Keywords: None. XxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Six XxXxXxXxXxX When Scully fled the interrogation room, Mulder did not follow. Tina Appleby was there, still talking, and on the other side of the one-way mirror Sheriff Seaver watched her and Mulder equally, waiting for a satisfactory explanation as to why Jared Rentham had ended up decorating Sanctuary House with his brains on Mulder's watch. "This is not how we do things around here, son," had been Seaver's words on the topic. "What the hell did you bring Chet on up there for, anyway?" Mulder forced his attention back to Tina's narrative. "Damned if I know," she was saying. "I could have been gone two weeks or two hours. Rudy said he woke up and I was just gone." Mulder glanced at the door and made a humming noise in his throat. Scully didn't reappear. Tina continued, "I came to in the park across the street from my apartment. My legs were all wobbly, like when you've been on a boat drinking, and I couldn't remember much at first." Mulder turned his attention back to her, really seeing her for the first time since they had brought her down to the station. Her nails were down to the quick but still she chewed at them. She wore baggy pants and an over-sized T- shirt that hid most of her body. No makeup. Tears streaked her round, smooth face, and she hunched in her chair as though she were the guilty criminal. Wet, haunted eyes looked around the room, everywhere at once. Fuck, Mulder thought. He raised his fist as though to slam it on the table, but caught the fear in Tina's eyes and brought it down gently instead. "Excuse me," he said. He threaded his way through the narrow hall, dodging officers, feeling sweaty and cold at the same time. Adrenaline was wearing off. He could find her in the ladies' bathroom, he knew, but he stopped outside without knocking. Leaning his head on the door, he closed his eyes and let his ragged breath steam the peeling paint. Scully was more like him than most people knew. She, too, carried her pain forward, refusing to diminish it by letting go. But whereas he waved his around like a red flag in front of the bull, Scully scrunched hers into a silent, heavy mass. He ran head-forward while she ran straight away, but really, they were chasing the same thing. Mulder found this thought both unsettling and oddly comforting. The door jerked open and he righted himself, blinking as Scully appeared in front of him. Like Tina, her face had been wiped clean, but her hair was combed and her eyes were clear. "Mulder," she said with a frown. "What's going on? Where's Tina Appleby?" "Still in interrogation." He noticed she had her cellular phone in her hand. "Everything okay?" "I have to go back to D.C. Savioshy needs me for a lineup." He leaned in, pulse spiking again. "They got the guy?" "Apparently red-handed." She looked at his chest as she spoke. "They arrested him in a parking lot with a knife." "That's great, Scully," he said, and then realized how that had sounded. "I mean, I'm glad they got him." "Yeah." She hesitated, smoothing her jacket with her palms. "Anyway, I have to get back as soon as possible. They want to do the lineup before he's arraigned." "You're leaving now?" "My flight's in four hours." "What about Tina Appleby?" "What about her, Mulder? We came out here to investigate her brother's claim that she had been abducted by Jared Rentham. Clearly, there was no abduction; she was with him of her own volition. As for any cult that Rentham may or may not have been involved in, well, it seems rather moot now, doesn't it?" "Because he's dead." It came out as an accusation, against whom he wasn't sure. "And that's..." Scully stumbled. "Unfortunate. But it doesn't change the fact that our involvement in this case is finished. Rentham's dead. Chet Appleby is in jail, and Tina Appleby is a free woman. What more do you hope to accomplish here?" "Her story, Scully, didn't it sound familiar?" "Actually, it sounded fragmented and incoherent. I'll grant you that there were elements in her narrative that we've heard before." "And that doesn't mean anything to you?" "What do you want it to mean, Mulder? Suppose you're right. Let's just agree for the sake of argument that everything Tina Appleby said was true: that she was abducted by extraterrestrials, experimented on by men on a train, and returned some uncertain amount of time later. How does this help us? What have we learned?" "You're saying you believe her." "I'm saying it doesn't make a difference whether I believe her." He shook his head. "How can you think that?" he asked softly, searching her face. Scully looked at the floor for a long minute before answering. "She's a victim, Mulder. She's confused; she's scared. Tina Appleby has no more insight into what happened to her or who is behind it than the cows in the field from which she vanished." "But you agreed," he said, "that we've heard this story before." "Yes. And where