X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Chapter Two

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

In the car, Scully tried his cell phone to see if he might 
pick up at the sight of her name glowing on the caller ID, 
but it rang through to his voice mail.  "Mulder, it's me.  I 
have to think that youšre aware of everyone whošs looking for 
you right now, and that therešs a good reason you're avoiding 
them.  If you tell me what it is, maybe I can help." 

She hesitated, wondering if she should say something about 
Dianašs death.  "Call me," she said at last, and snapped the 
phone shut with one hand.  She kept it in her palm as she 
drove, clutched against the leather steering wheel.

Pale, watercolor streaks of daylight broke up the night as 
cars began pouring out onto the freeways.  She had lived in 
the area long enough that she knew the traffic rhythm, had in 
fact internalized to the degree that she could change lanes 
to avoid snares without the benefit of conscious thought.  
The car hurtled her forward in space faster than seventy 
miles per hour, but Scully remained only in her head.

She tried to imagine what had happened, picturing Diana in 
her expensively appointed apartment, probably with a drink in 
hand.  Had he rung the doorbell?  Maybe he even had a key.  
Diana would not have been surprised to see him either way.

Perhaps there had been an argument.  She could recall the 
naked fury on Mulder's face from earlier in the day; if he 
had shown that face to Diana, maybe she had been concerned 
enough to go for her gun.  Yes, Scully could see this all 
vividly -- Mulder, disheveled and livid, Diana, cool, still 
believing she controlled him, that she controlled them all.

Scully even knew the things he might have shouted at her 
because she had said many of them to herself.  She could feel 
herself in Mulder's shoes, demanding retribution.  How he 
ended up with the gun, she couldn't say, but she could feel 
the weight of it.  Diana's gun was the same as hers, the same 
as Mulder's, a familiar curved piece of steel with an easy 
trigger.

When the gun went off in her head, she jumped, knocking her 
cell phone to the floor of the car.  She had driven for ten 
minutes without seeing anything.

As she made the last turn into Diana's neighborhood, she 
checked the rearview mirror to see if she was being tailed.  
No one appeared to be behind her.

She parked her car a short way down from the townhouse and 
walked the pavement, her heels overloud against the sleepy, 
quiet morning.

At the front of Diana's place sat two large metal garbage 
cans, spread strangely apart.  One was near the curb with its 
lid on, the other overturned nearer to the walkway, its 
contents strewn across the concrete.

Not a recycler, Scully thought as she noted two empty bottles 
of vodka in the mix.

She stepped over the trash and went up to the small front 
porch.  A uniformed officer wearing sunglasses stood up from 
a deck chair to stop her.  "Protected crime scene, ma'am," he 
said as she reached for the door.  "You can't go in there."

Scully tugged her ID out of her pocket.  "We're all on the 
same side of the law here, Officer..." She leaned in for a 
look at his nametag.  "Traylor. I know procedure.  I won't 
touch anything."

"Well, I appreciate that, Agent..." He leaned over as she had 
and looked at her ID.  "Agent Scully.  But I have specific 
orders not to let anyone in, and that includes members of the 
FBI.  In fact, I do believe your name was mentioned in 
particular."

"Me?"

"Mmm-hmm," he said, folding his arms over his broad chest.  
"So unless you want to sit out here with me all day, I 
suggest you get going."

"The victim was a federal agent.  The FBI has a vested 
interest in this case."

She tried to look casual as she glanced in the tall, skinny 
glass window next to the door. 

"A vested interest doesn't equal jurisdiction.  I'm sorry, 
but I can't let you in."

"I knew the victim.  I might be able to help."

"Yeah?  You should phone Detective Rivera and let him know. 
I'm sure he would appreciate any insights you can give him on 
this case.  We could call him now."  He began getting out his 
cell phone, and Scully stopped him.

"No, no.  That's all right.  I've already talked to Detective 
Rivera."

"Oh, then," said Traylor, clearly not surprised.  "I guess 
your work here is done."  He took a pointed step between her 
and the front door.

Scully did a half-pivot on her heel, considering her options.  
If she tried to go around back, he would just follow.  She 
was half tempted to pull out her gun and force her way 
inside.

The sound of a car engine drawing nearer made them both turn 
to look.  A shiny black Buick glided to a halt right in front 
and Skinner emerged.  "I had a feeling you'd be here," he 
said to Scully as he came up the walk.

"This little porch is getting awful crowded," Traylor said, 
not amused.  "I'm guessing you must be Assistant Director 
Skinner."

