XxXxX Chapter Seven XxXxX The Bureau was large, and Scully had learned not to waste the endless hours she spent walking from one end of the building to another. Phone tucked under her jaw, she flipped through the latest task-force updates with one hand as she clutched her lunch bag with the other. "Okay, then, how soon can you tell me what's wrong with it?" Her voice echoed in the basement stairway. "Fine. Yes, I'll be at this number all afternoon." She hung up as she reached the familiar, murky hallway, where Mulder's office was the only source of light. As she paused to shift her belongings and put away the phone, she heard laughter coming from inside, wafting into the hall along with the spicy scent of pizza. She walked towards the door but stopped short when she heard Mulder and Russell talking. "Remember Paul Peterson?" Mulder was saying. "'Pants' Peterson?" Russell answered. "Of course I know him. I was there the night he got caught on the fence, remember?. Believe me, you don't forget a hairy ass like that one any time soon." "He made SAC last week. Organized Crime." "No way!" "Way," Mulder countered. "And you know what this means, of course?" "Proof that my mom was right," she said with a sigh. "Life really isn't fair." "No, just think of it -- all those brown nosers in OC will now have to pucker up and kiss..." Russell laughed, and the sound caused a sharp twinge in Scully that took her by surprise. She blinked as she drew back from the door. It wasn't as though she thought Mulder had sprung into existence the day she had walked into his office. Of course not. But until that moment, she hadn't considered the fact that there were parts of him she would never know, parts that lived only in memories that she didn't have. She took a deep breath and relaxed the death grip she had on the paper bag containing her lunch. Squaring her shoulders, she entered the office. "Hey," she said, and Mulder sat up in his chair. "Scully, I was just about to call you. Where have you been? Everything okay with your car?" "The tow truck was an hour late, and then I decided to go straight to the lab with the images, since that reconstruction we talked about is going to take some time to complete." "Reconstruction?" Russell asked. "What's that about?" Mulder glanced at Scully and pushed to his feet. "Oh, probably nothing," he said vaguely, and Scully felt the air in the room shift as he moved to stand at her side. Russell, she realized, was welcome in the basement as an old friend. Not as a partner. Russell apparently sensed this, too, because she put aside her paper plate and stood to leave. "I should go check in with Adam," she said. "You going to keep working on the list?" "Paroled felons 'R us," he replied. "Scully and I will take the rest of June." "Great," Russell said as she collected her jacket. "I'll talk to you both later, then." She left the room, and Mulder nudged the pizza box in Scully's direction. "I saved you a piece." She eyed the greasy box top and shook her head. "I've got a sandwich, thanks." She grabbed Russell's empty chair and drew it up next to the desk. "What have you been up to this morning?" "Phoning parole officers about recently released violent offenders to make sure everyone's been checking in on time." He sat on the edge of the desk next to her. As she went to take the first bite of her sandwich, he grinned and held out a long list of printed names. "Saved you some of those, too." XxXxX He got into her apartment the same way he had the night before -- right through the front door. His shoes were special, of course, and he had learned long ago not to make any noise when he walked. They never knew he was coming until he clapped his hand over their mouths. Hard, so they couldn't bite. Thick leather gloves, in case they tried to anyway. It took him some searching to find her phone. He dug it out from under the unmade bedcovers, wondering who she could have been talking to, curled up under the sheets. Out of curiosity, he punched the first memory key as he wandered over to her closet. Just to see. "This is Fox Mulder. Leave a message at the beep." "Shit!" he said, and the phone clattered onto the floor. He stared at it as his heart began to pound. Number one on her home phone. This was going to be better than he ever expected. He picked up the phone and took it back over to the bed. Sitting down, he fingered her silky pajamas as he hit the memory key again. Do you fuck her? he thought as the message played once more. Does she put those