woman had pushed herself right up to Mulder, 
microphone in his face, and was yelling, "Do you have any suspects, 
Agent Mulder?  Are you going to be able to find Christian Rossbacher 
before he's tortured and killed like the others?"

Skinner cringed at the question, grabbed Mulder's arm and started 
pulling him back into the Bureau.  He leaned in front of his agent to 
block their view and said firmly, "No comment."

By the time they'd gotten back inside, the security guard at the door 
was next to them, saying, "I'm sorry about that, sirs, I should have 
warned you.  Can I help get you out the back entrance?"

Skinner took a look at Mulder and decided maybe this hadn't been such a 
good idea after all.  The man was white, shaking visibly, and looked as 
if he were going to be ill.  He was staring at the closed doors as if 
still watching the fiasco unfold.  His hands were clenching, then 
unclenching.  Clenching, unclenching.  

Skinner took his arm and shook it slightly saying, "Mulder, I'm sorry 
about that.  I should have thought about the press.  They weren't there 
when I came in a little while ago."  He licked his lips, unsure now 
whether it would even be possible to get away without being hounded.  
It wasn't often that he felt at a loss as to what he should do.  When 
he turned back to Mulder, he could see the man was back with him and 
aware once again.  His voice was slightly shaky when he spoke, but it 
was obvious his agent was starting to recover from the shock.

"It's okay, sir.  Let's just order in.  I know numbers for pizza, subs, 
and Chinese.  What's your pleasure?"

Skinner was amazed at the man's resiliency.  He could tell Mulder was 
still shaken by the experience, but was already working to put it 
behind him.  The flipness was obviously forced, but much preferable to 
the vacant stare of a minute before.

"Something hot.  You don't have a number for soup somewhere in that 
head of yours, do you?"

He was relieved to see the ghost of the smile that played at Mulder's 
lips.  

"I'm sure it could be arranged, sir."

The smile was gone again, replaced once more by a furrowed brow and 
expression of resigned acceptance.  The thought of eating in that 
conference room, surrounded my photos of the victims and crime scenes 
was too much for Skinner.  The whole idea was to get Mulder out of 
there.  He jerked his head up the hallway and said, "Isn't there a 
cafeteria here?"

Mulder stopped in his tracks and nodded, then said, "It's a floor up.  
I'm not really sure I'd recommend it, though.  I think the chefs are 
the reject cooks from the public school system.  Only the criminals eat 
there."

Skinner gave a fake laugh then nodded to the stairway.  "I think we'll 
survive it.  Lead the way."

He was almost to the first landing when he realized Mulder was several 
stairs down and slowing.  He stopped and turned, saying, "You okay, 
Mulder?"

The man was gripping the rail tightly with his left hand and had his 
right to his head.  He was bent over slightly, as if fighting off 
dizziness.  "Whoa.  I think I'm out of shape."

Skinner was back at his side in moments.  "Mulder, the human body 
requires things called food and sleep on occasion.  I'm sure you've 
heard of them."

Although he'd said it lightly, he was actually worried about the 
younger man.  He'd always thought Mulder was indestructible and this 
show of weakness threw him.  He debated whether he should offer his 
help or not and finally settled on resting his hand on Mulder's back as 
a show of support.  After almost a minute, his agent stood up again, 
slowly and carefully.  Obviously testing the waters.

Skinner could see a thin film of sweat coating Mulder's forehead and 
knew the man was fighting dizziness.  Skinner's mouth was dry, making 
it difficult to swallow.  He cleared his throat and fought to stay 
calm.  This was not good.  He forced a nonchalance when he asked, "How 
you doing?"

Mulder nodded a couple times, then looked at him finally and said, "I'm 
okay.  I guess I could use something to eat, after all."

Skinner merely cocked an eyebrow.  The man had a definite gift for 
understatement.  He took Mulder's right arm and started pulling 
slightly, then walked beside him as they started back up the steps, 
climbing slowly.  Five minutes later he pushed Mulder into a chair and 
told him to stay put, then went in search of nourishment.

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

"You know, sir, I still don't know why you're here."  

