**************

Original Sin

Chapter Four

**************

The air conditioning at McCarran was turned to high 
frost, so Scully ordered hot coffee just to keep her 
hands warm as she waited.  She didn't dare drink it, 
churned as she was at the middle.  His flight was due 
to land in mere minutes.  From her view near the 
window, she could see the planes approaching in the 
distance, lined up like giant fireflies over the 
desert.

It felt like preparing to meet him again for the first 
time, back when she was new and he was a punch line 
with a basement office.  They call him Spooky Mulder, 
her friends had said.  He thinks he's better than the 
rest of us.

She'd found him pompous, witty, exasperating and 
thoroughly deserving of his schizophrenic reputation 
for greatness and madness.  Only later had he become a 
complete person, a Mulder who loathed beets, adored 
treacly movies, and left a trail of sunflower seed 
shells in rented cars across America.  He snored when 
drunk and had beautiful, long toes.  He could button 
his shirt one handed. West-coast Yankee tours rendered 
him bleary-eyed but happy because he loved beating the 
A's and their "stupid white shoes."  

He never remembered birthdays, not even his own, 
because there was only one date in history that 
mattered to him anymore.   He didn't say hello when he 
called because he fully expected her to keep up with 
the conversation, even if he was starting in the 
middle of it, and he didn't say good-bye, not when it 
mattered, because for Mulder things were never truly 
over.

Once upon a time she'd known him better than he knew 
himself, and now here he was poised to walk through 
the door as a stranger.

She saw the plane roll up to the gate, so she ditched 
the coffee and wiped her hands on her pants suit.  
There was nowhere to hide in the thin crowd as people 
started tramping down the gangway.  Hi, Mulder.  
How've you been?

A man with a briefcase passed her, stinking of 
alcohol.  Next was a haggard mom trying to corral 
three small children.  

She tried leaning against one of the chairs, but it 
was too low to be practical.  Fancy meeting you here.

The passengers straggled off in clumps, the minutes 
ticking by, until she started to wonder if Mulder was 
on the plane at all.  She forgot her nerves and 
approached the counter, peering down the concourse.  
No one approached.

"May I help you?" asked one of the attendants.

"I, uh... is everyone off the plane?"  She fumbled in 
her pocket for her ID in case she had to explain 
further.

"Scully?"

She jerked her head up and there he was, sporting a 
too-short haircut and a rumpled suit jacket.  
"Mulder."

"You didn't have to come all the way out here to pick 
me up."

They'd lived half their time together in airports, and 
she'd wanted to meet him on familiar territory.  "It 
was no trouble."

He jostled into her as the last passengers filed out 
behind him.  "Sorry."

"Did you bring any luggage?" she asked as they moved 
out of the way.

"I came as-is."  He smiled a bit, and she noticed the 
crinkles around his eyes had deepened just slightly.  
"You look good, Scully.  The desert agrees with you."

"The car is this way," she said, and they fell into 
step easily.  

"Las Vegas translates as ŒThe Meadows,' did you know 
that?" he asked as they walked.  "It's a pretty 
strange name for a desert when you think about it, but 
I guess there was more water here back when the 
Spaniards first showed up.  Maybe that's how it seemed 
like a good idea to squeeze one point eight million 
people into an area that gets around four inches of 
rain each year."

"Mulder..."

"Still, I never figured you for the Sin City type, 
Scully.  Of course, I never imagined you'd go for 
Mormons either, but I guess there's always a degree of 
freedom in these equations.  You and the Man Upstairs 
always seemed to share a certain simpatico, though, 
even if the specifics differed -- but you and Vegas?  
Tell me you're not all mobbed up."

"Mulder."

"But all that neon sure is impressive," he said as 
they stepped outside.  "I don't know how the pilot 
managed to find the landing strip."

She stopped walking, and he continued on without her, 
getting three cars deep into the parking lot before he 
noticed she was missing.   He halted with his back to 
her and was quiet for a long time.  "I need to know," 
he said without turning around.  His voice echoed in 
the half-empty garage.  "Is it her?"

"Why don't we go someplace where we can talk? I can 
explain everything there."

"Scully, please."  He faced her and she could just 
make out his features in the dim light.  "I've been on 
a plane for four hours.  I've waited twenty-six years.  
Don't make me wait any longer.  Is it her?"

She hesitated a moment before giving a tiny nod.  "It 
looks that way."  She took slow steps until she joined 
him in the shadows.  

