TITLE: "Pieces of the Past"
AUTHORS: Jen and Lauren
EMAILS: JenR13@aol.com (Jen), and JRDG1013@aol.com (Lauren)
RATING: R, for language and some violent images
SPOILERS: Grotesque, Anasazi (Timeline: this story takes place in the 5th
season, after Redux II, but before The End)
CLASSIFICATION: XA
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully UST, Sc/M/Sk Friendship, Muldertorture
ARCHIVE: OK, just keep our names on it :-).
SUMMARY: While investigating a case for the VCS, Mulder discovers not all
pieces of the past die.
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and Walter Skinner are not ours. If
they were, we'd both have millions of dollars and be very happy :-). Instead,
they belong
to Chris Carter, Fox, and 1013 Productions and we are poor. So please don't
sue!? :-)
AUTHORS' NOTES: Well, 3rd time's a charm, right? This time we decided to
go for a serial murderer case, instead of a straight forward X-File. But
it's got a plot! :-)
Also, neither of us has been to LA (yes, we have both been deprived of
visiting the
west coast) so we have no idea if it has a Second Street. But when you read
you will
notice how important 2nd Street is to the story, so if you live in LA and
there is no
2nd Street, we're sorry and please don't get offended! :-) And please don't
send us countless letters about it, because we have acknowledged it beforehand.
Geography was never one of mine (Jen's) strong suit! <g> Also, remember
no movie
or sixth season spoilers here, because this story was written to take place
before
both of them. :-)
PS- You can find the other two stories we wrote at our website:
http://members.tripod.com/~Jen1121/laurenjen.html
"Pieces of the Past"
By Jen & Lauren
Copyright 1998
"Clang!"
The basketball bounced off the basket and landed at Sean Ingber's
feet. He swore in frustration, not noticing his little sister had decided
to join him.
"Mommy says you're not allowed to say that."
Sean jumped, not expecting the voice. His eyes narrowed in both
annoyance and relief.
"Jeez, Samantha, give me a little warning next time." He picked up
the basketball and tried for another shot. This time it was dead on, and
he smiled. Maybe he would make the basketball team after all.
Samantha watched her big brother in awe. Her friends all said
brothers were pains, but she and Sean were different. Close. Well, as close
as siblings could be. They were pains to each other, but still....
The ball rolled toward Samantha's white Keds (tm) and she picked it
up eagerly. "Can I try?" she asked.
Sean looked at her. And he did what any twelve-year-old brother
does to his little eight-year-old sister. He let her try one shot and then
told her
to get lost. Of course he didn't mean it literally.
But sometimes things just happen. Literally.
Outside AD Walter Skinner's office
J. Edgar Building
Washington, DC
10:28 a.m.
"Any idea was this is about?" Fox Mulder directed his question at
his partner, Dana Scully, who was currently staring at the wall in front
her.
"What?" she said ..
"Daydreaming at the office?" Mulder teased. "I said, any idea about
why Skinner wants to see us."
"No, it was just a late night yesterday. I was doing paperwork for
hours. Writing a reasonable explanation for our last case was a little more
difficult than you might think." She raised a tired hand and pushed some
stray hair out of her face.
Mulder rubbed the bandage that covered his still sore wrist.
Fifteen stitches after having a crazed woman jab at him with a razor.
<Razors seem to be very popular> he noted in his mind.
"There is no reasonable explanation," he answered shortly and turned
his head toward Skinner's secretary, Kim, who was typing away happily at
her computer. A radio sat perched next to her, turned to a news channel.
Mulder sat and listened to a woman recite the weather, when a news
report caught his ear.
"An eight-year-old girl has been reported missing from her home,
according to police. The girl, Samantha Ingber, apparently did not report
home for dinner last night, causing worry in both of her parents. She was
last seen by her brother, twelve-year-old Sean Hartman, some time last
afternoon. Samantha has brown hair, blue eyes, is about 4' 5". Police are
asking that anyone with information please contact...."
Mulder listened intently, his own memories stirring up in the back
off his mind. Kim noticed Mulder's intent gaze. She shook her head sadly.
"Poor girl. Seems a lot of girls have been missing lately. I sure hope they
find this one."
Mulder nodded, and opened his mouth to respond when Skinner's door
opened.
"Agents Mulder, Scully. Please come in," Skinner directed and
Mulder shut his mouth as he and Scully wordlessly followed Skinner into
his office.
Skinner sat down and urged the two agents to do the same. He picked
up a file off of his desk. He held it in the air for a moment, and Mulder
and
Scully exchanged a glance. A new case. But there was a catch, they knew.
A definite catch.
"Agent Mulder, the VCS has requested your help on a case."
There was the catch.
"Sir..," both Mulder and Scully started, but Skinner went on.
"Yours and Agent Scully's. Apparently to keep you in line," he
added with a look. Of curiosity or humor, Mulder wasn't sure.
Skinner handed the folder to Mulder. Curiosity getting the better
of him, Mulder opened it.
"It involves a string of serial murders of eight-year-old girls.
All from areas near each other, though none of the victims knew
each other. This killer has committed 11 murders so far, and the
VCS hasn't gotten a lead." Skinner paused, then continued. "I'm
assigning you both to this case as of this morning. You are to meet
with Agent Mark Chambers at 11:30. He will go into more detail then.
You're dismissed, agents."
Mulder sighed, but said nothing, and walked out the door. Scully
watched him go, and for the first time she was unable to read him. She
didn't know exactly how he was when he worked for the VCS, but she
had gotten a glimpse of it. And it wasn't something she liked. Scully
turned to Skinner. "Sir," she began again.
"Agent Scully, you're dismissed," Skinner repeated, and Scully
turned toward the door. She had just about reached it when she turned
back to Skinner one more time.
"Agent Scully," Skinner said carefully. "Off the record, keep an
eye on him."
Scully was surprised, but recovered. "I will, sir." She stole one
more glance at Skinner before she left the room.
Location Unknown
11:32 a.m.
It was dark. Not even a stream of light shined through, and
Samantha wasn't sure if it was day or night. Her head ached and she felt
like
crying. She tried to remember how she had gotten in her dark prison. She
remembered her brother telling her to get lost and how she decided to walk
down to the street to her friend Mary's house. How something grabbed her
from behind and shoved a damp cloth into her face. She had struggled and
tried
to scream, but whatever had grabbed her had a strong grip on her. She
touched her head and remembered how the cloth smelled sickly sweet and
how it gave her a headache. She squinted; she couldn't remember anything
after that.
After a few minutes her eyes began to get used to the darkness. She
noticed a digital clock in the corner, reading 11:36 a.m. <So it's morning,
then>
Samantha thought. For a eight-year-old, she adapted fast. She was not an
easy person to scare, though she was beginning to get frightened now. She
was
in a basement, she realized, not unlike the one her Aunt Tara had. She wasn't
strapped down or anything, either. She could move and get up. Samantha
got up and walked around the room, touching things and trying to found out
where she was. She ran her small fingers across table tops and dust met
her
fingertips. She handed came across a flashlight, and she smiled, glad to
find
something that would give her a clue to where she was. She turned it on
and
pointed it to a wall.
She screamed and begun to cry at what she saw.
16 pictures of little girls, not unlike herself. All covered in blood. Dead.
Samantha turned the flashlight away and fell back. She braced herself for
the impact, but someone caught her.
"Soon you'll have a picture on my wall, too," a voice said from
behind her.
Samantha screamed again, and ran toward another corner. She wanted
a way out. Her small fingers trembled as she realized. There is no way out.
"Mommy, Daddy," she sobbed, then crouched to the ground and drew her
knees up to her chin. "Sean...anybody?"
The voice just laughed, as Samantha's sobs grew louder.
The Office of Mark Chambers
11:27 a.m.
With a long sigh, Mark let his head drop to the cold surface of his
desk. This whole room seemed cold; cold and impersonal. Mark hated the VCS
but
apparently someone-- someone higher up on the food chain than him-- thought
the job
suited him well, so he was stuck here for another year, at least. Unfortunately,
he
had had to sacrifice many a night of sleep to keep up with the strenuous
work here and
the high expectations of his superiors.
"Sleeping on the job, Agent Chambers?"
<Damn> Mark thought. He forced his head off the desk. <That
doesn't sound like Stevens...>
Spinning around in his well-cushioned desk chair, Mark came face to
face with a petite woman, red hair, blue eyes, holding a familiar manila
folder in her
hands. She extended a hand. "Special Agent Dana Scully."
Mark was caught off guard. "Uh.. Agent Scully, I'm... uh, Chambers.
But call me Mark. Hey, you have a low voice..."
A tall man stepped forward. "No, I'm the accuser." Mark recognized
the voice as the one who had caught him "sleeping on the job."
Agent Scully cleared her throat. "Mulder, Chambers. Let's go to
someplace where we'll be able to spread out." She gestured to the thick
folder she
was holding.
The three agents were sitting at the big table-- Mark and Mulder on
one side, Scully on the other-- with papers and forms and photographs spread
out all
over the marble surface when Stevens came in. Mark, familiar with Stevens
and the
sound of his heels clicking, noticed his superior's arrival first. Then,
Mark elbowed
Mulder who kicked Scully under the table and all their heads raised
simultaneously to stare into the stormy face of Murphy Stevens. This was
a
man who you didn't want to deal with, even in his _best_ mood.
Mark stood up sharply. "Sir. We're just reviewing the case."
"Yes, Chambers, I'm aware of that." Stevens said. He moved over,
jerkily, to stand next to Scully and peered down at the table. Mark thought
he saw a
slight flinch when Stevens caught sight of the gruesome pictures of eight
year old girls--
well, former eight year old girls-- their bodies torn and bloody in every
way imaginable.
"All right, get back to work. I'm going to the airport now, you
know my cell number if you need to contact me."
"A new case, sir?" Mark asked.
"Vacation. The misses is making me." With that, he marched back
out of the room. "He's scary," Scully whispered when Stevens was out of
sight.
"Very perceptive, Scully," Mulder said. "Guys, we can't operate
from here. We need to get to California, get close to this case. Who else
is working on
this? You guys have a VCS team or something prepared?
"Actually, its just us," Mark said. "Stevens didn't even want to
take this, he thought it was a job for the local police down there, but
the LAPD weren't
getting anywhere. So they called for us. Don't we feel special?"
In the Car outside LAPD office
9:37 p.m. (California time)
"Uh, okay, how about I drive?"
"There's an idea." Mulder grinned tiredly and tossed Scully the
keys. Scully went around the car and into the driver's seat and Mulder dropped
into the
passenger's seat. Both of them turned around to look at Mark, passed out
in the back seat.
"Sleeping Beauty, huh?" Mulder said.
"Yeah. Poor guy. All right, let's find some half-decent hotel
around here. There _are_ some half-decent hotels around here, aren't there,
Mulder?"
Mulder shrugged. "How'm I supposed to know."
Scully sighed dramatically, stuck the key in the ignition and pulled
out. The car was silent. She drove around for a while and finally found
a Holiday Inn.
By the time she had found a parking space, Mark and Mulder were both asleep.
Scully sighed again, cursing there was no one around and _awake_ to hear
her
complaints, and went to the front desk. After getting two rooms (Mark and
Mulder seemed to get along well enough. Besides, they weren't around to
object, now were they?), Scully went back to the car, sat down in the
driver's seat again and, leaning all her weight forward, blasted the horn
into the
thin night air. Both of her male companions jumped six feet in the air and
came
down cursing low car ceilings.
"I got us rooms, guys," Scully said.
Scully held up the two keys in her hand and dangled them in front of
them. Mulder rubbed his head and grabbed one. He looked up at Scully with
a lop-
sided grin.
"Guess Chambers and I are roomies?" he asked.
"Very perceptive, Mulder. But you both get a key. Come on. I want
a good night's sleep before we jump into this case."
Mark took his own key. "Sounds like a good idea to me." He immediately got
out
of the car and started walking toward the hotel. Scully noticed how he shrugged
sleep
right off and walked as if being exhausted was nothing. Scully could tell
that Mark was
exhausted(with his boss she wouldn't doubt), but he looked as if he knew
how
to cope. Scully thought as she and Mulder followed him. <There's only
so
much pushing I can do.>
Holiday Inn
Room 212
10:46 p.m.
<The pictures. There has to be something in the pictures.>
Mulder sat at the hotel's version of a table with the photographs spread
out
in front of him. Gory and gruesome pictures, not something you would like
to look at
before bedtime, but Mulder had a feeling that as soon as he saw them, they
were the
key. So what if every time he looked at them he wanted to hurl? This killer
was
going to strike again; if he hadn't already. <Who knows?> Mulder thought
<He could be
starting his cycle of torture with another girl right now.>
His cycle of torture. After reviewing the file, Mulder had read Mark Chambers'
own profile of the killer. It was detailed and Mulder was very impressed
for
he had some of same thoughts only after reading the file.
"Killer most likely male, middle age and works near or with children," Mulder
read. He read on to the cycle of torture. The killer seemed to enjoy putting
his victims through. Sixteen days of emotional and physical abuse. Then
on the
sixteenth day, the kill. Mulder was so wrapped up in reading he didn't notice
Mark
walk in.
Mark just placed a bag of sunflower seeds next to the folder.
"Compliments of Agent Scully," he said before going toward the bathroom.
Mulder looked up . "Thanks," he said, then returned back to the folders
and
pictures.
Mark looked back at Mulder. He had heard of Fox Mulder before. A great
profiler who went "Spooky" and was now currently working the basement in
his
own pet project, "The X-Files." Unexplained phenomena. Mulder's theories
were
really out there, he had been told. Of course, until now, he had never met
Fox
Mulder. Not that he had, he saw some the thing he had heard were true.
Mulder had been here less than an hour and he had already thrown himself
into
the files. And Mark doubted anyone could disturb him now. Mulder's eyes
were
glued to the table, occasionally looking up toward something else, but then
they went straight back down. Mark had heard the Mulder got _really_ into
his cases. But, he knew people were talking about something bigger than
studying a few files.
Mark gave Mulder once last look and then shut the bathroom door.
Holiday Inn
Room 213
5:56 a.m.
"Knock, knock!"
Scully groaned and turned over. She sleepily grabbed for her watch to check
the time. 5:57 a.m. She sighed. She knew only one person that was up at
this
time.
The knocking continued, and Scully threw the covers off and slowly got out
of
bed.
"Jeez, Mulder, it's 6 a.m.!" she called as she walked toward the door. Sure
enough Fox Mulder was standing on the other side.
"Haven't you ever heard the saying 'the early bird gets the worm?' " he
asked
with a smile. He was dressed in his jogging sweats and looked like he had
just
returned from a run. He also looked like he stayed up all night, Scully
noted.
"Mulder, even birds sleep. Maybe you should take a few lessons from them."
Scully pushed some hair out of her face and shivered a little. The cold
air
was beginning to give her a chill.
"Hey, Chambers didn't seem to care. I left the light on last night and he
slept right through it. He's still sleeping now, in fact." Mulder noticed
Scully
shivering a little. "Cold, Scully?"
"Yes! Mulder, it's 45 degrees out!" She began to retreat back into her
room.
"Hey, it's California! This afternoon you'll be saying how hot is it."
Mulder leaned against her door. "We're meeting the LAPD at 9."
"Yes, at 9. It's 6 now, Mulder."
Mulder gave her a look that said "so?"
Scully sighed. "Tell you what, Mulder. I've go get ready. Then you see if
Mark's up and we'll go get something to eat."
"Ok, Scully." Mulder was gone as soon as he said those words. Scully sighed
again, closed her door, and walked her tired feet toward the bathroom.
Holiday Inn Dining Room
Los Angeles, CA
6:40 a.m.
They had had to sit outside and wait until 6:30, when the dining room opened.
Then, a groggy waitress with her hair barely combed and her apron on crooked
had escorted them to the closest table, dumped some menus on their laps
and a
little ice water in their cups and retired to the back room.
"Are you guys always up this early?" Mark grumbled who was still mad over
being woken up at six.
"Sorry. And Mulder, I said go _see_ if he's up, not wake him up."
Mulder shrugged. "So how do you get some service around here?"
"I think our waitress went back to sleep."
"I think Mark did too."
"Uh uh," Mark said. He was still in shock over how Mulder could possibly
go
to sleep so late, wake up so early and still be so damn cheerful!
"Don't worry about it, Mark," Agent Scully said, reading his thoughts. "My
partner's an insomniac."
"Oh," Was all he could say before the waitress reappeared and asked their
order.
After telling the waitress (now looking a little more human) what they wanted
and giving her their menus, Mulder reached down to his briefcase and pulled
out
the case file.
"You _brought_ that?" Scully demanded. "Mulder, I can't--"
"Relax, I just want to review what we're doing today. I was thinking we
could check in with LAPD, make sure we've got all the notes that exist,
then maybe
go to--"
He was cut off by Scully's cell phone ringing.
"Hello? ... yes, sir. No, that's okay. Mulder woke me up at six. ... Yes,
six. ...Are you sure, sir? ... well, I really can't say, we just started.
...Uh, yes
sir. ... All right, we'll pick you up.... Seven, California time, right...
Okay, bye, sir."
While she was talking, Mark had mouthed a silent "who?" to Mulder
and he had answered, silently as well, "Skinner."
"Who?" Mark repeated when Scully hung up.