After ten minutes of complete silence as they ate, Skinner was 
surprised to hear Mulder speak and even more surprised at the comment.  
He paused, his loaded fork midway to mouth and said, "You have a 
problem with my being here, Agent Mulder?"

He could swear Mulder actually flinched at the unintentional harshness 
that had crept into the question.  The man's voice was soft when he 
responded.

"No, sir, not at all.  I didn't mean that."

Skinner immediately felt guilty and said, "Sorry, Mulder, I know you 
didn't."

"I meant, how did you find out about my being assigned to this case?  I 
don't think it was common knowledge."

"No, it wasn't, and in fact I didn't know until I got a visit from 
someone expressing their ... frustration at the situation."

Mulder was smiling and Skinner was shocked that the word 'sweet' 
actually popped into his mind to describe it.  The man looked up from 
his meal and partly asked, partly stated, "Scully."

Skinner merely smiled in acknowledgment, then resumed eating.  A glance 
at Mulder showed that he seemed lost in thought, his own smile still 
lingering.  His former agent actually looked content, so Skinner was 
caught totally off-guard by his next words.

"Sir, have you ever considered quitting the Bureau?"

He knew it was asked in all seriousness and felt compelled to tell the 
younger man the truth.  He had to struggle to appear as if the question 
hadn't gotten to him.  He always figured Mulder was too damned 
obstinate to quit.

"Yes, I've considered it once or twice -- briefly."  He dropped his 
fork back on the plate, no longer hungry.  "Why do you ask, Mulder?"

His agent was staring across the room, gaze unfocused, when he 
responded.  "It's just that ... I don't know how much longer I can take 
this.  I'm ..."  His right hand waved in the air in a meaningless 
gesture and finally said, "I'm just tired."

Skinner knew that his agent wasn't just talking about a physical 
exhaustion, but also a weariness of spirit.  He knew what the admission 
had cost his agent and felt his throat tighten.  He watched Mulder push 
his tray back, prop his elbows on the table, then cover his face with 
his hands.  The younger man looked more than just tired, he looked 
depleted, his energy reserves completely consumed.

Skinner pushed his own tray back and folded his arms in front of him.  
He dropped his head to his chest and closed his eyes for a moment, 
hoping to find the right words.  He took a deep breath, looked up 
again, then said, "I know you are, Mulder.  You deserve better than 
this.  You and Scully both do.  Once I get back to DC, I promise you 
that I will do everything in my power to help you.  You know I have no 
control over the X-Files, but perhaps I still have enough pull to get 
you out from under Kersh and back to working as a team."

Mulder was staring at him now and he could see that the earlier 
fragility and tentativeness was back.  "Sir, this case ...  I don't 
know if I'll be able to figure it out.  I don't think I'll make it in 
time."

He was thrown by the change in topic for just a moment, but then 
realized the topic really hadn't shifted at all.  It was working as an 
analyst for the ISU, without any support, that was killing the man -- 
was making him consider quitting.  Skinner was determined that Kersh 
would not win in this way.

"Mulder, no one is expecting miracles.  You can only do your best, 
nothing more.  There were two analysts before you that didn't get 
anywhere near as far as you have."

Mulder's next words were whispered so softly that Skinner could barely 
hear them.  "But he's just a baby."

He closed his eyes briefly against the image of little Christian, 
ripped apart violently by a madman. "I know."  

He stared hard at his agent, willing him to listen carefully and 
actually accept his words.  "But Mulder, even if he dies, it will not 
be your fault.  None of this is your fault.  There's a sick bastard out 
there who gets off by playing games with people's lives.  It has 
nothing to do with you.  Do you understand?"  He couldn't tell whether 
his words were sinking in or not.  Mulder looked like he wasn't really 
listening.  "Mulder?"  He was pleased to see a nod of acknowledgment, 
finally.

"I keep dreaming of Malloy.  You remember him, sir?"

Skinner felt his breath catch at the question.  How could he ever 
forget?  "Of course."  He shifted to get more comfortable and asked, 
"Why are you thinking about him, Mulder?"