has it gotten us?" When he didn't answer, she sighed. "Take her statement, Mulder. Tell her we'll try our best. Then tell her--" "What?" "Tell her to get on with her life." She walked away, heels clicking briskly, not waiting for him to follow. XxXxX Even at two in the morning, Scully's plane faced delays. They sat at the gate endlessly while the airport cleared an obstruction from the runway. Scully pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers and was glad for the stillness. She hunkered down in the shadows at the rear of the cabin, away from the others. Her clothes smelled of cigarette smoke, of desperation and dead things. The explosive gunshot still echoed in her head, but when she closed her eyes it was Tina Appleby's pale face she saw. Too tired to read, too wired to sleep, Scully dug out her cell phone, intending to switch it off for the duration of the flight. Mulder's unread messages glowed back at her from the tiny screen. Scully selected the button to play them and hesitantly put the phone to her ear. The first message was brief: "Hey, Scully, it's me. I know it's late, but call me if you get this, okay?" He sounded more tired by the second one. "I guess your phone must be off. I feel terrible about what happened, Scully. Please call me." Scully's eyes welled from the day's unrelenting tension. She covered her mouth with her hand as Mulder's final message played. "I know you're not answering. I just wanted to say..." Silence stretched for several seconds. "I thought I could handle it, but I guess it's obvious by now that I couldn't. I kept thinking about what happened, what you must have been through." She flashed on parking lot, the hard ground, the man shoving himself inside her. It took her breath away. "I'm sorry about everything," Mulder finished hoarsely. "It's my fault, and I'm so sorry." Scully gulped in air as she snapped the phone shut. Fuck you, she thought, tears escaping the corner of her eyes. What the fuck have you got to be sorry about? The captain told them to turn off all electronic devices as the plane started rolling toward the runway. Soon the roar of the engines obliterated everything, Scully thrown back against the seat under their power as she was lifted away, away, the world disappearing beneath the clouds. XxXxX Scully had consumed two cups of coffee, stared the print off the newspaper, and dissected out the rims of the Styrofoam cups using just her thumbnail when at last Detective Savioshy came through the door again. "Sorry to keep you waiting so long," he said as he wedged himself into the small, windowless room. "The kid's family hired an expensive lawyer who's been busting our chops all afternoon. We should be set to go in just a few minutes." "That's what ADA Clark said two hours ago." The conference table wobbled as Savioshy lowered himself onto one corner. "Bellamy -- that's the lawyer -- has been questioning every step of the lineup, from the lighting to the people who get to be in the observation room. But the delay is really for your benefit." "How do you mean?" "They want you to get nervous while you wait, maybe even change your mind. It's happened before. Witnesses get a little too much time to think about things, and they get spooked." "I don't spook that easily," Scully told him. "No, ma'am, I don't imagine you do." He smiled and shoved off from the table. Scully took a deep breath. "But I didn't see much," she said. "It was dark and he had the stocking over his face. I don't know how much help I can be." "You're here," he said. "That counts for a lot. Just go in, take a look, and tell us if anyone stands out." "But you have enough to hold him without me, right?" "Caught the sonofabitch red-handed," Savioshy said. "He ain't going nowhere. Just sit tight for another few minutes, okay?" He left, closing the door behind him, and a few minutes later, Christopher Clark stuck his head in the room. "Dana, thanks for waiting. We're ready for you now." Scully stood and wiped her hands on her hips. She hadn't, until that very moment, considered the fact that the man from the parking lot was in the same building with her. Barely a man. A kid. He had a family, Savioshy had said. Parents who had probably kissed his little cheeks and bought him footy pajamas, and who now disbelieved their son could hide with a knife in the bushes or rape ten unsuspecting women. Outside the door to the viewing room, Scully halted. Clark touched his hand to the small of her back. "You okay?" She nodded, determined. "Let's do it." Clark opened the door for her, and Scully stepped inside a small, tense room filled with grim people. Savioshy stood near the one-way mirror. He had one of his younger officers with him as well. Lining the back wall were two women and one man, all dressed in suits. "Agent Scully, this is Armand Davis from the King County DA's office," Clark said of the first man. "He's just here to observe in case they end up trying