"You're very observant," Skinner answered.  "Now how about 
observing this."  He handed over a few sheets of folded 
paper.

Traylor unfolded them and pushed up his sunglasses.  "This is 
a federal witness warrant."

"That's right, and we're going to look for Mulder inside.  
Now."

"I can assure you he's not in there."

"We want to check for ourselves."  Skinner started to push 
past him.

"Wait, I should talk to Detective Rivera about this."

"You can fill him in while we're inside."  Skinner 
mysteriously produced a key, which he used to cut down the 
police tape and then open the front door.  

Scully followed him over the threshold, and they both stopped 
in the dim entryway.  The central air conditioning hummed in 
the background, but otherwise, the house was silent.

"It happened in here," Skinner said as he moved to the left 
toward the living room.  

Scully didn't need anyone to tell her because she could smell 
the blood.  Head wounds bled a lot, and the puddle wouldn't 
even be dry yet.  

The living room was monochromatic, with deep gray walls and a 
long black couch.  On the glass coffee table sat a half-empty 
martini glass.  The bloodstain was at the far end of the room 
near the back window.  Sunlight was just starting to creep in 
through the blinds, sending a zebra-like pattern over 
everything.

"How do they know she was killed with her own gun?" Scully 
asked.

"I presume they don't know for sure yet," replied Skinner as 
he looked around the room.  "Her gun is missing, so the 
presumption is that it's the murder weapon.  Ballistics will 
have to run the tests for comparison."

Mulder had his own gun -- two, actually.  If Diana's was 
truly the murder weapon, then that was a point in Mulder's 
favor.

"Did any of the neighbors hear the shot?"

"Not according to what I know.  The lady who called it in 
heard a commotion outside -- I'm guessing from the overturned 
garbage can -- and that's when she went to her window and saw 
Mulder."

"Mulder knocked over the can?"

Skinner shrugged.

"Something doesn't make sense here," Scully said.  "Detective 
Rivera told me the woman had seen Mulder here on several 
occasions before."

"So?" Skinner was checking the windows but they appeared 
locked.

"So why would she call the cops?  Because he knocked over 
some garbage?  That's not exactly a nine-one-one type of 
emergency.  If she didn't hear the shot, why call it in at 
all?"

"I don't know.  We should definitely talk to her."

Scully crossed back over to the other side of the house, 
where the kitchen resided.  It had been remodeled recently, 
with spotless black granite countertops and a new stainless 
steel refrigerator.  The stove looked like it was straight 
from the showroom floor, never been used.

There were two upturned glass tumblers in the dish rack and a 
small collection of silverware left out to dry.  An empty 
ashtray sat in the sink, and the trash basket underneath had 
been cleaned out.

The seal on the fridge made a whooshing sound as Scully 
cracked it open.  She found soda water, orange juice, some 
old fruit and a collection of take out containers.

Closing the fridge, she went to inspect the back door.  It 
had been dusted for prints but she saw no signs of forced 
entry.  Whoever killed Diana, she had either let the person 
inside, or the killer had a key.

Scully found the stairs and went up to the second floor where 
the bedroom was.  The door was half closed, so she pushed it 
open with the flat of her hand.  In the middle of the room 
sat a king-sized, four-poster bed.  Scully stared at it as 
she realized it had been stripped, the sheets no doubt sent 
to the lab for processing.

Diana had the same thick, light-gray carpet upstairs, which 
absorbed all the sound of Scully's footfalls as she entered 
the room.  The air held the strong scent of Diana's perfume, 
and Scully had the urge to look over her shoulder, as if 
Diana could be pulled back from death by smell alone.  

She wondered if Mulder had ever realized that it was the 
perfume that gave him away.

*Where have you been, Mulder?  I've been trying to reach you 
for hours.*

*I was following Imogene Brandt.  She went to the dentist's 
and returned a library book.  At one point, I had to check my 
pulse to make sure I hadn't expired from sheer boredom*

*You went alone?*

*Of course alone.*

Skinner appeared in the doorway and he, too, looked at the 
empty bed.  He cleared his throat but seemed reluctant 
actually to enter the room.  "I don't see any indication here 
of what happened to Mulder.  We'd better get out before 
Rivera shows up."

Scully replaced the perfume bottle she was holding back onto 
the dresser top.  "I thought you have a warrant."

"I do, but I don't want to be answering any more of his 
questions."  He cocked his head and squinted at her.  "And I 
sure don't want you answering them."