"In a way, that case is responsible for my being here.  It's ironic, in 
a weird, X-Files kind of way."  Mulder was looking at him intently now, 
the play at levity already forgotten.  "This case -- the UNSUB's 
playing with us.  Toying with us."

Mulder sat up suddenly and leaned forward, over the table.  The 
movement was so abrupt, so unexpected, that it caused Skinner to jerk 
back slightly in surprise.

"This UNSUB -- he's mixing characteristics intentionally.  Leaving some 
scenes looking as if it's a work of a disorganized assailant while 
others are clearly organized or even some mix of the two.  Then there's 
the differences in victim characteristics and even the mode of death, 
as well as placement of the victim after death.  It's all orchestrated.  
All of it.  The team originally thought there might be multiple 
assailants.  Did you know that, sir?"

He shook his head, not wanting to speak, not wanting to break Mulder's 
train of thought.  

"It's similar in so many ways."  Mulder's voice had drifted off so that 
Skinner could barely hear him say, "I wonder where Malloy is now?"

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


Saturday, 1:25 p.m.
Bureau Office, Richmond, Virginia


Dana Scully knocked lightly on the door Jerry had directed her to and 
was shocked when AD Skinner opened it moments later.  She'd been so 
intent on checking on her partner, on seeing him and finding out if he 
was okay, that it had never occurred to her that someone else might 
even be in the conference room.

She struggled with the confusion for a second, then asked, "Sir?  What 
are you doing here?"

He waved her to be quiet and joined her in the hall, adding to her 
confusion further.  She wanted to see her partner and could think of 
only one reason why Skinner wouldn't want her to see him.  She felt her 
breath quicken and clenched her fists, without even realizing it.

"Where's Mulder, sir?"

She looked up at her former boss expectantly, hoping that the 
explanation would not involve bad news.  She had decided that if 
Skinner were there, it must.  His words calmed her immediately, though.

"I heard there was another kidnap victim and decided to fly down.  I 
know the SAC on the case and thought I might say hello.  You know, just 
touch base again after so many years."

She was filled with gratitude as well as fondness for this man and 
didn't even try to hide the smile that came to her face.  She laid her 
hand on his arm and said, "Thank you, sir.  It's good to see you here."

He actually looked embarrassed at her admission.

"Scully, Mulder was basically out on his feet.  I managed to get him to 
eat something and he's been asleep now for a little over an hour."

She felt the relief wash over her and acknowledged to herself just how 
worried she'd been.  It was good to know that Skinner was on their 
side.

"Come on, we can go in.  I don't really think he'll wake up for another 
hour at least.  He's pretty done in."

She nodded, but held back for a moment.  She wanted to see Mulder for 
herself.  She needed the reassurance.  But she also knew that her 
former boss might actually be in a position to help Mulder out on this 
case in other ways than just offering his friendship and support.

"Sir, first -- one of the agents on the team, Jerry Friedman, has been 
compiling a list of possible suspects.  Mulder asked him to collect 
information on male subjects who might have applied to the Bureau and 
been rejected, either before, during, or after making it through the 
Academy.  I just left Jerry and he says he's making progress but it's 
slow."

She took a deep breath and crossed her arms tightly against her chest.  
Time to start bucking the system.

"You see, sir, the SAC specifically told them not to 'waste time' on 
Mulder's idea so Jerry's been having to call in favors.  He's got 
people doing it in their spare time."

She could see Skinner knew where she was heading with this.  He was 
already nodding.  The slight upturn of his lips and his words verified 
it.

"Scully, have you met the SAC yet?  He's an old acquaintance of mine."

She stepped back as Skinner shifted.  She understood the suggestion and 
appreciated the thought.  Time to kick a little SAC butt.  It might 
actually be fun.  Besides, the man deserved a little harassment after 
what he'd done to her partner.

She looked up at her boss as he raised his arm, gesturing down the 
hallway.  His voice was almost playful as he said, "Shall we?"

She smiled widely and dropped her arms, perfectly willing to take his 
lead.  "Absolutely, sir.  I haven't had the pleasure of meeting SAC 
Landers yet.  I look forward to it."

