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

End Chapter Three.  Continued in Chapter Four.

Many thanks to Jerry, Alicia and Lysandra for their help with 
this one.

Feedback is always welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com