Keywords: None


XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter Nine
XxXxXxXxXxXxX


They stationed a uniformed cop outside the autopsy bay while 
Scully examined Tina Appleby's body.  "Sorry, Ma'am," the 
young man said when Scully told him that his presence was not 
required.  "But it's after hours and they had a body go 
missing earlier this week.  I've got to keep an eye on 
things."

Yes, Scully thought, because I am likely to smuggle out a 
corpse for recreational use.

She slipped on some scrubs, tied her hair back, and went to 
work.  Face up and nude on the exam table, Tina Appleby 
appeared denser, flatter, with tangled hair and colorless 
lips.  Scully noted stretch marks on Tina's belly as she 
snapped the first pictures, and a jagged scar across her left 
knee.  Under "cause of death," the local corner had written: 
drowning.  Tina had been found in the creek behind Rudy 
Hartman's farm, just a hundred yards away from the spot she 
claimed the aliens had first found her.

Scully documented some bruising on Tina's shins and her right 
cheek.  Her fingernails had been eaten down to the quick, but 
Tina May Appleby wore glittery red nail polish on each of her 
ten toes.  Scully remembered twelve year-old Melissa shutting 
their bedroom door and triumphantly revealing a bottle of 
nail color their father would have called, "Hooker Red."  
"He'll kill us," she'd told Melissa breathlessly, even as her 
sister twisted the cap off with glee.

"We'll do our feet, silly.  Dad will never know."

They had huddled in the closet to do the application, Melissa 
shaky but Dana's hand steady under pressure even then.  All 
week at school, Melissa had traded her shoes for sandals once 
they'd cleared the house, but Scully had kept her illicit 
feet hidden under thick socks and tennis shoes, wiggling her 
toes in secret while Mrs. Teleman droned on about fractions.

Scully stared at Tina's naked feet, camera still in her limp 
grasp, and felt a tinge of sympathy she had not managed for 
the woman in life.  She finished the photographs and began 
careful external study of the body.  "Probable proximal cause 
of death," the corner had noted, "alcohol."

He had smelled it, and so did Scully.  Blood tests would no 
doubt confirm that Tina Appleby had consumed an unhealthy 
amount of alcohol before she'd died.  Thus far, Scully saw 
nothing to indicate Tina's death was anything other than an 
unfortunate accident.  She rolled the woman over on her side 
to get a good look at her back.  No abrasions, no broken 
skin.

Scully was about to roll her over again when something made 
her stop. *Even the smallest ant can destroy the dam.*

Scully left Tina slumped on her side and moved so that she 
could get at the woman's neck.  Her own breathing echoed in 
her ears as she lifted Tina's heavy mess of hair aside and 
exposed the tiny scar at Tina's nape.

Biting her lip, Scully prodded at the wound with one gloved 
finger.  The chip was still there, just under the skin.  
Maybe Tina hadn't known of its existence?  But Jared Rentham, 
psychic from the stars, he would have known.  Wouldn't he?

XxXxX

Mulder had creek mud caking his shoes and mosquito bites the 
size of walnuts on his arms.  He was still wearing 
yesterday's suit when he went to visit Chet Appleby in 
prison.  Appleby had shrunk a size in just one week, all the 
fight drained out of him, and he picked up the phone slowly 
to speak with Mulder on the other side of the glass.

"Why have you come here?"

"They told you about Tina?" Mulder asked.  Chet closed his 
eyes.

"I gave up my life and it still wasn't enough.  That...animal 
had to come out from the grave and snatch Tina just one more 
time."  He shook his head sadly.  "I should have done it 
months ago.  Maybe then she'd still be alive."

"What makes you think Jared Rentham had anything to do with 
Tina's death?" Mulder asked, and Chet leveled him with a flat 
look.

"They told me where they found her, back of the old Hartman 
place.  Tina'd given up on that cock-and-bull story about the 
abduction until Rentham got ahold of her.  He dragged her 
back to that farm sure enough as if he'd put a gun to her 
head."

"Rentham wasn't the one with the gun," Mulder couldn't resist 
pointing out, still angry at being used.  "You were."

"If it were your sister, you'd have done the same thing." 
Appleby pushed his glasses up on his nose.

