XxXxX

Chapter Sixteen

XxXxX

Scully finished drying her hair with Mulder's ancient dryer.  
His robe came almost to her feet, and his socks sagged around 
her ankles.  She stared at herself in the mirror, pushed her 
hair behind her ears, but it wasn't long enough to hide the 
finger marks on her neck.  

"Scully?"  He tapped on the door.  "The food's here."

"Just a minute."  She pulled up the collar on the robe and 
retied the sash around her waist.  Gingerly, she walked 
toward the living room.  Even with the thick socks, each step 
put painful pressure on her wounded feet.

"Hey," he said when she appeared.  "Did you find everything 
you needed?"

I don't even have any underwear, she thought, but aloud she 
said, "Yes, thanks." She wrapped her arms around herself to 
ward off the draft.

They stood in silence for a minute, then he touched her 
shoulder.  "Come sit down and eat.  Is hot and sour soup 
okay?"

"It's fine," she said as she lowered herself onto the couch.  
Her sore muscles stretched and cramped at odd intervals, 
making her movements stiff and jerky.  He tucked a blanket 
around her waist.  "I'm fine, Mulder.  Just sit down and 
eat."

The wind whistled outside, rattling his loose window panes as 
they ate without speaking.  Scully swallowed several bites of 
soup, feeling the burn all the way to her stomach, but the 
taste barely registered.  After a few more bites, she 
couldn't get the soup past the back of her throat.  She set 
the bowl down on the table and curled her feet up under the 
blanket.

"No good?" Mulder's voice was so careful, gentle.  She almost 
wished he would scream at her, make some noise to match the 
tumult she felt inside.

"I'm not very hungry."

"Me either," he answered, and placed his bowl next to hers.  
"You want to lie down?  Get some rest?"

She shook her head.  In the hospital, she had tried to sleep, 
but her eyes had sprung open every time she'd closed them.  
Fight or flight, she knew, the body's natural response to 
danger.  Her mind understood she was safe, but her body was 
still prepared to flee.  She couldn't make it quiet.

Mulder shifted, his eyes turned away from her.  "Scully, I 
think you should know what happened at the park, what I 
did..."

"No."  She pushed across the sofa towards him, landing 
awkwardly on his leg.  Her fingers bunched in the soft cotton 
of his shirt.  "No," she repeated against his neck.  His 
heartbeat thudded in her ear, and he moved slowly to embrace 
her.

"Scully," he murmured, his voice thick.  "I thought...on the 
phone, when he said..." 

"Sssh, sssh."  She sat up in his lap and swallowed his words 
with desperate kisses, ignoring her own tears.  "Stop."

Make it stop.  She clutched him fiercely, her breath hitching 
in her chest.  He kissed her back just as hard.  Bruising, 
hot kisses with stubble scrapes and velvet tongues, fighting 
even as they loved.  She pinned him back against the couch.  
Hands everywhere. Parted thighs.  Pushing everything inside 
herself into him as he rose up hard between her legs.  

She gasped, eyes flying open at the memory of his cock under 
her foot.  Fear in her throat.  She grabbed at Mulder's hands 
and he brought them under her robe, stroking her fevered 
skin.  Make it stop.  Please don't stop.  Panting, she led 
him onward, opening his pants and drawing him out.  He threw 
his head back with a gasp.

"Scully..."

She slid her tongue in his mouth, no time to think.  Push him 
in.  Push everything out.  She rocked in his lap as he held 
her hips and gave her what she needed.

"Please," she whispered, the word scratching at her throat.  

"Ah, yes.  Scully."  His face screwed up in pleasure-pain.

Faster, faster, rubbing inside and making her burn.  Tears 
leaked from her eyes, blurring her vision.  She heard her own 
voice choking and pleading.  Wait.  Stop.

His face above hers, the shears in his hands.

Mulder's face, hot against her neck.  She pricked her nails 
against his scalp.  "Yeah," he breathed, and her muscles went 
rigid.

No.  

The word wouldn't come out.  She gulped for air, shaking, but 
he didn't notice the change in her.  Help.  She grabbed him 
tight, and he groaned.  A few more thrusts and he stopped, 
pulling her close.  She jerked away.

"Scully...?"  His lids lifted, showing fatigue and confusion 
in his eyes.

Struggling, she scrambled off him and ran to the bathroom.  
Stop, stop.  But the fear kept coming, crashing over her in 
waves so fast that she couldn't catch her breath.  She 
slammed the door even as she heard his footsteps coming after 
her, but inside, her terror continued unabated.  The knife at 
her throat, his hands on her neck.  She flattened herself 
against the cool door and tried to get control.