It felt good to have someone who was willing to go to bat for you when 
necessary.  She hadn't realized until now just how much she'd missed it 
these last few months.  She glanced at her watch and decided that her 
partner would probably be out for the count for another forty-five 
minutes at least.  Plenty of time to take care of this little problem 
for him.

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


Saturday, 1:37 p.m.
Bureau Office, Richmond, Virginia


It was the sound that was getting to him the most.  The sound and the 
smell.  The buzzing went on and on, surrounding him and encompassing 
him.  It was a vibration in his head, a hum that he couldn't block out, 
no matter how hard he pushed his hands against his ears.  But the smell 
-- the smell was definitely something he recognized.  The smell of 
death.  Putrid, decaying flesh, made worse by being closed away in a 
hot house with no air conditioning for several hours.  Perhaps even 
days.  He knew it was here somewhere.  The body was here, in the smell 
and the incessant buzz.  

He breathed through his mouth, his right hand trying unsuccessfully to 
block the air from his nose.  He turned to the right and saw a closed 
door in his way.  The sound seemed louder in this direction.  It was 
there, behind the door.  He was sure of it.

His steps slowed and he dropped his hand finally to reach out for the 
knob.  It was cold in his hand, so cold it practically burned.  He 
turned it and pushed at the door, and the buzz from inside seemed to 
swell louder with every inch it opened.  The window to the right let in 
a shaft of light that shone on the middle of the floor, illuminating 
the small body that lay there.

It was a child, dressed only in the tee shirt and underpants he'd been 
wearing to bed, but it looked at first as if he also wore a black coat 
with a hood.  But then the coat moved.  It undulated sickly, wavering 
up and down -- an invidious indigo mass that set his stomach rolling.  
His harsh breathing cut through the room then as the coat lifted up, 
off the child and separated into thousands of pieces. The swarm of 
flies disbanded into a hovering cloud for several moments so that he 
could see the decomposing, maggot-infested body of Christian 
Rossbacher, lying with arms crossed over his chest, his eyes empty 
holes in his head.

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

Scully glanced at her watch and decided to check up on her partner.  
She opened the conference room door slowly and stopped at the 
threshold.  He wasn't on the couch.  The overhead lights were on and it 
was clear with a sweeping glance from left to right that he wasn't 
there.  She walked in further, closed the door behind her, then dropped 
a stack of files on the table. With a sigh she pulled out a chair and 
sank into it gratefully, trying hard not to be concerned.

After ten minutes of looking through files and reports, she could no 
longer deny the inescapable feeling of unease that had settled around 
her.  She stood and paced the length of the room, arms wrapped around 
her torso tightly.  She'd just started to consider going in search for 
her partner when the silence was shattered by the slam of the door 
against the wall.  She turned quickly and saw Mulder there, fresh suit 
and still wet hair indicating just where he'd been.  He'd taken a 
couple steps forward and was now frozen just inside the room, staring 
at her.

His breath released explosively and he said merely, "Scully."  

There was such longing and despair in his voice that she was frozen in 
place at first.  She had just started to move towards him when he 
seemed to shake his head lightly, as if to clear his thoughts.  He 
added, "How long have you been here?"

She stayed where she was, realizing that for whatever reason, he wanted 
the distance.  "Just ten minutes or so.  AD Skinner and I met with SAC 
Landers and he's pushing the search for your list of suspects.  Jerry 
said he should be able to have something to us by 6 or so.  Maybe a 
little after."

She watched as he walked around the table and then threw a pile of 
clothes in the corner. She could tell the stack was growing dangerously 
high. 

She took another step forward, betraying her worry.  "I see you found 
the clothes I brought."

He turned back and nodded, then settled at the table across from her, 
sinking into the seat slowly.  His eyes flicked from her face to the 
table, then back to her face again.  His gaze rested on her for seconds 
only before flitting away once again.  He seemed nervous, on edge, and 
she had no idea why.

She wanted more than anything to be closer to him.  To take his hand 
and let him know she was there, and wouldn't be leaving him if she had 
anything to say about it.  Instead she pulled out one of the chairs and 
dropped into it heavily, sensing his desire to keep a distance, at 
least for now. "How are you feeling, Mulder?"