some of the cases up there." Scully could have guessed his role from the grateful look in his eyes. "Pleased to meet you, Agent Scully," he said. "Thank you for coming." She wondered if any of the King's County victims had decided to testify. "And this," Clark continued, "is Nora Bellamy." The rapist's lawyer stepped forward on high heels that rivaled Scully's own. She was older, with papery skin and a mess of hair that was somewhere between blonde and gray. It had been pinned on top her head but was threatening to break free. She had the look of someone who had been around the block and then moved in: this was her turf and she knew it. "Ms. Scully," she said, her voice pitched low and Southern, "it's lovely to meet you. Thank you for your patience this afternoon." She gave Scully's hand a quick, firm shake. "This is my associate, Fiona Hamill." "If you'll just come over here to the window," Clark said, "we'll bring them in." Scully allowed him to lead her over to where Savioshy stood with his hand already poised at the intercom. The room on the other side of the glass was well lit and empty. "Send 'em in," Savioshy said into the speaker. Scully braced herself on the hard wooden ledge as the door opened and a line of young men paraded in front of her. Her heart beat high in her throat. The men stopped on their marks, facing forward, and seemed to stare right through the glass. All white and dark-haired, they wore jeans and T- shirts and harmless, blank expressions. "Take your time," Savioshy said gently. Scully nodded without looking at him. Her eyes were glued to the five men on the other side of the window, seeing all of them and none of them at the same time. She couldn't focus. A dark eye here; a big shoulder there. Her gaze raced up and down the men like fingers over piano keys. Which one? Which one? She felt the pressure of the room bearing down on her. "Can they turn?" she whispered, buying time. "Face right," Savioshy said through the speaker. The sound of heavy feet on the floor echoed back as they complied. Four's chin seemed too pointed. Five wasn't tall enough? Or maybe her memory was wrong. Put stockings on their heads, she wanted to say. Then I'd know for sure. The mashed angry features from her dreams were not visible in the light of day. If her rapist was one of the men in the other room, she could have passed him on the street and never known. "I think we've got our answer," Nora Bellamy said shortly. "Give her time," Savioshy shot back. "No," Scully replied, shaking her head. She shuddered with her drawn breath. "I can't tell. I'm sorry." "Thank you for your time, Ms. Scully. Clark, I'll be in touch." Bellamy flashed a smile and disappeared with her associate out the door. "That's it," Savioshy said wearily into the speaker. The men filed through the exit and the lights went out on the other side. "I'm sorry," Scully repeated, and Savioshy waved her off. "You tried. That's all that counts. We knew going in it was a long shot. If you'll excuse me, I have to make sure his ass goes back to jail and not out the front door." "He won't be freed?" Scully asked Clark. "Not yet. But I am sure Bellamy will ask for bail on Monday." "But he was arrested with the knife and mask," Scully said. "Surely that counts for something." "It does. But he wasn't arrested in the process of committing a crime. We have no witnesses. Bellamy will argue that he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time." "And that will work?" "I'll do everything I can to see that it doesn't." He touched her arm. "You okay for a minute? I want to catch her before she leaves." "Sure, sure." She jerked at the hard slap of the door, left alone in the shadowed room. Darkness yawned where the men had stood, and she began to feel him watching her from the black void, felt a creeping sense of danger she had missed at the time. She stared at the window, saw her own pale features reflected there, and backed up slowly until she hit the far wall. He'd been inside her and she didn't even know his face. Shaking, she held her hands out in front of her, palms up, and began sinking down to the floor. It was real. It happened. It could never be undone. "Dana?" Clark reappeared, and instantly he was at her side. "My God, are you okay?" "Yes," she said, struggling to her feet. He took her arm and helped her up. "I'm sorry." "It's okay. Take it easy. I'm the one who's sorry. We shouldn't have left you alone like that." "No." She swiped at her watery eyes. "I've done lineups before. It's all right." He fumbled a wadded up tissue at her. "Do you want some water? Maybe some place to sit?" "No, no. I'm fine. It's just been a long day." She sniffed, hiding herself behind the tissue. "Yeah," he said softly. She saw him look at the door. "You're sure there's nothing I can get for you? No one I can call?" "Really, no." "What about Mulder?" She folded the tissue in half and in half again before answering. "Mulder's