///////////////

Chapter One

//////////////


Anyone who didn't know him and the gold shield he kept in his 
breast pocket might think that Manny Ahuja was up to no good. 
It was near four in the morning, and he was driving the 
streets of Boston with his lights off.  The reason he was 
behind the wheel at such an ungodly hour was because of a 
phone call.  Thirty minutes ago, he had rolled over in bed, 
receiver pressed against his unshaven face, and heard the 
tense voice on the other line: "We may have a deuce."

Holy shit, mother of god.  He nearly crossed himself again 
now, thinking about it.

He had no trouble finding the joint; the entire street was 
dark except for one house that shone like a Christmas tree.

As he pulled up outside the place, he spotted two cruisers 
and his partner's Crown Vic parked in front.  O'Hara had been 
the voice on the other end of the line.  They had called him 
first because he was the senior detective, with seventeen 
years on the job to Manny's eleven.  O'Hara and Ahuja.  The 
Lou always joked that they should have been a friggin' tap 
dance act at Ellis Island.

Manny checked around for any signs of the press but did not 
see anything.  It was only a matter of time.  If they were 
really sitting on a deuce, the city was going to go boom in 
the next twenty-four hours.

A uniform cop nodded as Manny passed him at the door.  "Sir," 
the kid said, shifting from one foot to the other because of 
nerves or the cold.  "They're inside."

No, shit, Manny thought.  I'm a detective, first-grade.  I 
believe I can find the body by myself.

The screen door slammed behind him as he entered the small, 
neat living room.  There was no sign of anything amiss, save 
his presence, and Manny trooped toward the sound of voices in 
the back.

O'Hara met him the carpeted hall.  He was a foot shorter than 
Manny and nearly a foot wider to boot.  O'Hara hoisted his 
belt higher across his waist as he sidled up to Manny.  
"Looks like a deuce," he said.  "Male DB is bound hands and 
feet with duck tape.  Female shows signs of sexual assault.  
Both have superficial knife wounds and a gunshot to the head.  
It's got to be the same guy."

"Yeah, well we all said this asshole didn't come out of 
nowhere.  He's been practicing.  Does Chief know yet?"
  
"He's already in there.  Happy fucking Valentine's, eh?"

Manny drifted to the open doorway, where the Chief stood with 
another uniform and the Coroner.  The room was crammed full 
of old dark furniture.  In the middle, as a centerpiece, was 
a sleigh bed with two dead people on it.  The white sheets 
had been drenched in blood, as if someone had thrown a bucket 
of red paint over them.  It was starting to become rust-
colored around the edges as the hour of violence faded into 
the past.

The woman's eyes were open.  She had seen it coming but been 
unable even to scream because her mouth was taped shut.  The 
man was naked too.  He had a knife wound cut low across his 
belly, and Manny could guess exactly what the killer had 
threatened there.

You poor bastard, he thought.  When he didn't slice it off, 
you probably thought you were going to live.

The Chief walked over to where Manny hung back in the 
doorway.  "It's like a rerun," Manny said, nodding at the 
scene on the bed.  "Got to be the same perp."

"No one, I mean no one, uses the words 'serial killer,'" 
replied the Chief, holding up a single finger in front of 
Manny's nose.  "Not until we are one hundred percent 
positive, and even then, I don't want a single god damn word 
about this in the press unless it comes from my office.  Are 
we clear on this point, Detective?"

"Crystal."

As the Chief lowered his finger, Manny thought he noticed a 
slight tremor.  Boston hadn't seen a serial killer since 
Albert DiSalvo took to strangling women with their pantyhose.

Manny looked around at the blood spray, the tangled sheets 
and the pale, naked bodies.  Where the hell did you come 
from? he wondered. 

Maybe the guy was an import.  Maybe he'd just gotten out of 
prison.  Or maybe he had been among them all this time, 
becoming this ravening animal right under their noses.

////

The FBI did not celebrate Valentine's Day like a kindergarten 
class, or even like some other more casual offices.  There 
were no crepe paper banners or hearts tacked to the bulletin 
boards.  The most you might see is a red tie paired with the 
usual dark suit, or perhaps heart-shaped earrings if a woman 
were feeling particularly fanciful.