"I don't know where he is."

"Right, so you've said.  But word on the street is that 
Mulder and Diana had one hell of a fight yesterday outside 
his apartment building, and I'm betting you know what it was 
about."

Scully bowed her head but said nothing.

"You're not helping him by keeping me in the dark," Skinner 
told her.

"Rivera didn't mention anything about a fight," she replied.

Skinner's gaze flicked over her.  "No, he wouldn't.  He's not 
going to ask you until he knows the answer first."

They left out the front so Officer Traylor could see they 
weren't taking anything with them.  "Let's see if that 
neighbor is home," Scully said as they walked down the front 
path.

Skinner stopped to look in both directions.  "You know which 
house it is?"

"No," she admitted.

"Guess we'll have to try both of them."

A man answered at the house on the right, and he said he had 
no knowledge of any disturbance the night before.  At the 
other house, they got no answer at all.  "They may have taken 
her in for more questioning," Scully said.  

She took out her card and scribbled a quick note on the back 
before sticking through the mail slot in the door.

Skinner walked her back to her car, which she thought was odd 
until they reached the driver's side door.  She went to get 
in, but he put a hand on the open door, effectively trapping 
her in place.

"You and Mulder have been in some trouble before, but this is 
exciting new territory the two of you have discovered.  I 
can't protect him -- or you -- unless I know what's going 
on."

"I'm not sure anyone can protect him.  I think maybe he's 
being set up."

"Set up by whom?"

Scully looked at his face, wondering if she could trust him.  
"Diana Fowley may have had alliances outside of the FBI."

His jaw tightened just a bit and she couldn't tell whether 
he'd heard this news before.  "What kind of alliances?"

She decided to push her luck.  "I think you know exactly what 
kind."

This wasn't a surprise, she could tell, but he kept his 
expression neutral.  "These other alliances, you think they 
may have been what got her killed."

"I think it's a distinct possibility."

Skinner looked away.  "Well, there's another possibility."

Scully waited, and he took a long time to look back at her.

"If these alliances are the kind I think you're talking 
about, then their discovery could be the kind of motive the 
police are seeking."

X-X-X-X-X

Scully was so lost in thought that she didn't hear Mulder 
approach until he was almost on top of her.  "Earth to 
Scully," he said as he slid his butt onto the plastic-coated 
MDF board that passed as her desk.

She checked her watch.  "You've been gone all day, Mulder.  
You're lucky Kersh didn't come looking for you."

"As long as he thinks I'm tucked in here safely with the rest 
of his lackeys, everything's fine."

"Is that what I am -- a lackey?" 

A smile played at his lips.  "The boys upstairs made that 
mistake about you once, Scully.  I don't think they'd be dumb 
enough to do it again."

"They certainly would never again select me to keep tabs on 
you.  Every time I turn around, you're gone again.  One day 
it's a jaunt to the Bermuda Triangle, the next it's some 
newspaper clipping and you and Fowley disappear together for 
the better part of an afternoon."  She looked around the 
bullpen.  "Where is she, anyway?"

"I couldn't say.  I left her about an hour ago."

"Courting you back to the basement, is she?"

Mulder scoffed and picked up a paperclip chain from her desk.  
"Hardly.  It's not like she could pull us back down there 
even if she wanted to -- the decision is over her head.  No, 
this afternoon's exercise was about old business, not new."

"Oh?"

"Call it an X-file that predates the X-files."

"Is this the part where you break out the slide projector?" 
she asked as she leaned back in her seat.

"No, but I will take you to dinner."

"Dinner," she said, her eyebrows raised.  "And you're buying?  
This must be good."

"Who said anything about buying?" he replied as he hopped off 
her desk.  "I just said I'd take you."

At the local bar and grill, Mulder had his jacket off, his 
tie loose around his neck, and one eye on ESPN.  Scully sat 
in the booth across from him and picked at the corner of her 
beer label.  He lounged on one end of the bench seat and 
palmed a fistful of nuts from the dish.

"I was trying to get the X-files off the ground," he said, 
finally turning his attention to her.  "Collecting old cases 
from Dales's files and adding any new clippings or tips that 
seemed to fit in with the overall theme of the unexplained.  
Diana was helping me.

"One day I get this tip.  A stripper named Lila Krunk is 
trying to get into an AIDS study that involves being abducted 
by aliens.  An AIDS study, I should add, that is run by the 
US government.