pretty heels in the air for you? He broke the connection before the beep, then promptly redialed. Mulder asked him to leave a message as he groped around under the bed for her shoes. Yesterday's pair, discarded with one pump turned over on its side, sat in the shadows near the foot of the bed. He pulled them onto his lap and stroked the smooth, worn leather. "This is Fox Mulder. Leave a message at the beep." He grinned and stuck his fingers inside one shoe, feeling the individual hills and valleys created by her tiny toes. He clicked off the phone. "I've got a message for you, Fox Mulder," he whispered. "Just wait and see." Her phone was easy enough to split open; he added the necessary bits in less than five minutes. On his way out, he paused at the closet door. It was cracked about six inches, revealing the rows of glorious shoes inside. Swallowing hard, he managed to tear himself away. That was for later. First, he had to catch a cab. XxXxX There was a light rain falling, more of a mist than anything else, and Vee watched the ends of her mother's hair curl as they stood outside of Union Station. She stood still and unsmiling while her mother straightened her jacket collar and wiped a smudge off her chin with her thumb, just as though Vee were heading off to her first day of kindergarten. "You know I would go with you if I could," the older woman said. Vee turned her head away. "I know." "It's just that I lost so much time last spring when Daddy died." "It's fine, Mom." Vee cut her off impatiently, and her mother halted her fussing, her hands wilting in the air between them. "You should go," Vee told her. "You're going to be late for the hospital." "I can at least walk you to the train. Remember your Aunt Bridget will meet you in Baltimore -- right at the station, so be looking for her, okay?" "You told me a million times." Vee scuffed one of her boots on the ground, her eyes already on the doors of Union Station. "Let's go then." Her mother sighed. Inside, they fought the press of hundreds of weary travelers. Vee swiftly threaded her way through the men in suits and careening children, forcing her mother to work to keep up with her. Her ticket bought, Vee found the gate where her train waited for departure, but the security man wouldn't let her mother pass. "Not without a ticket," he said. "Sorry." "Fine," her mother answered flatly. "Wait here." "Mom, this really isn't necessary..." "I am watching you get on that train, Virginia," her mother answered. "Now wait here." A few minutes later, her mother returned with the cheapest one-way fare possible, and they entered the gate together. Vee would have boarded without looking back, but her mother caught the end of her jacket. "Ginny..." Vee turned. "What?" "Be careful. Please." She reached out and engulfed Vee in a hug. "I know this isn't you," she whispered fiercely. "I know you're not happy. And when you come back, I promise we're going to find a way to fix it." Vee looked up at the ceiling in an effort to hold back the sudden tears. This is me, Mom, she thought. Everything you ever said not to do, I've done. She reached around her mother with the arm not holding her suitcase and patted her awkwardly. "I've got to go now, Mom." With a sniff, her mother nodded and released her. "Call me when you get there." Vee entered the train and slumped down in the nearest seat, clutching her small suitcase on her lap. Outside, her mother was the only one standing still amid the crush of passengers hurrying to board at the last minute. Her mother waved, and Vee looked away. When she turned back to the window moment later, her mother had gone. Nothing matters anymore, Vee thought. Her head spun, her heart raced -- her body was so light she felt she might disappear. "Is this seat taken?" asked a woman with large glasses and a frumpy skirt. "No," Vee replied, feeling herself move without even willing it. "Here, you can have the window." She pushed her way off the train into diesel-scented air. A conductor touched her arm. "The train leaves in two minutes, miss." Vee ignored him and began walking back to the main part of the station. As she past a round, silver garbage can, she tucked her ticket into it. XxXxX Mulder had the phone in one hand and a ball of therapeutic clay in the other. "Not for three weeks?" he said as he practiced squeezing. "Okay, what's your last known address for McGreggor?" He set aside the clay and jotted down the information relayed to him. "Got it, thanks." "A hot prospect?" Scully