For her part, Scully wore her usual wrinkle-resistant black 
pantsuit and no-nonsense expression.  Valentine's had been 
just another day for her for six years now, and this one was 
not proving any different.

She looked up from her monitor and saw Mulder across the 
bullpen floor chatting up a blonde woman by the coffee 
machine.  He was biding his time, spending these last few 
days before they got the X-files back doing something close 
to nothing.  This morning he'd shown her a plastic dish full 
of paper clips and told her that he was already "packed."

She put her head down as he returned, but instead of taking 
his seat, he ambled around the desk to stand over her.  
"Here," he said, setting a candy heart down in front of her 
keyboard.  "I don't like the green ones."

"Be mine," Scully read flatly.  "Be your what, Mulder?"

He shrugged and popped a heart into his mouth.  "Partner, 
come Monday morning. I think they've finally decided we're 
not hiding Jeffrey Spender's body in the file cabinets."

"That was his blood all over the floor.  Something terrible 
happened to him in your office, Mulder."

"And the sooner they let me back there, the sooner I can 
figure out what it was."

Scully considered reminding him that, according to the closed 
circuit security cameras, Diana Fowley had been the last one 
to see Spender.  The tape showed them both getting into the 
elevator to go down to the basement; only Fowley reappeared.

"I just can't wait until we're done with these jerk-off 
assignments," Mulder said as he took his seat.

Scully rubbed her temples with one hand and wondered when, 
exactly, the X-Files had become the only legitimate work 
performed at the FBI.  Her phone rang and she picked it up, 
sighing her name into the receiver.

"Agent Scully," said Skinner on the other end.  "I have 
something to discuss with you, a matter of some urgency.  
Could you please come up to my office at your earliest 
convenience."

"I'm on my way now, sir," Scully said, preparing to stand.

Mulder's eyebrows rose.  "Hot date?" he asked.

"Skinner asked to see me."

"Just you?"

"Just me."

"He say what it's about?"

"Save my seat," she said as she left.

"Ask him if we can get new curtains," Mulder called after 
her.

In his office, Skinner motioned for her to take a seat as he 
regarded her with a serious gaze.  "You had asked me about 
the possibility of finding you work outside the X-Files.  Is 
that something you are still interested in pursuing?"

Scully sat up straighter and cleared her throat.  "I, uh, I 
wasn't thinking that my request would be granted this soon. 
Mulder and I haven't even been officially reassigned yet."

"That makes the transition even smoother, should you decide 
this is what you want."

"May I ask the nature of this prospective assignment?"

He slid a folder across the desk to her.  "Boston PD found 
Lauren and Michael Byrdek dead in their home this morning.  A 
man broke in, apparently tied up the husband and raped the 
wife before killing them both.  This is the second such 
attack in Boston area in the past two months."

Scully glanced up from the file.  "Serial killer?"

"That's where you would come in.  They want an FBI 
pathologist to examine the evidence and determine if this is 
in fact the work of a single killer."

Scully let out a long breath and closed the folder.  This was 
a choice assignment, a potential career-building case.  These 
sorts of opportunities generally went to established big 
names who had been working within the FBI for decades or the 
hot-shot young ones on the fast track.  Scully was neither.

"I'm honored to be considered," Scully said.

"The FBI owes you," replied Skinner.  "At least this much."

So that was the reason for their eagerness in granting her 
request for more work.  She had not sued either Peyton Ritter 
or the FBI over her accidental shooting the month before, but 
there was always room for her to change her mind.  Apparently 
the FBI brass realized this as well.

This wouldn't be a lengthy job, she figured as she peeked at 
the photos again.  She could possibly even return before next 
Monday.

"There's more," Skinner said, leaning forward.  

"More bodies?"

"No, not as far as I know.  But the Boston field office is 
losing a supervisor this spring to retirement.  Word has it 
they are looking to hire from outside."

"You're saying this could be an audition of sorts," Scully 
said.

"It all depends."

"On what?"

"On how far out you want to get."

Far out, Scully thought.  That's what she had thought about 
the X-Files when she had been assigned to them six years 
earlier.  Since then, she had been on both sides of the gun 
with Mulder, followed him and the evidence around the globe, 
been naked, grilled, cut up and bit.  Mulder trusted her.  He 
probably even loved her, in his way, but she had failed to 
get in on the birth of his paranormal universe.