 "Thanks," he said, laying a hand on her shoulder.  
"For coming to get me."

*****
Scotty stood under her porch light, hovering like a 
giant moth. "What the hell are you doing ringing my 
bell at this time of night?" Dot asked him through her 
back screen door.  "Benji's got school in the 
morning."

"Sorry, I saw your light on."

"This isn't the red light district.  Call next time, 
okay?"

"Sorry.  I found out something I thought you might 
want to see right away."

She noticed he had a large envelope in hand.  "Come on 
in.  Don't slam the door."

"I didn't mean to wake you," he said, carefully 
closing the door behind him.

"I'm always up.  It's too damn hot to sleep."

"Your AC on the fritz again?  I can take a look at it 
if you want."

"I put the good one in Benji's room and I'm buying a 
new one tomorrow.  Old Smokey's money is good for 
something, huh?  You want a beer or something?"

"If you're having one."

"I passed one a long time ago," she said from behind 
the refrigerator door.  "Helps me forget about the 
heat."

She tossed him a can and he sat down on her ratty 
orange sofa.  "Funny you should mention Old Smokey," 
he said.  "He's kind of the reason I'm here."

"You have a lead on Stephanie Jameson?"

He braced the can between his knees and cracked it 
open one-handed.  "I was thinking about what you were 
saying, how she might be on the run from someone, 
possibly Old Smokey himself.  I got to thinking maybe 
we should put feelers out at the morgue, so I talked 
with my boy Don.  I told him to be on the lookout for 
a white woman, mid-30s, brown hair, from out-of-town.  
He tells me they've already got such a woman."

"You're kidding me."

"He managed to get me a photo.  It's not pretty."  He 
gave her the envelope and she withdrew the single 
photograph within; it showed a once-pretty woman with 
half of her face missing.

Dot let out a low whistle.  "Someone sure did a number 
on this lady."

"That's her, right?  That's Stephanie Jameson."

"Sure looks it.  They ID her yet?"

"That's the interesting part.  She's been identified 
as Samantha Milgram, an L.A. native who was staying 
over at the Mayfield Inn, which, coincidentally, is 
where she was murdered two nights ago."

"Old Smokey was on our doorstep four days ago.  You 
think he got to her first?  Could explain why he 
hasn't been calling us every ten minutes for an update 
like the clients usually do."

"Possible.  But get this," he said, leaning closer to 
her. "Don says the vic has a husband, some FBI guy 
who's in town mucking around in the investigation.  
Old Smokey didn't really seem like the government type 
to me.  And why say her name was Stephanie Jameson?  
If the object was to find her, a fake name isn't going 
to help."

"Yeah, I get that, but he was paying us an awful lot 
of money for a wild goose chase.  I still think he 
wanted the woman found.  Maybe they're twins, 
Stephanie and Samantha."

"One dead and the other missing?  I could see that."  
He took a long sip of beer.

"Or it's one woman leading two very different lives," 
Dot suggested.  "Hard to keep one husband in L.A. and 
the other in Connecticut.  Maybe that's why she gave 
Old Smokey the tall tale about coming out here with 
her friend.  Maybe the friend's been covering for her 
all this time."

"We should talk to her.  If one husband found out 
about the other, it could explain how her face ended 
up looking like hamburger meat."

"You track down the friend.  I want to talk to Smokey 
again."

Scott froze with the beer almost at his lips.  "You 
sure you want to do that?  There's a good chance he 
killed that girl.  Maybe we should go to the cops with 
what we know and let them take it from here."

"I took his money.  I promised to find her."  She 
looked down at the gruesome picture again.  "If he did 
this, I want to be sure he's going to pay.  Right now 
all we have is a hinky client who hired us to look for 
a woman, who may or may not be his wife, who may or 
may not be dead.  We can go to the cops when we manage 
to fill in some of the blanks."

"Yeah, well, I just don't want us to end up blanked in 
the process."

******

It was after midnight, and the Coroner's office was 
closed so they went to the hotel bar instead.  Mulder 
ordered a beer while Scully opted for soda water and 
lime.  "Want to keep your wits about you?" he asked as 
he fingered the edge of the blue cocktail napkin.

"It's been a long day."  She leaned down and retrieved 
a folder from her briefcase.  "Bear in mind I'm not 
supposed to be showing you any of this," she said as 
she handed it to him.  "I'm not even supposed to have 
it myself."

