~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Head Over Heels
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

by syntax6

XxXxX

Prologue

XxXxX

He carried his labor of love in a sack on his shoulder, 
hunched as he climbed over the crumbling rock of the desert.  
Animals heard his boots approach and slithered away to 
invisibility just as he reached them.  Overhead, the milky 
moon lit the path in front while the night swallowed his 
steps behind, covering the months of preparation that had led 
to his solitary journey.  He thought of Mulder, hoped he 
would be the one to get the call.

Those are my fingernails scratching down the inside of your 
ribs, he thought with a grin, and don't you forget it.

The bones at his back clattered together like drumsticks when 
he jumped down onto the dusty earth.  Another half mile would 
be sufficient, he reckoned.  This was the only part of the 
plan that bothered him, having to leave her out in the middle 
of nowhere for someone else to find.  It could be hours, 
could be weeks -- he had no way of knowing or controlling the 
outcome.  By the time they found her, he would be far away 
composing the second verse of his love letter.

At length he stopped by some brush he thought well-suited for 
his purposes.  Slipping the sack from his shoulder, he opened 
the mouth wide in front of him.  "Trick or treat!" he said 
with a chuckle.  He shook his bag of goodies until they 
rattled, the smaller bones knocking around like beads against 
the longer, hollow ones.  Then he simply turned the sack on 
end, creating a brief waterfall of human remains that fell in 
a pile at his feet.  The small skull rocked back and forth in 
the dirt for a few seconds but stopped when he touched it 
with his toe.

From inside his jacket he produced another bag, this one made 
of clear plastic, which contained the final touches for his 
missive.  What good was a letter, after all, if one did not 
address it and sign it appropriately?  He snapped on his 
gloves and withdrew the strands of red hair he'd pulled from 
her head a few days before.  

The devil is in the details, he reminded himself as he wound 
the hairs around the prickly branch. 

He scattered the remaining items with equal care, then 
stopped to survey his work.  A perfect execution, he decided 
at last.  His imagination come to life. 

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the signature -- two 
tiny toe bones.  They felt almost like teeth in his hand.  
"I'll just keep these, shall I?" he said to the broken woman 
on the ground.  He popped one into his mouth and walked away, 
sucking his prize like a hard candy all the way home.

XxXxX

Sam Nesbith stepped from his Explorer cruiser into the wall 
of summer heat.  He slipped open the button on his shirt 
collar and scanned the desert scene, trying to pick his 
deputy from among the half-dozen men in black.  Luke caught 
him looking and waved.

"Over here, Sheriff."

Nesbith climbed over a rocky slope and acknowledged Luke with 
a nod.  "Simmons.  What have you got for me?"

"Hikers found her this morning, sir.  Kitchner and I got the 
call, and we've been here since oh nine hundred.  Del Hoya 
and Marsh have been helping us secure the perimeter, but I 
gotta tell you, it seems like she's been here a while."

"She's over that way?" Nesbith indicated the brush thirty 
feet across the sand.

"Yes, sir.  What's left of her, at least."

Nesbith frowned and started over towards the body.  "I 
suppose it's too much to hope for any ID."

"Well, that's the thing..."

"Jesus Christ," Nesbith interrupted as he caught sight of the 
scattered bones.  "No telling how long she's been out here."  
He turned to Simmons.  "Nothing else gets touched until the 
coroner gets here, you understand?  And I don't want anyone 
else within a mile of this place. I don't care if God himself 
gave the okay."

"Right.  We're on it."  Simmons hesitated, then nodded at a 
rock a few feet away.  "You might want to see this, though."

"What is it?"

"It's a shield, sir. FBI from the looks of it."

"Shit," Nesbith muttered.  He followed Simmons over to the 
rock, where they knelt by the black leather case.  "You think 
this is from our vic, is that it?  Can't be.  That body has 
to have been out here for months, if not years, to have been 
stripped as clean as she was.  This leather is barely faded 
at all."

Simmons's face fell a bit.  "The picture shows a woman with 
red hair, and we found some red hair caught on the bush over 
there so I just assumed..."

Nesbith turned and glanced over to where the skeleton lay.  
"I've got a bad feeling about his one, Luke," he murmured.  
"Something's way off."  He shook his head and turned his 
attention back to the shield.  Pulling out a pen, he nudged 
the flap of the case open.

Dana Scully, it read. FBI.

XxXxX

Mulder remembered why he had vowed never again to set foot in 
Au Bon Pain as the two girls behind the counter ignored him 
in favor of their conversation about some absent Au Bon Pain 
worker, and whether or not said worker wore falsies her bra.  
When a third round of throat clearing failed to gain their 
attention, he leaned over the counter himself and said, "You 
know, I heard she's actually a man, and that's why she has to 
steal extra money from the tip jar to pay for her upcoming 
operation."

The girls stared at him, dumb-struck for a moment, until the 
dark-haired one with the pony tail found her tongue.  "Uh, I 
don't think so," she said with scorn.  "My brother used to go 
out with her, and he said..."

"You're absolutely right," Mulder agreed, dead-pan.  "I must 
have her confused with some other Au Bon Pain employee.  So 
I'll just have the grilled chicken sandwich then, okay?"

The pony tail girl shut her mouth with a snap and rang up his 
order.  By the time he had picked up his napkins, she was 
back gossiping with her friend again.  Could there really be 
a man hidden in their midst?  Mulder hid a smile and walked 
around the back, where he found Amelia Russell sitting at a 
table full of food.  

"Small breakfast," she said in explanation, and pulled back 
her salad, soup and sandwich to make room.

"I braved the Pod People lunch line for you, Russell.  This 
better be good."

"Let me guess," she said, sipping her drink.  "Janine and her 
breasts again."

Mulder looked up from his sandwich.  "Are you on some sort of 
stakeout duty here?  Or have they started drugging the 
croissants."

Russell smiled.  "I prefer the bagels.  Oh, and for the 
record?"  She leaned across the small table towards him.  
"Janine totally stuffs."

Mulder covered his mouth in mock horror.  "She doesn't!" 

Russell shook her head and leaned back in her chair, wiping 
her fingers on her napkin.  "Seriously, Mulder, thanks for 
coming.  I'm sorry I was so cryptic on the phone."

Ah, yes, Mulder remembered.  The message so secretive that 
he'd almost expected it to self-destruct when he'd rescued it 
from voice mail.  The message that had specifically stated 
not to bring Scully.  "So what's up?" he asked, trying to 
keep his tone casual.

Russell hesitated for a beat, then pulled out a large 
envelope.  "Grenier would kill me if he knew I was talking to 
you, but I really think we could use your opinion."

"A lead?" Mulder felt the hair on the back of his neck stand 
up.  Ten months evaporated in an instant, and he was running 
though the woods again, screaming Scully's name into the 
pouring rain.

"Could be.  That's what I wanted to talk to you about."  She 
paused.  "And why I thought you should come alone."

"It's..." He traced the sharp edges of the table with both 
hands, his appetite gone. "It's okay.  Scully's with her 
family in California now, anyway.  What have you got?"

"Six months ago a college girl from the University of 
Wisconsin at Madison disappeared on her way home from a 
party."  Russell drew out a stack of photos.  "Mary Horner, 
age twenty-one.  She was missing up until last week, when a 
last-ditch search party organized by her parents found her in 
the woods.  The crime lab says she'd been dead since the 
night she disappeared.  Our division flagged it when we 
learned she had been discovered fully clothed, but with her 
shoes missing."

"Toes?" Mulder asked quickly, even as he flipped through the 
pictures to see for himself.

Russell sighed.  "The little ones are still there, but the 
largest toe on her right foot had been removed, as had two 
fingers on her left hand.  Clean cuts, just like we've seen 
before."

"The ME have any guess about the weapon used to remove them?"

"Smooth blade, no serration.  Definitely not shears, though."

Mulder flinched a little at the memory of the bloody tool 
he'd seen in Carl Quentin's cabin ten months ago.  Scully.  
He fought the urge to pull out his phone and call her, just 
to hear her voice.  "What does Grenier think?" he asked at 
last.

"He thinks it might be Quentin.  We've pulled the missing 
persons reports from the Madison area for the last few 
months.  Two other young women who meet Quentin's victim 
profile have disappeared recently, though no other bodies 
have been found as of yet.  Grenier's out there investigating 
now."

"Uh-huh."  Mulder fingered the pointed corner of the photos, 
looked down at the white body in the woods.  "But you didn't 
go with him."

Russell ducked her head. "No, I...I couldn't go this time.  
It's complicated.  But I don't think Grenier's wrong to check 
into it. Mainly, I just wanted to know your opinion."

"My opinion."  He felt tired, every one of his forty years 
weighing on him as he forced himself to look at the grisly 
photos.  

My opinion, he thought, is that I wish this shit would just 
leave me the hell alone.  Every time I walk away, it comes 
back and bites me on the ass.

"Not him," he said aloud, setting the pictures down flat.

"But the profiles match, and the shoes are missing..."

"Look, you wanted my opinion, and you've got it."

Russell said nothing for a moment.  "Right," she said softly, 
collecting the photographs.  "I'm sorry.  I should never have 
asked, not after--"

"He wouldn't change the toes."

Russell seemed to consider this possibility.  "I've seen 
changes in MO before due to increasing disorganization.  Ted 
Bundy, for instance.  Look at what he did in Florida with the 
sorority house -- changing weapon, changing his pattern of 
attack.  Also, Quentin had a close call with us last year.  
He knows we're on to him now.  It could be he's altered his 
behavior to decrease his chances of capture."

Mulder shook his head.  "Altered his appearance, maybe.  But 
this is a man who spent eleven years in prison and resumed 
his killings in an *identical* fashion when he was released.  
It's all about the feet for him.  He wouldn't bother cutting 
off some fingers.  It probably would never even occur to 
him."

"Okay, fine."  Russell rubbed her eyes with one hand.  "We'll 
just have to keep looking, then."

"Hey."  He waited until she looked up.  "I could be wrong," 
he said, attempting a smile.  "I'm rusty at this, you know."

"No," she sighed.  "You're as shiny as you ever were.  But 
Grenier won't believe it until he comes to the same 
conclusion himself.  For what it's worth, I really am sorry 
to dredge this whole thing up again."

"It never really settled."

"Yeah."  She put away the envelope.  "How is Scully doing?  
Okay?"

Scully.  He thought of the endless nights he had spent with 
her after it had happened, eyes cracking from fatigue as they 
watched inane TV movies or played Gin Rummy -- anything to 
keep from talking about the elephant in the room, anything to 
keep from having to go to bed and dream her way back into the 
woods. Scully, always fine even when she was not.

It had been months now, he realized at last.  Months had 
passed since her last bout of insomnia.  These days when they 
were alone she couldn't wait to get into bed.  

"She's good," he said, smiling a little.  He decided he would 
call her when he got back to the office, already dreaming up 
a flimsy pretext she would see right through anyway.  He also 
decided not to mention his conversation with Russell.

"Tell her I said hello," Russell said as if she could read 
his mind.  

"I will."  He stood up with his half-eaten sandwich.  "And, 
uh, let me know if anything turns up."

"I will."

He turned to go, when she stopped him.  "Mulder..."

"Yeah?"

"Could you...could we maybe have dinner some time?  There's 
something else I'd like to talk to you about."

Mulder froze.  He could tell by the tone of her voice that 
the something was personal.  "I...sure.  Whenever.  Just, uh, 
just give me a call."

"It's not bad, I promise," she said. "It's just kind of a 
long story, and I don't want to get into it here."

"Sure," Mulder repeated, sounding lame to his own ears.  
"Anytime.  Just let me know."  His phone rang then, rescuing 
him from his awkwardness.  "Mulder."

"Agent Mulder, I need to see you in my office now." Skinner's 
voice had an overtone Mulder didn't recognize. 

"I'm on my way," Mulder answered.  He waved at Russell on his 
way out, and she waved back.

"Right now, Mulder," Skinner said, and this time Mulder 
caught the emotion crackling over the phone line.

Fear.

XxXxX

"What's going on?" Mulder asked as he entered the AD's 
office.  Skinner was standing behind his desk, looking grim.

"I've got Special Agent Lillian Chang on the phone from 
California," he said, gesturing toward the speaker phone.  

"Agent Mulder, hello," came the voice on the other line.

"Hi," Mulder said.  He tried to meet Skinner's eyes, but the 
other man looked away.  "What can I do for you, Agent Chang?"

"Assistant Director Skinner informs me that your partner Dana 
Scully has been vacationing here in California this week, is 
that correct?"

At the mention of Scully's name, Mulder felt his mid-section 
seize up.  "She's with family in San Diego.  Why?  What's 
wrong?"

Skinner turned away.

"Agent Mulder, can you tell me when was the last time you 
spoke with your partner?" Chang continued.

"Three days ago," Mulder answered tightly.  "Now someone 
please tell me what the hell this is all about."

There was a short silence on the other end of the phone.  
"This morning the Sheriff in Orange County found a female 
skeleton in the desert.  Nearby they found an FBI shield 
belonging to Dana Scully, so we're just trying to--"

"No," Mulder said, shaking his head and pulling out his 
phone.  "No, you're wrong!"

"Agent Mulder, please, we just want to--"

"In a minute," Skinner snapped.  He watched as Mulder put the 
phone to his ear.

"C'mon, c'mon," Mulder muttered as the ringing began.  
Halfway through the third ring, he could breathe again.

"Scully," she said, and the relief made him weak to his toes.

"Hey," he said through a grin.  "How are you?"

"Sleepy," she answered.  "Too much sun."

Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder saw Skinner sink into a 
chair.  He met the AD's gaze and nodded.  "But you're okay?" 
he said to Scully.  "All the flesh still on your bones and 
everything?"

"What?  Mulder, I think maybe you're the one who's been out 
in the sun too long."

"It's a mistake," he called across the room to Agent Fuckup 
on the speaker phone.  "She's fine."

"Mulder."  Scully didn't sound amused any more.  "What the 
hell is going on?"

"Rumors of your death were greatly exaggerated."

"My death?  What the hell are you talking about, Mulder?  Who 
says I'm dead?"

Agent Chang spoke before he could answer.  "I'm very glad to 
know it was a mistake," she said.  "But we still have a dead 
body here.  Please tell Agent Scully that we're going to need 
to speak with her immediately."

"It seems there was a body found today with your name on it," 
Mulder said into his phone.  He turned around, effectively 
closing off Chang and Skinner from the conversation.  "But 
it's okay.  It was a mistake."

"One in my favor, apparently.  Jesus."

"I don't know the whole story, Scully, but it sounds like 
they found your FBI ID at the scene."

"Not possible," she said flatly.  "I have it with me."

"You're sure."

"Yes, I'm sure."  He heard rustling on the other end.  "I'm 
looking at right now."

"Then someone went to a lot of trouble to make people think 
it was you in the desert."

"Yes," she agreed.  "But it wasn't me.  So who was it?"

"I don't know," he said, glancing over his shoulder to where 
Skinner was talking to Chang.  "But I think they're going to 
want your help in figuring that out."

XxXxX

XxXxXxXxX

Chapter Two

XxXxXxXxX 


It had taken a fair amount of research for him to find the 
woman, but Carl was nothing if not thorough.  In sixth grade, 
he'd taken one assignment -- to write a three page essay on 
some aspect of Ancient Rome -- and turned it into a twenty-
five page epic on gladiators and their weapons of death.  
Retiraii.  Cestus.  Pugio.  Killing and ceremony combined; 
he'd devoured the details and regurgitated the bloodshed for 
his horrified school teacher. 

He had seen her looking at him weeks later when the local 
playground mutt turned up disemboweled behind the jungle gym, 
but no one had ever found the lovely curved dagger he'd used 
to split the dog in two.

Research.  It paid off.

He knew better than to hang around the woman's bones waiting 
for the law to arrive.  Tempting as it was to catch a glimpse 
of her after all their months apart, he realized he couldn't 
shadow Scully the way he had in D.C.. His full beard and dyed 
hair were enough to pass most folks unnoticed, but Scully had 
spent too much time tied up in his bed not to recognize his 
face. He would just have to wait for her to come to him.

His patience had limits, however, which was why he was 
driving four hundred and fifty miles to Utah to mail a 
package.  Scully would ID the body eventually, but he was 
willing to give her a hint to expedite their reunion.  It was 
both a goodwill gesture and a reminder that he was still 
waiting.

For ten months her shoes had sat on a shelf in his bedroom, 
mocking him with the knowledge that his task was yet 
unfinished, that he had left her thrashing around like a 
wounded animal in the woods.  He imagined her face when she 
realized who put those bones in the desert.  

Did you really think it was over? he wondered.  Did you 
really think you had escaped?

He decided to pay a boy to express mail the package but left 
his fingerprints on the envelope as a little "fuck you" to 
Mulder.  Mr. Hotshit FBI thought he was so special, figuring 
out Carl's name after all these years.  I'll give you the 
name, Carl thought, because besides that you've got nothing.

The snot-nose kid he found at the basketball court got 
curious when he saw the address label.  "Is this really going 
to the FBI?" he asked, squinting in the summer sun.

Carl adjusted his wide-brimmed hat.  "That's why it's 
important you get to post office immediately, you 
understand?"

"Fox Mulder, FBI," the kid read aloud.  "What's inside?"

Carl considered.  "It's an invitation," he said at last.

"To a party?"

"Yeah," Carl agreed with a smirk.  "To a party."

XxXxX

"This crumb cake is delicious, Tara," Maggie Scully said as 
she helped herself to another piece.  "Do you think I could 
get the recipe before we leave tomorrow?"

"Of course," Tara replied, sounding pleased.  

"No thank you," Scully said to her mother as Maggie tried to 
place a second slice on her plate.  "I really have to be..."

"I think I even have the recipe stored on my computer," Tara 
continued.  "I can print you out a copy right quick.  Dana, 
would you like one, too?"  

At her mother's hopeful look, Scully repressed a sigh.  
"Sure," she said, forcing a smile.  "That'd be great."

There was nothing like a visit with her relatives to remind 
her that her numerous skills counted for nothing on the home 
front.  Twenty years of schooling, several advanced degrees 
and solve rate that would leave most agents writhing in envy 
did not give her much to contribute around the breakfast 
nook.  Every time she set foot in Tara's kitchen, Scully was 
acutely aware that she was more at home in a hazmat suit than 
an apron.

"Hey," Matthew announced brightly from under the table.

Scully lifted the edge of the cloth to peek at him.  "Hey, 
yourself."

"Are we going to the zoo now?" he asked as he crawled up her 
legs and into her lap.

Scully squeezed him and smoothed back his bed-head cowlick.  
He was still wearing his pajamas with the frogs on them.  
"Don't you think you might want to put on some clothes 
first?"

"No, I wanna go like this!" he said, laughing and wriggling 
with glee.

Just this one part, Scully thought, resting her chin on the 
top of his warm head.  This part I wish I could have.

Matthew didn't care that she couldn't discuss cookies or 
cross-stitching; she'd helped him dig for dinosaur bones in 
the back yard, and now he looked at her like she had hung the 
moon.

"Finish your cereal, Matthew, and then we'll get you 
dressed," Tara said as she got up to put the milk away.

"No."  Matthew folded his arms.  "It's mushy."

Scully eyed the bowl of soggy Cheerios and silently concurred 
with his decision.  "About the zoo," she began again, but 
Matthew cut her off, squirming around in her lap.

"Aunt Dana, Aunt Dana!  We can look for dinosaurs there!"

"Um, actually, I'm afraid I can't go to the zoo today."

"What?" Maggie stopped clearing the table.

"I have to drive to Orange County," Scully explained.  "The 
Sheriff there has a few questions for me."  She did not add 
the part about someone faking her death, but Maggie was sharp 
enough to sense trouble. 

"You're on vacation.  Why would they need to talk to you 
now?"

"It's a forensic matter," Scully said, hedging.  "I shouldn't 
be gone long."

Maggie looked unconvinced.  "You're still flying home with me 
tomorrow, right?"

"With luck I'll be done by lunch time."

"But what about the zoo?" Matthew said, sounding forlorn.

"You'll go with your mom and grandma," Scully replied.  "And 
then you can give me the full dinosaur report at dinner, 
okay?"

"Okay," Matthew agreed.  He placed a strawberry on the end of 
her coffee spoon and then launched the fruit through the air 
with delighted giggle.

"My goodness!" said her mother.

"Matthew Scully!" said his mother.

"Nice arc," said Scully, and went to change her clothes.

XxXxX

Rush hour traffic on I-5 was gone by the time Scully got on 
the road so she made good time to the Sheriff's office in 
Santa Ana, where the Sheriff welcomed her himself.  He had a 
bushy moustache and a firm handshake.

"Agent Scully," he said, his gravelly voice suggesting a 
multi pack a day smoking habit.  "Sam Nesbith.  It's nice to 
see you in one piece.  Sorry to interrupt your vacation this 
way."

"It's no trouble.  To be honest, I think I'm more anxious 
than you are to see this matter resolved."

"Damndest thing I ever saw, that's for sure.  Why don't you 
come on in my office?  Agent Cheng is there, and we can tell 
you what we know so far."  He led her toward the back, 
stopping at a coffee machine along the way.  "I'm buying," he 
said, holding up a quarter.

"No, thanks," Scully replied.  She felt jittery enough.

Agent Cheng sat on a leather sofa inside the large office, a 
passel of folders spread out next to her.  She stood as they 
entered, and extended a cordial greeting to Scully.  Slender 
and pale, with jet-black hair cut short in an angular style, 
she reminded Scully more of a Hollywood prototype for an 
assassin than a federal agent.

"I think I gave your colleagues a scare yesterday," she said.  
"I apologize for that."

For an instant, Scully considered what it would have been 
like to be on the receiving end of the phone call Mulder had 
gotten, how she might have felt if someone phoned to say 
they'd found his skeleton in the desert.  Her throat 
constricted as the room seemed to tilt on end.

"Please, have a seat," Nesbith said, indicating a stuffed 
leather arm chair.  Its solid bulk grounded her once again in 
the present.

"Where exactly was the body found?" Scully asked.

"Desert country," Nesbith replied and handed her map.  "Right 
there by the circle.  Does the location have any significance 
to you?"

"None.  To my knowledge, I've never been near there."  Scully 
set the map aside.  "And you say you found my ID at the 
scene?"

"It was a fake," Cheng said.  "Not a bad one, but obvious 
enough to any regular agent.  It was not meant to withstand 
hard scrutiny.  Fortunately, the paper used to construct the 
ID is watermarked.  We're attempting to trace the shipment 
now."

"You have any theories on who could have done this?" Nesbith 
asked Scully.  "Anything from your old files that might help 
us figure out what the heck is going on here?"

"I've encountered many killers capable of this kind of 
violence," Scully answered.  "But no, I've never seen this 
particular MO before.  What about the victim?  Have you 
learned anything further about her?"

"Not too much on the DB so far," Nesbith said.  "Our 
forensics team is with her now, trying to put Humpty Dumpty 
back together again.  Preliminary findings say she's a female 
in her thirties, about five foot six inches tall.  Marks on 
the bones suggest the body was dismembered post-mortem."

"May I see her?" Scully asked.

Nesbith looked taken aback.  "Uh, of course.  I don't see why 
not."

"Agent Scully's background is in pathology," Cheng explained, 
and Scully shifted to meet her eyes.  "Your reputation 
precedes you."

My reputation, Scully thought, and felt the bottom drop out 
from her stomach.  That's it.  These bones weren't meant for 
others to think I'm dead.  They were meant for me.

XxXxX

At the forensic science building down the street, Scully 
found a team of people in white coats assembling a human 
jigsaw puzzle.  The oldest member, a man in his fifties 
wearing bright green sneakers, came over to greet her.

"Ah, the real Dana Scully finally stands up," he said as she 
displayed her badge.  "I'm Nelson Whittiker, Chief Forensic 
Pathologist in this joint.  That's Paula Babcock, Joe Zydell 
and Mike Hanson over there with the body.  We've pretty much 
got her reassembled at this point."

"You mind if I take a look?" Scully asked.

His snowy eyebrows lifted.  "You know your way around a 
morgue, then?"

"My home away from home."

"Terrific!"  He seemed genuinely pleased to have another 
scientist join his playgroup.  "We've got a lot of questions 
on this one.  Maybe you can help."

"I can try," Scully answered as she accepted the latex gloves 
he offered.  "What have you got so far?"

"Well, here she is."  Scully followed him to the table where 
the skeleton lay with her bones shining under the harsh 
light.  We're just putting the last bones into place now," 
Whittiker said, "and she seems pretty complete.  Based on 
skull sutures, we've got her age down as early thirties, but 
we could be off on that.  Pubis and sacram indicate she's 
probably given birth.  If she's got family looking for her 
somewhere, that could help us out with the ID."

"Nesbith said you think she'd been dismembered post-mortem."

"Yeah.  See these marks on the humerus?  We found them on the 
femur, the side of pelvis and on several of the upper 
vertebrae. Of course, we can't be entirely sure the wounds 
were post-mortem.  Right now, we can't say anything 
definitive about the cause of death."

Scully picked up the left arm bone and turned it on its side.  
It was marred in several places on the end with marks that 
suggested the weapon might have been an axe blade.  "I've 
seen these smooth, rounded edges before," Scully said.  "The 
body was boiled to remove the flesh.  It's going to make the 
time of death hard to determine."

"Boiled?" said Joe Zydell.  "Jesus."

"Looks like she broke her arm many years ago," Scully said, 
continuing her study of the humerus.  "A bad break, too, but 
it seems to have healed well-enough."

"She lived well," Whittiker agreed.  "Good teeth, healthy 
bones.  This was no transient."

Scully put down the arm bone.  "Are you thinking of doing a 
facial reconstruction?"

"Actually, I was talking to Nesbith this morning and--"  The 
sound of Scully's cell phone cut Whittiker short.

"Excuse me," she said, pulling it from her jacket and walking 
a few steps toward the door.  "Scully."

"Dana Scully, of the undead?"

Scully closed her eyes and sighed.  "The dead jokes are 
getting kind of old, Mulder."

"Sorry.  Hey, can you meet me at the airport this afternoon?  
I get in at five."

"What?  Mulder, no.  It's not necessary for you to fly out 
here.  The local Orange County officers and the local FBI 
branch have things well in hand.  It's not our case."

"Uh-huh.  Like you're not down playing doctor in the morgue."  
Scully was silent.  "I thought so," Mulder continued.  
"Besides, Skinner disagrees.  Either the killer wanted us to 
think you'd been murdered, or the victim was impersonating 
you at the time of her death.  Both scenarios suggest that we 
need someone to look into it from our end, and Skinner 
decided it would be good to send a pair of agents to 
investigate."

"And since you just happened to be present when he made this 
decision, he just handed you the assignment."

"Actually, I waved my arm in the air and said, "Pick me!  
Pick me!'"

Scully almost smiled at the visual.  "Naturally."

"Well, when I pointed out how we would save on airfare 
because you were already out there, Skinner just couldn't say 
no.  Never argue with the bottom line, Scully."

She decided to heed his advice.  "Five, you said?"

"Northwest airlines.  Flight 803."  He sounded distracted all 
of a sudden.  "I'm just...I'm just taking care of a couple of 
things here in the office, then I'll catch a cab to 
the...huh."

"Huh?"

"Did you send me a package, Scully?"

"No."

 "Huh," he said again.  "The return address says it's from 
you, but it was post-marked in Utah."

"I've been nowhere near Utah, Mulder."  Her heart picked up 
speed.  "What kind of package is it?"

"Not large, sort of letter-sized.  It's not ticking."

"Mulder, don't open..." She heard the sound of heavy paper 
slitting open. "...it."

"It's a medical ID bracelet for someone named Carolyn Kraus.  
Says she's diabetic."

Scully felt her joints go slack; she struggled to hold her 
grip on the phone.  "Did you say...did you say Carolyn Kraus?  
Carolyn with a Y?"

"Yeah.  Does it mean something to you?"

"Oh, God."  She glanced over her shoulder to where Whittiker 
was working on the skeleton.  "No, it can't be."

"What?  Scully, talk to me.  What's going on?  Who's Carolyn 
Kraus?"

"My childhood best friend was named Carolyn Kraus," she said, 
her tongue thick in her mouth.  "She was diabetic.  She had 
red hair.  And...oh God...she broke her left arm horse-back 
riding in the fourth grade.  Mulder, our victim had a broken 
left arm."

"You think it was her in the desert?"

"I don't know!  Maybe.  Jesus, what the fuck is going on 
here, Mulder?"

"I'll delay my flight," he said.  "Get the package printed 
and wait for the results."

"Dr. Scully," Whittiker said, touching her shoulder.  Scully 
jumped.  "Sorry to interrupt.  My colleagues and I are going 
to take a break for a bit.  We'll be next door for coffee if 
you'd like to join us."

"The skeleton is complete?" she asked.

"Yup.  She's all there except for the little toes.  But they 
may have gotten lost in the shuffle.  See you in a few."

Scully's stomach lurched, and she swallowed hard several 
times to control the nausea.  "Mulder, her toes are gone," 
she said into the phone.  "The little toes are missing."

"Fuck the package," he said.  "I'm on my way."

