Title: Walk With Me Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@iname.com< Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No infringement is intended. Notes: This is very loosely based on a real rapist around the Memphis area, who was just caught in Chicago by the FBI. While the 'walk with me' idea is the same, I have used artistic license and I know NO details about the actual crimes. *WARNING*:: Rated R for violence and sexual descriptions (not M and S). MSR, X =-=-=-= Walk With Me =-=-=-= --so sad to hear that you don't want to hang around with me-- 'stupid' oleander =-=-=-= He licked his lips. He liked the taste of lips. Like salt. Like dead skin. He smiled. It was dead skin, right? Yes. Chapped lips--and spaghetti sauce made them burn. Burn. They burned with all that tomato acid. Did he remember that? Yes. He remembered the burn. He liked chapped lips and spaghetti sauce. And noodles. Nice and smooth and slippery, like a lot of things. Like his lips in summer. Like the woman's lips in summer. He had met her at one of his dreams that summer, and he knew exactly where she would be. On this sidewalk, this day, with that bright blue shirt and tough looking shoes and those dark dark eyes. Her skin. Like hot chocolate. Hot chocolate without marshmallows. Hot chocolate to burn down his throat and into his belly like a fire. He licked his lips. He knew she would be here. He took her arm and she turned, panicked. Her eyes, so wide so dark. "Walk with me." =-=-=-= "You look like death," she said as he walked into their office. He glanced up but did not respond. "And I know death, Mulder." "Start slicing and dicing then, Scully." She crossed her arms and leaned against his desk, her left thigh an inch from where his hand rested on the armrest of his desk chair. She was sitting on a file and it pressed into the backs of her legs, but she refused to move. It was her spot. He should have kept it clear for her. He rubbed a thin-fingered hand over his face and let it cover his mouth as he peered up at her. His eyes were rimmed with black and blue, like a bully at school had been beating him up, and his hair stuck out in every direction. It wasn't even the cute kind of hair, just the 'needs to be washed really badly' kind. She resisted the impulse to mother him and stood again, shrugging her shoulders. He was giving her that look. That 'so what?' look that never fooled anybody but which he used because it felt safe. "Fine." He was relieved and she didn't ask. It could have been anything, knowing Mulder. Nightmares, guilty thoughts, new case he didn't want to share, anal probe. . . Huffing to herself, Scully sat down at her desk and called up the reports she had typed up and was about to fax to the police in Memphis. She reread her findings, based on state of the art photographs sent via email and some detailed medical examiner reports, then decided it was as thorough as she could possibly make it. She printed it out and grabbed the four pages, then clipped on her ID badge again. Her suit this morning had a short lapel and the ID liked to work itself free and fall off, so she didn't wear it in the office. But the badge was needed for the fax machine and the copiers as per new Bureau policy. "I've got to fax this, Mulder. Be right back." She stepped out and he said nothing. When he heard her heels click on the stairs, Mulder crashed to his desktop, burying his face in his hands and letting the tightness in his chest work out in painful dry sobs. His hands clenched in his hair and he tried to still his breathing, rubbing his forehead with his palms. She was right. He felt like death. Numb but painfully aware; helpless but blindly involved. This was his fault. His fault. He had to tell her. This wasn't something he could keep bottled away. =-=-= She watched the papers get sucked into the phone lines, still amazed at the way it all worked, still ignorant of the true mechanics behind it. She had a feeling it wouldn't be too hard to learn, but this was not something she had time for. Physics and medicine were one thing, idly studying the operating parts of a computer or phone line were another. Scully shook her head and clipped her ID back on, then stepped away from the fax and moved back to the elevators. "Agent Scully!" Turning, she saw the man heading for her, the frantic look on his face, the relief. "Yes?" she questioned, pausing with one eyebrow arched. "My name's Moses Elroy. Most call me Mose-" "I'm somewhat in a hurry, Mr. Elroy. Is there something I can do for you?" The man's eyes shimmered as she looked at him, almost like he would change and be someone entirely different. Her skin suddenly pricked and she stood up straighter, feeling a familiar anxiety wash over her but not sure why. "Yes, there is. . .why don't you walk with me?" =-=-=-= Mulder ran his shaking hand through his hair, thinking about the cop in Memphis, the way he'd seen her blood in thick pools beneath her, the way her lips had been cut away so carefully, as if the killer wanted to be hear her voice after death. Her dark skin had turned splotchy in death and her dark eyes had been staring, perpetually staring, just over his shoulder. Enough to make him want to turn around and look, just in case, for the killer. The rapist. The man who was raping their minds, their bodies. Slamming down a hand on his desk, Mulder struggled to get himself under control, trying to keep the rage and the helplessness out of his mind. He'd taken the case as a favor to VCS, but he hadn't told Scully and he knew, he absolutely knew that'd been a mistake. He thought he could look it over, send it off with a profile and maybe lend them a hand. He was deep. He was in and this guy, this cold mentally twisted rapist killer. . .this guy was inside his head. Deep inside his head. Buried there and twisting around all the things Mulder knew as good and true. It was an X-File. He realized that now. There was no way the man had been able to find Detective Lawrence's house without somehow knowing, knowing that the officially listed address in both the Memphis phonebook and the police record was wrong. And that she really lived in East Memphis and not in Whitehaven. Only her family knew that. Only her trusted friends. Only her partner, who had been retching his guts up in the trash can outside her home. Why would Lawrence have let him in? She wouldn't have. As soon as she'd heard those words, as soon as she saw him, she should have known exactly who it was. And she wouldn't have let him in. But she did. Mulder was wondering if this was another Pusher, but the signs were wrong, and the victims were murdered and not just apparent suicides-- "I don't get it, Mulder." The file folder slammed onto his desk thickly, like a slap, and her words were angry and scornful. "An agent walks up to me in the hallway and hands me this folder. He says it's for your case in Memphis. And I, thinking he was mistaken, told him it was my case, that I had gone over the autopsy." "I was going to tell you, Scully--" "Well thank you, Mulder. It's good to know you plan to let me in on these little side trips of yours. You know, I do think I made a remark about your ditching me, not letting me know where you are--" "I had a red-eye flight to Memphis and back. It was just a consult. They needed the help. I was going to tell you this morning, but you got up to fax--" "Memphis. I faxed Memphis because they wanted me to review the autopsy. I could have flown down with you yesterday, done a more thorough job and perhaps helped you, Mulder. I could have helped you." "Scully." His hands were trembling, the manila folder shaking. She stopped. Her anger flattened then nose-dived, plunging into an immediate fear that flared like fire in her veins. His voice was dead--panicked--but dead. "Who gave you this?" "I don't recall his name, his initials are on the folder-" "Scully. You. . .did he tell you he was an agent?" He was staring at the folder in his hands like it had suddenly morphed into a deadly snake, afraid to hold it, afraid to release it. "Uh. . .not that I remember. He called out my name as I was about to come back and he introduced himself. . .Mulder what's going on?" He glanced up and the absolute terror and dread screaming in his eyes made her flinch and step back. He carefully dropped the file on his desk, careful not to touch it, and picked up the phone, then dialed an extension. "Yes, I'd like some forensics people down at my office. I have a folder here that was sent to me by a killer whom I currently tracking. . .yes, this is Agent Mulder. . .thank you." "Mulder!" she hissed, as soon as the receiver was back in the cradle. He stood slowly, gripping her shoulders to move her away, his eyes tight and tense and worried. "Mulder, tell me what's going on." "The man you met, Scully. Did he say anything odd to you?" "What are you saying, Mulder? What is this?" She really really despised it when he withheld information; it made her unstable and insecure and left her feeling shaken. "M. E. On the folder, right on the tab." "Yes, those were his initials. He handed me the folder and explained that this was information for you from Memphis, regarding the detective murdered. . .Mulder please stop looking at me like that." She was clutching his arm tightly, trying to push back the panic and fear that wanted to latch onto her and not let go. He wasn't helping any; he looked at her like she was already dead. "Scully. . .did he ask you to walk with him?" =-=-=-= He told her the story while their office was attacked by the forensics team, he sitting across from her in a small cafe that offered 42 varieties of coffee and two kinds of sandwiches. She had turkey, he had ham. It started off like a serial murder case. Strange rituals: cutting off the woman's lips, stalking, pieces of skin stripped in ceremonial patterns on the inside of the thighs and belly, then the chest, the arms, all over. Usually, all the victims were approached by the killer, and asked if they'd walk along with him, and surprisingly, all the victims said yes. Friends were left behind, neighbors warned the young woman it wasn't a good idea. Family generally concurred that their beloved dead relative was a cautious person, never talked to strangers, didn't even give directions to men in cars. Somehow, he won their trust with just a few words. He walked home with the woman; he entered her home; he made love to her before killing her. It was a romance and he was the ultimate Don Juan. "That's what the FBI called it at first. The Don Juan rapist. Even though there was no sign of a struggle, no drugs in the bloodstream, nothing. Some in VCS didn't think he raped them; thought he might be sexually frustrated and killed the woman afterwards." "Except that doesn't match the manner of killing," Scully interrupted, then sipped at her coffee. French vanilla. Her favorite. It comforted her somewhat. Mulder nodded slightly. "Exactly. It didn't match. But I still thought he wasn't raping them, at least not in the uh. . .classical sense. He somehow convinces them. . .I don't know. The details are fuzzy, but I was getting close. That's why I went down to Memphis when Lawrence was murdered." "Did you know her?" she asked softly. "Yes. She was the primary detective working on the case and FBI kept her on. She was smart. Too smart to let the bastard in, Scully. Too smart to let any strange guy walk up to her." "He must have met her before. . .established some kind of relationship." "Like he did with you today." Scully hitched in her breath and held the mug tighter, looking out at the rainy streets and the struggling-to-shine sun. The world looked as dreary and frightening as she sometimes felt. "Do you think I'm his new target?" she asked, looking at him intently. "Yes." Mulder sighed and closed his eyes. "He has a taste for women in authority." She winced and bit down on her tongue, keeping the instant panic to a steady hum of danger that kept her alert but did not incapacitate her. Her eyes went to her coffee and she knew that she would never buy French vanilla again, and she had a feeling that Mulder would forgo ham sandwiches for awhile. He was looking down at his food like he would be seeing it again soon. "So I won't let him near me. I've seen him now." Mulder nodded but his mind was uneasy, his hands quivering just slightly. "She was so much like you, Scully. First time she opened her mouth, I thought, that's exactly like Scully. And she was. Tough and no nonsense and always grim seeming, but really very sensitive." Scully glanced up to watch him as he spoke, her heart thudding with both fear and a strange sense of astonishment. Sensitive. . .? "And she let him walk with her. She let him. Scully, of all the people in the world, you and her. . .I would have thought you and her would be the last ones to let it happen." She smiled thinly and shook her head. "You think this is serious." He didn't have to answer. "Mulder, I can't just hide out somewhere waiting for you to catch this guy." "I realize that. But I also don't want you anywhere near this case. Not at all. I'd like to just hand it back over to VCS with the profile and your autopsy notes and just step away. I don't want to endanger you. But it's too late." She nodded. "Yes. And I'm not about to let you work this case alone." "Please, Scully. Please don't be admirable or noble or--" "Mulder." He glanced up and she saw the bleak despair in his face, the way his mouth was tight and pinched like he'd tasted something that made