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.

XxXxXxXxX

End Chapter Six.  Continued in Chapter Seven.

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