~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

LAWS OF MOTION

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

by syntax6

Chapter Ten:  Hiding in the Light


Scully tugged her wrist free from Mulder's grasp and turned 
away, her back to him. She felt his hand at her hip and 
shifted until he could no longer reach her.  His words had 
fallen on her like a hundred tiny blows, and all she heard 
was the rejection.

She stumbled to her feet, tripping over her shoes.  Mulder 
called her name as she bent down to retrieve them, but 
Scully couldn't answer.  Her heart had lodged permanently 
at the back of her throat.  She forced the shoes on with 
shaking fingers and did not look at him as she stood to 
find her purse.

He couldn't have told her earlier that he didn't want to 
sleep with her, but instead he waited until they were 
actually in the hotel room to make it extra specially 
humiliating.  Scully blinked back more hot tears.  

She found her cell phone on the desk and shoved it into her 
small black handbag, ignoring the condoms nestled inside.

"Scully, hold on a second," Mulder said.  "Did you even 
hear what I said?"

"I heard.  You said you can't do this.  I understand, 
Mulder, you don't need to explain any further."  She 
grabbed her coat from the chair.

"I said I can't do this the way you want."

"Well, that's the same thing now, isn't it?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mulder swing his feet 
to the floor.  She started walking to the door before he 
could grab her and stop her.  She couldn't breathe.  She 
had to get out of there, had to...

She halted when she saw Mulder buckle at the waist.  
"Mulder?" she asked, turning around with alarm.

"I'm okay," he replied through clenched teeth.  He touched 
the side of his head.  "I just got up too fast."

She crossed to stand directly in front of him.  "You're 
dizzy?" she asked as she checked out the lump on his head.  
It wasn't as large as it had been the night before, but he 
definitely had swelling near his left temple.

"It's fading already," Mulder told her.  "I'm fine."

"Mmm." Scully sifted through his hair to assess the extent 
of the damage.  "Any blurred vision?  Nausea?"

"No, really.  It's okay."

"Follow my finger without moving your head," she ordered, 
holding up her index finger for him to track.  His optic 
nerve function appeared normal.  "You should really see a 
doctor, Mulder," she said at last, "and have your head 
examined."

Mulder's hand came to rest at her hip.  "If I had a nickel 
for every time you said that to me..."

Scully sighed and put her hands on his shoulders.  
"Mulder..."

He leaned into her, so close she could feel his body heat, 
and his fingers squeezed her lightly at the waist.  "This 
is how it started last time," he told her quietly, and 
Scully froze under the power of his hushed confession.

She held her breath, waiting to see if he would continue.

"I was a little woozy from my time in the tin box at the 
telescope site," Mulder said.  "You came over to the bed to 
check me out.  I can still feel you.  Your T-shirt was wet 
from the rain, stuck to your body."

Scully shivered, imagining the scene as his other hand came 
around to pull her closer. She could feel him peeling the 
wet cotton from her body.

His forearm came to rest just under her bottom.  Without 
really meaning to, she found her own hands inching from his 
shoulders towards his neck.  The collar of his dress shirt 
stood open, and her thumbs found the naked skin there.

Mulder pressed his face to her middle so that his hot 
breath tickled through her blouse.  "We couldn't stop," he 
whispered.  "We didn't even try."  

He nuzzled her, causing another one of the buttons to pop 
open on her shirt.  The tails had come loose long ago as 
she'd slept.  Scully bit back a cry as his lips grazed the 
tender skin of her tummy.  He muttered something that was 
lost against her skin, and she tangled her fingers in his 
hair.

If he wasn't supporting her in back with one arm, she 
thought she might dissolve into the rug right there.

Mulder's other hand slipped from her waist and down to her 
knees.  His nimble fingers mapped the contours of her left 
knee through her stocking, feeling every bump and hollow.  
The touch sent heat like a rising tide through her body, 
hardening her nipples, making her arms lax, and finally 
reaching her flushed face.  Her mouth fell open on a ragged 
sigh, and Mulder apparently took this as a cue to explore 
further.

His hand slipped higher, hitching her skirt up between her 
legs.  Scully dragged her eyes open and saw his arm 
disappearing beneath the bunched black fabric.  They looked 
like the first reel of a porn film.  Mulder tilted his head 
up, his eyes dark and huge on hers, and she could not look 
away as his hand crept ever closer to the tops of her 
thighs.