him sick, and his eyes were that awful shade of grey brown that meant he hadn't gotten any sleep. "If I'm on this case, we have more people working on finding him. I saw him; I could identify him again. You need my help on this one, Mulder. You're already overworked and I know you haven't been sleeping--" "Scully. I don't want you near this. His last four victims have been someone connected to this case, and I don't want you to be the next one!" She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and shook her head. "I have to know what's going on, Mulder. I cannot sit back and wait and hide. I can't. . .I need this, Mulder." He would regret this decision; he could feel it already. He would look back at this meeting in this place with the bitter taste of coffee and death in his mouth and curse himself for not telling her no. He knew it. But it was Scully asking him, and he couldn't say no to her. Especially since he understood everything she said. "Fine. Fine. But you're not going home tonight, and I'm not leaving you be alone for a second. We'll get a motel because he obviously knows I'm on this case-" "Mulder. I can stay in a motel room by myself. I'm not-" "No, Scully. No. This is the deal. Someone stays with you, me or some other agent. You work the case. Got it? No exceptions." She sat back in the seat, her jaw hard and her eyes like flint. She hated this and he knew it, but he would not back down on this. Not one bit. She was looking away from him now, chilling him out, giving him that silent treatment that usually had him trying to tease her into a good mood or appease her. Not this time. But he had to make her understand. "Scully. Scully, this man has something. . .I don't know. Don Juan, right? He made Detective Lawrence trust him, let him into her home, let him screw her. Scully. Don't you see? This is like Pusher, but a thousand times worse. He steals their will, Scully, their souls. . ." Mulder trailed off, feeling the tears for Lawrence, for Scully, unshed and tight within him, like a weight pushing him down. He needed for her to comply with the arrangement, needed her to be with him on this case. "I just don't like being afraid," she said softly and he looked up. She was quiet and far away from him, watching the rainy street and listening to the swish of cars passing them by. "I know." "I won't let him make me afraid." Mulder shook his head. "No." She chewed on her lip for a moment, then looked him straight in the eye. "Okay, Mulder. Deal." =-=-=-= Rain. Sliding down his lips wet and light. Not like blood, but yet so close. Blood was thick and clingy, almost as if it didn't want to leave his mouth. Rain was slippery and thin, like it was in a hurry to get off his skin. Why don't you like me, rain? Don't you want to walk with me? =-=-=-= "Yeah, Mom. The Bureau is going to pay for your flight to Bill's. No, I'll be fine. Mulder's here." He glanced up from his desk at the sound of his name, cocking his head as he listened to the rest of her conversation. Their office was clean, actually more straight and neat than it had been since they'd gotten the X-Files back, but he was enjoying the way she silently delighted in the neatness. "Yes, he is." A smile. "I'll tell him you think so, Mom. . .okay. I'll see you. . .Love you too." Scully hung up her phone and turned around to see him watching her. She wiped the single tear that had fallen from her eyes, then shook her head as if she hated him seeing her so foolish. "Mom's on her way. She said she thinks you're a good man. . .The two agents were already there when I called." "Skinner insisted. I thought it was a good idea." "Yeah. It sort of hit me, just now, talking with my mom." She shivered and hugged herself, then pretended she had just been crossing her arms. "So, what's in the folder?" she asked. "Not much. Some clippings from the Commercial Appeal in Memphis. That's their main paper. And the initials on the tab. Do you remember the name? I think that's important. He always says, 'walk with me' to his victims when he. . .picks them out. . .and on this folder, the initials, M. E. Me." "Me. Like he's proclaiming himself. . ." she whispered. Mulder quickly jotted that down on a yellow notepad, rubbing his eyes. Scully frowned. "Something. . .I can't remember the last name really. But the first was odd, I didn't expect him to have it. He looked rather plain and ordinary for a name like that. . ." "Do you think you could pick it out in a list of names?" "Hold on," she said and her eyes were tightly closed. The fax machine. What was she thinking about that fax? Something about not having enough time. Ever. And turning. Her name being called out. Running up to her like he was glad he'd caught up with her. His eyes flickering when she'd effectively brushed off his friendliness. "Oh. Oh, wait," she said. He sat stiffly in his chair, watching her as she felt the impressions coming back at her. "I remember he said that most people called him. . .and I thought, how do you make a name like that into a nickname? And I cut him off because I was rushed and I wanted to get back down here and make sure you hadn't passed out." She turned to give him a soft grin, like she was apologizing for remembering something so unimportant. "I've got one of those Baby name books. You think you could pick it out?" "Yes. The first one easily. Maybe the second. . .it was odd. The whole name. He gave me the creeps." Mulder smiled. "Would you care to define the scientific nature of 'the creeps'?" She shot him a glare and shook her finger at him. "Just get that book." =-=-=-= "Moses!" He jumped as she burst out, and blinked his eyes to get rid of the sleep. She gaped at him. "Were you asleep?" He nodded. "Moses?" "Yes. I'm sure of it. Moses. . .El. . El something." "Maybe El Loco." She snorted at him and shook her head. "I must be tired too, Mulder. I'm laughing at your lame jokes." He gave her a wounded look and stood up from his desk, his back popping loudly and his elbows joining in with their own cracks. She gave him an arched eyebrow and stood as well. "Let's check into the motel, Mulder. Before you're too exhausted to protect me." She was smirking at him. He nodded. "Actually. . .there's something I have to tell you before we go." "What." Her voice sounded low and deadly. "We have an. . .uh, armed guard." "Oh. Why?" "Skinner doesn't want either of us taking chances. This guy hasn't killed any males yet, but our boss thought maybe I'd be a good first." She glanced away from him for a moment, sighing softly. "All right." "Two Marines are out here at Skinner's request, ready to escort us." She grabbed her purse and coat, then the laptop she always carried with her on cases. Mulder watched her in silence and helped her pull on the trenchcoat, then grabbed his own things. His lips twitched at her lonely look. "I don't know about you, Scully. But being in a motel room with you is a dream come true." Her head shot up to look at him and he winked, then ushered her out of their office with a hand to her back. She wasn't sure if he'd been teasing or not, but when one Marine flanked them and the other stepped out ahead, she knew this wasn't a day for joking around. Somehow the thought made the whole thing even worse and she wished she had not gone upstairs to fax Memphis, wished she had not heard the man call her name, wished she had just walked away. Walked away. =-=-=-= He liked her taste. Like chapped lips she was so afraid. Like acid her lips, like a ripe tomato one breast and the other like skinned apple. He was amused because the red one was the skinned one and the white one was the one still intact. He was amused at the juxtaposition of it. The great ironies of life made him thrive, made him understand the complexities of power, power over life itself. He was amused because this woman had let him into the building where he had seen the other. Amused because things always worked out at his dreams. This dream was especially nice. She had screamed a long time, such raw terror, then such agonizing pain. Like her skin was being flayed and she alive. Except he knew that he wasn't flaying her. Just peeling it slowly, like potatoes. Her fingers were thin and pale like celery. He'd always hated celery. No taste unless you put peanut butter on them and they crunched so nicely. These had crunched too. He had dipped himself in water, completely immersed himself in the touch of water. Then he had stood, gloriously naked, a king from the water, reigning over all the people of his land. The bathroom had been filled with the skins, his triumphs, his people. And the woman here. The guard in the FBI. Her thin fingers that tasted like metal and cheese. She was propped against the wall so she could see him as he rose up. She had been so happy to see him. Just a whisper of his love to her, his absolute devotion, and she was wet for him. Just as he was wet for her, she had been for him. But thicker and tasting so. . .so ripe. Like smoked salmon and lemon too. That tang of squeezed lemon. He breathed in her smell again and felt her come around his tongue, hot and fast and tight like she'd been running to meet him, running for just the chance to walk by his side. She looked like she was in heaven and he tasted her like he was a god drinking his nectar. He had such power, such command. He was the king and he was feasting. And then she was coming again and he was dizzied with the taste of her. =-=-=-= "We've been instructed to stay right outside until we're relieved, sir." Mulder rubbed his hand over his eyes and shrugged. "All right then. Whatever. Do you know the Marines coming to relieve you?" The man stiffened. "Of course sir." "Sorry, I. . .can't be too careful. Thank you." The Marine nodded sharply and looked straight ahead as Mulder walked back into the motel room at the Holiday Inn. It was paid for by the Bureau under the guise of witness protection, which it really was, since Scully could identify the killer. Mulder was actually relieved that the Marines would be staying. He could sleep easier. "Mulder?" "They're staying right outside." She nodded and watched him flop down on his bed, thumbing the television on with the remote and settling his head into his arms as he mindlessly stared at the screen. He looked dead, just as she'd said this morning, and she hoped he got some sleep. With the Marines outside, maybe he would. "We'll get some clothes and stuff tomorrow," he said suddenly. "Okay. I'm going to take a shower though." He nodded absently and she turned for the bathroom, sighing to herself. =-=-=-= Mulder turned the volume down and stood finally, moving to hover over his partner. She was curled up on the edge of his bed, and had fallen asleep while watching television with him. She looked as exhausted as he felt but cleaner, her cheeks scrubbed red and the huge white motel bathrobe tightly belted. He let a finger trail down her cheek and to the skin of her neck, soft and smelling good, even from where he stood above her. She shifted slightly and her body relaxed, letting the robe gap open in places to reveal a smooth expanse of her leg and the roundness of her breasts. Mulder looked and he did not feel guilty or ashamed. He felt tender, all within him, like he was responsible for keeping her this pure, this perfect. Slowly, he moved down to pull the edges of the robe together, then scooped her gently into his arms. He turned and placed her on her own bed, tucking her under the covers and kissing her forehead. He wanted to touch her, to fall asleep with his hand in hers, but he crawled into his own bed and crossed his arms behind his head, settling down. He could heard the soft conversation of the Marines and a mild sexual encounter in the room beside theirs. He was actually amused, because usually she complained that in his cheap hotels people were always having sex in the room next to hers, and if he didn't get such cheap rooms all the time, she wouldn't have to hear it. He wondered what she thought about when she heard the couples on the other side start up with their moans or their thumps. He knew he often wondered why he wasn't doing that, with Scully or with anyone else, and why he'd chosen this kind of life. Not that he didn't enjoy sex, but there just wasn't the right person. . .ever. Not since Scully had become so important to him. And really, how could he make love to anyone else? It would just be wrong, like stealing your best friend's girl, or cheating on your wife. Mulder sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes again, feeling dragged down and depressed. He was glad Scully wasn't awake to hear the sex. He couldn't have stood knowing she was awake in the bed next to him listening to the same sounds of love that he was. =-=-=-= It was such a great thing, being a king. He could command anything he wanted. He said to a woman, walk with me, and they did. He parted their legs and they watched him lick them up, taste them like they were exotic fruit. He took a bath with hot water and watched the soap enjoy the slide over his body. He walked freely into the FBI building and teased that man's partner, and he knew she'd been wet for him. Just as he'd prepared himself before, taking his bath to clean himself, taking his bath to be wet for her. Of course, he had dried off by the time he had arrived, but that was of no consequence. It was all symbolic. Like those beautiful plays written by Shakespeare, or the sonnets of Donne, or the songs of Herrick. Although Herrick's occasional sarcasm was