In the beginning, there was Mulder.  And the Gunmen.  And, 
apparently, Diana.

No matter what she did, Scully would always be part of the 
"B" team.

"I'll do it," she told Skinner, standing up.  Then she 
hesitated.  "Sir, if this work keeps me beyond next 
Monday..."

He squinted at her.  "Yes?"

"What about Mulder?"

Skinner gave her a look that suggested she might have thought 
about this before she requested outside work.  "Agent Fowley 
has expressed an interest in staying on with the X-Files," he 
said.  "Her request is under consideration."

"By whom?" Scully asked, separating the words for emphasis.

Skinner looked surprised that she did not know.  "By Mulder.  
He didn't tell you?"

Scully dug her fingernails into the back of the leather 
chair.  "Tell Boston I'll be there this afternoon," she said.

///

Jake Winthrop sat at the kitchen table with headphones on, 
bobbing his head in time to the beat while his mother poured 
coffee behind him.  It was the first time they had been in 
the same room in nearly two days.  She had made him heart-
shaped pancakes with strawberries, just as she had done back 
in elementary school before Dad left.  Before the cancer.  
Before everything went straight to hell and left Jake holding 
the bag.

She set a mug by his plate and pulled one earpiece away from 
his head.  "I've got to get to the hospital.  Do you need a 
ride to school?"

He shook his head.  "Tommy's driving me.  He'll be over in a 
few."

His mother checked her watch and frowned.  "You guys are 
going to be late if you don't get it in gear soon."

"We'll make it okay."

"Homework all done?"

A little late to be worrying about that now, Jake thought.  
"Sure," he told her.  He made a mental note to bring a book 
home soon so she wouldn't get suspicious.

She grabbed her well-worn coat from the back of a chair and 
ruffled his hair on the way out the door.  "Be good," she 
said.  "And wear a hat.  It's ten degrees outside."

"Yeah, yeah."

Jake peeled an orange over the garbage can as he watched his 
mother scrape the frost from her windshield, get into her '89 
Toyota and drive away.  He smacked the bottom of the 
receiver, causing the phone to jump into his hand.  Dialing 
the numbers with one thumb, he licked sticky sweet juice from 
the fingers of his other hand.  "Tommy?  Yeah, she's gone 
now.  I'll be ready in five."

He hung up the phone and took the stairs two at a time up to 
his room, passing his mother's unmade bed and his sister's 
empty room.  Clothes littered the floor of his bedroom, and 
he sifted through them to find the jeans he wanted.  He 
fished a switchblade from the back pocket, testing it once 
before tucking it into his current pants. 

On his way out the door, he paused to stick one hand back 
into the room.  He lifted a Boston Red Sox hat from the end 
of the bedpost and put it on as he bounded down the stairs 
and out into the cold gray morning.

///

Whatever Scully was meeting with Skinner about, it seemed to 
take forever, and without anyone to tell him otherwise, 
Mulder used the opportunity to sneak down to the basement and 
feather his nest.  He tacked up a few of his old photos, 
placed his moon rock back on its shelf, and was admiring a 3-
headed pig fetus in a jar when he heard high-heeled footsteps 
behind him.

"Look what someone left us," he said without turning around.  
"It's Mother Goose meets the Grimm brothers, Scully."

He whirled to show her his new find and discovered Diana 
standing in the office.  "More like Mother Goose meets 
Chernobyl," she said with a smile.

"Diana, hey.  What, um, what brings you down my way?"

She pointed at a sad looking fern across the room.  "I came 
to get my plant."

Mulder scratched the back of his head as he watched her 
retrieve the fern.  He had a sneaking suspicion it was 
actually Scully's old plant, but he wasn't sure enough to 
raise an objection.  Besides, it was not as though Scully had 
thought to take it herself months ago when they had left the 
office.

No, Scully had walked out and not looked back.

"I see you're about ready to resume your rightful place 
here," Diana said, fern in hand.  "I hope you know I never 
wanted to take the job from you in the first place.  I argued 
at every turn for your reinstatement."

Her tone was friendly, but the implication was clear: quid 
pro quo.

"I appreciate that," Mulder answered mildly.

"I've been wondering if you've given any thought to my 
offer."

"To join the X-Files?"  Mulder coughed.  "I've given it lots 
of thought, but I'm sure you know that official approval 
isn't up to me."