"So I tracked Lila down to get her story.  Yes, she had HIV.  
She'd found out about two years before when she got pneumonia 
and it wouldn't go away.  She'd survived the pneumonia but 
AIDS was still out there on the horizon.  Then she heard 
about this other girl named Amber Hathaway who worked at club 
down the block.  Amber, it seems, also had HIV, but she 
enrolled in a clinical trial sponsored by the NIH.  According 
to Lila, the story was that Amber got abducted by aliens who 
cured the HIV and she was returned healthy.  Lila wanted into 
this study too, and she called the NIH several times to 
inquire about the scientist who was supposedly conducting the 
clinical trial."

"Let me guess," Scully said.  "It was Christopher Brandt."

Mulder pointed at her.  "Give the little lady her prize."

"I can imagine the NIH office was thrilled to hear from 
Lila."

"Oh, naturally.  They told her no such research was going on, 
that all of Brandt's trials were currently full, but most 
emphatically none of them involved aliens."

"The story is a little wild, even for you."

"Yeah, I was skeptical at first, I have to admit.  So was 
Diana.  She said that Lila Krunk had become code for 'total 
nutcase' at the NIH, and that if we looked like we bought 
into her story, we'd be nutcases too."

"But you investigated anyway."

Mulder sucked down a sip of beer from his bottle.  "At that 
point, I was taking all comers.  And a story that 
outrageous... well, it would make for good entertainment 
value even if Lila's claims were groundless."

"So the first thing you did was talk to Amber, I presume."

"Yes, and she backed up Lila's story.  She said she'd been 
missing only two days in 'earth time' but in space it was 
over a year.  The aliens gave her transfusion therapy and 
when she was returned, her HIV was gone.  She even 
volunteered to take a blood test for us.  Sure enough, it was 
clean."

For the first time, Scully sat forward with interest.  
"Studies have shown it's possible for the viral load to 
diminish to a point that it's undetectable with current 
technology.  It can also invade other cells and hide."

"Yes, that's what Brandt said when we got a chance to talk to 
him.  He said he was very pleased with Amber Hathway's 
remission, but there was no reason to think she was in fact 
cured."

"And the part about the aliens?"

Mulder smiled around his beer.  "He pretty flatly dismissed 
that part too.  'Preposterous' and 'ludicrous' were the words 
he used, I believe."

"I can't say I blame him.  It's an outlandish claim."

"Yes, I sort of thought so too, even when Amber's blood 
tested negative -- twice, I should add -- but I was able to 
find several other people who had participated in the same 
study Amber had."

"Brandt can't give you that kind of information.  It's 
confidential."

"Yeah, but the HIV/AIDs community turns out to be a rather 
tight one.  The people in the study knew each other, many of 
them, and Amber gave us some names."

"Don't even tell me they confirmed her story."

"No, they all said she was off her rocker.  But the thing is, 
I did a little checking, and three of the four of them had 
unexplained disappearances for several days during the study 
period.  They have no recollection of this time; in fact, 
most of them denied ever disappearing at all.  But employers, 
friend and family told a different tale."

"Did these people all test negative for HIV too?"

"No, only one of them had his viral load down enough that it 
was undetectable.  But I did some checking today on the 
names, and all four of them are still living.  Lila Krunk 
died in 1995."

"So is that where you and Diana were all day today?  Checking 
up on these HIV patients?"

"Partly."  He pulled out the newspaper clipping again and 
handed it across to her.  "But the fact that someone sent 
this to us -- it's got to mean something."

"You're thinking maybe Brandt's car crash might not have been 
accident."

"Think about it Scully -- based on what we've discovered, 
doesn't it make sense that the government might be involved 
in illicit immune system testing?"

"Yes, of course, but that's a far cry from aliens being able 
to cure AIDS."

Mulder swung his legs down and leaned far over the table.  In 
a low voice, he said, "We both know that government has a 
vested interest in studying how to defeat viruses.  I'm 
thinking that these desperate people would have made perfect 
volunteers."

A sudden shooting pain behind her eyes made her suck in a 
breath.  Pinpoints of light danced in front of her as she 
reached for her water.

"Scully?" His voice sounded tinny and far away.  "Scully, are 
you all right?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose.  "Yeah.  It's nothing."  
Blinking rapidly to clear the spots, she braced her hands on 
the table.  "I'm fine."

"That didn't look like fine."

"Ice water headache."  Thank God dinner was almost over.  She 
could go home, swallow a bunch of aspirin, and get some 
sleep.