He skimmed along lightly until he reached the tops of her 
stockings and realized she was wearing thigh-highs.  Scully 
hung on tighter to his shoulders as he traced the elastic 
all the way around one thigh, barely touching the naked 
skin above.

Her hair fell forward as she leaned down, forming a curtain 
around her already-warm face.  Mulder's eyes continued to 
hold her gaze.  She felt trapped, expectant, like a soap 
bubble about to burst apart on the surface. 

His hand swept up suddenly to cup her between the legs.  
Scully gasped, her eyes going wide.  She lurched to the 
left but Mulder held her up with one strong arm.  Her 
breathing turned shallow and irregular as he started to 
caress her through her underwear.  Still she could not look 
away, her dry mouth hanging open, all the while, Mulder's 
bottomless eyes on hers, as if telling her -- yes, see, 
this is how it was.

The narrow confines of her skirt made it impossible to 
spread her legs very far.  Mulder's hand was wedged in 
tight, his fingers rubbing her through the damp silk in a 
regular rhythm.  She heard their labored breathing; she 
could smell his scent everywhere, saturated in the clothes 
he had worn all night.

Again, he leaned forward and his hot mouth found the gaping 
hole at the bottom of her blouse.  The tip of his tongue 
traced a circle around her belly button.  She started to 
feel dizzy, her hands tangling in his hair.  Her hips 
swayed with the rhythm of his hand.

The voice in her head repeated Mulder, Mulder, Mulder over 
and over; she didn't know whether the words escaped her 
lips.

His fingers became more insistent, rubbing quicker, harder, 
driving her upwards until she thought her heartbeat would 
turn to a high-pitched hum.  Orgasm hovered close, 
vibrating in her blood, causing white light to flash behind 
her eyes.  She swallowed twice and clutched his head to her 
stomach.

"Mulder, I... oh."  He held her tighter and increased the 
pace of his fingers but she couldn't quite get there.  She 
gave a whimper of frustration, breaking their rhythm, and 
Mulder withdrew his hand.

She felt cold and dazed for about three seconds, until he 
tugged her with him onto the bed.  She rolled beneath him, 
his weight heavy and warm as he pressed her into the 
mattress.  "You want to know what it was like?" he 
muttered.  "You want to know?"

He yanked her skirt up, exposing her legs to the cool air.  
She could feel his erection like a hot poker in his pants.  
Coherent thought disappeared with her underwear.  She 
watched through heavy-lidded eyes as he opened his pants 
and withdrew his erect penis.  She reached for him, but 
Mulder was having none of it.

He mounted her swiftly and thrust in with one quick push of 
his hips.  Scully stiffened at the unexpected pain.  Her 
arousal flagged, her heart still hammering in her chest.  
She grabbed at Mulder's shoulders as he started moving 
inside her.  He was huge and hot and her inner muscles 
stretched to hold him.

His head was above hers; she couldn't see his eyes.  She 
raised her knees on either side of his hips and held him 
close.  It was like trying to ride a mechanical bull.  She 
couldn't catch his rhythm.

Mulder grunted.  Scully squeezed her eyes shut and tried to 
breathe.  He was on her, in her, just as she had wanted, 
but it felt awful and out of control.  She sucked in great 
gasps of air.

"Yeah," Mulder said, apparently thinking she was into it.

A moment later, he stiffened as if struck.  She felt a 
pulsing inside her, followed by a hot, sticky wetness.  
Mulder collapsed on top of her, his shoulders heaving, his 
breath warm but harsh against her neck.

Oh, my God, Scully thought, her head still spinning.  We 
did it.

It had been nothing like she planned, nothing like she had 
imagined.  Mulder's penis softened and slipped out of her.  
She pushed at his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.  "That was too fast."

"Mulder, please," she said, sounding distressed to her own 
ears.  "I need to get up."

Confusion colored his face as he shifted to free her.  
Scully staggered out of bed on rubber legs, buckling 
momentarily and catching herself with one hand on the 
mattress.  "You okay?" Mulder asked.

"I'm..." She didn't have words for what she was.  Her 
vision was still a bit blurry, whether from adrenaline or 
tears, she did not know.  She knelt on the floor and 
searched around with both hands for her underwear and her 
shoes, which had somehow come off in their mating.

"Scully?"  He hung his head over the bed to look down at 
her.

"I've got to go," she said as she found her things.

"You can't go now."

"You--you were right, Mulder.  I get it now.  I--I never 
should have pushed for this."

"Scully, what are you talking about?"  He tried to get out 
of bed, but got tangled in the sheets.  His pants and 
underwear still hung open at the waist.

