Fletcher2: Rollercoaster By: Dana Starbuck Feedback: dks_starbuck@yahoo.com Disclaimers: See Chapter 1 WARNING: The next few chapters contain some violence and "ick". THANKS: Once again, big thanks to Athos, Selena & Rad (welcome back, Rad). Your help, feedback, patience and friendship is greatly appreciated. I can't do it without you. And a special thanks to my cyberbro deejay. Words can't express my thanks and gratitude. <> Kennedy, New Jersey Monday, December 7th, 10:45 AM Fletcher drove in silence. Mulder sat quietly in the passenger seat, flipping through the files once again. "Why the attempt at the autopsy 'slice and dice'?" he asked. "Do you think he's got some background in a pathology lab or coroner's office?" "No. I think he's just read or seen too many murder mysteries. Ask any of the pathologists we have. Those cuts weren't done by a pro. Besides, after he made the incision, he stopped. He didn't complete the procedure." "Why slit the throat, stab them _and_ start an autopsy?" She shrugged, not wanting Mulder to know that she was in trouble. "Maybe the story will shed some light," Mulder suggested. "I don't know...from what I remember, I don't think there was any stabbing in it." The house was situated on a road that cut across a hill. It was more than just a physical elevation. The house and neighborhood were both a 'step up' from the last house. The houses were further apart, the street wider. As they pulled into the driveway, they could see a very picturesque view out the back. The view from the front of the house was a tree-covered hill. "I didn't know New Jersey even _had_ any hills," Mulder commented as they got out of the car. "Maybe we're on the only one. I didn't even know they still had _trees_," she said, looking at the tall pines. She squinted in the sun, certain that she'd seem some sort of flash of light, or reflection. She noticed the blue Escort had parked on the other side of the street. They walked down the flagstone path leading to the front steps, Mulder two steps behind and to the left. The lawn still had a well-manicured look about it, even though the grass was fading to brown and the trees were barren of leaves. As they approached the house, Fletcher stopped. Mulder was looking at the surrounding area, so he nearly ran into her. "What?" he asked. "Check it out," she said, barely nodding her head at the front door. Mulder looked. He could feel his heart rate crank up. The front door was separated from the elements by a glass storm door. Taped to the glass was a piece of paper. A message was written on it in red block letters. "He obviously doesn't fly much," Mulder said quietly. "His balls would set off the metal detector." Fletcher stood incredibly still. "Think you can go get an evidence bag without getting our journalist friends excited?" "Method acting is my life." Mulder almost sauntered back to the car, hands in his pockets. He would have whistled, but he couldn't think of a tune. Fletcher turned her attention back to the note. It was only one line, but it didn't need to be longer. "WHY? BECAUSE I CAN. ALGERNON" - - - - - The photographer aimed his camera through the open window. He'd framed the note and Fletcher in his telephoto lens. "What is it, Brian?" the woman asked. "Can you see anything?" "Something's up. There's a note taped to the door, but I can't make out the words." "Then it's him," she said excitedly. "He's been here." "Maybe. That lady fed doesn't look too happy, that's for sure. Damn, I wish I could see what that note says." He steadied his hand. "Grab my bag, would you? There's a lens in there that'll read street signs on the moon." - - - - - High on the hill behind the Escort, another lens was trained on Fletcher. The lens was attached to a hunting rifle. The present owner of the rifle wore a green uniform with "County Public Works" stitched in gold above the chest pocket. "That's it," he whispered to himself. "Just stay right there. Don't move." His finger relaxed on the trigger, caressing it. "Watch the birdie, you freakin' alien. Say 'cheeeeeeeeeese...'" At the same moment he squeezed the trigger, Fletcher suddenly turned her head and looked toward Mulder. The crack from the single shot echoed down the hill. The photographer snapped the picture, his finger reflexively pressing the button as he flinched. His partner dove under the dashboard, trying to make herself as small as possible. Mulder ducked down in the car at the sound of the shot, drawing his gun as he did. He immediately looked for Fletcher and froze when he saw her topple over in the bushes, her hand reaching up for her head. "Shit!" he swore, tumbling out of the car. Using the car as a shield, he quickly, but cautiously made his way toward the house. - - - - - "Margo, that fed – the woman - got shot!" the photographer barked, still aiming his camera and snapping pictures. "Can you see where she got it?" Margo asked, still crouching down in the front seat. "No, no, not yet. Call the office." She reached for the car phone. "Should we see if she's okay first?" "Call it in, then we'll check her out. Her partner's almost to her." He opened his door, slowly stepping out. "Brian, where are you going?" "I think it's safe. He would've shot more by now if he was going to." - - - - - Mulder crept closer to Fletcher, his eyes darting up to the wooded hill, then back to Fletcher. She hadn't moved, hadn't made a sound. Still unable to see her face, he touched her leg and squeezed it hard. He was rewarded with a loud moan. "Fletcher? Fletcher, it's Mulder." He pushed his way through the bushes. Fletcher was wedged between the porch and a bush. He got down on all fours and crawled in further. He bit back his own moan when he saw Fletcher's glasses laying near her head, one lens shattered. "Fletcher? Fletcher, you're gonna be okay," he said, struggling to keep his voice calm. He took her hand and squeezed it, suddenly realizing her hand was covered in blood. He knew instinctively that it wasn't. There wasn't enough blood on it. "Can I help you?" said a voice from the porch. "Who's there?" Mulder asked, his hand back on his gun. "Brian Hedges. I'm the photographer. With the newspaper." "Call the police. Tell them an officer's down." "My partner already did." "How is she?" "I can't see anything. I think she's unconscious." Mulder gently reached his hand in further and touched Fletcher's face. He could feel the warm, sticky blood drench his hand. "Do you have a first aid kit?" "I'll check." Mulder heard him run off. he thought cynically. He crawled out onto the lawn where he had more room and took his coat off, then his shirt. He maneuvered his way back in and somehow managed to lay his coat over Fletcher and his shirt under her head. "Fucking bushes," he said angrily, snapping off as many branches as he could. "I don't have a first aid kit," Brian said, falling to his knees by the bushes. "But I've got two blankets," he added, thrusting them through the branches. "Thanks. We can at least prevent shock." "Can you tell how bad it is?" "No. Help me snap these branches, would you?" Hedges pulled a Swiss Army knife out of his vest and started cutting away at the shrubbery. In the distance, Mulder could hear a siren, then another siren. He turned his attention back to Fletcher, his hand on her back. His only reassurance that she was still alive was the erratic breaths she was taking. "God damn it, Fletcher, don't you die on me!" ISU Forensics Labs Monday, 11:30 AM Scully took a sip of coffee. It was cold. She was used to it. "Dana?" "Yes?" Scully looked up from the autopsy photos, automatically rubbing her eyes.