XxXxX

Chapter Twelve

XxXxX

"I know he's on a fucking stakeout," Mulder said into the 
phone as he swept through the halls.  "But he's looking for 
the *wrong man*."

"I'm sorry," said the male dispatcher on the other end.  "I 
have specific orders -- no calls through to Agent Grenier at 
this time."

"Get me Russell then."

"Agent Russell is unavailable.  I'm sorry, sir, but..."

Mulder hung up with an angry snap.  As he rounded the corner 
to the requisition office, he hit the memory key for Scully's 
number.  Her phone rang unanswered.  "Dammit," he muttered, 
both at the phone and at the locked door of the office.   The 
flat, gray night lighting was on, but he couldn't detect 
anyone inside.  He pounded on the door anyway.  "I need a 
car!"  

In between the painful beats of his pounding heart, he heard 
remnants of his dream.  The dead, wet leaves at his feet, the 
snapping of the branches, the scream that he was struggling 
to keep inside.  Scully.  

Danger, danger -- the word shattered his head, leaving 
pinpoints of white light dancing before his eyes.   He had to 
get to her, had to let her know.   A car, where's a car?

XxXxX

Scully squinted at her watch in the bushes, trying to tilt it 
so she could catch some light from the street lamp.  Past 
one-thirty.  She rubbed her cold hands together a few times, 
peering out at the dark, empty walkway.  There was not a soul 
in sight.

She clicked on her walkie-talkie.  "Position one, this is 
position eight," she said, careful to keep her voice low.  
"There's been no movement on this end.  How much longer are 
we going to stay out here?"

After a moment, Grenier's voice crackled back at her.  "Hold 
your place.  He's coming."  A pause.  "I can feel it."

His words sent a shudder through Scully, as if she could feel 
it, too.  She took a step towards the opening of the bushes, 
and the wind blew, moving shadow people all around her.

XxXxX

His left side felt panicked, hot and sweating, vibrating with 
energy; his right side was sweating, too, but cold and numb.  
Weak.  Mulder tried to coordinate them both as he dashed 
through the darkened halls toward the parking facility.   

Too fast on the stairs.  He slipped, catching himself on the 
railing before he could fall.  "The mask was wrong," he 
muttered, resuming his frantic descent. "I knew it was.  
Someone else knew.  Knew some but not enough.  Dammit, 
dammit."

A woman, cleaning the stairs with a broom that looked like a 
furry white animal, pressed herself against the wall with 
surprise as he passed her.  He lurched to a stop.  "Do you 
have a car?" he asked.

She blinked, holding the broom handle to her chest.  

"A car, a car," he repeated impatiently.

"Si, yes.  I have a car."

"I need to borrow it," he said, and she blinked again.  
"Please, it's urgent.  It's an emergency."  He pulled out his 
badge, barely repressing the tremble in his right hand as he 
showed it to her.

"Is old," she said, frowning.  "My car."

"I don't care.  Please, can I borrow it?"

She pursed her lips, then dug a set of keys out from the 
large pocket on her dress.  "It's red Toyota on the second 
floor, space two-twenty."

"Thank you," Mulder breathed, snatching the keys from her.

"My shift is finished in three hour!" she called after him.

He waved the keys over his head in answer, barely registering 
the statement as he pushed the door open to the parking 
garage.  Jogging through the rows of cars, he called up 
Scully's number again on his phone.  "Answer, c'mon, answer."

Her voice-mail came on, and Mulder suppressed a curse as he 
levered himself into the car.  His knees pressed almost to 
his chest in the tight space designed for a much shorter 
driver.  Pushing the seat back as far as it would go, he 
started the engine.  The tires squealed all the way out of 
the garage.

XxXxX

Russell shifted behind her curtain of branches, frowning as 
the sleeve of her windbreaker caught her on a prickly limb.  
Jenna Cullam, the agent selected to play Vee, paced about 
twenty feet away.  Russell could see the other woman's  
breath misting in the air, her rapid white puffs a mirror of 
Russell's own growing anxiety.

"Position one," she said.  "This is position three.  Can you 
read me?"

"What is it?" Grenier sounded tense.

"Any sign of activity from your end?"

"Not yet, but let's give it until two."