Mulder heard the shot again, saw Rentham crumpled on the 
ground.  He shook off the image and stared at the pale face 
on the other side of the barrier.  "Someone stole the body," 
Mulder said into his phone.  "Did you hear?"

"Figures," Appleby replied with disgust.  He squinted at 
Mulder. "Any suspects?"

"I came to ask you about that."

"Hell if I know.  Ask those cult members of his."

"No one can find them.  It seems they all left town."  Mulder 
watched Appleby's reaction, but the other man didn't blink.

"Or maybe they're all dead, like Tina."

"Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Tina?"

"Besides the man who ruined her life?  No."

"Well, I think you pretty much crossed Rentham off the 
suspect list," Mulder said, and Appleby gave a tense shrug.  
Something about the way his gaze dropped made Mulder ask, 
"What's that supposed to mean?"

"They haven't got a body now, have they?"

Mulder sat forward.  "You think he's alive?"

Appleby leaned forward too.  "Mr. Mulder," he said very 
seriously, "you can't shoot the devil and expect him just to 
disappear."

XxXxXxX

The muggy night air clung like thick perfume.  Mulder wiped 
the sweat from his collarbone with a handkerchief as he 
checked in at the fleabag motel.  "Room thirteen," the man 
told him.  "Right next to the lady agent."

Mulder accepted the big plastic key chain with a weary nod 
and trudged out into the damp heat again.  With the bugs and 
the humidity and the dead bodies, Hell had come to Earth and 
parked its trailer square on Texas.  Mulder calculated the 
sole advantage:  they were over one thousand miles away from 
Washington D.C. and Gregory Watts.

He halted, key dangling in his hand, and stared at the row of 
doors.  Was Scully in room twelve or fourteen?  The light in 
twelve was on so he decided to take a chance.

Scully answered without a word.  He hadn't seen her since 
their blowup in the office, and he wasn't quite sure what to 
say to her now.  Sorry would just be a lie.  

She stared up at him, unsmiling, and then went back and laid 
on the bed.  Her air conditioner was going full-blast.  
Mulder took the fact that she did not slam the door in his 
face as a sign to come in, and shut the door behind him.

"Don't get too comfortable," Scully said, eyes closed, and 
Mulder halted with his ass hovering just above the armchair.  
"We're not staying."

"What do you mean?"

She sighed and opened her eyes to look at him.  "Tina Appleby 
drowned, Mulder.  Natural causes.  There is nothing more to 
investigate here."

Mulder sat.  "I talked to Chet Appleby tonight."

"And?"

"He seems to think Jared Rentham might be alive."

Scully raised herself up to glare at him.  "Don't tell me 
you're actually entertaining this fantasy."  Mulder said 
nothing.  "Mulder, Rentham is dead.  You and I both saw him 
take a bullet to the head, and I ended up wearing his brains 
all over my shirt."

"That's right," Mulder said, becoming more animated.  "You 
did."

Scully looked wary at his excitement.  "What?"

"Done your dry cleaning yet, Scully?"

"Mulder--"

"The body disappeared before anyone ran tests."

"Body," Scully said, swinging her legs over the bed.  "So we 
both agree what we're dealing with here, right?"

Mulder rubbed his eyes.  "I don't know what we're dealing 
with.  That's why I want to run the tests.  Something has 
been off about this case from the beginning.  I think when we 
figure out what Jared Rentham was really doing at Sanctuary 
House, we might have a chance at understanding what the hell 
is going on here."

"Did you find out anything in New Orleans?"

"Yeah," Mulder said into his hands.  He slouched backwards 
with a sigh.  "Jared Rentham was a lousy fortune teller.  He 
could barely make his rent."

"Mulder."  Scully's voice was soft, sad.  He looked at her.  
"Let's just go home."

The resignation in her tone scared him. "Scully, about 
yesterday--"

She stood up abruptly, cutting him off.  "You know, you've 
never asked me about that night," she said as she walked to 
the dresser.  "Not once."

"I didn't think you wanted me to ask."

She looked back at him in the mirror, removing one of her 
earrings.  "Here's your chance, Mulder."

He thought for a long, silent minute.  "I don't know what to 
say."