"I'm sorry," she said without looking at him.  She couldn't 
face him now, not when she was sore and bruised and could 
still feel him inside her.  "I should have listened.  You 
tried to tell me.  This was a really bad idea."

Mulder managed to shove himself between her and the door.  
"Scully, wait.  I'm sorry.  I'm the one who let things get 
out of control here."

Dammit, she was going to cry again.  "Mulder, please, can 
you just let me go?"

Mulder leaned forward and pressed a long kiss to the top of 
her head.  "No, I never can," he murmured.

"I--I'll call you," she said, ducking around him.  "I'm 
sorry.  Mulder, I'm so sorry."

She felt his arms slip away from her as she escaped into 
the hall.  The door slid closed with a sharp click and she 
practically ran down the hall to the stairs.  Outside, in 
the safety of her car, she checked her reflection in the 
rearview mirror.

Smudged mascara ringed her eyes, making her look like a 
charcoal drawing left out in the rain.  Her hair was matted 
on one side and stood out at a funny angle on the other.  
She touched her red, swollen lips to still her trembling 
fingers.

Mulder was right.  Messy didn't begin to describe the 
situation.

~*~*~*~

Sunday morning Mulder left his apartment for a long run.  
When he returned to his front door, a family of errant 
ducks was hurrying along as fast as their waddles could 
carry them.  Mulder paused to let them go, watching as each 
small duck fell off the edge of the high curve and went 
"splat" in the street.

I know how you feel, fellas, he thought as the dazed 
creatures shook themselves off in turn and hurried to catch 
up with the line.

So far, Mulder hadn't been able to shake himself off.  He 
had dragged himself home from the hotel and laid on his 
couch all day, still dressed in his fancy clothes.  A dozen 
times, he had reached for the phone to call her, but he 
hadn't the slightest idea what he could say that he hadn't 
said a hundred times already.

A perverse part of him was glad that this time, at least, 
she was suffering right along with him.  You wanted to know 
how it was, he thought as he opened his apartment door with 
a rough shove.  Now you know.

As he tossed his keys on the end table, his phone started 
to ring.  He imagined, the way his day was going, that it 
was someone else calling to threaten his life.  With a 
weary sigh, Mulder hit the "talk" button on the receiver.  
"Hello?"

There was an awkward pause. "Mulder?" Scully said finally.

Mulder sat forward on his couch and held the phone closer 
to his ear.  "Scully, hey."  She didn't say anything 
further, so he fumbled around for some words.  "Um, so, 
how's it going?" he managed at last, wincing at how lame he 
sounded.

"Okay.  Listen, Mulder, if you're not too busy, I was 
wondering if you could come over.  I...I need your help 
with something."

"Sure, of course.  Are you okay?"

She hesitated again.  "I'm fine."

"I'm on my way," Mulder said, already stripping off his 
sweaty T-shirt.  "I can be there in a half an hour."

"No hurry," she answered, but Mulder was tearing around his 
apartment looking for something clean to throw on.  He 
dropped the phone on the bed, grabbed a clean shirt, and 
stuck his head under the bathroom faucet long enough to 
rinse away the sweat and grime.

As he drove to Scully's, he mentally rehearsed what he 
wanted to say to her:

"Scully, I'm sorry about yesterday," he said to the car.

No, then she might think he regretted the whole 
thing...which, he kind of did, but she might take that the 
wrong way and think he didn't ever want to do it again, 
which he definitely did.  

No sex in four years had made him a tad over eager.  He'd 
lasted, what, maybe a whole minute and a half?  No wonder 
she'd been running for the hills as soon as it was over.  
She was probably glad she hadn't agreed to any sort of 
long-term sexual relationship.  His freebie offering didn't 
exactly set her world on fire.

Mulder gripped the wheel with both hands.  "Scully," he 
said, "about yesterday -- I can do better, really."

By the time he arrived at her apartment, Mulder had a 
little speech all prepared.  She opened the door and he 
opened his mouth, but he never got the words out.

"I didn't call you over to talk about yesterday," she said, 
not making any move to let him inside the apartment.

Mulder kept his voice low.  "Scully, we're going to have to 
talk about it eventually.  We can't pretend it never 
happened."

"Funny, I would think you'd be quite practiced at that by 
now."

Okay, why was he here again?  Mulder ran a hand through his 
hair as Scully hugged her arms around her middle.

"Sorry," she said, looking at his shoes.  "I...I didn't 
call you over here to fight."