"Skinner. Our boss," Mulder explained. "What's he want?"
"He's coming here. Apparently Stevens ordered him and, well, I guess even
the AD takes orders from that man."
Mark grinned. "He'd be crazy not to."
The waitress came again, this time with their food.
"So, Scully, _anyway_, I was thinking we could go to--"
"Not now. First, we're eating, _then_ we'll talk work."
LAX Airport
Los Angeles, CA
8:12 p.m. (California time)
Scully was pissed. Her boss's plane was over an hour late and the boys (as
she'd come to call them) had insisted on staying back at the hotel and working,
leaving her to wait in the hot, crowded airport, by herself. And, though
she hated to
admit it, Mulder had been right, she was cursing the heat now. California
weather sure was
strange....
"Agent Scully." Scully turned towards her boss's familiar voice.
"Hello, sir. Can I help you with one of those?" She gestured towards one
of
his suitcases. she thought. <He's good for that at least!>
Walking down the long airport corridor, Scully began to expound to Skinner
on
what they had accomplished so far. That day they had visited LAPD, as Mulder
had suggested, and found several more photographs from several more victims
they
hadn't even known about. Rather than look at them though (Scully knew they
would
be grotesque) she shoved them in "the boys' " directions and they took them
in,
eager for more evidence. However, she did catch the green look that crossed
both of
their faces when they first opened up the envelopes containing the pictures,
and then
quickly put them away for later inspection.
After that, they had gone to the VCS office right outside LA and conferred
with Agent Monaco, who had given them the names and addresses of several
of the
victims; those who hadn't moved out of the area.
Scully had finished telling the whole day to Skinner by the time
they had reached the parking lot. They somehow managed to hit LA rush hour
traffic (which
was several hours later than usual) and it took them nearly an hour to make
it back to
the hotel.
Holiday Inn
Los Angeles, CA
10:00 p.m.
After getting Skinner settled in his own room (Scully was beginning to feel
like the owner of the hotel, setting everyone up with a room), Scully retired
to her
room. She read for a little while, then turned off the lights and lay in
the dark,
wondering what The Boys were doing. She hadn't checked in on them since
before she left to
pick up Skinner...
<Relax. They can take care of themselves, they're grown men. That's what
I'm afraid of> Scully realized. <Oh well, what could go wrong? I'm
sure they're
just in their room, sleeping like babies...> And with that, she fell
asleep.
End Part 01 of 08.
==============================
Part 02 of 08.
Disclaimers in part 1.
Holiday Inn
Los Angeles, CA
3:31 a.m.
Mark had conked out on him around 1 in the morning, but he had been able
to
keep up the work on his own with minimum difficulty. Mulder was used to
the
long nights, er, mornings, from his many years, in VCS and then the X-Files,
and it wasn't until around three-thirty that he began to see double.
Sitting up was harder than he'd expected it to be. His muscles were taut
and
sore from hours in the exact same position and his eyes burned with
exhaustion. From the sitting position, Mulder managed to stand up, cross
the
room and take a drink from his coffee mug, then put it back down on the
table,
disgusted at its cold blandness. He then put all the papers back into the
folder, returned the photographs to their envelopes and put everything back
in
his briefcase. Quietly, so as not to disturb Mark, he pulled his laptop
out
of his bag and plugged it in, then sat cross-legged on the bed and began
his
letter:
Dear you sick bastard,
How the hell could you do this? Don't you have any conscience at all? Do
you
get a kick out of torturing eight year olds? Little girls, loved by their
parents and their big brothers. How do you think their families feel? You
asshole.
Mulder was breathing heavily in his rage. With shaking hands, he typed:
Sincerely yours,
Fox Mulder
Mulder stared at what he had written. Sure, he meant every single word,
but
why did he write it? He couldn't send it. Even if he wanted too, he had
no
idea who this person was. No there was only one thing he could do. Mulder
rubbed his tired eyes and picked up a file. Vanessa Slate was written on
the
top, and pictures of her dead body from various angles were paperclip to
the
folder. She had been the last victim. Mulder took one picture from the top
and studied it.
Mulder got the urge to throw up from what he saw. This victim seemed even
more abused then the rest. She was sliced repeatedly, not one of the wounds
was enough to kill her; they were just to add to her suffering. The picture
of an eight-year-old girl, on the floor, pleading for her life, while some
maniac held a razor in his hands flashed through Mulder's mind. He shuddered
and shook it out of his head. He stared back at the photograph.
She wasn't naked, not even raped once while she was held captive, but the
sight was still something you wouldn't want to see before you went to bed.
Vanessa's body was sprawled out, her eyes open and vacant, starring at
nothing. Blood covered her body, large clumps of it on her legs and stomach.
Her hair was also matted with blood, from the blow that killed her. This
killer was very abusive. He slashed them and tortured them repetitively
with
a razor blade, but didn't kill them with it. After days of torture, he just
whacked them over the head. Almost like he was giving them a quick end to
all
their misery. Almost like a gift.
Mulder stared at the picture, knowing that on the table below him were
fifteen pictures just like it. He sighed and put the picture down with the
others. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he _was_ tired and needed
_some_ sleep. He walked slowly over to his bed and plopped down, asleep
before he even hit the pillow.
-------------------
Mulder was at a crime scene. Another girl had been killed, and he couldn't
stop it. Police tape lined the area, and Mulder could see a small limp form
on the ground. He ducked under the tape and walked toward the girl. Red
stained the ground before he even reached her. As he approached, Mulder
noticed no one was around her. In fact everyone seemed far away, even from
him. Mulder frowned and walked toward the body.
The girl's brown hair was stained with blood, her clothes torn. Mulder
winced at the sight, but knew he'd have to look. He bent down and screamed.
Samantha's eyes stared back at him, cold, vacant, and dead.
Mulder's scream was enough to wake the whole hotel, and Mark jumped
when he heard it. He scrambled for the gun he had left on the nightstand,
held it
ready, when someone turned on the lights.
Mark looked up and saw Scully in the doorway. She rushed immediately to
Mulder's side, shaking him to wake him up. Mark realized then that the scream
was just from a nightmare, and sighed with relief. He placed his gun down
and
looked at the clock. 4:23 a.m. He looked toward Mulder's bed and realized
it must have been one hell of a nightmare to produce a scream like that.
Scully's shaking wasn't getting anywhere. Mulder was mumbling something,
though Mark wasn't sure what. Scully looked up at him.
"Nightmare," she explained, "Could you help?"
Mark nodded and walked over, helping Scully shake Mulder awake.
------------------
"Mulder, wake up."
Mulder heard the voice, but the picture of Samantha lying dead on the ground
didn't want to go away. "No," he murmured and felt a stronger shaking on
his shoulders.
"Mulder," the voice pleaded, and he recognized it as Scully's.
"Scully, make it go away," he muttered, and finally opened his eyes and
was able to exit
his dream.
And he saw two pairs of concerned eyes staring down at him. One was Scully's
and the other...... <Chambers> Mulder realized and blinked, his exhaustion
threatening to pull back into sleep. But that was the last place he wanted
to
go. He immediately sat up, a little embarrassed at having woken two people
up, and rubbed his eyes. His breaths were still coming in short gasps, and
he
tried to control his breathing.
"It's okay," Scully said and gripped his hands, as to keep them from shaking.
"It was so real," Mulder said, forgetting for the moment that Mark was in
the
room.
"What was so real?" Scully asked, and sat down on the bed next to him.
"The dream.....Samantha." Mulder looked up and seemed to remember
that Mark was in the room. He quickly straightened up. "It was nothing."
"It didn't sound like nothing." That voice came from the doorway and Mulder
saw AD Skinner standing there. "Is everything all right in here, agents?"
The three agents nodded. "Yes, sir, things are fine," Scully said, "Agent
Mulder just needs to get some more sleep."
Skinner nodded in agreement and left them, with Mark still looking
at Mulder.
"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked Mulder carefully.
Mulder got out of the bed and grabbed his watch off the dresser.
"Yes, I'm fine," he said, through he sounded shaken. Scully however was
not ready to
take that answer to heart.
"Mulder, get some sleep, you're exhausted. We have two crime scenes to visit
tomorrow and I'd prefer that you didn't collapse on me while we're there."
At the mention of sleep, Mulder's face looked shaken, though it only lasted
for a second. Mark didn't catch on to it, but he watched with curiosity
as
Scully walked toward Mulder and gripped her fingers with his. Though Mark
was in the room, the two agents seemed not to care.
"I can give you something to help you sleep," Scully urged, but
Mulder shook his head.
"It's 4:30 anyway. I'm up for the day." He grabbed some jogging clothes,
and walked toward the bathroom. "I'm just going to go for a jog. I'm fine,
Scully. _Really_."
Scully seemed doubtful but she went back to her room. Mark watched
all of this and then sat back down on his bed. <Never a dull moment>
he thought
as he decided to catch up on his sleep.
The VCS office
10:33 a.m.
"There's another girl missing."
Mulder watched Mark place the report on the table. "How do we know
it's our killer's work?"
Mark produced a plastic bag of evidence. A number written on a
piece of a girl's dress. 17.
"He marks his girls. Leaves a number at the scene where he took
them. She's going to be number seventeen in 12 days."
Scully picked up the report, while Mulder took the bag from Mark's hands.
The girls dress was lavender, and he tell from the material that it was
new.
He knew it was going to happen, and here it was. Now Mulder was really
going to throw up.
Mark sat down and continued to explain. "He's gloating. Seventeen is going
to be an anniversary of sorts for him. He indicates so with the cloth."
Mulder noted that the seventeen was circled, unlike any of the others.
"An anniversary of what?" Scully asked, but Mulder just concentrated on
the
number. Seventeen. There had to be something special about that. He noticed
Mark was talking again and turned his attention up toward him.
Mark held out a picture. "This is the girl missing. Eight-year-old
Samantha Ingber."
As soon as he said that name, Mulder's dream returned to his mind. This
time, he knew he was going to be sick.
Scully saw him and grabbed the garbage can just in time. She sat there and
rubbed his back and Mulder continued to retch until nothing else would come
up.
The VCS Office
10:40 a.m.
"Hey, you okay?" Mark asked, trying to lean in to get a better look at
Mulder.
Scully turned at the waist, her hand still rubbing her partner's back
soothingly. "Shh, just give him a minute."
Several minutes later, Mulder lifted his head and they could see his
pale complexion and bloodshot eyes.
"Mark, why don't you keep going over those papers, I'm just going to
take him outside for a minute." Scully gently took Mulder's arm and guided
him
towards the door.
"Go back to work, Agent Scully," A voice from the doorway said.
"I'll take care of this." Skinner intercepted Mulder halfway across the
room and
helped him outside. They sat on a bench right outside the door and Skinner
gave
Mulder another minute to calm down before addressing him. "Mulder, I know
about your time at VCS. I know this is going to be hard on you. But you
need to understand: Stevens chose you because he knew you're the best. And
everybody's counting on you... Okay, this is coming out wrong. What I'm
trying to say is that you need to keep a safe distance from this case because
we can't have you breaking down. Work on it like you would any other, but
don't get too involved. And don't let your health deteriorate. I know you
have a tendency to forget about yourself during these cases and only
concentrate on catching the killer. _You can't do that this time. We need
you_."
Skinner studied his agent, and found him squirming and distant, shivering
a
little, even in the late morning heat, and looking like he'd like nothing
more
than to bolt. Skinner sighed heavily. "All right, you can go back now. But,
Mulder? Be careful."
Mulder nodded and, a bit shakily, stood and went back into the room.
"You need to be more specific," Scully was saying, agitation lacing her
usually calm voice. "What could seventeen _mean_ to the killer? Is it
something from his childhood? His mother's birthday, maybe? You need to
find these things out."
"I don't _know_!" Mark got up and began pacing. "I just need to..."
"His sister," Mulder said softly.
"What, Mulder?" Scully asked. She hadn't noticed he had returned.
"His sister was taken from him when she was seventeen. He was younger than
her, thirteen, and he always used to... um, resent her, I guess. She thought
he was a pain in the ass but he loved her. Then, when she was seventeen,
she disappeared."
"Mulder, what the hell are you talking about?" Scully asked. She walked
over to her partner and lay a hand on his arm.
He immediately shook her off and started pacing with Mark. "Well, all these
victims. Look at the first one. Morgan Aaronson, eight, older brother,
Anthony, twelve. A four year difference. Then the next one, Tina Zenkle,
eight, younger brother, Matthew, four. Then the next one, Hallie Bryant,
eight, older brother, twelve. There's a four year difference every time
and
it alternates, older, younger, older, younger. Number seventeen, circled,
is
his sister, taken when she was seventeen. Seventeen is an odd number, so
she must have a _younger_ brother, age thirteen. And that would be our killer."
Mark was gaping at him, mouth wide open. "When did you figure that out?"
Mulder gave a half-hearted smile. "After you fell asleep last night."
"How late were you up?" Scully demanded.
"I don't know. Sometime after... I dunno, maybe around four."
"Four?! And then you had that nightmare and... Jesus, Mulder, you couldn't
have gotten more than two hours of sleep last night! How can you be up and
walking around?"
Mulder shrugged and dropped into a chair.
"But, wait a minute," Mark said. "Why would he take eight year old girls
if
his sister was taken when she was seventeen?"
"That's what we're here to find out," Mulder told him.
Holiday Inn
Los Angeles, CA
4:56 p.m.
After the little episode that morning, Mulder had refused to eat anything
the
rest of the day, afraid his stomach wouldn't be able to handle it. By four
thirty, the lack of sleep and nutrition to his system caught up with him
and
he had to struggle to keep his eyes open. Scully, of course, noticed this,
but didn't bring it up. She didn't want to embarrass him in front of
Skinner and Mark plus she knew he would just deny it, like he always did.
"But why does he take them when they're eight? It just doesn't make any
sense!" The long hours of sitting in the same room, staring at the same
white
walls, trying to solve the same problems was getting to Mark.
"Mulder, how can you be sure he even _had_ a sister? And, even more, that
she was taken when she was seventeen. I mean, that number could mean
something else. It could mean _anything_ else," Scully said.
Mulder looked up wearily from the papers he was reading. "I know that,
Scully. But its just... I just... I just _know_. Please trust me on this
one. Now we need to figure out why he takes eight year old girls. It's
gotta be something--"
"Maybe seventeen year olds put up too much of a struggle," Mark suggested.
"No, that's too simple," Mulder said. "This is obviously close to home for
the killer, he's got to have some good reason..."
"Mulder, I think it's a little close to home for you too," Scully said
gently. "Maybe you should take a break."
"No!" Mulder slammed his fist down on the table in frustration. "There's
gotta be something... lemme..." He grabbed a pad and pencil from across
the
table and began scribbling numbers on it.
"What's he doing?" Mark whispered to Scully. She shrugged.
Mulder let out a strange sound, half way between a cough and a whimper.
"I
can't get it. The only thing I can come up with is... well, two times four
is eight."
"So?" Mark asked.
"The four year difference between siblings and then two is... I
don't know what two is. I just don't know."
"It's okay," Scully said. "That's good. Something new to work with." She
noticed he was squinting against the bright desk lamp and helpfully turned
it away from his face. "Headache?" she asked, sympathetically.
He nodded minutely and Scully crossed the room and got out two Advil
for him. He swallowed them with the last remnants of cold coffee and stared
blankly
at the dull white wall. "I just can't get it."
"It's okay," Scully said reassuringly. She watched Mulder's tired eyes scan
the wall, and knew he needed some sleep before he collapsed.
"I think we could all use a break," she said, hoping that they would get
the
hint.
Skinner nodded. "That's a good idea." Mark nodded also and left the room
quickly, seemingly glad to escape its four walls.
Mulder sat down on a bed and rubbed his temples. "I just can't get it,"
he
repeated. Skinner looked at him concerned but decided Scully could take
care of it.
"How about we meet for dinner at 7?" Scully said as Skinner walked out the
door. Skinner knew Mulder hadn't eaten anything all day and Scully was
hoping she could get _something_ into him.
"I'll tell Agent Chambers," he agreed and exited the room, leaving
Mulder and Scully alone.
Scully saw Mulder staring back at the pad he had scribbled on. He was
staring so intently at it that he didn't notice Scully when Scully sat right
next to him.
"Mulder," she said gently and laid a hand on his shoulder. He jumped and
spun around, dropping his pad on the floor.
"Sorry, Scully." He barely glanced at her as he reached for his pad and
began scribbling again. Scully had to physically take the pad away from
him
for him to look up at her again.
"Mulder, get some sleep." She held the pad in her hand, and excepted an
argument to ensue. It did, though it wasn't one she expected.
"No, Scully. It's here, I know it." He grabbed his pad back from her and
held it tightly in his hands. For a minute Scully thought he was going to
tear it into two, but instead he placed it on his bed, next to him and
stared toward the wall.
Scully watched him, suddenly both worried and afraid. She remembered the
case with Bill Patterson, how he distanced himself, but this was different.
This time it was almost........personal. A little too personal.
<Does he think saving her will save Samantha?> Scully wondered. She
sat in silence next to him, wanting to speak, but not knowing what to say.
It turned out she didn't have to speak.
"Sam could be a pain, sometimes." It was a statement, and Scully wasn't
sure
why it come up, but he continued in a quiet, yet almost rambling way.