Itsokayitokayitsokay.

"Scully, please."  Mulder was on the other side.  She shut 
her eyes and continued her gasping breaths.  "Scully, let me 
in."  He jiggled the knob.

"I'm sorry," she choked out. "I didn't mean to do that."

"It's okay.  Scully, it's all right.  I'm the one who's 
sorry.  Please let me in."

She hid her face in her hands, her cheeks hot and wet to her 
touch.  "I can't," she said between breaths.  "I can't make 
it stop."

The door knob rattled with more force.  "It's all right," he 
said.  "You don't have to stop it.  Not tonight."

"I'm sorry."  She moved way from the door and released the 
lock with shaking fingers.  He stumbled through in a rush, 
his face ashen and his pants still undone.  "I'm sorry," she 
said as she hugged him.

His arms closed around her gently.  "You don't have anything 
to be sorry for," he murmured, rocking her.  "It's okay."

"It's not."

He kissed her head.  "You're right, it's not."

"I want to go home."

"I know." 

She shivered in his embrace, and he rubbed the length of her 
back with long, soothing strokes.  Gradually, the choke-hold 
of fear receded, leaving her quivering and spent.  Her 
heartbeat followed his into a slow, even rhythm, and she 
sighed against his shoulder.  He was warm and solid in her 
arms.

"Better?" he whispered at her temple, and she hugged him in 
answer.  He smoothed her hair down, his hand resting at the 
base of her neck.  

She closed her eyes as the tension inside finally eased.  The 
cabin faded away, and she was left standing safe with Mulder, 
their bare toes touching on the cold tile floor.  She took a 
long, shuddering breath.  "Yes," she said.  "Better."

XxXxX

He awoke disoriented in a tangle of sheets and blankets.  It 
was nighttime, black as pitch.  Scully's side of the bed was 
empty, and he could see no light coming from the bathroom.  
Concerned, he got up and went to look for her.

He peeked around the corner into the dark living room and saw 
her curled under a blanket on the couch.  The slim light from 
the street lamp outside told him she was awake, but he 
hesitated whether to disturb her privacy.  He stood frozen, 
listening to the storm beat against the windows as wondered 
if maybe they had shared enough emotional turbulence for one 
day.

"It's okay," she said softly, turning on the sofa.  "You can 
come in."

Still cautious, he approached with slow steps and sat a good 
distance away from her, mindful of her space.  He knew better 
than to hold her too tightly.  "What's up?" he asked.  
"Couldn't sleep?"

She shook her head.  "I was listening to the rain."  She 
paused, and the sounds of sheeting drops and rushing cars 
filled the silence.  "This kind of rain always reminds me of 
you."

"Really?"

She smiled a little and nodded.  "Because of that first 
case," she explained.  "In Oregon."

"That was some rain," he agreed, somewhat surprised by her 
admission.  He smiled, thinking that from then on, the 
pouring rain would make him think of her, too, and this 
moment on the couch.  These small ways that she changed him, 
the way he became a different person every time he talked 
with her, was one of the things he loved most about her.  He 
took her hand.  "I was born in rain like this, you know."

"Is that so."  She shifted to settle against his side, and he 
wrapped one arm around her.

"Yep, it was a hurricane.  My mother almost didn't make it to 
the hospital on time."

He felt her smile, warming him though his tee-shirt right to 
his very center.  "Tell me more," she said.  

So he did.

XxXxX

In the morning, they went to her apartment, where she frowned 
at the disarray but ignored it in favor of clean clothes.  
She dressed in jeans and a soft-knit sweater because work 
clothes were impossible due to the cuts on her feet.  
Sneakers only for at least several more days.

She inched her closet door open to get them, trying not to 
look at the rows of heels that lined one wall.  Now that she 
knew, the empty space where the black sandals had been seemed 
to expand and scream for attention.  She shut the door with a 
sharp slam.

"Everything okay?" Mulder asked, poking his head into the 
room.

"Yes, fine."

His cell phone rang.  "Mulder."  She watched his face as he 
listened.  "Well, are they still out there?  How far is the 
road?  Uh-huh.  Yeah.  Yeah, okay.  I'm coming in now."

"What is it?" she asked when he'd finished.  He looked away, 
the phone clenched tightly in his fist.

"They haven't found Quentin.  Grenier now thinks he might 
have reached the highway on the other side of the woods 
before we even got there."

Scully sank onto the bed.  "But then where would he go?"

"Hitchhike?  Carjack someone driving past?  I don't know.  
How the hell this animal keeps besting the entire FBI is 
beyond me."