XxXxX

XxXxXxXxX

Chapter Three

XxXxXxXxX


Mulder found Russell camouflaged behind stacks of paper at 
her desk in the bullpen.  In the middle of a phone call, she 
barely acknowledged his approach.  "Just a second," she 
murmured, distracted.

"Come with me.  Now."

She looked up at last.  "Mulder, I can't talk..."

"He's not in Wisconsin."

Russell froze, holding his gaze for several seconds as the 
busy office room continued to hum around them.  "I'll have to 
call you back," she said into the phone.  She replaced the 
receiver without looking.  "What's going on, Mulder?"

He glanced about the room and saw that several of Grenier's 
other agents were beginning to take note of his presence.  
"Not here."

"Fine, we can use your office."

"No time," he said when she stood up from her desk.  He was 
already moving towards the door. "Bring your things and I'll 
explain on the way."

"Mulder..."

"California," he called over his shoulder.  "The plane leaves 
in two hours."

Three hours later, they were five miles in the sky and 
Russell was on the phone again.  "I see," she said.  "Do me a 
favor, Kenny?  Don't let anyone else see those results just 
yet.  No, not even Grenier.  Thanks."  She put the Air Fone 
back into its slot.

"It's a match," Mulder said without a trace of question.

"It's a match."  Russell sighed.  "The fingerprints on the 
package belong to Carl Quentin."

Mulder leaned back in his seat.  "Son of a bitch."

"We can't keep Grenier out of the loop any longer.  He's got 
to know about this."

Mulder did not answer; he was busy thinking of how to tell 
Scully that her nightmare had come to life.  The double locks 
on her doors, the stepped up security in her apartment 
building, the hours they had spent making sure the DCPD were 
alert to any signs that Carl might be in the city again -- 
all that effort was for nothing, because the animal had been 
stalking her from across the country.

"Mulder."  Russell's voice pulled him from his thoughts; her 
hand on his arm stilled his twitching.  "Nothing's going to 
happen.  She's with the local FBI and the Orange County 
Sheriff's Department, perfectly safe."

"And the last time she was in a park that was crawling with 
FBI agents trained in surveillance and capture.  Shit lot of 
good that did."  He pulled away from her and leaned forward, 
rubbing his face with both hands.

Russell was quiet for a few minutes.  "It's a real lead," she 
said finally.  "Now that he's out from under his rock we have 
a good shot at bringing him in, and we can end this thing 
once and for all."

"Oh, screw that."  Heads turned at his loud, angry words, and 
Mulder lowered his voice to a fierce whisper.  "You think you 
can pretty this up for me, Amelia?  You think closure means a 
goddamn thing to the thirteen dead women?  Scully has scars 
on her wrists that are never going away, and I've already 
given years of my life to this asshole.  So right now I plan 
on picking her up and getting the hell out of L.A..  You can 
search for closure on your own damn time."

He stood up and strode to the back of the plane, nearly 
knocking over a flight attendant in his path.  "Sir, are you 
all right?" she asked, but Mulder ignored her.  In the 
bathroom, he was surprised to find his hands were shaking.  
The sounds of his ragged breathing filled the cramped space, 
and he closed his eyes against the harsh fluorescent light.  
After a minute, he splashed some cold water on his face.  He 
stared at his reflection as the drops trickled down the curve 
of his jaw and fell into the metal sink.

Russell was right, he knew.  Someone had to stop Quentin or 
the killing would never end, and certainly the murdered women 
and their families deserved some answers.  He felt their 
questions weighing on him, stealing all the air from the tiny 
room.

He just wasn't sure he had any answers left to give.

There was a tap on the door, and Mulder slid the lock open 
and stepped out, not meeting the questioning eyes of the 
woman waiting to get inside.  He walked the dim, narrow aisle 
back to Russell.  She did not look at him as he sank into his 
seat.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I'm pregnant," she answered.

"What?"  He sat up straight and turned to her.  "You're 
pregnant?"

"A little over two months now."  She glanced at him.  "You're 
not the only one who wants out, Mulder."

"Does Grenier know?"

She gave a twisted smile.  "Ah, yes.  Adam.  No, but he's 
going to have to know soon.  It's... it's his baby."  She 
paused.  "Jesus, I think that's the first time I've ever said 
it out loud."

"I, uh, I didn't realize you two were, um..."

"We're not," she said.

"Oh."

"Oh, shit is more like it."  She rubbed her eyes with one 
hand.  "He went jetting off to Madison before I had a chance 
to talk to him."

Mulder fidgeted with the obsolete ashtray in his armrest.  
"So what are you going to do?"

"Have it?"  She didn't sound too sure.  "I guess.  I can't 
imagine my boyfriend is going to be thrilled when I give him 
the news.  And Adam...I don't even want to contemplate his 
reaction.  It seems likely I'd be raising this kid on my 
own."

"You could do it."  Mulder hoped he sounded encouraging.

Amelia laughed.  "You do remember that my refrigerator holds 
mostly week-old Chinese food, right?  And that my cat ran 
away to live with my neighbors?"

"So, uh, do you think you might...give it up?"

She sat back in her seat and closed her eyes for a moment.  
"I've thought about it.  I mean, God knows I never planned on 
having kids.  But these days I go into a department store for 
a spring jacket and suddenly find myself in the baby section, 
mooning over the little booties and miniature tee-shirts.  
Pretty crazy, huh?"

"No," Mulder answered, remembering the brightly-colored 
plastic blocks he had bought on impulse several months 
earlier, when he was supposed to be picking up batteries. 
He'd finally put them in a bag in the back of the closet, 
because it had hurt to look at them, but he couldn't seem to 
bring himself to throw them away for good.  "It's not so 
crazy."

"My rotation with the BSU is just about finished, anyway," 
Russell continued.  "I'm sure I could get out a few weeks 
early if I asked."

"But?"

She hesitated.  "I can't leave Grenier alone on this.  Not 
this case."

Mulder thought of the mutilated women, of Scully yelping and 
shaking in her sleep, and was not sure he could be as 
generous.

XxXxX

Scully stood in front of the light boxes with her arms folded 
across her middle.  She had been staring at the x-ray films 
for nearly thirty minutes, but the images grew no less 
terrible.

"Looks like a match."

Scully startled at the sound of Nelson Whittiker's voice.  
"Yes," she agreed.  

Whittiker joined her in front of the bright light.  "So who 
is she?" he asked.

A little girl with red pigtails and freckles, Scully thought.  
She could build kites and draw horses and read upside down.  
She had a crush on Tommy Mattison and an older brother named 
Bill, just like me.  

"Her name was Carolyn Kraus."

"Uh-huh."  He peered at the dental charts.  "Mind if I ask 
how you made the ID?"

"Her husband reported her missing ten days ago from 
Sacramento.  I called and had her records sent by courier."

"But how did you know to ask?"

--in the trunk it was dark with no air she was going to die 
tied up to the bed his hands on her neck the shears brushing 
her feet--

Scully swallowed.  "When I said I hadn't seen this MO 
before," she said, "I was wrong."

XxXxX

They rented a car at the airport.  As Russell finished with 
the arrangements, Mulder watched the women walk by in their 
curvy, colorful shoes.  Two-inch red platforms and open-toed 
sandals.  Navy pumps with white polka-dots.  They clicked 
across the hard tile floor together, creating a syncopated 
shoe symphony.

No wonder the son-of-a-bitch came here, Mulder thought.

"Ready?" asked Russell.

He caught a flash of pink and a rounded heel as their owner 
disappeared around a corner and out of sight.  How many new 
shoes did Carl have lining his trophy shelf this time?

"Ready as I'll ever be."  He did not watch the shoes on his 
way out.

In Santa Ana, they found Scully sipping coffee with Sheriff 
Nesbith and Agent Cheng in Nesbith's office.  "Hey," she 
said, turning in her chair as they entered.  "How was your 
flight?"

"Thankfully dull," Russell answered.  She extended her hand 
to Nesbith.  "Amelia Russell and this is Fox Mulder," she 
continued, but Mulder tuned out the rest of her introductory 
remarks.  He walked over to Scully, using the folders in his 
hand as an excuse to crouch down next to her.

"You okay?" he asked in a low voice as he placed the binders 
in her lap. 

She nodded and gave his hand a brief, hard squeeze.  Her 
fingers were warm from the coffee mug.  "I'm okay."

"Good," he said, standing up again.  Nesbith indicated a pair 
empty chairs at the back of the office.  

"Please have a seat.  Agent Scully has just been filling us 
in on your boy Quentin."

Mulder glanced down at her to see just how much she had told 
them, but her eyes were fixed on the folders in her lap.  "We 
brought the most recent information with us," he said to 
Nesbith.  "But we had no idea he was this far west."

"We're going to need a list of all female homicides in the 
area for the last ten months," Russell said. 

Nesbith frowned.  "You think there are others?"

Mulder sneaked a look at Scully again and saw her legs 
covered in crime scene photos.  The cabin, with its torn 
sheets and wall of shoes, was on top.  Underneath, he knew, 
were pictures of Scully's wrists from the night Quentin had 
worn her raw and bloody.  The slippery photos began a 
landslide from her knees, and Mulder leapt to save her from 
the grisly images.

Scully beat him to it.

Scooping up the mess of macabre pictures, she stood and 
placed them on Nesbith's desk.  "There are others," she said.  
"Or will be soon.  Once he starts killing, he doesn't stop."

XxXxX

That night, Mulder closed the door to his motel room behind 
him as he entered, cell phone still in hand.  Scully stood 
just where he'd left her, staring out the window at the 
asphalt parking lot.  He noticed she had slipped off her 
shoes.  "Russell just called Grenier," he said.  "He's 
catching the red eye out of Wisconsin tonight."

"Great."  She did not turn around.

He stood across the room, watching the rigid lines of her 
back and wondering what the hell to say.  "Scully."

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry about all of this."

Her shoulders hitched.  "We knew it was a possibility."

No, he thought.  It had been possible that Quentin might 
sneak back into DC.  That he had spent ten months perfecting 
a trap three thousand miles away was almost unthinkable.

"I booked tickets for us to go home tomorrow," he said.  
"Nine AM."

"What?"  She faced him at last.  "You're the one who wanted 
this case in the first place!"

"That was before I knew what we were dealing with here.  
Scully, you can't work this case.  It's too risky."

"I am not leaving."

"Scully..."

"No."  She cut him off.  "He wanted me?  Well, he's got me 
now.  I'm going over every inch of that skeleton until I find 
something to nail him with.  This is the last time he gets 
away with it."

"I understand that you want to help.  Believe me, I know how 
personal this is, but..."

"You don't understand!  You weren't there, Mulder, and you do 
not understand."

"I was there," he said, his voice rising.  "I saw everything 
in that cabin, and I can't believe you want to want to risk 
that happening again."

"I want to prevent that from happening again."

"Look," he said. "I understand this much: Quentin tracked 
down someone you admitted you haven't spoken to in *twenty 
years*.  That's a message, Scully.  This guy isn't fucking 
around.  He's willing to dig as deep as he needs to get to 
you!"

"And I have the chance to help stop him!"

"You have the chance to wind up dead!"

They stared at each other until his cell phone rang, cutting 
through the crackling silence.  Eyes still locked with 
Scully's, he clicked it on.  "Mulder."

"Mulder, it's Skinner.  I just got a call from Grenier saying 
this case you're on is related to Carl Quentin.  If I'd known 
that, I would have never approved the job for you and Scully 
in the first place.  You have no business near that case, 
Mulder, and I expect you both back here immediately."

Scully watched him as he waited out several long seconds with 
his heartbeat roaring in his ears.  His throat muscles 
convulsed in quick succession as he made a snap decision.

"We can't do that, sir," he said.  He turned off the phone, 
leaving it hanging dead weight in his hand.  "That was 
Skinner," he told Scully.  "He called to wish us good luck on 
the case."

She wilted as her mouth crumpled.  "Mulder, I just...I just 
can't walk away when I know I might be able to stop him from 
doing this again."

"I know," he said, stretching out one arm towards her.  She 
crossed and wrapped her arms around him.

"There's no guarantee that if I boarded a plane to DC that he 
wouldn't be there to meet me on the other end."

"Don't even talk like that."

"Well, it's true."

Mulder didn't answer right away.  He slipped his hand under 
her hair and massaged the tender skin at the back of her 
neck.  "Actually, my guess is Grenier is going to want you to 
stay."

She pulled back a bit and looked up at him.  "Why do you say 
that?"

"It's the best bet we have for keeping Quentin in the area."

"I'll be in the forensics building," she said, laying her 
cheek against him once more.  "There are lots of people 
around." 

"I wish I could say I was sure that it would be enough."

"It will."  She tightened her arms around him.  A minute 
later, he felt her yawn against his chest.

"Tired?" he murmured, nuzzling the top of her head.  She 
yawned again.

"This day has been a hundred hours long.  I still have to 
drive back to San Diego and pick up my things."  She suddenly 
stiffened in his embrace, her fingers biting into his ribs.  
"Mulder, my family.  They're in danger."

He didn't bother to protest; she would know it was a lie.  
"Let's talk to Nesbith and Cheng about getting them some 
security, okay?" he said, pulling away and picking up his 
phone.  "And I'll make the drive down with you."

She paused from putting on her shoes.  "I may be tired, but 
it's the middle of the night for you.  You should get some 
sleep.  I can take someone else along this time."

"Admit it, Scully -- you're just afraid to take me how home 
to meet the family."

She smiled.  "Mulder, you've already met my family."

"Yes, and I think the fact that they're likely to be asleep 
this time will improve the quality of our interaction."

"They're not so bad," she argued as he sat next to her on the 
bed.  

"That's not what you said on Tuesday.  'If Bill had his way, 
Scrabble would be a contact sport,'" he quoted back to her.  
"'I'm thirty-six, Mulder.  Why is my mother still trying to 
dictate my wardrobe?'"

She elbowed him in the ribs.  "You just have to know how to 
deal with each of them.  Never talk politics with Bill, Tara 
will go on for ages about Matthew, and Mom is a sucker for a 
gardening question."

"I've been meaning to consult with someone about my 
begonias."

She laughed, and he was delighted to see some of the tension 
drain out of her.  "Mulder, the one plant in your apartment 
is plastic."

"Hmmm.  This could explain its lack of growth."

"Possibly, yes.  Or maybe the inch of dust on the leaves is 
just weighing it down."

"So what about you?" he said, touching her hand with one 
finger.  "What's the secret to getting along with Dana 
Scully?"

She poked him back.  "I think you know."

"It's been a whole week," he said.  "I might need a 
reminder."

"How quickly they forget."  She leaned into him, her lips 
finding his, and he was amazed to find he had forgotten their 
perfect fit, the way his toes tingled and his ears warmed as 
they kissed.

"That does seem vaguely familiar," he said when she pulled 
away.  "Maybe with another hint...?"

"Think on it until bed," she advised, patting his leg and 
standing up.  "Maybe it will come to you."

He grinned and followed her, watching the slight sway of her 
hips as she walked towards the door.  "Maybe it will come, 
Scully?  Couldn't it be 'probably'?  Or how about 
'definitely' it will come?"

"That depends on whether you're definitely doing half of the 
driving," she said, holding up the car keys.  

XxXxX

He decided it was okay to take the window seat at Denny's, 
which gave him a clear view of the motel's front door.  
Sipping his coffee, he watched bedraggled travelers traipse 
in and out, but there was no sign of Them.  Pretty soon the 
waitress was going to get suspicious.

Grenier would know by now, too.  Carl grinned at the thought 
of the other man charging across the country, trying to stop 
fate.  Knowing the FBI as he did, Carl expected them to focus 
all their attention on Scully.  There would be no way to get 
to her now.

But he'd learned from the past.  Much as he'd hated the 
thought of his understudy mucking things up in DC, the 
incident in Montrose park had shown him the value of a 
diversion.

Carl smiled against the rim of his mug.  Ah, there they were.  
Right chipper they seemed, too.  Mulder was tossing keys into 
the air and saying something that made Scully smile.  Carl 
noted the smart line of her three-inch heels.  

Ballsy little chickadee, he thought with another grin.  
Thinks she has my number, does she?

He watched them get into the car and drive away, then turned 
his eyes to the motel.

"Well, we'll just see about that, won't we?" he said, and 
signaled for the check.

XxXxX

XxXxXxXxX

Chapter Four

XxXxXxXxX


She was sleeping when the car whooshed across the San Diego 
border, so he reached over in the dark and found her hand.  
"Hey," he said softly, giving her a squeeze.

Her fingers tightened around his as she blinked herself 
awake.  "Hey," she said through a yawn.  She squinted out at 
the night scenery.  "We're almost there."

"Yeah, I need directions from here.  It was either wake you 
up or take a detour to Mexico."

He caught her smile in the passing street lights.  "It's the 
exit after next, then a right off the ramp."  She leaned her 
head back against the seat and smothered another yawn.  
"Sorry for passing out on you like that.  I guess I didn't 
get much sleep last night."

Mulder gave a humming noise in answer and smoothed his hands 
over the steering wheel, unsure whether her remark was meant 
as an invitation to discuss the horror of the last few days 
or whether he was supposed to pretend she'd just had an 
ordinary restless night in a strange bed.  "Bad dreams?" he 
asked, sticking his big toe in to gauge her temperature.

"Not that I remember."

No, she often didn't.  Instead he would wear her memories as 
inkblot bruises on his ribs and half-moon nail craters in his 
arms.  A hundred nights he had unrolled her from her tinfoil 
tight ball of terror, soothing out her crinkles until she was 
smooth against him once more.  

Then one day, just like that, it had stopped.  She'd brought 
home a set of vanilla-colored sheets that were soft like a 
tee-shirt washed the perfect number of times.  Together they 
had stood on opposite sides of the bed and snapped the top 
sheet up in the air above their heads.  He had smiled at her 
under the parachute as it fell back to earth, and that night 
there had been no more dreams.

"Mulder?"  Her voice brought him from his memory, and he 
found them stopped at an intersection.  "The light is green."

He looked out at the unfamiliar road.  "Which way do we go 
from here?" 

XxXxX

It was a small matter to get inside the motel room.  Unlike 
DC, where everyone wanted to be bundled up inside the same 
hulking building, Southern Californians all wanted their own 
door to the outside world.  Fewer steps to Disneyland!  Fewer 
steps to the ocean!

Carl smirked as he peered from behind their drab blue 
curtain.  In this case, the ocean was a concrete one -- six 
zillion lanes of Interstate 5.

The room seemed to be Mulder's alone as far as Carl could 
tell.  He counted only one suitcase, and there were no female 
toiletries in the bathroom.  But rustling through the 
garbage, he did find a tissue with a lipstick print kiss.

The bed was still made, but the end of the spread was mussed, 
as though someone had sat on it.  Carl sat and bounced up and 
down a few times in their absence.

Square and dull, the room bored him quickly.  No shoes lay 
about; Mulder seemed to require just the one pair.  Carl 
decided he had better leave before they returned.  Why 
forfeit the game early?

He rose from the bed.

"Mulder?"  Knock, knock at the door.  Carl froze.  "Mulder, 
are you in there?  It's Amelia."

XxXxX

Mulder pulled the car into the driveway and cut the engine.  
"Looks like they left a light on for you," he said, nodding 
at the shining yellow window at the front of the house.

"Mom always did like to wait up," Scully said as she opened 
her car door, letting the salty night wind blow inside.  "I 
told her I would be very late."

Mulder got out and gave her a sideways glance as they walked 
up the path.  "So if we start making out on the front steps, 
will she flash the porch light at us?"

"Mom was more of a 'peek through the curtains' kind of woman.  
Dad would just fling the front door right open."

On cue, Mulder saw the lace in the window pull aside.  "And I 
never even got a peck," he groused.  Scully gave his hand a 
hard squeeze just before the front door opened to reveal Mrs. 
Scully, still fully dressed.

"Dana, I was worried!"  She frowned at Mulder.  "Fox, it's 
nice to see you again."

Said like you might welcome a foot fungus, Mulder thought, 
but he managed a smile.  "Mrs. Scully, how are you?"

"Tired," she answered as she opened the screen door.  "It's 
past midnight."

Inside, the house held a strange night quiet, the feel of 
people present but out of sight.  Mulder leaned against a 
stuffed sofa and did his best to blend in with the furniture.

"I told you not to wait up," Scully said.  "I told you not to 
worry."

Mrs. Scully reached out and brushed some hair from her 
daughter's face.  "Of course I worry.  You run out from 
vacation for some unknown reason, don't come back for all 
hours...we're supposed to leave in the morning."

"Mom, about that..."

"You're not coming back with me."

Scully looked down at the fluffy beige rug.  "The case turned 
out to be an old one, one that Mulder and I have worked on in 
the past."

Mulder watched as his partner avoided her mother's gaze and 
wondered if maybe this was the real reason she didn't include 
him in more family functions; mothers could turn you back 
into a twelve year-old with just a few choice words.

Mrs. Scully pursed her lips in a sad smile.  "There's always 
another case, isn't there?  Always another reason to run out 
the door.  You have more of your father in you than you know, 
Dana.  Both of you out to save the world."

"This is different," Scully said, and Mulder held his breath 
at how much she might confess.  Her family knew about 
Quentin; the DC papers had talked of little else for weeks 
after his escape last year, and the one woman who'd escaped 
Carl Quentin had earned a few two-inch high headlines 
herself.

But her mother, perhaps long out of practice, perhaps unable 
to reach the dark corners that Scully knew, failed to catch 
the twinge in her daughter's voice.  "Well, I know how you 
are about work.  At least we've had these past few days all 
together.  That was nice, wasn't it?"

Mulder saw Scully echo her mother's melancholy smile.  "It 
was nice."

"Have you eaten?" Mrs. Scully asked, already headed towards 
the kitchen.  "Fox, can I get you something to drink?  Some 
coffee, maybe?"

"Mom, it's late.  Go to bed.  We're not staying, anyway.  We 
just came to get my things."

"What?"  Her mother stopped and turned around.  "You can't be 
serious.  It would be two a.m. before you got back to Santa 
Ana."

Mulder's bones ached at her words.  The long day of travel 
and anxiety had left him feeling spent and rubbery.  "We'll 
be fine," Scully told her mother.  "I'm mostly packed as it 
is."

Mrs. Scully caught her daughter's arm as Scully moved for the 
stairs.  "Dana...you said yourself it's late.  Stay here 
tonight and leave in the morning.  Your bed is already made 
up, and Fox can stay on the sofa."

"Mom..."

"She's right," Mulder said, and Scully turned to look at him.  
He noted the slump of her shoulders and the pale blue fatigue 
in her eyes.  "It's not like we're going to get anything more 
done tonight."

"Then it's settled," Mrs. Scully announced.  "I'll get some 
sheets and a blanket."

Scully looked heavenward, and Mulder chuckled.  She sighed, 
shrugging out of her suit jacket and walking over to him with 
slow steps.  He liked the way her hands looked on his knees.  

"You don't have to stay on the couch," she murmured, leaning 
into him.  

He rested his forehead against hers and patted the arm of the 
sofa.  "It's okay.  The couch and I have been making friends 
while you argued with your mom."

"But if we went upstairs and had--"  She stopped for a yawn.  
"--mad passionate sex--"  Another yawn.  "--it might finally 
jolt Mom from her denial."

"Scully."  He cupped her cheek, his thumb grazing each velvet 
curve.  "If you think we're having mad passionate anything 
tonight, I'd say you're the one in denial." 

"Mmmn.  There goes my fantasy about having my way with you in 
a racing car bed."

He pulled back, his hands slipping to her hips.  "Um, what?"

She smiled a bit.  "I have Matthew's room.  His bed comes 
with wheels and a horn."

"I can just imagine *that* going off at an inopportune time," 
he said, and watched as Scully smothered a giggle.  Standing 
as they were, with him seated on the sofa arm, they were just 
the same height.  His warrior woman who fit in a child's bed.  

"I should go help Mom," she said, her hands making a 
reluctant slide down his shoulders.  "She's probably trying 
to find sheets that don't have Barney or Big Bird on them."

"Do you have anything in a Star Wars motif?" Mulder asked.  
He framed the living room with his thumbs and forefingers, as 
if sizing up the a film shot.  "'Cause I'm thinking I could 
make a killer pillow fort."

XxXxX

He fell into sleep like a man dropping off a cliff, only to 
pop awake again when the grandfather clock in the living room 
played its two a.m. chimes.  Blinking in the dark, he shifted 
under his plain blue sheets and listened to the hum and pitch 
of a foreign house.  The air conditioning rustled the drapes, 
the refrigerator added its low vibrato, and something was 
walking around on the roof.  An animal?  An intruder?

Mulder sat up, tilting his head to hear better.  The faint 
scratching continued, and he got up to investigate further.  
Climbing the carpeted stairs, he followed the noise up past 
the second floor and into a tiny doorway.  Light shone into 
the hall, and Mulder peeked around the corner to see another 
set of stairs.  Now that he could hear the footsteps better, 
he knew he didn't need his SIG or a can of 'Raid' to venture 
into the attic.

He saw the bottoms of her feet first, her bare heels up off 
the ground as she stood on tiptoe.  Apparently, she was 
reaching for a box on the highest shelf of a storage unit.  
"Need a hand?" he asked from behind, and she yelped. 

"Jesus, you scared me!"

"Sorry."  He joined her in front of the wall of shelves.  
"What are you up to?"

"I just wanted to see something," she said, eyeing the box 
again.  "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, that honor belongs to Big Ben in the living room.  
Here."  He stretched up and lifted the box down for her.  It 
read "Old Photos" on the top in black marker.

"Thanks," she said, and sat it on a large trunk.  

As she began sorting through the contents, Mulder wandered 
around the rest of the attic.  There was a jade green lamp in 
the shape of an elephant in one corner that he was willing to 
bet wasn't broken so much as hidden out of sight.  Next he 
found a wooden rocking horse with button eyes and white yarn 
for a mane.  He smiled and touched the smooth head to set it 
in motion.  One open box held a collection of tea cups with 
tiny rose buds around the rim.  Tracing one delicate 
porcelain edge, Mulder made up his mind to examine the 
collection of heirlooms his mother had left behind once he 
returned to DC.

He threaded his way back through the boxes to Scully, who sat 
cross-legged on the floor with a photo album spread across 
her lap.  She tucked her hair behind her ear as he lowered 
himself next to her.  "Whatcha got?"

"This was Carolyn."

Mulder leaned in closer in the dim light and saw an black and 
white photo taken at Halloween.  Scully was pointing at the 
little girl dressed as black cat on the left, but Mulder 
fixated on the other redhead decked out in a sailor's blues.  
"Is that you?" he asked, delighted.

"Yeah."  Scully stroked the picture through the protective 
plastic cover.  "This was taken before the sugar high kicked 
in."

"I love your little hat."

She made a face and tugged the book away from him.  "Not 
terribly original of me, as it turned out.  Half the kids on 
our base were either sailors or pilots."

"Even the girls?"

"Well, no."  She smiled.  "Carolyn and I used to collect the 
candy and trade afterward.  It was a great system because I 
could give away all my Tootsie rolls and she didn't have to 
eat the M&Ms."

"What kid doesn't like M&Ms?" 

"She only liked the yellow ones."

"They taste the same!"

Scully swatted him playfully on the arm.  "We were seven, 
Mulder.  Logic doesn't exactly enter into your dietary plan 
when you're seven.  I remember when Bill was little he 
wouldn't eat any red foods."

"Speaking of..."  Mulder leaned over her shoulder again.  
"Any naked bathtub photos of Bill in there?  I think we would 
get along much better if I could picture him all wrinkled 
with a tiny --"

"Mulder!"

"Okay, okay."  He sat back against the heavy trunk, ignoring 
the angular brass trim that tried to wedge between his 
vertebrae.  Scully settled into his side, and they resumed 
looking through the pictures.  "I like this one," he said 
when they found another of one of Carolyn hanging upside down 
on a jungle gym.  Her pigtails almost reached the ground.

"I remember that day," Scully said.  "Charlie slipped on some 
gravel and skinned his knees, so Mom took us all for ice 
cream to distract him."  

"Ice cream makes a good band-aid," Mulder agreed.

She rested her head on his shoulder, quiet for a long minute.  
"She had two kids Mulder.  Two little boys.  Who's going to 
buy them ice cream when they skin their knees?"

Mulder had no answer.  The girl in the picture seemed to leap 
off the page, she was so alive.  It didn't seem possible that 
she'd been reduced to bones in the desert.  "I'm sorry about 
your friend, Scully."

"This has to be the last time," she said.  "He can't do this 
anymore."

Mulder lowered his head, wishing he could assure her that 
there would be no more missing mothers, daughters and 
sisters.  But the truth was Carl Quentin could be next door 
or a thousand miles away.  There was little they could do but 
wait for his next move.

"We'll get him," he said aloud.

Scully tilted her head to look up at him, then touched his 
chin with a sad smile.  "Nice try," she said.

"You can change your mind about working this case," he 
answered.  "Any time."

She sighed.  "You want me to say I'm scared?  I'm scared.  
He's a big man, he's clever, and he clearly thinks we have 
unfinished business.  What's more, I didn't escape last time 
because of any special training I had.  There's no reason for 
me to think I could defeat him a second time, if it came to 
that."

"It won't," he said automatically.