still in Texas." "Oh, right. Your case." She felt him studying her. "Would I be correct in assuming it's a rough one?" "You could say that." Less than twenty-four hours ago, she'd been wearing Jared Rentham's blood spatter in her hair. Mulder hadn't called all day. She had no idea when he planned to return. "We owe you a greater debt, then," Clark said, "for leaving your work to come help us with this." "I wasn't any help." "You were. You showed up. That's more than some of the other women have done." Scully looked up. "Did any of them ID him?" "Not yet. But we are just beginning to mount our case. Savioshy pulled his computer, his date book - they even took his car down to the CS labs." Scully asked the one question she had wanted to ask since his call yesterday evening: "How did you catch him?" "Savioshy's taskforce has been running with the idea that this guy was a college student at a university with religious affiliation, most probably a Christian college. They've been contacting these schools and asking them about their recently reported sexual assaults. Saint Joseph's University in Philadelphia kicked out the name Gregory Watts. Watts had a complaint filed against him for rape by a fellow student, but she later withdrew the allegation. Turned out this guy Watts lives down here during the summer months. His parents have a house in Fairfax. A little more digging, and we found out that the Philly PD has a couple of unsolved rape cases from this past fall that bear an uncanny resemblance to the attacks in the DC area. Savioshy went to find Watts, saw him leave the house, and followed him." "To a parking lot," Scully said. That much she knew already. "That's right. When he saw Watts put the stocking cap on, he busted his ass right then." Scully nodded, letting it sink in. "So he's definitely the guy." "Oh, he's the guy, all right. And we will put him away for a long, long time. I promise you." She chuffed and he looked at her curiously. "I've made that promise myself over the years," Scully told him. "The victim looks to you for assurance. They want to believe in justice." "You don't?" "Does that shock you?" she asked, meeting his eyes. He stared at her unblinking. "Nothing shocks me. But I don't believe you." "You don't know me," she countered. "I know that you're here," he said. "That has to mean something." She smiled a bit. "Yes, well, I do believe in prisons," she said, and he smiled with her. "Fair enough." They stood there awkwardly for a moment until Scully tried to walk past him toward the door. "I should get going," she said. "Oh, of course." He shifted at the same time she did and ended up blocking her path again. "Sorry," he said, but he didn't move further. She looked up at him, expectant. "Have dinner with me." Scully had not thought of food all day. Her fridge probably held a carton of expired low-fat milk and a few limp vegetables. And now he was asking her out? "Oh, no. I couldn't." "Not like that," he cut her off swiftly. "I mean, you've been here all afternoon. You must be starving. You said Mulder wasn't around, so I just figured..." "You figured what?" Her guard was still up. "Maybe you would like some company." "I'm fine." "Of course you are." She hugged her arms close to her chest, and he said nothing for a moment. "Okay, it's me. I hate eating in restaurants alone." She gave him a look of disbelief. "It's true. The waitresses, they come over and want to talk." "Oh, I'm sure that must be so painful for you," she said, but she was beginning to smile again. "I end up with three bread baskets." He patted his middle. "Please, you'd be doing my waistline a favor." It was either this or go home to her silent apartment. Still, she hesitated. "I don't know..." "We don't have to talk about the case," he said gently. "What will we talk about?" He considered. "Our misspent youth tipping cows in Farmer Mcgillicuddy's pasture." "I don't believe I've ever tipped a single cow." "Oh." He heaved a dramatic sigh as he pulled the door open for her. "Looks like I'll have to start the conversation then." XxXxX Mulder came of age skulking in the basement with a flashlight, so the bunker-style rooms beneath Sanctuary House felt instantly familiar. He hadn't realized, however, how accustomed he'd grown to the second lance of light that usually played along side his. It seemed too dark without her. Dust and lack of sleep had dried his eyes. He walked alone down the hall until he reached the record room, where earlier he had spread Jared Rentham's files across the floor. Computer printouts from an old dot-matrix printer told each person's story. Where possible, Rentham had photographed the site of the abduction. Mulder had spent the afternoon staring at cornfields, duck ponds, stretches of empty highway, and, in the case of one Emmett Lincoln, a Wal-Mart parking lot. He remembered Skyland Mountain, with its clean pine air and sharp white stars, the way the wind had stolen