Mulder fished up the check, still looking unconvinced.  He 
dropped a couple of twenties on the table and slid out of the 
booth.  "Let's you and me blow this pop stand," he said as he 
slung his jacket over one shoulder.

The night was dark but warm, with bone shaving moon hung high 
in the sky.  Mulder lingered by her car.  "You're sure you're 
okay to drive?"

"Of course."

He nodded a little, as if trying to convince himself.  "You 
know, Diana and I are going to talk to Brandt widow tomorrow.  
Maybe you'd like to come along."

"Me?  I don't know the case."

He gave a half shrug.  "Could be good.  Fresh perspective and 
all that."

"And what am I supposed to tell Kersh?" she asked with a 
smile.

"I was going to call in sick."

"I see.  And this illness of yours, is it contagious?"

"Exceedingly.  You don't look well, Scully.  You don't look 
well at all."

X-X-X-X-X

They spread the bounty across his bed.  Her hair was still 
damp, drying in wild tendrils around her face, and she had 
stripped off her wet shirt down to her bra.  "It's just reams 
of numbers," she said, picking up the sheets nearest to her.

Mulder lay sprawled at the foot of the bed with a half-dozen 
of the printouts in front of him.  "They're tagged as the 
Orion project, so they must mean something."

"I'm open to suggestions as to what.  Did you ever have your 
printer go haywire and start spitting out random numbers and 
letters?  That's what these look like to me."

"Some of them have asterisks.  I wonder what the significance 
is there."

"You forgot to grab the key," she said.  "I'm going to grab a 
water.  Do you want one?"

"No, thanks."  He rolled onto his back and held a sheet of 
paper over his head.  He stared at the numbers until they 
blurred together, but he couldn't determine a pattern.  "They 
don't seem like social security numbers," he called out to 
Diana.

She came back and leaned against the doorjamb, a bottle of 
water in her hands.  "Maybe it has to do with viral load, or 
T-cell count, or some other immune system measure."

"Good idea.  We should ask the lab."

"Right," she said dryly.  "We just go in there and ask them 
to evaluate some evidence we lifted from the NIH."

She was upside down from his vantage point, so he tipped his 
head back farther for a better view.  "Okay, so maybe we 
don't mention where we got it."

His phone rang and they both froze.

"It's two AM," she said.

"I realize that."

"Who the hell calls at two AM?"

He stretched across the bed to reach the phone.  "Hello?" he 
said as Diana held his gaze.  

"Agent Mulder, this is Assistant Director Jordan.  I'd 
apologize about calling at this late hour except for the fact 
that I myself was just awoken a bit ago on a matter I'm told 
you're familiar with."

"Sir?"

"Someone broke into an NIH research lab this evening."

"Oh?"  He sat up and put his bare feet on the floor.

"Yes, Dr. Christopher Brandt's office and laboratory were 
both broken into, and a file cabinet was jimmied open."

"That's unfortunate," Mulder replied even as his pulse 
thrummed in his neck.  "I'm not sure how I can be of help."

"Brandt mentioned your name.  He said you'd been questioning 
him about some ridiculous rumor regarding his research.  
Something about aliens.  I thought this couldn't possibly be 
true, but I want to hear your end of things."

"I, uh, I have talked to Brandt about his research."

"And did you in fact mention aliens?"

"Sir, if you'll pardon me, I'm not really sure what my 
questioning Brandt about his research has to do with his lab 
being broken into."

"I'm not sure either, but Brandt seems to think there might 
be a connection.  He says one day you're accusing him of 
conducting secret human trials involving aliens, and the next 
thing he knows, someone is burglarizing his scientific 
records."

"I'd have to be crazy to break into an NIH lab."

"Yes, son, that's the God's-honest truth.  So that's why I'm 
here on the phone asking you -- are you that crazy?  I've 
heard some stories about you and your interests, and I have 
to say, your reputation suggests you just might have this 
sort of behavior in you."

Mulder gave momentary thanks that he'd remembered to wear 
gloves.  "I have no idea what Brandt is talking about."

"So it's your official position that you did *not* break into 
Brandt's lab this evening?"

"Yes, that's my position," Mulder said, going over to close 
the blinds.

"I'll be sure to note that in my report," Jordan answered.  
"But don't think this matter is necessarily settled."

"Sir?"

"Keep your nose clean, okay?  And don't be having 
conversations about aliens with anyone for a while."

Mulder hung up the phone and Diana came around the bed to 
stand next to him.  "What was that about?"