"I was the last person to see her, too." Scully moved closer, to put a hand
on his shoulder, but he moved away. "Just like this case. Each time the
girl disappeared, her brother was the last to see her."
"Yes, they were." Another moment of silence. Finally Scully got off the
bed.
"Mulder, you need to get some sleep. I heard it's the newest thing."
That got a small smile out of him. "Well, I was never one for trends." He
lifted his pad up again, but Scully took it and placed it on the nightstand.
"Sleep," she said forcefully.
Mulder sighed, but she could tell he was exhausted and couldn't hide it
any
longer. He hadn't been sleeping on their last case either, so it was all
catching up with him. "You win," he finally agreed.
"When do I not?" she teased. "See you in a couple of hours for dinner."
She
walked toward the door. "I really mean sleep, Mulder. _Not_ pace the room
with a notebook in hand. "
"Yes, Mom," he answered.
Scully took one more long concerned gaze toward him as she walked
out. She crossed her fingers and hoped Mulder would survive this case.
Holiday Inn
5:35 p.m.
Mulder lied. He didn't sleep. The second Scully walked out the door, he
grabbed his pad and look at his scribblings. He still wasn't getting anywhere
and his exhaustion was getting worse by the second. But he was close. He
could _feel_ it.
<Two times four is eight, but what is the two for?> He ran his finger
along
the numbers, frustrated. <This killer must have a reason> he thought,
and
he walked toward the table and picked up the report on Samantha Ingber.
Seeing the photo evoked the same queasy feeling he had that morning. Brown
hair. Blue eyes. And a smile that only caused Mulder to look away. There
were so many likenesses. He had to save her.
But how? He blinked and stared at the file, almost as if it held everything
he needed and wanted to know. But it didn't.
He glanced at his watch. 5:35. Scully said something about eating at 7.
Mark had disappeared, and Mulder had a feeling that Scully might be behind
that. <Oh well,> he thought as he gathered the files. <Time to
take a
walk.> He grabbed the set of keys that Scully had mistakenly left behind
in
the hotel room and headed out.
Near the Ingbers' home
5:49 p.m.
He'd lucked out. It turned out that Samantha Ingber's home was only about
seven blocks from the hotel. So after making sure the hallways were
clear(with no Scully in sight) he had driven right there.
He now stood across the street from the house. The house was dark and no
car
was in the driveway. He would think no one was home if it wasn't for the
boy
playing basketball in the driveway.
He had brown hair, and looked to be about twelve, thirteen. <Must be
the
brother> Mulder thought, remembering he had read about Samantha having
a
twelve-year-old brother. The young pre-teen continued to shoot, but there
was an air of sadness about him. Every time he made a shoot, he'd look over
his
shoulder, almost as if he expected someone to be there. <His sister>
Mulder
thought and turned away.
Why did he come here? For a clue? He wasn't sure. He shoved his hands into
his pockets and walked back to the car, before he had time to take a trip
down memory lane. He couldn't help but wonder how Samantha Ingber's brother's
life was like. Probably better than his.
He kicked a stray rock and sighed. He wanted to know what happened to
Samantha, his sister. But at the same time he was afraid of the answer.
Maybe it was better off not knowing the worst.
He took another look back at the child in the driveway. He continued to
shoot, and his sadness continued to show. Mulder felt angry; he HAD to find
this killer. He just HAD to.
End Part 02 of 08.
======================
Part 03 of 08.
Holiday Inn
6:03 p.m.
Mark Chambers reached into his pocket for his key. Scully had told him that
Mulder was sleeping and to just leave him alone for awhile and he'd agreed.
Mulder had been here two days and already Mark saw how drained he was. And
his "incident" this morning sure didn't help. Mark hoped he was sleeping,
and was as quiet as he could be as he entered the room.
But as he looked around he noticed it didn't matter if he was as loud as
a
stampede of elephants. Mulder wasn't there.
On the road
Los Angeles, CA
6:24 p.m.
Mulder's hand was turning the knob on the radio faster than he was driving
down the seven blocks between Samantha's house and the Holiday Inn. He
finally gave up and turned off the radio but found the dull drone of the
driving car was starting to put him to sleep.
<Damnit, I'm going to be late. But how was _I_ supposed to know that
rush
hour was the worst in this part of town? Oh, now I remember. I was supposed
to stay in the room. Right. Anyway.>
When Mulder finally made it back to the room, he paused before entering.
He
heard rustling inside the room and had a feeling he was in trouble.
"Where the hell were you??" Mark greeted him.
"Sorry, I--"
"You're lucky I didn't report you to your partner."
Mulder dropped down on the bed with a long sigh. "Look, _Mark_, I'm sorry.
I just had to check up on something for the case," he said. Pulling off
his
sneakers, he fell back so about half of him was lying flat on the bed and
his
legs were dangling off the end. Then he scooted up on the bed until his
head
was on the pillow and let his burning eyes drift shut. Mark thought he had
fallen asleep but then he said, his voice low, "I had to check on Sam."
"Samantha Ingber?" Mark asked.
Mulder didn't answer.
Holiday Inn
Mulder and Mark's room
6:49 p.m.
Mark looked up from his People magazine when Scully knocked. He padded,
his
socked feet soft in the thick carpeting, to the door and let Scully in.
"Almost ready?" she said. "Hey, where's Mulder?"
Mark gestured toward the bed and Scully smiled.
"He needed the sleep," she said, her voice soft now that she knew her partner
was asleep. "He's had plenty of it now, though, I guess I'll wake him up."
Mark didn't have the heart to tell her that Mulder had only been sleeping
for the fifteen minutes since he came back from his mysterious outing so
he put
on his shoes while Scully went to shake her partner.
"C'mon Mulder, time for dinner."
He groaned.
"Mulder, you've been sleeping for a while. It's time for dinner
now. You need to get up." Scully prodded.
Mark finished tying his shoes and stood up. "Maybe we should just let him
be," he said. Even though he had been mad with Mulder earlier, he felt bad
for the guy. He knew Mulder was running on next to no sleep and this was
a
strenuous case.
"I'm up, I'm up," Mulder pulled his head off the pillow, swung his legs
over
the side of the bed, stretched, then stumbled into the bathroom to splash
some cold water onto his face.
Restaurant
7:45 p.m.
Conversation buzzed around Mulder but he was somehow able to block all that
out and concentrate on the case. He had already humored Scully by ordering
something, then picking at it for a couple minutes, eating half of it, half-
heartedly, then leaning back in his chair and staring around the room.
"We're going to the see Samantha Ingber's parents tomorrow," Mark
was reporting to Skinner. "We're also hoping to interview her brother since
the
brother seems to be the link in all of these cases."
Skinner nodded.
"The thing that's really bothering me, though, is that these girls
have _no_ fingerprints or hairs or fibers at all on them. It's as though
they weren't
touched at all, but, they obviously were, because they were so badly
beaten," Scully said.
"Then killed," Mark added.
"Mulder, do you have any theories on this?" Scully turned to her
partner.
He continued to stare into space.
"What's wrong with him?" Skinner asked. "Scully?"
"He's tired," Mark said. "Uhh..."
"I can't imagine why. He had a pretty long nap this afternoon--" Scully
was
cut off when Mulder came back among the living and said loudly,
"I got it! Damn, how could I've missed it the first time?"
He was silent then and Mark said, "Would you like to share with the
rest of us exactly _what_ you got?"
"It's the last names. You see," Mulder pulled out a notepad and
began scribbling down names. "First victim, last name Aaronson. Second victim,
last name, Zenkle. Third victim, last name Bryant. Fourth victim, last name,
Yard. You see?" They were nodding.
"What's that gonna tell us though, Mulder?" Scully asked.
"I don't know yet. But it's something. And it'll help us figure
out who the next victim will be." He continued to list names.
Victim 1. Aaronson
Victim 2. Zenkle
Victim 3. Bryant
Victim 4. Yard
Victim 5. Cooperman
Victim 6. Xavier
Victim 7. Downing
Victim 8. Woods
Victim 9. Ephany
Victim 10. Voltalino
Victim 11. Faber
Victim 12. Uterman
Victim 13. Grant
Victim 14. Thomson
Victim 15. Herman
Victim 16. Slate
Victim 17. Ingber
"Unbelievable," Mark muttered. "How the hell'd you figure that
out?"
Mulder shrugged. "That one wasn't that hard. It's that '2' that's
still got me."
"Two?" Skinner asked.
"Yes, sir. We have... well, here." Mulder showed him all his notes and
Skinner nodded. "What are we missing that the two could be for? We have
the last name thing. We have the four year difference between brother and
sister, and that it alternates every time; older/ younger. We have an idea
on his
motive: his sister was taken, and there's the four year difference again.
What are we missing? Criminal's name, his hideout... his hideout. Mark,
do
we have anything on location?"
"Nope."
"That's it. Is there, uh, a second street around here?"
"Downtown," Scully said quietly. "Well, I'm guessing. We're uptown and we
have streets in the 30's so there's probably a two somewhere down the line.
But Mulder, first off, isn't that a little... far. I mean, the two could
be for anything!"
"Yeah, but this killer, he's playing with us. I think there's more to him
that meets the eye; something... something that he wants to mess around
with
us. Like he doesn't care if he loses. Like he's already lost in someway
and
he's just _teasing_ us. Maybe he thinks he's lost cause he lost his sister,
I don't know yet. But he's giving us these clues; he's trying to get us
to
play along. But 2nd street must have some significance in his life, what,
I
don't know yet."
"Good, Mulder," Skinner said. He had been watching on silently until now,
but pride for his agent shone on his face. "Let's all go home and get some
rest, now."
They went back to the hotel soon after that. But Mulder got no rest that
night.
Mulder and Mark's Hotel Room
12:28 a.m.
"4th Street, 3rd street,......here it is! 2nd Street!"
Mulder jumped up from the map he was looking at, grabbed a pen and
marked the street with it.
Mark opened his eyes, groaned and turned toward Mulder. He looked
at his watch. 12:28 a.m.! If he was beat, then Mulder must be dead on his
feet.
Mulder had run all over town, looking for a map, and at 11:30 he came back
to the hotel with his prize. After plenty of disapproving looks from Scully
and a warning _not_ to stay up late (and he had a feeling she would be
checking), he had spread the map out on his bed and began the search for
2nd Street.
Mark had left him to his own work at 12, and had drifted off, but now
Mulder's shout had woken him up. He sighed groggily.
"You found it?"
"Yep. It was downtown, just like Scully said." If Mark didn't know any
better he'd think Mulder was _glowing_. Mulder smiled for the first time
since getting here and was really getting into it. Suddenly he got up and
grabbed a ruler off the dresser. He grabbed the stack off files off of the
floor and opened them, oblivious to Mark's staring. Mark had a feeling that
he better get some sleep before Mulder woke him again, so he closed his
eyes
and drifted off to sleep.
Scully's room
2:37 a.m.
Knock! Knock!
"Hmm." Scully turned in her sleep. <Dreaming of knocks, now?> she
thought
sleepily. Then she realized that is wasn't a dream. It came from outside
her door.
Scully's eyes darted to the clock, which read 2:37. She picked up her gun
from the nightstand, and clasping it tightly, walked to the door.
With a good grip on her gun she opened the door......and was surprised to
met
a startled Fox Mulder on the other side.
"Jesus, Mulder! It's 2:30 a.m.! I told you to sleep!" She was relieved it
was Mulder, but she was also angry at him for not being in bed. He looked
horrible. The black circles under his eyes had only increased and the bandage
on his wrist from their last case needed to be changed. Overall he looked
like shit. Surprisingly it didn't seem to phase him a bit.
"I found it!" Mulder walked in the door, his map in hand and dumped
it on the unused bed in the room. He plopped down with it, and pointed.
"All these victims, the girls, lived in a five mile radius of each other."
Mulder held up his map, and pointed to the respective streets he had
circled.
"What?" Scully said, still not over the fact that he was up and
alert at 2:30 in the morning.
"They all lived close, Scully. And they all lived about the same distance
from one place. A school. Lincoln Elementary School. Every single girl
was enrolled as a student there at one point in their lives. Some transferred,
but they all spent at least one year there. It's on 2nd Street.
Downtown." Mulder dropped his map, and bent down to pick it up, wincing
when his hand touched the rug.
Scully immediately walked over to him and took his hand it hers to get a
good
look at it. "A school?" she said absently as she looked at his wrist. Mulder
drew in a sharp breath when she took the bandage off, and she grew concerned.
Mulder didn't seem to notice.
"Mark's profile said he works with kids. He's right. He works so close to
kids that no one would ever stop to think he'd harm them. He's a teacher,
Scully. Of what, I'm not sure."
He stopped talking, and Scully looked at him, hoping he hadn't zoned out
on
her. She was relieved to see he was just deep in thought, so she turned
her
attention back to his hand. The cut on the wrist was an angry red, a sign
of a sure-fire infection. Lucky, it wasn't very serious. Well, at least
not yet.
"Ok, he's a teacher. We'll check that out." She didn't mention his hand;
she just got up to go get her medical bag. Mulder's eyes followed her steps.
"Gee, Scully, leaving so soon?"
She turned and smiled. "You never get rid of me that easily, Mulder. That
cut on your wrist is infected." She grabbed her bag and brought it over
to
the bed.
"My what?..." Mulder looked down at his wrist. "I hadn't noticed."
"You don't notice anything," Scully teased. She dressed his cut again, and
Mulder winced when she touched his wrist. "Sorry. He's a teacher?"
"Yeah, it fits. He would have known all the victims, and when they were
vulnerable. And the school is on Second Street. Eight is two times four.
That's what the two stands for, but...."
Scully stopped searching through her bag to look at him. "But what?"
"But, it's too easy. He's making it too easy. Almost as if he wants to get
caught...." Mulder reached for his map and stared at it.
"You need some sleep, Mulder. And I'm going to get some antibiotics for
your
wrist tomorrow." She was ready to drop herself. She had been partnered with
Fox Mulder for five years, yet she never did get used to these "2 a.m. meetings."
Mulder shook his head. "I can't sleep, Scully. I need to-"
"You don't need to do anything now, Mulder. You won't be able to function
without sleep." She offered him her hand up off the bed.
"No, Scully.....I'm close I know it." Scully watched him carefully, and
sighed. She dug through her bag again, and came up with a bottle of pills.
She unscrewed the cap, shook out one pill, and placed it in Mulder's
uninjured hand.
Mulder looked at it. "Mulder, it will help you sleep. And don't argue with
me, it's two in morning and frankly, I don't trust you to sleep on your
own.
So swallow the pill and I'll help you back to your room."
"I don't need your help, Scully. And I don't need pills." He placed the
pill
back into her hand, and walked out the door. "I'm okay, Scully. Really."
Scully thought as he closed her door.
Scully's Room
Los Angeles, CA
6:45 a.m.
"Scully, could you come here for a minute please?"
"Sure Mark," Scully put down her cell phone and called into the next room,
"What is it?" She was still laughing over the fact that Mark had called
her
when they were in conjoining rooms but she could tell from the tone of his
voice that it wasn't good.
"I dunno. Something's wrong with Mulder."
"Okay, I'll be right over."
Mulder was slouched over the table in his and Mark's room, papers
spread out around him, his head cradled in his hands, fast asleep.
"I can't get him to wake up. Shit Scully, what's the matter with him?"
Scully placed a hand on Mark's shoulder. "The AD wants to meet with us in
two minute, breakfast. You go have breakfast with him and we'll meet you
at
eight at the VCS office, all right?"
Mark nodded and, with a last glance in Mulder's direction, left.
Letting out a long sigh, Scully bent over her partner once again. Gently
peeling back the bandages, she found the cut looking much worse than it
had
last night. His whole wrist and half-way up to his elbow was swollen now
to
almost twice it's normal size. He was feverish too, she could tell, from
the infection that was getting worse and worse.
<I'd better get him some antibiotics for this, _now_> Scully thought.
She
shook her partner and he groaned loudly but made no move to get up.
"All right, Mulder, you've had your fun. Time to go to the doctor now."
A muffled response came from Mulder. "You're my doctor."
"I know, but right now I don't have the medicine for you. So we need to
get
you checked out in town and get you on some serious antibiotics but you're
going
to have to wake up first."
"Right," Mulder said. Slowly, his back aching, he pulled himself up
from the table and stood up.
Scully patted his arm. "C'mon partner."
Holiday Inn
Los Angeles, CA
7:30 a.m.
"Explain to me again the significance of Second Street," Skinner
said over a plate of steaming waffles.
Mark shrugged, feeling more than slightly stupid. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't
understand it myself. You'll have to ask Mulder." He looked around the
restaurant, wishing for all the world that he wasn't stuck in this awkward
position. "Wherever he may be," he muttered.
VCS Office
Los Angeles, CA
9:08 a.m.
"Mark Chambers."
"Hi, Mark, it's me. Scully."
"Scully," Mark put down the files he was reviewing. "Where've you
been? Is Mulder okay?"
Scully sighed. "Yeah, he'll be okay. I needed to take him to a local doctor
since I can't prescribe medicine over here, and the doctor, well, how can
I
put this, wasn't very gentle. He yelled at Mulder for not taking care of
the
wrist and then he, quite roughly, cleaned out the wound, threw some
antibiotics at us and told Mulder that if he didn't get sleep soon he would
have a psychotic episode. Mulder's a little peeved right now, but he'll
be
okay. I'm going to take him back to the hotel for some sleep and then I'll
meet you guys at the office."