Mulder saw an opening and grabbed it.  "Why did you call me 
over?" he asked softly.

At last, she stepped aside so he could enter.  "Did you see 
the paper this morning?" she asked.  He shook his head.  
Unless the news had been suddenly printed on his living 
room ceiling, he was not likely to have seen it.  Scully 
handed him the front section.

"DA close to charging Minette in second slaying," Mulder 
read.  He looked up.  "They're really going after him for 
Rachel's murder too?"

"The DA won't confirm, but the paper says sources close to 
the investigation predict new charges within the week."

"Based on what, though?  If they had been able to connect 
the murder weapons, we would have heard about that by now."

"The paper says there is a witness who puts Ethan near 
Rachel's apartment a few days before the murder."

"Any truth to that?"

Scully shrugged.  "I wouldn't think so, but I have no way 
of contacting him directly to ask.  Take a look at this."  
She led him to her hallway, where she had papered one wall 
with colored Post-It notes.  "I used Ethan's recollections 
to try to create a timeline of his and Melinda's actions in 
the days before Melinda was murdered. Blue is for places he 
went on his own.  Yellow is for just Melinda, and the green 
represents leads they followed together.  I've been 
standing here staring at it for days now but I can't seem 
to get anywhere.  I thought maybe a pair of fresh eyes 
would help."

Mulder scanned the line of sticky notes that read things 
like, "Tuesday PM -- talk to Penny Grossman, Rachel's 
neighbor; reports seeing Sen. Ryerson at Rachel's apartment 
several times but not the night of the murder."

"They sure were busy," Mulder mused as he touched the notes 
one by one.  "They talked to Ryerson, his wife, and both of 
the sons."

"Ethan said the older son, Connor, seemed angry at his 
father for causing the family all this scandal, but he 
wouldn't say anything regarding Rachel's murder."

"He's in law school?"

"Columbia."

"That cop we talked to, the one with the family on the job 
in Illinois, didn't he say one of the kids was a hell 
raiser?"

"My impression was that they both were a little wild.  
Connor shared his mother's alcohol problem and the younger 
one, Seth, may have fathered a child in high school."

Mulder turned to look at her.  "Any word on what happened 
to the baby?"

"No, I've searched, and I can't even confirm there was a 
baby."

Mulder went back to studying the notes.  "Well, that kind 
of money will buy you a lot of silence," he said.  "So far, 
we have evidence suggesting Ryerson beats his wife, that 
the wife and son drown their problems in a bottle, but you 
won't find these stories on the front page of the paper."

"In the forty-eight hours before she was killed, Melinda 
and Ethan talked to Seth on campus at Princeton, they tried 
to get another interview Ryerson and were denied, they went 
to the Ryerson house and talked to the wife briefly, and 
Melinda also tried to get in touch with her cop friend, the 
one we talked to, but never reached him."

"They also visited Soba?" Mulder said. "That restaurant 
downtown?"

"Ethan said they were trying to find out if Ryerson and 
Rachel had been on a date there."

"What about this one?" Mulder asked.  "The Brigham House?"

"It's a battered women's shelter.  Melinda volunteered 
there once a month.  She also got her hair done Friday 
afternoon before her good-bye party."

"Some good-bye," Mulder muttered.  He shook his head.  "I 
don't know, Scully.  It hardly makes sense, especially 
written out this way.  If you go by the theory that Ryerson 
killed Rachel, and that Melinda was killed because she was 
close to proving that fact, you would think Ethan would 
have known about it and known what sort of proof she had."

"Maybe then your theory is right," Scully said, stepping 
closer to him.  Their arms nearly touched.  "Maybe she 
wasn't killed because she could identify Rachel's killer; 
maybe she was killed for some other reason."

"I want another timeline," Mulder said.  "One that shows 
Rachel Campenella's actions before she died."

"That's not as easy to reproduce.  I mean, some of it we 
can piece together from Ethan's told us."

"And the newspapers," replied Mulder, warming to the topic.  
"I bet that we can put together a close approximation of 
her schedule based on the different news reports."

"I'll make coffee," Scully said.  "You start the online 
searches."

Mulder sifted through the archives for the local papers and 
printed out every article he could find about Rachel 
Campenella's murder, and as an afterthought, he added all 
the articles that mentioned her name in the two months 
before the murder as well.  He divided the stack in half 
and handed one section to Scully, who traded him for a hot 
mug of coffee.

"Thanks," she said as they settled on her couch.  "And 
thanks for coming."