a disgrace to poetics, Herrick had mistresses in his mind, at his dreams, just as he, Moses Elroy, did. Herrick had Julia and the others. The beautiful mistresses all in his head, at his dreams. Then there'd been that pleasant discovery--that Herrick did not have any mistresses at all in real life. Just the mistresses at his dreams. Kings had all kinds of mistresses. He knew that. Moses Elroy knew the powers of being at the dreams and the powers of participating in them. He was a king. He could command anything. The woman before him was whimpering now, her joy so complete and full that she could not possibly come again. And once they stopped coming, that's when he had to kill them. He was a king, his decrees were obeyed. And when they didn't come. . . "Walk with me," he whispered and shaved her lips off. =-=-= =-=-= Mulder grunted awake with the sound of his cellular phone in the room and it took him a moment to recognize where he was. Scully was waking by the second ring and he snatched at the phone, willing his eyes to focus on the clock. "Agent Mulder?" "Uh. Yes sir?" It was three in the morning. "I don't want you or Scully coming back to the Hoover building. Security has obviously been compromised--" "Uh, sir? It's three in the morning." "I know that Agent Mulder. A guard was reported missing. A Mrs. Christy Dean. She works the metal detectors in the lobby." Mulder felt his heart catch in his throat and he struggled in a scraggly breath. His hand came to rub his eyes again and he felt Scully sit down next to him. "Who reported her missing?" "Her husband. He's a DC cop. There's a nasty trend here, Agent Mulder." "Yes sir," he whispered. "You're not to come in, you understand me? You and Agent Scully stay there." "Uh, sir. . .we need some supplies. . .clothes and a razor-" A swift jab made him pause and he glanced to Scully. "-uh, two, actually--" "I'll get those out to you. Tell Agent Scully that her mother arrived safely in San Diego and the Bureau there is keeping an eye on her family." "Thank you sir." His cellular clicked off and he dropped it to the bedside table, feeling numb and weary. "Mulder." "Christy Dean. Her husband's a DC cop; he reported her missing. She works as a guard in the Hoover building. Metal detectors." He could hear her suck in her breath and then felt the bed shake as her shoulders hitched. She stayed absolutely still for a long moment and then she spoke quietly. "It's my fault. . .he took her instead of me." Mulder worked his jaw and shook his head. "No, Scully. She's part of the pattern. Her husband's authority, and she's authority. He has to dominate authority. That's why he's been preying on cops and security guards and such." "I don't want to think about this right now." "We can't go in tomorrow. Skinner said. He'll bring us clothes and stuff." He could tell she was making a face in the dark. "I don't want Skinner rifling through my underwear," she said and he could tell she was trying to lighten things. He slipped his hand into hers, feeling it shake just a little. "I could get Frohike to do it. I'm sure he'd love the opportunity." "Not on your life, Agent Mulder." He laughed softly and she echoed it, but the room was thick with darkness and death. "Tomorrow, Scully. We'll work the profile, get the details. I think we'll be able to get results from that sketch composite you did by morning." She nodded and squeezed his hand. "I hate feeling hunted." He sighed and pulled her into his arms, squeezing his eyes tightly shut to block out just how good she felt in the robe and soft skin. He didn't want to make this into something it wasn't, and he didn't want to imply anything else. She hugged him back after a moment, then breathed in his sleep smell. He was warm and warming her up. Like standing before a healthy fire. "Thanks Mulder." He nodded and let her slide out of his arms and back into her own bed. Once she was settled, he turned the television back on, pushing the mute button to let her sleep. He was awake. =-=-=-= "Okay what about the name, Mulder? Is it really his, or is he trying to make it fit?" Scully was in her bed, curled around a pillow and fighting off sleep. Mulder's television was still on but neither of them were watching it. It was six o'clock in the morning and they'd both been up for awhile, after that three am call. Circles ringed her eyes and she could barely keep her head up. But she just couldn't fall asleep. "I think it's really his name. It's very important. Vital. It's everything to him and if it were something he had made up, he wouldn't have enough confidence to kill." She shivered and held out her hands for him to toss her the book. "Hand me that Baby Names book, Mulder. I'll look through the 'E's again." Mulder stood to snatch it off the dresser and came to sit next to her, leaning against her headboard. "You said his first name is Moses." "Yeah," she murmured as she glanced through the small pages in the dim light. "Moses led God's people through the wilderness, right?" "Right. He received God's commandments from God Himself. He brought them down the mountain." Mulder sighed. "Maybe he thinks he's leading God's people." "Or just a leader in general, Mulder. This doesn't have to be a religious freak." Mulder glanced over at her and she was still reading through the book, but he knew he'd better back off. "Okay. A leader. With special instructions, or something." She was positioned away from him, her legs drawn up to her chest and her arms around the pillow, hands holding the book slightly away from her. Her hair spilled over the foot of the bed and exposed her thin neck. He could have reached out and touched her thighs, but he settled on resting his hand on her feet. Scully curled her toes under his hand and glanced up at him, then back to the book. There was silence for a long time, the count of breaths like the ticking of a clock, the heaviness of knowing Christy Dean did not have any time left at all like a pendulum. Mulder could see the concentration on her face, as if she were trying to summon up all her skills to lay bare this one kernel of truth. He wished it didn't all rest on her. That she wasn't the key to it all. The killer had fixated on her now, was handing her clues, was letting them all know that he was better than them. That he held power over them. Power. Authority. It was important to him. He was master of his domain, and it was important that his subjects came when he called them. Mulder stiffened at the twisted perversion of 'come' that was rattling around in his brain. He raped them. Autopsy reports indicated no force, just extreme exertion and that the sex was right before death. He was making them 'come'? He ran a hand over his eyes and shook out the image. That could not be right. It was just a play on words, just something his overworked, exhausted mind was twisting together because he was desperate to solve this case. "Elroy!" "Huh?" "That was his last name," Scully said and sat up excitedly. Her robe slipped off one shoulder but she didn't seem to notice. Mulder was noticing. "Elroy?" he replied, swallowing around the sudden clamminess in him. "Yes. That's it! I'm certain. I remember now. He started to say that everyone called him Mose, I guess Mose, but I cut him off. And I was thinking, first, that he would say everyone called him Roy, or something like that. It has to do with you making me call you Mulder-" "Scully." "No, wait. Listen. And then he started with Mose, and I thought, how could anyone possibly get a nickname from Moses? Roy just seemed so much better. I kept wanting to tell you that I thought his last name was Roy, but it didn't begin with 'E' and those were definitely his initials on the folder. He told me they were." "He told you?" Mulder asked, bolting upright. "You never mentioned that before." She frowned. "I. . .I just now thought about it. . ." Mulder shook his head. "It's probably not that important. He wants us to be certain we know this is a clue." "I wish we knew what the name means to him. . ." She glanced down to the Baby Name book, and a ribbon of astonishment passed through her. When she looked up to Mulder, he was staring at her, then back at the book. They both laughed. "The book!" It explained what each name meant. Quickly, Scully skimmed through the pages until she was back on Moses. "Moses. Taken out of the water. Or in Egyptian, Mesu, which means child." "That doesn't make sense," Mulder said, shaking his head. She shrugged. "Out of the water. . .let's see what Elroy means." There was a pause as she scanned the names quickly, tripping up on her alphabet and having to go back a page before finding it. "Elroy. The. . .the king," she whispered and looked up to Mulder. "He thinks he's a king." "Taken out of the water, the king." =-=-=-= He stood up. The rivers poured from his shoulders and thighs and fingers like light pouring out of God. The bath water streamed down, all over him like a caress. He was clean again. He was king again. The woman was gone, but her lips remained. They were not chapped. He had put salve on them to make sure they would not get chapped. He had hung the skin on his wire framed Queen, like a dress maker's dummy in someone's old attic, waiting for her clothes, her hats, her body. The breast from the dead woman hung beautifully, like a match to the skin around it, but it was alone. He had taken strips from every woman he'd tasted, little pieces of their legs, their arms, their bellies, or their backs. It was like a collage of all his subjects, and he the king. Every mouth that he had ever shaved off was there too, sewn lovingly into the skin like jewels. He gazed at his Queen, watching the skin shiver in the warm air from the heater, watching her black sockets that had no eyes to look back at him. She was reaching for him from her wire and skin body, begging him to make her real. He was trying. She was his Queen, his creation, and he would bring her to life to rule with him. She could only be made from the best. Only the best. The parts of her that were important, like her new breast now, were from the true loyal subjects, those that came when he called. His Queen would be submissive to him. And then those who had screamed, he'd sewn their lips to her feet, so that his Queen walked on the mouths of those who tried to hate him. The lips were important. Lips were the soul, lips held the magic. He would have Dana Scully's lips and one of her breasts, and maybe something extra, because she was so special. An FBI agent would submit to him. That was highest authority, the FBI. He would have all submit to him. His Queen would be perfect. Perfect. The king could have no less. Moses Elroy stepped out of his bathtub and walked to the wire dummy, naked and aching and wet. He pressed his body to his Queen's, imagining the day she would rise from the wire and follow him to bed. =-=-=-= "They found her, Scully." "Is she alive?" His face was cast over in greys and paleness. "No. She was at work. By the metal detectors. One of the security guards came in to start his shift and there she was." "He. . .he propped her up. He's. . .he's slapping us in the face with it." Mulder shook his head. "No. ..not like that. It's not a duel. He's naturally superior, he's the king. He has the right to her. He has the right to take whatever he needs from her and she's supposed to come-" "Mulder!" His eyebrows rose at her. Had she thought he meant in the sexual way? If she did, then. . . "Scully. I. . .I meant like 'walk with me'--they come." She blinked and rubbed her eyes, sighing. "I'm tired. That must be it. I. . .I. . ." "I thought about that last night," he said softly. "You did?" "I was thinking about his authority, about how he's showing us his power. Power, Scully. That's what rape is about, having domination and power over someone else. Making them do something they don't want to do. Or wouldn't normally do." She nodded. "And you think maybe he thinks like this? That he's making them come when he calls?" Mulder repressed a shudder and shrugged. "Maybe." "You think he has power over these women? That he can somehow. . .somehow make them accept him?" "Not just accept him, but willingly obey him. They obey because he's king." "Taken out of the water. What does that mean?" "Who knows? It's probably some intricate ritual he takes part in. The medical examiner said the bodies were washed clean. Maybe that was the water part. Oh, and by the way, Skinner set up an autopsy suite for you at Georgetown Memorial for Christy Dean." Scully nodded. "When is he bringing by our clothes?" "In a few minutes. I just got off the phone with him." She stretched her arms over her head then pulled the robe tighter around herself. "Was I asleep?" "From about six thirty to seven," he replied, smiling faintly. "I feel like I haven't slept for decades." =-=-=-= He was watching television, the news, when it happened. That's my name. That's my name. He jumped off his couch and turned the volume up, hoping his Queen could hear from the bathroom upstairs. She would hear the world recognize his authority. His name. Moses Elroy. The king arising from the water. He did. He rose up out of that water every day, nearly every hour. He was clean and he was king. It was so good to be finally acknowledged. It was like shaving the lips off a woman, knowing their truth, their souls, would always be his. =-=-=-= "This guy's got a criminal record. Two counts of drug possession. Two counts of soliciting a prostitute. One count of public nudity. . .plus a