"The posts in the headboard were loose," she continued, 
stretching an arm across his middle.  Her chin dug into his 
shoulder.  "All the women he had tied up before me had pulled 
so hard that one of the bedposts was nearly free.  That was 
the only reason I escaped.  I lived because they fought so 
hard."

He hugged her closer.  "Don't sell yourself short, Scully.  
You fought just as hard."

"But it wouldn't have done any good," she answered softly.  
"Not without the others who were there before me."

She had never told him this part of the story before, and he 
was sure he didn't want to hear it now.  Her life could not 
be due to mere happenstance, to a simple twist of fate, to 
anything that suggested the possibility of a different 
outcome.  The broken bed, the tattered sheets, the claw marks 
on the wooden walls -- it had never occurred to him that the 
shattered cabin in the woods had represented thirteen battles 
to live; he'd focused solely on the one that had been 
successful.

Scully laced her fingers through his, rubbing her cheek 
against his tee-shirt.  "I know it might be safest for me to 
go back to DC.  I know that.  But those women deserve 
justice."

"It's not on you alone, you know.  Just because he chooses to 
make this about you doesn't mean you have to play along."

"I know."  She tightened her arm around him.  "But I'm not 
alone.  And I can't walk away.  At least not yet."

They sat in silence on the hard floor for another few 
minutes, until he felt her yawn against his chest.  On cue, 
he yawned too, so wide it felt like he might split his face 
in half.  

"It's late," she said.

"Yes.  And my butt is numb."

With a chuckle, she shifted to get off the floor, offering 
him a hand as she stood.  She slipped the photo album back in 
the box, and he performed his tall male duty and replaced it 
on the shelf.  As they walked back down the stairs, he 
remembered why it was she was wandering the attic in the wee 
hours of the morning.  "I take it the racing car wasn't 
getting it done for you tonight," he said as lightly as he 
could.

She saw through him in an instant.  "It's not that," she 
said.  "It's not the dreams.  With everything that's been 
going on, I've just been so wired.  I'm exhausted but I can't 
seem to close my eyes."

They had reached the door to her room, but he took her hand 
and tugged her towards the stairs.  "I bet I can talk the 
couch into a threesome."

The hallway nightlight illuminated her arched eyebrow.  "A 
threesome?"

"Yeah, the stripes make it look all straight and narrow, but 
trust me, Scully -- your brother's got a kinky sofa."

"I'm going to attribute this strange conversation to jet 
lag," she said, but allowed him to lead her to the living 
room.  On the couch, she snuggled into his side as he covered 
them with a blanket.  "Just for a little while," she 
cautioned.

He felt the sweep of her lashes that signaled her eyes 
closing.  "Just for a little while," he murmured into her 
hair.  

The big clock ticked and the refrigerator rattled, but with 
the soft sound Scully's breathing, Mulder's night was in 
harmony once more.

XxXxX

XxXxXxXxX

Chapter Five

XxXxXxXxX

   
Mulder awoke to the feel of a small, soft hand patting his 
cheek.  He squinted through sleep-sticky eyes and a boy of 
about three came into focus.  The kid's short copper hair 
stood on end like a campfire.  "Who're you?" the boy 
demanded.

"I'm Mulder," Mulder answered, his voice raspy from sleep.  
He felt bent like a pipe cleaner but resisted the urge to 
stretch and wake Scully.  "Who're you?"

"Matthew Allen Scully."

Bill's boy, of course.  He should have recognized the frown. 
"Matthew Allen Scully, huh?  That sounds like a pretty 
important name."

"It is."  The kid contracted, inchworm-like, as he dug around 
in his right pocket.  "I have marbles.  Wanna see?"

Mulder lifted his head from the couch pillow enough to see 
two blue orbs, clear and pale like the Scully family eyes, 
nestled in Matthew's palm.  "They're very nice," he said, 
sinking down again.  

He watched as Matthew took his marbles on a rolling tour of 
the living room furniture.  It was the same solemn gaze and 
cotton candy cheeks he'd seen on another young Scully three 
years earlier, when she had sat coloring with her unnatural 
mother on the floor.

His hand stole under the silk edge of Scully's pajamas and 
traced gentle patterns on her back.  She burrowed closer to 
him but did not awaken.

Matthew fell to his knees to race the marbles down the coffee 
table.  "Mulder is a funny name," he announced without 
pausing from his task.

"It's my last name," Mulder answered.

"Then what's your first one?"

Was this the age when they took what you said and repeated it 
a million times over, Mulder wondered.  Maybe it would just 
be safer to lie.  "Fox," he said, relenting.

Matthew stopped and gave him a perfect miniature of the 
skeptical Scully eyebrow.  "Is not!  Is it?"

"I wouldn't make up such a thing."

"Fox," Matthew said, testing the word and answering Mulder's 
question at the same time.  He grinned.  "Fox in socks.  Fox 
in a box!"

Scully shifted against him, and he thought he detected a 
muffled snicker.  "I see you've met Matthew," she murmured.

"Fox in socks in a box!"  Matthew was standing on the seat of 
an armchair, bouncing along with his new rhyme.

"You can make him stop that, right?" Mulder asked.

"Wrong."  She stretched and yawned.  "But food sometimes 
works as a distraction technique."

"Fox, box, fox, box...uh-oh."  Matthew stopped jumping.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Mulder tilted his head all the way back and saw Bill Scully 
in dress whites, standing over them.  Scully jerked away from 
his side to sit up.  "Bill, hi."
 
He ignored her.  "Matthew, your mother wants you upstairs."

"Yes, sir."  Matthew jumped down from the chair and ran out 
of the room while Mulder and Scully got up from the couch.  
Scully finger-combed her hair as Mulder refolded the blanket.  
He was glad he'd opted to sleep with his pants on.

"May I see you both in the kitchen, please?" Bill asked. 

Mulder and Scully exchanged a look behind his back, but 
followed him into the other room.  He stood on the threshold 
as they walked past, then closed the door behind them.  
Scully crossed her arms over her chest.

"Bill, I can appreciate that Mulder's presence is a surprise, 
but I am not a child and I don't need you to --"

Bill held up a hand to cut her off.  "I've been up since 
five-thirty this morning and the base patrol has passed the 
house at least twice.  Then I come down here and find him 
sleeping on my couch.  What's going on, Dana?"

Scully shut her mouth, clearly surprised by this unexpected 
tactic.  She rubbed her eyes with one hand.  "I need some 
coffee."

Mulder stood with Bill, watching as she stood on tiptoe to 
reach a mug from the cabinets.  She filled it in near slow 
motion and then stood leaning against the counter, staring 
into the cup and stirring.  Mulder cleared his throat.  "You, 
uh, you want me to tell him?"

She shook her head.

Bill looked sharply from one to the other.  "Tell me what?"

Scully took a deep breath.  "It's Carl Quentin," she 
murmured, setting her coffee aside untouched.  "He's here."

"Jesus."  Bill's gaze swept to the windows.  "Here?  He's 
here in San Diego?"

"We don't know where he is exactly," Scully said.  "That's 
why we asked for extra patrol around the house."

"Because he might come after you again."  Bill shoved a 
chair, scraping it across the linoleum.  "God damn."  Scully 
looked away, and Mulder concentrated on the floor tiles. 
"Wait, is there more?  What else are you not telling me?"

Scully hesitated.  "Nothing...nothing.  Everyone just needs 
to be vigilant right now."

"Mulder."  Bill's tone hovered between "let's take this out 
back" and "you owe me, so spill it."  Mulder met his eyes. 
"This is my family we're talking about here. I need to know."

Mulder glanced at Scully, who gave him a warning look.  But 
Bill was right.  He deserved to know.  "It seems likely that 
Quentin murdered an old friend of Scully's," he said. 

"What?  Who?"

"Carolyn Kraus," Scully answered, pulling out a chair and 
plopping into it.

"The girl who used to live down the street from us?  I didn't 
know you still talked to her."

"I hadn't spoken to her in twenty years."

Bill frowned.  "But you don't think it's a coincidence."

"No." Scully drew up one knee and rested her chin upon it.  
"He picked her because she was my friend."

Simple words, but Mulder felt each one punch into his heart. 
His sister, her sister, abduction and cancer and the little 
Scullys that would never be.  They lived in a ven diagram of 
tragedy that always seemed to overlap with them at the 
center.

"So he wants your attention and you're just giving it to 
him," Bill said.  "What the hell is that about, Dana?  You 
want him to take another run at you?"

Scully got up from the chair and retrieved her coffee cup.  
She emptied it into the sink.  "I wouldn't expect you to 
understand."

"Bullshit I don't understand!" He glared at Mulder.  "I used 
to think it was just him, but I know better now.  He's not 
the only one who doesn't know when to walk away, addicted to 
danger --"

"Leave Mulder out of this."

"-- and not just him who disregards personal safety and 
obligations --"

Scully whirled on him.  "Obligations!  What do you know about 
my obligations?"

"If you won't think about yourself, think about Mom.  Think 
about what you're putting her through!"

"This is not about Mom!  This is about --"

Maggie Scully picked that moment to enter the kitchen.  "What 
on earth is going on in here?"

Silence.  Mulder pressed back into a counter and eyed the 
door.

"Bill?  Dana?  Is something wrong?"

Bill's mouth twisted into an angry grimace.  "It's Quentin.  
He's back."

"Oh, my God."  Maggie turned round eyes to her daughter.  
"The case in Orange County.  He's here?"

"Yes," Scully whispered.  "He's here." 

"Tell me you are not a part of this investigation."

Scully's chin came up a bit.  "I have to be a part of it.  
There's no other way we can --"

Maggie Scully turned and left the room.  Bill shook his head.

"Mom..."  Scully sighed, walking out the door after her.  

"This is your old case, isn't it," Bill said to Mulder after 
she had gone.  "It isn't enough to chase aliens, now you've 
got her mixed up with serial killers, too.  Jesus."

Mulder spread his hands in front of him, palms up.  They were 
bisected with angry red lines from where he had been 
clutching the counter.  "I asked her to leave it alone.  She 
wouldn't."

"Ask again," Bill ground out.  

"I can't.  It's her choice."

"So you'll just let her go out there and risk getting killed.  
She's not thinking straight, can't you see that?  She's not 
in any position to make a decision like this!"

Mulder rubbed the side of his face with one hand.  "We know 
his name this time.  We know what he looks like.  We know 
roughly that he's in the area.  All of this is helpful, but 
it's not enough."

"It damn well is enough!  He never should have gotten away 
the last time."

"Forensic science," Mulder continued as though Bill had not 
spoken, "microscopic examination of Carolyn Kraus's remains 
for clues about how and where she died, is our best hope of 
catching Quentin before he kills again.  Your sister is 
currently the best forensic scientist in the FBI, possibly 
even the country."

Bill looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.

"As someone who...as someone who cares for her..."  Mulder 
swallowed.  "I want her on the first plane back to DC.  But 
as someone who has lived with this case for almost a third of 
my life and watched a dozen women die, I can't imagine anyone 
else for the job."

Bill leaned both hands on the table, his head hung low.  
"There are other scientists."

"Yes," Mulder conceded.  He remembered Scully bleeding and 
shivering in his arms.  "But she wants to be the one."

XxXxXx

He found her upstairs standing over the racing car, her 
clothes in neat piles on the bed.  Knocking lightly on the 
door, he stepped inside.  "You okay?"

She turned to face him.  "I don't have any work clothes with 
me."

"I don't think it matters."  He kept his tone tender, but she 
didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah, I'll be in scrubs most of the time anyway."

"Need any help packing?"

"No, I've got it."  He watched her swift, efficient movements 
as she laid the stacks of clothes inside her suitcase.  She 
paused with a pile of tee-shirts in hand.  "In med school, we 
had to do this task -- kind of a homework assignment about 
perception and the human body -- where we walked around the 
campus blindfolded.  I remember the trees.  Even from several 
feet away, I could feel them.  They blocked the wind just 
enough to make the hair stand up on the back of your neck."  
She slipped her clothes into the suitcase and zipped it up.  
"That's what it's like."

"What what's like?"

"Quentin."  She met his eyes.  "I can't see him, but he's out 
there.  Blocking the wind."

Mulder's phone rang then, and he answered it while she went 
to inspect the bathroom for more belongings.  "Mulder," he 
said.

"Mulder, this is Grenier."

He sank down on the racing car bed.  "Not another one?"

"Not that I know about.  I just called to say I'm in town.  
Where are you, anyway?"

"I'm with Scully in San Diego.  We're about to head back up."

There was a slight pause on the other end, and Mulder braced 
himself for an argument.  Grenier wasn't likely to want to 
share the case this time, either.  "Word has it from above 
that I should send your ass back to DC.  Scully, too."

Mulder knew better.  Grenier might scoff at Mulder's skills, 
but there was no way he would let go of Scully.  "Then you 
might as well book Quentin a return ticket, too."

"I have no plans to use her as bait, if that's what you're 
getting at," Grenier snapped.

"I'm not sure it's up to you.  Quentin's made that decision 
for us."

"That asshole makes no decisions for me."  Grenier's tone 
softened.  "But listen, the brass has a point on this one.  
She may be too close to work this case."

"She's worked tougher ones before."

"She's his victim, Mulder."

Mulder rubbed his eyes.  "Then she has more right to be here 
than either one of us."

"You'll face heat back home."

"Let me worry about that, okay?

"Fine."  He paused.  "On one condition -- I reserve the right 
to pull her off at any time, and I'll expect you to back me 
if I do.  I am not going to have a repeat of last year."

Mulder hesitated.  "Fair enough."

"Okay, I'm just reaching Orange County now.  What do you say 
we meet at the Sheriff's office, say in two hours?  We can 
compare notes then."

Mulder couldn't resist one small jab.  "I don't have any 
notes."

"Fuck you," Grenier answered, but there was no rancor in his 
words.  "I'm still trying to get a hold of Russell.  She's 
not answering her phone.  Have you heard from her?"

Oh.  Right.  Mulder remembered there was at least one very 
good reason why Russell might be avoiding Grenier's phone 
calls.  "I haven't seen her since last night," he said, "but 
I'll give her a ring and tell her about the meeting.  She's 
staying at the same hotel as Scully and me."

"I'll see you in two hours then."

Mulder clicked off with Grenier and was dialing Russell when 
Scully reentered the room.  "Trouble?" she asked.

He shook his head.  "Grenier is cool for now.  We're supposed 
to meet him at Nesbith's office in a couple of hours."  He 
waited, phone to his ear, as the ringing started on the other 
end.

XxXxX

She had ordered herself not to cry, but when her phone rang 
yet again she felt hot tears leak from the corners of her 
eyes.  I'm here, she thought, scraping her cheek on the rough 
carpet of the trunk.  Please help me.

The ringing stopped.  She closed her eyes.

They had been driving for hours, and she had been awake for 
every one of them.  Exhausted and unsuspecting, she'd opened 
the door of that motel room only to have the lights go out as 
he connected a lamp with the back of her head.  Just long 
enough for him to tie her hands and stuff her in the trunk of 
a car.

She twisted her wrists against the knots.  The gag in her 
mouth made it hard to breathe. One chance, she would have one 
chance when he opened the trunk.  Her heart pounded against 
her ribs.  Such a black small space with no air and no way to 
move.  She panted into the grimy floor, dizzy and nauseous.

Dana, was it this bad for you too?  Did you think you were 
going to die?

She lived.  She lived.  

Amelia repeated the words in her head like a litany.  

She braced her shoulder against floor, squeezing her eyes 
shut in pain as she inched to the left.  Her hair caught on a 
hook.

-- the forensics team, white-gloved with pincers, removing 
the strands as evidence after her death --

Nononono.  She moaned low in her throat.  Could the baby 
hear? 

Gonna get us out, gonna get us out.

Her left leg was numb and uncooperative, like a dead thing, 
but she dragged it with her into position.  One chance.  She 
whacked her wounded head on the metal rim and swallowed the 
bile that rose in her throat.  Choking was not an option.   
Her nostrils burned as she sucked in fetid air.

Up, they were going.  Into the hills?  

She remembered the cabin with the smell of blood and death.  
Shoes on the wall.  Determined, she pressed her feet 
together, her knees drawn against her chest.

Up up up.

They stopped.

Amelia twitched, time slowing as the crunching footsteps came 
around the car.  She flinched at the pop of the trunk.  
Bright sunshine exploded around his dark head.

"Good morning," he drawled.  "I heard you've been looking for 
me."

ONE CHANCE.

She thrust her feet forward into his face.

XxXxXxX

XxXxXxXxX

Chapter Six

XxXxXxXxX


Mulder talked on the phone to Grenier as Scully pulled the 
car into the motel parking lot.  "Okay, we'll do that."

"What's up?" she asked when he had clicked off.

"Grenier still can't raise Russell.  He wants us to check her 
room while we're here."

Scully fell into step beside him, narrowly avoiding a gaggle 
of tourist children barreling down the walkway in the other 
direction.  The smell of sunscreen wafted in their wake.  "It 
doesn't seem like her to cut contact this way," Scully said.

"She could be back at the labs or the local branch, working 
in some broom closet for privacy," Mulder answered as he 
rapped on the door to room one fifty-seven.  "She's done that 
sort of thing before."

Scully didn't answer; she strolled to the side and removed 
her sunglasses to peer through a crack in the drapes.  "Looks 
like the lights are on."

Mulder knocked again, louder this time.  They waited a minute 
or so longer, but there was no answer.  "Why don't you go 
change?" he said, pulling out his phone.  "I'll try giving 
her a call."  His dark glasses remained on, so she couldn't 
read his eyes.

"You think she'll answer for you and not for Grenier, is that 
it?"  Scully's tone was light, and Mulder smiled.

"I just have that certain ring."

She smiled back and turned to head for Mulder's room. At just 
ten a.m., the sun's rays were already laser-hot and 
relentless.  Scully pulled her blouse away from her ribs as 
she walked down the cement stairs and towards the back of the 
motel.  She fished around in her pants pocket for the plastic 
key.  It clicked into the lock, but Scully didn't push the 
door open.  

There was a long scratch marring the blue paint on the 
outside.

Scully leaned in closer, squinting at the line.  Had this 
been there last night and she just didn't remember?  She 
traced the jagged length with one finger.  The place was 
crawling with kids, she reasoned.  Any one of them could have 
made the scratch.  Still...

She bent backwards to check out the window, but the drapes 
were pulled completely shut.  Scully straightened and glanced 
down at the blinking green light on the doorknob.  Enough was 
enough.  Her fingers closed around the smooth handle, and she 
was about to enter when something tickled the back of her 
hand.  She jerked away, expecting a spider.

Hair.  Long and dark, with tight curls.  There were three 
strands caught in the door.

Scully drew her gun.

"Scully!"

She turned and saw Mulder jogging towards her.  She took two 
steps back from the door.  He had his gun drawn by the time 
he reached her, his sunglasses tossed aside.  She answered 
the question in his eyes with a nod towards the door knob.  
Mulder bent low, and the breeze blew the hairs straight out 
from the door.  He fingered the long scratch the same way she 
had done.  

His face blank, he moved to the left of the door, and she 
followed suit on the right.  The stucco wall ground through 
her blouse to the tender skin on her back.  She felt it 
scrape her cheek as she locked eyes with Mulder.  At his nod, 
she reached down and pushed the door open.  

Yawning darkness and cold recirculated air.  Scully pressed 
against the side of the door and blinked rapidly, trying to 
adjust her eyes from glaring sunshine to motel dim.  Mulder 
swung past her into the room, his gun with a three-foot lead.  
Hers felt slippery and heavy in her hands.  He took a few 
careful steps, freeing the doorway, and she followed him 
inside.

Shards of porcelain littered the carpet.  "Get the light," he 
said, not lowering his gun.  

Scully flicked the wall switch with her left hand, and they 
discovered the full disarray.  The bedspread was missing, the 
sheets half on the floor.  One of the chairs was overturned.  
Pieces of lamp lay scattered in a rough, wide circle -- 
silent ripples of recent violence.   

"He's been through our reports," Mulder said, glancing at the 
table.  He checked the bathroom and then reemerged into the 
room.  "All clear."

"Russell," Scully whispered as her gaze swept over the 
terrible signs of struggle.

Mulder dropped his chin in assent, his gun hanging loosely in 
his right hand.  "Yes, I think so."

"My God, he must have been watching this place the whole 
time."  She shook her head.  "Why, Mulder?  Why take Amelia?"

Mulder started a slow examination of the room, kneeling in 
front of the broken lamp.  "It's my room," he said.  "And you 
were in it last night."

In it.  tied up on the bed with the clippers coming at her 
and his face red and sweaty she could smell him and the ropes 
burned and she was going to die one chance she had one chance 
and the rope wasn't loose and

Scully ran back into the warm sunlight, dizzy as she stared 
at the swirling parking lot.  He appeared and touched her 
arm.  "Scully?"

"We need to tell Grenier.  We need to start looking."  She 
fumbled for her phone.

"I'll do it."

She turned toward the room and back again, torn.  Without 
gloves there was nothing she could do.  But she couldn't do 
nothing.  "I'll get the manager," she said to Mulder, already 
moving for the front office.  "We're going to need to go room 
to room here."

"Scully!"  Overloud, panicked.  Mulder was losing his cool 
too.  His fingers bit into her arm.  "No."

"Mulder..."  She couldn't shake him off.

"He's watching!"  His grip softened, but the intensity in his 
eyes remained.  

Scully turned her head and looked over the parking lot, then 
beyond at the street with the rushing cars, at the people on 
the sidewalk, at the restaurants and shops and benches and 
faces. 

"Then at least he wouldn't be with her," she said.  She 
pulled her arm free and walked off, her heels clacking an 
angry rhythm on the pavement.

XxXxXxX

Carl gently removed the bloody tissues from his swollen nose.  
He checked his face in the mirror, catching the frightened 
eyes of the woman in its reflection.  "You'll pay for that 
one," he told her.  She squirmed against her restraints on 
the bed, but the towel he had taped in her mouth prevented 
her from saying anything.  He smiled.  "Oh, yes.  The things 
I am going to do to you."

He tossed the tissues and walked over the planks to where she 
lay.  "It took me a long time to find this place," he told 
her.  "I fixed it up all during the spring.  You want the 
grand tour?"

His boots clonked as he moved about the room.  "This is the 
window that I sealed off," he said, banging his fist against 
the boards for emphasis.  "Over there, that's my shelf.  See 
anything familiar?"

He laughed as she turned to look at the sandals he had lined 
on display.  "That bitch in the desert had sneakers on, but I 
kept 'em anyway.  Those blue ones..."  He snorted.  "Let's 
just say you don't know about her yet.  But the black...yeah.  
I've been keeping that pair almost a year now, after you 
fucking stole most of my last collection.  Don't think I've 
forgotten about that.  When we're done, I'll add your dull 
loafers too."

Carl lifted his new pair of clippers from the shelf, snapping 
the blades open and closed in quick succession.  "This little 
piggy went to market!"  

The woman quivered.

"That's right," he said, bringing the clippers down near her 
face.  He stroked her cheek with one steel edge.  "These are 
the best part.  And you know just what's coming, don't you 
darlin'?"

She made a choked sound and yanked at the nylon ropes that 
held her to the headboard.  Carl chuckled.  "Ah, ah, ah!  I 
learned that lesson."  He set the clippers aside and leaned 
over her to grab the bars next to her wrists.  "Wrought iron 
this time," he said, and shook the bed as hard as he could.  
"A fine place to die."

She turned her cheek to the side, avoiding his eyes, and he 
pulled away.  "Amelia Russell," he said, wiping his mouth 
with his sleeve.  "We go back a long ways.  Size seven 
medium.  Do you think they're looking for you yet, Amelia?"

Still she did not meet his gaze, so he stroked her naked 
foot.  "You never told me you had these hiding inside your 
plain black shoes."

Her toes curled in his palm.

"I always hate to tie the feet," he said, musing.  "But you 
gave me no choice."

This time, she did look at him, with narrowed eyes and a 
hatred so pure it made his bones tingle.  She would kill him 
if she had the chance.  He tightened his hold on her foot.

"You know what I am," he said calmly.  "But I also know what 
you are.  She taught me well.  This time there will be no 
mistakes."

XxXxXxX

Grenier led the bizarre automotive charge that descended on 
the motel in a matter of minutes.  Car after car roared down 
the street only to stop short at the entrance and creep into 
the crowded motel parking lot.  Patrol cars and Bureau sedans 
vied for precious space, creating an M.C. Escher crime scene 
in which the nose of one law enforcement vehicle blended with 
the tail of the next.

Mulder broke away from Scully, who was talking to a couple of 
potential witnesses, and tracked Grenier's slalom through the 
parking lot.  He recognized Richard Arkin and Agent Cheng as 
the agents flanking Grenier, but the other man seemed barely 
aware of their presence.  Grenier strode up the stairs and 
stopped right in front of Mulder.  

"Are you sure?" he demanded by way of greeting.

Mulder nodded.  "You can see for yourself downstairs.  The 
room was...it was pretty torn apart."

Grenier pivoted without a word, his stride so intent that the 
throngs of people parted to let him past.  Arkin joined 
Mulder at the railing overlooking the chaos below.  "Mulder," 
he said.

"Arkin," Mulder answered in acknowledgement.  They watched 
Grenier's progress together.  "How's he doing?"

"He didn't say one word on the way over."  He glanced 
sideways at Mulder.  "How's Scully doing?"

Mulder turned around to see his partner talking to a woman 
wearing a caftan.  He wondered if Scully even realized she 
was rubbing the scars on her right wrist as she spoke.  
"She's interviewing witnesses over there.  Give her a hand, 
will you?"

Mulder pushed his way through the onlookers and traced 
Grenier's path down to the ravaged motel room.  He found 
Grenier standing over the shattered lamp, watching as the 
forensics team tackled every inch.  Grenier turned as Mulder 
entered.  "There's blood," he said.  "How the fuck did this 
happen?"

"We have a chance," Mulder answered.  "He doesn't really want 
Amelia, he wants Scully, so it's--"

"The hell he doesn't want her!  He took her, didn't he?"

"But maybe not for the usual reasons.  If she's not part of 
his ritual, if she doesn't have the shoes, he might not --" 
Mulder stopped as Grenier stalked across the room and picked 
up several old crime scene photos from reports on the table.  
Grenier half crumpled them as he waved the grisly images in 
front of Mulder.

"This...this is what he does!  He takes them and he ties them 
up and he rapes them and he...he...goddammit, Mulder."  He 
sank into the nearest chair, the photos slipping from his 
hand.  

"We'll find her," Mulder said steadily.

"Yeah?" Grenier's head snapped up.  "You know where she is, 
wonder boy?  Saw this coming, did you?  Please enlighten me."

"Look at the scene," Mulder replied.  "He took her from here, 
from my room.  He wasn't stalking her.  She must have 
surprised him while he was in here.  She's an impulse grab, 
not like the others."

Grenier leaned down and retrieved one of the photos, 
smoothing his hand over the wrinkled image.  Jessica Gellar's 
body lay bent and broken in a pile of leaves.  "God I hope 
not," Grenier said hoarsely.  "I hope he's not..."

Arkin appeared at the door.  "We've got a hit.  The neighbor 
to the left heard the attack."

Mulder and Grenier followed him out and under the yellow 
police tape to where Scully stood with young Hispanic male.  
"What have you got?" Mulder asked her.

"This is Raymond Leandro.  He's in room eighty-two, and he 
says he heard a crash last night in the room next door a 
little after midnight."

"Yeah," Leandro agreed.  "I'm here interviewing for a job, 
and some of the company guys, they took me out last night.  I 
got back almost at twelve, and I heard the noise just after 
that.  Like I told her, it was a loud crash -- like something 
breaking.  Then there was kind of a thud."

"And you didn't investigate?" Grenier snapped.

"I looked out my window and didn't see anything," Leandro 
protested.  "There was no screaming, and I didn't hear any 
more crashes.  I figured maybe the mirror fell off the wall 
or something."

"Did you see anything strange in the parking lot when you 
came in?" Mulder asked.  "Anyone else around?"

"Not that I remember."  He paused.  "Sorry."

"Yeah, thanks," Mulder said, and the man walked away.

"Well, that's something," Arkin said.  "Now know the time he 
was here, maybe we can find someone who might have seen him.  
Seen his car, even."

"It's nothing," Grenier replied.  "We don't have time to 
interview half the city.  He's had her over twelve hours 
now."

Mulder felt his gut contract, and Scully looked at the 
ground.  By twelve hours, the women were usually dead.  
Mulder pushed through the small group and walked back to the 
motel room.

"Mulder!" Grenier called.  "Where are you going?"

Mulder kept walking until he reached the doorway of his motel 
room.  Scully and the others caught up with him seconds 
later.  "What's going on?" she asked.

Mulder looked over her head to the buildings across the 
street.  "We don't need to interview half the city," he said, 
pointing to the Denny's restaurant that sat directly in his 
line of site.  "Open all night with a perfect view of our 
motel door."

XxXxX

The sound of the ice clinking in his glass caused several 
more beads of sweat to drip from her brow.  Heat radiated 
from the walls.  Her heart beat fast but she felt faint, her 
arms numb and legs aching.  The coarse sheets scratched at 
her skin.

"I could go see," he was saying as he paced.  "From far away 
they wouldn't know.  Just a quick look and I'd be gone."