"Scully, you know I..."

"Here's a stack of Post-Its," she said quickly.  "I figured 
we could use pink for Rachel."

Mulder sighed and turned his attention to the printouts in 
front of him.  "Here you go," he said.  "Two weeks before 
she died, Rachel was with Ryerson when he gave a talk at 
the district's public library to encourage reading."

"You think that's what got her killed?" Scully asked, 
deadpan.

"Maybe she had a really overdue book."  Mulder tagged a 
pink note with the words, "Library with Ryerson."

Two hours later, they had pink notes scattered along the 
wall above the first timeline.  "The only problem with 
this," Mulder said as he added another sticky to group, "is 
that it's restricted to her public appearances.  We don't 
have a good idea with what she was doing off duty."

"Well, we have some idea," Scully remarked dryly from the 
other room.  Mulder smiled and continued studying the list 
of Rachel's activities.  Lots of public appearances with 
Ryerson, he noted.

"Mulder?"  Scully walked over from the living room with 
sheets of paper in her hand.  "Look at this.  A couple of 
months before she was killed, Rachel was with Ryerson at 
the Brigham House."

"Really?  Doing what?"

"Benefit dinner.  You think it means anything?"

"Maybe, maybe not.  But check out our two lines here.  
Brigham House is the only point of commonality."

"I'll check it out," Scully agreed.

Mulder picked up his leather jacket from the back of her 
couch and lingered near the door.  "I really want to 
apologize to you for the way things happened yesterday," he 
said.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."  She had to work at it, 
but she was able to meet his eyes.  "After all, the whole 
thing was originally my idea.  You were there at my 
request.  I guess you can say I got what I wanted."

"Did you?  Because I didn't.  I don't think either one of 
us did."

Scully said nothing.  Mulder sighed.

"You can't put it back in the box," he told her.  "Not this 
time."

He left then, to the sound of her closing the door behind 
him.

~*~*~*~

Mulder slept poorly and managed to cut himself shaving 
Monday morning.  There was a fender bender at the end of 
his street, causing him to be fifteen minutes late for 
work.  All he wanted was a cup of coffee, but Scully met 
him at the door to the office.

"Where have you been?" she asked.  "Skinner asked to see us 
ten minutes ago."

"Fabulous," Mulder muttered as he turned around and punched 
the elevator button again.  He and Scully leaned against 
opposite walls and did not say a word on the slow ride to 
the fourth floor.

"Agents, have a seat."  Skinner said when they entered.  
Mulder slouched a bit and forced himself to pay attention.  
Mainly, he eyed Skinner's coffee mug with naked envy.

"I need you to go to Chicago as soon as possible to perform 
a threat assessment," Skinner said.

"A threat assessment for whom?" asked Scully.

"VinylRight.  They make siding. Their telemarketing hub in 
Oakbrook was the focus of an anonymous audio-taped 
manifesto, one which threatened violence.  Apparently, 
several years back they had an incident in another office -
- a disgruntled employee with a gun.  They feel they can't 
be too careful."

"Why can't the Chicago field office take care of it?" 
Mulder asked.

Skinner frowned. "Because I prefer you did."

Light dawned and Mulder leaned back in his seat.  "Because 
the manifesto contains bizarre overtones...claims of a 
paranormal nature?"

"It speaks of a monster stalking employees.  Your insight 
into such claims should aid in assessing the threat, if 
any, posed by this person."

"Monsters," Mulder said with disgust.  "I'm your boy."

They left the office, Mulder striding towards the elevator 
and Scully working to keep up. "I must have done something 
to piss him off," Mulder said.

"What do you mean?"

"Get stuck with this jerk-off assignment or have I finally 
reached that magic point in my career where every time 
somebody sees Bigfoot or the Virgin Mary on a tortilla I 
get called to offer my special insight on the matter?"

Scully looked annoyed.  Mulder didn't care.  "You're saying 
'I' a lot," she said.  "I heard 'we.'  Nor do I assume that 
this case is just a waste of our time."

"Not yours, anyway.  There's no reason both of us should go 
to Chicago. I'll take care of it."

"Mulder..."

"I'm monster boy, right?"

"We're supposed to be partners," Scully reminded him as 
they reached the elevator.

He looked her up and down.  "Maybe it wouldn't be such a 
bad idea to spend some time apart right now," he said 
softly.

Scully blinked in surprise as the doors slid open.  
"You...you want to split up?"