woman in his neighborhood when he was nineteen filed for a restraining order. It didn't go through because she said he just creeped her out. And that wasn't good enough." Scully stepped out of the bathroom and began brushing her teeth as Mulder read the file in front of him. His hands were flat on the little table and his knees banged into the leg every once in awhile. He was nervous and she couldn't figure out why. "The neighbor woman. . .is she dead?" "Yes. Accident, supposedly. She drowned." Scully glanced to Mulder. "Out of the water, Mulder. . ." He nodded. "Yeah, sounds a bit coincidental to me too." "Where's he from?" "San Diego, California." She stiffened and turned to see Mulder, her toothbrush gripped in one hand. "San Diego?" "Don't worry. Skinner got this report first and he's already put extra men on your brother and mother. But he's not in San Diego, Scully. And it's not your mother I'm worried about." Scully shivered and glanced back to the mirror above the sink, then quickly rinsed her mouth and the toothbrush. "Are you ready?" he asked. She nodded. "Ready. Are the boys coming with us?" Last night, Scully had commented on how the Marine guards looked younger every day, that they could be someone's son. . .even their sons. They weren't really that young, but maybe Mulder was old enough to be their father, and it had been amusing at the time. He smiled softly at her joke. "Yeah. The kids are ready." They stepped outside and the 'kids' fell into formation around them. There were four Marines this time, and Scully felt like she was walking in a bubble, except she knew how easy it would be for a bullet to slip right through the men. Thankfully, that didn't seem to be Elroy's MO, so hopefully this would serve as a deterrence. Mulder took her hand and squeezed it, feeling vulnerable and trapped. =-=-=-= Wow. He hadn't known she was so important. She was a diplomat. A diplomat was needed. As king, he would have to extend diplomatic relations. She was still an FBI agent, but she was so important. His Queen ought to have a royal guard, a phalanx of men dedicated to protecting her at any cost. Just like the FBI agent did now. Just like the small, delicate woman striding so carefully to the car. He could imagine how she tasted. Like roe, like caviar, like the finest wine and the most exquisite snails. Delicate. Foreign. Soft. She would come when he called. He just had to get close enough. Just touch her hand now. That was it. =-=-=-= Scully shivered and glanced around as they exited the car, wanting to run but knowing that would be even more foolish than anything yet. She walked quickly along, the Marines like a sea wave around her, Mulder at her side. She wanted to take his hand again, but she knew if she started depending upon Mulder like that, she'd never face her fears. Georgetown was busy, but everyone stopped to see the procession, the two in the midst of Marines, and the efficient way in which they stood at attention outside the autopsy suite. Mulder sat in a chair against the wall, well out of the field of sterilization, the folders in his hands. He had meant to get some work done, but the moment he saw Christy Dean, he realized he knew her. Knew her and had flirted with her every morning she'd been there, teasing her. She was pretty, with dark brown hair and dark green blue eyes. She was married, and he'd known that, but it'd been a game. He'd had a feeling she was used to it, and took it, but that it was fun. He shivered and shut his eyes. "Mulder?" "Yeah?" "You knew her too." He glanced up and he could see the complete blankness in her eyes that kept her from feeling, just for a little while. "Yeah, I remember her." She nodded and turned back to the cadaver, reminding her whimpering heart that this was her job, a body, and it had to tell her its sad sad story before she could put it to rest. She had to know to catch the killer. It was her job. Mulder opened one of the folders, the one that had been tested and retested and fingerprinted and sterilized and everything, because it'd been given to Scully by the killer. The newspaper clippings were random and ranging from a little blurb buried at the back of the paper to front page news with thick print titles. One about a fire in a poor neighborhood. Two children had been caught in a house fire from a candle that had been left burning. A nine month old and five year old cousin. Two adults had managed to escape, along with four other children, and no one had been able to do anything. The smoke alarm's batteries had been taken out to put into one of the dead children's new toys. The smoke alarm might have saved their lives. The next was about the Indian airline that had been highjacked and was released when three militant prisoners were exchanged for the hostages. The story explained the criticism of the Indian government for dealing with terrorists and Pakistan's adamant denial that it had anything to do with the highjacking. Mulder paused, trying to understand what a domestic news story had to do with an international news story. And why two dead children compared with a whole airplane of people caught between India and Kashmir-independence terrorists. He read the next article as he halfway listened to Scully's murmuring, the details of the autopsy that she would explain to him later. The third story was on Clinton's promise to step up computer security for federal systems, and awareness that hacking was a form of domestic terrorism. Mulder felt his lips twitch at that and had to wonder what Frohike and the guys would say about this article. He wondered if they were laughing. Then a story about the peace talks between Israel and the other Arab nations, another local story about a couple who'd been running from their gambling debts and had just called home to say they weren't really dead, just pretending. Mulder sighed. It wasn't coming together for him. There weren't really any connections, except for the plight of humanity, and the incredible lows and highs that mankind cycled through daily. Another statement by the Pakistani government proclaiming their innocence, a statement by Clinton promising to be tough on drugs, a health care reform bill trying to be passed in Congress, and then a story about a United Way chairman who'd swindled money and now served time in jail, but had been allowed to keep his $4.4 million pension. Something was beginning to firm up. A pattern. A kind of depressing look at society, at the laws of the government and the laws of international relations. "Cleaned, Mulder." He startled and glanced up to see Scully pulling off her gloves, her head shaking. "What?" "He washed her body with some kind of alcohol based substance. Probably hydrogen peroxide, since it's easy to get. The lab will have to run the tests, but she was cleaned thoroughly." "Shows care, attention to detail," Mulder muttered and flipped through the folders until he got to a worn, yellow legal pad. He jotted that down and glanced back to her. "She had sex about an hour or so before death. No hairs, no semen, but I caught something on her inner thigh--I think it's saliva." Mulder cocked his head at her and she could tell his eyes were far away, moving further from her and deeper into the darkness. "I'll get that run too, and we'll have definite DNA. If it is really Moses Elroy, then his criminal record should come up in the computers as a match for it." Computers. Hacking. Clinton's promise to step up security. "She also shows signs of extreme exertion. Her heart muscle was ripped in places, tiny tears really, that wouldn't cause death in an average life time. Except the tears were fresh." He watched her struggling against something but she shook her head. "The skin of her left breast was expertly removed, and the underlying fat and muscle was cleaned. Some patches on her thighs were removed in the shape of stars. And her lips were cut off. Almost as if they were shaved. . .The lab is already working on her blood, so we'll get those reports soon." "What do you think that will show?" He was thinking about the attention to detail. The star formation of skin, the one breast skinned. "Low glucose, every sign associated with exertion. Probably even hormonal imbalances, since he raped her before he killed her." "No signs of force. Nothing under her nails? No scratches on her wrists or arms?" Scully shook her head uncomfortably. "No." "If you didn't know this case at all, if no one told you we had a rapist, would you say she'd been raped, or that she'd been with her husband before getting killed?" She sat down heavily in the chair next to his, rubbing her eyes. "I'd have to say she wasn't a rape victim." =-=-=-= "Where're the boys?" Mulder followed her out of the autopsy suite and found the hallway relatively clear. No Marines, only some hospital personnel and a few patients. Two of them smelled drunk. "I don't know," he replied, and felt very uneasy. "Mulder." He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back into the autopsy suite, certain that she would be safer there. He shut the door behind them and locked it, glancing around for any other doors, any way which someone might get in. There was a long row of storage lockers, then a wall that made up one freezer for the dead. Scully had left Dean to be sewn up by a resident, but now she felt nervous being alone with the woman's loose skin and broken sternum. Mulder already had his gun out, and his cellular, and he was calling Skinner while he searched the room with his eyes and weapon. Scully was in scrubs, and her clothes were in the women's locker room. But her holster was in an empty seat near the freezer and she grabbed it quickly, yanking out her weapon. Thank you God, for making me take this in with me. The Marines had told her to keep it. They'd told her not to leave it in the locker room, even if it was locked up. She clutched the gun tightly and wondered where those Marines had gone. "Skinner, where the hell did those Marines go?" Mulder was talking angrily; she could tell because his words were sharp and short, like he wanted to bite something. She could feel the chill of the room and she realized she was afraid to leave, afraid to stay. "No, they're gone." "NO, they're GONE!" "I don't know why. . ." A sigh and then he was hanging up and looking at her with a sick expression. "Skinner didn't call them off. He has no idea where they went. . .all four of them haven't reported in to their commanding officer. Not that they were supposed to." "Do you think Elroy pretended that they'd been told to leave?" Mulder shrugged. "That was my first thought. But if they haven't reported in, then they've gone AWOL, Scully." "But they're Marines." She sat down hard in the tiny plastic chair and buried her head in her hands, her weapon in her lap. "I know. I have a bad feeling." "If they stay missing. . .does that mean he's got them too?" "All four Marines?" Mulder said, shaking his head. "You said he has a force, a power. An authority, remember. He establishes trust. The boys were walking with us, with me. . ." Mulder's hand clenched around the handle of his SIG and he took her arm. "We're going. I'm not waiting for another company of Marines." "Four Marines isn't a company. . ."she said softly. Mulder hadn't heard her. He was pulling her along behind him, keeping his body well in front of hers, her hand in his. "Don't talk to anyone that comes up to you, Scully. Nobody. Even if the person doesn't look like Elroy." She nodded tightly and watched his neck muscles strain as they moved forward. His hand let go of hers to hold his gun, walking as calmly as possible down the halls of Georgetown. She had to resist the urge to hold on to his jacket as they left. =-=-=-= There she was. So beautiful, so frightened. It was good that she was afraid of him. He had the power, the authority. "Off with her head," he murmured. =-=-=-= Scully jerked around, her eyes blinking as she heard something, far off. Like a sound that she'd heard before, heard in connection to danger. Like a warning. "Mulder." "Hold on, Scully. There's some kind of commotion in the hall. One of those drunk guys has woken up." "Mulder, no." But he was already walking forward, pulling her inexorably behind him. =-=-=-= So beautiful. Yes. Right. Now. Here. He touched her, reached out and touched and her eyes turned and met his and she was his. She was his. 'Walk with me' Walk with him at his dreams. 