"How about the question you've been wanting to ask all this 
time?"

He shook his head faintly.

"Come on," she goaded.  She put both hands on the dresser and 
narrowed her eyes at him in the mirror.  "Ask it.  I know you 
want to.  I've seen it on your face."

"You tell me, then," he replied quietly.  

"I want to hear you say it."

Mulder shifted.  "You're going to have to tell me first 
because I don't know what you want me to say."

"How did this happen?" she said, whirling.  Mulder's throat 
went dry.  "That's it, isn't it?  That's what you want to 
know?"

"Things happen."  His voice came out hoarse.

"Not like this," she said, advancing on him.  "Not to me.  I 
carry a gun.  I enforce the law.  I've had the same hand-to-
hand combat training that you've had."

"You weren't carrying," he said, avoiding her eyes as he 
offered up the excuse.  He'd said it to himself a million 
times already.

"No, I wasn't.  I was alone and unarmed and I just let him do 
it to me.  That's what you think, isn't it?"

Her words started the movie in his head again:  Scully on the 
parking lot pavement.  Watts sweating on top of her.  

Mulder squeezed his eyes shut to make the picture go away.

"Scully," he said.  "What do you want from me?"

"The truth!"

Mulder lurched to his feet.  "I don't know the truth!  I 
don't know anything, Scully.  You're up, you're down, and I 
don't have one fucking clue what to say anymore.  I want to 
help.  I do."  She shook her head, denying him.  "Yes," he 
told her fiercely.  "I do, Scully, but I feel like I just get 
it wrong every single time I open my mouth.  I can't feel sad 
for you.  I can't feel angry for you."

"I don't want you to feel anything for me!"

Mulder shut up.  Her fury didn't fire him the way it usually 
did.  He didn't have the energy to fight.  "It's too late for 
that," he told her softly.  

She wrapped her arms around her chest and her eyes grew 
watery.  "What do you want from me, Mulder?  Maybe that's the 
real question."

"I want--"  He swallowed.  "I want what you want."

"And what is that?"

"For things to be okay again."

"For *me* to be okay again."

He wasn't sure whether he was supposed to agree with that or 
not.  "I love you," he said, but it felt like a guilty 
confession, like he'd been caught stealing cookies before 
dinner.

"You hate him," she said.  "You hate what happened."

"Yes."

"And that's what I feel.  When you look at me, when you touch 
me, that's what I feel."

Mulder looked down at his hands, suddenly poison. "I don't 
hate you, Scully."

"No."  She hugged herself tighter.  "But maybe it's close 
enough."


XxXxXxX

Back on his home turf, Mulder puttered around the office and 
ignored the clock on the wall.  Scully had not been in yet 
that morning, and it was nearly noon.  Mulder hoped 
Savioshy's men hadn't run out of yard work to do in Watt's 
neighborhood.

When the phone rang, Mulder lunged to answer it.  "Mulder," 
he said, half leaning over his desk, expectant.

"Agent Mulder?" came the unfamiliar voice on the other end.  
"This is Chris Clark from the DA's office.  I'm trying to 
reach Agent Scully."

"Oh."  Mulder glanced around again, as if he might have 
somehow overlooked her in the room.  "She's not here at the 
moment."

"I tried her cell number and got no reply.  Do you know how I 
might get in touch with her?"

Mulder figured her phone was off for his benefit.  "Uh, no, I 
don't know where she is right now, but I can take a message 
if you want."  Even if Scully wasn't going to clue him in on 
what was happening with the case, maybe ADA Clark had looser 
lips.  But no.

"Just tell her I called."

"About the case?"

"She can reach me at the office for the next few hours.  
Thanks."

He hung up before Mulder could say anything further.  Mulder 
stared at the receiver a moment, dial tone still buzzing, and 
wondered what the newest development was.  The case had 
dropped from the papers over the last few days, but at least 
there had not been any new attacks.  Savioshy must be doing 
something right.  Mulder shook his head and replaced the 
phone.

He noticed Scully's fern drooping on top of the file cabinet, 
so he lifted it down to water it.  The green wisps tickled 
his hand as the plant hungrily absorbed its drink.   Watching 
it, Mulder forgot the door, and thus startled when Scully 
breezed through a minute later carrying her briefcase and 
what looked like a rolled up poster.  Mulder feared she had a 
new motto to paste over "I want to believe."