"Let me go to Chicago by myself," he said, stepping into 
the elevator.  "It will give us both some time to think.  
We can re-evaluate when I get back, okay?"

Scully nodded, mute.

Mulder held his hand between the doors, which threatened to 
close.  "You coming?"

"No, you go ahead," she said hoarsely.  "I'll catch the 
next one."

"Scully," he said, but she turned around and walked away so 
he was never sure what he might have said after that.

~*~*~

Mulder left for Chicago, so that night Scully went alone to 
the Brigham House, where she found a group of volunteers 
serving dinner assembly-line style to fifty-odd women and 
children.

The rotund black man dishing out the meatballs on top of 
the spaghetti looked up as Scully approached.  He wore a 
sauce-splattered apron and a backwards baseball cap.  "Can 
I help you?" he asked.

Scully showed her ID.  "My name is Dana Scully," she said.  
"I was wondering if I could talk to someone here about 
Melinda McKenn."

The man's face fell and he crossed himself with the hand 
not holding a ladle. "Awful, just awful what happened to 
her," he said.  "She's one of God's own angels now, you can 
count on it."

"You knew her well?" Scully asked.

The man asked a compatriot to take over his meatball duties 
and jerked his head to Scully.  "Come on over yonder," he 
said.  "Better to talk here."

Scully followed him to an empty table near the back.  

"Jeffrey Burns," he said, shaking her hand.  "I run Brigham 
House."

"Then you're just the person I wanted to talk to."

"You investigating Melinda's murder?"

"In a way.  I heard that she was a regular volunteer here."

"Since before I took over in '96," he said.  "She goes way 
back.  Always had a smile and a kind word for everyone.  
She traveled a lot, you know, and she'd always bring back 
little soaps and shampoos and stuff for our guests.  
Everyone here just couldn't believe what happened to her."

"I saw in the paper that Rachel Campenella was here as 
well."

Jeffrey scratched the back of his bald head.  "I suppose 
she was at that.  She was here with Senator Ryerson as part 
of the benefit dinner we had last July."

"Was Melinda at that dinner, by any chance?"

"Melinda?  No.  It was a fancy fat-cat kind of thing.  I 
had to wear a tux and make nice for the cameras."

Scully was disappointed, feeling her slim lead slipping 
away.  "So nothing unusual at all happened while Rachel was 
here?"

"I don't recall anything, no.  Her boss listened to some of 
the women's stories and pretended to care for about five 
minutes.  I didn't get to talk to Rachel much, but she 
seemed like a nice girl."  His eyes went wide.  "You think 
her killing is connected to what happened to Melinda?"

"We don't know," Scully admitted.  "But so far, this house 
is the only common link we can find, excepting the way in 
which they died."

"I wish I could help you, but I can't think of anything 
around here that might lead to murder.  Least ways, not the 
murder of those two women.  Mostly we're ducking abusive 
husbands."

Scully sighed and laid her hands on the table.  "If you 
could get me a list of everyone who was here at the 
benefit, and everyone who volunteered with Melinda, I might 
want to talk to them at a later time."

"Sure thing.  Can I email it to you later tonight?  Would 
that be okay?"

"That would be fine," Scully said as she rose.  "And I 
appreciate your time."

"I just wish I could be of more help.  You know, I knew I 
didn't like Ryerson from the way he swaggered around here, 
but now I read in the papers that maybe he might have been 
a wife beater himself?"

"Melinda helped bring that to light," Scully said, 
wondering if maybe Melinda had been especially attuned for 
the signs.

"I hope you get the dirty bastard," Jeffery said.  "For 
Rachel, for Melinda, and for all these women here who 
poured out their hearts to him thinking he was on their 
side."

Scully went home and took a long bath and tried not to 
think about Mulder.  He had not called and she had no idea 
how his threat assessment was going in Chicago.  From his 
cool departure, she thought he might just opt to stay in 
Chicago rather than come back to face her.

He warned you, she thought.  He said it was awkward and 
unpleasant but you had to go and press him on it anyway.  
God, no wonder he never mentioned Arecibo.

She covered her face in the tub even though there was no 
one there to witness her humiliation.  By the time she got 
out, her skin had wrinkled like a Shar-Pei.  She wrapped 
herself in a fluffy robe and checked her email.

No Mulder.

She did have two lists of names from Jeffrey Burns, one for 
the benefit dinner and one for regulars who knew Melinda 
McKenn.  A quick check told her there was a decent amount 
of overlap.  Seventeen women had been at the dinner and in 
the shelter during the time Melinda had volunteered.