"Well, this time we know what he looks like," Scully said.  
"And we know his name.  It's only a matter of time before he 
gets caught."

"It's already been twelve years too many."

Scully looked at the door of her closet and did not reply.

XxXxX

"You sure you want to do this?" Mulder asked outside the 
evidence room.

Scully nodded.  "It's fine.  I'm the one who was there, after 
all.  Maybe I can help."

"I don't doubt it," he said with a small smile. 

He opened the door, and inside they found all the items that 
had been collected from Carl's cabin catalogued and spread 
out on a long table.  The newspaper clippings had been placed 
in protective plastic bags, but the shoes remained lined up 
as neatly as they had been on Carl's shelf.  At the end of 
the table lay the garden shears, still tinged with blood.

Mulder glanced at Scully, but her expression was unreadable.  
She walked slowly once around the table.  "My shoes aren't 
here," she said at last.

"What?"  He looked now, too, and found she was right.  The 
black velvet sandals she had described were not with the rest 
of the shoes.

"They're not here," she said again, more upset this time.  
"Do you think this means he still has them?"

Mulder felt the question like a punch to his gut; there was 
no way he could lie to her.  "Yes," he said tersely.  "I 
think he probably has them."

Scully stared at him without moving for a long minute.  "Do 
you think he'll come back?"

He hesitated, choosing his words with care.  "I don't think 
so.  He knows we know who he is this time; it would be 
suicide to come back here now."

"But he might." 

"He's come back before," Mulder said.  "So it's possible.  
But I doubt he'd even make it across city lines."

Scully looked at the long row of shoes.  "I wish I could say 
that was enough for me."

"I know," he said, crossing to her and giving her a quick 
squeeze around the shoulders.  "I don't like it, either."  He 
released her and moved to the table.  "So what do you say we 
see if we can figure out where he might have gone, okay?"

Scully nodded, joining him by the evidence.  "Any sense of 
where to start?"

"Not a clue."

They worked from opposite ends, poring over Carl's notebooks 
and newspaper clippings.  Scully found nothing that stood out 
to her, but after an hour, Mulder looked up with excitement. 
"Is there a magnifying glass around here?"

"Uh, yes.  Behind you."

He grabbed the glass and removed one newspaper article from 
its bag.  Scully walked over to see what he had found.  He 
had the magnifying glass trained over one of Tanzini's old 
photos.  "What is it?" she asked.

"I think I know who Irene was," he answered.

"Who?"

"Irene, the name in Elizabeth Kinney's textbook."  He set 
down the magnifying glass and turned to look up at her.  "And 
if I'm right, I also know who murdered Elizabeth Kinney."

XxXxX

Irene Sherring lived in modest brick house outside of 
Richmond.  There was a tricycle in the yard, and Ford 
Explorer parked in her drive way.  Scully glanced up and down 
the mostly-deserted street.  "If it's true," she said to 
Mulder, "this woman could be in real danger."

"I agree.  That's why we have to make sure."

They knocked on the door, and a few minutes later a round-
bodied woman with a toddler on her hip answered.  "Yes?" she 
asked as she hitched the child up a little farther.  In the 
background, Bugs Bunny was having it out with Yosemite Sam at 
about twelve thousand decibels.

"I'm Fox Mulder," Mulder said over the din.  "And this is 
Dana Scully.  I spoke to you on the phone this morning."

"Of course," she said.  "About Dan.  Please come in."

They dodged a minefield of toys as they followed her into the 
room.  A boy of about six lay in front of the TV, eating 
Cheerios straight from the box.  "Steven, turn that down 
please."  She continued in to the kitchen, where she set the 
little girl down amid a pile of plastic donuts.  "Have a 
seat," she said.  "Can I get you some coffee?"

"No, thanks," Mulder answered.

"Okay, then."  She sat and took a deep breath.  "What's this 
about Dan?"

"Your late husband worked with Gary Tanzini at the Post, is 
that correct?" Mulder asked.

"He worked with Gary sometimes, yes.  But he didn't like it.  
Gary was always bossing him around like he was some pee-wee 
assistant.  Dan went to Harvard!  He was no idiot."

"Mrs. Sherring, did your husband maintain a dark room at 
home? Scully asked.

The woman picked up a cloth and wiped what looked like a 
grape-juice stain from the table.  "Of course he did.  
Sometimes he'd be in there for days on end."

"And at the time of his death," Scully continued, "was he 
working with Tanzini on the series of murders that took place 
in the city in 1988?"