He seemed to flinch, but it was gone so quickly she couldn't be sure of 
it.  His forehead was furrowed, and he was turned slightly away from 
her now, looking down at the pen he was playing with, as if unwilling 
to tell a lie to her face.

"Not too bad."

He pulled an open file over in front of him and played with it idly for 
long moments before looking up at her finally.  She could see the 
mantle of exhaustion that still hung over him, causing his shoulders to 
drop and his fingers to shake slightly.  

She wondered briefly if she could convince him to try sleeping again.  
The brief nap he'd taken had obviously not been enough and she knew it 
would only get worse. 

"Scully, did anything turn up at the scene?"

"No, I'm sorry.  There wasn't anything unusual.  A few stray partials 
but nothing that we could match to existing databases.  No hair or 
fibers other than the usual.  Nothing right now that would lead us to 
anyone, anyplace, or anything."

He seemed to sink into the chair even further at her words.  She licked 
her lips nervously, almost afraid of the image of defeat her partner 
was presenting her with.

"What's next, Mulder?"

She watched him tap the pen against the table top in a quick staccato 
beat, then toss it down and rub at his face with his right hand, his 
left still rifling the pages of the file in front of him.  She could 
see the frustration bubbling under the surface.

"I'm going to the previous dump sites.  I've only seen photos -- read 
reports.  I need to actually see them."

She bit her lower lip quickly.  She had two options and she already 
knew which one Mulder would opt for. She sighed heavily. "I need to 
head back to the lab.  They've been working on the tapes."

She was startled when he jerked upright and started pacing the length 
of the room.  His voice was so low she could barely hear him when he 
muttered, "The tapes."

He shook his head sharply and stopped directly across from her.  Leaned 
on the table and rocked slightly, forward then backwards -- eyes on the 
table top.  It was as if he were suddenly filled with energy.

"The answer's there, Scully.  The bastard's given us the hints but 
we're just not getting them."

She shifted in the chair and recrossed her legs, waiting for him to go 
on.  She could tell he was still thinking.  

"I sent the tapes off to the guys.  I figured it wouldn't hurt to have 
some backup on this."

She raised an eyebrow and smiled at him. "When do you expect to hear 
from them?"

He chuckled a bit and said, "Whenever.  Who knows?"

She gathered up her files and said, "Make sure you keep your cell phone 
with you, okay?"

She was happy to see the grin that indicated he knew she was mother-
henning him but didn't mind too much.  She decided to take advantage of 
his forbearance even further and said, "Why don't you take Jerry with 
you?  He'll be happy to help."

The grin turned into something softer and she wondered for a moment 
whether he was going to say no.  He didn't.  He merely nodded slowly.  

She forced a smile in return, then leaned across the table and gripped 
his right hand in her left for just a moment.  She knew it was the most 
he'd allow right now.  She wanted to hold on tightly and never let go, 
but after a quick squeeze, she stood up and gathered what she needed, 
saying, "Later, Mulder."

The feeling of dread that weighed on her was almost overwhelming as she 
closed to door behind her. His soft "See you soon" was the last thing 
she heard.

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


Saturday, 4:07 p.m.
Murphy's Gas Station, Richmond, Virginia


Mulder stood at the curb, watching the cars pull in and out of the gas 
station with regularity.  It was an old fashioned station, with two 
rows of pumps that still required a human to take money.  He sensed 
movement to his left and turned his head to see Jerry standing 
patiently, hands in his overcoat pockets and expression resigned.  

Mulder raised a hand and brushed at the hair that kept falling in his 
face, then rubbed at his eyes.  They burned so that he had to blink to 
clear his vision.  He was so tired he could barely even think.  He 
didn't know anymore why he was even here.  Visiting the dump sites had 
shown him nothing.  Each was different from the others and had 
absolutely nothing to do with the victims, whose bodies had been left 
there for police to find.  The only message the UNSUB was delivering by 
leaving Alvazedo's broken and drowned body here was that he could do 
it.  That he was smart enough to confuse them and avoid any pattern.  
Smarter than they were - smart enough to prevent getting caught, even 
though it was a relatively busy gas station in a busy part of town.