Also, six staff members: Jeffrey himself, Margaret Owens, 
Stephanie Conrad, Tim Jennings, Annie Quinlan, and 
Katherine Hill.

Scully noted the grand total of twenty-three names and put 
the list aside with a sigh.  Sometimes a coincidence is 
just a coincidence and not a clue, she thought.  

In the morning, she would begin crossing off names.

~*~*~

But instead of investigating her vague leads, Scully got 
summoned to Illinois by Mulder to help him with his 
"nothing" case.  The threat assessment turned out to be 
very real indeed as a man named Gary Lambert took a dozen 
members of VinylRight hostage with Mulder in tow.

Everyone escaped unharmed, but Mulder couldn't seem to let 
the case go.  He became convinced there *was* a monster on 
the loose.

This was how Scully came to flip on her phone and get 
extremely disturbing news from Skinner.  "Agent Scully, I'm 
calling from Calumet Mercy Hospital in Chicago."

Scully, who was just getting into her car, paused the 
Hoover parking lot.  "Mulder," she blurted.

"I'm afraid so.  We've checked him in here for 
observation."

"Observation of what?" Scully asked, a slight edge of panic 
in her voice.

Skinner did not answer right away.

"Sir, observation of what?"

"He's in the psychiatric ward," Skinner said.  "Against his 
will.  He's still seeing monsters, and today he tried to 
attack a man in front of me.  I could barely hold him off."

Scully closed her eyes and swallowed.  "I'll be there as 
soon as I can.  Tell him I'm coming, okay?"

"They won't let me see him."

"Well, they're sure as hell going to let me," she replied.


Scully caught the first available flight for the obscene 
fee of five hundred and sixty-three dollars.  At the 
hospital, they raised surprisingly little fuss when she 
demanded to see Mulder, right now, or else.

She pushed back the curtain and found him strapped to the 
bed like an animal.  Her heart twisted.

Mulder tried to smile as she took his hand.  "Five years 
together, Scully.  You must have seen this coming.  Did you 
examine Backus's body?  What did you find?"

"More or less what we thought we'd find."

"More or less?  What is that supposed to mean?"

"The body showed signs of decomposition beyond what we 
expected to find, which, in and of itself means nothing, 
really.  Time of death is notoriously hard to quantify."

"Or, that Lambert was telling the truth and that man was 
dead before he was gunned down."

"No, Mulder."

"Scully, when that monster, Pincus -- whatever you want to 
call it -- when he attacked that woman last night he did 
something to the back of her neck.  He--he bit her there or 
he injected something in there.  There's got to be evidence 
of that.  You've got to check for that."

"Mulder, the case is over.  There's no more evidence to be 
gathered.  There's only my hope that you'll be able to see 
past this delusion."

Mulder looked desperate.  "You have to be willing to see."

"I wish it were that simple."

"Scully, you have to believe me.  Nobody else on this whole 
damn planet does or ever will.  You're my one in five 
billion."

He squeezed her hand and they looked at each other.  The 
monster theory was utterly ridiculous, she knew.  The 
doctors said she should do absolutely nothing to encourage 
him in his outlandish ideas if she wanted him to get 
better.

"Mulder, if you keep talking like this, they're never going 
to let you out of here."

She tried to withdraw her hand but he held tight.

"You really want to know why I never told you about that 
night in Arecibo?" he asked, his voice low and urgent.  
"I'll tell you."

Her skin prickled with equal parts anticipation and fear.

"You wouldn't even look at me after that night."

She turned her head away, denying his words.

"I had been down in that basement by myself all that time, 
so long I had convinced myself that this was the way I 
wanted it.  Screw the rest of the world.  I could do it on 
my own.  But then you came along, Scully, and you 
*listened* to me.  Even when you thought I was talking 
shit, you always listened.  You were like a drug.  I was 
hooked."

Scully shook her head.  Mulder clutched her hand so hard he 
cut off the circulation.  

"I was afraid you were going to leave for good," he 
murmured.  "But you didn't.  You stayed.  Everything went 
more or less back to normal, and I just couldn't take that 
risk again, Scully.  Do you see?"

"Mulder, if I go check out the woman's neck," Scully said, 
her voice wavering, "will you do everything the doctors 
tell you and stop talking to them about monsters?"

"As long," he said, "as I can always talk to you."

~*~*~

Mulder was right about the injection mark. Maybe he was 
right about the monster, too, but she couldn't bring 
herself to admit that out loud. At least they let him go 
from the hospital without pumping him full of anti-
psychotic drugs.