Amelia squeezed her eyes shut.  If he was leaving, it meant 
either he would kill her soon or she had somehow earned a 
brief reprieve.  

Leave, you asshole.  I dare you.

By now they would know she was missing.  The whole state 
would be on high alert.  She just had to stay alive until 
they could find her.

She scraped her tongue against the towel in her mouth, 
fighting off a dry heave.  Her squirming got Carl's 
attention.  "Is it everything you expected?" he asked, 
standing over her.  

Icy drops from his whisky glass dripped on to her collarbone, 
and she twisted weakly against her restraints.  Carl frowned.  
"You better not piss in my bed."

Amelia froze, her heart in her throat.  This was a possible 
angle.  She arched her pelvis up from the bed as best she 
could and made frantic noises through her towel.  

"Fuck."  He put the whiskey over by the sink and pulled out a 
large hunting knife.  The bed sank under his weight.  Amelia 
quivered as he ran the blade gently down the middle of her 
face.  He smelled of alcohol and sweat.  "Not one move.  Not 
one itty bitty move.  Got it?"

She nodded.

With a few quick slices, he released her arms.  She whimpered 
at the pain of renewed blood flow.  Tears pricked her eyes 
and slid down over her hot cheeks.  "I will cut you in 
ribbons if I have to."

She sank into the pillow, trying to steady her breathing as 
he went to work on her feet.  Her arms shook from the lactic 
acid build up; there was no way she would be able to over 
power him now.  

He rubbed his hand across the bottom of her foot, and she 
felt the rough calluses on his fingers.  "See what you made 
me do.  The rope leaves marks."

Shooting pain lanced from her heel to her hip, but she dared 
not move an inch.  Her knee cracked as he bent her leg.  
"Such pretty, pretty feet," he said, his breath tickling her 
toes.  

Amelia held back a moan as he sucked her big toe into his 
mouth.  Pleasepleaselethimleaveplease.  The garden shears lay 
only a few feet away.

I'm going to get you out of here, she told the baby silently.  

Carl's tongue slid between her toes.  Amelia clutched the 
sheets with both fists and tried not to vomit.  

Dana got out, she reminded herself.  You can do it.

She groaned again and arched from the bed, trying to remind 
him why he had cut her loose in the first place.  He let her 
toe go with a "pop," then kissed her instep.  "For later," he 
told her with a grin.  He stood up, knife still in hand, and 
nodded at the small toilet room.  "Be quick about it."

Amelia swung her wobbly legs over the edge of the bed, not at 
all sure she could stand.  Her knees buckled, but she managed 
to remain upright by clutching an iron foot post from the 
bed.  She entered the tiny toilet room and tried not to 
notice the bloody rings encircling her wrists.  

No windows and no weapons.  The room was useless.

They're coming, she thought.  Stay alive.  

She yanked off the tape holding her gag in place.  Turning 
the water on low, she leaned her head down and drank in large 
gulps.  It cooled her inside of her raw throat and woke her 
up a bit.  She used the toilet, washed her face and hands and 
braced herself for the man outside.

He was holding the knife and whistling.  "About time."  

There was no way she could reach the shears from where she 
stood; he was in the way.  She had no choice but to get back 
on the bed as he brandished several fresh lengths of rope.  
Dana had apparently taught him well, all right.  He was smart 
enough not to put his body directly over her when her legs 
were free.  Within seconds, he had her arms shackled over her 
head once more.

He frowned as he stared at her feet.  "If you're a good girl, 
I don't have to tie those up."

She nodded, but he still looked torn.  He tested the ropes 
holding her arms with a hard shake.  She flinched in pain.

"I guess that's good enough."  He stepped back and slipped 
his knife back in its sheath.  "I'll be back in a few hours," 
he said, and then grinned.  "Don't go nowhere."

I'm not dead, she thought with a flash of relief.  I've got 
time.

"In a few hours," he said as if reading her mind.  He ran his 
hand down her calf and caressed her toes.  "We can have some 
fun."

She raised her head up, straining her neck muscles to watch 
him go, and noticed he took the garden shears with him.  He 
closed the heavy door with a slam; she heard a deadbolt slide 
into place on the outside.  Wearily, she collapsed back onto 
the dingy pillow.  

She could flex her fingers, but he had immobilized her arms.  
Yanking would only worsen the wounds on her wrists.  Her feet 
were useless as long as she remained tethered to the bed.

He will kill you, a voice inside her said.  You know he will.

She slid her foot along the iron bed frame in frantic, 
nervous movements.  Maybe they would catch him now that he 
was outside.  Maybe someone in the mountains would find her 
here.  She tried banging her feet on the metal frame, hoping 
to make some noise, but it wasn't loud enough.

Lancing pain.

She jerked away, raising her left foot up so she could see 
the source of the hurt.  Blood trickled down the right side 
of her foot.  She lowered her leg again with caution, toeing 
the underside of the frame for the edge that had cut her 
open.  Of course he would buy a cheap ass bed.

Ah, there it was.  She winced at the sharp contact, then held 
her foot up again to inspect the injury.  In addition to the 
rope rings on her ankles, she now had a nasty blood smear 
down the whole right side of her foot.  Not so pretty 
anymore, she thought.

And a plan began to form in her mind.

XxXxXxX

Chapter Seven

XxXxXxX

It was all hands on deck at the Los Angeles branch of the 
FBI, and they were all pulling for one case.  Agents who had 
gone off shift only hours before returned; even one who had 
retired the previous week showed up to ask what he could do 
to help.  They gave him a chair and a phone.

Scully slipped through the busy hallways to find Mulder 
standing alone in a small seminar room.  His tie lay on the 
table; his back was to the door.  She knocked even as she 
entered, and he turned from the window.  

"The Denny's waitress wasn't much help," she said, handing 
him the computer-generated update of Carl Quentin's picture.  
"But it's clear he didn't want her to be.  He wore a large 
hat and tinted glasses.  She can only guess that his hair is 
now dark brown, and it sounds like he's put on a little 
weight this year.  She didn't see what kind of car he was 
driving."

"Great."  Mulder returned to staring out the window.  
"Anything from the room?"

"Prints confirm Quentin was there.  The blood on the lamp is 
Russell's."

"Grenier was right, you know.  I never saw this coming."

"No one did."  She touched his arm, but he jerked it away.

"She wanted off of this case, but I dragged her out here with 
me."  He shook his head.  "It's been almost fifteen hours 
now, Scully."

Her stomach clenched.  "You said you think we might still 
have a chance.  That he might want to keep her alive for some 
reason."

"I'm not a mind reader," he snapped.  "He might keep her 
alive.  But he might have strangled her right in the hotel 
room for I all know."

"What good would that ---"

"I don't fucking know!  Okay?  Jesus."  He turned and shoved 
a rolling chair clear across the room.  "I don't know why 
everyone keeps asking me this stuff.  It's not like I've been 
so successful at predicting his moves so far!  Twelve years 
on this case and he's still free.  What does that tell you, 
Scully?"

"You found me," she said softly.

He froze, his mouth set in a grim line.  "Yeah." He paused.  
"And what happens if I can't do it again?"

"Mulder..."  She struggled to swallow around the lump in her 
throat.  

His shoulders sagged and he waved a hand to brush her off.  
"You're right, I do think we have a chance that she is still 
alive.  We're just going to have to go with that for now."

"Grenier is leading the teams following every possible 
sighting of Quentin and Russell.  We're circulating this 
updated picture to every precinct in California, Nevada, Utah 
and Arizona.  I think Agent Cheng has arranged to show it on 
the news here, too.  Carl Quentin's days of invisibility are 
about to come to an end."

"That's good."  Mulder's voice was hollow.  "The forest 
rangers should be on alert, too."

"You think he's back in the woods?" Scully asked.

"He's a signature killer with an established ritual.  The 
cabin in Virginia worked for him for eleven years.  My guess 
is that he's recreated it someplace out here."

She nodded.  "The samples from the motel are here, and I've 
had Carolyn Kraus's remains brought from Orange County, too.  
I'm about to go see if I can find anything that might give us 
an idea about where his home base is.  Give me a call in a 
couple of hours, or if any of the leads pan out."

"Scully."

She turned.  "What?"

"One thing I know for sure -- he's going to take a run at you 
if he can.  Russell was convenient, but you're the real 
target here."

She could feel her pulse pounding in her neck, but managed an 
outward calm.  "Maybe we should let him come."

"What?"  Mulder was horrified.  "You're not serious."

"We don't have a lot of time here, Mulder.  If putting me out 
in plain sight would flush him from hiding, maybe that's what 
we need to do."

"No way.  Bad, bad idea."  He shook his head emphatically.

"It could save her life!"

"It could cost you yours!  You could both wind up dead.  
Remember what happened the last time we set a trap like 
this?"

She flinched as though he slapped her but stood her ground.  
"He would come out, you think.  For me."

"That's it," Mulder muttered.  "I've heard enough."  He 
brushed past her and stalked down the hallway.

"Mulder!"  She called to him from the door.

"There's another way," he hollered back.  "I'm not going to 
let you do that, Scully."

She jogged after him, catching up just as he burst into the 
bullpen, which had been converted to Carl Quentin 
headquarters during their search.  Grenier stood arguing with 
Arkin near a large map of California.  Both men looked up as 
Mulder entered the room.  

"What's going on?" Grenier demanded.  

"Put Scully in protective custody."

Behind him, Scully's jaw fell open.  "What?"

"It makes sense," Mulder said, ignoring her.  "You want to 
antagonize Quentin and draw him out, take away his fixation 
point.  So far we've just been giving him exactly what he 
wants."

Grenier seemed to consider, then frowned and shook his head.  
"No, I need her down in the labs.  She'll be safe enough 
there."

"It's not enough!  She needs to disappear completely.  Once 
he sees she's not playing his game, he'll get angry.  He'll 
make more mistakes."

"He has Russell!"  Grenier's face darkened.  "I don't think 
we want to be antagonizing him any further right now."

Scully had another flash of the cabin, with the ropes and the 
shoes and the garden shears.  She rubbed her wrists.  "He has 
a point, Mulder."

"No, he doesn't," Mulder snapped at her.  He spread his arms.  
"You all want my insight?   Well, here I am giving it to you.  
Pull his focus away from Russell and on to Scully.  The best 
way to do that is to make him wonder what's happened to her.  
As long as she's here cleaning up his mess and following his 
tracks, he's going to remain one step ahead of us because 
that's exactly what he expects her to do."

Grenier looked from Mulder to Scully and back again.  "No.  I 
will not sacrifice one of my best agents for a hunch.  Not 
with Russell missing."

"Fuck that! You're the one who wants to use her to get to 
Quentin.  You're the one who said you wouldn't use her as 
bait!"

"I'm not using her as--"

"The hell you aren't!  Sure, you'd love to have her in the 
labs, but the real reason you're so hot to keep her is you 
know he'll come looking for her."

"And your grand plan is to gamble Russell's life!"

"It's already on the table.  I'm just calling them as I see 
them."

"Well, I am not on the table," Scully cut in, angry.  "And I 
am not a card to be played.  By either of you."

Mulder shook his head.  "You are, Scully.  I'm sorry, but you 
are."

"Okay, it's up to you," Grenier said to her, folding his arms 
over his chest.  "Your call."

Scully felt Mulder's eyes on her, and she turned to meet his 
furious gaze.  "I think you're right," she said, turning back 
to talk to Grenier.  "I think there are personal feelings in 
the way here.  I came to do a job, and I'd like the chance to 
do it.  I don't need protective custody."

Mulder muttered a curse and walked away.  Scully didn't 
bother to try to stop him.

XxXxX

Like the rest of the FBI staff, the lab personnel had also 
halted dinners and days off to work overtime.  Scully found a 
half dozen people already poring over the microscopic 
evidence found in Mulder's motel room.  As she located a 
white coat, Scully heard whispering behind her back and knew 
the story of her own clash with Quentin had preceded her.

"Dana Scully," she said, introducing herself anyway.  She 
shook one young man's hand and caught him eyeing the scars 
that encircled her wrist.  She tugged down the sleeve on her 
coat when she pulled away.  "What have you got so far?"

"We've got Quentin's prints on the lamp."  The woman, middle-
age with thin brown hair and a slight lisp, walked over to 
where the pieces of the lamp lay under a bright light.  "We 
also recovered blood and hair samples belonging to Amelia 
Russell."

"We know he did it," Scully said, trying to keep the 
impatience from her voice.  "Now we have to figure out where 
he is."  She paced the long tables, studying the collection 
of evidence.  "Did the skeleton arrive from Orange County?"

"It's over there," said the lisping woman.

Scully found the smaller table and discovered that her other 
request had been met, too -- they had included samples of the 
dirt from the desert where Carolyn was found.  She grabbed a 
microscope and began sifting.

XxXxX

Feeling bold, Carl dared to drive past the motel.  He was 
careful not to slow down too much, but with all the gawkers 
on hand he didn't have trouble blending in with the crowd.  
Yellow tape flickered in the ocean breeze while cops crawled 
like black ants all over the parking lot.

Just like old times, Carl thought with satisfaction.  After 
his first California kill -- a prostitute with neon blue 
sandals -- had gone unnoticed, he had been worried he was 
losing his touch.

Still, it seemed like the big players had moved on from the 
motel.  He saw no trace of Grenier, Mulder or Scully. 

"Dammit!" he said, smashing his hand on the steering wheel.  
It was that bitch Russell's fault.  If he hadn't had to grab 
her the night before, he wouldn't have lost track of the 
other agents.  Maybe they had returned to Santa Ana?

As he was driving around considering his next move, the song 
on the radio faded out and a serious-sounding DJ began 
speaking to him. 

About him.

He nearly stopped the car in the middle of the road.  "Police 
are asking for your assistance in apprehending a man believed 
to be behind the kidnapping of a federal agent.  Carl Quentin 
is six feet, four inches tall and weighs approximately two 
hundred and eighty pounds.  He has dark hair and may be 
wearing a large white hat and tinted glasses.  If you see 
someone matching this description --"

Carl clicked the radio off with one swift jab.  "Fuck.  
Fuckfuckfuck."  He slipped the hat from his head.  Better cut 
his losses and come back later, after he had taken care of 
Russell.  

He turned the car around and headed back towards LA.

XxXxXxX

Scully's find was a mere speck to the naked eye, but under 
the microscope its importance magnified along with its size.  
Round on one end with a tiny, dagger-like point sticking out 
from the other end, the seed seemed ready to burst.  She 
found two others like it in the dirt that had surrounded 
Carolyn's remains, and about a dozen more plant species as 
well.  With a little luck, at least one of the plants would 
prove to be foreign to desert soils and localized somewhere 
else.

She sat back from the oculars and rolled her neck to ease the 
ache.  The clock on the wall said it was approaching 
midnight.  With another yawn and stretch, Scully got down 
from her stool and joined the brown haired woman at the next 
table.

"Dr. Corvasce," she said, and the woman looked up from the 
carpet fibers in front of her.  "Did your team find any sign 
of vegetation in the motel room?"

"Why, yes, we did," answered Corvasce, her lisp slightly more 
pronounced as she tired.  "We found a small piece of what 
looks to be a fern leaf and several plant seeds we couldn't 
identify."

"May I take a look?"

"Certainly."

Scully put the unknown seeds under a microscope and saw they 
were identical to the ones she had found in the desert dirt.  
"I'd like to have all the specimens identified," she said.  
"Can we do that here?"

Corvasce nodded.  "Probably, but we can always get help from 
UC Berkeley if we need it."

Scully smiled.  "A great school."

"Class of eighty-eight," Corvasce said with an answering 
smile.  Scully yawned again, long and large, and Corvasce 
regarded her with a sympathetic look.  "You should go home 
and try to get a few hours of sleep.  We can call you right 
away if we get a hit on the fauna."

Scully hesitated; out of the corner of her eye she could see 
the human jigsaw puzzle that used to be her good friend.  
Time was one thing she didn't have if she was going to save 
Amelia Russell from a similar fate.  "I don't know," she 
hedged.  "I'd like to examine the dirt again in case I missed 
anything the first time."

"I'll be happy to do it.  You look like you've been up for 
days.  Go.  Get some rest."

Dimly, Scully tried to recall the morning.  It seemed like a 
lifetime ago.  The couch, she remembered at last, and Mulder.  
She wondered where he had gone after their angry words in the 
bullpen, if she should track him down or if she should let 
him go.  She wasn't sure had the strength to stand in her 
respective corner, let alone tussle in the ring with him.  
The mental argument alone was enough to make her teeth ache 
with fatigue.  Already her brain had to replay Dr. Corvasce's 
sentences twice inside before she could comprehend them.  

Outside she felt raw and exposed, like someone had worked her 
over with a Brillo pad.  "I don't even have a room to go to," 
she murmured, rubbing her eyes.

"Oh!  I'm sorry.  I forgot to tell you.  There's an officer 
outside -- Agent Grenier's orders, I think he said -- and he 
mentioned he would take you to a hotel when you were ready to 
leave."

"What?"  Scully walked across the room to the main door, 
pushing it open with one palm and peering into the hall.

A uniformed officer stood from his chair.  "Ma'am," he said.  
"Hal Jackson at your service.  Are you ready to leave now?"  
At least five inches taller than Mulder, Jackson's bulk 
belied his baby face -- red hair and chubby cheeks with 
freckles -- sort of like her brother Charlie at age three if 
someone had blown him up like a parade balloon.

"Uh, yeah."  Scully cast one look back at the labs, but she 
was so tired her vision was beginning to blur.  "I should go 
now."

Officer Jackson had to nudge her awake at the hotel.  
Catching her reflection in the mirrors in the lobby, she was 
dismayed to see that she had a nice car door indentation on 
her right cheek.  She learned her room was one eleven, and 
that Mulder had a room just down the hall and around the 
corner.  They passed it on the way to her room, but she 
didn't see any sign of him.  

"I'm really fine from here," she told Jackson when they 
reached her door.  

"You have a good night, Ma'am," he said.  "I'll be just 
outside if you need anything."

Scully opened her mouth to protest, but the set of his jaw 
told her it would be fruitless.  "At least let me get you a 
chair," she said with a sigh.

"That would be very kind of you, Ma'am.  Thank you."

She opened the room and found that someone -- Mulder? -- had 
been thoughtful enough to put her suitcase inside.  She 
handed the desk chair out to Jackson and the shut the door 
with a soft click.  Leaning against its solid length, she 
closed her eyes and let the even hum of the air conditioner 
wash over her.  So many nights in motels with grinding, 
groaning air units, it was a wonder she could sleep without 
one.

She pushed away from the door and unlocked her suitcase, 
taking out her pajamas and toiletries.  After she had changed 
and splashed some water on her face, it occurred to her to 
check for messages. 

The light on her phone shone a steady red.  No Mulder.  She 
dug out her cellular and checked her voice mail, but there 
she found only Grenier informing her of her personal night 
watchman.  She set the phone on the bedside table, just in 
case, and crawled under the covers.  She was surprised to 
find the room was spinning.  Still her eyes would not stay 
closed.

She slid her palm across the wide expanse of bed; the king-
size ocean of coils and cotton seemed silly with just her 
small presence.  Her toes ended miles before the edge of the 
bed.

After blinking away several more long minutes, she threw off 
the covers and fished around in the darkness for her robe.  
Outside, Jackson seemed startled to find her squinting at 
him.  "Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Fine.  I'm just going down the hall."

"I'll go with you."

"No," she said, stopping and holding up a hand.  "That's not 
necessary."

"It is," he insisted gently.  "It's my job."

Resigned, Scully set off at a brisk pace with Officer Jackson 
trailing along behind her.  She hesitated at Mulder's door, 
then knocked twice.  He opened immediately.

He still wore the same clothes she had seen him in earlier, 
though his sleeves now flapped unbuttoned along his forearms.  
A day's worth of dark stubble covered his face, and his eyes 
narrowed as though he didn't have the energy to open them all 
the way.  He glanced behind her at Jackson, then wordlessly 
widened the door to let her inside.

Unlike her room, which smelled of hotel air freshener and 
bleached linens, Mulder's room permeated with old newsprint, 
stale pizza and the slight tang of sweat.  She halted at the 
entryway as he collapsed into a low armchair.  

Mulder had constructed a psychological war room.

Crime scene photos were tacked in haphazard rows on the wall, 
reports and articles littered the dresser and desktops.  
Crumpled paper balls sat by his wastebasket, and she could 
see sheets of writing next to his computer.   

"Mulder..."  

When he turned to look at her, half his face glowed blue from 
the laptop screen.  "Did you get anything from the lab 
results?"

"Some plant samples," she said, still distracted by the 
controlled chaos in the room.  She took several slow steps 
toward the table where his computer lay.  "What about you, 
Mulder?  Any leads?"

His eyes were nearly black in the low light.  "You know my 
position.  It hasn't changed."

"Neither has mine.  I will not be shut out of this case, 
Mulder."

He tilted his head, inspecting her.  "Sounds to me like 
you're the one letting personal feelings get in the way."

She brushed her bare foot on the carpet, frustrated.  "Of 
course I have personal feelings!  You've got a great collage 
here of what Quentin thinks, of his motivations and his 
whims, but let me tell you what Amelia is feeling.  She 
thinks she is going to die, Mulder.  She's remembering all 
the bodies from before and trying to not panic even though 
she knows exactly what he wants to do to her.  He's big, and 
she can't move and maybe there's no way out but she has to 
keep thinking, has to keep trying...can't let up for a second 
because then he has her and it's over."

Her breaths came in uneven jags, her hands shaking.  She 
stilled them on the back of a chair.  "Of course I have 
personal feelings," she repeated finally.

He got up without a word and wrapped himself around her.  She 
stiffened but then returned the embrace, running her hands 
down his shoulder blades to the strong muscles of his lower 
back.  His face was hot and rough against her neck. 

"I would lie to you," he said.  "I would lie to you and lock 
you up if that's what it took to keep you safe."

She squeezed her eyes shut and burrowed closer.  Tears burned 
behind her eyelids.  "I am safe," she murmured as she stroked 
him.  He pulled away and looked down at her, his hands moving 
to grip her arms.

"But I'm not lying, Scully.  I believe that putting you in 
protective custody, cutting Quentin off cold turkey, is the 
best chance we have of forcing him out into the open."

She searched his face even as she imagined giving up.  "I'll 
think about it," she said at last.

He held her gaze for a minute and then nodded.  "Okay," he 
said, pulling her against him once more.  The slow sweeps of 
his hands down her back eased some of her tension, and she 
lay her cheek on his chest.  "I think that's the most I've 
ever heard you talk about it," he said quietly.

"You must have read my statements."

"It's not the same."

She considered how shaky she still felt after her outburst.  
"No, I guess it's not."

His fingers found the painful knot at the back of her neck 
and rubbed it away.  "We'll find her," he said, and Scully 
forced herself to nod in agreement.

"Yeah."  She leaned back and brushed the tear streaks from 
her face.  He followed her movements with his thumb.  "I 
should go," she said.

"Yes," he agreed as his hands slipped inside her robe.  The 
sash loosened.  So tired she was floating away.  She let 
fingers play along the sculpted ivory of his rib cage. 
"Scully."

His breath on her cheek, her neck.  The hot pinch of arousal 
opened her up inside.  "The man...outside," she breathed, her 
fatigue popping Jackson's name like a bubble.  Mulder 
captured her earlobe in his mouth and nursed it gently, then 
ran his tongue along the curve of her ear.

"Shhh," he said against her sensitized skin, and the whisper 
tingled all the way down her back.  He pulled her closer, his 
thigh sliding between her legs.  "Scully," he repeated.  Low, 
urgent.  Needy like she was.  She squeezed his leg with her 
own.

"Muldermulder, please..."

He picked up the pace of his caresses, rubbing circles on her 
nipples through the silk.  She pressed the flat of her teeth 
against his neck and tasted the salty hollows there. 

"Like this," he said, stumbling backward to the chair.  His 
hands tugged her pajama bottoms half way down her legs, and 
she brushed them off at her feet.   "Here, here," he said as 
he reached for her, his hands skimming her bare thighs and 
making her shiver.  His erection bulged between his legs.

She climbed over him half-clothed, spread open and precarious 
as they kissed.  Her hair fell forward and surrounded them in 
a soft curtain.  She whimpered and then whispered for him to 
be quiet.  Half-trembling, half-laughing, he shut them both 
up with his mouth.  Her hips jerked in his lap.

"Scully, god," he murmured, and suddenly she was the one in 
control.  It was her tongue searching his mouth, her finding 
the seam of his zipper, her pushing his hand between her 
legs.  He teased aside the cotton and gave her his hand.

Not quite wet, she gasped as he pushed his finger inside.  
Tears of almost pain pricked her eyes but she thrust for 
more, moaning as she rocked in his lap.  Not enough.  It was 
not enough.  She groped for the button on his pants.

He steadied her with one hand so they didn't tip the chair, 
arching into her fingers as she slipped him free from his 
boxers.  "Off," he grunted, tugging on her underwear.

"Hmm, yeah."  But she merely yanked the barrier aside.  She 
pressed her forehead to his as their hands together helped 
him find his way into her body.  Slowly, she relaxed her 
thighs and sank down.  His breaths were light and fast on her 
face.

"Scully," he murmured, kissing her again more languidly, his 
tongue sliding side to side in a gentle rhythm.  But she 
couldn't slow down, couldn't stop the roar in her ears.  She 
pulled her mouth free as her hips began a quick fuck that 
threatened to topple their chair. 

Mulder gasped and threw his head back, his eyes slitted and 
his mouth hanging open.  She bit her lip to stifle the sounds 
rising up inside her.

So tired, fuck me.  More, more, more.

She feared she might collapse in exhaustion before the orgasm 
hit.  "Mulder," she said.  A plea for help. 

He threw his hips into the action, found her swollen clit 
with two fingers.  She grit her teeth and shook herself 
apart, gasping and thrusting down on him as the waves 
buffeted through her.  She fell forward and sobbed into his 
shoulder.

"Okay?" he panted, combing her hair roughly with his hand.  

She tried to stop crying long enough to finish him.  "Okay," 
she said, but could only hold on weakly as he arched into her 
a half dozen more times.  He crushed her close and groaned 
near her ear.

She shifted, curling in his lap so her leg muscles could stop 
burning.  He kissed the top of her head as she continued to 
sniffle into his shirt.  "I'm so tired," she murmured, her 
voice thin to her own ears.

"Bed," he agreed, sitting up.  She squeezed his hand and 
allowed him to lead her to the bed.  He took off his pants, 
but besides that they crawled under the covers still half-
dressed.  She had already closed her eyes before he pulled 
the blankets over them.  Maybe she said goodnight, but maybe 
it was only in her head.  

A few hours later, she awoke with a small jerk, blinking and 
disoriented.  Mulder sprawled on his back next to her.  The 
only illumination in the room came from his laptop, and she 
used the eerie light to find her way to the bathroom.  
Wrapping her robe tighter, she paused to turn down the air 
conditioner on her way back to bed.  

May as well shut that thing down, too, she reasoned as she 
crossed to the laptop.  But her hand froze in midair.  

Pregnant.

The word stood out from his notes, a stream of consciousness 
list of everything he knew about Amelia Russell's abduction.  
"Oh, my God," Scully murmured.  "No."  She clasped her hand 
over her mouth, holding her middle with her other arm.  Her 
heard pounded against her ribs.

Tied up and frightened and pregnant and goddamn there was 
something she could do about it.  

"That's it," she whispered fiercely.  "This is the end, you 
sonofabitch."  

Shaking but certain, she walked to Mulder's dresser and found 
his back up weapon, determined to come at Quentin with 
everything she had.  Determined to leave no other innocent 
people on the path between the monster and herself.

Bet you're not expecting this, she thought as she checked to 
see if the gun was loaded.

She located her underwear and pajama bottoms on the floor and 
dressed silently.  Smoothing her hair, she cast one last look 
at Mulder.  I'm sorry, she told him silently, I can't wait 
for the safe way. 

She opened the door with care, clicking it back into place 
with a minimum amount of noise.  Officer Jackson didn't even 
blink.

"Heading back to your room now, Ma'am?" he asked.

Shit, she'd forgotten about him.  "Yes," she said.  "Back to 
the room."

Once there, she changed in a hurry, securing Mulder's smaller 
weapon under her pants leg and checking the ammunition in her 
own.  Next she put on her robe again and stuck her head out 
the door.  "Excuse me," she said.  "Would you mind terribly 
getting me some ice?"

"Ice?" Jackson looked dubious that anyone could want ice at 
four-thirty in the morning.

"Please," she said, handing him the bucket.

He looked down at it and shrugged.  "Okay.  You just stay 
inside there, all right?  I'll be back in less than a 
minute."

"Thank you."  She smiled.

He took the bucket and disappeared around the corner; Scully 
took the opportunity to disappear herself.

XxXxXxX

XxXxXxXxXxX

Chapter Eight

XxXxXxXxXxX


The sharp knock on the door cracked his eyes open like 
eggs, 
liquid sleep vision making him stumble on his path to 
the 
door.  Behind it he found a man so large he nearly 
blocked 
out the light from the hall; he held a bucket of ice 
in his 
hands, and his face wore a worried crease.  Mulder 
squinted 
up at him.  "What is it?"