The moon disappeared behind the clouds, darkening her hiding 
spot, and Russell squinted through the bramble toward the 
gate.  Her pulse skipped a beat.  

There was a shadow, long and human-like, edging its way into 
the park.

"This is position three," she said over the main channel.  
"We've got company."

*

Across the park, Scully grabbed her walkie-talkie.  "Position 
one, please advise."

"Hold your positions," Grenier ordered.  "We go on my say so.  
Position three, can you confirm the suspect's identity?"

Scully waited out the following beats of silence, frozen in 
place with her heart pounding out the seconds.  At last, 
Russell's voice crackled over the line.

"It's a male," she said.  "The right height and weight, but I 
can't see his face.  Wait...he's moving in on Cullam!  He's 
going for his weapon!"

Scully emerged from her place in the bushes, prepared to run.

"Now!" hollered Grenier, and Scully felt a hand clasp over 
her mouth.  Her walkie-talkie slipped to the ground.

*

Mulder recognized Cullam immediately, but the confusion on 
her face said she had not placed him.  "It's Mulder," he 
said, reaching for his badge.  "Where's Gren--"

Like lightning, she had a gun pointed at his chest.  "Stay 
where you are!"

Mulder froze in place as the bushes seemed to come alive 
around him.  Agents rose up like something from "MacBeth," 
with weapons drawn and leaves sticking in their hair.  
"Wait," he called.  "Wait."

"Get down!" yelled a voice he recognized.  Grenier.  

"It's Mulder," he insisted, but the other man didn't seem to 
hear.

"Get the fuck on the ground before I blow your fucking head 
off!"

*

She struggled, wriggling and trying to find his ribs with her 
elbow, but his grip was iron strong.  His hands closed around 
her neck, and within seconds, her breath evaporated...her 
head grew fuzzy and the park faded from view.

He unclasped her mouth.  "Help," she called weakly.

But it was too late.

*

Mulder lay face down in the cold dirt.  "It's me, *Mulder*," 
he said again, and this time Grenier seemed to pause.

"Get some light over here," he commanded, and Mulder squinted 
as three high-beam flashlights shone on his face.  "God damn 
it," Grenier muttered.  "What the hell do you think you're 
doing?"

Mulder got up slowly, breathing hard and shielding his eyes 
from the harsh light.  "Carl Quentin did not kill Elizabeth 
Kinney."

Grenier seemed to snap.  "God damn you..."  He lunged at 
Mulder, but Russell slipped between them.

"Adam, stop."

"I told you to stay the hell out of this!  I *ordered* you to 
stay away!"

Mulder's temper rose, too.  "Are you deaf, Grenier?  I said 
you're staking out the place for Quentin!  He's not going to 
show here!"

"What the fuck do you mean, 'the wrong place'?" mocked 
Grenier.  "This is your boy we're after, Mulder.  You're the 
one who said it was him."

"It is," Mulder agreed.  "But not this time."

Russell looked at him with wide eyes.  "What the hell are you 
saying?"

"I'm saying that the man who killed those women eleven years 
ago, the man who murdered Grace Johnson and Ellen Cavanaugh -
- that's Carl Quentin.  He is *not* the same man who killed 
Beth Kinney in this park.  Therefore, Quentin is sure as hell 
not going to come looking for Vee."

"A copycat," breathed Russell.  "Shit."

"That's not possible."  Grenier shook his head.  "There were 
too many things that were the same, too many details..."

"But there were other things that *weren't* the same.  Like 
the Nixon mask.  It never made any sense, and now I know why.  
And why would Quentin include a newspaper clipping on just 
that one kill?  The answer is he didn't.  It was someone else 
hoping that we'd connect Beth's murder with all the others."

*

Carl taped her mouth, wrists and ankles after putting her in 
the trunk.  Her gun he deposited safely in his coat pocket.  
Paused in the process of shutting the lid, he reached out to 
stroke her tiny feet.

Boots tonight.  Low and sensible for tracking murderers in 
the woods.  Fortunately, he still had that pair of heels he'd 
stolen from her closet.  They were waiting at home for his 
consummation.  

He grinned and slammed the trunk shut.