She stopped, eyeing him with the plant, but did not demand 
that he unhand her foliage. "It needed water," he explained 
for want of something better to say.  Scully shrugged and 
took the giant piece of paper over to her table.

"I solved part of Rentham's code," she said.

"Really?"  Curiosity overcame awkwardness and he joined her 
at the table as she spread out the poster she had brought; it 
turned out to be a US map.

"Part of the numbers denote longitude and latitude," she 
explained.  "The coordinates appear roughly to correspond 
with the locations of the reported abductions.  I marked as 
many as I could."

"That's where you've been this morning?"

She nodded, not really looking at him.  "The files on your 
desk haven't been added yet, of course.  I can do that this 
afternoon."

Just then, he remembered the phone call.  "ADA Clark called 
here looking for you a little while ago," Mulder said.  "He 
mentioned he tried your cell."

Scully's cheeks colored.  "Did he say what he wanted?" she 
asked as she fussed with the map.

"No.  I assume it's about your case."  He waited for her to 
seize the opening, but Scully merely pulled out her cell 
phone and dialed.  Mulder couldn't help noticing that she 
already knew the number.  She turned her back to him, 
wandering over to the window to make her call.

"Hi, Chris?  It's Dana Scully," he heard her say.   There was 
a pause as she listened.  "Oh.  Sure, that's possible.  How 
soon do you... Yes, I can be there this afternoon.  See you 
then."  She snapped off the phone and turned to Mulder with a 
deep breath.

"Got to run?" he asked, still lingering by her map.

"Shouldn't take long."  She began gathering her things as if 
she were alone in the room.  Mulder hung back, tongue large 
and useless in his mouth.

"Scully," he began, and she looked up at him, a casual, 
careless glance.  I don't care what you think of me, the look 
said.  Go to hell.

"Hmm?"

"I just want you to know I think it's great that you're doing 
this."

"So glad to have your approval."  She hefted her briefcase 
and started out.

"No," he said, blocking her path.  "I mean, it must be hard, 
putting yourself out there for a trial like this."

She stopped and gave a half-shrug. "Anyone in my situation 
would."

He encircled her wrist with his hand.  "No, Scully," he told 
her in a low voice.  "Most wouldn't."

She looked down at where he held her, his thumb running 
lightly over the band of skin beneath the cuff.  When she 
raised her head, her expression had softened into a small, 
wistful smile.  "I've got to go," she whispered.

"Yeah."  He squeezed her.  "But hurry back."

XxXxXxX

During work hours, Chris Clark's office building was crammed 
with people.  They answered ringing phones.  They pushed past 
Scully in the hall.  One man was yelling, "I sent it to him 
last week!"  In the waiting room, there was standing room 
only, and a toddler was ripping pages from a magazine in the 
middle of the pandemonium.

"I'm here to see Chris Clark," Scully said, and the secretary 
on the phone waved her away.  Scully sized up the waiting 
area, trying to imagine where she could fit, but Chris 
appeared from down the hallway.

"Dana, thanks for coming over so quickly.  The place is a 
total zoo right now, I know.  Come on down to my office where 
we can talk."

He shut out the noise with his heavy door and gestured for 
her to sit again on the small sofa.  Unlike their previous 
meeting, he seemed tense and harried.  "Ignore that," he said 
grimly when his phone rang.  But neither of them could speak 
over the repeated trills.  Chris made an annoyed huff and 
went to his desk to shut up the phone.  "Voice mail will get 
it."

The leather creaked as Scully shifted uncomfortably.  "If 
this is a bad time..."

"No, no," he replied in a rush as he returned to the seating 
area.  He pulled over one of the arm chairs with him, taking 
his seat in that instead of on the couch next to her.  "I'm 
glad you're here.  Today has just been crazy busy." He forced 
a smile at her, which she awkwardly returned.

"Okay," she said, taking a breath.  "What's going on?"

He thinned his lips, hesitating.  "The motion to separate was 
successful," he said at last.  "Bellamy is going to make us 
try Watts on each count individually."