"Is Agent Scully with you, Sir?" the man asked.

Scully's guard.  He remembered now.  The man on 
the other side of the door when Scully had pressed her 
hot 
mouth to his and whispered that they had to be quiet.  
Mulder 
ran his hand through his hair and tried not to be 
obvious 
about checking the bed behind him.   The blankets were 
rumpled in the dark, but his sense memory could still 
feel 
the warmth of her body against his skin.  "Uh, sure.  
She's 
still here."

The officer visibly relaxed.  "Oh.  Okay, then.  I'm 
sorry to 
bother you, Sir."  He held out the bucket.  "I have 
the ice 
that Agent Scully requested, if she still wants it."

"Ice?"  Mulder did turn around now, frowning at the 
dim 
mountain range of blanket bumps.

"She asked me for it a few minutes ago.  When she 
didn't 
answer her door, I thought she was probably back here.  
Again, I'm sorry to--"

He stopped as Mulder walked away, the door still 
hanging 
open.  Mulder flicked the wall switch, and light 
flooded his 
room.

Gone.

His heartbeat seemed to slow and expand, stealing his 
breath 
and gluing his feet to the rug.  He scrunched his toes 
deep 
into the carpet.  "Dammit."

"Sir?"  The young officer hovered near the entryway.  

Mulder jerked, suddenly mobilized.  "When was the last 
time 
you saw her?" he asked as he began searching the room.  

"It must be about ten minutes now."

Mulder emptied his suit pockets on to the bed -- 
crumpled 
receipts, loose change, sunglasses -- "My car keys are 
missing."

"Grenier's going to have my hide.  I shouldn't have 
left her 
alone."

Mulder pawed through the papers on the table for his 
cell 
phone, barely listening as he fished it out and headed 
for 
his dresser. "No, you shouldn't have.  Fuck."  He 
pressed 
"1" and held the phone under his jaw while he searched 
his 
dresser with both hands. 

Answer, dammit.  Answer.

He yanked the drawer out and found his wad of ties, 
socks and 
boxers shoved aside.  She had taken his backup weapon, 
too.  
Why the hell hadn't he seen this coming?

"Agent Mulder?  I should contact Chief Waitkin and 
Agent 
Grenier...where do you think she could have gone?"

Mulder turned around in place slowly, taking in the 
chaos of 
his room.  A photo of Keri Ann Talbot's body came 
loose from 
the wall and fluttered to the ground, face up.  He 
stared 
into her empty eyes as the phone rang in his ear 
unanswered.

XxXxXxX 

Scully drove through the night unimpeded.  In the dark 
hour 
before dawn, the largest city in the U.S. resembled a 
futuristic ghost town, its long streets breezy and 
abandoned.  
Skyscrapers kept silent, looming watch.  

She clenched the wheel and nudged the needle up to 
fifty 
miles per hour.  By now, Jackson would have missed her 
and 
the hunt would be on.  Mulder would be furious.

Mulder.  She had to leave him behind.  He wouldn't 
have let 
her leave and there was no way he could have come.  
Carl 
would emerge from hiding for her alone.  And if he was 
watching her, he wouldn't be with Amelia.  

If he was watching.

She kept one eye on the rearview mirror, dreading any 
sign of 
either a patrol car or the burning headlights of Carl 
Quentin.  Her wrists and knees felt loose and weak.  
The 
press of her gun at her side kept her moving forward, 
but she 
had no direction.

Think, she commanded herself, trying to lasso her 
careening 
thoughts.  Think like him.  Where would he go?

But she wasn't Mulder, who could abracadabra his way 
into the 
criminal mind.  She had lain in Quentin's bed, had 
looked 
into his wild eyes and felt the madness in his touch, 
but she 
could not fathom the evil in his heart.  

Get out? she wondered.  Walk the street until she 
could hear 
his footsteps coming up behind her?  He had grabbed 
her in a 
park the last time.  Perhaps she should try that 
again.

She made a wide right turn onto another deserted 
street, 
heading out of town.  Mulder had guessed Quentin was 
in the 
mountains, but that was too much territory for her to 
cover 
alone.  She made another turn.  

I'm Carl, she thought, I would look...

...back where I left off.

Of course.  Her heart picked up speed.  They knew he 
had been 
watching the motel in Santa Ana, and it made sense 
that he 
would search at the scene of Amelia's abduction; he 
would be 
expecting her to be there.  

But I'm not.  What next?

She took the corner too quickly, fishtailing onto a 
wide 
boulevard.  Taillights winked in the distance in front 
of 
her. 

He's angry, she thought, warming to the pattern.  He 
gets 
nothing from the motel from far away and he doesn't 
dare to 
get any closer.  The morgue would have to be next.

The thought pricked her, trickled fear down her 
insides.  If 
she went there, would she find him waiting?  Or was he 
already watching, biding his time until she drove off 
the 
main road into darkness?

There was only one way to find out.

XxxXxXxX

At FBI headquarters, Grenier had two phones going at 
once; 
one at his ear and the other in his hand.  "License 
Q145VMX," 
he said.  "No, we don't fucking know where she's gone.  
That's the point of this notice."  He glanced up at 
Mulder. 
"It's silver, right?"

Mulder nodded.  "Hertz sticker on the back."  

The rest of the men and women in the room had stopped 
their 
tasks to watch Grenier's terse phone calls.  Despite 
the hum 
of the computers, the photos and maps tacked to the 
walls, 
and the ove- bright fluorescent lights, the room felt 
stagnant and defeated.  Russell had been missing for 
over 
twenty-four hours.

Chewing his thumbnail, Mulder stood in front of the 
largest map: the one that showed all of Orange and Los 
Angeles Counties in detail.  Miles of freeways 
crisscrossed 
and curley-qued across the paper.  She could be 
anywhere.

"You were right," Grenier said quietly from behind 
him.  "I 
should have locked her up when I had the chance."

"He'll come after her," Mulder answered.  "We've got 
to get 
there before he does."

"Your partner has fucked us both over, you know that, 
don't 
you?  How the hell am I suppose to look for her and 
Russell 
at the same time, let alone the fucking animal we're 
supposed 
to be chasing?"

"Give me some men.  Let me go after Scully."

Grenier snorted.  "I've got none to spare!  I've put 
out the 
APB to all of California, but that's all we can do 
right 
now."

"You can't be serious.  You know she's his real 
target."

"Hell of a lot of good that does me now!  She's run 
off like 
some goddamn teenager!"

"She'll try to draw him out," Mulder continued 
steadily.  "We 
can start with places we know he's been.  That's what 
Scully 
would do."

"One team.  Two men.  That's the most I can give you."

"It's not enough!"

"Fuck, Mulder, what do you want me to do?  Russell's 
the one 
in real trouble here!  As far as we know, Scully is 
just 
fine.  I can't pull men off our ongoing search to 
chase after 
her!"

"Get the LAPD.  Requisition more men from neighboring 
counties.  You can call Nesbith --"

"I have!  Every resource is tapped out.  The Director 
is 
about two seconds from pulling me off this case!"

"Fine, I'll go myself."  Mulder grabbed his jacket and 
stalked toward the door.

"Mulder!"

"Call Orange County!" Mulder yelled back.  "Tell them 
I'm on 
my way.  Tell them I want my two men standing in front 
of the 
motel.  We can start from there." 

XxXxXxX

At five years old, Carl had learned he could be 
invisible.
His father had passed out on the couch as usual with 
his 
whiskey bottle so Carl had dared to playe upstairs in 
Mommy's 
closet.  So entranced he had been by her tall, tall 
heels 
with the pink stripe and smooth toe that he had not 
heard his father's footsteps on the stairs.

"What the goddamn hell do you think you're doing?  
Goddamn 
queer!"

One hard slap to the head had knocked Carl out of the 
shoes 
and onto the thin carpet.

"No, please.  I was just trying..."

"You don't sass me, boy."  Carl's father was taking 
off his 
belt.  "Goddamn queer in my house."

Carl scrambled away, crawled out the door with his 
father 
lurching after him.  "Don't you run from me!  I'm your 
father!"

Carl wedged behind a door, barely breathing as his 
father 
walked past with the belt dragging on the floor behind 
him.  
The last time he had felt the fiery whip on his skin, 
Carl 
had not been able to sit properly for a week 
afterwards.  He 
could smell the alcohol as his father patrolled the 
hall.  "I 
know you're hiding here somewhere, boy."

He would see soon, Carl knew.  The door stuck out from 
the 
wall just a little too far.  Now or never.

Holding his breath, Carl fell into step behind his 
father, 
ghosting down the hallway in his shadow until they 
reached 
the stairs.  His feet seemed to float above the floor.  
At the 
stairs, his father paused, looked around, but Carl 
disappeared onto the landing.  Invisible.  

His new hiding place, thirty-odd years later, was not 
the 
best.  He had only a partial view, but it was as close 
as he 
dared to get.  In the daylight he would have to 
retreat into 
the mountains again.  He didn't plan to leave without 
her.

So he waited.  Still in the shadows.  Ever silent.  

Invisible.

XxXxXxX

She nearly threw up twice.  It took several minutes of 
lying 
stock still and careful breathing to hold down the 
heaves.  
The gag chafed in her mouth, and pain radiated through 
her 
whole body.

The rope bit into her wrists at the slightest 
movement; she 
had long since lost the feeling in her hands.  Sweat 
and tears plastered hair against her face, and she had no 
method of wiping it away.

But her feet were the worst.

In the dim light of the one bulb, she could see the 
blood dripping down the sides of each of them.  She had 
managed several long cuts on the left one, but the right 
suffered much worse.  Her little toe drooped, half-amputated.  
She had sliced right through the tendon.

A risk, a chance, a sliver or hope.  Possibly her 
doom.

Either he would cast her aside, unable to complete his 
ritual, or he would kill her immediately in a fit of 
rage.  He had never killed outside of his pattern, she knew, 
but clearly he was capable of it.

I tried, she thought, exhausted.  I did what I could.

If he killed her now, at least they would know she had 
fought.  Grenier would see she had not given up on the 
baby.  He would know she battled with everything she could to 
come out alive.

Dizzy and throbbing, she drew up her legs onto the 
sheets, trailing blood as she did so.  She closed her eyes and 
waited.

XxXxX

How to hide in plain sight, that was her problem.  
Scully was careful not to go anywhere near the motel, knowing 
that there would be extra security still at the scene.  On her 
first pass by the Orange County morgue, she checked for 
surveillance vehicles but did not see any obvious unmarked vans or 
cars watching the entrance.  Still, she decided to park a 
few blocks away and walk back towards the building.

It was dark, the street lamps still on, but the first 
hint of 
blue light on the horizon signaled that dawn was not 
far 
away.  Scully kept a brisk pace as she walked, her 
heels the 
only sound in the early morning quiet.  She left her 
jacket 
unbuttoned to maintain easy access to her gun.

As she reached the main road occasional cars rushed 
past, 
their headlights blinding her as she pressed into some 
nearby 
bushes.  Her fingertips tingled, and cold drops of 
sweat 
dripped between her shoulder blades.

I escaped last time because of luck, she had told 
Mulder. 

But it wasn't an escape, not really, because her she 
was 
again in the dark waiting for him to come and try to 
kill 
her. She took a deep breath and continued towards the 
morgue.

The front door would be visible to any passing patrol 
car, so 
she opted for the back entrance -- a plain brown door 
right 
at street level.  Scully stood next to it and pressed 
her 
back to the wall.  He would not be coming up behind 
her this 
time, his rough hand clamping over her mouth.  

A humid wind rustled the trees; Scully scanned the 
small 
parking lot for any sign of life.  One lone dark car 
sat in 
the corner, but she did not see anyone inside.  She 
narrowed 
her eyes.

That spot is not visible from the road, she thought, 
watching 
as the breeze chased shadow puppets over the 
windshield.  Was 
that movement inside as well?

Hesitating just a second, Scully withdrew her weapon 
and 
walked along the side of the building toward the car.  
She 
ventured out into the lot, approaching it from the 
rear.  
California plates and tinted windows.  She noted the 
large 
trunk and worn tires.  Heart pounding, she took 
several slow 
steps up toward the driver's side window.

No one inside.

"Jesus," she murmured, turning and sagging against the 
door.  Just then another car engine roared to life 
across the street, its headlights blazing.  Scully 
jumped back and shielded her eyes, but the car simply 
turned onto the main boulevard and drove away.  

She leaned back against the car again, her gun hanging 
low in her hand.  The sound of her harsh breathing 
echoed in her ears.  She almost called it off right 
then; how many parked cars could she reasonably check 
by herself?  Morning was coming.  The sky brightened 
overhead, a slow spreading of day that would likely 
chase him back into hiding.

Except she could still feel him out there like the 
trees, blocking the wind and waiting to make his move.

You wanted me, she thought, scanning the empty street 
once more.  Come get me.

A car pulled into the lot.  Its lights were off.

Scully tightened her hold on the SIG, keeping it 
hidden behind her leg, and poised to attack.  But a 
small woman with a long, thick braid and olive skin 
got out of the driver's side.  She eyed Scully with a 
suspicious look as she fished into her bag.

"Can I help you?" she asked, pulling out a ring of 
keys. 

It was then Scully noted her uniform with the nametag.  
Cleaning staff, she realized.  A sudden thought 
occurred to her.  "FBI," she said, showing the woman 
her badge.  "From Washington.  Can you let me into the 
building?"

"Yes, I can do.  This way."

Scully glanced over her shoulder as they walked toward 
the back door.  "Thanks," she said, distracted.  No 
one else was around.

How many chances had she given him?  It didn't seem 
like he would have waited this long to make his move.  
Her stomach clenched at the thought of him back in the 
cabin with Amelia.

I'll find you yet, you sonofabitch. 

Inside the building she took out her cell phone, then 
hesitated.  If she turned it on, it would likely ring 
with Mulder on the other end.  She was willing to bet 
he would have already set up a trace.

"You need upstairs?" the cleaning woman asked as she 
started up the steps.  

"No, thank you.  I'll just be down here."

The woman nodded and disappeared out of sight.  Scully 
decided not to turn on her phone and continued down 
the hall to the main offices, trying doors as she 
went.  The last one opened, and she was able to get 
into the central lab through a back door.  Everything 
was still and silent as a grave.  She picked her way 
across the room in the dark, finding a light near the 
side counter.   The list she was seeking was by the 
phone.

"C'mon, c'mon...," she murmured, flipping through it.  
"Yes."  She dialed the number for the FBI lab in Los 
Angeles.

"Forensic Science Lab, Gertram speaking."

She did not recognize the voice.  "Uh, yes.  This is 
Dana Scully.  I was wondering if the seeds from the 
Kraus and Russell cases has been identified yet?"

"Let me check.  Hold please?"

"Fine."  Scully stood, twirling the long phone cord 
around her finger as she waited.  She could hear the 
big wall clock ticking overhead.

"I've been waiting for you."

Scully gasped as a blade pressed against her neck.  A 
second later she could smell him -- steeped in alcohol 
and sour sweat.  Her throat closed off.

"Hang up the phone," he breathed.

"Agent Scully, we have identified those samples.  The 
first one is --"

She placed the receiver on the hook as Quentin removed 
her gun from its holster.

"Very good.  Now let's walk slowly towards the door.  
I have a little place in the mountains I just know 
you're going to love."

XxXxXxX


XxXxXxXxXxX

Chapter Nine

XxXxXxXxXxX


Mulder wove his car in and out of the sparse morning traffic, 
chewing his thumbnail until he tasted blood.  Even as he 
raced toward Orange County, he wondered if it was the right 
place to start.  Think like Carl Quentin, he could do that.  
But think like Carl Quentin thinking like Scully thinking 
like Carl Quentin...

Six degrees of homicidal mania, he thought as he swerved 
around a minivan.  Scully, what the fuck did you think you 
were doing? 

I should have told her.  I should have told her Amelia is 
dead.  He's never kept them alive longer than a few hours.

But the fear churning inside him, the doubt that scraped his 
ribs like steel wool, came from Scully's own words.

***You've got a great collage here of what Quentin thinks, of 
his motivations and his whims, but let me tell you what 
Amelia is feeling.  She thinks she is going to die, Mulder.  
She's remembering all the bodies from before and trying to 
not panic even though she knows exactly what he wants to do 
to her.***

Scully was right.  He had pictures of Quentin and reams of 
paper detailing the despicable minutiae of every attack, 
every murder Quentin had committed.  He had some training and 
a keen insight into criminal patterns of behavior.  He had 
even looked these kinds monsters in the face, felt the evil 
sloughing off of them as he had captured and cuffed and sent 
them away forever.

But Scully was the one who had lived it.

Maybe this time it was she who had the backstage pass, she 
who had gone directly into the abyss 
donotpassgodonotcollectonehundreddollars while he dicked 
around at an old crime scene, following the rules.

***But he'll come out for me.***

							He will kill you.

***Let him try.***			
							No, I won't let him.

***It's too late.***	


"No!" Mulder blurted the word out loud, screeching the car to 
a halt to avoid hitting the Camero stopped in front of him.  
The light at the end of the exit ramp was red.  "Move!"  
Mulder shouted, honking his horn and trying to maneuver his 
sedan around on the right.  "Move!"

The Camero got out of the way.

Mulder continued his high-speed slalom through the city 
streets until he reached the motel parking lot.  Yellow 
police tape still flickered in the breeze, and Mulder could 
see the uniformed guards drinking coffee and talking outside 
of his old room.

He shed his car like an old-tee shirt, leaving it parked on a 
slant, and jogged down to where the officers stood.  "Agent 
Scully," he said, breathless.  "Have you seen her?"

"Sir?"  The younger one, a black man with broad shoulders and 
a scar above his left eyebrow, seemed confused.

Mulder spoke slowly, trying not to lose patience.  "Have 
either of you seen Agent Dana Scully this morning?"

"I'm afraid I don't know who that is, Sir," said the man.  He 
glanced at his partner.  "You know anything about this, Gil?"

"Name rings a bell," replied the other man, his pox-marked 
face solemn.  "She was identified as the first DB, remember?  
Turned out it was a mistake."

"That's right, that's right.  Have you seen her?"

"Nope, I'm sorry.  We've been here since four a.m., and no 
one has come by."

"Fuck," Mulder muttered under his breath.  He paced the 
blacktop for a few seconds.  "Dana Scully," he said at last, 
and handed them his card.  "She's five foot three, with red 
hair.  If you see her around here, detain her and notify me 
immediately."

He began walking back towards his car.

"Sir? " One of the officers called out.  "On what grounds 
should we retain her?"

Insanity, Mulder thought, but he held his tongue.  He turned, 
continuing to walk backwards as he spoke.  "Protective 
custody!  That first DB wasn't a mistake, it was a dry run."

He reached his car, where the front door still hung open.  He 
kicked it shut.  "God damn.  Now what?"  Grenier had promised 
him two agents to help with his search, but he didn't see any 
spare men waiting at the ready.

His cell phone rang from inside his pocket.  Scully, he 
thought, shaking with adrenaline. He nearly dropped the 
plastic phone as he fumbled it free from his pants.  "Hello?"

Crackling static came from the other end.  The whipping 
blades of an approaching chopper made it difficult to hear, 
so Mulder turned away.

"Hello, Scully?  Is that you?"

"...Grenier...block...there."

The helicopter noise grew louder, a thousand machine guns 
blaring overhead.  The wind whipped his hair on end.  "Adam?"

"Agent...in the chopper.  We're...block....her down."

Mulder shielded his eyes and looked up to see an LAPD 
helicopter hovering forty feet above his head.  Inside was 
Grenier, and he was pointing to someplace on the other side 
of the motel.    Mulder nodded and waved to signal that he 
would meet them there.

The helicopter set down in a near-empty Von's Supermarket 
parking lot three blocks from the motel, and Mulder joined 
them in his car.  He got out to see Grenier and Richard Arkin 
ducking from the force of the chopper blades.  Arkin hung 
back as Grenier strode across the lot.

"What's going on?" Mulder yelled over the noise.

"You wanted two agents.  You've got them."

Mulder paused.  "I thought you said..."

"You were right," Grenier interrupted.  "Before, about 
Quentin.  I figure you might be right this time, too."

Mulder looked away, across the windy parking lot.  "I wish I 
could tell you I'm sure.  Mainly, I'm just playing the odds.  
Quentin wants Scully.  We know that.  If we find her before 
he does, we might have a shot at nailing his ass once and for 
all."

"She's your partner.  Where do you think she would go?"

Mulder scuffed his shoe on the ground.  Ordinarily, he would 
have said that Scully was by-the-book; she'd search for 
Quentin where the profile said he'd be most likely to be.  
But by-the-book Scully would not have run out in the middle 
of the night with two weapons, hell bent on baiting a killer.  
His stomach clenched.

"She could be headed for Utah, for all I know.  We know 
Quentin has been there."

"Agent Grenier!  Mulder!"  Richard Arkin was waving at them 
from over by the helicopter.  They turned, and he jogged out 
to meet them.  "A Santa Ana patrol unit just found Scully's 
car three blocks from the forensics building."

"Any sign of her?" Mulder asked, already heading for the 
driver's seat.

"Not yet," Arkin answered.  "And the hood was cool.  She's 
been gone a while."

XxXxXxX

Scully lay face down in the dark, her cheek scraping against 
the rough grit on the floor.  Her right shoulder was asleep, 
but she could wiggle her wrists behind her back.  The knots 
were looser than the last time.  He'd been in too rushed, 
trying to stuff her in the trunk before it was fully 
daylight.

She screwed her eyes shut and tried to remember to breathe.

He still has your shoes, a voice inside her head whispered.  
He kept them all this time, waiting for you to come back.  
He's not likely to make many mistakes.

Scully gulped for air.

I have a gun.  I have a gun.

Quentin ripped off her pants last time.  She quivered, 
shifting on the grimy carpet.  This time he would see the 
gun.  He would tie her up and take her clothes and then the 
shears would come out --

"Oh, God."  She started shaking in earnest.  "No, no, you 
can't do this."

Get the gun.  Get the gun!  It burned, hot steel against her 
leg.

She arched her back like a seal, lifting her legs toward her 
hands.  Her fingertips just brushed the cuff of her pants.   
"C'mon, c'mon."  She felt every tendon in her body stretch; 
the effort made her dizzy.  "Almost there..."

Suddenly, he slammed on the brakes.  Scully cried out as she 
hit the back of the trunk at sixty miles per hour.  Pain 
lanced through her shoulder, and her hair caught on something 
sharp.  She tensed, waiting.  Was he going to come open the 
lid?

The engine was still running, so Scully chanced another 
scramble for her weapon.  Gritting her teeth, she arched 
again to try to reach under her pant leg.  The car moved 
forward again.

"Dammit," she said as she was thrown off balance.  Panting 
from exertion, she rested on the coarse carpet.  The car was 
moving slower now, stop and go.

Rush hour, she thought.  The asshole is caught in rush hour 
traffic.  

Thousands of people outside, and not one of them could hear 
or help her.  She blinked back hot tears.

You chose this.  You asked for it.

He's taking me to Amelia, and I still have the gun.  Maybe I 
can get Amelia to distract him...

	what if she's dead?

...long enough for me to bend down and reach the gun.  

She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the nausea brought on 
by the lurching of the car.  The plan might work.  She tried 
to envision it in detail, how it would feel to hold the gun 
on him.  Just get the gun.  Everything else will follow.

XxXxXxX

On the way to the morgue, Grenier unbent the waxy rim on an 
old paper cup.  "I'd been kind of avoiding her, you know," he 
said as they were stopped at a light.  

Mulder did not answer.  Grenier picked at the cup some more.

"I thought she might want to talk about getting back 
together, so I was avoiding her.  You ever been married, 
Mulder?"

"Yes, once."  He felt Grenier's eyes on him.

"Really?  What happened?"

Mulder gave a small shrug.  "It just didn't work out."

Grenier nodded, silent for a long minute.  "Amelia used to 
break all the bindings on my books.  God, I hated that.  
Every damn time, the first thing she did with a new book was 
to crack it in half.  No matter how many times I asked her 
not to do it, I'd keep finding them on the shelf with their 
spines broken.  Now I think she didn't even know she was 
doing it.  Like a habit."  He shook his head and gave a 
small, rueful smile.  "She swears in her sleep, too.  Cusses 
like a goddamn sailor."

"I know."  The words were out of Mulder's mouth before he 
realized what he was saying.  Beside him, Grenier tensed.  
"Sorry," Mulder said.  "I didn't mean..."

"Forget it.  It's done."  He crumpled the cup with one hand.  
"I don't want to get back together with her."

Mulder thought of what Amelia had told him about the baby, 
and believed she had probably sensed as much.  "We'll find 
her," he said mildly.  He didn't add that he did not expect 
to find her alive.

"It's funny, though," Grenier said, "what marriage does to 
you.  We were together ten years.  I have a piece of paper at 
home that says those ten years are over, but there's a 
million things still hanging...so many little threads I can 
see now when I look at her."

Mulder felt his chest tighten.  He remembered the first 
morning after he had made love to Scully, in that chilly room 
at the Inn.  The way he had woken and found her looking at 
him with clear blue eyes.  She had reached out, touched his 
cheek, and given him a rare calm smile.  It was a moment that 
would live inside him forever.  "I, uh, I know what you 
mean."

"We have to find her, Mulder."  Grenier looked away, out the 
window.  "Or my life will never be good again."

XxXxX

Up, up again.  Mulder had been right.  Quentin must have 
recreated his cabin in the woods.  She kept her breathing 
steady.  

Remember the gun.  Remember the plan.

He would be coming for her soon, with his big hands and 
bigger knife.

The plan, the plan.  Except.

Except he had a plan, too.  He'd been waiting for her.

And he'd been working on his a lot longer than one day.

XxXxX

"Si, yes.  I saw her this morning when I come in."  Lupe 
Garces nodded as she looked at Scully's picture.

Mulder's heart rate doubled.  "What time was that?  Did you 
see where she went?"

"It was five-thirty.  I saw her in the parking lot, with this 
big, black car.  She said she was from the FBI and axed me to 
let her in, and I said sure.  I went upstairs to do my work, 
and she went down there."  Lupe pointed towards the morgue.  
"That's the las' I saw her."

"This is very important," Mulder said.  "Did you see anyone 
else unusual in or around the building at that time?"

"No, jus' the usual people."

Grenier dug out a mug shot of Carl Quentin.  "This man.  You 
haven't seen him at any time?"

"No.  I'm sorry."  She looked upset.  "He is very bad?"

"He is very dangerous," Grenier agreed.  "If you see him, 
call the police immediately."

"Yes, I will."  She studied the picture of Carl Quentin 
again, then crossed herself and handed it back.

"What about the car?"  Mulder asked.  He went to the door and 
pushed it open.  "Is the car still here?"

Lupe joined him in the doorway and shook her head.  "No, it's 
gone."

"Did you recognize the car?"

"No, I thought it belonged to the lady."

"You think it was Quentin?" Grenier asked.

"Could be," Mulder said, letting the door fall closed.  He 
signaled to Grenier.  "Check the local gas stations and 
convenience stores.  See if anyone remembers Quentin or a 
big, black car hanging around the neighborhood."

"Sure thing."

"I hate to say it, Mulder, but I have a bad feeling about 
this."  Grenier looked around the hallway.  "Why would Scully 
leave her car?"

"She would know we'd be looking for it," Mulder answered as 
he walked down toward the main labs.  "Maybe she found 
another one."  He wished he could be as sure as he sounded.

It was just past eight a.m., too early for the full staff to 
have arrived for work.  The morgue was dim and quiet.  "You 
think she came in here to research something?" Grenier asked.  
"We had all the desert crime scene samples sent to LA."

"I don't know.  Maybe she wanted to use a computer or 
a...phone."  He stopped when he spotted a small, black cell 
phone lying on the counter nearest the lab telephone.  He 
crossed and picked it up, flipping it open as he turned it 
on.  "This is Scully's phone."

"Why would she leave it?"

"She wouldn't," Mulder replied tightly.  He pulled out his 
own phone.  "Yeah, this is Agent Mulder," he said a moment 
later.  "I need you to pull the LUDs for a cell phone 
number."  He rattled off Scully's number, then on a hunch 
added the number for the lab phone as well.  "And do that 
one, too, while you're at it.  Yeah, ASAP.  I want to know 
the last numbers dialed from each of those phones."

"We should set up road blocks," Grenier said when Mulder had 
hung up.  

"We don't know he has her."

"Mulder."

"We don't know!"  He stalked out of the lab into the hall.  
Grenier followed.  "Maybe she left the phone so we couldn't 
trace her."

"Do you really want to take a chance on maybe?"  Grenier 
stopped in his tracks as his cell phone rang.  "Grenier," he 
said.  "Uh-huh.  Yeah.  Oh, Christ.  Okay, we'll be right 
there."

"What?  What is it?"

"Arkin found a clerk at the gas station two blocks away who 
remembers Carl Quentin.  Apparently, Quentin stopped in for a 
liter of Coke and a large bag of Cheetos.  Get this -- he was 
driving a big black car."

XxXxX

It seemed to Scully that they had gone off-road.  She jostled 
and bumped around in the trunk, bruising as she tried to 
brace herself as best she could.  Too much movement would 
dislodge her weapon from the band holding it to her leg.