asked from where she was manning her phone across the room. "Not any hotter than the other two dozen names we already have," he answered. He tossed his clay in the air and caught it neatly. "You're getting better," Scully observed. "The Yanks will be calling any day. Keep your eye out for scouts lurking in the halls, Scully." "They're liable to get swallowed by all the boxes," she replied. "I wouldn't quit your day job just yet." He gestured expansively at the chaos surrounding him. "Leave all this glamour for millions of dollars and legions adoring fans? I wouldn't dream of it." Scully didn't get a chance to answer because there was a knock at the door. "Come in," Mulder called, and an older man entered the room with a tired felt hat in his hands. He glanced at Scully before settling his gaze on Mulder. "Agent Mulder, my name is Elliot Gellar. Do you remember me?" Mulder sat up slowly, all traces of humor evaporating from his features. "Of course I do." He rose and moved around the front of the desk. "You're Jessica's father." "That's right. We spoke many years ago, at...at the funeral." He looked down at the hat in his hands. Scully got up from her chair and approached the man. "Mr. Gellar, I'm Dana Scully, Agent Mulder's partner. Would you like to sit down? I can take your coat." "No, no. Thank you, dear, but I can't stay." "What can we do for you, Mr. Gellar?" Mulder asked. His chin came up. "I won't keep you, I promise. I just saw the papers and I had to know...is it him?" Mulder glanced at Scully, who turned her gaze to the floor. "Yes, I believe it's him," he said softly. Gellar swallowed convulsively and clenched his hat. "All these years, I thought he was dead. I tortured myself with it, every waking hour of every day. What if he'd died just a little sooner? Jessie might still be alive." "Sir, are you sure you wouldn't like to sit down?" Scully's voice was gentle. He shook his head. "I've been doing some reading, you know," he said to Mulder. "On the kind of work you do, and the kind of animals you chase. I don't know how you manage it, day after day." I couldn't manage it, Mulder thought, but he said nothing. "My wife thinks *I'm* the monster for wanting to know all the details," he continued. "But I have to know. I keep waiting for the one thing that will explain it all, the thing that will tell me why Jessie had to die. Last year, I saw an interview with a serial killer on television. He was talking about his victims. 'She was dead the moment I saw her,' he said, and that's when I knew." "Knew what, Mr. Gellar?" Scully asked when he didn't say anything further. He drew a shuddering breath. "There was nothing I could have done. Nothing Jessie could have done. It was over the minute he saw her. Maybe..." He broke off, hesitating. "Maybe that goes for you all, too. There was nothing more you could have done." "We have some new avenues to explore this time," Mulder said. "We're doing everything we can." Gellar nodded. "I know. That's part of why I wanted to come here, to tell you that I understood how hard you tried." He cleared his throat. "I should be getting home now. Good luck with the search, and please -- let me know if you learn anything, will you?" "You have my word," Mulder answered. Scully walked the older man to the door, and he shook her hand politely before leaving. "Whew," she said when he had gone. "That was intense." "Yeah." Mulder lowered himself into the nearest chair, rubbing his face with his hands. "Jesus." "You okay?" Scully asked after a moment. "Yes," he said. "No." She walked over and leaned against the desk next to him. "What is it?" "It's exactly what he said, Scully. That's been the most terrible thing about this, the thing I hardly can even bring myself to think about." She waited, and he sighed. "Gellar wonders what if this guy had died before he could kill his daughter. But now he knows that wasn't a possibility." "Yes," Scully agreed. "And?" Mulder traced the edge of the desk with one finger until he bumped into her hip. He did not meet her eyes. "I was the best, Scully. I know you're not supposed to say things like that, but it's true. I was supposed to catch this animal, and I gave up. I thought he was dead, too." At last, he raised his head enough to look at her. "Maybe another day, another week..." "You can't think like that," Scully broke in. "You don't know that anything else you could have done would have led to this man's capture." "That's just it," he replied. "I'll never know." XxXxX The rain