"That will take some time."

"Yes."  He hesitated again.  "But that's not all.  You 
remember how I indicated to you that we don't have the same 
amount of evidence against him for each attack?"  He waited 
for Scully's nod.  "The judge ruled that the M.O. Watts used 
is not unique enough to tie the cases together, especially 
since the detectives did not find the stolen items in Watts' 
possession.  That means we can't use evidence from one attack 
as evidence in another.  Without that connection, we simply 
don't have enough evidence to pursue some of the cases 
individually."

Her heart slammed against her ribs, making her jerk in her 
seat.  "Meaning?" she asked, though she could have guessed 
the answer from his face.

"We can't prosecute your case at this time," he told her 
softly.  "I'm sorry."

"But the rape kit--"

"Says that you were raped.  No one is denying that.  But 
there was no semen found and no hairs -- nothing that would 
conclusively prove that Gregory Watts was your attacker." 

Scully sat stone-still.  Her voice was little more than a 
whisper.  "So he gets away with it?"

"No."  Emphatic, Chris sat forward in his chair.  "No, I 
promise you that is not going to happen.  We have matching 
semen samples in two of the cases and hair from three others.  
Watts will be prosecuted, and he will go to prison."

"But not for me."

"No," he admitted with some reluctance.  "I'm sorry."

Scully nodded, feeling the ice begin to crack beneath her.  
She blinked rapidly and stood up.  "So we're done here, then.  
I won't take up any more of your time."

"Dana, please."  He stood up as well, blocking her path to 
the door.  "We can talk about this."

"Can we?"  She fixed him with a hard stare.  "Can I sit here 
and tell you every horrible, degrading detail again?  Is that 
going to change everything?"

"I don't blame you for being angry."

"I'm not angry.  I'm merely--"  She swallowed with 
difficulty.  "Disappointed."

Chris's face fell.  "It's not totally over," he said.  "If we 
get new evidence..."

"Please spare me the Hail Mary pep talk.  I've seen this play 
out a hundred times before, and so have you.  We both know 
the ending."

"He will pay," Chris said as Scully pushed past him.  "Dana--
"  She stopped with her hand on the knob.

"I'll be sure to read about it in the papers," she said, and 
opened the door back into chaos and confusion.

XxX

Mulder tacked her map to the wall of the office.  Where 
Scully had made delicate pencil marks to indicate the 
location of each alleged abduction, Mulder thrust in a 
pushpin.  Scully only hypothesized; he committed.  He marked 
off the Xs corresponding to the people who had lived inside 
Sanctuary House with red pins, and for the others he used 
blue.  The reds formed a narrow band across the southern 
United States.

"Hey, Scully," he said as she returned.  "Check this out.  It 
looks like Rentham was targeting abductees from a particular 
area."

"Great," she answered dully, not even bothering to look at 
his work.  She walked to her table and lowered herself into 
the high-backed chair.

"I called a couple of MUFON groups down there," he continued, 
but Scully did not seem to be paying much attention.  "You 
were right, Scully.  Just like us, they've never heard of 
him.  So where was he getting all his information?"

"I don't know, Mulder.  He's dead.  At this point it hardly 
matters."

"Of course it matters.  C'mon Scully, even you have to admit 
there's something strange going on here, with the giant 
database of abductees we found in his basement, Rentham's 
body disappearing, and then the Sanctuary House members all 
vanishing overnight."

"I don't have to admit anything," she snapped.

"Um."  He ducked his head, jostling loose pushpins around in 
his palm.  "Okay."

Scully sighed and leaned her head into her hands.  "Whatever 
you want, Mulder, okay?  If you think this case is still 
worth pursuing, then by all means, let's pursue it.  But 
Rentham is dead.  Tina Appleby is dead.  The pattern of 
abductions, while interesting, is meaningless without either 
Rentham or the victims available to answer questions.  I just 
don't know where you expect us to go from here."

Mulder advanced another step, still jiggling the tacks.  "I 
was thinking of going back to New Orleans and looking into 
Miriam Rentham's death some more."

"Fine," Scully said, "When do you want to leave?"