At last, they stopped.

The only sound Scully could hear was her own heartbeat, 
pounding inside her head.  Her breath caught in her throat.

The trunk lid popped, and she flinched at the sharp noise.  
Squinting, she looked up and saw the bright sky.  

"Up and out of there.  Now."

She could hear him but couldn't see him.  She guessed someone 
had taught him to stand back from the trunk.  Someone had 
gone down fighting.  Scully swallowed the lump in her throat 
and tried to wiggle feet first from the car.  Halfway out, 
she felt a gun barrel at her back.  "No funny moves."

His sour smell, his gruff, angry voice, the feel of him 
pressed so close -- please, not again. please.  please.  

Fear threatened to scatter her composure like dried leaves in 
the wind.

"Well, aren't you going to say hello?" he said when she was 
fully out of the trunk.  She turned around slowly.  His hair 
was darker than she remembered, but the crooked-tooth smile 
was the same one that haunted her dreams.  She was pleased to 
note he had a moss purple and green bruise on one cheek, and 
hoped it was courtesy of Amelia.

He touched the edge of her shirt.  "That's my girl."

Scully spat at him.  "Fuck you."

"Fuck you," he answered, and smacked her upside the head with 
the butt of the gun.  A thousand pain needles shot through 
her eyes.  He grabbed a fistful of her hair and twisted.  
"Here's the deal, Dana Scully:  I only keep the little ones, 
but I'm happy to cut the rest off one at a time just for fun.  
You just think about that, and maybe you'll decide to be a 
bit more cooperative."  He jerked her hair.  "Hmm?"

Scully glared at him and said nothing.  Carl smiled.

"Yeah, you just think about that as we walk."  He gave her a 
hard shove.  "This way."

Scully stumbled, her legs still wobbly from the trunk, but 
managed to right herself before tumbling to the ground.  
Don't let him see the gun, she thought.  Just keep going.

He marched them at a brisk pace through the mountains, and 
Scully kept scanning the rocky terrain for any sign of life.  
Lizards ruffled the tall grasses around them, but she saw no 
trace of any human for miles around.  "Where is this place?" 
she asked in what she hoped was a casual tone.

Carl cackled.  "Wouldn't you like to know?  Far away from 
everyone, baby.  Far, far away."

With a sinking heart, Scully realized it was probably true.  
There were shaded paths, but Carl kept them walking in the 
blazing sun, right out in the open with his gun for anyone to 
see.  This meant he knew there was no one around to catch him 
forcing her down the steep path to her death.

She caught her sleeve on a prickly branch, and Carl yanked it 
free.  It tore open, leaving an angry, bleeding scratch.  
"Tsk, tsk," he said, holding her arm in an iron grip.  He 
leaned down as if to kiss it, then gave her wound a long lick 
instead.  

"Stop it!"  Scully jerked, but he held her still.  

"Delicious.  Now keep walking."

They walked for at least another half hour, twisting and 
turning several times along the way.  Scully was not at all 
sure that she could find her way back to the car.  

Deal with that later, she thought.  Just get the gun.

"There she is," Quentin said, halting her with a biting grab 
on her shoulder.  "Home sweet home."

It was almost exactly the same.  The same run-down wooden 
shack with the windows boarded up.  She felt her stomach turn 
over, her heels dig into the ground.  Carl pushed her 
forward.  "Go on now."

With her arms still tied behind her, Scully managed an 
awkward slide down the hill towards the cabin.  Carl's 
crunching footsteps followed behind, and she heard him 
jingling some keys.  

"Let's not forget to bring these in," he said as they reached 
the door.  She stood, fighting the urge to flee as he slipped 
behind the wall and reappeared with a large pair of garden 
shears.  He grinned.  "I've been waiting a long time for 
you." 

His words fell over her like shards of glass in the thin air.   
She felt heavy, motionless, even as her heartbeat pounded 
inside like a trapped animal.  Her tongue swelled dry and 
thick in her mouth.  "What about Amelia?" she asked hoarsely.

Carl frowned as he fiddled with the padlock.  "Useless bitch.  
I can do her first, if you want."  He turned and gave her a 
smile.  "You like to watch, Agent?"

Scully barely heard him.  She's alive!  She'saliveshe'salive.  
Just get the gun.

Carl pulled the heavy wooden door open, and a rush of humid, 
stale air wafted from the cabin.  "I've found your friend, 
sweetheart," he called out, shoving Scully forward into the 
darkness.  The metallic odor of blood nearly made her gag.

"Amelia?  Amelia, are you okay?"

"Shut up."  Carl grabbed her by the neck.  "Shut up and don't 
move."  

A moment later he flicked on the overhead light bulb, and 
Scully gasped.  Carl froze.  Amelia lay unmoving with her 
hands tied to the headboard; the sheets were streaked in 
blood.  Her hair was matted to her face, and her eyes were 
closed.  Scully couldn't even tell if she was still 
breathing.

"Amelia!" 

"What have you done?" Carl muttered.  Then louder, "What have 
you done!?"

Amelia's eyelids fluttered, and Scully felt a surge of weak 
relief.  It was not too late.  

Carl pushed Scully aside and advanced toward the bed, the 
shears still dangling from his left hand.  "You goddamn 
little bitch!  You whore."  He gripped her throat with his 
free hand until Amelia whimpered.

"Stop it!"  Scully's cry was instinctive.

"What the fuck do you think you're trying to pull?  You think 
this is clever?"

Get the gun, Scully thought, this is your chance.  Get it 
now.  

She crouched down and fumbled with the cuff of her pants, but 
the angle was awkward.  And there was no way she could fire 
with her hands tied behind her back.  She pulled desperately 
at the rope.

"I'll kill you.  Don't think I won't."  Carl was still 
choking Amelia.

The counter!  Scully walked backwards towards it, using the 
hard edge to scrape at her loosening bonds.  From her new 
perspective, she could see the source of the blood, the 
terrible thing that had angered Carl:  Amelia had amputated 
her own little toe.  

Please, please.  The sharp counter edge took the skin of her 
arms as she rubbed up and down.  Please...

Amelia had gone limp again, no longer fighting.  "No!" Scully 
said, but Carl continued his attack.

There, at last.  Her slim wrist wriggled through the rope.  
Trembling, she reached down and retrieved the gun that was 
strapped to leg.  "Freeze!" she said.  Her weakened muscles 
wouldn't allow her to hold the gun steady.

Carl didn't seem to hear.  "God damn bitch whore, think 
you're so--"

Still shaking, Scully fired into the wall above his head.  "I 
said FREEZE."

Carl stopped and slowly turned around.  "Fuck."

"Drop the shears.  NOW."

"God damn," Carl said, seeming angry at himself.  He let the 
shears drop to the floor with a loud clunk.

"Here's the deal," Scully told him coldly.  "I can shoot you 
once in the head and be quick about it, or I can but one 
bullet at a time through your ankles, your knees and your 
wrists.  You just think about that, and decide how 
cooperative you want to be."

XxXxX

XxXxXxXxXxX

Chapter Ten

XxXxXxXxXxX


At the gas station, Mulder jerked his car to a halt by a 
small group of curious onlookers.  Three squad cruisers 
already were already parked, zigzag fashion, in the cramped 
lot nearby.  "This is a waste of manpower," Mulder told 
Grenier as they exited the car.  "Quentin is long gone from 
here."

Grenier scowled. "Well, when we figure out where he is, we 
can direct everyone there."

"Hey!" Arkin waved them over to the mini market.  He stood 
next to a large man dressed in a faded Grateful Dead tee-
shirt that didn't quite cover his belly.  "This is Mike 
Weaver.  He's the one who sold Quentin the goods last night."

"You're sure this is the guy?" Mulder said, holding out one 
of Quentin's mug shots for clarification.

Weaver nodded.  "Yeah, that's him.  Only his hair is longer 
and darker now, kinda shaggy.  He came in around three-
thirty.  He filled his tank, bought some food, and paid in 
cash."

Arkin consulted his notes.  "He says Quentin was driving an 
old Buick, colored black or dark navy."

"It was dark," Weaver interjected.  "I couldn't see for 
sure."

"Did he say anything to you, anything that might tell us 
where he's staying or where he might be headed?"

"Sorry, no.  He didn't say a word.  Just handed me the cash 
and that's it."

"And you didn't get a look at the license plate?" Grenier 
asked.  "Even a partial would help."

"I didn't go outside at all," Weaver began. "But--"

"Damn," Grenier muttered.  "At least we have enough to make 
road blocks viable.  I'll get on that now."

"But we do have security cameras," Weaver finished.  Everyone 
stopped and looked at him.  "They were put in two years ago, 
after the place got held up three times in one month.  You 
might be able to get that license plate from the tapes."

XxXxXxX

Only the slight sway of the lone bulb overhead disturbed the 
dead air.  "You're making a mistake."  Even pinned under the 
barrel of her gun, Carl kept his yellow-rimmed eyes boring 
into hers.

"Shut up!"  Her arms still trembled, caught between the 
adrenaline rush and the leaden feel of the lactic acid.  She 
fought to keep them upright. "One more word, and I'll shoot 
you right here."

The side of Carl's mouth twitched but he held up his palms.  
Sweat dripped down his neck.  Scully tried to keep her 
slippery hands steady on the gun.  Perspiration glued strands 
of hair to her face, but she didn't dare let go long enough 
to clear her vision.

"Amelia?" she called sharply, her gaze darting from Carl to 
the woman lying prone behind him.  "Amelia, are you okay?" 
Amelia didn't move, and Scully's heart clenched.  "Amelia!"

Carl laughed.

"Shut the fuck up!"  Her gun wavered in the air between them.  
"Untie her."

His smile faded.  "No."

Scully cocked the gun and took a stumbling step forward.  "Do 
it now."

He clenched his big hands once, but then turned around slowly 
towards the bed.  Scully risked another step closer.  Carl 
gave the knots at Amelia's wrists a rough tug; Amelia did not 
respond.  

"I'll have to cut these loose.  The bitch pulled them tighter 
than a nun's pussy."

Scully swallowed.  "Get the tape off her mouth."

Carl yanked and the noisy rip tore through the cabin, but 
still Amelia showed no signs of life.  Scully glanced around 
the room for any way to call for help.  There was some sort 
of radio scanner set up the counter by the sink.  "Amelia?" 
she tried again.  "Amelia, talk to me."

"This bitch is gone."

Scully's finger quivered on the trigger.  He was little more 
than an arm's length away now.  Do it.  Do it.  The gun 
barrel wove from side to side as she tried to keep it 
centered on his chest.  "Let her go," she said aloud.

"I have to cut her," Carl repeated.  "I need my knife."

No way in hell she was giving him his knife.  She could see 
it sitting on the shelf with her shoes.  Edging the garden 
shears closer to him with her foot, she said, "Use these.  
And go slowly."

Carl scooped the shears as if in slow motion.  Scully's 
heartbeat tripled each second, the gun heavy in her hands.  
He leaned over Amelia once more.  

"Slowly," Scully repeated.

"You would have killed me already if you really wanted to," 
Carl said as he worked.  

Do it.  Do it.  No one would care.

I could hit Amelia.

Her vision blurred, and she squeezed her eyes shut once.  
"Shut up."

"I think you wanted our little get together as much as I did.  
I think you needed it."

Scully jerked the gun to the left and fired once through the 
wall.  Call flinched, fumbling the shears.  "The next one is 
through the back of your head," Scully told him.  

Carl turned, saw her eyes, and seemed to believe her.  He 
went back to the task of setting Amelia free.  A minute 
later, the ropes went slack.  Scully moved to her left so she 
could see Amelia's face and arms; Amelia did not appear to 
realize she was free.  Her bloody arms remained over her 
head, and her eyes were still closed.

"Shit," Scully muttered, tears of anguish and exhaustion 
threatening behind her lids.  "Amelia, I'm going to get help, 
okay?  I'm going to--"

She cried out as pain lanced through her arm, knocking the 
gun to the floor.  Carl swung at her again with the shears 
and tore into her shoulder.  She fell, gasping and reaching 
out for the gun.  "Oh, no, you don't," he snarled.  He 
tackling her and crushed her with a knee to the kidneys.  Her 
head swam as blackness encroached and receded.  Bile burned 
the back of her throat.

Choking, she squirmed as best she could, her fingers just 
brushing the steel edge of the gun.  Carl grabbed her forearm 
and twisted it behind her back.  He squeezed hard enough to 
press all the way to the bone.  "That was a very stupid thing 
you did," he said.

She felt the metal kiss of the shears against her cheek. "Now 
get up," he commanded, moving off of her and pulling her to 
her feet. Her lower back throbbed in time with her pounding 
heart.  "You God damned bitch.  You're going to pay big time 
for that little stunt."  He wrenched her arm tighter for 
emphasis.

Through the hot tears stinging her eyes, Scully could see 
Amelia still had not moved on the bed.  Carl followed her 
gaze and gave a low chuckle.

"Yeah.  Now that your little friend is gone, it will be just 
us.  Just like I planned."

Oh, God.  Her utter failure washed through her in a wave.  
Amelia was dead.  She was trapped.  No one had the slightest 
idea where she was.  In an hour, it would all be over.

"You're...you're wrong," she said, summoning the last of her 
strength.  The words scraped out through her parched throat.   
"Mulder knows.  He knows you're in the mountains again."

The Mulder card.  It had worked last time; she prayed he 
would fall for it again.

"Oh, shit on Mulder," Carl spat.  "I don't even want to talk 
about him."

"He knows," Scully repeated, trying to keep the desperation 
from her voice.  "He's probably got teams searching the 
mountains now."

Carl bent and picked up her gun from the floor.  "Even if 
that were true," he said as he cinched it into the waistband 
of his pants, "there are thousands of acres in the Angeles 
forest, and I assure you that we are very well hidden."  He 
used the shears to make a scissoring motion.  "We have plenty 
of time."

"You made that mistake once," Scully told him evenly.  "He 
found you then."

Carl snorted.  "And a hell of a lot of good it did him, huh?  
Let me explain something to you, Agent Dana Scully.  Mulder 
didn't catch me last time, and he won't catch me this time, 
either.  You know why?  Because I'm better than him.  I'm 
smarter than him.  Mulder just chases his tail every time, 
but I learn.  I get better and stronger."  He walked over to 
the radio that sat on the counter.  "See this baby?  It's my 
crystal ball.  I've got one here and one in my car, and they 
tells me all I need to know about Mulder."

He flipped it on, and it crackled to life.  A mix of voices 
and static filled the room.  "So you've tapped into the 
police scanners," Scully said.  "That doesn't mean you know 
everything."

"It told me you ran off last night.  It told me that they 
didn't know were you were."  He grinned.  "So don't bother to 
tell me that they're going to come pounding on my door at any 
moment, because I know better."

[All units be advised--]

"Mulder will find you when I want him to find you," Carl 
continued.

[-- FBI has issued an APB on Quentin's vehicle --]

Scully froze.  Carl turned towards the radio.

[Quentin is driving a black 1988 Buick Skylark, license Two, 
Paul, Mary, Ocean, One, Six, Three.  Vehicle is registered to 
Mr. Otis Unger, but is not believed to be stolen.  Repeat, 
that is license Two, Paul--]

Carl smashed his fist onto the counter, causing the radio to 
jump.  "Fuck!"

"Your car is by the road, isn't it?" Scully said. 

"Shut up!"

"And in these circumstances, they'll broadcast the 
description over TV and radio, too.  Any hiker could--"

"I said shut up!"  He hurled the shears at her head, but 
missed by several inches.

[If you see the vehicle, do not approach.  Radio for backup 
immediately.  Suspect is armed and extremely dangerous.]

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!"

Oh, please, Scully thought, let someone see the car.  Please.

Carl took her gun out from his pants.  "You," he said, 
pointing it at her.  "Get in there."  He started crowding her 
towards the tiny bathroom.  "In."

Scully walked backwards into the dark, foul-smelling room.  
Could he actually be leaving?

"Stay the fuck in there," he said.  "I'll be back."

The door slammed, and she could hear him dragging a chair 
across the wooden floor.  A moment later, he wedged the chair 
under the doorknob on the other side, effectively locking her 
in the narrow chamber.  

But then he left.

There were no windows, so Scully started pushing on the door 
immediately, rattling the knob and ramming the door with her 
one good shoulder.  The chair did not budge on the other 
side.  She tried kicking, pounding, throwing all her weight 
at it, but the door barely moved in its frame.  "Dammit," she 
said, shaking the knob once more.  "C'mon, open."

She heard a crash outside, a loud whacking sound just on the 
other side of the door.  The chair!  Scully turned the knob 
and pushed once more, and the door opened.

"Oh, my God," Scully breathed when she saw who was leaning on 
the overturned chair.  "Amelia."

"Help," she croaked.  "Can't stand."

Scully moved to her side, wrapping one arm around the other 
woman.  Amelia was heavy, and Scully's legs threatened to 
buckle beneath the weight.  "We've got to get out of here," 
Scully said.

Amelia nodded.  "Water," she said through swollen, chafed 
lips.  "Please."

"Yes, of course."  Scully helped her into the bathroom where 
they both took turns gulping handfuls of the cool water.  She 
set Amelia down on the toilet.  "Stay here.  I'm going to see 
if we can radio for help.  Then we're getting the hell out."

Amelia's eyes closed.  "I...can't walk."

In the shadows, Scully could barely make out the other 
woman's bloody feet.  "We'll deal with that when we have to," 
she said.  "Just rest for a second."

She left Amelia and ran to the radio, but even a cursory 
glance told her there was no way to use it to call for help.  
It was strictly a receiver.  "Okay, okay," she muttered, 
trying to gather her thoughts.  "Just get out."

She tried the front door, but Carl had locked it from the 
outside.  Dammit.  "Any luck?" Amelia said from the bathroom.

"I'm going to have to take the boards off a window."  She was 
already examining them for the most likely candidate.  "He 
left his knife and the shears, which might help."

"Mmmm...'sin axe."

"What?"

"Axe.  Unner the bed.  I saw."

Scully checked and found Amelia was right.  "No need for the 
windows, then.  I should be able to get right through the 
door."  She swung it over her head and attacked the door 
right at the knob.  It came off with one clean blow.  Her 
shoulder throbbed.

"How long do we have?"  Amelia's thin voice floated out to 
her between chops. 

"I'd say..."  She swung again.  "Half an hour.  Forty minutes 
at the most.  We're going to have to hurry."

Amelia didn't answer, and Scully feared she might have passed 
out again.  No time, no time, she thought, redoubling her 
efforts on the door.  She would haul Amelia out on her back 
if she needed. 

Her shoulder and back muscles screamed; she was still 
bleeding from where Carl had caught her with the shears.  
Sweat gathered at the base of her neck and ran down her 
spine, but Scully kept chopping.  She could see light coming 
through the door where the knob used to be.  "Almost there!" 
she called out to Amelia.  The axe was beginning to clank 
against the metal lock on the outside.

The effort of lifting the axe again and again made her dizzy, 
and her blows grew less accurate.  Wood chips splintered to 
the floor at her feet.  "Al...most," she panted to herself.  
Three more sharp whacks and the lock broke loose.  "Amelia!  
It's open!"  Scully let in the cool mountain breeze and 
dashed back to pick up Amelia.

"I don't know if this will work," Amelia whispered.  "I can't 
walk.  I'll just slow you down."

"I'm not leaving you here."  Scully held her up and began 
walking toward the door.  Amelia limped alongside her for a 
few painful steps, then faltered.  "Come on," Scully urged.  
"You can do it."

Tears leaked from Amelia's eyes.  "I'll never make it.  Not 
like this.  Maybe...maybe if I tried to put my shoes on..."

Scully hesitated, torn between the desire to help and the 
desire to get the fuck away from Carl's cabin.  "Okay," she 
said.  "Let's try that."

She set Amelia down on the bed and retrieved her sneakers 
from the shelf.  As she widened the laces to fit over 
Amelia's swollen feet, she kept one ear cocked for the sound 
of Carl's approaching steps.  Amelia hissed in pain as Scully 
slipped the first shoe on.  Up close, Scully saw for the 
first time how ragged the cuts were.  The area around 
Amelia's missing toe was infected.  No wonder she hurt.  

"All done," she said when she had managed to put both shoes 
on Amelia's feet.  

"Thanks," Amelia returned, her eyes still closed in pain.

"Now let's go." Scully helped her up and they made their way 
out of the cabin.  "Wait," Scully said at the door.  She left 
Amelia leaning against the door and too Carl's knife from the 
shelf.  "Just in case."

They set off in the opposite direction from Carl's car.

XxXxXxX

Mulder and Grenier stood in the hallway outside the Orange 
County forensics lab as the scientists inside turned their 
tools on their own building.  It didn't take long before a 
young man in a white coat told them what Mulder already 
feared:  Quentin's prints were all over the lab.

"Jesus Christ," said Grenier, then he kicked the door.  "How 
the hell did he get to her so quickly?"

"He probably followed her," Mulder answered.  "And don't 
forget that she wanted to be found."

A flash of anger spiked through his fear.  When had she 
decided on her suicide mission?  After she'd been in his bed, 
or had she come to fuck him one last time before heading off 
to die?  Because it wouldn't matter how mind-blowing the sex 
had been; having to identify her body in the woods somewhere 
would erase everything that had come before.

His phone rang.  "Yeah," he said, walking away from the crowd 
of people milling in the hall.

"Agent Mulder, it's Eugene Whitley.  I left a message on your 
voice mail earlier, but I wanted to make sure you got the 
numbers."

"Numbers?"

"You wanted the last numbers dialed from Scully's cell phone 
and the main forensics lab in Orange County."

"Oh, right.  And?"

"Well, her last call was to you, at seven fifty-six yesterday 
night.  The last call from the lab was to the FBI forensic 
science department in LA at five twenty-two this morning.  
You want that extension?"

"Please."  Mulder took the number, and when he was done with 
Whitley, he dialed anew.

"Pathology Lab, Ann Corvasce speaking."

"Dr. Corvasce, this is Fox Mulder.  I'm trying to find Agent 
Scully, and I have reason to believe she called this number 
very early this morning.  Did you happen to speak to her?"

"No, but one of my colleagues, Brad Gertram, did.  She wanted 
to know if we'd completed the analysis of the vegetation 
samples found in the desert and in the motel room where Agent 
Russell was abducted.  The funny thing is, she hung up before 
he could give her the results."

"And what are the results?"

"Good news, actually.  Very good news.  One of the samples 
turned out to be nut moss, which is common to many places in 
the American southwest, but the second sample found at both 
crime scenes is Eriogonum microthecum -- also known as 
Johnson's Buckwheat.  This plant is exclusive to California 
and extremely rare.  Plus, it grows only at elevations above 
8000 feet.  Find this plant, and you might have your killer.  
The folks at Berkeley faxed over a map that shows the 
locations where Johnson's Buckwheat is known to grow."

Mulder squeezed his eyes shut.  At last, a break.  "I'd like 
to see that map," he said.

XxXxXxX

"That's it," Scully breathed as she half-walked, half dragged 
Amelia through the bramble.  She needed all her strength to 
hold the other woman up, so there was no way for her to brush 
aside the long, prickly branches that scratched their faces 
and caught in their hair.

"You...you think this is a...trail?" Amelia asked.

"Maybe an older one.  Looks like it's been overgrown for 
years."

"Great," Amelia said through gritted teeth.  "No one...to 
find us.  We're screwed."

"Just keep going."  Scully glanced over her shoulder.   The 
gigantic bushes and clusters of thin trees obscured their 
path, but she knew they were leaving plenty of bent branches 
and imprints in the dirt.  Carl would need only rudimentary 
tracking skills to find them.

"He knows," Amelia said, as if reading her thoughts.  "He 
knows by now we're gone."

"Maybe not."  Scully tried to convince herself with the lie.  
"He had to find somewhere new to hide the car.  That could 
take time.  We just have to keep moving."

They stumbled along the bumpy path, Amelia wincing with every 
step, until the vegetation thinned.  Tall grasses gave way to 
a large, rocky clearing.  "We can't go out there," Amelia 
said, leaning heavily on Scully's shoulder.  "We'd be open 
targets."

Scully struggled to remain upright as she surveyed the wide 
open terrain in front of them.  "We have no choice.  We can't 
go back."

Amelia's knees buckled, and she dragged both of them to the 
ground.  "Maybe you should go on ahead," she said, wiping the 
sweat from her brow.  "Stick me in the bushes somewhere and 
go for help."

Scully shook her head.  "Too risky.  We have no idea how far 
away help is."

"Dana, I can hardly walk at all.  You'll be much faster on 
your own."

"We're less than a mile from the cabin!"  Scully pushed 
herself to her feet.  "You can't stay here."

A sudden thrash from the bushes made Scully jump.  She 
reached for the knife she had tied to her pants.

"What the hell was that?" Amelia whispered, her lethargy 
gone.  Scully motioned for her to be quiet.  She crept back 
down the trail a few yards, careful not to let the backlash 
of branches give her away.  A pair of birds chattered down at 
her from a tree, but she saw no other sign of life.  
Suppressing a shiver, she hurried back to Amelia.  

"We're getting out of here.  Now."

"Is it him?  Did you see him?"

"No, but it's only a matter of time."  She grabbed Amelia's 
hands and tugged.  Wrapping her good arm around the other 
woman's shoulders, she started out of the thicket and towards 
the right.

"Wait."  Amelia resisted, her muscles tightening.

"We can't wait!"

"That way is up.  If we're going to find help, we should head 
down the mountain, don't you think?"

Scully took a deep breath.  "Yeah, okay.  Good point."  She 
reversed course and went towards the left.  Loose rocks 
skittered out from under them, making the steep walk even 
more slippery.  Scully rushed as fast as she dared.

The sun blazed in a cloudless sky, and there was little wind 
to bring relief.  Within half an hour, they were drenched in 
sweat.  Scully pushed forward amid vivid waking dreams of 
giant water bottles.  "Wait for a second," Amelia said, 
stopping to gulp for air.  "Just a second."

As they rested, Scully chanced a look behind them to see if 
Quentin was in sight.  She squinted at the bright horizon but 
saw no evidence that they were being followed.  Perhaps like 
last time, he had simply given up and disappeared again.

Amelia's fingers bit into her shoulder.  "How...how did he 
find you?" she asked.  "Mulder wanted you in protective 
custody."

"I guess you could say I found him."

"Dana..."

"Let's keep going.  Come on."

But Amelia didn't move.  "You let him do this?  You let him 
take you?"

Scully closed her eyes, fighting dizzying exhaustion.  "No 
one lets him do anything.  He takes living, breathing people 
and he uses them and then he throws them on the street like 
garbage.  So this time I decided to use him first."

Amelia stared at her for a long minute, then nodded.  "Thank 
you."

Scully pressed her lips together and eyed the rocky road 
behind them.  "Don't thank me yet.  He may still be coming 
after us."

"I almost hope he does," Amelia answered as they staggered 
onward.  "I'd like to take that knife and slit him from navel 
to nose."

"Well, then," Scully said.  "You understand why I came."

"But you didn't kill him.  You had the chance."

" I...I couldn't risk it.  He was standing in front of you. I 
couldn't risk hurting you."  She paused.  "Or the baby."

"Oh."

"I saw Mulder's notes," Scully explained.  "He mentioned that 
you're pregnant."

Amelia gave a faint smile.  "So he does take notes now?  
Maybe Wonderboy is getting old just like the rest of us.  Do 
you think...does Grenier know?"

"About the notes?" 

"About the baby.  About, um, about our baby."

"I don't know."

"It's just that I'm still hoping I get to tell him."  Amelia 
sounded close to tears again.  "That he doesn't find out some 
other way."

Like during the autopsy, Scully thought, and tightened her 
hold on Amelia.  "You'll get to tell him," she said in a 
fierce whisper.  "I promise."

Amelia sniffled and nodded.  "I know.  That's what I keep 
telling myself.  But thanks."  They stopped talking for a few 
minutes to navigate a particularly steep drop.  One wrong 
step would send them careening down into a dark canyon. 
"Look," Amelia said, pointing about a hundred yards farther 
down the mountain.  "It's a bridge."

"An old footbridge," Scully agreed.

"That must mean there are other humans around here 
someplace!"

"I don't know..."  They walked toward the bridge, and Scully 
saw that her fears were confirmed.  The bridge was only 
twenty feet or so across, but there were two foot boards 
missing, and the rope was partially frayed on one end.  "No 
one has used this bridge in years.  It might not even be 
stable."  She shook the closest rope as a test.

Amelia leaned against one of the posts, and Scully was glad 
for the respite.  Her back ached, and her shirt was soaked 
through with sweat.  "So you think we shouldn't cross?" 
Amelia asked.

Scully shielded her eyes from the sun and looked around the 
canyon.  "Well, it might be easier to get down on the other 
side.  And this rope seems like it might hold if we're--"

"Dana!"

Scully turned and followed Amelia's line of sight.  A lone 
man stood on a rocky ridge about three hundred yards away.  
Quentin. "Shit," Scully muttered.  "Let's go, quick." 

They started for the bridge when a deafening explosion echoed 
through the canyon, followed by a sharp splitting of the 
nearby rock.

"He's shooting at us!" Amelia hollered.

"It's my gun!  Come on, faster!"