'Come to me' =-=-= =-=-= "Scully. Scully?" He turned wildly, his drawn weapon causing screams to burst from every corner of the hospital. He jerked out of the restraining hands of a doctor, shouting his credentials even as he shouted for Scully. Nowhere. Nowhere. She had been right behind him! Right behind him going through those two drunk guys and the nurses trying to-- Oh God. Only one drunk patient now. "Scully?!" He sounded frenzied. There were blue and white gowns, the dark hair of a doctor, the white lab coats, pink scrubs, blue scrubs, yellow scrubs. What color had she been wearing? Blue? "Scully? Answer me." "Mul. . ." He pushed through the crowd, shoving aside the paramedics coming in and the stretchers and the doctors. He saw her, walking around the corner, but her eyes were shut tightly, her mouth working but nothing coming out. A hand reached out and grabbed her, yanking her to the hall. She had one last look at Mulder and then she ran. "Scully!" =-=-=-= Mulder slammed open the emergency exit he had seen her run out of, wincing when the metal hit the brick of the hospital. He bolted forward, his eyes searching rapidly over the parking. A basketball goal was hanging crookedly from the delivery entrance and two men were sprawled on the ground. Mulder didn't bother checking their pulses; he raced for the grove of trees that edged the parking lot, dodging the two unconscious men and their runaway basketball. A car suddenly pulled out of a space and he spent precious time checking to see that it was only a man in a suit, trying to get to the street. He felt his panic sliding in his gut like an angry fish, jumping up his throat and choking him. He tripped over a curb and went flying, managing to roll to his feet with a split lip and a bloody forehead. Seeing a flash of blue and red, he ran for the copse of trees, picking up his pace. Ahead, he saw Scully, her movements jerky and stiff, but running nonetheless, running away from him. A man was at her side, but Mulder could see no weapon, no gun or knife to keep her there. He felt a sickening dread fall over him and he lost time pulling his SIG, aiming high. "Scully! Stop!" The bullet split a tree near the man's head and Scully stopped, jerking back. The man glanced once back to Mulder, then shoved Scully roughly to the ground, dashing off as she lay there. "Scully," he gasped and ran forward. Her eyes were strangely open when he fell to his knees by her head, and he cradled her neck in his hands, afraid she'd broken something. "Scully?" Nothing. No sound, no words. She was just staring at him with an expression of such desperation on her face, like there was so much she wanted to say. Her fingers were trembling but her hands remained in loose relaxation at her sides. Her eyes blinked. "Can you move for me?" Mulder glanced back to where he could see the hospital through the thin layer of trees, noticing that the two men were up from the black tarmac and rubbing their heads. No one was coming out to check on them, and the two men slipped back inside the emergency exit, the basketball under one man's arm. "Scully. Move your fingers. Can you move your fingers?" Her fingers moved, flexing and then flexing again. "Move your feet," he said. Her feet moved. Mulder frowned. "Now move your head." She rotated her head back and forth, easily and without hindrance. "I guess you're okay. Here, let me help you up," he said. She held out her hands as he stood, and Mulder pulled her up, a bit surprised. She stayed right beside him, saying nothing. "Scully. . .What happened back there?" She looked to him and her mouth opened but no words came out. He waved his hand in front of her face and saw that she seemed to be looking right through him, her eyes fixed on something, somewhere, else. "Scully. . .let's go back to the motel. We'll call Skinner about the Marines and your. . .attack." She didn't reply. He had to tug on her hand for her to start walking, and she only stopped when he put out a hand to her. It was like she was blank, completely not there. But the look of horror, of fear and panic and pleading in her eyes was enough to make him clutch her hand tightly and lead her all the way back. =-=-=-= "Scully. Tell me what happened back there. I told you not to talk to anyone!" "He shut me down." He was startled to hear her talk and opened his mouth, not comprehending. "Shut you down?" Their phone rang and Mulder sighed and picked it up. "Agent Mulder. Those four Marines. . .they've been officially listed as AWOL. However, there are indications they were. . .under someone else's control. The men they relieved said the new Marines looked spaced out, those were their words, not mine." "Spaced out?" "Yes. We have already put out the APB for Moses Elroy, based on Scully's description, and the blood is being rushed at the lab, along with the saliva she found." "How did you know about the saliva?" "It was all marked in the autopsy suite. . .that's how Agent Scully usually does it." Mulder closed his mouth and glanced to Scully, who was standing by the bed, exactly where he had placed her. Spaced out. "Agent Mulder, we have men searching the woods and the hospital video tapes to confirm that this was Elroy, plus dogs sniffing around. We should have something to go on soon." Mulder hung up with his boss and glanced back to Scully. Had that force. . .that power which they'd been talking about. . .had it taken her over with just a touch? "Scully?" No response. She didn't even blink. He moved to stand right in front of her, ducking down so that he could look right in her eyes. For just a brief moment, the blue cleared and she was looking at him, looking at him as if he was the only person in the world who could save her. And he didn't even know how. He smoothed his finger along her cheek, wiping away the smudge of mud that had smeared on her skin. When she'd fallen, leaves and dead grass and mud from the rainy days they'd been having had ruined her outfit. He picked a branch from her hair and smoothed it behind her ear. "Take a shower, Scully. Then maybe we should lie down. I know neither one of us got much sleep." He didn't know what else to do. Would she snap out of it? Could she snap out of it? Had Moses Elroy put a spell on her? Mulder sighed as she turned away, glad she at least took his advice on that regard. She didn't seem to listen to him much, unless he practically commanded-- Command. Mulder felt his heart thud and turn over, like a spade shoveling dirt. Wasn't Elroy's game all about power? Commanding others to come and they did? He was in command, he was king. So. . .so whatever he had poisoned Scully with, she would only respond to commands now. He remembered in the hall of the hospital, shouting to her, 'answer me,' and her garbled reply of his name. He remembered in the woods, yelling at her to stop and shooting, and she had stopped. And then, she had just lain there on the ground, completely unwilling and unable to get up again. He felt the blood drain from his face and he sat down hard on the bed, rubbing his eyes. What could he do now? She was like a puppet. Elroy had somehow stumbled onto something that not only lowered inhibitions, like alcohol, but also completely removed them. If she was afraid of him, then she wasn't. If she didn't want to go with him, then she would, easily. He had made her suggestible. He remembered the flicker in her eyes when he'd touched her cheek. Like she was struggling to get out. Maybe she could beat it herself. Maybe she would sleep it off. They had time. Skinner would have to call before they could safely go anywhere else. He heard the shower start and sighed, laying down on the bed. He hadn't gotten much sleep that night, but he couldn't let himself fall asleep. Mulder glanced to the door and made sure he'd locked it, then shut his eyes for a moment. . .just a moment. . . He felt a heat at his side and his eyes flared open to darkness and a body. Without thinking he gripped the person at his side, panic and outrage flooding through him. He felt her skin, her touch, under his fingers and he blinked away sleep to see Scully beside him. Scully naked beside him. "Scully, what are you doing?" he said, going absolutely still. He could smell her scent, like water and soap and something else, something natural and oily, like sweat except not. She was warm and he was responding quickly, despite the instant realization that this was wrong and this was his partner. His very suggestible partner. He hadn't suggested it, had he? 'Then maybe we should lie down.' Oh no. He had. But not on purpose, not thinking. . .not thinking she would take that to mean with him. . . "Scully, what are you doing?" She was touching him now, her fingers moving over his chest and along his sides, as if something in her was saying, you have to touch Mulder. He hadn't said this; he knew he hadn't. What was she doing? "Scully, you can't do this," he pleaded, stilling her hands. She stopped immediately, and he glanced down to see her eyes, watching him, watching him. He blinked and moved his eyes to the ceiling, telling himself it was better not to look, just much safer not looking. He was already hard, and thankfully, she was at his side and not on top of him. . . "Scully, tell me what's going on," he whispered, realizing that if she only responded to commands, then all he said to her would have to be imperative. "He shut me off." There was that phrase again. He shut her off? An idea began to form in his head, like a dimmer switch slowly turning up the lights. "Scully. I'm going to close my eyes. And then you'll get up and put on that robe again and get in your own bed. And once you're there, you'll just turn yourself back on. Okay? Go." She slipped from him and he kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut, telling himself that if she was inside there, struggling to turn herself back on, or whatever that meant, then he could not look. He just could not look. He respected her too much. He heard the bed squeak and then her soft breathing. "Mulder?" She sounded so afraid. "Scully?" "M-mulder. . ." He opened his eyes and she was curled up in the bed, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. She was crying, her tears slipping down her face and staining the pillow. He couldn't just lay there and watch her, so he stood up and kneeled beside her bed. She was shaking with her sobs now and he reached out a hand to smooth her hair. She shivered and then was suddenly pushing up, reaching out for him, and he was wrapping his arms around her, holding her. "Th-thank you," she said, and her tears were now slowing. She was quick to control herself again. "No, thank you," he whispered and smiled against her head. She slapped his arm and laughed, the tense awkward feeling dissipating with his joke. Mulder let her pull back, then grabbed the edges of her robe and pulled them together, smiling at her gently. She brushed aside her tears with her left hand, curling her right hand around his wrist. When she blinked again, struggling, he leaned forward and kissed her hairline, inhaling the soft smell of shampoo and soap. Scully sighed shakily and closed her eyes. "I. . .I couldn't get out. . ." He reached around her with his arms and hugged her again, moving to sit beside her on the bed. "He just looked at me and everything seemed to go black. I was afraid I was fainting, but when I woke, I was still there. I was running out the door with him and I couldn't stop myself. He told me to keep running and I just did. I couldn't even think of a reason why I should stop. . ." "Do you think he hypnotized you?" "I don't know Mulder. It felt somewhat like that. . .being sort of far away. But I can pull myself out of a hypnosis, and he had me trapped. I was just. . .gone." "You said to me he shut you off." She nodded. "Shut off. And then you turned me on. . ." "If I'm not mistaken, it was definitely the other way around. . ." She rolled her eyes and he was glad to see the smile back, and the edge to her. He smiled back and rubbed her arm, up and down, unconsciously taking comfort in her while he tried to give it. "If that's what he does, when he rapes these women, then I understand. Everything was. . .was sexual Mulder. Everything. He pushed me down and it was like a thrill, like I wanted him to push me down. . ." Mulder squeezed his eyes shut. "So, he's perfected the date rape cocktail, eh?" She sighed. "He's after me, Mulder. And one little thing like that. . .just a drunk guy in the hall, and I'm gone." "No. No. We're going to catch him. He's not going to get you, Scully." She shivered and pressed her forehead into his chest, closing her eyes. He wondered if maybe she wasn't still just a bit suggestible. . .she never let him this close. =-=-=-= "No. Absolutely not." "I trust you, Mulder. I know you'll do everything you can to-" "No. Scully. I am *not* letting you set yourself up for this. I will not let you do this." Her eyes flared bright and Skinner ducked his head, clearing his throat in the strained motel room. "Agent Mulder, currently we have no leads on this man. The woods were clean. The saliva is his, but we don't have a location for him. His home in Memphis has been raided and searched top and bottom, but there's just no trace of him. Now, he's here in DC somewhere--" "And he's after me. So we give him what he wants and he'll come for it, Mulder." "Exactly! Scully, I may trust you, but I sure as hell don't trust myself!" Scully bit back her anger and glanced away from him, calming the indignation that he always seemed to rile in her. "But I trust you, Mulder. And if you've always been able to trust me before, how come this time is different?" He groaned and shook his head, recognizing that he couldn't win. He rubbed the back of his neck and loosened his tie, trying to come up with a plan that was as guaranteed to work as this one. But he couldn't. "Let me do this, Mulder." He glanced over at her and saw the fire in her eyes, the need to help someone, to make it just stop. She was asking him, as if this was his decision. She would do it with or without him, he knew that. "Fine. Fine. The moment he approaches you, we take him. I don't care if he hasn't even touched you." =-=-=-= She gave a crooked half smile to Mulder, who was sitting on a gazebo near the Potomac, but it was fleeting enough to not be noticed by passerby. She was underneath a huge tree, looking remarkably stupid in the drizzle that continued to rain over the DC area. She was trying very hard to keep that blank unfocused look that Elroy's touch had caused in her. Maybe he would bite, maybe not. If