"Okay. Hey, Scully, the AD and I were hoping to go down to Second
Street today and just look around, see what kind of a place it is. Find
some
potential hideouts for our killer. Of course, we wouldn't bust in on our
own,
we'll wait till we get a whole back-up team and all that, but we just want
to check it out."
"Okay, sounds good."
"We're also going to interview the principle at Lincoln Elementary School.
We found out that Gertrude Beckoff has been the principle there since 1969
so we figure she's known most the teachers that have been there over the
past
thirty years so she should be of some help."
"All right, let me drop Mulder off and I'll be right there. Will you wait
for me?"
"Sure. Bye."
Scully hung up and looked over at her partner, asleep in the passenger's
seat. She hated to wake him, but they were at the hotel now and, if she
ever
wanted to get over to the VCS office, she was going to have to leave him
off
first. He was in _no_ condition to be walking around, let alone trying to
catch a criminal.
"Hey, Mulder, wake up. You need to go inside so I can get some work done,"
she said.
Mulder's eyes shot open. "You're going to work?"
Scully nodded. "And you're going to sleep. C'mon, let's go."
He was shaking his head. "No way. Not while you're working. I
want to go too." He set his chin like a stubborn three year old.
"Mulder, you _heard_ that doctor."
"I don't _like_ that doctor," he said and folded his arms in front
of his chest.
"Tough, I don't care if you like him or not, he was right!"
"No!" Mulder's next argument made use of the wonderful technique of
whining. "But Scu-lly..." Then, as if coming to a conclusion, he leaned
back in his
chair and stared straight forward as if to say, "Do what you please but
I'm
not moving."
VCS Office
Los Angeles, CA
9:48 a.m.
"Hey, I thought you were leaving him at the hotel!" Was Mark's
greeting to his fellow agents.
"That's what I thought, too," Scully said blandly and dropped into a chair
next to the AD. "So what are you guys up to?"
"About to leave, actually," Mark said. "We're going down to Second Street.
The AD's going to interview ole Gerty and I thought me and you would check
out the area."
"And me," Mulder piped in half-heartedly.
Mark grinned at him. "You give me no time alone with your beautiful
partner! Hey, how are you feeling, buddy?"
"Ready. Let's go catch us a criminal."
4 2nd St.
Los Angeles, CA
10:02 a.m.
Mulder lead the way, then came Mark, and Scully brang up the rear.
"Four," Mulder explained. "The age difference between the kids.
I'm pretty sure we're in the right place."
The building was dank and musty and no working light source was anywhere
in
sight. It was a precise example of the good stuff X-Files were made of.
The agents walked along the walls, guns in hands pressed against their legs
as
to be secretive, all eyes alert (even Mulder who was fighting exhaustion
and a
fever from the infection).
"I see something," Mark whispered and Mulder turned back to him.
"What?"
"I don't know. Keep going, there, look. On the windowsill."
Mulder, who was first, pulled a post-it note off the windowsill. It looked
fairly new and had minimum dust on it, probably meaning it had been placed
there recently.
"Nice work on the math skills. But this is not the number you're looking
for, agents."
Scully shuddered. "What other number could it be?" she whispered.
Mulder folded the paper in half and stuck it in his pocket. "I think this
is
more of a clue than a piece of evidence," he explained. "I'm not sure.
What about seventeen? His sister's age..."
"That's right up the street," Scully said. "Let's go."
They turned around and started walking, this time with Scully leading and
Mulder at the end. Mulder was at the top of the staircase when he had the
strange feeling of being watched.
<You're too paranoid> he laughed at himself.
But when he _saw_ his watcher, all self-mockery was thrown aside. Mulder
brought his gun up (awkward since he was holding it in his left hand, his
right hand incapacitated from the thick bandage covering the wrist and part
of the hand) and followed a vague shadow on the wall that was always a bit
ahead of him.
<Is that my own shadow??> Mulder turned around and found his shadow
behind him, and was a bit relieved to find that he wasn't imagining things,
but
also scared because he was following someone and was all alone. <Screw
that, I
need to find this guy!> He ran a few steps to catch up with the shadow.
The shadow broke into a run. Mulder chased after it but this particular
part of
the house was in the back and was particularly dark, causing him to bump
into several pieces of furniture and other items that were conveniently
in his
path. He could hardly see the shadow anymore and he broke into a sprint.
Mulder chased the shadow all the way to the other side of the house
and found himself in a room containing nothing more than a small window.
<I'm positive he went this way, though...>
Outside the window was a fire escape and a ladder leading up to the
roof of the building.
<Fire escape, roof, fire escape, roof. I'll take the roof, Monty.>
Mulder,
careful of his throbbing wrist, climbed up the ladder and there, instead
of
a shadow, was a man. He was tall, about 6'2, Mulder would say, and he was
strong. Mulder could see the man's muscles from all the way across the big,
flat rooftop, and the sight made him hesitate a minute before continuing
his
sprint. He chased the man around the roof several times, dizzy from going
in circles, but couldn't seem to catch him. The whole thing was like a bad
dream, being stuck alone chasing a killer, and going in circles.
Damn, he must've zoned out for a minute. The man wasn't on the roof anymore.
There he was, on the ladder. Mulder raced across the roof and scrambled
down the ladder, jarring his wrist. He saw the man on the fire escape look
up at
him, giving Mulder a full view of his face, then grin and jump off the fire
escape. A minute later, Mulder heard a soft thud, then shoes pounding on
the pavement; the man was running away. Mulder ran to the edge of the fire
escape, narrowly missing falling off it, and (he later decided that falling
off it would've been better) jumped off it, landing hard on stomach.
<Jesus!!> Mulder gasped, trying to get his wind back. <The height
that fire escape is at _must_ be illegal, that thing is like 60 feet in
the air!
Shit, I forgot, I've got a killer to catch, screw the fire escape!> Mulder
forced
himself to his feet and, still gasping for breath, started in the direction
he thought the man had gone. By this time, he had completely forgotten that
Mark and Scully were only on the other side of the building and would've
made
great backup, if he'd remembered to get them. But, Mulder being Mulder,
he ran
after the criminal himself.
And, Mulder being Mulder, when he caught up with the criminal, it
was not a pretty sight.
End Part 03 of 08.
=======================
Part 04 of 08.
10:17 a.m.
Scully turned when she heard footsteps up on the roof.
"Mark, there's someone on the roof," she said and walked back to
where Mulder was. But he was gone.
Mark was looking for him, too. "Damn, where'd he go?"
A big clang interrupted their thoughts, and Scully gripping her gun
tightly, ran toward the noise. Mark followed close behind her.
Scully circled the building and found an iron pole, <that's what must
have
made the clang> she realized, and not far from that she found Mulder,
sitting on the ground, gasping for breath, and clutching his stomach.
"Mulder!" She ran to his side, but he was too busy trying to catch his
breath to notice. When she tried to get a better look at him, he started
to
bat her hand away.
"I'm-..ok-ay," he gasped, but Scully knew he was quite the opposite.
She glanced at the pole again, and back to Mulder.
"Mulder, what happened?"
Mulder swallowed, still trying to get a hold on his breath, and after a
minute he gave a shaky reply. "I saw him. I was chasing him, and-..I
caught up-"
"Did he hit you?" Scully asked concerned, her gaze darting back to
the pole.
"Yeah," Mulder admitted, still clutching his stomach.
Mark caught up with them then. "Scully, did you-..Jesus, Mulder!
Are you all right?"
Scully was too busy prying Mulder's hand away from his stomach to answer
Mark. As soon as she laid her hand on it, he gasped in pain. She turned
toward Mark. "I want to get him checked out at the hospital."
Mark nodded. "Want me to call ahead?"
Scully nodded and turned back to Mulder, who was shaking his head
and wincing at the same time.
"I'm okay, Scully," he said in a weak voice that was barely above a
whisper.
"Like hell you are. Why didn't you call for backup?"
Mulder stopped clutching his stomach to look up at her sheepishly. "I-"
Mulder was saved when Mark came back toward them. "They'll be
expecting us."
"Good. Help me get him to the car."
Mulder, knowing it was two against one, gave in and let Scully and
Mark lead toward the rental car.
"I also called the AD and let him know where we were going. Told him
we'd keep him updated."
Scully nodded. "Thanks." They carefully got Mulder settled in the back
seat. Scully took the keys out of her pocket and tossed them to Mark.
"You know the way?" Mark nodded.
"Let's go."
Hospital
11:23 a.m.
"How is he?" Mark asked as Scully came toward him.
"In x-ray as we speak. But he'll be okay. He's already complaining," Scully
answered with a smile as she sat down next to him.
"Good. AD Skinner called me before about Mulder. He also wanted to
know what happened. What did happen?"
Scully sat back, thinking. "Mulder told me he was chasing our suspect."
"But we don't even _have_ a real suspect yet."
"Well, Mulder is convinced we do. Anyway, he chased him and caught
up with him, and that where the pole came in."
"Ouch. Did he get a good look at the guy?"
Scully shook her head. "No, he said that the guy ran too fast. He
only got a glimpse at his face. I'm going to go talk to the doctor."
Mark nodded and as she walked away his cell phone chirped.
"Mark Chambers," he answered.
"Agent Chambers, it's AD Skinner."
Mark sighed and began to rely what Scully just told him.
Hospital
12:01 p.m.
"He's lucky. The ribs are just badly bruised, no breaks." Scully
was looking at the x-rays with the doctor as she spoke.
"But he's dehydrated, exhausted, and his temp is up to 102. We have him
on
fluids and antibiotics, and he's complaining, but it's not much of a fight.
I'd like to keep him overnight. Keep him on fluids and monitor his fever."
Scully nodded. "He's not going to like that, but it's for the best. He's
exhausted and hasn't been sleeping well for the last few days." Sleeping
well was an understatement. He hadn't been sleeping _at_all_.
"That would count for the exhaustion. If all goes well, I'll release him
tomorrow morning."
Scully nodded again. "Thanks, Dr. Stevens."
Mulder's eyes brightened at the sight of Scully walking toward him.
"Come to spring me, Scully?" he said, his exhausted hazel eyes
pleading with her.
"Sorry, Mulder. Doctor wants you to stay awhile. Overnight. And I
agree with her recommendation."
Mulder sighed, and laid his head back on the pillow. "Scully, I can't be
stuck here till tomorrow. I'm so close, he's toying with us......he _wants_
us to find him...We _have_ to find Samantha! He wants us too! But I don't
know why..." Mulder trailed off and closed his eyes.
"Mulder, he took Samantha 5 days ago. We have 11 days. You can't
find her if you're exhausted and sick. I'll spring you first thing tomorrow
morning." She sighed. "Mulder, I'm worried about you. And I'm not the only
one.
Mark and Skinner are concerned. Jeez, you scared Mark to death this morning."
Mulder's eyes opened and he smiled weakly. "Hey, I have to live up
to my nickname."
Scully smiled. "Get some rest. I'll be back later."
Holiday Inn
2:56 p.m.
"What did you find out, sir?"
Scully was sitting in Mark and Mulder's room, listening to the AD
talk about what Gertrude Beckoff had told him.
"Well, Lincoln Elementary is an old school, and has a _lot_ of teachers
that
have been there for the last two years. And at least 2 dozen of them know
the victims and their families."
"How many of them are male and middle-aged?" asked Mark. Mulder
hadn't seen exactly what his attacker looked like, but he could tell he
was male and
40ish, and hopefully that would help shorten the list.
Skinner pulled out a file. "10 teachers, a janitor, and a guidance
counselor. But Mrs. Beckoff was alarmed at the belief it could be any of
them."
"They always are," Mark commented, and began to pace the room. "So
we have 12 possible suspects. Now we look for alibis."
"That's a lot easier said then done," Scully said, tapping her
fingers on the table.
"Well, then we better get to it." Mark walked toward the door.
"I'm going to start with Andrew Blake, the guidance counselor."
Scully and Skinner nodded it agreement, split up the rest and headed out.
2 4th Street
3:30 p.m.
"I was with my mother five days ago, Agent Chambers. She's been ill, and
it
was her birthday. I'd say you could call her, but she wouldn't remember
seeing me. In fact she'd be lucky to remember _me_. She's an Alzheimer's
patient. But I'm sure someone at the nursing home saw me come in. I had
to
sign in with the nurse at the desk. She would remember me."
"I'll give her a call. You understand, Mr. Blake, we have to check everything."
"Of course you do."
Mark surveyed the house again with a critical eye. Nice and neat. Andrew
Blake lived alone, and had never married. The kitchen he was standing in
was small, yet cozy. He searched the room for a door to a basement, but
found
none.
"Do you have a basement, Mr. Blake?" he asked, curious.
Blake shook his head. "No, just a small wine cellar I had put in last year.
It's barely the size of a closet. Just happen to be a collector of fine
wines."
"I won't take anymore of your time. I'll let myself out."
Blake smiled and waited a few minutes for Mark to leave.
"Wine collecting? That's a good one!" he said to himself laughing,
as he walked back into his living room.
On the road
Los Angeles, CA
9:49 a.m.
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no."
"Okay, Mulder, you've made you're point."
"But you're going about this all wrong!"
"Yeah, right," Scully said. She was beginning to wish she had left
her partner back at that hospital because he was driving her _crazy_!
Much to Scully's surprise, she hadn't received any complaints from the
hospital staff when she had come to pick up her partner the next morning.
Apparently he had slept through the night and hadn't even bothered anyone,
and Doctor Stevens had agreed to release him, with a promise from Mulder
of no
more chasing criminals for at least twenty four hours.
"Scully, don't you _see_? This killer is leading us on. He's giving us...
_patterns_. Interviewing every teacher in the school isn't going to get
us
anywhere because this guy is giving us hints, we're just not seeing them.
Or maybe we're ignoring them."
"What are you talking about; you figured out most of his patterns. All of
those numbers." As an afterthought Scully said, "That's what got us into
this mess in the first place."
Mulder ignored that. "Exactly my point. Well, not _exactly_. Something
like my point," he said. "Almost relevant to my point. Anyway, we need to
use our numbers to find out which of those teachers is our guy."
"Right, but Mulder..."
Mulder suddenly straightened in his seat, stared straight forward, blinking
several times as if a revelation was occurring, then turned to his partner.
"Scully, that's it. _Numbers_. Think: if we had trouble figuring out the
patterns, the _numbers_, then our guy had to be pretty smart to come up
with
them." At her confused look, he continued. "_Numbers_, Scully. Math!
He's a math teacher."
The car pulled to a screech at the side of the road and Scully turned
excitedly to Mulder. "Mulder, we had a math teacher. Bryan Kennedy, age
forty-two. He was the only math teacher on the list. He, um..." Her lips
pursed and her eyes rolled up in thought. "Yeah, he was at that school for
15 years, teaching third grade math, but he quit four years ago."
Mulder was grinning. "Scully, I thought _I_ was the one with the
photographic memory! That's great; there's our guy! And, look, it fits
perfect; third graders are eight years old. He probably knows everything
about eight year olds; he knows how to teach them math _and_ he knows how
to
lure them into his traps to kidnap them." He was excited and stared out
the
window for a second, breathing fast, considering this. "Scully we need to
get
over to the VCS office and share this with Mark and Skinner. We could catch
this guy today!"
Scully started the car again and they sped off.
VCS Office
Los Angeles, CA
11:49 p.m.
"Shit," Mulder said and let his head drop to the table. He was exhausted,
even after his night at the hospital.
"You said it," Mark agreed. He stood up, grabbed his jacket which was draped
over the top of a chair, and walked to the door. "I'm turning in, guys,
I give up."
Mulder and Skinner nodded at him and returned to their work. Scully had
gone
back to the hotel at eight saying something about "an early night" but Mark,
Skinner and Mulder had been working hard for hours.
"Mulder," Skinner said. "Mulder, look at this. It says Bryan Kennedy moved
out of California four years ago."
"I _know_ that, sir. That's what's causing all these problems, remember?"
"No, hear me out. This lists the Real Estate agency he used as Valerie Real
Estate. The address is 98 2nd Street in Los Angeles."
"So?" Mulder said, running his hand through his hair and sighing tiredly.
"_So_, the numbers on 2nd street only run up to 45."
"What are you saying, sir?" Mulder asked slowly.
"I'm saying that Valerie Real Estate is not a real agency."
Mulder straightened in his seat. "Wasn't his sister's name Valerie?
His sister that this damn crime is all about?" He sifted through the papers
they had been able to get on Bryan Kennedy and, finding the right one he
was
looking for, waved it in the air in front of Skinner's nose, got up and
began pacing. But there was a smile on his face. "Sir, Bryan Kennedy obviously
still lives in the area. He never moved because this is a _fake_ agency!
He made it up-- 2nd street (where his hideout is, or supposedly is), and
Valerie... Bryan Kennedy made this up so it looks like he's moved out of
the
area and that clears his name. He somehow got this info on records, then
laid low for a couple years so people figured he had really moved, and then
began
his crime. HE'S BEEN PLANNING THIS CRIME FOR FOUR YEARS!" Mulder pounded
his fist on the thick wooden table, upsetting the stacks of files. "Damnit!
How does this man get away with things??"