"I thought this was your case."

"Not officially."

He held the slim folder in his hands but did not open 
it.  "I don't understand.  Then how did you find out 
about this?"

"Read the file."

He flipped it open and there was the autopsy report.  
"Cause of death, blunt force trauma.  Someone beat her 
to death?"

"She sustained fractures to both arms," Scully said. 
"Whoever did this, she fought them hard."

He held his breath and flipped the pages until he 
reached the photographs.  These were no soft-focus 
glamour shots; they were designed to document the 
horror of her injuries, close-ups of her bloodied face 
and broken bones; each individual gash its own private 
gallery.

These were the pictures a jury would see, if anyone 
ever answered for the crime.

Mulder let them fall to the table in front of him, the 
images fanning out. "No leads?" he whispered.

Scully shook her head slowly.  "Not yet.  I'm so 
sorry, Mulder."

"I've seen a half dozen of these women now," he said, 
picking up a random shot.  "What makes you think this 
one is real?"

"I was present at the autopsy.  Samantha Milgram was a 
flesh and blood woman; no evidence of the toxic green 
substance we've encountered before."

His face startled to crumple then, but he forced 
himself back under control.  "So this is her?  
Really?"

Scully reached for another folder.  "I took the 
liberty of running a DNA test comparing her sample to 
one of yours.  These are the results."

In the dim light, he could barely make out the tiny 
print.  "What does this mean, twenty-seven percent of 
alleles in common?  Shouldn't it be half?"

"Full siblings share half their DNA, yes."  She 
cleared her throat.  "These findings mean you share 
one parent in common."

He could still call up the memory of a summer day, 
with hazy sunshine and water that seemed to stretch 
forever.  His mother laughing as she sat on the dune, 
round as a beach ball.  "Fox, come and feel, your 
brother or sister is kicking!"  He'd gotten sandy 
handprints all over her white top but she had not 
yelled a bit.

"No wonder he sent her away," he said.  The folder 
tipped forward into his lap, sending the photos 
sprawling; he tried to gather them but they kept 
slipping through his hands.

Scully joined him under the table to help him pick up 
the pieces.  He paused, his head bumping the surface, 
and Scully winced for him.  "Careful," she murmured, 
smoothing the pictures into an even pile again.

"I don't care if she wasn't his," he said.  "She was 
mine and that's what matters."

"I'm so sorry, Mulder." 

She let go of the pictures long enough to squeeze his 
hand, and then they climbed back into the booth again.  
"How is your mother doing these days?" she asked when 
they had resettled.

"She's dead."

Shock and then embarrassment colored Scully's 
features, and he felt cruelly pleased.  "I hadn't 
heard," she murmured.

"No, I guess you wouldn't."  He swallowed the rest of 
his beer.  "Mom had another stroke last year and 
didn't survive long enough for me to make it to the 
hospital this time.  The doctors told me she was 
trying to talk but they couldn't understand what she 
was saying.  I guess now maybe I have some idea of 
what her secret might have been."

"You think she knew?"

"That she was screwing another man behind my father's 
back?  Yeah, I'd say she had a pretty good idea."

"I meant about Samantha's paternity."

He thought of the vicious, whispered fights during the 
summer before Samantha disappeared.  "I think they 
both knew," he said.  "And all those years afterward, 
neither one of them ever said a God damned thing."

"Maybe after all these years they considered it 
immaterial.  Like you were saying, it didn't matter 
where she came from.  What mattered is what happened 
to her."

"Somehow I think the two are inextricable."  He picked 
up a stray photo, one that showed the body from its 
good side, if death indeed could have such a thing. 
"You still haven't told me how you got involved in 
this case to begin with.  It's a bit of a kick, 
wouldn't you say?  We spend six years together looking 
for my sister and you leave only to stumble across her 
in a Vegas motel room?"

She took a deep breath and slid the part of the report 
back to him.  "Read the part at the bottom," she said.

He picked it up.  "Positive identification by Ruben 
Cetera," he read flatly.  "Relationship to deceased: 
sibling."  He looked up in surprise.  "She had a 
brother?"

"Adopted brother.  He was listed as her next-of-kin 
and so the Sheriff called him to make the 
identification.  He's a special prosecutor in Salt 
Lake City, and I made the trip down here with him, as 
a friend."

"A friend."