he thought it was set up, she didn't think he'd come for her. Or maybe he was convinced he couldn't be caught. He was king after all. Scully had picked the spot, insisting that Elroy would appreciate the symbolism of the river and the rain, and would probably go to the Potomac for inspiration anyway. He would see Scully and he would try for her. Then the forty or so agents posing as tourists or business types would dash from memorials and monuments and trees to grab him. Before Elroy had chance to touch her. That was the plan anyway. Mulder surveyed the waves slamming into the concrete bank, the rain that sent a fine mist over the ground like fog, and the sidewalk that ran his direction. He was stymied at the rain, but they could not postpone this. The less time that passed between his attempt in the hospital and their trap, the better. He needed to think that Scully was still 'shut off.' His radio fizzled in his ear and he winced, putting a hand to his head as if he had a headache, then slid a look to where Scully still sat under the tree. Mulder's baseball cap was already soaked and he could feel the rain drying awkwardly on his body. The gazebo shielded him somewhat, but he could tell he looked rather conspicuous in the lone white structure. Good. He'd rather not be doing this anyway. He'd rather just do good, old-fashioned detective work and catch this guy at his own home. He knew, realistically, that would mean more deaths, but he felt selfish today. Especially after how he'd seen Elroy's effect on his partner. He glanced once more to Scully, then sat up straight again. He wondered if someone's radio had shorted with the rain, but chewed on his bottom lip. He went over the details of the case again, remembering the articles in the folder. They were important. He risked another look at Scully and found her huddled under the tree, shivering and her knees drawn up to her chest. Quietly, Mulder talked into his cuff, pretending to pull his ball cap down on his head. "Okay there, Scully?" "Doing good, Mulder." She was speaking into her palm too, pretending she was cold, although not having to imagine much. "See anything?" he asked. "Just you, Mulder." He grinned to himself and slowly flicked his hand in her direction, almost as if he were tapping the side of the gazebo. "So subtle, partner," she said and he could hear the smile over the frequency. He let go of the brim of his Yankees hat and sat forward, watching the river. His mind drifted to the articles again, remembering how he'd almost caught a pattern in the many stories. The fire, the high-jacking, the statements by various world leaders, the man getting pension in jail. It was all screwed up, he realized. The whole international, domestic, legal system was bunk. He paused. Legal system. For a moment, he shut his eyes, searching for the articles in his memory, scanning them again. The legal system. The woman in the house fire had said something about God giving and taking away, being a higher power that she could gain comfort in. The high-jackers had traded the plane for three prisoners, and the Indian government had given them over. Both were forms of authority. A kind of enforcement of the rules, of the natural order of things, or what *should* be the natural order. He opened his eyes again and found the waves and water all around him, like a symphony score to the revelation taking place in his brain. The man in jail-- a judge had declared him still eligible for his pension, even though he'd swindled. It was like Elroy was trying to put out all the ironies in the world, where one side is pitted against another and although the situation is resolved, it's not ever really right. The house fire had claimed two young children. The man in jail wasn't being punished. What did this mean? And what about Clinton's promises that he'd clean up drugs, or the improvement on security for federal computer systems? He struggled to make these fit, knowing that somehow they had to, somehow they were important things to the killer. Mulder sighed. Maybe he was a Republican. "Mulder!" His head jerked up at her voice and ever so carefully, he raised the mini-mike to his lips. "Scully?" "Mulder, I see him." "Where?" "Walk. . ." Mulder felt panic burst in him and he glanced back to the tree, only to see Scully struggling to her feet. "No. Scully. Stop. You hear me, Scully? Stop." She moved away from the tree and he could see her reach out her hand. He was on his feet before he knew it and bounding down the steps three at a time. He still didn't see the man. Not at all. "Scully!" "Scully, stop right now. I will not let you go with him." Would it work? Would Elroy's suggestions override his own? "Scully stop. . ." He moved past the tree and saw her up ahead, walking through the grass. Mulder chased her down, but found the grass slippery with rain and he was falling, tripping, picking himself up again. Where was Elroy? Other agents were stepping out of the shadows, out into the rain, glancing around warily, not knowing what was going on. Scully was moving, but no one was with her. No one had even talked to her. Lightning cracked the sky and made the earth go too bright. Mulder blinked and she was stepping to the road, standing there as if she were waiting for someone. He shoved himself to his feet and began running for her, hearing the frantic babble of voices on the radio in his ear. He ran down the bank, nearly falling as the grass sloped towards the road, and he was just about to touch her, just about to turn her around, when she stepped back. Thunder had masked the arrival of a ratty blue car and he only saw it in the corner of his vision before it slammed into him, hard and shattering. He hit the ground after a moment of free fall that seemed like a strange dream, and then the blackness of the rain was drowning him. He tasted blood and heard a car door slam shut. God, no. . . =-=-=-= She was so still. Had he hurt her with the car? No. He had told her to move back at exactly the right time, but she still had a large bruise on her hip. Maybe the car had swiped her? No. No. The bruise was from. . .from her partner. He must have been hitting her. That made more sense. There was no way he had actually hurt her. No way. Moses ran a finger across her hairline and glanced up to the collage of his Queen, looking in her empty eyes and wondering if this woman's eyes would be good enough. He would have to see. He had never done eyes before. Moses smiled to himself. He would have to see. He carefully finished removing her clothes, putting them in a neatly folded pile beside the bathtub. A cross hung around her neck and he debated taking that off too, but it looked so very beautiful in the candle light, glinting against her rosy skin. Moses wondered if maybe he should have made this one more special. Since it would be the last sacrifice his subjects would have to make for their Queen, maybe he should have brought roses into the bathroom. Roses. He could put them into the bathtub and wash her with the petals and scrub her clean with the thorns. Yes, yes, that would be perfect. He smiled at his Queen, the lips of all other others sewn everywhere into her body. Thank you, Queen, thank you for the idea. Then he told the FBI agent to sleep longer and not to move. He had a bit of trouble locating his keys, but his wallet was in his jacket pocket. He went to the car. =-=-=-= The rain stopped. The wind whistled over his face, loud enough to make an odd siren noise, like a scream, like a warning. He wanted to fall back into the rain but it was too dry, too light outside. Then he remembered. "Scully?" "Agent Mulder?" "Scully, where's Scully?" His eyes slid open like sandpaper against a piece of bark, so scratched and rough. Skinner was standing by him; he was on a hospital bed; an IV was itching his arm. "Scully?" "She was taken, Agent Mulder. She got in the car that sideswiped you and it tore off. An agent got the plates and we're running them. You just got here, Mulder." He licked his lips and shoved up from the bed, angry and frightened enough to push Skinner away. He untaped the IV and very carefully pulled it out, wincing as the needle jiggled. He'd done the ripping thing before, IV needles hurt immensely. "Agent Mulder-" "No. I am out of here. And you, sir, will not even attempt to stop me." Mulder growled at his boss and ran a hand through his hair. Skinner's jaw muscle twitched. "I was just going to say that I stole you some scrubs." Mulder glanced at him in surprise, then to the blanket shrouding his hips. His jeans had been cut away, as well as his shirt. They hadn't moved him from the ER yet. "There was an interstate accident and you got bumped, Agent Mulder. You'd better sneak out while you're not top priority." Mulder nodded grimly and reached for the scrubs Skinner held out. =-=-=-= "Okay, you five, work on real estate--anything that has to do with former police stations, fire stations, even federal property that was recently bought. He probably paid with cash, but don't rule out anything yet. No apartments, only houses, condos, that sort of thing." Mulder ran a hand through his dirty hair, trying to push away the weariness tugging at him. The DC office was filled with agents Skinner had set working on Scully's disappearance, and Mulder addressed them now with a stone cold face. "I'd like for you to work on where his money came from. He traveled from Memphis to DC in a relatively short while, plus he had to pay for his place with something. He didn't use a credit card; we've already run that down. No checks have been cashed for three years either, so he had to have cash, or an alternate identity. See if he's got some relatives who recently died and left him money, anything--" "Agent Mulder?" His head jerked at the sound of his name, but Mulder nodded to the man standing against the wall. "I don't know if you knew this, but he's an orphan. Grew up in a Memphis Child Service Center, then was kicked out at 16 for killing the dogs around the place. He was known to sleep at a homeless shelter on Vance for awhile, then he kind of disappeared. So I don't think he's got wealthy relatives." Mulder chewed on his lip. "Okay. With the real estate, factor in former homeless shelters or child orphanages, anything along those lines." "Now, there's already some people working on the license plate right?" "Yes, sir, that's us." Mulder nodded at the young woman and her partner, both of whom sat at computers that had yellow-tinted screens. He rubbed his eyes at the sight and waved them on. "Good. Everyone else, keep doing as you were told," he said and searched around the room for a chair. He was going to pass out. Skinner pushed him out of the command room and into a tiny office, shoving him behind a desk and into a chair with wheels. Mulder pitched forward, his head in his hands and tried to breathe without bruising something. A file folder slapped onto the empty desktop and Mulder glanced at it dully. "Here's the articles, Mulder." He nodded and reached for them, but Skinner pushed them away. "Don't make me sorry I checked you out of the hospital, Agent." Mulder kept his eyes focused on the manila folder, now worn and spotted with carrying. He kept his voice firm although his body was shaking. "Yes sir. Just let me do my job." Skinner slid the folder beneath Mulder's fingertips and walked out of the makeshift office. Alone for the first time since he'd been in that gazebo, Mulder closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The folder of newspaper clippings was cool under his palm as he grabbed it, and the smell of ink and recycled paper seared his nostrils. He opened his eyes and grabbed a pen. There was something here that was important. Something to save Scully. =-=-= =-=-= It was just nice to lay there. To not have to move. To smell the water and the tiles and the . . . Scully's eyes jerked open, heart pounding, fear shaking her up and down. A car. She had taken a ride with him, just like he'd commanded and now, she was here, here, in his bathroom. No, not a bathroom again, please God, not like Pfaster. She wanted to move. She wanted to run, but there was like a heaviness in her mind, a kind of presence that forced her to relax, to close her eyes again, to just dream. Mulder, please. Turn yourself back on. Scully blinked and found that she could be calm again, she could listen and smell and sense things. She would have to just wait for the moment when the heaviness was more like a fog and push it away. She could turn herself back on again. Like she'd done last time. She saw a mosaic on the ceiling. A mermaid with two men drowning in the seas beside her while the mythical creature smiled cruelly. Scully shifted her head and saw the walls, the ancient moulding and then flat whiteness of new plaster. It did not fit with the rest of the bathroom and she carefully looked to the ceiling again. The mural was chopped off where the new plaster wall rose to meet it and she wondered what was in the other half of the large bathroom. What was behind that plaster wall. She could smell metal like a tongue depressor in her mouth and she rolled her head to the side, managing to smack into a claw footed bathtub. It had four cracks that she could see and a new deck of playing cards was shoved underneath one of the feet to keep it balanced. It looked like he'd salvaged it from a dumpster. She didn't see any plumbing and she wondered if it had running water. There was quiet everywhere, no water dripping into sinks, no