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 Camaro 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 Camaro 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 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 pock-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.  
"Grenier?"

"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 figured 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, just 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, tugged on the end of her 
thick braid.  "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.  

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 put 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

End Chapter Nine.  Continued in Chapter Ten.

Many thanks to Alicia and bugs, for the spit 'n shine.

All feedback is welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com