She gave him a full smile, showing her impressive teeth.  
"Your word carries a lot of weight, Fox.  But I'm sure you 
know that."

"I think you may overestimate my power in the bureaucracy."

"I think maybe you underestimate it."  She picked at the 
fern's leaves.  "But in any case, it looks like you may have 
a position opening up here soon."

"What are you talking about?" Mulder asked, but the hairs on 
the back of his neck stood up.  Out of everything about 
Diana, her uncanny ability to know things about his life 
before he did was the one thing that gave him slight pause.

She's got connections, Scully had argued, and not the good 
kind.

Diana blinked at him, wide-eyed.  "I mean about Scully going 
to Boston."

"Boston?  I thought she just went to lunch."

"She must have had a hankering for lobster," Diana said, 
"because she's accepted an assignment in Boston.  Something 
about a possible serial murder?"

Mulder was feeling around for his cell phone.

"You mean she didn't tell you?" Diana asked.  "You know, I've 
heard they're looking for a new full-time supervisor up 
there."

Mulder hit speed dial and waited for the connection to go 
through.  He cursed when he got her voice mail and hung up 
the phone with an angry snap.

"I've got to go," he told Diana.

"You should be happy for her," Diana called.  "It's what she 
wanted."

Mulder halted.  "What did you say?"

"Scully asked for the work.  She wanted time away from the X-
files."

We don't even have them back yet, Mulder thought.  She's had 
seven months away.  What the hell is going on here?

He patted the doorframe several times and nodded to himself.  
"I've got to go," he repeated.

///

Jane Dunbar grew up as the only girl in a family of six kids.  
She had three older brothers and two younger ones, so she 
could shoot a BB gun by age four.  Her brothers always made 
her play the robber in "cops-n-robbers," and Jane used to 
joke that's why she was so good at thinking like a bad guy.  
She had made detective in just over five years, partially 
because she was female and the Mayor liked to have at least 
one token woman detective at all times, and partially because 
she got in early and stayed late almost every shift. 

She was tenacious.  She was smart.  She was also nosy.

"What's with the big hush-hush meetings?" she asked Manny 
Ahuja in the break room.  "You guys catch a hot one this 
morning?"

"You could say that."

"Must be big, you got the Chief in here."

"Mmm."  He sipped his coffee and concentrated his attention 
on the newspaper in front of him.

Jane popped the lid on a Coke and took the adjoining seat.  
She did not know Manny very well yet, but what she knew of 
him, she liked.  He did not grab her ass or call her "honey," 
and he did not expect her to clean the coffee machine every 
day.  He was young, like her.  Unlike her, he was quiet, 
which wasn't exactly helping her cause at the moment.

"Did you see that red-head in the suit come through here 
earlier?  I didn't recognize her."

Manny shrugged.  

"Aw, come on.  I know you must've met her.  You were back 
there with the rest of them."

"She's FBI, that's all I know."

Jane let out a low whistle.  "FBI, Jesus."  Her eyes went 
large as she put the pieces together.  "Holy shit, he hit 
again, didn't he?  We've got a serial."

Manny dropped the paper and grabbed her wrist.  "Where did 
you hear that?"

"That's got to be it, right?"  Triumphant, she pulled free.  
"Makes total sense now - the Chief, all the closed-door chit-
chat, and then the FBI comes calling.  I knew it!  I knew 
he'd hit again."

"Will you keep your voice down?"

"They must be forming a task force, right?  I mean, a case 
this big, they're going to need a lot of manpower."

"Don't get your hopes up," Manny said, picking his paper off 
the table.

"I can help.  You know I can.  I took that summer course at 
Quantico last year."

"You've been here ten months.  It ain't gonna happen for you 
yet."  He smirked.  "'Sides, you already got a big case, 
remember?"

Jane ran a hand through her hair.  "Oh, the hell with you.  
That's not a real case, and you know damn well it."

Manny grinned.  "Someone's got to investigate.  Someone's got 
to make the world safe for bald men everywhere."

As the newbie, Jane got the less-than-exciting fare on the 
detective menu, including habitual confessors, purse 
snatchers, kleptomaniacs, and lately, a hat thief.  For the 
past few months - maybe longer for all they knew - someone 
had been sneaking into people's homes and stealing their 
hats.  Folks came home to find their doors and windows 
jimmied and their hats gone.  