She avoided his eyes for a moment.  "We live 
together," she said at last.

"Well, he must be an awfully good friend, then."

"He has been."  She met his eyes, challenging him to 
disagree.

There had been other men at first.  He had vague 
recollections of her laughing into the phone, peering 
into the passenger side mirror to her make-up at the 
end of the day; she'd mentioned the odd name to him 
but he'd never paid attention.  Jim, John, Steve, 
whatever -- as long as she showed up at work each day 
and gave him her full attention, he didn't much care 
what, or who, she did on her off hours.

Then came Philadelphia and suddenly she had *his* full 
attention.  There were no more dates after that. 

It took some time, years even, but she'd begun putting 
on make-up at the end of the day again.  God, how many 
weeks had it taken him to realize this time it was for 
him?  

"Uh, that's good, Scully," he told her finally.  She 
searched his face as if not quite believing him.  "I'm 
happy for you.  Really."

She snorted and leaned back in the booth, shaking her 
head.

"The 'really' was overkill, huh?  I thought I sold it 
pretty good."

"You're a miserable liar."

"Nah," he said, brushing the photos aside. "Just 
miserable.  Listen, the men who took Samantha twenty-
six years ago wouldn't do this. They'd use a sniper or 
a toxin or they'd just whisk her away like last time.  
They wouldn't leave her in a Vegas motel room for 
everyone to find.  These people have blood on their 
hands metaphorically, but they haven't shown a 
penchant for the real thing, if you know what I mean."

"She has a chip," Scully told him quietly.

"What?  Where?"  He scrambled for the photos again.  

"Left sinus cavity.  It's not in the report.  I had 
the ME leave that part out for now.  As you might 
imagine, he has a lot of questions that I don't really 
feel like answering.  I don't know how much longer I 
can keep him quiet."

"If she's got the chip, then they know she's dead.  
Even money they'll be around to clean up the 
evidence."

"I thought of that," she said. "That's why I had the 
ME store the body, unmarked, in an older part of the 
morgue."

Mulder managed a smile.  "That's my girl," he said, 
and against her will, Scully smiled back.

****

She undressed in the dark, quiet so as not to wake 
Ruben.  The air conditioning hummed and the water in 
the sink seemed overly loud as she hurriedly brushed 
her teeth.  The bathroom smelled like his shampoo.

Ruben was like a silent mountain under the covers, his 
back to her as she slipped in beside him.  When he 
spoke, it was with a clear, strong voice that 
indicated he had been awake the whole time.  "You 
picked him up at the airport?"

"Yes."  She tried to rub his arm with affection but he 
shrugged her off.

"Took long enough."

"We had a drink downstairs.  I filled him in on the 
investigation so far."

"That must have taken all of ten minutes.  What did 
you talk about for the rest of the time?"

"It was a rather lot to absorb, Ruben.  He's been 
looking for his sister for more than twenty years."

He rolled over onto his back and looked at the 
ceiling.  "How'd he take the news?"

"I don't know.  He seemed numb more than anything."  
She hesitated, unsure of how much to give away.  "He's 
found other women before who turned out not to be the 
real thing.  I think maybe he's afraid to believe it 
this time."

"You showed him pictures of her body?"

"Yes."

"Trust me.  He doesn't want to believe you."  He 
turned his back to her again and didn't say another 
word.

*****

They were eating a breakfast of black coffee and 
bagels when Mulder appeared at the table.  "I had to 
go out and buy a new suit," he said by way of 
introduction.  "Flying sans luggage is freeing to the 
soul but expensive to the wallet."

Scully put her napkin aside. "Ruben, this is Fox 
Mulder.  Mulder, Ruben Cetera."

Ruben half-rose from his seat to shake Mulder's hand.  
"Join us for breakfast?" he asked.

Mulder shook his head.  "No, I want to get down to the 
Coroner's office.  I called ahead and Bartleby said 
he'd meet me there."

"I'll go with you," Scully offered.

"No, thanks.  This is something I need to do alone."  
He looked at Scully.  "I'd like to see the rest of the 
reports on the crime scene if at all possible."

"We're heading over to the Sheriff's office right 
after this," she replied.  "I'll see what I can do to 
smooth the way."

Mulder's gaze flickered over Ruben.  "Scully tells me 
you were her brother."

Ruben's lips tightened.  "We were adopted at the same 
time.  She said... she said her previous family hadn't 
treated her very well."