"Oh, God.  Yes, now that you mention it, he was.  I'd almost 
forgotten about that.  Dan hated that job.  He had nightmares 
almost every night."  She snorted.  "'Course, I saw where 
Tanzini got the grand prize for that series a few years back.  
The public just couldn't get enough of it."

"This is the important part," Mulder said.  "Think carefully.  
After Dan's accident, did Tanzini ever contact you about 
collecting some negatives, or maybe some equipment?"

Mrs. Sherring considered.  "I believe he did, yes.  He came a 
few days after the funeral to get some cameras that Dan had 
borrowed from work.  Why?"

Mulder looked at Scully, who pulled out a copy of the photo 
he had picked out earlier.  "Mrs. Sherring," she said, "I 
think you might want to look at this."

XxXxX

Tanzini was in his office when Mulder, Scully and two of the 
DCPD's finest arrived at his door.  If he was nervous, he did 
not show it.  "Mulder," he said, "I was just telling my 
lawyer all about that stunt you and Grenier pulled the night 
before last."  He peered over his glasses at Scully.  "You're 
looking much better today."

She ignored his comment.  "We have some questions for you, 
Mr. Tanzini."

"Yeah?" He glanced from her to the two uniformed officers.  
"What's with the troops, Mulder?  Shouldn't you be out 
looking for your murderer?"

"I have," Mulder said.  "And I've found him."

For the first time, Tanzini looked concerned.  "I don't 
understand."

"Sure you do," Mulder said.  "You killed Beth Kinney and 
dumped her body in Montrose Park."

"What the hell are you talking about?"  Tanzini stood, too, 
his face turning pink with anger. "That's a damn lie!"

"You want me to prove it?" Mulder asked.  "I can."

"I want you to take your goons and get the hell out of my 
office."

"Beth interviewed you for the paper last year," Mulder 
continued as if he hadn't spoken.  "She did a nice article on 
your Pulitzer."

"So what?  That means I killed her?"

"No, but that's probably when she found out you had worked 
with Dan O'Dell back in 1988."

"I worked with Dan.  Big deal."

"The big deal is you stole some of his work," Mulder shot 
back.  "Those photos that won you your big prize?  He took at 
least one, probably more."

"The hell you say."

"I don't have to say," Mulder said, pulling out the copy of 
the old photo.  He waved it at Tanzini.  "A picture is worth 
a thousand words."

"What the fuck are you trying to pull here, Mulder?  I can 
call the mayor, you know, and he'll..."

"You're in the picture."

"Excuse me?"

"The picture you supposedly took.  Right there in back of the 
crowd, with your own camera.  That's what Beth saw, and 
that's why you killed her."

Tanzini glared at him in stony silence for a long minute.  
"The little bitch should have just kept her mouth shut.  I 
took hundreds of photos every bit as good as Dan's, and I 
taught him everything he knew."

"Take him away," Mulder said.  He watched as the two men 
handcuffed Tanzini and read him his rights.  "Somehow I don't 
think the Post is going to be covering your legal fees on 
this one," he said.

"Go to hell."

Mulder indicated the door with a sweep of his hand.  "After 
you."

XxXxX

"Yeah," said Vee from her place at Scully's side.  "That's 
definitely him.  No question this time."

"Okay, get them out of there," the sergeant said through a 
microphone, and a uniformed cop led Tanzini and the other men 
in the lineup out through a side door.

"So that's it?" Vee asked.  "He won't get out on bail or 
anything?"

"He shouldn't be allowed bail," Scully replied.  "But even if 
he is, you won't have to worry.  He knows we have more than 
enough evidence to convict him, and his secret is already 
out.  There's no reason for him to target you now."

"I guess," the girl said, but she didn't sound convinced.  
"You'll tell me if he gets out?"

"I promise."

"Okay."  She shoved her hands in her pockets.  "My mom's 
waiting, so I guess I should go.  But I wanted to give you 
this."  She pulled out a key chain with a small stuffed lion 
attached.  "It used to be my good luck charm, because I won 
it playing skee-ball in the fourth grade."

"Quite a prize," Scully observed.  "But you can't give away 
your good luck charm."

Vee shrugged.  "It hasn't been that lucky for me lately.  I 
figured it might work better for someone else."

Scully smiled.  "Okay, thanks.  I'll try it out."

Vee nodded and went to the door.  "I thought you might need 
it more anyway," she said, turning around.  "'Cause they 
caught the man who was after me.  Hope it works."

The door closed behind her, and Scully stared at the scruffy 
miniature lion in her palm.  "Yes," she said.  "Me, too."

XxXxX

End Chapter Sixteen.  Continued in Chapter Seventeen.

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