breath from his body and whisked it into the night. This is the way the world ends, they'd told him: one small redhead at a time. Rentham had included photographs of the abductees as well - black and white close-ups of unsmiling faces, young and old. They reminded Mulder of growing up in Massachusetts surrounded by images of Revolutionary War soldiers, who had fought the enemy with nothing more than grim determination and a musket from the basement. We've seen you now, their eyes seemed to say. Just try to take us again. This was his biggest worry for her, that all the denial equaled unpreparedness, that she would never see them coming. Mulder leaned back against the hard wall, his spine scraping the concrete as he rubbed his tired eyes. Until then he would keep looking for the both of them. XxXxX They ended up sharing a bottle of Chianti and a giant thin- crust pizza topped with proscuitto, capers, olives and fresh mozzarella. The candle was fake but the food was delicious. "I begin to understand why the city is in a budget crisis," Scully said, "if you take all your witnesses out to dinner." "Yes, thanks to the tax cuts, the Tiramisu is out. The best I can offer is one of those mints at the door." She smiled and shook her head. "I'll remember this at election time." "Actually," he said, "I confess my motives were not entirely pure." Scully felt her stomach lurch. "Oh?" she managed. "Savioshy told me a little bit about the kind of work you do. Now, the man can spin a fish story like you wouldn't believe, but he swore up and down this was the God's honest truth: you investigate aliens?" Scully put down her wine glass. "Reports of extraterrestrial activity, yes. Among other things. The X-Files division handles a wide variety of cases." "Division? How many agents are assigned to this kind of work?" "Just--just two." "Oh," he said, and Scully squirmed inwardly at the implication. She knew it was a cliche to most people, male and female partners falling into bed together, but it was the most unconventional relationship of her life. She wasn't about to justify it to this man. "So these reports," he asked, "is there anything to them? Are we truly not alone?" You've been among them, Rentham had said. She could still feel the slide of his cold fingers over her skin. "I've seen things I can't explain any other way," she said, watching for Chris's reaction. If there were a trial, he would hear all the gory details. He stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth. "Really?" She nodded. "Huh," he said, and put the fork down. "That's it?" "Well, you know how I was telling you about Farmer Mcgillicuddy's field? One night I was out there with some friends of mine, back in high school this was, and we were just hanging and drinking beer when all of a sudden this light flew over us. It was bright blue, not white like the stars, and it disappeared down behind the mountains. As it passed over us, all our hair stood up on end." She raised her eyebrows. "And you think it was a UFO?" "Like you said, I can't explain it any other way." He smiled. "I don't usually tell that story to most of my dinner dates." "What do you tell them?" she asked, grasping for a change of subject. "Oh, um." He looked chagrined. "The word 'usually' implies a certain amount of frequency, doesn't it? Well, let's see. The last time I was out with a woman I spent the entire evening regaling her with my lawyerly prowess. She was polite enough to listen the whole time, but when I called her for a second date she declined, saying she thought perhaps I had too much of myself invested in my work right now." "Ouch," Scully said. "Yeah, but she was right." He finished off his wine. "I guess that's good for me, then." "Yes." He smiled at her again. "Unlike that poor woman, you're stuck with me for a while." "How soon until trial, do you think?" "Months." He leaned back in his seat with a sigh. "Bellamy does not move quickly, but a lot will depend on whether she fights us on our decision to try the cases jointly." "Is that likely?" He took his time in answering. "I would make a motion to sever, if I were her. We don't have the same level of evidence against Watts in every case." "I see." "Hey, don't worry about it, okay?" He scooted in his chair until his knees bumped her under the table. "That's my problem, if and when it happens." Instead of one rape, he'd gotten ten by proxy. She wondered how many he had already lived through. "So you still believe, then," she said, "in justice." He drummed his fingers on the tablecloth and looked at her. "Have you got a bit more time?" "Why?" "I want to show you something." He took her out of the city, over dark hills and vales, where a pregnant moon hung low in the sky. Thick summer trees waved in the wind, and the air from the open windows grew cool and sweet. He turned off the main road into blackness and rolled the car to a stop on some grass. "Here we are," he announced. The slam