"You're through with Chris Clark for the time being?  Because 
we can work around--"

"Oh, no.  We're through."

"Oh.  Well, anytime you need time off--"

"It's over, Mulder, okay?  They're not going forward with my 
case."

"What?  What are you talking about?"

"Lack of evidence.  They can prove Gregory Watts is a rapist.  
They just can't prove he is my rapist."

"Ten women, same M.O."

"Not admissible.  They severed the cases.  Clark is going 
forward with five of them, and the rest are on hold."

"On hold?"

"Indefinitely."  She sighed again and seemed to drag herself 
back to the work in front of her.  "I don't know why I ever 
expected anything different."

"Scully--"

"No.  Mulder.  I do *not* want to talk about this."  She 
pushed back her chair and stood up.  "I'll be back in a 
minute and we can figure out New Orleans."

He stood, head bowed, in the center of the room as her heels 
echoed down the hall.  Only when she was totally gone did he 
swallow his scream and hurl the tacks against the wall.

XxXxX

Night came thick and steamy.  Mulder's air conditioning 
rattled the walls, but the old building could not pump enough 
cold to really make it worth the while.  Mulder tried a cool 
shower instead.  Afterward, he slipped on just a pair of 
boxers and headed to the living room with his wet hair spiked 
and a towel around his neck.  He drowned his sorrow in iced 
tea while the evening news flickered on the TV screen.  
Mulder propped large, bare feet on his coffee table.

"In local news tonight, a judge agreed with Nora Bellamy that 
there is not enough evidence to link 20 year old college 
student Gregory Watts to all ten rape cases. The camera 
shifted to outside the courthouse where Bellamy stood with 
Watts at her side.

"Of course Judge Walker agreed," she was saying.  "Greg has 
been made a scapegoat so that Arlington and Kings County 
police officers don't look as inept as they truly are.  Greg 
is not a rapist.  He is an honor student with no history of 
violence whatsoever.  My heart goes out to those women who 
have been hurt, but stringing up my client is not the answer.  
Greg is as much a victim here as they are."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Mulder said, sitting up.  "Hold your 
client/attorney meetings in a dark parking lot, and we'll see 
how you feel about poor little Greggy then."

The camera turned on Watts then.  He looked about fifteen 
years old, with his wide eyes and slicked-down hair parted in 
the middle.  "I just want to say thanks to Nora for helping 
me, and to my mom and dad for standing by me through this 
mess.  I didn't hurt those women, but I hope they catch who 
did really soon.  Thanks."

Most people would have missed it, but Mulder had spent years 
inside the box with sociopaths. Gregory Watts tried for 
solemn innocence, but at the very last minute, the corners of 
his mouth twitched up in a smile.  He was ready to get away 
with it.

Rage flew through Mulder like lightning to a rod.  "You 
sonofabitch.  You goddamn sonofa--"

Mulder stormed through his apartment, pulling on clothes, 
simmering his anger.  When he was done, Watts wasn't going to 
be smiling.  He would never smile again.

Mulder grabbed his keys and gun and went back to Plumtree 
Lane.

XxXxX

In the black of night even the loveliest neighborhood took on 
a seedy appearance with houses fading to gray and restless 
teenagers roaming the block.  Mulder circled once, searching 
for Savioshy's men, and concluded that surveillance had been 
abandoned.  The black hate grew stronger.  You can rape ten 
women, but don't abuse the department's overtime.

Mulder parked in the shadows and hunched down in the seat.  
Light shone from several windows in the Watts family home.  
He considered ringing the bell and holding a gun to the head 
of the first person who answered.  Do you know what kind of 
monster your son is?

He sat for some time, SIG heavy in his hand, watching the 
door.  Watts hadn't been able to visit his stash or stage a 
strike in over a week.  He was probably inside pacing the 
floor and sweating.  As if on cue, the curtain on the top 
floor moved.  Mulder slouched again, his pulse racing.  Not 
five minutes later the front door opened and Watts trotted 
across the front lawn.  He jangled keys to the Ford Explorer, 
a spring in his step, and soon the roar of the large engine 
filled the quiet night.

Mulder held his breath as Watts drove right past.

Hunting time.

He started his car and followed.

XxXxX

End chapter nine.

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