"He's a genius, that's how," Skinner said. He handed a file to Mulder and
continued speaking. "He won the prize for nation wide math in 1989; Mulder,
the man is brilliant. And we're going to have to get past him."
Mulder dropped back into his chair and sighed. "Terrific."
Holiday Inn
Scully's Room
Los Angeles, CA
12:39 a.m.
Mulder felt bad waking Scully up at this hour, but he had to let her in
on
the newest findings on their killer. He knocked a few times on her door
but
she didn't answer, so he pulled out the key he possessed to her room (they
all had keys to each other's rooms in case of an emergency) and stepped
inside.
"Scully," he whispered, not wanting to alarm her. He couldn't see anything
and so he groped on the wall, found the lightswitch and flipped it on.
<She's have to wake up sooner or later> he told himself.
"Hey Scully, guess what?"
The room was empty.
"Oh shit."
12:43 a.m.
"She's gone!"
As soon as Skinner opened his door, he was greeted by a frantic Mulder,
panic
written all over his face, and waving a post it note in the air.
"Wait a second, Mulder. Who's gone?"
"She's gone, sir. He got her, I know it. He's playing with me, damn it!"
By this time Mulder had begun to wring his hands together, careful not to
wrinkle the note, which he still held on to for dear life. Skinner, knowing
something must have happened, grabbed Mulder's shoulders and shook him.
"Mulder, calm down!"
Mulder stopped wringing his hands and looked up at Skinner, looking
much more lucid now. Skinner let go of his shoulders. Mulder teetered, partly
because of exhaustion and partly because of the situation, and Skinner had
to grab
him to keep him from falling. Skinner then helped lead Mulder to a chair
in his
room and sat him down in it.
"Now how about telling me what happened?" Skinner sat down next to his
agent, intent on finding out what had Mulder so distraught.
"Scully's gone," Mulder said, in a soft voice. He handed the note he had
been clutching to Skinner and Skinner read it, and realized what had
happened.
Good job Agent Mulder! Didn't know you had it in you. But know instead of
Samantha, I have something else. Something you value. Does Dana Scully
ring a bell? Let's see if you can figure out this math problem: a 34 year-old
woman taken at 11 p.m., how long before she dies?
<Oh shit> Skinner thought as he looked back at Mulder. Mulder was
shaking his head.
"We have to find her, sir. We have to get a team together. He has her and
it's only a matter of-"
"Mulder, what if this just a ploy to get to you?"
Mulder started playing with his hands again. "I thought about that, but
I
don't care! We have to find her." Mulder got and walked toward the door.
He looked as if he was going to drop any second. He wavered a bit at the
doorway, and had to grab it to steady himself. "I'm going to get Mark."
Mulder stumbled again, and the AD had to run to catch him before he fell,
face first into the carpet.
"Mulder, you need some sleep. You can't find Scully without any."
It was a bribe, but Skinner didn't think anything else would work. Scully
was the
only one that Mulder seemed to listen too, and he didn't even listen to
her that
well. He knew that Mulder and Scully had a partnership unlike any other
at
the FBI, but this was the first time that he had seen Mulder's feelings
close-up. They had to find her, if not for her sake, but for Mulder's as
well.
"I'm fine, sir. Don't have time to sleep." Mulder moved away from Skinner's
grip and walked toward his room. Mark must have heard him talking because
he was standing outside the door as Mulder walked toward it. Skinner watched
Mulder stumble again and this time he didn't get there fast enough to catch
him. Mulder fell to the rug, and both Mark and Skinner rushed toward him.
"What happened?" Mark asked Skinner as soon as they both reached
him. "Want me to get Scully?"
Skinner shook his head. "She's gone." He handed the note Mulder had given
him to Mark. Mark told one glance at it and paled.
"Oh my God," he said, "How did he-"
"He's smart. Probably real quiet, too. Help me get Mulder back into the
room and in bed." Mark nodded and helped get Mulder up and together he and
Skinner got him into the room and on the bed.
"What happened to him?" Mark asked after they put him down.
"He's exhausted. Put that together with Scully's disappearance-" Skinner
stopped himself before he divulged his feeling about Scully and Mulder's
partnership.
"We'll need to get a team together," Skinner continued. "It's late but maybe
we'll have enough to start searching 2nd Street at dawn."
"Sure it's 2nd Street?"
"Well, that's where Mulder was attacked. I think that's our place."
"What about Mulder?" Mark asked and gestured to Mulder's sleeping
form on the bed.
"I hate to do this, but he needs the rest."
Mark nodded, agreeing. "I can wake him at dawn. We're going to
need him to find Scully, sir."
"I know, hopefully he'll be more functional than."
After that Mark and Skinner both started making calls. A team was
going to start searching at five, so four hours from now they would have
a
confrontation. Hopefully Mulder would up for it. And Skinner hoped that
Kennedy wasn't looking to take Mulder into his "plans." But somehow Skinner
knew that hope wouldn't come true.
Holiday Inn
Mulder and Mark's room
3:45 a.m.
Mulder awoke with a start. He blinked in the blinding overhead light and
looked around. He realized he was back in his hotel room in his bed. <How
the hell- Scully!> He sat up straight, a little dizzy from the sudden
moment,
but not caring. He had to find her, he had to-
"Take it easy, Mulder."
Mulder looked up and found himself staring into the concerned face of AD
Skinner. <Since when is he concerned about me?> he thought, as he
pushed
the covers out of his way.
"Sir, Scully, she's-"
"I know, Mulder. You told me about three hours ago. We're getting a team
together that planning their search of 2nd Street. It should begin at 500
hours," he added, throwing a little military lingo in there.
"5 a.m.! But sir, we have to go now!" Mulder got up out of the bed,
surprised at how dizzy that movement made him. Black spots threatened his
vision, and he realized he tired he was, even after that night at the
hospital. Of course, it would have helped if he slept at the hospital
instead of _pretending_ to.
"Not so fast, Mulder. You don't want to pass out on me again, do you?"
<Again? Oh damn.> Mulder took a deep breath, and tried to get up again,
slower. This time there were no black spots. He looked around the room.
"Where's Mark?" he asked.
"He's with the now assembling team. We can join him whenever you're ready."
Well, that's all Mulder needed to hear. He was out the door before Skinner
even finished his sentence.
On the road
Los Angeles, CA
4:00 a.m.
"Shit, sir, we only have ten days." Mulder bounced frantically in the
passenger’s seat; dying to just get out and run to the VCS office.
"Mulder, would you calm down? I don't want you to pass out on me
again. Now, please, explain yourself?"
Mulder took a deep breath then started into his lengthy explanation. "Okay,
Kennedy keeps the girls for sixteen days and kills them on the sixteenth
day.
Sixteen day cycles. He was only on day six of Samantha Ingber, his latest
victim, before he picked up Scully, so he's still got 10 days on the cycle.
If we don't find Scully in ten days, sir," Mulder choked on the word.
"Scully's going to die in the hands of this bastard."
An uncomfortable silence filled the car for the rest of the ride and when
they pulled up to the VCS office, Mulder jumped out of the car and ran into
the office, all but colliding with Mark who was holding a cup of coffee.
"Whoah," Mark said, raising his hand with the coffee way above his
head so it didn't get jarred. "Hey Mulder, how are you doing, man?"
Mulder gave a curt nod and dropped down at the big table in the center of
the
room. "What have we got here?" he asked the VCS team who looked about ready
to drop.
A young guy at the other end of the table handed Mulder a Polaroid.
"Samantha Ingber's body was found at the corner of Main and 2nd street at
about ten last night."
"Probably the same time Scully was taken," Mulder said under his breath.
The guy nodded and continued, "Samantha Ingber appeared to be killed in
the
same manner as the others, severe head injury, and was-- like the others--
seemingly attacked and tortured on many separate occasions, but so far no
fibers, hairs or fingerprints have turned up."
"Like the others..."
"Exactly. Now he's got Agent Scully and we've got sixteen days..."
"Ten," Mulder corrected. "He needs a complete cycle. He had Samantha Ingber
for six days and to finish that cycle up, he takes Scully for ten."
The guy nodded. "All right. By the way, I'm Sam Fuchs, I'm with the VCS
here. No Washington, nothing fancy, I'm local. But I know my way around,
so they sent me."
"That's good... Sam?"
"Yeah, call me Sam. All right, who's ready to scout the area?" Sam
stood up, rubbing his hands together eagerly.
Mulder stood too.
"Mulder..." Skinner stood behind his agent. "Are you sure you're
okay to--"
"Yes, sir. Let's go. Mark?"
Mark nodded and followed Mulder and Sam out the door.
17 2nd Street
Los Angeles, CA
4:28 a.m.
"It's like deja vu all over again," Mulder whispered when they were
walking through an old house, backs to the wall, guns out.
"Tell me about it," Mark said. "Looks like every house on this
street has been abandoned for at least twenty years."
"Spooky..." Sam said.
"There it is." Mulder walked cautiously over to the post-it stuck
on the wall.
"Tsk, tsk, Agent Mulder. You're impressive but not that impressive. You'll
need to sharpen up your math skills if you ever want to see your partner
again. Now, find that number. You've only got ten days you know..."
Mulder, shaking his head in a mix of frustration, anger and plain
exhaustion, handed the note to Mark.
Mulder, Mark and Sam sat on the curb of second street in the thin
morning light, heads cradled in their hands, deep in thought.
"So it's not 4 second street and its not 17 second street," Mark said.
"Right. What else could it be?"
"What about eight?" Sam asked. "Since all the girls he abducts are
eight years old..."
Mulder looked up. "That's a good idea, actually. Where's number eight?"
Sam pointed to a house down the block a little and they stood up and
walked down to that point.
"Scratch that idea," Mark said. The house was completely boarded up
and all the doors were locked.
"Guys, we're the police for crying out loud! Are you telling me we
can't break down a little board?" Sam demanded.
"Uh... all right, worth a shot. Come here, Mark," Mulder said. He lifted
Mark up on his shoulders so he could reach the window, and Mark banged and
banged at the boards, but they didn't budge.
"Gimme your gun," Mark called down.
Mulder, his back and shoulders straining under Mark's weight,
managed to hand up his gun without completely dislocating his shoulder.
Pow
Pow
"Shit, Mark, what the hell are you doing?" Sam demanded.
"One sec..." Mark banged at the boards again with his forearm and they fell
in. "Works every time." He grinned down at Sam then got the message that
he should hurry up from the shaking of Mulder's shoulders under his legs.
"Okay, I'm going in." With a bit of difficulty, Mark climbed in through
the
window.
"Is the floor sturdy?" Sam called up.
"Yeah. Go to the front door, I'll go down and unlock it," Mark said.
"Okay."
A minute later, the three of them were inside a house, twice as dusty and
decrepid as the first two, and walking down steep cement stairs to a dank
basement...
Mulder held his gun to his side, ready to shoot at the slightest noise.
Mark
gripped his own gun behind him and Sam wasn't far behind. The ceiling grew
low and Mulder found himself ducking a few times. But he didn't care. He
had one thing on his mind: Scully.
Suddenly Mulder found himself turning at the sound of metal falling. He
gripped his gun tighter and ran off in the direction of the sound. He heard
Mark call his name and footsteps lightly follow him, but he didn't pay much
attention to it. He just ran in the direction of the noise, as fast as his
legs could carry him. He didn't even notice the slick floor beneath him,
as
he ran across it and soon found himself laying on it, fighting the dizziness
he felt each time he moved his head.
"Mulder!" he heard Mark call, but the voice seemed distant, as if it was
coming from far away. Mulder vaguely noticed Mark and Sam kneeling beside
him. He moved his head and catch a glimpse of yellow out of the corner of
his eye. He sat up, fighting the dizziness(though not very successfully),
and
struggled to his feet. Mark offered him a hand up but he pushed it away.
He closed his eyes till the dizziness seemed to subside. Then he climbed
to
his feet.
What a mistake. The dizziness came back, full force.
"Maybe we should go back. You could go see a doctor. That floor is
really hard," Mark said, and Sam nodded.
Mulder shook his head, and the dizziness seemed to dissipate, replaced with
the usual "I-want-to-throw-up" feeling that most concussions he had brought.
He ignored it and walked, though unsteadily, toward the flash of yellow
he
had seen.
It was a note. Neatly written, and not too old, like the others.
My, my Agent Mulder. You are close. The basement has always been a
favorite place of mine....
He was close. Maybe she was here. He looked around the room, and spied an
open door that seemed to lead to an even lower part of the basement. He
only
took one step toward it when he found himself on his knees, Mark keeping
him
from falling to the floor.
"Mulder, I think you should get checked out," he said, a worried
expression on his face.
"I'm fine," Mulder answered, pushing himself back into a standing position.
"It's his note. He was here. Maybe he still is." Mulder handed the note
to
Sam, and he and Mark read it over.
Sam nodded. "I think you're right." Both knew Mulder was only a stone's
throw away from collapsing(probably closer), but they also knew taking him
out of this house know wasn't going to help Scully.
So Mulder continued to walk, wobbling on the way. Mark grabbed Mulder's
shoulder to steady him, but Mulder brushed his hand away. He headed toward
the door, and found another post-it on the doorknob.
Ah, basements! The lower the better! A low basement has some many
possibilities. Think about it......you can't hear someone scream if
they're 15 feet down!
Mulder handed the note to Mark wordlessly and he nodded. Mulder
started down the door, hands on the railing to steady himself. This part
of the basement
was lower, with no windows. <And it's fifteen feet down> Mulder noted
in
his mind. He reached for his gun, but realized it wasn't there. He turned,
the
nausea threatening again, to look for it, but Mark handed him it.
"I picked it up when you....fell," he explained, and Mulder continued
his walk down into the basement.
4:59 a.m.
Place unknown
Darkness. For the last three hours it was all Scully saw. The darkness
surrounded her like a cloud, and she desperately wanted it to go away.
<What had happened?> she thought, as she tried to feel her way around
the prison
the darkness seemed to hold for her.
Dust. She felt it come across her fingertips as she ran her hand across
a
tabletop. At least she hoped it was a table top. She had awoken in this
place three hours ago, yet she never once met her captor. She felt her way
across a bed, and soft blankets. The place she was in didn't seem
frightening. In fact if not for the darkness, it might not be bad. But the
darkness, an enemy that remained. She ran her hands across another table
top and was greeted by an object. It was in the shape of bottle, and she
felt
its side. Some sort of switch greeted her, and she flipped it, hoping it
would
end the darkness. A round light lit the wall, and Scully realized what she
had discovered: a flashlight. She shined it around her surroundings. She
saw a normal bed, dresser, and a table and two chairs in the corner. A digital
clock(one she failed to notice before) read 5:02 in big red numbers.
Whether is was a.m. or p.m. she wasn't sure, the room had no windows. She
shined
the flashlight over to the wall and grew sick at what she saw.
Seventeen pictures of little girls, covered in blood, dead.
A noise turned her attention from the wall and she turned the
flashlight toward it.
A man, over six feet, stood there, a wicked grin on his face. He
smiled and walked toward Scully.
She backed away, instinctively reaching for her gun, but realized he
must have it. She thought he would grab her, but he stopped just a few feet
shy
of her.
"Don't worry, Agent Scully. You're just bait. I've got a bigger
fish to catch."
5:04 a.m.
17 2nd Street
Mulder looked around the room, the feeling to throw up growing with each
second. Nothing was here. It was a dead end, they would never find her,
they
would never find her, he would never find her, hewouldneverfindher....
Another piece of yellow caught his eye, and he walked toward it. With a
trembling hand he picked it up and read it.
Well, Agent Mulder, seventeen is favorite number of mine, but it's not the
right answer to this math problem. But, I'm a man who believes in second
choices. I suggest you brush up on your math skills, before you try again,
though. 10 days can go by like the blink of an eye, just watch!
Mulder let the note drop to the floor, and Mark scooped it up. Mulder didn't
know what to do. Math, math! Why didn't he pay more attention in his algebra
class in high school? Jenna Masters was why, a memory told him, but he
ignored it. Jenna was the past. Scully was his future.
But if he didn't find her soon, she's have no future to speak of.
VCS
Los Angeles, CA
10:17 p.m.
"Ten, maybe," Mulder suggested half-heartedly.
Sam and Mark exchanged looks. Since they had left the house, Mulder had
been
hunched over a pad of paper, all the materials spread in front of him, pen
poised in hand, but nothing written down. Mark knew he had received quite
a
blow from that floor, and wondered if he didn't have a concussion. The
constant brief closing of his eyes to steady himself, and the Mulder's green
pallor did nothing to convince Mark otherwise.
"Why ten?" Sam asked, and finished his fourth cup of coffee.
"You're right," Mulder said. "Why, precisely. Why, why, why..."
Mark again looked at Sam and caught his eye. "He's rambling," Mark
mouthed. "I'm getting Skinner."
Sam nodded and turned to distract Mulder while Mark left. "Hey, Mulder,
what
about 16? I mean, that's how long the 'cycle' is, right? And when we were
at
house number 17, he said we were close, so, how about 16?"
Mulder studied his fingernails intensely then looked back up at Sam. "I
think that's a possibility. That may be right." He stared at the wall for
a
minute, then stood abruptly, almost knocking over his chair. "Damnit, why
didn't _I_ see that? I mean, it's my partner that the freak's holding
hostage, _I_ should've gotten that! We could've saved Scully by now! We
could've saved her by--"
"Mulder, sit down before you fall down," an low, even voice said from the
door. Skinner stepped into the room, took his agent by the arm and pulled
him outside to sit on the bench outside the door.