"Brandt thinks it was me who hit the lab tonight."

"I guess it's hard to fool a guy with a genius grant.  Who 
was that on the phone?"

"ADA Jordan. He recommends that I lay off the aliens for a 
while."

"Might not be a bad idea.  Brandt has friends all over this 
town."

Mulder shook his head.  "We've rattled him, and the cryptic 
numbers in these so-called records just make me more 
convinced that he's hiding something.  If it's not aliens, I 
want to know what it is."

She traced the edge of his jeans at his belly.  "Even if it 
ends up costing you the X-files?"

He gathered up the pages from the bed.  

"This is an X-file, the exact type of case that remains 
unexplained because no one wants it explained." 

X-X-X-X-X

She tried Mulder's cell phone three more times before going 
to his apartment, but he did not answer.  She let herself in 
and found it totally silent, as if he'd been gone for years.  
The first thing she checked was his bottom desk drawer where 
he usually kept his backup weapon.  She was not reassured to 
find it missing.

His bed sat unmade, his running shoes akimbo on the floor.  
She picked up an old T-shirt and smelled it, breathing deeply 
before laying it gently on the end of the bed.  A quick peek 
at his closet told her that his suitcase was there but his 
duffel bag was missing.

She listened to the messages on his phone, but there were two 
from Rivera, one from her, one from Skinner, and one from his 
mother.  Out of all of them, his mother seemed the least 
concerned.  "A detective contacted me this morning asking me 
if I knew your whereabouts, Fox.  I told him you'd stopped 
reporting to me when you reached the age of majority.  He 
suggested that I contact him if I heard from you in the near 
future, but it would probably be easiest for you to talk to 
him yourself." She recited Rivera's number twice, in case 
Mulder might have missed it.

Scully found Mulder's computer asleep but not off, so she 
woke it up and typed in his main security password.  For 
someone whose office and apartment were often unkempt, Mulder 
had a neat, almost Spartan desktop.

So her stomach dropped at the sight of a word document marked 
"Scully."

This was all the salutation she was to receive.  Upon opening 
the file, she read the entirety of his terse message in just 
a few seconds:

I'm sorry for the situation I've put you in, and I promise to 
explain as soon as I can.  Do not try to contact me because 
it could prove dangerous for us both.

It was unsigned.

Scully checked the time that the file was created and 
determined he probably wrote it after Diana's murder.

Her phone rang and she scrambled to answer it.  "Hello?" she 
said, and held her breath.

"Hello, have I reached Agent Dana Scully?"

She exhaled and rubbed the ache that had formed at her 
forehead.  "Yes, this is Dana Scully."

"My name is Deborah Reddy.  You left your card in my door 
this morning?"

"Oh, Ms. Reddy, yes.  Thank you for calling."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to speak to you earlier, but the 
police kept me for hours on end.  I told them all I knew 
straight away, and yet they kept making me go over it and 
over it until I thought I'd go mad."

Scully winced.  "Well, I'm sorry to have to ask you to get 
into it again, but the FBI is conducting its own separate 
investigation."

"Yes, I should think so, considering Agent Fowley was one of 
your own.  I'm terribly sorry for your loss."

"Thank you.  If you don't mind, I'd like to start with my 
main question -- what made you call nine-one-one last night?"

"I don't sleep so well these days, you know.  Hot flashes 
keep me up half the night, so I was watching Conan in bed 
when I heard the crash outside.  I might not have heard it, 
but I had the volume muted for the commercials.  I can't 
stand those commercials, the way they all seem to yell at 
you.  I just refuse to listen."

Scully reined in her impatience.  "So you heard a crash?"

"Yes, and I went to the window and saw that Agent Mulder 
running towards me to a car.  I didn't know his name then, 
but the police had me pick his face out of a group today, and 
they told me who he was."

"So you heard the crash, you saw Agent Mulder running, and 
that's when you decided to call the police?"

"Yes, on account of the blood."

Scully's own blood froze in her veins and it took her a 
moment to regain her voice.  "The blood?"

"On Agent Mulder's shirt.  He had a big stain of it right 
down the front of that nice white shirt."

X-X-X-X-X

End chapter two.  Continued in chapter three.

Murder! Mulder!  Pure coincidence that they are just one
letter off?  Or maybe... it's an X-file!

Send feedback, and I'll pass it on to Mulder in hiding.
He'll use it to keep warm on the streets!

Syn_tax@yahoo.com