rushing through pipes, no gurgling. She would expect noises from the plumbing of a place this old. Slowly, she moved her hand to her forehead, feeling for bruises or bumps. There'd been that car racing straight for her, straight for her and Mulder- Mulder. It had hit Mulder. In a moment of panic, her entire body paralyzed, tense and straight, the heaviness like a blackness and she was being sucked under. Scully closed her eyes and cleared her mind of thinking. That was the answer, just calm, rational thinking. No worries, no panic, no wondering. She couldn't actively think, she had to passively react. Science. It was all science. She could feel her muscles loosen, her joints stop aching so fiercely, even her eyes opened again. There was the mosaic on the ceiling, then the plaster wall, then the dress mannequin-- Dress mannequin? Scully licked her lips and slowly sat up, leaning against the moldy-smelling tub to keep from having to use much of her rapidly failing strength. Her head lolled against the rim and she felt her fingers twitch on their own. The full bodied wire mannequin was holding together an odd clumping of. . .leather? She couldn't tell. It looked discolored and shriveled, like an old woman who had spent her entire life tanning, with splotches like strips of tape all over. Scully curled her feet under her and managed to move limply toward the wire contraption, creeping along on the cool tile like a crawling drunk heading for a toilet. The thought made her wish she had the energy to smile and then she was face to face with the leg of the dummy. It was not leather. It was not even clothes. It was human skin. She whimpered and tried to back up, to move away, but her body and her mind shut down on her again and she was curled on the floor, smelling the cured skin and the thin wire mix in her mouth like beef jerky and aluminum. She vomited once and choked, pushing herself away even as the heaviness pressed her down. She had to get out of there. There were lips in the sewn skin feet and lips, fat and plush and stuffed, along the dummy's stomach and face and head. Like a thousand mouths ready to eat her up. Oh God, oh God, she prayed, and in her struggle, slammed painfully against the bathtub again. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, the darkness was shutting her off. She was just shutting off. Somehow, he had captured her mind in his palm, and he was squeezing, crushing away her life. =-=-=-= Ironies. All these ironies. Or maybe failed promises. Or kind of like slaps in the face. Mulder wasn't sure what the label was. Only that the newspaper articles were driving him crazy with their teasing promise of finding Scully. If only he looked harder, if only he would pay better attention, if only the aching in his ribs and chest and head would fade just a little. . . He had some agents looking for homes that had been rebuilt after a fire in which two or more died. He had some agents looking for known new rentals in drug neighborhoods. He even had some agents scouting out neighborhoods near the two airports, National and Dulles, just in case. But he really didn't think that was the case. There was something about having power that this guy liked, needed, demanded. His name meant king, and evidently, it was the name he was born with, although he had arrived at the orphanage at the age of six. He might have invented the name, but it was still important. He remembered Scully asking what Elroy did with the skin he sliced off and the lips he kept as trophies. Mulder wondered himself, but he wasn't sure that was the important part. It was making the authority figures actually bow to Elroy, as king. It was showing who held the power and who didn't. Mulder paused and looked back over the articles. Each one was a show-down between two opposing forces, between good or evil or even two forms of evil, two forms of good. In the house fire, God had won. Or, Nature, if Elroy didn't believe in God. In the high-jacking, the terrorists had prevailed. Etc, etc. It worked all the way down the list. And each time, one of the forces got a slap in the face. A wake-up call so to speak. Someone was losing, something was winning. Someone submitted, the other exalted. He was reminded of the medieval pictures where a king, sitting on this throne, would beknight a man, kneeling before him. Feeling the rush of an idea, Mulder pulled up a map of DC on the computer screen at his little makeshift desk. Searching it for all of a minute, he had the answer. =-=-=-= "See these, sir? Here, and here?" Mulder was pointing to the old blueprints of the Lincoln Memorial, which held several below ground maintenance supply sheds and even a Metro station that had never been put into use. Skinner squinted to see the small print and fine blue lines, then rubbed at his forehead. "The Metro doesn't go to any of the Memorials, Agent Mulder." Mulder nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, sir, I know that. In '69, Congress passed a bill allowing the Transit Authority to build a Metro system, which began operating in '76. Now, someone had this idea of putting in stops at all the Memorials and other sightseeing spots for the tourists. Congress and NSA didn't like the plan and cut it. They were afraid of terrorist threats." "All right, Mulder. So there's an unused Metro station. . ." "Okay, so this station can only be accessed by some maintenance doors in the Memorial, or that's what the schematics say. But I found out that in the park surrounding Lincoln, there are a number of entrances, one of which is large enough for car to drive down and onto the unused rails." "What?" "And sir, no one has reported seeing Elroy's car after it left East Potomac Park. Now, he came in on the street that runs right along the Washington Channel, on the southeast bank of East Potomac Park." Mulder pointed on the map to the tiny strip of park and the road hedging the park. "Now, it would have taken him about ten minutes to simply cross the Channel on this bridge here, and head straight back to the Lincoln Memorial. In fact, we couldn't have been in a better place for him to take Scully. If we'd been in West Potomac Park, we'd have been too close to the Memorial." "Might Elroy have even directed Scully there? She's the one who mentioned the park, remember. Maybe that's why he had such an easy time kidnapping her. She was still partially under his control. . ." Mulder let out a breath and rubbed his forehead. "That. . .makes as much sense as anything." "So how could Elroy have known about the Metro station, Agent Mulder? You didn't even know about it." "Well sir, he spent a lot of his life as a homeless man in Memphis; I think he came here before he showed up back in Memphis, doing the killings. This morning there were two tips on the hotline from volunteers in homeless shelters. One said they'd seen the guy recently, like within the last six months, and the other said he'd lived there for about a year, off and on, during the exact times when Elroy is unaccounted for in Memphis." "So, he was here during that time. . .then had to leave. How'd he get the money?" "I really don't know sir. He's intelligent, brilliant even, in his own way. These articles were clues, but really very random and ambiguous. He might have worked for awhile, and prospered in whatever he did. That's not important right now, sir. Agent Scully doesn't have much time." Skinner was nodding and the agents crowding around them all were shuffling uneasily, smelling a show-down. "So why would Elroy hole up under the Lincoln Memorial in a Metro station that's never been used?" "Because Lincoln sits on a throne, sir. And Elroy very much wants to feel like a king." And Elroy very much wants a show-down, to prove once and for all, he's the one with the power. =-=-=-= She found herself again. Right there, laying curled beside the tub with a nasty bruise on her head and an ache in her hips. She was close to her own vomit and the smell was making her queasy. Boots. She slammed her eyes shut and tried to relax her body again, hoping he had not seen her wake up. But there was silence and quiet, just the stillness like being underwater, where all the noises from the real world were very far away. She opened her eyes and saw that the boots were her own. Her clothes were in a neat pile beside the bathtub. The heaviness was lifting again. It was almost gone. She was telling herself to wake up and she was telling her hand to grab her clothes and she was putting on her bra and underwear, then her shirt and pants. Her jacket had just shrugged around her shoulders when she heard the noises. Like a car in a tunnel. Scully pushed on her shoes and yanked open the flimsy wooden door that had been set into the white new plaster wall. There was a darkness all along the place but it looked like. . .like something that should be familiar but wasn't. She passed another door and yanked it open, peering inside right before she shut herself in. Nothing. Just more darkness. Maybe it was a bedroom. . .she couldn't see that well and her head was throbbing. She carefully relaced her boots then creeped around the room, looking for a weapon. Her gun had been taken, and it hadn't been with her clothes in the bathroom. As she searched, she realized that the floor was tile, and the ceiling held the other half of the mermaid mosaic. The bright green and yellow tail fluke could be seen, along with four more men drowning in the choppy waves. One pale arm came from the wall like a ghost's image, and it held a flute in the thin fingers. Scully found a heavy stone, maybe like a paperweight, she couldn't tell, and hefted it in her hand, debating the accuracy of a throw and the chances of knocking Elroy out, or even killing him. Very low. She found a closet and rifled through the pockets, expecting some kind of Army knife or maybe even her SIG, but there was nothing. No shelf either. The shoes showed more promise than the too-heavy paperweight in her hand. Maybe if she hid somewhere and he went looking for her, she could get close enough to crash the paperweight down on his skull. It felt like glass though, smooth and finished, and she wondered if it would crack in her hand. Then she heard the loud footsteps in the long corridor outside, the click as shoes rattle and echoed off plain tile and concrete. There was no carpet, no windows; she was not in a house. A curse sounded as the bathroom door was opened and immediately Scully felt her limbs slacken and her feet start forward. She grabbed the doorknob of the closet and forced her own body inside, shutting her eyes to the call of darkness and sleep and nothingness that echoed in her head. She heard the door open and felt the caress of his mind against hers, the suggestion that she just sleep, just fall right into sleep. . . =-=-=-= Mulder was searching the park on the corner of 23rd and Constitution Avenue when he saw the car swing off 23rd and crunch through the grass. He ducked behind a line of trees, watching in shock as the car turned behind a slight rise then seemed to be swallowed up by the ground. The license plate matched Elroy's. Mulder ran forward, knowing he had precious little time. =-=-=-= The paperweight slipped from her fingertips as he watched her. He smiled and took her hand, shaking his head. "I understand. Without your king, it's hard to know what to do. But I'm telling you now, you must come with me." Scully twisted feebly, managing to merely brush her hand against his. He liked it and closed his thin fingers around hers. "Yes, that's a good idea. I'm always open to suggestions." She whimpered and felt her feet follow him, her body stiff and yet relaxed, as if a war was being battled within her. Whenever she tried to move on her own, that heaviness descended and kept her trapped in a blanket of darkness. She was shutting off. Just falling asleep in her mind, even while her eyes saw everything, her ears heard his whispers, her fingers felt his touch. =-=-=-= Halfway down the dark, damp tunnel, Mulder found the car parked off to the side, the engine still warm. A chain link fence divided the first half of the tunnel from the rest of it and he noticed a heavy chain through the small gate. It was padlocked twice. Well, it would keep out tourists who might wander in, and any homeless people. He wondered briefly if he had time to go back to where Skinner was coordinating efforts at the Lincoln Memorial, then decided against it. He would have to get in quick. Christy Dean had only been missing a rough eight hours. Scully had been gone five. The sun was already gone, the birds were still, and the darkness was making it hard for the agents to search. Mulder knew he didn't have time. Scully didn't have time. He glanced to the top of the fence, noting the sharp diamond shaped edges of the chains, the pole that ran along the top to keep it from bowing under stress. Mulder grabbed a handful of the mesh and pulled himself up, sticking his shoes into the holes. He climbed for the top, pulling his battered, broken self up the fence. His bruised ribs pulled painfully with every breath, but he pushed out the pain and concentrated on Scully. Finding Scully. She'd said it, earlier that day: "I trust you, Mulder." =-=-=-= The candles were lit with care, the roses placed gently into the lukewarm bathwater. He wished he had time to heat water for a proper bath, but she had rushed him--her straining and struggling against the Power. His Queen was standing absolutely still, as if she knew the sacrifice to