The rickety bridge swayed like a boat as they crossed, the 
ropes stretched taut by their weight.  Scully kept her eyes 
forward and did not look down.  Another shot whizzed past 
them and cracked against the rock.  As they reached the other 
side, Scully could see Quentin slipping and sliding as he 
descended the mountain.  Amelia tried to push forward, in the 
direction of another cluster of trees.

"Dana, let's move!"

Scully walked her to a large boulder and set her down out of 
the line of fire.  "Wait here."

"Dana, what the hell are you doing?"

Scully ignored her and ran back to the bridge.  Carl was now 
only two hundred yards from where she stood.  Brandishing the 
knife, she started cutting through the thick ropes that held 
the bridge together.  Another bullet zinged past her head.

Grunting, she kept her head down and doubled her speed.  The 
first rope split in two.  She attacked the second one with 
equal vigor, and it, too, came apart in a matter of seconds.  

At least you keep a sharp knife, you sonofabitch, Scully 
thought as she started in on the third rope.  The line of 
boards across the canyon was starting to sag.  

"You goddamn bitches!"  She could hear him shouting now.  Her 
muscles burned with effort as she sliced back and forth 
through the weather-beaten rope.  At last it broke under her 
blade, and the boards clattered down against the side of the 
canyon.  Carl seethed.  "I'll kill you!  I'll kill you!"

Scully hurried back to Amelia and yanked her to her feet.  
"I've bought us some time. Let's go."

Carl's furious screams carried through the mountains as they 
disappeared into the trees.  "That was some quick thinking," 
Amelia panted.  "But what if there's another way across?"

"I didn't see one.  And maybe we can find help before then."

They raced through more thorny bushes, climbing over fallen 
trees and slipping down the loose, rocky path.  "Wait, stop," 
Amelia said weakly.  She sank to the ground.

Breathless, Scully braced her hands on her knees.  "Just for 
a minute."

Amelia shook her head.  "No, I can't.  I'm sorry.  I can't go 
any further right now."  She lay her head back in the tall 
grass.  "I feel like I'm going to black out at any second."

Scully reached for Amelia's wrist and felt her pulse.  Weak 
but fast.  "Okay," she said.  "I don't hear him screaming 
anymore.  We can rest for a while."

"No, you go."  Amelia's eyes were closed, her speech slurred.

"I am not leaving you.  We'll stay here for a bit and then 
move on."  She sat down next to Amelia and rested her sore 
back against a tree.  Gnats swarmed around her face, and she 
brushed them aside.

"You think they're looking for us here?"

"They're looking," Scully answered grimly.  "But probably not 
here."

"Mmm.  S'good idea you had with the bridge.  I think we may 
have lost him."

Scully couldn't believe it would be that easy, but she didn't 
hear any indication that Quentin had managed to cross the 
canyon.  They sat in silence for at least an hour.  Amelia 
dozed as insects hummed around them.  Scully felt her heart 
slow and some of the tension in her spine ease.  But her leg 
muscles tightened during her rest, and she thought it might 
be a good idea to stretch them before continuing down the 
mountain.

Just as she was about to stand, she heard a distant noise -- 
a rhythmic whacking sound that seemed to echo and repeat.  
She froze, listening more intently.

Amelia raised her head.  "What's that?"

Scully's stomach turned over and her throat seized in a 
series of quick convulsions.  "It's Quentin," she said.  
"He's chopping down a tree."

XxXxXxX

XxXxXxXxXxX

Chapter Eleven

XxXxXxXxXxX


The mountains came to life in Mulder's lap, all paper bumps 
and awkward creases as he wrestled the large map within the 
confines of the front seat.  He smoothed it out with damp 
palms.  Beside him, Grenier gripped the steering wheel.  
"Where exactly do you want me to go?" he asked.

"Up.  Just up for now."  Mulder turned the map ninety 
degrees.  "You've got the choppers in the air already?"

"Four of them.  But the Angeles Forest and San Bernadino 
Mountains cover a lot of territory."

"I know.  I know.  I can see that."  Blown up enough to 
capture every major trail, the wild sections of southern 
California stretched from Mulder's chest to the very edge of 
the dashboard.

Grenier's cell phone rang from underneath the paper, and he 
burrowed beneath to grab it.  "Grenier.  Yeah, we're headed 
north on 150 still.  We're going to..."  He looked over at 
Mulder.  "Where are we going?"

"We're headed for 33," Mulder said.

"We're gonna take 150 to 33, into the mountains," Grenier 
said.  "We've got Arkin coordinating over in the San Gabriel 
peaks.  Yeah.  Yeah.  How the fuck should I know?  I'm just 
driving up, like Mulder said!  Mulder..."

Mulder's head snapped up.  "What?"

"Nesbith wants to know if he should bring his men up here, 
and if so, where they should go."

"Yes, bring his men.  Bring as many as possible."

"Bring all you've got," Grenier said grimly.  "I don't know.  
Divide up and start looking, I guess.  Yeah, okay.  Radio us 
when you get here."  He hung up and put the phone back on the 
seat between them.  "You better be sure about this."

"I'm sure."

"We're putting all of our resources in this one area.  If 
he's in Utah, or some other goddamned mountain range--"

"I'm sure!"  Mulder shoved aside the map.  "Quentin is a 
ritualistic killer in the strictest sense of the word.  The 
mountains worked well for him for over eleven years in 
Virginia.  There's no way he wouldn't recreate that here."

Grenier's jaw tightened.  "He's branched out before.  Killing 
Carolyn Kraus and setting up the body to look like Scully.  
Grabbing Amelia.   He didn't take those women for their 
shoes."

Mulder wiped the sweat off the back of his neck.  "No, he 
didn't.  But near as we can tell from her skeleton, Carolyn 
Kraus died the same way as the others.  And he kept the 
toes."

"Dammit, Mulder!"

"What?  What the hell do you want me to say?  That I might be 
wrong?  Is that what you need, Adam?  After all these fucking 
years, do you still need me to say that?"

"God forbid you should ever be wrong!"

"I've been wrong!  I've been wrong a hundred times over, and 
we've got the victims to prove it.  In case you hadn't 
noticed, I've been chasing Quentin just as long as you have, 
and I'm not any closer to catching him.  Happy now?  Will 
that do it?  I was wrong!"  He broke off, breathing hard, and 
sat back in his seat.  "But I'm not wrong about this.  He's 
here in the mountains."

Grenier fell silent.  For a long time, the only sound was the 
roar of the car engine.  "If you're right," he said at last, 
"if you're right that he would never break his ritual, then 
Amelia is dead."

Mulder closed his eyes.  "Yes."

"And so is Scully."

XxXxXxX

Scully dug her nails into the pale flesh of Amelia's arm.  
Her free hand still clutched the large knife.  "Stay with me 
now.  You've got to stay awake."

Propped in the shade against a large rock, Amelia licked her 
raw, swollen lips.  "I can't move," she whispered.  "You 
should go."

Scully ignored her, instead casting around for some place to 
hide.  In the distance, Carl's chopping sounds had slowed.   
"He's getting tired," Scully said. 

"But still going."  

Scully stood up, her knees cracking.  She shielded her eyes 
and scanned the craggy landscape.  "He'll be expecting us to 
continue down the mountain. If we can make it up and behind 
those boulders, we might be able to lose him."

Amelia pressed her palms in the dirt, the tendons on her neck 
standing out as she tried to drag herself around the rock to 
see the area Scully was indicating.  The narrow path up was 
almost completely vertical.  "I'd never make that."

"You have to at least try."

"Dana.  I can't move my feet at all."

Scully let out a frustrated breath, feeling her options 
slipping away.  The sound of splintering wood continued to 
echo across the canyon.  "I'll carry you."

Amelia's ashen face showed a trace of a smile.   "I weigh one 
hundred and fifty pounds, and your shoulder is injured.  We'd 
fall and break both our necks."

"Amelia..."

"Here's how I see it."  The other woman struggled to remain 
upright.  "Prop me in plain sight somewhere.  Let him come.  
You've got the knife, and you can hide nearby.  When he gets 
close, you can stab him and hopefully he'll drop the gun."

Scully visualized the plan, her fingers tightening on the 
knife.  She imagined thrusting it into his kidneys.  "He 
could shoot you from twenty feet away," she said to Amelia.  
"We already know he's not a bad shot."

Amelia's lids slid closed.  "Then you'll just have to leave 
me.  Hope for the best."

More chopping.  Deep thwacks that sounded like he was making 
good progress.  Scully brushed the sticky hair from her face 
and frowned.  "I'll go scout out a place."

XxXxXxX

Grenier radioed the small caravan of squad cars that had 
followed them into the mountains.  "He's likely to have 
stashed his Buick along this road somewhere, so keep your 
eyes out for it."

Mulder had the map out again, squinting as the glare from the 
windshield reflected harsh white light into his eyes.  "Who 
was your contact with the forest rangers?"

"Steve Gunther.  I talked to him last night.  Why?"

"I'd like to try to narrow down this haystack."  Mulder 
fished out his cell phone.  "Yeah, get me the number for 
Steve Gunther with the Forest Ranger Association.  Thanks."  
A minute later, he had Gunther on the line.  "Mr. Gunther, 
this is Fox Mulder of the FBI.  I was wondering if you could 
answer some questions for me about the way you patrol the 
ranges around here?"

"Whatever I can do to help."

"You have stations set up at various point along the trails, 
correct?"

"The major trails each have one, yes."

"What I'm most interested in..."  He clamped on hand down on 
the side of the car as Grenier took a tight turn at high 
speed.  "...is whether you have any older stations that are 
no longer used."

"Hmmm.  I've been with the service for going on twenty years 
now, and we haven't closed a single station in that time.  
Let me check with Gil.  He's been here even longer than me."  
Mulder heard the muffled question.  "Gil, you know of any 
older ranger stations around here that have been closed down 
or whatnot?"

As Mulder waited, a the car radio crackled to life.  "Unit 
110, this is unit 212.  We may have something back here."

Grenier pulled to the side of the road and screeched the car 
to a halt in the dirt.  "What's up?"

"Bryan's spotted tired tracks back here, sir.  They go off 
road.  It could be nothing, but..."

"We're on it."  Grenier slammed the car into reverse.

"Agent Mulder?"  Gunther's voice came back on the line.  "Gil 
and I did some checking, and we have one station that was 
closed in 1972.  We had thirteen hikers die in two years, so 
that trail was shut down from the public, and we no longer 
needed the cabin."

"What happened to it?" Mulder asked as Grenier stopped where 
the other car had pulled off the road.  Grenier scrambled 
out, leaving the car door hanging open.

"It's boarded up as far as I know."  

"Mulder!" Grenier waved to him from behind some tall, brittle 
grass.  "This is it!"

Mulder turned away, concentrating on the phone.  "I need you 
to give me exact directions to that cabin."

XxXxXxX

Scully half-carried, half-dragged Amelia to sit in the shade 
of a looming boulder.  "S'good," Amelia murmured, rubbing her 
eyes like a tired child.  "He'll see me for sure."

"And I should be able to see him coming," Scully said, 
resting for a moment.  Her arms ached, and she felt her pulse 
flutter in her neck like a hummingbird.  She kept her fingers 
curled around the handle of the knife.

Amelia placed a heavy hand on her stomach.  "At least we'll 
have tried."

"Yeah," Scully answered, her eyes watering.  "We tried."

Carl had paused in his chopping while they moved, and Scully 
wondered if he had heard them.  He was back at it now, the 
blade hitting the tree with renewed force.  

"I guess all we can do is wait," Amelia said.  "Should be any 
minute now."

"He needs a big tree to hold him across twenty feet," Scully 
answered.  "It will have to fall just right or he won't make 
it."

"Wait, what's that?"  Amelia sat up a bit, her eyes going 
wide.  "You hear that?"

It was a helicopter buzzing overhead.  Scully squinted up at 
it.  "It's from the LAPD," she said.  "They must be looking 
for us!"

The chopping stopped.

"Oh, thank God!"  Amelia fell back.  "Thank you, thank you."

Scully ran into the nearest clearing and waved both arms, but 
the chopper didn't seem to notice.  "Hey!" she yelled.  
"We're down here.  Help!"  It flew past and disappeared 
behind another mountain.  Scully let her arms fall.   She 
waited a few more minutes, but the helicopter did not return.

Carl resumed hacking.

Back at the boulder, Scully found Amelia with her face 
twisted, trying not to cry.  "What happened?" Amelia 
whispered.  "Why didn't they stop?"

"They have to fly pretty high up to avoid the mountain 
peaks," Scully returned.  "And the sun creates quite a glare.  
I don't think they saw us."

"But they'll be back."

"Maybe."

"A fire!  We should start a fire."

Scully looked around at the dried brush and loose stones.  
"Could work."  She set about gathering the materials.

XxXxXxX

"This way is faster.  I checked the map."  Mulder paused to 
roll up his sleeves.  Loose pebbles slipped down the path 
behind him, causing Grenier to stumble and curse.  "I bet you 
anything that Quentin's taken over that cabin."

"The chopper tried to do a fly-by, but it was inaccessible." 
Grenier's short-wave radio squawked.  "Yeah, what?" he 
barked, wiping sweat from his forehead.  

Mulder climbed further up, bracing his hand on the sun-warmed 
rock.  He reached a small ledge and turned to wait for 
Grenier.

"They've found the car!" Grenier called.  "It's about four 
miles from here, back near the road."

"Then we're close.  We've got to keep going."

Grenier said something into the radio that Mulder didn't 
catch.  Overhead, one of the choppers stirred the air, 
bending the tree branches.  Mulder unstuck his shirt from his 
ribs and began hiking up the mountain again.  A moment later, 
he heard Grenier huffing behind him.

"There's three teams with the car.  They're going to spread 
out and do a grid search from there."

Mulder said nothing, saving his strength for the brutal 
climb.  The smooth soles of his shoes slipped on the rock.

"Careful," Grenier said.  "I don't want to have to haul your 
ass out of here."

Mulder leaned against a bulky rock to catch his breath.  The 
sun stung his eyes.  "Shoulda brought sunglasses," he 
muttered.

"And water."  There were dark rings of sweat on Grenier's 
pale blue shirt.

"C'mon," Mulder said, pushing ahead, but Grenier froze.

"What's that?"

Mulder stopped and listened.  "What?"

Grenier waited, his head tilted.  A distant sound floated to 
them on a breeze.  "That."

"I don't know," Mulder said, climbing up one rock higher for 
a better view.  The sound was faint and repetitive.  "Sounds 
like...like someone chopping wood."

XxXxXxX

Scully sat with Amelia, her back propped against the rock as 
she hunched over and tried to ignite the fluffy tangle of 
dried grass with a stick and a stone.  Her furious rubbing 
brought no success.  The smell of burnt wood tinged the air, 
but not one tendril of smoke arose from the pile in front of 
her.  She cursed as the stone slipped and she wound up with 
several deep splinters in the side of her hand.

"Let me take a turn," Amelia said, reaching for the stick.

Scully took in her wan face and limp arms and shook her head.  
"No, I've got it." 

Grimacing, she doubled her efforts to create a spark.  She 
could hear the distant blades of the helicopter still audible 
over Carl's axe.  Amelia waved away a dragonfly.  "It sounds 
like the tree must be ready to fall," she said.  "You should 
get going."

"Just...a minute."  Her knees in the dirt, she tried a 
different angle on the rock.  The stone burned in her hands.  
Almost.  Almost.

But Carl had reached his final chop.  The tree fell with a 
tremendous crash, cracking branches and rustling leaves as it 
landed on the ground.

"Go, go," Amelia urged.  She grabbed the rock and the stick.  
"I'll keep trying."  Scully seized the knife again and stood.  
Amelia squeezed her ankle.  "Be careful."

With a nod, Scully crept along the path a little ways and 
then tucked herself into the thick bushes.  She crouched down 
to wait.

XxXxXxX

"It came from just over there!  It's got to be him!"  Mulder 
used whichever limb was available first as he scrambled down 
the mountain, arms and legs akimbo.  Grenier followed close 
behind him.

"Sounded like a tree fell.  What the fuck's he up to?"

"Don't know."  Mulder grabbed for a thin tree trunk to halt 
his fall.  At least, he thought, if Carl was chopping trees, 
he wasn't chopping toes.

"There!" Grenier froze, and Mulder stopped where he was on 
the narrow ledge.  "It's Quentin!"

"Where?  I can't see."  Mulder inched along, the rock digging 
into his back.  The trees blocked his view.

"Down there.  He's got an axe, and it does look like he 
chopped the tree."

"Do you have a clear shot?"

"Fuck. No.  He's about two hundred yards away, and there's 
trees -- shit, duck!"

Mulder slid down to his knees.  "What?"

Above him, Grenier was panting.  "He looked this way."

"He make you?"

"Wait...no, I don't think so."

"What about Scully and Russell?"

There was a pause as Grenier scanned the horizon.  "I don't 
see them.  Shit, he's on the move."

"Then let's get out of here."  Mulder stood and resumed his 
climb downwards, faster now that Carl was in reach.  The path 
grew steeper and more wooded.  Mulder's left foot skidded 
around a particularly sharp turn.

"I can't see him anymore," Grenier breathed.

"Faster," Mulder answered.  Branches clawed at his arms.

"Let me radio our position.  Get back up."

"Yeah, yeah." Mulder did not slow down.  He was running 
almost blindly now, with the leaves slapping against his 
face.

He heard the gun cocking before he saw it.  Then he felt the 
barrel press against his temple.

"Drop your weapon."  Quentin's face emerged from the 
branches.  

"Mulder!" Grenier called, and a gunshot exploded in Mulder's 
ear.  Grenier slumped into the bushes behind him.  Carl had 
the gun pressed against Mulder's head again before Mulder 
could even process what had happened.

"Left hand, real slow," Carl said.  "Remove your gun."

Mulder did as he asked.  "Where's Scully?"

Carl gave a bark of laughter that flung spittle on his chin.  
He licked it off.  "You always seem to show up at the good 
parts, don't you, Mulder?  All right, then.  Let's go get the 
little bitch."  He shoved Mulder forward.

"She's alive," Mulder blurted.  Relief made him weak, and he 
stumbled on the path.

Carl jabbed him between the shoulder blades with the gun 
barrel.  "Shut the fuck up and keep going."

But the word hummed in Mulder's brain:  alive, alive, alive. 

They kept a brisk pace through the trees and down the 
mountainside, but Carl was never far behind.  Mulder knew 
that one false move would mean a bullet in the head.  He kept 
one ear cocked for Grenier, hoping the other man hadn't been 
badly injured, but Carl's harsh breathing and heavy footsteps 
were the only sounds he heard.

When they reached a clearing, Mulder understood the purpose 
of the downed tree:  it was a makeshift bridge.  

"Scully," he murmured, realizing she must be on the other 
side.  Carl pushed him closer to the edge of the canyon.

"I bet she'll be real cooperative now," he said.  Mulder felt 
the smooth steel circle press against his temple once more.  
"Agent Scully!" Carl yelled.  "I've got someone here who 
wants to talk to you."  He pushed hard with the gun, and 
Mulder's head bent sideways.  "Talk."

Mulder swallowed with difficulty.  The search teams had to be 
close.  Maybe they had even heard the gunshot.  "Scully!  
Don't listen to him.  Just get as far away as you can!"

"That's enough," Carl snarled.  "I've got the tree down, you 
know!  Either you come to me or I come to you.  But if you 
make me come over there, I'll be sure to decorate the ground 
with Mulder's brains first."

They waited, Mulder's heart thudding against his throat, and 
Scully appeared across the canyon.  "No!" Mulder shouted.  
Carl hit him with the gun.

"I said shut up."  He hitched up his pants with his free 
hand.  "That's right, princess.  You come over here."

Desperate, Mulder tried again.  "No, Scully!  He's scared to 
cross or he would have done it already.  Stay the--"

The next blow knocked him into the dirt, coughing and 
sputtering.  He tasted blood on his lip.  Carl's boot came 
down hard on his lower back, pinning him to the ground.

"I'm waiting!" he yelled across to Scully.  "I'll blow him to 
pieces.  Don't think I won't."

Mulder saw Scully take a few steps closer to the tree trunk.  
No, no, no.  His chin scraped in the dust as he searched 
around for something, anything, to get free.

There.  Four feet away.

It was the axe.

XxXxXxX

The axe.  She could tell the minute he'd seen it.  He shifted 
on the ground, bringing his hand out from under his body.  

No way you can reach that, Mulder.  

She took another tentative step toward the tree that spread 
across the yawning canyon.  Mulder stretched out his arm, but 
the axe remained just out of reach.

So close.  She squeezed her eyes shut, her hand clenching 
reflexively around the knife.  

"Let's see a little hustle there," Carl said with a sneer.  

"Let him up," Scully said.  "Then I'll cross."

Carl's eyes narrowed.  "Baby, you're not the one calling the 
shots here.   Now move." 

He's afraid, Mulder had said.  He's afraid to cross.  Scully 
swallowed the lump in her throat.  "No."

"God dammit!  Get over here or I'll blow his brains out!"

"You'll do that anyway."  She was glad her voice wasn't 
shaking.  The knife trembled in her hand.

Carl glared at her for a long moment.  She could see his 
chest rising with the force of his breath.  Then he shrugged.  
"Suit yourself."  He swung the gun back around to point at 
Mulder's head.

"Wait!"  Her voice did quaver this time.  "I'm...I'm coming."  
She put one foot up on the tree to illustrate.

"Tick, tick," Carl warned.  "Time's a-wasting."

Don't look down, don't look down.

She put her second foot up on the tree, balancing as best she 
could on the cylindrical surface.  At least it was heavy 
enough so that it didn't roll.  Tree branches poked at her 
from all angles.  She grabbed the nearest one to steady 
herself.

"Any day now!" Carl yelled.

She focused forward, on Mulder, as she put one shaking foot 
in front of the other.  Carl gave her a grin filled with 
anticipation.  

"That's right.  Keep coming."  When she got halfway out, he 
ordered her to stop.  "Now lose the knife."

Scully kept her free hand on a branch and released her grip 
with the other, and the knife began a free fall down onto the 
rocks.  She stood stock still.  Mulder, she could see, was 
still reaching for the axe.  His wrist twisted at all angles, 
but he was about six inches shy of the handle.

A distraction, Scully thought.  Quick, anything.

"Move," Carl commanded, waving the gun at her.  "Be quick 
about it."

"I..."  Her throat went completely dry.  "I'll fall.  I 
need..."  Anything!  Think!  "I need traction."

Carefully, she lowered herself into a crouch on the tree 
trunk.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Wait," she whispered.  All those years of playing balance 
beam in the backyard came back to her as she placed her hands 
on the rough bark.  She edged out one leg, then the other, 
until she was siting full on the log.

"Shit, do you *want* me to shoot him?"

Scully ignored him and used her right foot to push off her 
left shoe.  It fell down into the canyon.  "It's easier 
without shoes," she said, not daring to look at Carl.  But 
she noticed the threats had stopped.  Barely breathing, she 
repeated the process with her left foot.  By bringing her leg 
into her lap, she managed to remove the thin sock as well.  

Soon she was wiggling ten naked toes in the open air.

Please let this work.  Please.

"Much better," she said hoarsely.  She glanced at Carl, who 
was watching her with rapt attention, his eyes wide in his 
dirty, unshaven face.  The arm holding the gun had sagged.

Scully swung around to straddle the tree, then drew one foot 
up in front of her.  "Now if I can just..."  She waggled all 
of her toes at him.

"Please," Carl said.  "Hurry."

"I'm trying.  Mmmm...this feels so nice on my bare feet.  
Rough, almost tickling."

Carl opened and closed his mouth twice in quick succession.  
He leaned forward towards the tree.  "C'mon, c'mon."

It was enough.  His foothold on Mulder loosened, and Mulder 
grabbed the axe.  With a sharp twist, he swung it around and 
caught Carl across the back of the shin.  Carl screamed and 
fell forward.

"Mulder," she said, unable to do anything but watch helpless 
from the tree.

Mulder used the axe to brace himself and rose to his feet.  
Still howling, Carl got off one shot as he rolled in the 
dirt.  It sailed past Mulder and into the brush.  

"You sonofabitch!"   Mulder raised the axe over his head 
again, casting a long, thin shadow over Carl's face.

"No!" Carl rolled away just as Mulder started the downward 
blow.  Mulder stepped forward to try again, and Carl rolled 
over the edge.

Scully closed her eyes, bathed in total blackness as she 
heard the long scream disappear down below.  When she opened 
them again, she saw Mulder leaning on the axe, staring down 
into the canyon.  She inched forward about two feet and dared 
to follow his gaze.

Carl lay on a ledge, his arm bent at such an sharp angle that 
Scully knew it was broken.  His left leg twitched.  "He's 
alive," she murmured, scooting further along the tree trunk.

"Yes."  Mulder looked up and extended his hand.  She reached 
out, and he gripped her with a strength that was almost 
painful.  "And so are you."

XxXxXxX

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Chapter Twelve

XxXxXxXxXxXxX


"Scully."  He greeted her as a blind person would do, tracing 
her eyes, her face, her lips.  "Are you okay?"

The weight of his hands seemed to push her into the ground, 
and she pulled away.  "I'm fine."  Her bare feet burned from 
the hot rock.  She walked to the edge of the ravine, glanced 
down at Carl's battered body, then yelled across to Amelia.  
"Amelia, help is coming!  Hang in there!"

Mulder's body blocked the breeze as he moved to stand behind 
her.  "She's alive?"

Scully didn't turn.  "She's alive."

"Quentin shot Grenier back there in the trees.  I don't know 
how bad."

Scully clawed the hair out of her eyes and looked skyward.  
In the distance, she could hear the buzz of the helicopters.  
"We need to get help quickly.  Can you radio them?"

"Grenier had the radio.  I'll go try to find it and see how 
he's doing."

Scully nodded and felt him move away.  Just then, the acrid 
scent of burning wood wafted across to her.  "Wait!"  A thin 
trail of smoke curled out of the large rocks on the other 
side of the canyon.  "She did it!  She lit the fire!"  Within 
a minute, the gray puffs had doubled in size and frequency.  

The signal fire did its work, and the rhythmic slicing of the 
helicopter blades grew louder.  Trees bent under the force of 
the approaching wind.  Mulder ducked, covering his eyes with 
his arm.  

Only Scully stood still in the noise and the dust, her arms 
loose and her eyes closed, her face tilted upward into the 
wind.  The thunder beat inside her; the air took her breath 
away.

She was free.

XxXxXxX

Mulder led the paramedics up the mountain to where Grenier 
lay barely breathing in the brush.  The bullet had pierced 
his left lung but missed his heart.

"On three," the young man in the white shirt said to his 
female companion, and then counted out the numbers.  Their 
muscles bulged as they hoisted the stretcher from the ground.

Mulder brushed Grenier's cool hand as they walked past him.  
Hang in there, Adam, he thought.

He followed them back down to the clearing, where a chopper 
waited to rush Grenier to the nearest hospital.  Scully and 
Amelia were already inside.  There was no room for Mulder.

"You're sure you're all right, Sir?"  The female medic 
shouted at him over the rush of the helicopter blades.  
Mulder could see Scully watching him through the window.

"I'm fine!" he yelled back.  "I'll catch the next one!"

Scully pressed her palm to the glass, and he raised his hand 
briefly in answer.  The chopper lifted, hovering a few feet 
from the ground.  He heard the engine pick up, felt the grit 
assaulting him, but did not close his eyes.  He watched it 
fly away, Scully's face growing smaller and smaller in the 
sky.

XxXxXxX

By the time they hoisted Carl Quentin out of the canyon, the 
mountainside was swarming with law enforcement personnel --  
every one eager to say he had been a part of the bust, every 
one pushing for just one peek at the creature whose killings 
spanned twelve years and three thousand miles.

Mulder stood apart from them, his toes lined up at the very 
edge of the rocky gap; one slight sway and he would go 
tumbling down.  He didn't need another look.  All those years 
he'd hoped for the slightest clue -- a face, a hair, a 
footprint in the dirt -- and now he feared he knew too much.  
He still felt Carl's breath in his ear, the press of his boot 
at his back.  His enemy now had a face, a feel, a scent that 
clung, an image that burned.

"Bring 'er up slow now!  That's it!"  The rescue team had 
almost finished their excavation.  Mulder saw the stretcher 
make inching progress up the side of the mountain.

"Be a shame if they just dropped him again," a nearby cop 
said.

"Too good for him," his buddy answered.  "They oughta line 
him up somewhere and let the families take turns at him."

"Agent Mulder!"  Sam Nesbith's voice made him turn, and he 
felt the heavy clap of a hand on his shoulder.  "You did it.  
The sonofabitch has grabbed his last woman.  He'll fry for 
sure."

Prison, Mulder thought.  Years of the same drab shoes.  No 
women in sight.  That would be the best punishment.

"They're going to take him to County now," Nesbith continued, 
"and you've got a seat on that chopper if you want it."

"Is that where they took Scully, Grenier and Russell?"

"Yeah, I think so.  What do you say?  The docs would really 
like a look at you."

"I'm fine," Mulder answered distractedly.  He stared through 
the crowd at the stretcher being loaded into the helicopter.  
"Is he conscious?"