had soaked Vee through to her skin, and her hair was plastered against her neck by the time she reached Jimmy's apartment. She fumbled the key with numb, wet fingers, but finally managed to open the door. Her damp suitcase wobbled before toppling over in the entryway. "Fuck it," she muttered, and kicked it for good measure. She shut the door behind her. "Hello?" she said to the empty living room. Silence. Either Jimmy wasn't home, his stereo was broken, or he was sleeping one off in the bedroom. Vee helped herself to a Coke from the fridge and wandered down the hall to his room. "Jimmy?" she called. "Are you in there? I jumped the train, and..." She pushed the door open and froze. Jimmy was on the floor, unconscious, and standing over him, with that smiling rubber mask, was Richard Nixon. He lunged at her. Vee screamed and grabbed the first thing she could get her hands on, the oak bookcase to her right. She pulled it over, saw the hundreds of CDs, books and tapes crash down on Nixon, then ran like hell before he could get up. Getoutsidegetoutsidegetoutside. Her legs threatened to buckle under her as she pounded down the staircase toward the front door. Behind her, she could hear Nixon's footsteps gaining ground. "Please God, please God," she muttered, her hand trembling over the banister. His knife clattered against the metal rail. Sobbing, she threw herself out the front door, stumbling into the rain. Her heart slammed painfully against her chest, her lungs on fire, but she did not stop running. At the corner, traffic came to a squealing halt as she zigzagged across the dark street. She did not look back. XxXxX Scully hung up the phone and leaned her head in one hand. "I need some coffee," she said. "You want anything?" Mulder shook his head, not even looking up from his computer screen. She stood up and stretched as the phone rang. When Mulder made no move to answer it, she said, "I guess I'll get that." A moment later, she stretched out the receiver towards him. "It's for you. Sheriff Lydell from Bakersfield, Ohio." Mulder grabbed the phone. "What can I do for you, Sheriff? Yes, I sent that teletype." Scully went to leave, but he stopped her by waving his hand. She turned and waited. "Really," Mulder said. "And this was in nineteen eighty- five? What about the second one? I see." Scully felt her pulse pick up as Mulder stood and began gathering his things. "What is it?" she said, but Mulder was still listening to the man on the other end of the phone. "Get me everything you have on both murders," he said. "We'll be there as soon as we can." He hung up the phone and picked up his jacket. "What?" she asked. "You got a hit?" "Could be," he replied. "Bakersfield has two unsolved murders from late nineteen eighty-five and early nineteen eighty-six. Both victims were young women. Both had mutilations on the feet. If we're lucky, we can get a flight out of here tonight." Scully was already collecting her belongings. "Any suspects?" she asked as they closed up the office. "Not yet." He paused. "But this is him, Scully. I can feel it. These are the bodies he thought we'd never find, and they're the ones we're going to use to nail him." XxXxX Carl parked in a darkened alley, out of view of the street, and tried to calm himself down. So far all he had to show for the day was another dead body, and this one had worn the most despicable kind of sneakers -- cheap and dirty. He adjusted his headset, making sure he could hear over the rain drumming against the roof of his car. His cab. At least he had that. He'd driven past her apartment building fifteen minutes earlier and seen the light in her bedroom window. Was she going out tonight? Or would he do better to catch her in the morning, on her way to work? His headset clicked on, and he heard ringing. A moment later, a woman's voice said, "Yellow Cab. What number are you calling from?" He sat up as he heard Scully give her number. "I need to go to Dulles," she said. "How soon can you get here?" Carl was already starting his engine. It was dark, raining. She wouldn't even realize he had the wrong name emblazoned on his car. "We'll have someone there in fifteen minutes, ma'am," said the woman. Carl planned to be there in ten. XxXxX End chapter seven. Continued in chapter eight. 10 Q to my stalwart and stylish beta readers Alanna, Alicia and Jerry. Feedback would be delightful. All comments and questions welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com And Nancy -- you're definitely getting warmer.