She drove him to the hotel to get some rest, but he stopped 
when he saw she wasn't getting out of the car too.  "Where 
are you going?" he asked.

"I figured as long as I'm in the area, I'd see if I can 
find George Fussy's cop cousin and ask him about the 
Ryerson family."

Mulder sat back in the car and pulled his door closed 
again.  "I'll go with you."

"Mulder, you need your rest.  Besides, I'm doing all this 
as a favor to Ethan.  You don't have any obligation here."

"I slept with his fiancé," Mulder said.  "The least I can 
do is try to help him dodge a double homicide."

In spite of herself, Scully smiled.  "Is that in the Guy's 
Code of Conduct manual?  One night of incidental infidelity 
begets aid on a murder charge?"

Mulder smiled back.  "It only seems fair," he said.  "After 
all, I got to keep the girl."


They tracked Joe Fussy down at his precinct, and he agreed 
to talk with them while he took a cigarette break out back.  

"George told me he'd talked to you guys," he said as he lit 
up the end of a smoke.  "Fat load of good it seemed to do, 
eh?  Ryerson's still on Capitol Hill instead of playing 
drop the soap in the prison showers."

"We're doing what we can," Scully explained.  "That's why 
we're here.  George told us you'd responded to 9-1-1 calls 
over at the Ryerson household."

"Couple of times.  'Course, nothing ever made it on the 
records.  Mrs. Ryerson, she never wanted to press any 
charges.  Dress 'em up in a tailored suit and pearls, and 
they ain't no different from the junkie hookers across town 
that we fish out of the streets half-broken with their 
teeth missing.  They all just want to stand by their man."

"What can you tell us about the sons?" Scully asked.  
"Connor and Seth."

Joe snorted.  "Connor liked to party, all right.  He was 
drunk off his ass every weekend, and one year, he wrapped 
Daddy's car around a tree.  But no one was hurt and the 
tree's owner didn't want to press charges.  He got a small 
fine and walked away clean."

"And Seth?"

"Seth was less trouble as far as we were concerned.  I 
heard he got into a pretty bad fight once at school, but 
that isn't my territory."

"George mentioned he might have fathered a baby," Mulder 
said, and Joe nodded.

"That was the rumor.  He was going with a girl named Kitty 
Hill, a pretty little thing with long dark hair.  But she 
disappeared one day, and her family said she'd gone to 
California to help take care of a sick relative.  Rumor had 
it she'd gotten knocked up."

"Do people really send girls away for that sort of thing 
now?" Mulder asked.  "This was what, 1991?"

"Around there, yeah.  But listen, this isn't just any girl 
we're talking about here.  Kitty came from good people.  
The Hills have been around this town since days of Mrs. 
O'Leary's cow. I think they'd rather hush up the baby then 
let it get out that their precious daughter got knocked up 
in high school."

"Should be easy enough to check birth records," Mulder 
murmured to Scully, who nodded.

"Thanks for your time," she told Joe Fussy. 

He waved them away as he tapped the ash from his cigarette 
to the ground. "I hope you can nail the SOB," he said.  
"God knows I never could."

~*~

Back at the hotel, Mulder punched some keys on Scully's 
laptop while she poured them each a drink of ice water.  
"Kitty is short for Katherine, right?" he called.

"I'd guess so."

"No evidence of any live birth to Katherine Hill in 1991," 
he said.

"How about '92?"

There was a pause as Mulder searched the record.  "Nope.  I 
tried 1990 already.  Looks like the pregnancy rumor might 
have been a rumor after all."

"Either that or money can make a baby disappear," Scully 
said.

"You're thinking black market?"

"Right now I don't know what to think."

Mulder sighed and shut the laptop.  "Well, all I know is 
there is no record of any Katherine Hill giving birth 
during that time."

"Mulder, wait a second.  Katherine Hill."  She went to her 
purse and dug out a folded piece of paper. Sure enough, 
there was her name.  Scully held the paper out for Mulder 
to see. "There is a Katherine Hill is on the list of people 
Melinda and Rachel met at the Brigham House."

Mulder let out a low whistle.  "So Kitty is back in town.  
Wonder what she had to say."

"And I wonder who she said it to," Scully replied.

~*~*~*~

End chapter ten.  Continued in chapter eleven.

Look, Mulder sort of got undressed! <g>  Many thanks to 
Amanda for her help.  We're in the home stretch now.

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