The accusation hung in the air, and Mulder went very 
still.  "I'm not so sure she was wrong about that," he 
said softly.  He tapped the tablecloth with his 
fingers.  "I'll see you both later, ok?"

"Agent Mulder, wait!"  Ruben was half out of his chair 
again when Mulder turned around.  He walked back to 
the table so he and Ruben were inches from one 
another.  

"What is it?"

"Annie was trying to track down her past.  I said she 
should leave well enough alone but she wanted to find 
her family and find out why they gave her up.  She 
wanted her birth certificate and stuff like that, said 
she had to find out for her kids' sake.  Do you 
think... do you think her efforts figure out what 
happened to her as a little girl could have gotten her 
killed?"

Mulder considered the question a long time.  "It's 
nearly done me in a time or two."

"You're sure then.  You're very sure Annie was your 
sister who was taken?"

Mulder looked at her, asking silently how much Ruben 
knew.  Scully shook her head very slightly.

"If it's her, you must know," Ruben continued.  "You 
must have some idea who could have done this to her."

"I don't.  Not yet.  But I promise you that I intend 
to find out."

He left and Ruben stood, watching him go.  "He's my 
age," Ruben said when Mulder had disappeared entirely.  
He was still watching the archway where Mulder had 
exited.  "When you told me he had been looking for his 
sister for more than twenty years, I expected someone 
much older."

"He was twelve when she vanished," Scully said simply.  
"He's been looking ever since."

*****

When Scully and Ruben arrived at the Sheriff's office 
they found Jack Milgram on the front steps with a 
cigarette in one hand and a paper cup of coffee in the 
other.  

"Breakfast of champions," he remarked dryly as he took 
a puff.  "Listen, Agent Scully, I got some more 
information on that unsolved homicide last month.  The 
victim was Lisa Sanchez, a dancer who apparently 
turned tricks on the side.  She was killed across town 
but also beaten to death in a motel room -- weapon has 
not been recovered.  I'm going to push Holloway for 
more Bureau involvement.  I want to see all the files 
on the Sanchez homicide and I was hoping you'd back me 
up."

"I'll do what I can."

"Thanks.  Appreciate it.  I know it's not a dead-on 
match to Samantha's case but there are enough 
similarities that I think it's worth a closer look."

As they left him to enter the building, Ruben bent 
closer to her.  "Did you tell him about Mulder yet?"

"Not yet.  First I have to figure out how to explain 
everything to Sheriff Holloway."

Holloway was frowning but seemed glad to see them 
anyway.  "Agent Scully, Mr. Cetera, please come in," 
he said, welcoming them to his office.  "I wish I had 
good news to report but I can assure you we're still 
working round the clock on your case."

"No leads at all?" Ruben asked.

"The lab has recovered seventy-two different prints 
from the motel room and we're processing them now.  
Unfortunately, cleaning does not appear to be a high 
priority at the Mayfield Inn.  It's going to take a 
while to sort through them all.  Do you have that list 
of your sister's friends I asked for?"

"Yeah, I've got it right here."  Ruben took out a 
folded piece of paper from his coat pocket.  "I wish I 
could say it was up-to-date, but as I mentioned, we 
hadn't spoken for some time."

"It's a start.  Thank you.  Mr. Cetera, would you mind 
terribly if I spoke to Agent Scully alone for just a 
moment?"

Ruben looked at her with some surprise.  "If it's 
about my sister, I'd just as soon stay."

"It's FBI-related, sir, and I'd prefer to err on the 
side of discretion given that it's not my department.  
If Agent Scully sees fit to relay the conversation 
afterward, then I'd have no objection."

Scully gripped the sides of her chair a bit tighter.  
Here it comes, she thought.  He's been talking to 
Bartleby.

"It's fine," she said aloud to Ruben.  

Holloway started ushering Ruben out the door.  "Mary 
at the desk can set you up with coffee or a soda if 
you like.  This won't take long."

He shut the door behind Ruben and looked at Scully.  
"Please don't repeat what I'm about to tell you."

This was not at all what she'd been expecting.  
Cautious, she said, "Tell me what?"

"I can count on your discretion?"

"Of course."

He returned to his seat behind the desk and leaned 
back in it.  "Jack Milgram's outside having a smoke.  
How well do you know him?"

"I met him when you did.  I can't claim to know him at 
all."