"Yes, sir?" Mulder said tersely. He fidgeted with his hands, then kicked
at
the ground with his shoes before squirming once in his seat and letting
his
gaze rest on the plain wall before him.
"Mulder, listen to me. We are going to pack up our stuff, and Sam and Mark
are going back to the hotel to get some well-deserved sleep, and you and
I
are going to the hospital because you have a concussion and you know it."
Mulder didn't say anything for a long time, then he said in an
almost inaudible voice, "But, sir, she needs me."
Skinner sighed tiredly. "Who?" he said, though he knew very well "who."
"Scully," Mulder said, his voice breaking on the word. "It's my fault she
was taken, and-- and, its my responsibility to get her back. I just need
to
know where he is!"
Not wanting to let Mulder think about the case anymore, but knowing
this was the only way he could get through to him, Skinner said, "What about
the
ages? Have you tried 8 + 12 yet? Or 8 + 4? What about (8 + 12) - (8 + 4)
or (8 +
4) + (8 + 4)? We know this guy is a mathematician right? Maybe it's nothing
to do with those numbers, even. Maybe it's some math theory or... I don't
know, Mulder. C'mon, we'll discuss this in the car on the way to the hospital."
"Wait a minute, sir." Mulder looked up. "What about the Quadratic Formula?"
"Hm?"
"Negative B plus or minus the square root of B squared minus four (A
C), all divided by 2A."
"Scuse me?" Skinner said. "_Mulder_??"
"Yeah. Let's do it with A as the lowest number.... that's A=4, B=8,
C=12. Follow me?"
"Um..."
"Good. So it's -4 plus or minus the square root of 4 squared minus
4 times 4 times 12. Divide the whole thing by 2 times 4..."
"You're doing this in your head?"
"More or less. Okay, that should be... shit."
"I don't think it adds up to shit, Mulder."
"No. It doesn't work. I got a negative number within the square
root and, obviously, you can't find the square root of a negative."
"Oh," Skinner said impatiently. He was fascinated by Mulder's work, but
he
knew that if he didn't Mulder checked out, he might not be able to work
for
the rest of the case.
Hospital
11:04 p.m.
"Yeaaaah, that's a nice concussion you've got there, Mr. Mulder,"
Doogie Howser said. At least, that's what Mulder called him. His name tag
said
Dr. Monaco.
"Great. Can I go now?"
Skinner sighed for the thirtieth time in twelve minutes and Doogie join
in.
"Mr. Mulder," Doogie said. "I'm going to need to keep you overnight. That's
a pretty bad concussion, and I can tell you're not up to working anymore,"
he said with a glance at Skinner. "You're also suffering from exhaustion
and
general not-taking-care-of-yourself. You need to _eat_ on a regular basis.
You've got about six gallons of coffee running through your system. That's
not good, Mr. Mulder. And that cut on your arm is infected, are you aware
of that?"
Mulder, who had been glaring at the floor and grinding his teeth,
looked up at the doctor. "Yeah, I've got medicine for that already."
Doogie tapped his foot on the floor. "Are you _taking_ it, Mr.
Mulder?"
"Well, yeah. Well, I was. I guess I..."
Doogie sighed, gave up on dealing with Mulder and turned to Skinner. "All
right, I can see you need this guy for the investigation. If you want him
to
make it through this, though, you need to watch him carefully: make sure
he
gets sleep, food, and something besides coffee. Get him back on that
medication, and I'll give you some pain killers cause, you can see, " he
motioned to Mulder who was squinting and rubbing the back of his head where
it had collided with the floor. "He's going to need them."
Skinner exchanged a few words with Doogie then led Mulder out of the
room and to the car.
Mulder dropped into the passenger’s seat, to exhausted to argue when
Skinner insisted on driving. Skinner started the car up and, in silence,
they drove
back to the Holiday Inn. In the parking lot, Skinner reached over to shake
Mulder, thinking he had fallen asleep, but Mulder's quiet voice stopped
him.
"Pythagorean's Theorem?"
"No, Mulder. No more on the case. You're going to rest now. I can see
you're head is killing you. We'll talk about the case in the morning."
Skinner said. He got out of the car, circled around and opened Mulder's
door for him. "Let's go."
"Four squared plus eight squared equals twelve squared."
Skinner thought it over for a minute, then said, "No it doesn't."
"Exactly."
Skinner pulled Mulder out of the car by his uninjured wrist. "What
are you talking about, Mulder?"
"I'm saying that it doesn't work. Nothing works," he said blandly. Stiffly,
he followed Skinner into the hotel room. Once inside, he sat down on the
bed and turned to Skinner who was messing with the childproof top on Mulder's
medicine. "We're never going to find her, sir," Mulder said tiredly. "I
can't..."
Skinner sat down on the bed next to Mulder and put a hand on his agent's
shoulder. "Yes we will. We'll find her. Now you need to rest." He gently
pushed Mulder down and Mulder's head relaxed on the pillow. Skinner briefly
wondered if Mulder shouldn't take off his suit jacket or his shoes, but
it
seemed he had already fallen asleep so Skinner walked out and quietly shut
the door behind him.
End Part 05 of 08.
=====================
Part 06 of 08.
7:56 a.m.
Another death. Mulder could see the yellow crime scene tape and hear the
muffled voices around him. He glanced toward the taped off area and saw
a
white sheet, obviously covering the latest victim. <And what poor little
girl
is it this time> he wondered as he walked toward the tape.
The crowd around the area parted, and seemed to watch him, as if he would
collapse at that moment. He walked closer and the people moved farther away,
as if afraid to have him look at the body.
Mulder ignored their protests and bent down, and pulled back the sheet.
Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.
Red hair, now stained by even redder blood, lay fanned out in front of him.
Vacant blue eyes stared at nothingness. A gold cross now crimson with blood
caught the sunlight.
"No," Mulder said, his voice below a whisper. He dropped the sheet and began
shaking his head. "NO!" he said again, this time a shout.
"It's my fault," he said, realizing. "No." he bent down to her, the cloth
bearing the number 18 laid upon her chest.
"NO!"
"NO!"
Mulder shout would have been enough to wake the dead, but luckily no one
else
seemed to be around to here it. He sat up straight, beads of sweat on his
forehead, and a dull pounding in the back of his head. But he had it. It
was
so simple.
18. Scully would be number 18. There was no math equation here. It was
common sense. This guy had him thinking that it had to be complicated.
But it wasn't. It was 18. 18 Second Street.
A normal looking building he remembered. It was vacant, but not boarded
up.
It must have been vacated recently, he had noted, because it was in fairly
good condition. That was it. He had to get there.
He practically jumped out of bed, ignoring the black spots that danced before
his vision. His eyes scanned the room for his gun, but he couldn't find
it.
He then realized that Skinner must have taken it, to keep him from leaving.
Although Mulder realized how dangerous it was to go out without a gun, he
didn't care.
The sensible part of his brain told him to tell Mark, or Skinner where he
was
going, but the other part of his brain told him there was no time to find
them. He needed to find Scully _now_. <She had enough suffering in her
life, not to add one more because of me> he thought.
He might as well leave a note in case things got bad. He quickly wrote a
note detailing his idea and whereabouts and taped it to his door. He grabbed
his head again, rubbing it against the now throbbing pain. Using some
reasoning, he downed three aspirin before vacating the hotel room.
18 2nd Street
8:04 a.m.
Scully sat in a chair in the corner of the room, now only lit by the light
of
the one flashlight. Her kidnapper sat across from her, a wicked grin on
his
face. He held a razor in one hand, and a gun in the other. Though he could
have easily tormented her with either object, Scully had not been harmed.
She was dirty, and needed a shower, but that was it. She hoped Mulder was
all
right. He had looked awful the last time she had seen him and prayed that
he was all right.
Bryan Kennedy caught her eye. "Prayers don't usually work, Agent Scully,"
he
said. "If they did my sister would be alive and none of this little 'mess'
would have been started. So, you see, praying does nothing." He ran the
razor blade across the top of the gun, making a loud scratching noise that
had Scully wishing she had earplugs.
"Is this what this is about? Your sister?" Scully asked, hoping she
could get him to talk.
"Nice try Agent Scully. But your partner's the physiologist."
He was a quick one. And intelligent, too. Scully knew what he planning.
He
wanted Mulder, not her. As he said, she was bait, and Mulder was the fish.
<Oh God, Mulder please be careful. At least bring back-up> she prayed,
letting her eyes close for a second. When she opened them she found Kennedy
staring at her eyes.
"I never thought I'd meet anyone with eyes like Valerie's," he said, quietly.
"She had blue eyes?" Scully tried again, hoping that comment would get him
to
talk.
"Yes, but that's not up for discussion." He got up and paced the room. His
eyes strayed to his wall of pictures than back to Scully.
"If I estimated right, Agent Scully, your partner should come to rescue
soon.
And," he started as if he read her mind, "I doubt he'll bring back-up."
Holiday Inn
Outside Mark and Mulder's room
8:23 a.m.
Mark shuffled through his pockets for the keys. He had just come from
breakfast with Sam and Skinner, and they had spent most of it discussing
Mulder. Mark already had some ideas about Mulder and Scully's partnership
before he started working with them, but now if seemed as if the rumors
were
true. Not about them being romantically involved, he noticed, but about
the
fact they had such a strong relationship. <How that doesn't turn into
sex is
beyond me, though> Mark thought as found his key. It seemed the only
thing
keeping Fox Mulder afloat was Dana Scully.
Mark was about to put his key in the door when he noticed something
taped to it. It was a note, scribbled in handwritting Mark had come to recognize
over the last few days as Mulder's.
Left to find Scully. She's at 18 2nd Street. Be back later.
Mulder.
The sloppiness and laziness of the penmanship told Mark that Mulder was
tired, still had a headache, and had just run off into the night to save
his
partner without any back-up.
Yes, Skinner was going to _love_ this.
18 2nd Street
Los Angeles, CA
9:01 a.m.
Mulder had ran. Second street wasn't that far from the Holiday Inn,
but with a concussion, it was a difficult trip. And the aspirin wasn't doing
anything.
Reaching down for his gun, Mulder swore softly when he remembered he was
presently "without gun". The one at his ankle was missing too, and he was
beginning to wonder whether this was such a good idea.
He found the front door open; it was a bit too convenient and sent a chill
down his spine. Keeping his back to the wall, he moved quickly down the
hallway and into the kitchen.
<Yup, someone is definitely living here.> McDonald's bags, empty soda
cans
and molding food was strewn on the floor and table. <Well, at least there's
no liquor.> Mulder's head began throbbing full force then, and he squeezed
his eyes tightly shut against the sunlight coming through the big windows.
<Maybe I should get Skinner...>
"Mulder RUN!!!!!!!!!"
Mulder jumped at the voice. He could swear it was Scully. He stood
frozen in place. "Scully?" he called out.
"RUN!!!!!!!!! I'm bait!"
Angry footsteps stormed the hallway, and those were definitely _not_
Scully's. Mulder jumped into action, turning this way and that, trying to
figure out the direction from which the voice had come, and hoping it was
the opposite from the direction of the footsteps.
"Scully?" he yelled.
"Run, Mulder!!! I'm! Just! Bait!"
<What the hell...?> The footsteps were getting closer. Against his
best
judgment, Mulder ran towards the footsteps, knowing very well he couldn't
fight off any criminal without his gun. He turned into the hallway and
collided with the man he had met days ago outside the fire escape. <Shit,
this would be nicer if it made any _sense_!> Mulder thought, suddenly
realizing that none of this was adding up.....
But this wasn't the time for equations. Not with a criminal, a tall one
at
that, fully prepared to kill him. Mulder wanted more than anything to stay
and get Scully, but he knew he couldn't do it alone. He ducked under the
killer's arm and stared to sprint down the hall, but a strong hand grabbed
his collar, stopping him and pulling him back before he made it two inches.
Mulder choked and spun around.
"Hi, asshole," the killer greeted him.
"Hey," Mulder said hoarsely. He tried again to make a run for it but the
death grip was tight.
A new voice was suddenly present. "Hey, Bryan."
Bryan Kennedy turned, dragging Mulder with him.
"Scully," Mulder whispered.
Scully stood, looking perfectly well and healthy, with a large
kitchen knife in her hand.
"Hi, Mulder," she said. Her doctor's gaze quickly ran him over and decided
he was in no condition to run away by himself. "Okay, Bryan, whaddaya say
you let my partner go. We know it's me you really want."
"Stupid," Bryan Kennedy spat. He let go of Mulder's collar and grabbed his
arm right above the elbow, twisting it back to a nearly impossible position.
"You _know_ it's him I want. And now I've got him. Hey, whaddaya say you
give me my sister back?" he sneered at Scully. "Sister: partner. Easy deal."
"She didn't take your sister," Mulder growled. "Neither of us did damnit."
"Oh is that so?" Bryan said in a light, mocking tone. He yanked on Mulder's
arm, pulling it to a place it was not supposed to be, and causing Mulder
to
scream in pain.
Scully advanced, the kitchen knife held in front of her like a shiny rapier,
but she wasn't sure exactly what she was going to do with it. She could
see
the gun stuck in Bryan's belt and knew that he could kill Mulder right then
and there if he felt like it. And judging by the look on Bryan's face, he
was pretty close to feeling like it.
"Oh, and what _are_ you going to do with that?" Bryan mocked. Scully's eyes
narrowed to a glare but she didn't move. The silence was terrible as the
three stood stock still, Mulder whimpering now and then in pain from his
shoulder, a grandfather clock in the corner ticking out the seconds.
Bryan yanked out his gun and Scully gasped. "Don't..." she pleaded.
He raised the gun up to Mulder's head and Scully squeezed her eyes shut.
Thud
Scully opened her eyes. "Pow" was more like what she was expecting. But,
no, Bryan hadn't shot her partner, he had simply whacked him over the head.
Thud
The second one knocked Mulder out cold and he slumped against Bryan.
The gun was still poised in Bryan's hand. Scully dropped the knife.
"Well, then," Bryan said. He kicked Mulder in the stomach and he groaned
but
didn't wake up. Bryan kicked him again and Scully winced, hearing his ribs
crack. Mulder's eyes drifted open, and for a minute he looked like he had
decided to go back to sleep but then he seemed to remember where he was
and
struggled to his feet, gripping the moldings on the wall to keep from falling
again.
"You shit," Scully growled. In one swift motion, she grabbed the knife off
the floor, and lunged at Bryan. Mulder couldn't see what she was doing
through the spots in his vision but he heard "Mulder run! I'll be fine!"
and,
knowing he wouldn't be any good to Scully like this, he did run. The early
morning was warm, and he managed to make it halfway to the Holiday Inn
before collapsing on the sidewalk.
2nd Street
9:15 a.m.
Scully fled the house, glancing over her shoulder as she did. The knife
she
had used to gain her escape was still in her hands and she threw it on the
ground, not caring where it landed. She ran along 2nd Street looking for
any sign of Mulder.
She soon found him, in a heap, only about 150 yards away from prison she
had
just escaped. She immediately bent down next to him, and forgetting her
ordeal, began to check his injuries.
As soon as she touched him, he groaned, and hazel eyes opened shakily to
greet her. "You're ok," he said softly, and began to reach out his hand
to
touch her, when a pain spasm hit. The black spots were back, but he vowed
he wouldn't
pass out. Not till he was positive Scully was all right.
'I'm fine," she said back. "He didn't hurt me." She gently unwrapped one
his hands and unbuttoned his shirt to get a closer look at his ribs. She
gasped when she saw the gigantic purple bruises starting to form. She
needed to get him to a hospital. She was afraid the ribs were broken, and
she
could only pray that one of them wouldn't puncture a lung.
Mulder gasped when she felt the area, but didn't keep his eyes off of her.
"I was so afraid he was going to hurt you....." Mulder voice was weak, but
it held emotion. He reached to touch her again, just to make sure she was
real.
"I'm fine. It's okay," Scully said soothingly, emotion threatening her own
voice as well. She needed to pull herself together, so she could help Mulder.
She forgot about her two days captive, and concentrated on him.
"Mulder, you don't happen to have your cell phone with you," she
asked, hoping.
Mulder swallowed sluggishly, the pain threatening to give in unconsciousness,
and nodded. "Pocket," he managed to say before the unconsciousness won out.
Scully started to check for his phone, and found it. It was crushed a
little, but when Scully turned it on, it came to life. <Thank God>
she
thought as she dialed 911 and told them of her whereabouts.
No sooner had she hung up the phone when she heard a car turn the
corner. It spotted her and pulled over. Mark and Skinner ran out and rushed
toward
her.
"Agent Scully are you all right?" Skinner asked before he even reached her.
Scully didn't look away from Mulder as she answered, "I'm fine. But Agent
Mulder is a different story." As she was speaking she reached for his wrist
and took his pulse. It would only take a first-year med student to recognize
the early signs of shock. "I called 911, and they should-"
Scully was interrupted by sound of sirens and the sight of flashing lights.
"37-year-old male with-" Mark watched with awe as Scully turned
professional. She had just been through an ordeal, yet she was able to pull
it together. She talked her way into the ambulance and soon it was speeding
away.
Hospital
12:08 p.m.