of their car door broke the perfect silence. "And where is that, exactly?" Scully squinted at her murky surroundings. They were in the middle of nowhere, as far as she could tell. Her heart sped up, and she held her bag with the gun in it a little bit closer. You're fine, she told herself, but she jerked a bit when Clark spoke. "This way. Watch your step." He led her down a path through the trees to a clearing with some sort of building on it. His keys jangled in the darkness. "I only rent half of it," he said as she followed him closer. "The rest belongs to the guy whose farm it's on." He unlocked the door and hit the lights. Scully blinked as her eyes adjusted. "It's a greenhouse." "Yeah, come on inside." He rubbed his hands together and moved aside so she could enter. The concrete floor was wet beneath her feet. Cautiously, she ducked a seven-foot plant with great hanging leaves. Exotic tangles of greenery stretched from floor to ceiling; beds of riotous color spread over the tables, flowers split open like the sun. Beautiful, yes, but Scully felt a little like a bug before the Venus Flytrap. She stood hunched in, careful not to touch anything. Chris sucked in a deep breath and smiled at her. "All the oxygen concentrated in here," he said. "Gives me a rush." Scully breathed a bit deeper, taking in the primal scent of dirt and water and life. She forced a smile even though she hadn't the slightest clue what she was doing there. "It's-- quite something." "Let me give you the tour." He disappeared behind a sweep of fern and she hurried to keep up. "This one here," he said, "is an Apache Plume." The bush-like plant had long stems with pink, feathered ends. "It's actually a member of the rose family, if you can believe it, but the name comes from the fact that the plumes look like old Apache war bonnets. Go ahead -- touch." "I have a black thumb," she warned him, and he smiled. "Really, it's okay. You won't hurt it, see?" Tentatively, Scully reached out and stroked the downy tufts. They tickled like a laugh through her fingers. "These are a kind of salvia," he told her as they moved down the narrow aisle. Scully stooped to admire the delicate indigo flowers. "They look sort of like wind chimes." "Oh, check this one out," he said, waving a new stem at her from farther down the row. It was long and sleek, with a giant teardrop-shaped bud at the end. She could see from the buds that had bloomed already that it would become a medusa- like flower -- a cloud of green snakes with tiny purple heads. "This one always reminds me of 'Aliens'" Chris said as he twisted the fat bud around so she could see the other side. Sure enough, it had split at the stomach and the snakes were starting to pop out. Scully smiled and shook her head. "You are very strange, you know that?" He shrugged and let the flower bounce back into position. "You know how I told you about my dad, how we argued law all the time?" She nodded. "Well, we made a lot of noise. Mom let us raise the roof because she spent all her time out in the yard taking care of her garden." "Ahh," Scully said. She fingered the pouched blossom on a pocket book plant. "So that's where you get it from." "In a way." He leaned against the table, folding his arms so his dress shirt stretched across his chest. "Mom got sick when I was in high school. Cancer. She was too sick during treatment to keep up with the garden. Dad was spending sixty hours a week at work, and it fell on me to help her out." "I'm sorry." "Yeah," he said softly. "I miss her, but she sure taught me well." He smiled. "Some of these plants belonged to her." "Really?" Scully looked at the surrounding jungle with new eyes. "Yeah. The small Japanese Maple over there in the corner is one. Oh, and this too." He showed her a bucket full of branches with strange red flowers drooping from them. "Feel," he suggested. "Oh." Scully marveled as she rubbed the velvety flower between her finger and thumb. "What is that?" "Like it? It's called Kangaroo Paw." "It's fabulous." She gave him her first genuine smile in days. "Thank you for showing me all this." "Happy to." He bopped her on the arm with a lily. "But I don't understand what it has to do with justice," she said. "Nothing. Sometimes it just helps to dig around in the dirt." He waggled his eyebrows at her until she laughed. "C'mere. I need some help transferring these seedlings." Chris was already rolling up his sleeves, expecting her to follow. "I can't," she protested. "I'm, um, I'm not good with living things." He grinned and handed her a clump of dirt with a tiny, tender green sprout. "Here," he said. "Start small." XxXxXxX In his black motel room, the clock glowed eight fifty-two -- nearly eleven back in DC. Mulder lay on the bed with his arm across his eyes and the phone to his ear. Two thousand miles away in Scully's apartment, hers rang on and on, unanswered. XxXxX End chapter six. All feedback welcomed at syn_tax6@yahoo.com