come would be the last, would be the ultimate one. He caressed her one breast, her myriad lips, her fingers. She was glowing in the light, and he pressed a rose petal to her nose, letting her smell it. He heard a groan from the corner and looked to see the agent struggling to stand. She was leaning heavily against the wall, but he had been smarter this time: her arms were tied tightly behind her back and a gag was stuffed into her mouth. It was all right, the Queen consoled him, it was all right. It would stretch her mouth enough to let her lips be soft and willing when the time came. He still wasn't sure why she seemed to be able to just throw off his authority, his Power, like she was doing, but he ignored the doubt and began to crush the petals into the bathwater. =-=-=-= Mulder's foot twisted in the metal and his hands lost their grip. He fell the last five feet and heard his shoulder pop, felt the pain like a knife through his arm, his chest. He gasped for breath, rolling on the floor of the tunnel, holding his shoulder and pretending he didn't want to cry. It had been a long time since pain had felt that bad. His ribs were probably broken and his arm was just throbbing, and with every throb, the pain was worse. He grabbed the fence with his okay arm and pulled himself to a standing position, trying not to move his injured shoulder. Thankfully, it wasn't his weapon hand, and he started forward, pushing down the pain again. Pushing it down deep. If it hadn't been for Scully, he would have just laid there until he died. =-=-=-= Scully pushed herself closer to the door, away from the bathtub and the man stripping petals from the roses. She felt this odd sense of calm even as she panicked, even as her mind screamed. Her heart was calm, her breath stable, her eyes sleepy. Once he'd gotten the ropes around her wrists and the gag in her mouth, he hadn't been pressing upon her so much. Or whatever the heaviness was. The blackness that drove her out of her own body. She shivered and pushed off with her feet, scooting along on her butt because she couldn't keep her balance when she stood. The tiled floor was cold and it numbed her muscles, but she pushed anyway. The door hit her back with a thud and the man turned, frowning at her. She scrambled to stand up, reaching with her tied hands for the knob, praying even as Elroy came for her. The knob twisted, turned, and she fell back with the door as it opened. Her head cracked as the concrete rushed to meet her and the darkness was true and faithful this time. =-=-=-= Mulder saw her fall from where he panted against the side of the tunnel, her body going too still, too suddenly stopped to be any good. He lurched forward, weapon in his good, working hand, and screamed at the man who was bending over her. "Freeze, FBI." He ran as he yelled, feeling cold and detached even as the man picked up his partner and began carrying her back into the little room they'd spilled out of. He couldn't shoot, not with Scully draped in the man's arms, but his limping, staggering run was too slow to make it in time. The door slammed shut in his face and the lock turned loudly in the darkness of the unused Metro station. =-=-=-= Elroy was shaking. He dipped his fingers into the bathwater and blessed himself, then grabbed the Queen, hefting her into his arms. The woman was still unconscious on the floor, badly bleeding, and Elroy knew he didn't have time to take anything from her. The bathroom led into the next room, his own bedroom, and he could escape from there. Two tunnels led into the old Metro station and he was betting the man outside didn't know that. He headed for the other door, shoving the Queen dummy before him, blinking in the darkness. And then he stopped. Just a taste. All he needed was a taste of her lips. Just one taste. Maybe her skin too. Just a little taste of her breast or her neck. Like a caress. He heard the pounding on the door, the cursing, the ranting, and he saw the woman, still out cold and bleeding across his bathroom floor. He could even dip his fingers in her blood and taste that as well. He pushed the Queen into the other room and left the door open so he could get away quickly. Just a taste. =-=-=-= Mulder picked up the strange, rock-like lead paperweight. It was finished and smooth, almost like glass, and it was heavy in his good hand. He moved back for the door and slammed it against the knob, again and again. After a moment, the doorknob broke off and Mulder slid his fingers into the hole, pushing against the tumblers to unlock it. After a painful second, the door clicked and Mulder quickly extracted his fingers, then twisted the knob. Elroy was leaning over Scully, his palms smeared with her blood and his mouth seconds from her open shirt, and the skin exposed by her bra. "Get away from her!" Mulder yelled and grabbed the man by the shoulder, pushing him back. Elroy snarled and sprang upwards, catching Mulder under the chin with the top of his head. Mulder's neck snapped back, but he clutched at Elroy's shirt, bringing his knee up quickly. The killer gasped and shoved back, pushing away. Mulder crashed against the wall, slamming his already bruised head into the drywall, and twisting his shoulder even more painfully out of joint. He cried out, unable to help it, then stumbled for his feet. Elroy was heading for the back, to a door that stood open, and Mulder yanked his gun from its holster, aiming. "Stop right there, or I'll shoot." Elroy glanced back, frozen, his eyes flickering from Scully to Mulder and then to the darkness beyond the room. Mulder looked vulnerable, leaning against the wall with one arm cradled tightly to his chest. The candle light made Elroy's eyebrows twist with contempt and then he was launching himself at the agent. Mulder fired twice, three times, and Elroy jerked as the bullets entered. The killer stumbled, then collapsed on the bathroom floor, his legs sprawling and his head hitting the tile. His hands were pressed tightly to his stomach and Mulder watched as he lifted the blood soaked palms to his sight. Heaving for breaths, the man turned his hands over once, then arched up his neck. His tongue eased around his bloody thumb, soft and slow, and tasted the metal and the oxygen and the life. He'd been wrong. Lips did not contain the soul. Blood. Blood contained the soul. His hands fell to his chest, he breathed no more. =-=-=-= He could hear Skinner coming down the long tunnel, barking orders at the men with him. Mulder had managed to pull Scully to the long hall and then to the open area where the platform for the Metro should have gone, but no further. Her hair was matted with blood, her body heavy in his one arm. He collapsed next to her, falling on his torn apart shoulder and groaning. He heard Skinner calling for him but he just could not open his mouth to scream, to whisper. Anything. Scully groaned beside him and he pushed his hand into hers, trying to reassure her. Her head rolled on the concrete and she turned and opened her eyes, looking at him. "Mulder?" she whispered. "You're gonna be okay," he said. He could see her swallow painfully, see her slender throat working, her chest rising and falling. Her shirt was still undone, but he hadn't been thinking about it and now his good hand was under her shoulders, pinned by her weight. She tried to clear her throat then winced. Instead of speaking, her hand trembled in his then squeezed his fingers weakly. "You're gonna be okay," he said again, but his words were drowned out by the sounds of Skinner and the other agents. He laid his head near hers on the cold concrete and let his eyes close. =-=-=-= "Feel like taking a walk with me?" Scully glanced up at him sharply, her eyes narrowed. He winced. "Sorry, bad choice of words. . ." She held out her hand and he gripped it tightly, trying to smile but not feeling the emotion behind it. He pulled her from the hospital bed and shrugged when she continued to look at him. He didn't know why he wanted to walk. Scully closed her eyes for a moment, then followed him out of her private room on the 8th floor to the nicely decorated hallway. The carpet was a soft grey with dots of maroon and the walls were painted a pale grey-blue. A nurse in a white lab coat nodded to them and passed by with a cart of medications, heading for some other room. "How are you feeling?" Scully asked softly, pausing to look at his still bandaged shoulder. "Not too bad." She nodded and limped painfully down the hall, hating that she had to lean on Mulder at all. The bruise on her hip had been from a hairline fracture in her pelvis, and the fall back in the bathroom that night had only made it worse. No cast was needed, just rest and therapy, now that it had healed somewhat. "Still have headaches?" he asked her, politely ignoring the weight of her on his arm. "Yes," she said and her brow was furrowed tightly. He knew she had a headache now. There was a quiet, comfortable silence between them as he led her down to the 8th floor lobby and reading room. A television was on in the corner, but it was muted and she couldn't tell what was on. Maybe a documentary on cheetahs, leopards, something. Her eyesight wasn't fuzzy anymore, but her headaches were not that much better. It was like a sharp saw was slicing into her skull, eternally piercing her. She didn't tell that to Mulder, but he knew anyway. He could see it in her eyes, in the stiff way she held herself sometimes. He carefully helped her onto the couch and then sat gently beside her, leaning forward because he knew it made her feel less trapped. She reached out and squeezed his good hand, trying to smile again. "The dummy you saw. . ." She nodded, waiting for the details. It had been three weeks and no one would tell her anything she wanted to hear. Mulder hadn't been able to visit for long and he'd insisted on just talking with her, not about the case. "Nineteen different DNA types found in the skins covering it. He had nineteen victims. We only knew of six." She nodded and the motion made her suddenly feel dizzy. She reached out and Mulder gripped her hand and put it to his chest, letting her have a touchstone. She hated how this happened so frequently, but the feel of his hand over hers made her feel better. She closed her eyes for a moment, then breathed in slowly. "Okay," she said. He watched her until her eyes opened and focused on him and then he nodded back. "As I told you before, he died in the ER, but he hadn't been breathing when they got to him anyway. Agents have been tearing his place apart, digging for clues as to why he did this, what the dummy was for, why he killed the way he did. VCS is in on it, analyzing and detailing. No one's found your weapon yet. I'm not sure what happened to it." She didn't try nodding, but let her eyes express her distaste, her utter weariness. "Looks like you're rubbing off on me, Mulder," she whispered. He tilted his head, his eyes smiling but questioning. "Rubbing off?" "I lost my gun. That's usually your job." He gave her a glare and shook his head, but he was pleased at the tinge of laughter in her eyes and in her mouth. The humor meant she had all the information she wanted to deal with at the moment. He was glad to stop talking. Her hand was still against his chest and she pushed on him, making him lean back against the couch with her. He settled into the overstuffed cushions, easing his tired muscles and strained back into the embrace. She moved so that she was leaning carefully against him, her head on his uninjured shoulder, her hip carefully positioned to keep it from getting stiff. Mulder lifted his good hand and stroked his finger down her nose, her chin. He could feel her lips smiling as he brushed past. "Your doctor tells me you get out tomorrow." She nodded. "I'm coming to get you. Your mother will be at your apartment when I bring you home." She sighed. "That'll be nice." Mulder's finger played with her chin, parting her lips with a tug, then tapping her mouth. She smiled and poked his side. "Stop it, Mulder." He obeyed, letting his hand fall back to his knee. She took it in hers and twined her fingers in his. "Are you. . .are you going to stay with me?" she asked. "Do you want me to stay with you?" "Yes." She was amazed at her own confidence. Fear of death and constant dependence on a person could do that. "I'll be there then." She smiled again and looked up at him, moving her head carefully and slowly. Her eyes were dark with the pain killers they'd given her earlier and the lack of sleep from the bruise on her hip. "Thank you, Mulder." He shrugged. "I'm glad to-" "No. Thank you for stopping him. For finding me." He blinked and his eyes were troubling, churning. "Only for you, Scully." And she knew he meant it, absolutely and completely. Mulder leaned in closer to her, pressing his lips to her upturned forehead, brushing his fingers along her cheek. His shoulder twinged but he ignored it, choosing to let his mouth drift to hers, let his lips dance across hers. She breathed in softly, kissed him softly, moved softly. He felt her softness like a rare gift and her nearness like a blessing. When they parted, hovering near, eyes closed and breaths quick and light, he finally noticed that one hand clutched his and the other was palming his cheek, her thumb smoothing over his newly shaved skin. She opened her eyes and he was staring at her, intensely, affectionately. She blinked and told herself to breathe. "Only for you, Scully," he repeated and smiled. =-=-=-= end adios RM