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 End Chapter Two. Continued in Chapter Three. syn_tax6@yahoo.com