Jerry shifted again and Mulder knew the other agent wanted to say 
something.  He decided to beat the man to it.  He breathed deeply and 
tried to stand a bit taller.  Tried to fight gravity's pull. It seemed 
almost impossible.  "There's nothing here, Jerry.  Let's go."

He knew his voice was strained and that the words wavered in the cold 
air.  He closed his eyes and rolled his head to the left and then the 
right, trying to stretch tense muscles.  A crack sounded loudly, 
causing him to wince.  He raised a hand to the back of his neck as he 
dropped his head forward for a moment, as if he could rub the 
exhaustion away.  God, he was so tired.  He couldn't remember the last 
time he'd actually slept through a night without waking with a pounding 
headache or shaking from the knowledge of what was resting on his 
making progress in this case.  An image of little Christian flashed in 
his mind and he opened his eyes quickly to banish it.  

Jerry was right in front of him, only a foot or so away, obviously 
worried.  Mulder jerked back slightly and wiped at the sweat on his 
forehead, then waved his hand vaguely towards the car.  "Come on, 
Jerry, let's get out of here."

The other agent merely nodded, although it was clear he had more on his 
mind.  Jerry paused to wait for the traffic to clear and then jogged 
across the street.

Mulder walked more slowly towards the Bureau car, parked some thirty 
feet away, and was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of deja vu.  He 
shivered violently, knowing that the sweat that had broken out on his 
face and neck was now chilling him in the brisk winter air. It was the 
sight of Friedman standing by the blue car, casually looking over his 
shoulder.

A familiar vision of Malloy's blue Ford Escort overpowered him.  The 
image was suddenly superimposed over the pale blue Taurus towards which 
he'd been walking.  He felt his breath catch and knees give way 
suddenly and unexpectedly.  It was all he could do to keep from falling 
flat on his face.  The illusion persisted and he knew, more certainly 
than ever, that his subconscious was trying to give him insights into 
this UNSUB.

His synopses started working overtime to play catch-up when the blaring 
of a horn, coupled with screaming voices, finally made themselves 
known.  A belated message reached his feet and he stumbled forward, not 
even sure if that was the right direction.

Then he realized there was a hand at his elbow and an arm around his 
waist.  Before he knew what had happened, he was propped against the 
car, shaky legs barely keeping him upright.  His vision cleared enough 
to show Jerry opening the back door.  Then he realized the other 
agent's right hand was firmly planted in his chest while the man's left 
was swinging the car door open.  Several cars in the middle of the 
street were just now starting to move again.  The drivers looked more 
than just frustrated and it sunk in then that he'd almost caused an 
accident.

He allowed himself to be maneuvered and was more than happy to sink 
back into the vinyl of the car seat.  He was vaguely aware of a voice 
speaking and finally decided Jerry must be saying something to him.  He 
didn't have the energy to really listen.  He closed his eyes tightly 
and saw the image again.  The blue Escort station wagon with the back 
seat laid flat.  A small, unmoving lump under a blanket in the back.  
The image taunted him, just as this UNSUB was taunting him now.  

There had to be a reason he was thinking of that case.  There had to be 
a connection beyond the obvious arrogance and M. O. of both this UNSUB 
and that in the DC Murders case.  If he could figure out the 
connection, maybe it would lead him in the right direction to find 
Christian.

The voice that had been speaking in the background fell silent finally 
and then he felt his legs being pushed, not ungently, into the car.  
His door slammed and moments later he heard another open.  He couldn't 
summon the energy to open his eyes and see what was happening.  
Instead, he closed them tighter, wishing for even a brief respite from 
visions of kidnappers and killers.  But then he knew he had to 
concentrate even harder because there was a kernel of knowledge buried 
there somewhere.  He just had to find it.

The last thing he remembered before he drifted into blackness was the 
trill of a cell phone, sounding through the tense silence.

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

End Part 2 of ?
(Feedback to kronos1@adelphia.net is greatly appreciated)