Scully sat the waiting room, waiting for word on Mulder. She fidgeted with
her hands and glanced at her watch. 12:09. Mulder had been in surgery for
about an hour and a half. She recalled the doctors shaking their heads at
all
the injuries that Mulder had picked up. Broken ribs, internal bleeding,
two
concussions(though Scully was unsure how he got the first one), dehydration,
anemia, shock, fever, and a dislocated shoulder were just a few.
Yet she had a feeling this case was far from over. She had been too busy
getting away and worrying about Mulder to think about Kennedy. She had a
feeling she was going to reprimanded when she wrote that in her report.
What was she going to write in her report? She had held Bryan Kennedy at
kinfepoint while Mulder tried to get away. She hoped that Skinner and Mark
had managed to get him. She wanted that bastard in jail more than she could
ever express.
"Agent Scully." Scully turned to see Skinner standing next to her, two cups
of coffee in his hands. He handed on to Scully and sat down next to her.
"How is he?"
Scully took a sip from the coffee, reveling in its warmness. She never
realized she took this kinds of things for granted. "There was some internal
bleeding, sir. One of his ribs punctured his spleen. Luckily, it's only
a
small bleed. He's in surgery right now having it repaired."
Skinner nodded and Scully asked the question she had wanted to know.
"Sir, did you find Bryan Kennedy?"
Skinner sighed and shook his head. "He was nowhere in the vicinity. Looks
like he abandoned the place. But he couldn't have gotten far. I have people
checking every place in LA We'll find him."
Scully nodded, unsure that they would find him. "Did he leave any signs?"
Skinner nodded again. "A post-it note addressed to Mulder." He pulled
something from his pocket. It was a photocopy of the note.
Agent Mulder, I'd brush up on your math for the future....
"He's still around." She took another sip of coffee, realizing that this
nightmare was most likely far from over.
"We'll find him," Skinner said firmly.
Scully thought as she glanced toward the hall.
2:59 p.m.
Hospital
"Nice of you to join us," Scully said and squeezed Mulder's hand. His eyes
were confused, still glazed with fever from the infection, and he looked
sad
and quiet, but he was going to be all right.
"You're--" Mulder started but broke off coughing. Scully held a cup to his
lips and he drank, letting the cold water soothe his dry throat. His ribs
ached.
"I'm _fine_, Mulder. He didn't hurt me at all. I was bait, to get
you. Why Bryan Kennedy wanted you, though, I still don't know."
He nodded then his eyes met hers questioningly.
Scully shook her head. "He'll still out there. But don't worry. Mark and
Sam Fuchs are working on it as we speak." She noticed his eyelids starting
to droop. "Why don't you get some sleep and I'll stay right here."
"No," Mulder said, struggling to sit up. Scully pushed him back down but
he
continued talking. "You need to rest. You need to be checked out.
Hospital..."
Scully figured the medication as well of the fever was affecting his sanity
at the moment. "Don't worry. He didn't lay a finger on me. I had a
comfortable bed and he gave me food and everything. It's okay. I'm okay.
Go to sleep now and I'll be right here."
End Part 06 of 08.
=========================
Part 07 of 08.
Hospital
5:13 p.m.
Scully hadn't heard another peep from Mulder when Skinner arrived two hours
later. He arrived with an armful of manila folders, crammed full of files
and
photos and paperwork.
"How is he?" Skinner asked quietly.
Scully looked up at him and sighed. "Hi, sir. He's going to be okay, but
I
just hope we can keep him resting here. He's still so traumatized by the
fact that Kennedy was holding me as number 18... Sir, Kennedy never hurt
me at
all. He said I was only bait to pull Mulder in. But I don't know why he'd
want
Mulder... I mean..." She broke off and sighed again.
Skinner, shifting the folders into one arm, put a hand on her shoulder.
"It's okay. You went through _a lot_ and you need time to rest, too."
"That's just the thing sir! I think I got more rest and relaxation in at
Kennedy's than I would've working on the case! It was like a freakin' spa
over there, minus the mud baths. And everyone's treating me like I've been
through some big, scary experience of being held hostage. Sir, I've _been_
held hostage before. This was more like a... a bad date. Or something.
Where I had to stay after for coffee at his house, and it was just mildly
uncomfortable! I wish everyone would stop--"
"Scu..."
Scully spun around when she heard Mulder's weak voice trying to get her
attention. She grabbed the water cup and let him drink from it, then helped
him sit up a little, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder when he got
dizzy and had to close his eyes.
"Hello, Agent Mulder, how are you feeling?" Skinner asked.
"He's going on to number 19," Mulder whispered.
"Yes, he is," Skinner told him. "But right now that should be the least
of
your concerns. We've got Mark and Sam on it and I hear they're getting closer
to Kennedy's whereabouts as we speak. Mulder, you need to concentrate on
getting better now, so you can help us in the future."
"Future," Mulder said, tasting the word. He stared up at the ceiling and
then down at his hands and Scully realized just how out of it he was. She
probably shouldn't have let him sit up. "No future, sir," Mulder said
loudly, making Scully jump. "_Now_," he told them. "I need to help _now_."
"Mulder, you're in no condition to be sitting up, let alone solving a case
or
chasing around a serial killer. Now, I'm going to go get the nurse and have
her increase your pain medication 'cause I can see you're about to pass
out
from--"
"NO!"
Scully gently put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him down. "Skinner
and I are going to the VCS office to work on this. _You_ , get some sleep."
Mulder scowled but watched the two of them leave. He glared after them.
"We'll see about _that_," he said. He got to work, pulling out IV lines,
trying to swing his legs over the side of the bed.
VCS Office
Los Angeles, CA
5:31 p.m.
"I thought you said you were making progress!" Skinner barked.
Mark cowered behind Sam.
Scully put a hand on the AD's arm. "Sir, how about I try to help them. Sam
has only been on this case for a couple days, after all."
Skinner softened. "All right. Gentlemen, listen to Agent Scully.
I'm going to get some coffee," he muttered.
Hospital
5:31 p.m.
"Yeah, this could be a problem," Mulder said. He had managed to get out
of
bed and unconnected himself from everything he was connected to. Taking
off
the bandage that held his ribs together had been much harder, and Mulder
was
beginning to wonder if he really should have done it.
Mulder thought, resting for a moment in the visitor's chair. Even Mulder
knew that after getting two concussions in the span of about as many days,
it was not a good idea to mess with it.
"Clothes, clothes, come out come out wherever you are," Mulder said. His
burning eyes scanned the room before stopping on a bulging plastic bag
across the room. Slowly, in an attempt to avoid the nausea each movement
brought,
Mulder stood up and went over to the bag. "Yessssss." Clothes.
He got the jeans on with relatively little difficulty, but the shirt was
another story. His shoulder had been dislocated by Kennedy and was
currently in some sort of device that kept it in holy matrimony with his
chest. And a
pull-over T-shirt was in the bag. <Scully, what were you _thinking_?>
Mulder knew what she had been thinking. She had been thinking that it would
be at least a week before he was to wear these clothes and that by then
he
wouldn't be having all of these difficulties.
<Screw it.> Mulder dug in the bag to see what else she had packed.
Razor,
toothbrush.... no time for those now. A pullover the head sweater was also
included in the bag as well as a Jean jacket. He thought he could manage
the jacket, but of course he'd need something under it.
<Hm...> Mulder glanced over to his roommate who was sleeping soundly.
He had
a plastic bag full of clothes too. "Hope you don't mind if I borrow a few
of
these, buddy."
Mulder found a button down flannel in his roommate's bag and quickly put
it
on. He couldn't fit it over his arm with the contraption so he let it drape
over, letting the sleeve on that side hang limp. The buttons were near
impossible with one hand, and he managed to button the bottom half of the
shirt before giving up. He looked pretty ridiculous. He had forgotten that
his roommate was a couple feet taller than himself and the shirt was almost
down to his knees. <Always time for a fashion statement!>
Grabbing the jean jacket, he stuck one arm into it and draped it over the
other shoulder, then ran out the door. No time to sign himself out. He had
a criminal to catch.
VCS office
6:05 p.m.
"He could be anywhere!"
Scully threw up her hands in frustration. And she had only been working
for
35 minutes. Though she prided herself on her patience(she had enough with
Mulder), it was growing dangerously thin now. She was ready to scream, and
felt like if she didn't get some air soon she would.
"Excuse me," she said as she passed by Mark and Sam and pushed open the
door.
After a quick walk down the hallway, she was outside and staring at the
starless night.
"Number 19," she muttered, and glanced down at her feet. He was near, and
was going to strike again. That she knew. But this wasn't about little
girls now. This was some sick obsession that Byran Kennedy had with his
sister. And it seemed as if he held Mulder responsible. But that wasn't
possible. According to records Kennedy's sister, Valerie, had disappeared
in 1969. Mulder would have only been 9 years old then. His own sister hadn't
even been abducted yet.
<Why would Kennedy want Mulder and not me? I'm investigating,
too........This makes no sense. He didn't even touch me.> She thought
for
a minute and sighed. <Back to number 19, then.> The last name would
begin
with R, that she knew. <That sure narrows it down> she thought as
the last names
that began with R started running through her head. Reeves, Reed, Rodes,
Rosa, Ryan......the possibilities seemed endless! They would have to start
looking up last names of eight year old girls that attend or attended
Lincoln Elementary.
She sighed again. The cool night air, that was comforting just a minute
ago,
was now cold and uncomfortable. She walked back inside and stood in the
hallway for a second. Her eyes scanned the wall as she dreaded walking back
inside that room. Her eyes came across a bulletin board, and something came
back to her. Kennedy had a bulletin board in his kitchen, right next to
the
refrigerator. She remember it had various papers tacked to it and a stack
of
folders on a chair next to it. She hoped he hadn't had time to take them
with
him. Perhaps that stuff was in evidence. She walked quickly into the room,
her fingers crossed. Why hadn't she thought of this before? Maybe the key
to something was in those papers.
<Of course they could just be old math tests> part of her brain told
her, but
Scully just shut that part out. She re-entered the room, practically rushing
to the table. Mark and Sam looked up, startled.
"Did you find folders at the house?" The words were rushed, and hard
to understand.
"Whoah, slow down," Sam said. "Folders?"
Scully nodded. "And papers on a bulletin board. He had a lot of
papers. Maybe there's something in them."
Mark nodded. "Yeah we did! Mostly some old math papers, but we
didn't get through everything. I'd go get them."
Mark left in a rush to get the papers. Scully crossed her fingers
again and hoped that they would hold something.
VCS office
6:39 p.m.
Twenty minutes had passed and Scully was sick at looking through math paper
after math paper. And some were 6 years old! Obviously Kennedy had some
strange attachment to his student's homework. They were going nowhere. She
was ready to give up. They had no idea where Kennedy was, and why he was
after Mulder. They only knew his next victim's last name would begin with
an R. No much to go on, but at least it was a start.
Scully sighed and picked up another folder. She opened it and stopped dead
in her tracks as she saw what was inside.
Notes were scribbled in Kennedy's handwriting:
Notes to self:
Valerie-disappeared 27 November 1969(like how could I
forget??)--check records from source.
Records located, talk with contact--he wants cash
Copies of records enclosed in this new folder--originals held with me
The rest of the paper was blank and Scully starting to scan the contents
of
the rest of the folder. Records indeed! What was inside was government
documents. Documents that, no doubt, the government would want back if they
knew they were holding them in evidence. A medical report on Valerie
Josephine Kennedy, very detailed and private. The date written at the top
was November 29, 1969. Scully found herself reading the details, which included
an egg harvest. She quickly shuffled past the paper, fearing her own memories
would surface if she continued to read. The files had detailed information
on
Valerie, but stopped abruptly with one last paper, dated December 15, 1969.
It was signed at the bottom by two people. One name she didn't recognize
but
the other caused her blood to run cold, and she almost dropped the folder.
She blinked again as the name William Mulder stared back at her.
"Oh my God," she whispered. She now knew why Kennedy was after Mulder. He
blamed Mulder's father for Valerie's disappearance. And after seeing these
records, Scully would probably have blamed him, too. It was normal that
Kennedy would want to seek revenge. Any normal human being would. But she
knew William Mulder was dead, and had a feeling that Kennedy discovered
that
too. But his son, Fox Mulder, was alive and trying to stop him. It was the
next best thing. Kennedy didn't know everything that happened between
Mulder and his father, in fact Scully herself didn't even know. But there
was one
thing she was sure of: Kennedy was out for revenge and wasn't going to stop
till he got any.
VCS office
7:02 p.m.
"He's going to try again, yes, but he's going to try to take Mulder in again."
Skinner entered the room and saw Scully standing, a folder in her hands,
arguing with Mark, who was also standing.
"Mulder's in the hospital. He couldn't go after a killer now, even if he
wanted to. You yourself said he's not even strong enough to stand, let
alone go running out into the night."
"Yes, I said that, but you don't know Mulder. He'd do it anyway."
Scully began rubbing her head, as if in frustration.
"I agree with Agent Scully," Skinner said, and the trio turned to
see him in the doorway. "But he's still too out of it to do it. Yet."
Scully nodded. "So, what's been going on? Are we any closer?"
Skinner asked, and Scully sat down, placing the folder in front of her.
"Well, we know he's going to try again, sir. With another girl with
a last name beginning with R. Unfortunately there are a lot of girls that
fit that
category."
"15 to be exact," Sam added, and Scully nodded.
"Yes, and I suggested we go through the papers that were taken from Kennedy's
home, to see if they held any clues. They were mostly math tests and
worksheets, but then I came across this." Scully held up the paper she had
discovered, knowing at once Skinner would know its value. Mark and Sam
understood the fact that Kennedy would want revenge on who took his sister,
but they had no idea how finding Mulder's father's name on that document
would do to Mulder. She dreaded telling him later what they found.
"Are you going to show this to Mulder?" Skinner asked.
"I'll have to, sir. Once the people he got this document from find
out that evidence has it...." She trailed off, not believing she had just
told her
boss that. Skinner just folded the paper in half.
"What evidence?" he said, innocently. "All we found were math
papers."
Scully's face broke into a grin. "Thank you, sir."
Hospital
7:36 p.m.
Scully clutched the folder at her side as she walked down the hall toward
Mulder's room. She hoped he was sleeping so she could put off discussing
the case for at least a while. She walked into his door and past his roommate
and then groaned at what she saw.
Disconnected IV lines were dripping on the floor and the heart monitor had
been turned off(something Mulder must have picked up from his countless
trips to the hospital no doubt), and clothes littered the bed.
"Damn you Fox Mulder!" Scully shouted to one in particular. "Damn!"
Los Angeles
7:36 p.m.
"Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, damn and _damn_," Mulder said. This
was beyond stupid. This had to be one of the most positively ridiculous
things
he had done in his life. "Okay, how about a street sign here?" Mulder asked
the mostly vacant street. He stopped a lady. "Excuse me, ma'am, do you know
what street we're on?"
The lady stared first at Mulder, then at the bandage on his head, and apparently
took him to be a recent escapee from the local psychiatric hospital, and
she
began to run away. Mulder followed after her a few steps then, knowing he
wouldn't last long, turned. At the next corner garbage can, he lost the
bandage. Looking up, Mulder saw a street sign. He was on the corner of
second street.
Second street. Kennedy. And possibly Scully and Mark and Skinner and Sam,
too. But where would they be? How about number 18? Mulder hurried down
the street.
VCS Office
Los Angeles, CA
7:50 p.m.
"Where is he?" Mark asked when Scully walked into the room.
"Gone."
Skinner looked up from the papers he was reading. "_Gone_? As in..."
Scully sighed. "It looks like he checked himself out. I talked to his
roommate who hadn't noticed Mulder leave, but he hadn't noticed anyone enter
the room either, so it doesn't look like Kennedy kidnapped him. Mulder
certainly would've put up enough of a fight to wake up his roommate if that
had happened."
"So are we going to look for him?" Mark asked.
"I don't know. I mean, maybe we could split up. Finding Kennedy and finding
Mulder are about equal on the priority scale, cause finding Mulder will
do no
good if Kennedy's just going to come back and steal him from us."
"Yes, but what if we find Kennedy and Mulder's stuck out there, wandering
all
night," Skinner said. "Agent Scully, you said it yourself. He's not
completely with it. Who knows what trouble he might get into out there?"
"I know. I know," Scully said tiredly.
"Hey, sir, Mark and I thought we might as well check out number 19. You
know, the nineteenth victim and all. He might've set up in house 19," Sam
said.
"All right, go ahead. Agent Scully, go back to the hotel and get some rest.
We can take it from here. And, don't worry, I'll stay here in case Mulder
shows up."
Scully was about to argue but she knew she wasn't getting anywhere
on the case anyway, so she nodded to the AD and left.
2nd Street
8:10 p.m.
"Hey did you hear something?" Mark said. He was pressed against the wall,
moving slowly, gun up, in a routine position, in 19 2nd Street.
"Paranoid," Sam muttered but gave his friend a "I'm kidding!" smile.
"Yeah I did actually. But it came from the house next door. These houses
are so
close anyway, you can hear everything."
Mark suddenly stopped walking and Sam almost bumped into him. "What
is it?" Sam demanded.
"Well, this whole street is abandoned, right?"
"Yeah, pretty much," Sam said, shrugging.