"I did a little checking.  Seems he has a bit of a 
reputation in the Bureau for being a hothead.  There 
was at least one lawsuit against him for unnecessary 
force but the case was settled out-of-court, documents 
sealed."

"I don't know anything about that."

"What's your read on him so far?"

"He seems very determined to find the person who 
murdered his wife.  Beyond that, I can't say much.  He 
did stop me outside and say he wants more Bureau 
involvement on the case.  He has discovered an 
unsolved homicide from last month that he believes 
might be connected."

"The Sanchez case.  Yeah, we're looking into it but so 
far it looks like a dead end to me.  Tell you what.  
I'm inclined to give him the information he wants and 
let him run with it.  At least that way I know what 
he's up to."

"Pardon me for asking," Scully said, "but do you have 
some reason to suspect Milgram in his wife's death?"

"Outside of the acrimonious divorce and some unsettled 
custody issues?  Turns out he was in Las Vegas last 
month.  Took a shuttle flight in and out the same day, 
and the motel records indicate his wife was here at 
the same time."

"Did you ask him about it?"

"Not yet.  I want to know the real reason he was here 
before I get his answer."

"And why are you telling all this to me?"

He shrugged.  "Milgram seems to like you.  I figure he 
might say stuff to you that he wouldn't to me or my 
people, and I'm hoping that if you hear anything we 
can use, you'll let me know."

Scully had a flash of Chief Blevins as he assigned her 
to the X-files.  "You're asking me to spy on him?"

"No, nothing like that.  Just keep your eyes and ears 
open, okay?  We can ask Ruben back in now if you 
like."

"Just a minute," Scully said as he got up to retrieve 
Ruben.  "There's something I need to discuss with you, 
too."

"What's that?" he asked, just as there was a knock at 
the door.  "One second.  Yes?"

A woman in uniform stuck her head in the room.  
"Sheriff, there is an FBI agent named Fox Mulder here 
to see you."

"FBI?"  He looked at Scully.  "You all are multiplying 
like rabbits.  What does he want?"

"Says he's here about the Milgram case."

"You know this guy?" Holloway asked Scully.

"That's the matter I had wanted to discuss with you."

"Well, I guess now all three of us can have a chat.  
Send him in, Mary."

Mulder appeared a moment later.  "Sheriff, thanks for 
seeing me.  Hey, Scully."

"Wait just a second here."  Holloway's frown deepened.  
"Who the heck are you again?"

Mulder fished his ID out of his pocket.  "Special 
Agent Fox Mulder.  Scully and I used to work 
together."

"Mary!" Holloway hollered, and she reappeared.

"Yes, sir?"

"Get me the evidence box on the Milgram case.  Do it 
now, please."

"Yes, sir."

"Is there a problem?" Mulder asked Scully.


"What's your interest in this case, Agent Mulder?"

"I believe Samantha Milgram was my sister."  He 
glanced at Scully.  "Did you tell him anything?"

"I was just about to fill him in."

"Somebody start talking.  Now."

"My sister Samantha was abducted from our family home 
in Chilmark, Massachusetts, November 27th, 1973.  The 
subsequent investigation turned up no viable suspects 
and she's been missing ever since."

"And you're saying our victim is the same Samantha?  
Your missing sister?"

"A DNA test seems to confirm it," Scully said.

Holloway looked annoyed.  "You've been holding out on 
me, Agent Scully."  To Mulder, he said, "You're saying 
you've had no contact with your sister since 1973?"

Mulder paused.  Scully knew this question was not the 
easiest to answer.  "I haven't found her yet, sir."

Officer Mary returned with the box of evidence.  
"Well, that's funny," Holloway said.  "'Cause she sure 
seemed to know you."

He opened the box and tossed a plastic evidence bag 
onto his desk.  Inside was a picture of Mulder getting 
into car back in D.C..  "What is this?" Mulder asked, 
picking up the bag.

"Don't open that."

"There are others in here.  Scully, look.  Where did 
you get these?"

"They were found in the motel room with her, where she 
was murdered.  You may have been out looking for your 
sister, but it seems like she knew exactly where to 
find you."

*******

End chapter four.  Continued in chapter five.

Thanks to Amanda for proofing! 

Sorry for the longer delay this time, everyone.  Life 
has been pretty nutty around here, with illness, heavy 
load at work, and a family wedding.  I expect chapter 
five should be done much faster.

Feedback welcome: syn_tax6@yahoo.com