Nesbith shifted his weight and scratched his head.  "Yes.  
He's hurting pretty bad, though.  I heard them say he might 
lose his foot from where you caught him with the axe."

Some unintended irony, Mulder thought.  Aloud, he said, "All 
right, let's go."  Threading his way through the black 
uniforms, he reached the helicopter and climbed inside.  
Quentin's eyes locked with his immediately, bulging from his 
sweaty, fevered face in a silent challenge, but the oxygen 
mask over his face prevented any words.

Mulder knew others spoke of evil as a palpable thing, a force 
that could knock you down or slither under your skin when you 
least expected it, but he'd always felt evil like a vacuum, 
defined by everything it sucked away.  Carl Quentin had 
managed to subtract fourteen women from the world, and Mulder 
could feel him still pulling for more.  It was a terrible 
kind of imbalance, an equation that would never be right. 

Mulder held Quentin's fierce gaze for a minute, letting the 
other man track him to his seat.  His knees cracked as he 
sat, a reminder of how long a journey it had been.  Quentin 
arched his neck backwards in an effort to prolong their 
wordless confrontation.

Acknowledge me.  Answer to me.  This is not over.

Mulder looked away, focusing out the window.  It was over.

XxXxX

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Chapter Thirteen

XxXxXxXxXxXxxxX

He shut the hospital room door behind him with a soft click, 
sealing himself inside the pale, cool walls.  Scully lay 
propped against some pillows, her arm bandage visible 
underneath the short sleeves of the thin gown.  The sight of 
her safe and sound did not make his stomach unclench the way 
he'd thought it would.  "Hey," he said, taking a step closer.  
"How are you doing?"

She pushed her hair behind her ear, and he noticed an angry 
red scratch on her cheek.  "Fine.  I can leave in an hour.  
How are Grenier and Russell?"

"Russell's severely dehydrated but in stable condition.  
They're operating on Grenier now to try to remove the 
bullet."

"Prognosis?"

"The doctors seem optimistic."  She frowned, and he knew she 
was thinking his interrogation must have been lax; Scully 
grilled medical staff the way most of his colleagues worked 
over suspects, and she didn't let up until she got a straight 
answer.  "I, uh, I can check again in a minute."

She smoothed the sheet at her hip.  "What about Quentin?"

"He'll make it for sure.  Just some broken bones, though they 
might have to amputate his foot.  But he'll live.  The 
families of his victims will have their day in court."

She looked away, and he winced, remembering that Carl's 
victims were not just abstract concepts to her.  The bruises 
were rising on her neck.

"I need a change of clothes and some shoes," she said.  "Do 
you think you can get them from the hotel?"

"If I can beat my way through the press outside."

"If it's a problem..." she began, but he cut her off.

"No, I'll do it."

He made no move to leave, instead watching her as she sipped 
a cup of water.  "What?" she asked, meeting his eyes.

"Nothing."  He paused.  "Your gun is still missing, but they 
recovered my weapon at the scene.  He used it to shoot 
Grenier."

She plucked at a loose thread on the sheet.  "I'm sorry."

"Are you?"

She drew her head back.  "You left me no choice.  I had to do 
it this way."

"You had a choice.  You could have told me what you were 
doing.  Instead you took off in the middle of the night like 
some--"

"You wouldn't have let me go."

"Damn straight I wouldn't have let you go!  Look what 
happened!"

She set the cup on the nightstand.  How could she be so calm?  
He felt coiled up inside, like a snake waiting to strike.  

"I'm fine and Russell will be okay.  Quentin is in custody."

"You acted impulsively.  You took unnecessary risks.  You --"

"Unnecessary?  She was going to die, Mulder."

"And so were you!"

The door behind Mulder pushed open and Bill appeared in the 
room.  He glanced from Scully to Mulder, his frown deepening, 
apparently preparing for another hospital room showdown.

Don't look at me this time, Mulder thought.  She chose this 
herself.

"They're saying on the news that you caught the bastard," 
Bill said tightly.  "Is it true?" 

Scully cleared her throat.  "Yes.  He's been arrested."

"Arrested?  I heard he was in the hospital."

Somewhere in this very building, Mulder remembered.  But 
Scully didn't even blink.

"The doctors are working on him, yes, but he's under armed 
guard."

"Here?  He's here, with you?"

"I'm perfectly safe."  She reached for her water glass, and 
Mulder felt the heat rise in him again.  Perfectly safe, she 
said, just like she'd planned it this way, just like she 
hadn't been offering herself to a madman only hours before.

"I'm going to get some air," he announced, his voice overloud 
in the small room.  Bill looked gave him a sharp, sideways 
look, but Scully's face remained impassive.

The door wouldn't slam; it absorbed his anger with a 
noiseless slide, leaving Scully unshaken in his wake.

XxX

She watched him go, thinking she should be worried or angry 
or sorry.  She waited to feel something, anything, but no 
emotion rushed to fill the void.  She was curiously empty, 
bleached to her very edges.

Bill jerked a nod after Mulder.  "He seemed upset."

"It's been an upsetting day."  Not a lie, but it sounded like 
one to her ears.

Bill's gaze flicked over her.  "You're okay, though?  
Everything all right?"

"I'm fine."  Bill gave a short nod that said he hadn't 
expected otherwise.  Whatever faults he might possess, at 
least Bill spoke the same stoic Scully language that she did.  

"You should call Ma.  It's all over TV and the radio.  She's 
probably worried sick."

"I'll call her."

He nodded again and walked to the window, where he split open 
the blind with two fingers.  "It's a goddamn circus out 
there."

"What are they saying?"

He dropped his hand and turned to her.  "Same as last time, 
only more hype because he's caught.  They said he was holding 
at least one federal agent hostage in the mountains.  Your 
name came up."

Scully averted her eyes, dodging the question in his piercing 
gaze.  "It's over now.  That's all that matters.  Eventually 
they'll tire and move on to some other news."

"You can stay with me."  Bill blurted the words to the wall 
over her head.  When she didn't immediately reply, he fumbled 
around for clarification.  "For a few days, I mean.  While 
you're getting better.  It'd be cheaper than a hotel and more 
private."

Her fingers curled around the sheet.  How tempting it was, 
the thought of disappearing into her family, where no one 
talked about murder or madness, where no one would want an 
account of her reckless behavior.  Her true self had long 
been invisible there, among people who couldn't imagine Dana 
Scully happy in a morgue, chasing her own death as much as 
the monsters she brought to justice.

She took a deep breath.  "Bill, that's kind of you, but..."

"Mulder, too."  He looked at the ceiling.  "If you want."

"I can't," she said, and he met her eyes again.  "I have to 
go back to DC.  We have to give reports, there will be a 
trial..." 

"And another case."

She didn't try to deny it.  There was always a fresh horror 
waiting around the corner.

"I've been doing some homework, Dana.  The FBI has a policy 
of rotating their agents out of departments that experience 
unusual amounts of stress.  You've put in almost eight years.  
Where does it end?"

"This case was unrelated to the X-Files."

"That's not what I asked."

"I know what you asked."

"Then give me an answer.  There's got to be a line somewhere, 
a place where you say, 'That's it!  Enough!'  Tell me."

"It doesn't end.  This isn't like war, Bill.  There's never a 
winner, a loser and a dated piece of paper to say it's over 
and everyone can go home.  We caught this guy, but there's a 
dozen more just like him still on the streets.  That's the 
way it is, the way it's always been, and the way it will be 
until the end of time."

"So this goes on forever."  He gestured at her hospital bed.  
"I'm sorry for that, Dana, I really am.  I'm sorry your world 
has closed off to the point where all you see is an endless 
parade of monsters."

She dropped her chin.  "I never said that."

He shook his head.  "I didn't come here to fight.  I know 
I'll never convince you to stop.  Lord knows I've beaten my 
head against that wall long enough.  Now I'm just trying to 
understand."

"What?"  She looked at him, challenging.

"I used to think it was about Mulder, that he had some hold 
on you that you couldn't shake."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it?  I don't know.  I used to think if I could just get 
him to let go, it'd be over.  You'd be safe again.  But I've 
seen the guy a few times now.  I've taken a good, hard look.  
And you know what I think?  I think now he's the one 
following you."

XxXxX

He'd expected to find her asleep, but Amelia greeted him with 
a small smile and a slow blink.  "Hi," she said.  She 
stretched out the arm not attached to an IV line.

Mulder accepted her hand carefully, making sure not to 
disturb the bandages that swathed her wrist.  Her feet, also 
wrapped in white, stuck out from under the blankets.  He sat 
on the bed near her hip.  "You should be resting."

"When I close my eyes, I forget where I am.  How is Adam 
doing?"

"He's still in surgery, but the doctors say it's going well."   
The worry lines around her eyes didn't fade, so he squeezed 
her hand.  "Hey, it'll be all right.  You know he can never 
stand for anyone else to get the last word."

Amelia sniffed and squeezed back.  "You're right about that."  
She gave a watery chuckle.  "Can you just imagine him with a 
teenager?"

Mulder smiled.  "You might need to explain to him that 
parents don't hand down punishments like 'twenty to life.'"  

"All these weeks, I've been so afraid to tell him.  Now I 
can't wait."

"So everything's okay?  I mean, with..."

"Yes."  She touched her stomach through the sheet.  
"Everything seems normal."

"Good.  I'm glad to hear that.  I'm glad you're all right."

"It's thanks to you," she told him.  "And Scully.  How is 
she?"

"Fine," he said automatically.  "They're releasing her soon."

"She's amazing," Amelia said, and Mulder tensed.  Normally, 
he would agree.  Normally, he found awe in the tiniest Scully 
details, from the faint ticking of her watch as she curled in 
his arms to the flash of skin that appeared at her navel 
whenever she had to stand on tiptoe.

"She left without a word," he said.  The words caused a hot 
flush inside him, half anger, half guilt at opening her up as 
a target for someone else. 

Amelia's answer was quiet.  "I figured she lured him out 
behind your back.  There was no way you and Adam would have 
let her out of your sight."

"Even suicides leave a note."  He kept his eyes trained on 
the gray speckled floor.

"Funny you should use that word."

His head snapped up.  "I didn't meant it that way."

"No, of course not."  She rested her free hand on his leg.  
"You are so careful not to turn your profiling skills on 
those you love; it's one of the things I've always admired 
about you."

His breath caught, making his heart skip a beat.  "What are 
you talking about?"

"Quentin asked for her by name.  He killed her best friend.  
It's just possible she felt responsible for his actions."

"That's irrational."

"Exactly."  She gave him a pointed look, which was followed 
by a large yawn.  He noted with some shame that her hand felt 
weak in his grasp.

"You should get some sleep," he said, reaching to smooth back 
her hair.  She shuddered under his touch.  "Is there someone 
I can call for you?"

"No," she whispered, her eyes closing.  "There's no one."

"There's me."  He tucked the blankets more securely around 
her.  Amelia's breathing evened out but he held tight to her 
hand.  He thought of Scully as he'd left her, stiff and quiet 
in her bed, maybe hurting more than just her arm.  

Fourteen women in the grave.  Two still fighting to get away.

XxXxX

That night they went to sleep in a new hotel where the press 
wasn't howling at the gates like a pack of wolves.  The room 
had heavy drapes, soft expensive sheets and a bed with 
chocolates on the pillow.  He saved his for Scully, but 
noticed she didn't eat either of them before heading for the 
shower.

Carl's little mountain hideout had taken them up into the 
sun, and his skin still burned with residual heat.  Peeling 
off everything but his boxers, he cranked the air 
conditioning up to high.  He lay on the bed with his arms 
spread, letting the cool air swirl over him and listening to 
the rush of water on the other side of the door.  He forced 
himself to stay awake in case she needed him, but of course 
she never did.

"It's freezing in here," she said when she emerged in a cloud 
of steam, looking smaller with her wet hair and thin robe.  
She went to the thermostat, and within seconds the air was 
still again.  "Shower's free," she announced unnecessarily.

"In a minute."  Ever since the bones in the desert, they'd 
been running on her schedule.  He wanted another moment to 
decompress.  

Her reflection winced as she tried to comb through her hair.  
Even from across the room, he could see the welts on her arm 
from where she had scraped the skin off.  He folded his 
fingers beneath his head and shifted his gaze to the stucco 
ceiling.  The movement caused his lower back to throb.  A 
possible bruised kidney, the doctors had said.  

As if reading his mind, she rattled a plastic bottle in his 
direction.  "Tylenol."

He shook his head.  "You need help with your bandage?"

"No, I've got it."

A few minutes later, he felt the mattress sag under her 
weight and the clean, sea breeze scent of her shower gel 
assaulted his nose.  The bedspread pulled taut under him as 
she climbed beneath the covers.  "Is it okay if I turn out 
this light?" she asked, reaching for the lamp on her side of 
the bed.

"Fine."  She flicked the switch and then the only 
illumination came from the bathroom.  Shifting away from him, 
she lay on her good shoulder, the white satin of her pajamas 
gleaming in the shaft of light.  Mulder turned his head to 
study the shadowed curve of her hip.  Every time he thought 
he'd mapped her from her arched eyebrow to her painted 
toenails, he would catch sight of her from a new angle and 
see a stranger.

He hesitated a moment, then rested his hand on her waist.  
"None of this was your fault."  She stiffened, and he gripped 
her a little harder, trying to pull her towards him.  
"Scully."

"Of course it's not my fault.  I didn't kill anyone."

"No."  He stroked her hip through the blanket.  "But you 
walked away when a lot of others didn't.  That can be as much 
a burden as a relief.  Back when I worked in the BSU, I know 
in cases like this sometimes..."

"Don't."  She turned in a rush, and he drew his hand back 
before she trapped it underneath her.   The light caught her 
across the eyes.  "Don't try to tell me about cases like 
this. I've lived it, Mulder.  More than once.  You may have 
had special knowledge on this subject years before, but I've 
caught up, okay?   I've had my trial by fire a thousand times 
over."

"And yet you chose to walk through it again."

"Yes."  She regarded him with a steady gaze.  "If you want to 
be angry with me for that, go ahead.  I can't stop you, and I 
can't blame you.  But it wasn't personal."

He sat up, bracing himself on one arm and blocking her light.  
"The hell it wasn't personal."

"You're right." She pushed off the covers and got out of bed.  
"It was personal.  To me.  He didn't come after you, Mulder.  
He didn't tie you up to a bed and take your clothes off.  He 
didn't threaten to kill you or chase you half-naked through 
the woods.  It wasn't your friend he murdered."

"He wasn't the one who ran off from my bed in the middle of 
the night on a goddamn suicide mission, either.  And yeah, I 
take that personally."

She paced the room.  "I know.  It's always personal to you.  
Your case, your trauma, all those years of not knowing.  The 
headlines, the failure--"

"Scully--"  The force of his anger dissolved under hers.

"All those poor women, looking to you for justice and you 
couldn't deliver.  But you're the only one who's that 
invested, right?  You're the only one who's allowed to rush 
blindly into situations, damn the consequences!  Who cares 
what the risks are?  Agent Mulder always gets his man!"

Very much personal, he realized with a start.  This anger was 
directed at him.  

She continued, "How can you question my actions, talking 
about risk?  You make the same choices, take the same risks 
and I don't--"

"What, Scully?  What have I risked?"

"Me!"  She froze.  Her hand clapped over her mouth.  "Oh, 
God."

Slowly, he rose from the bed.  "Scully?"

"No," she murmured, shaking her head.  "No, I didn't mean 
that."

"I think you did mean it."  Was that his voice, so light and 
calm?  He walked to her with silent footsteps.

"No, Mulder.  I'm just tired.  Let's forget about it, 
please..." She tried to move, but he held her arm.

"Tell me."

"I didn't mean it."  She tugged but he held fast.

"You did.  Tell me, when did I risk you?"

The fight drained out of her all at once, her arm limp in his 
grasp.  "The park."  Her voice was barely audible.  He 
couldn't see her face.  "But you didn't know, Mulder, you 
couldn't have known."

He dropped her arm.  "Scully, I..."  His mouth was working, 
but no sound was coming out.  He felt her palm on the center 
of his chest.

"Shhh.  I'm sorry. It's just been a really long couple of 
days.  Please, let's forget it and go back to bed."

Shhh.  What she'd said the last time, he remembered, when 
he'd tried to tell her what had happened.  How he had 
accidentally managed to provide Carl Quentin with the perfect 
opportunity to attack her.

"You read the reports," he said.  Scully said nothing.  Of 
course she'd read the reports.  Scully who thrived on 
reports, who cherished the cold recitation of facts.  Logical 
Scully, who loved to play connect-the-dots and who rooted 
herself in the safety of scientific axioms.  If X, then Y. 

If Mulder hadn't been at the park, Carl could not have 
grabbed her.  None of this would have happened. 

"Mulder, don't."  She tugged on his hand.  "I don't blame 
you.  How could I blame you?  You saved my life."

Twice, his mind added.  But maybe it wasn't enough.

His head buzzed.  "You're right.  It's late."  He started to 
pull away from her, but she held onto his hand with 
surprising strength.

"It was the right decision," she said.  "In your position, I 
would have done the same thing.  But Mulder..."

She was waiting for him to turn and look at her, he knew.  
When he didn't, she sighed.

"Last night, in my position, you would have made the same 
choice.  You would have been out there waving the red flag at 
Quentin the minute he kidnapped Amelia."

"You don't know that."

"I do.  I've watched you sacrifice yourself over and over."

"And so this was what, payback?"

"It was about stopping him."

He relented, half-turning to look at her.  "Which you did."

"Which you did," she corrected.

Are you angry about that, too? he wondered.  First I dragged 
you into this and then I stole your revenge?

But she didn't seem angry.  In the dim light, with her 
shoulders sagged and her head down, she seemed defeated more 
than anything else.  

"You want the truth?" he murmured, and she met his eyes.  "I 
thought Amelia was already dead.  I figured we were looking 
for a body, and so there was no need to risk your life to 
bait him.  But you were right to force a change in his MO.  
You saved her life."

"She saved herself.  I don't know what we would have done if 
she hadn't thrown him off balance with her missing toes.  How 
she could have sliced them off like that...I don't think I've 
ever seen such a will to live."

He remembered the first cabin, with the scratch marks on its 
door and the missing headboard posts on the bed.  Turning her 
hand in his, he ran his thumb over the scars on her wrist.  
"I have."

Maybe that was why he couldn't believe she would willingly go 
through it again.

Scully accepted his small caress for a minute longer, then 
pulled away.  She drew a shuddering breath.  "We have to be 
up again in less than eight hours."

He nodded and followed her back to the bed.  The king size 
mattress would have allowed her an ocean of space, but she 
settled close to the middle with him, her back to his front.  
He drew the covers up to the very edge of her shoulder, then 
leaned down and pressed a kiss to her neck.  She reached back 
to touch the side of his face, stroking the sandpapery 
stubble.

XxXxX

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Chapter Fourteen

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Scully!"

In her dream, the name was a cry of frustrated anguish.  
Mulder was locked on the outside of the cabin as she 
struggled for life within.  Her hands were pinned; his knee 
blocked her kicks.  Carl rose above her, his shears glinting 
in the light.  She curled her toes in fear.

"Scully, wake up!"

She opened her eyes, gulping air like a drowning victim. 
Mulder's face blurred then sharpened into focus.  He had her 
hands trapped over her head.

"Okay?" he asked, searching her face.

She nodded and he released her.  Mulder's bedroom, she 
realized, drawing up the sheet.  Safe.  Pale morning light 
streamed in from his open window, and she shivered as the 
cool breeze dried the sweat on her skin.  "Sorry," she 
murmured against his arm.  

"I know."  He raised his arm to make room for her. She curled 
into him and replaced Carl's voice with the reassuring rhythm 
of Mulder's heartbeat.  "You all right?" He traced the 
vertebrae down her back with gentle fingers. 

"Yes."  The fierce grip of the dream was already receding, 
but she burrowed a little closer to him anyway.

He stroked her hair.  "Sometimes I wonder if I should just 
let you have it out with him."  His voice was a low rumble 
under her ear.  "Wake you up when it was all over."

She slid her palm across his smooth stomach to find the bony 
playground of his ribs.  He still bore faint bruises from one 
of their recent nighttime tussles.  "That could be hazardous 
to your health."

"Might be worth it."

"No."  She kissed his breastbone.  "I need you fit and 
healthy.  You have to stand up in court today, remember?"

"The only thing that has to stand up today is my testimony.  
Besides, you're the star witness.  You and Amelia."

Scully rolled away from him onto her back.  Carl Quentin's 
actual trial had passed with no input from her.  The federal 
prosecutor had had his hands full with fourteen counts of 
homicide; no need to add kidnapping to the list.  It had 
taken eight women and four men just three hours to return a 
verdict of guilty on all charges.  Her only job at the 
sentencing was to let the jury see a victim's face and 
convince them that Carl should pay with his life.

Mulder leaned up on one arm and gave her leg a slow caress 
through the sheet.  "Nervous?"

She dropped her chin to her chest.  "No."  He waited.  "I 
hardly belong at this hearing, Mulder.  All I've got to show 
them is a few minor scars and a month of bad dreams.  It just 
seems wrong to sit in front of those women's families and 
pretend my losses are commensurate with theirs."

"You have every right to be there.  He hurt you, and you have 
a right to stand up and be counted."

Her smile was wistful.  "My number just seems awfully small."

Mulder bent his head in thought for a moment, then looked her 
in the eyes.  "You once said I had no idea what it felt like 
to be tied in that bed while Quentin sharpened his shears, 
and you're absolutely right.  I have no fucking idea, and 
neither does that jury.  But you do, Scully."  She looked 
away, and he turned her chin back to face him.  "If you won't 
stand up in that court for yourself, stand up for the others.  
Give them back the voice that he took from them."

Hot tears stung her eyes.  "Yes.  I guess I can do that."

"I know you can."  He gathered her against him and she 
snuffled into the warm creases of his neck.

"Or we could just stay here," she offered after a minute.

He squeezed her.  "Said the siren from the rock."

"Okay, okay."  She brushed the hair out of her eyes.  "You're 
on first, so I guess that means you get dibs on the 
bathroom."

"I'll make it worth your while."

"Mulder, we don't have time for..."

"If you can find the waffle iron, I'll make waffles while 
you're getting ready."

She eyed him.  "I see the loophole in that offer already."

"Check the back closet," he said as he got out of bed.  "I 
think that's where I last saw it."

He left his robe so she put it on, dragging the hem on the 
floor as she went down the hall to the closet.  She opened 
the door and a partially-deflated basketball landed with a 
"thunk" at her feet.  "Great," she said, regarding the boxes 
and piles of clothes.  She peered into the closest one and 
found a dusty lava lamp.  Green, of course.  Pushing further 
into the depths, she brushed aside a coat and discovered a 
unicycle.  She gave it the eyebrow and continued her search.

"Any luck?" he called from the bedroom.

"Not yet!"

"Check the shelf!"

The corner of a box poked her in the back as she stood on 
tiptoe to scan the shelf.  Records, a fedora, a giant beer 
mug...baby blocks?  She pulled them down.  On the front, a 
toothless baby grinned at her as his fat fingers waved a 
yellow block in the air.  Scully felt her heart constrict.  
"Oh, Mulder," she whispered, running her fingers over the 
infant's face.

There would be no courtroom for this.  No one would ever sit 
and answer to her for the real injustices in her life.

But she could go and tell the jury about the man who plagued 
her dreams, who had tied her up and cut her and forced her to 
run terrified through the dark woods.  She could explain how 
she nearly died.  How she nearly lost the chance to spend the 
rest of her days with a man whose faith was so strong that he 
kept baby blocks hidden in his closet.  Just in case.

"Scully?"

She swiped the tears from her cheeks and pushed the box back 
up on the shelf.  "Right here."

He joined her in the closet, all fresh scent and pressed 
white shirt. "Good thing it wasn't a snake," he said, 
reaching over her head for the waffle iron.

"You've got thirty minutes," she answered as she brushed past 
him.

"We don't have to be downtown for at least an hour and a 
half."

"I have some place I need to stop first," she said over her 
shoulder.  "I'll have to meet you there."

XxXxX

He walked the shiny hallway outside the courtroom several 
times while waiting for her.  When the doors at the far end 
finally opened, it was Amelia and Grenier who appeared.  
Grenier held the heavy wooden door as Amelia navigated her 
crutches over the threshold.  Grenier's stay in the hospital 
had cost him twenty pounds, but Amelia made up the difference 
with her rounded belly.  

"How are you feeling?" Mulder asked as she lowered herself 
onto a bench.

"Getting around better every day.  I only use these things 
'cause he makes me."

Grenier shot her an affectionate scowl.  "As if I've ever 
been able to make you do anything."

"Where's Scully?" Amelia asked, looking around.

Mulder glanced at his watch for the hundredth time.  "I don't 
know.  She said she had a stop to make, but she should be 
here by now."

"Maybe she got trapped in traffic," Amelia replied. "Worst 
comes to worst, I can always go first."

"I'm on before either one of you," Mulder said.  "Any minute 
now."

"Well, I can't wait to get in there," Grenier said.  "If this 
is the only way we get to kill the sonofabitch, I'll take 
it."  He looked to Mulder.  "I was thinking last night -- if 
he was our greatest failure all those years, then we must be 
his, right?  He tried to take down all four of us, and here 
we are about to stick the nails in his coffin."

Mulder said nothing.  He wished he could have Grenier's 
clarity, but it was hard for him to see the four of them as 
real victors.  Carl was caught, yes, and would likely die for 
his crimes.  But men like Carl had long fingers that could 
reach out from beyond the grave, tap you on the shoulder and 
remind you that you weren't the same person you were before 
they came along.  A scar here, a missing toe there.  Or, like 
him, the memory man who had a fresh batch of images that 
would never go away.  

Amelia was the only one with the crutches, but they were all 
limping along.

"Agent Mulder?"  A court official stuck her head out the 
door.  "They're ready for you."

Mulder turned and frowned down the hall.  "Yeah, okay."  He'd 
taken two steps towards the courtroom when Scully opened the 
front door.  Momentary sunlight streamed in behind her.  
"Hey," he said, his shoulders relaxing with relief.

"Hey," she answered as she joined them outside the courtroom.  
Amelia snagged her hand, and Scully squeezed back.  "Good to 
see you," she said.

"Agent Mulder?"

He ignored the woman.  "Everything okay?" he asked Scully.

"Fine."

He raked his gaze over her from head to toe.  When he met her 
eyes again, it was to ask her a silent question.  She gave 
him a tiny nod, and they shared a slow smile.  

"Agent Mulder, we need you inside now."

"Good luck," Scully said, and he brushed her fingers.

"You, too."

XxXxX

The murmuring stopped when she entered the courtroom.  All 
the spectators turned for a better look, and she knew she 
must be a great curiosity as the object of a serial killer's 
obsession.   She could feel them evaluating -- this was it? 
this small woman in the dark suit and serious expression? -- 
but the one man who understood had not yet turned to stare.  
No doubt his lawyers had counseled him not to seem a 
slavering monster when she appeared.  Probably they had told 
him not even to glance her way.

But she could fix that.

The silence helped, her heels audible against the marble 
floor as she walked past the rows of onlookers.  The strappy 
leather sandals weren't her usual choice for a court 
appearance, but for this particular bit of testimony, they 
were perfect.

She watched Carl, his head down and hands clasped tightly in 
front of him on the defense table.  The rubber and spokes of 
his wheelchair obscured the view of his missing right foot.  
As Scully closed the small gate behind her, she could see his 
eyes shift to the right, desperate for a glimpse.  Just a few 
more steps and he would know.

She moved into view and his head shot up, their eyes locking.

Her stolen shoes had been in the FBI evidence storeroom, not 
needed for Quentin's prosecution.  She'd shined the scuff 
marks away and scrubbed them free of his fingerprints.  

His lips parted in horror, then pressed together into a white 
line.  He clenched his hands in impotent rage.  

That's right, you sonofabtich, she thought, I got them back.  
She turned away to take her place on the witness stand.

"Agent Scully," the prosecutor said when she had been sworn 
in, "Thank you for coming today.  The jury has heard 
testimony about the vicious attacks the defendant committed 
against the many young women who lost their lives at his 
hands.  You survived not one but two of his terrible 
assaults.  Can you please give the court some sense of what 
it was like to suffer these brutal attacks?"

Scully felt the strength of fourteen voices behind her.  
"Yes," she said clearly, "I can."

XxXxX

Zee End.

Ending credits:

Mulder -- as himself
Scully -- as herself
Carl ---- Billy Bob Thorton
Agent Cheng --- the scary woman at my bus stop

Invaluable Story Editor, initial phase -- Jerry
Chief "bwhahahahahahaha" Story Editor -- bugs
Chief "EEEEK!" Story Editor -- Alicia K.
Keygrip -- Skinner, since he didn't have much else to do here

The Loudest Screamers:  Mara and jen
Head Stalker -- Jean, Jean, the prance machine
Most Persistent Real Life Stalkers -- Joanne and Nancy
Chief Real Life Whine Recipient -- Sarah
Head Cheerleaders -- the Haven fic crowd
Bestboy -- that's got to be Mulder again, don't you think?
Best Shoes -- Scully, no question

Feedback -- syntax6@yahoo.com

Thank you to everyone who has helped and sent encouragement 
along the way.   Take care.

Cheers, syntax6