"Then a noise next door could very well be our killer!" Mark said.
He turned around and started walking towards the door leading outside.
"Hey, wait a sec." Sam grabbed Mark's sleeve and pulled him around.
"Next door that way is..... house 17. We've checked there already, there's
no
killer in 17."
"Seventeen..." Mark said to himself. "That's how old his sister was. That's
the magic number."
"I thought 18 was the magic number," Sam said.
"And four and eight and twelve and seventeen," Mark told him.
"There's a lot of magic numbers. C'mon, let's check out number seventeen.
Stay behind
me."
17 2nd Street
8:13 p.m.
"Freeze. Put your hands up. We're federal agents."
"Uh, _you're_ a fed, I'm just a cop, " Sam reminded Mark. He was
greeted with a loud hiss signifying "shut up!".
Mulder stopped in his tracks. <Shit> he thought. <They caught me.>
He put his hands over his head.
"All right, now turn around," Mark commanded.
Mulder started to turn. <Wait a minute. They can't catch me. I
didn't do anything wrong!>
"Turn around, I said," Mark said.
Mulder turned slowly. "Mark, it's me. Mark, it's me, Mulder."
Mark blinked then ran over to Mulder who looked on the verge of
collapse. "Man, what are _you_ doing _here_?"
"I could ask you the same thing," Mulder said, weakly. He accepted Mark's
help over to a kitchen chair and collapsed in it. Sam and Mark took the
other two chairs.
"Scully's gonna kill you," Sam told him, matter-of-factly.
"You're a quick one. So what are you guys doing?" Mulder asked.
"Well, we were in house 19 since, you know, it's the nineteenth victim so
we
figured he could be in house 19. We didn't find anything there, but we heard
noises coming from this house so we came over and saw someone and thought
it
was the killer but it turned out to be... you," Mark said.
Mulder sighed. "So where are we going to look next?"
Sam and Mark exchanged looks. "_We're_ not looking anywhere. _We're_ going
to dump you off at the VCS office with the AD and then me and Mark are going
to check out some of the other houses on the street."
Mulder was struggling. "No! What are you _talking_ about? You need me, I
know this guy inside and out. I need to work on this. Why do you think I
came all this way??"
"Frankly, my dear, I have no idea," Sam said. "Cause you're about to be
thrown back in the hospital once Skinner and Scully find out."
"But," Mulder said and his eyebrows raised mischievously. "They're not going
to find out. At least not before I find this fucker. And if you guys utter
one word to either of them, I'm going to... I'm going to... well, something
bad. I'll find something bad and then I'm going to do it to you."
They stared at him.
"So, either of you have a spare gun?" Mulder asked and, wincing in
pain, stood up.
End Part 07 of 08.
=========================
Part 08 of 08.
Holiday Inn
Scully's Room
8:19 p.m.
Scully tried to rest, but her thoughts kept wandering toward the door. Every
time she heard a noise, she keep thinking it could be Mulder. She kept
praying it was Mulder. No such luck. She sat up and rubbed her weary eyes,
knowing that sleep was what she needed, but also knowing she would never
get
any. She grabbed her badge and gun off the dresser and headed out the door.
She would find Kennedy or Mulder. Hopefully she would find Mulder first,
because if she found Kennedy first, she didn't want to know _what_ she'd
do.
13 2nd Street
8:35 p.m.
"Why are we at number 13 again?" Sam asked as he crept behind
Mulder, hand on his gun.
"He was 13 when his sister was taken," Mark replied, before Mulder
had a chance.
Mulder nodded in agreement, as a hollow sound of metal dropping echoed
through the thin night. He turned to Mark, his face still pale in the
moonlight, and nodded again. "He's here. He's toying with us."
"Toying?" Mark asked, as he gripped his gun even more tightly than before.
If Mulder said he was here, Mark didn't doubt it.
Mulder turned, wincing in pain as he did, and stared up toward an
open window. Sam caught his glance and started to shake his head.
"There is no way in _hell_ that you are going to climb through that
window! Even if we did help you, you are in no shape-"
"Who said that I was going to climb through it? I was just _glancing_ at
it," Mulder said innocently, as he walked toward it. "It's only about ten
feet up, though...."
Mark was already walking toward it. He sighed. "Well at least be careful.
Scully's going to kill me if you get back in worse shape than you already
are. Oh, hell, she'll probably kill me anyway. I'll help you up."
Sam watched in awe as Mark gave Mulder a boost up toward the window.
"You guys are nuts!"
"Well, nuts or not, if you don't help me here, Scully will have both
your hides," Mulder said with a grin.
"Yeah, well, as soon as you got out of traction, she'd have your hide, too,"
Sam grumbled, but helped Mulder up toward the window.
Mulder peered in and saw an empty room, with nothing on the floor, except
for
a few boxes. A door was ajar, propped open by a box. The room was deserted
and dusty, but Mulder knew that someone had been there. He just _felt_ it.
A sudden wave of dizziness decided to rear its ugly head and Mulder felt
himself
teetering. He grabbed the window sill to steady himself He felt himself
stumble, and prayed he wouldn't fall. <Not now.> He was grateful as
the
dizziness passed and he was able to see straight again. He hands reached
the
window and pulled. Sure enough, it was open, just as he expected. <It's
a
trap, Mulder> his logical mind told him, but Mulder rarely listened to
his
logical mind. This bastard had already killed 17 times. He be damned if
he
made it 18.
"Lift me up higher," Mulder instructed and he tried to climb through the
window, gasping in pain as his ribs were rammed into the window ledge in
the
process. It didn't stop him and soon he was in the house, a bit woozy, but
still in one piece.
His head throbbed as he called out the window that he would let Mark and
Sam
in. He walked through the door, and surprisingly managed to descend the
chairs with out passing out. He reached the front door and could hear
Mark's voice just outside it. Mulder glanced around, somehow thinking this
was all
too good to be true.
And as he laid his hand on the door knob, he realized that it was.
"Nice running into you again, Agent Mulder."
VCS
8:55 p.m.
"Any word, sir?" were the first words out of Scully's mouth as she entered
the office.
"Agent Scully, I sent you back to the hotel to _rest_," Skinner said as
Scully sat across from him.
"Well, sir, I couldn't sleep," Scully said simply.
Skinner eyed her for a minute but let her off, knowing that he wouldn't
be
able to get her to sleep into she saw Mulder, safe and sound and dragged
him
kicking and screaming back to the hospital.
"There's been no word. Chambers and Fuchs are looking, so maybe
we'll have something soon."
Scully nodded and got up. "Well, I'm going to find them."
Skinner rose and grabbed her arm before she could leave the room. "Agent
Scully, Kennedy got you once, I'm sure he wouldn't hesitate to take you
again."
"But, sir, he doesn't want me, he wants-"
"Mulder." A voice finished for her. Skinner looked up and saw Mark
and Sam, both out of breath standing in the doorway.
"And he got him," Mark said as he began to catch his breath.
"What?" Scully asked.
Mark sat down and Scully waited for him to completely catch his breath.
"We
found Mulder. At 17 Second Street, looking for Kennedy."
"You what?!" Scully turned toward him. "Is he all right?"
"He was doing, ......ok," Mark said hesitantly, and Scully knew right away
that that meant he looked like shit and probably felt like it too.
"And?" Scully urged, getting impatient.
"We went to number 13-"
"After Mulder conned us into it," Sam interrupted.
Mark nodded, Scully resisted her anger, and urged him to continue.
"Well, he saw an empty window and before we knew it-"
"You were hoisting him up into it," Scully finished for him tiredly.
<Damn, Mulder!>
Mark nodded again. "And well, Kennedy was inside, and-"
"Oh my God," Scully whispered, and had to sit down.
Skinner brought her a glass of water. He turned to Sam and Mark.
"Let's get some back-up."
13 2nd Street
Los Angeles, CA
8:40 p.m.
Kennedy had already taken Mulder's gun and had him cowering in a
corner after only five minutes of being in the same room as him.
"So, Mr. Mulder," Bryan Kennedy said.
"Actually, I'm a doctor," Mulder said. He nodded his head weakly and
continued on, knowing he sounded stupid, but was willing to try anything
to
delay Kennedy until Mark and Sam returned with back-up. They _had_ to notice
that Mulder was missing, so they should be coming soon, right...? "Yeah,
a
doctor," he continued. "Not a medical doctor, that's my partner, the medical
doctor, but I'm a doctor of.... the mind. You know, I have a degree in
psychology."
"Is that so, Mr. Mulder?"
"Mm hm. I'm glad I have a psychology degree cause then I can go up to people
and say, 'Hey, excuse me, it's _Dr._, not Mister.' Mulder, I mean. Yeah,
it
comes in handy when I'm profiling too. When I've got a sicko killing 8 year
olds, something like that." Mulder was pretty sure he had begun rambling
but he was too scared to care.
"All right, _Dr._ Mulder?"
"Yes?"
"Shut up, Dr. Mulder," Bryan said. "Now, how about we talk about
your father."
"How about we don't? Let's talk about your tendency towards killing innocent
little girls because of something that happened _a long time ago_." Mulder
felt dizzy and reached a hand out towards the wall to brace himself.
"Well you see, _I'm_ the one with the gun, _you're_ the one in the lower
position. Now, we're going to discuss what _I_ want to discuss. Got that?"
13 2nd Street
Los Angeles, CA
9:17 p.m.
Sleepless nights, various injury, too much worry of his partner: they were
all catching up with him. Mulder had to fight to stay conscious as Bryan
Kennedy continued to interrogate him.
"I told you, I don't know," Mulder replied weakly. His head was spinning
and
pounding at the same time and he wanted nothing more than to curl up on
the
cold cement floor and pass out.
"Well you know what, that's just not going to do it," Bryan said. "I need
some answers."
"That's gonna be hard because I don't have any," Mulder said. He was
unprepared for Bryan's response. Kennedy lunged at him with a large kitchen
knife (one that looked remarkably like the one Scully had attacked Kennedy
with earlier). Mulder managed to duck the first time, but Bryan was there
when he looked up again and scratched the knife high along Mulder's cheek,
coming dangerously close to his right eye. Mulder guessed that he _had_
been aiming for his eye but had just missed. Bryan lunged again and Mulder
ducked, falling to the ground in his attempt to flee, and cracking the back
of his
already pounding head hard against the wall. <Oh wonderful. _Another_
concussion?> He opened his eyes and the world spun around him. <Is
that
possible? Three, four?, in a week? I'm not sure...>
"Pay attention when I speak to you!" Bryan commanded him. Mulder struggled
to focus his eyes but apparently he wasn't quick enough. Bryan grabbed him
by his shoulders (the previously dislocated one caused Mulder to scream)
and
yanked him to his feet. Mulder's brain couldn't catch up with all of this
sudden motion and he fell down to his hands and knees, vomiting on the hard
floor.
"Asshole." Bryan kicked Mulder in the stomach, knocking the air out of him.
As he was trying to recover, Bryan continued to kick at his torso, knocking
around the old injured ribs. He was still kicking Mulder when the door bust
open.
"FBI. Put your hands in the air," a female voice commanded. Bryan looked
up
and saw his worst nightmare. What looked like the entire LAPD as well as
various detectives, G-men and women and others that were holding up badges
stood in the doorway. And, with a gun pointed in his direction, was Agent
Mulder's partner.
Hospital
Three days later
11:47 a.m.
Everything ached. The idea of opening his eyes was totally unappealing at
this point. His head was _killing_ him and his side ached. His throat hurt.
Add these to his list of previous injuries and the only word he could properly
use to describe himself was "mess."
"Mulder." The voice sounded far away, though Mulder's mangled brain
told him it was close by.
"Mulder, wake up. Please." The last word pleaded and had a slight hint of
worry to it. Mulder recognized the voice immediately. But the worry in the
voice began to worry him.
Finally he pried his eyes open, and was met by a blurry swirl of colors,
all
mixing before his very eyes. The effect was so dizzying that Mulder was
afraid he would throw up.
"Just take some deep breaths, Mulder. It will help the dizziness go away,"
Scully instructed in her always calm voice. He followed her instructions
and soon the room came into focus, along with Scully's concerned face.
"Scully," he managed and was surprised how rusty his voice sounded
to his own ears.
"Here," Scully said, as she fed him a spoonful of ice chips. He accepted
them gratefully. He settled back after taking three spoonfuls and got his
first good look at Scully in days.
She looked healthy. Her hair felt loose, more wavy than he ever remembered
it. She had some make-up on, and if not for the black circles under her
eyes, he'd say she looked fine. She was okay. The sentence seemed to only
register then, and without thinking, he reached his hand up. It fell short
as he
tugged the IV line. "You're okay," he said, his voice barely above a
whisper.
Scully took his hand in her own and settled on the edge of his bed. "I'm
fine," she said, stroking his hand with her finger, careful not to dislodge
the IV. For a few minutes the two partners just stared at each other,
almost as if completely entranced by each other.
And that's how AD Skinner found them. As his footsteps hit the
floor, the two people separated and Scully blushed, and nervously tucked
a hair into
place.
"Hello, sir," she said.
"Hello, Agent Scully. Nice to see you awake, Agent Mulder."
"Awake," Mulder repeated, his voice still rusty. "How long have I
been out?" His question was directed to Scully and she answered it.
"Three days, Mulder," Scully said with a smile. "But three concussions in
the course of two days didn't help that at all." She gave him a disapproving
smile.
Mulder recognized the dull ache in his head, and realized that he must be
on
the _good_ drugs, because he knew from experience that one concussion wasn't
fun, let alone _three_.
"I'm lucky I have a hard head," he said, grinning, but the grin turned into
a
frown as a spasm hit his side unexpectedly.
Scully turned toward the door. "I think you're due for another shot."
The last thing Mulder wanted know was another needle, but as another
spasm hit he was happily excepting Scully's offer with open arms.
Five minutes later he was fighting to stay awake. Skinner excused
himself and left Scully alone with him.
"Mulder, don't fight it. You need some rest."
"I slept three days," he mumbled. His mind was jumbled and the events of
the
last 4 days were fuzzy, but just as he was ready to close his eyes, one
thing stuck out in his memory.
"Scully," he said, his eyes closed, "what's Kennedy got to do with my
father?"
Scully opened her mouth to answer but Mulder was too tired to hear
her.
Hospital
The next day
2:34 p.m.
The next 24 hours were a blur for Mulder. Nurses and doctors in and out,
countless shots, and tests. He vaguely remembered Skinner coming back and
Mark and Sam visiting to ask how he was. But the one thing he remembered
most was Scully's voice, staying at his side the whole time. God, he hoped
she
was getting some sleep. He hoped Mark or even Skinner was persuading her
to get
some at the hotel. Even as his consciousness wasn't always there, Mulder
keep reliving that moment in his head.
(...Let's talk about your father...) His father? Why? His mind couldn't
put that together. He was never lucid enough to really think about it.
The next time he awoke, Scully was at his side again, in different clothes
than he remembered, so she must have been back at the hotel. He smiled when
he saw her and she smiled back. She was safe. And hopefully she would stay
that way; Mulder knew he would never survive without her.
But as he watched her sit in a chair next to his bedside, he knew he
wanted the answer to the question he'd asked before.
"Scully?"
"Yes?" She looked up and her cross caught the light, causing her to reach
toward her neck to adjust it. That simple gesture reminded Mulder about
how
he never wanted to lose her.
"My father? Why?" The words were jumbled, the thought not clear, but Scully
knew exactly what he meant. She had dreaded telling him this since she
discovered it. But he had a right to know. She got up and went to the
window sill. She picked up a folder, and carried it over to him.
"Mulder, when I was going through some papers that were recovered from Bryan
Kennedy's first...." She paused. "...dwelling, I found this." She opened
the
folder and took a piece of paper out and handed it to Mulder. She helped
him
sit (quite painfully) make sure he didn't disturb the stitches his newest
blow to the ribs had earned him, and helped him hold the paper(quite
awkwardly) in his left hand, seeing his right was immobilized by a
dislocated shoulder.
Mulder blinked at the paper, almost impossible to read without his glasses.
Scully saw him squint, smiled, and placed his reading glasses into his left
hand. Careful of the IV, he put them on and glanced back at the paper.
The content of the paper may not have been as important, but as soon as
Mulder saw Valerie Kennedy's name he knew it meant something. And he went
pale at the sight of his father's signature at the bottom of the page. He
was
involved. That's why Kennedy asked all those questions about his father.
He thought that William Mulder was somehow responsible for his sister's
abduction. And according to this single piece of paper, it looked like
Kennedy was right.
"Mulder-" Scully started but Mulder's own voice interrupted hers.
"I have to find out why my father's name is on this piece of paper."
It was a statement, not an idea. It was past being an idea. It was a plan.
Scully carefully laid her hand on his, knowing she could never tell him
not
to look for the truth. It was part of who he was. It _was_ who he was.
And he had every right to know why his father's name was on that piece of
paper.
"Well, what if you don't like what you find?" Scully asked,
carefully, her eyes meeting Mulder's determined hazel ones.
Mulder was silent for a moment, almost of if he didn't want to answer the
question. Finally he spoke his voice low but determined: "Well, no one ever
seems to like the truth. But I know it's out there, and that's enough to
keep me going, even if means find out some things I don't like. I have to
know,
Scully. It's not the answer I'm afraid of, it's the questions I discover
on
the way."
The End.