*

"Assuming this is true," Grenier said, still glowering at 
Mulder, "why in the fuck did you come down here now to tell 
us?  Someone sure wants this girl dead, and just maybe we 
could have had a chance to catch him in the act."

"You never had a chance," Mulder replied.  "This guy probably 
knew what you were planning before you ever got here."

"The fuck he did."

"Just *think* about it for a second, would you?  How could he 
have known about so many details of the crime scene?  He has 
to have an in, Adam.  He has to be connected with the 
killings from eleven years ago."

"You're saying he's a cop," Russell said.

"Perhaps," Mulder agreed.  "At the very least, he has to have 
been in a position to know the details of the murders.  Up 
close and personal."

"Fuck," Grenier said, reducing his vocabulary every time he 
opened his mouth.  "I still don't believe it."

"Excuse me."  Richard Arkin stepped forward.  "I just don't 
understand one thing."  He glanced nervously at Mulder.  "If 
Quentin isn't going to show here because he's not the guy in 
the mask, and the mask guy isn't going to show because he's 
got inside information...I agree with Agent Grenier.  I don't 
understand your hurry to get down here."

Mulder frowned.  "Because..."

Grenier folded his arms over his chest.  "Do enlighten us."

"Because..." Mulder searched his brain for the exact reason.  
There had been danger, he was sure of it.  "Because a man 
like Quentin is probably interested in his own 
investigation," he said at last.  "He's likely familiarized 
himself with the leads on this case, may even be close by, 
just not where you're looking."

"And where should we look, exactly, seeing as how you..."

Scully.

Mulder craned his neck around, looking for her in the crowd 
of agents.  "Where is Agent Scully?"

Russell turned as well.  "I'm not sure.  She was stationed 
with Arkin on the other side of the park, near the side 
entrance."

"I haven't seen her since we got the call," Arkin said.  "But 
I took the short way over here, through those trees."

"Scully," Mulder murmured, beginning to push through the wall 
of people surrounding him.

Scully, who was now a lead agent on this case.

Scully, whose car was suddenly having trouble.

Scully, who had a rampaging cab driver outside of her 
apartment.  A cab driver who may have then kidnapped and 
killed Ellen Cavanaugh a few hours later.

Scully, who wore stylish, four-inch heels.

"Oh, shit," he murmured, breaking into a run. "Scully!"  The 
slippery leaves squished under his feet.  Panting, he half-
slid down a hill, branches clawing at his face.  "Scully!"

He reached the side entrance of the park only steps ahead of 
Russell, Grenier, and Arkin.  "Where is she?" Mulder demanded 
of Arkin.

"I...I don't know.  She was supposed to be right by the door, 
behind those bushes."

The sharp boughs scraped at Mulder's hands as he pawed 
through the bushes Arkin indicated.  "Scully!"

She wasn't there, but a cursory examination with his 
flashlight found red hairs caught on one of the branches and 
Scully-sized footprints in the soft earth.  His stomach gave a 
sharp twist.

"Mulder!"  Russell's voice called him out of the brush.  He 
turned his flashlight to where she stood staring at the 
ground.  "You'd better come see this."

Mulder closed his eyes reflexively, not wanting to see.  
"What is it?" he asked, managing to make his feet move the 
short distance to Russell's side.

Scully's walkie-talkie lay in the dirt at her feet.

XxXxX

She couldn't breathe.  Squirming in the dark, she hit her 
head on something made of hard metal.  Her arms ached from 
where they were pinned behind her back, her knees at her 
chest.

The man, she remembered, big and strong.  Choking her from 
behind.  It had to be Carl.

She felt light with fear, her fingers rapidly going numb.  
Each breath was a struggle not to hyperventilate.  Think, 
think, she ordered herself.  How to get out of this alive?

She tried to keep her head clear, but her mind kept turning 
over the crime scene photos, echoing the police reports that 
told her time was already running out.

Because Carl's victims all had one other thing in common 
besides their missing little toes:  none had remained alive 
longer than twelve hours after her abduction.

XxXxX

Continued in Chapter Thirteen.

Okay, okay.  So my poll cheated a little, as there is more 
than one killer. I couldn't very well give that away, could 
I? <g>  

Thanks to Alanna, Alicia and Jerry for the thorough and 
speedy beta.

All feedback is welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com