"Every serial killer has to start somewhere," Manny said.  
"Maybe this one was a hat thief back in the day.  You catch 
this guy, and you're saving lives."

He was teasing her, which ordinarily would be a good thing.  
Teasing meant she was fitting in.  But not now, when the PD 
was sitting on the case of the brand-new century, and she was 
stuck asking people shit like, "And when was the last time 
you wore the hat?"

O'Hara stuck his bald head in the door.  "We're set to roll," 
he told Manny.  "I'll meet you out back."

"Duty calls," Manny said as he sent his paper cup sailing 
into the garbage can with a perfect shot.  "If I see any 
suspicious hats, I'll let you know."

Jane gave his retreating back the middle finger salute.

///

With a new gunshot scar decorating both the front and the 
back of her, Scully had a renewed appreciation for the human 
body, both for its resiliency and its astonishing fragility.  
She dug out the embedded twenty-two caliber bullet from 
Lauren Byrdek's left prefrontal cortex and held it up to the 
light.  Blood and tissue clung to the metal pellet.  It 
seemed impossible that such a small object could end the life 
of a healthy, one hundred and twenty-five pound woman.

Lauren's bullet hit the silver tray with a clink; Scully 
would send it to ballistics for comparison with the bullets 
in the McPherson case, but she had little doubt they would 
match.  Those had been twenty-two caliber as well.

Dutifully, she catalogued each nick and scratch.  There were 
surprisingly few defensive wounds.  She gathered they must 
have been asleep when the killer entered the house.

Midway through her second autopsy, another gowned and masked 
person entered the autopsy bay.  He waved and joined her by 
the body.  "Dana, hi.  It's Ray Peterkin.  Remember me?"

For a second, she didn't.  Behind the mask and googles, she 
couldn't place his face, but his voice struck a familiar 
chord.  "Ray," she said, remembering.  "Of course."  They had 
come through the Academy together.

"I was so pleased when I heard it was going to be you doing 
the work here," he said.

"I didn't realize you were in Boston."

"For three years now.  I'm the principle liaison with the 
police on this case.  How did we manage to score you for this 
gig, anyway?  I thought you were chained to the X-Files."  

"I'm on furlough," Scully said, deadpan, but Ray smiled.

"Their loss, our gain." He looked down at Michael Byrdek's 
naked body.  "How's it going?  You have anything for us yet?"

"I think it's safe to say it's the same guy.  The MO is 
nearly identical, from what I can gather, and the bullets 
appear to be similar to the naked eye.  A DNA test on the 
semen samples should seal the case."

"How long will that take?"

"Quick and dirty, a day or so.  More thorough analysis will 
take longer.  I also isolated three pubic hairs which appear 
to be from a male Caucasian."

"This is great.  Anything you can give us, we'll take."

"Well, I think he's probably right handed.  You see this cut 
here?" She indicated a long slice across Michael Byrdek's 
belly.  "It's deeper at the right end, meaning the knife 
probably entered at this point.  It would be hard to pull off 
this sort of pattern from the left side."

"Can you tell what kind of knife it was?"

"Smooth edge, about six to eight inches long, I'd say.  I'll 
have all the details in my final report."

Ray pushed up the sleeve on his gown to check his watch.  
"Great.  What do you say I buy you dinner later and we can go 
over it?"

Her stomach rumbled in anticipation.  All she'd had to eat 
were some crackers and a cup of coffee on the plane.  "That 
would be fine," she answered.  "Give me an hour and a half to 
finish up here."

"That works for me."  He placed his hand on her back and 
smiled again.  "Good to see you, Dana.  I look forward to 
working with you for real instead of on some mock raid 
choreographed by Agent Wichouski."

Scully finished with the bodies about forty-five minutes 
later, giving her time to clean up and jot down her notes 
before Ray returned.  She sat alone in a tiny office, writing 
her report on her laptop.  Every few minutes, she had to stop 
and swivel her sore neck.

I'm getting too old for this, she thought.  In seven days she 
would be thirty-six.

It was nearing the time when Ray said he would meet her when 
she heard footsteps in the hall.  But instead of Ray, it was 
Mulder who rounded the corner.  "So let me get this 
straight," he said, "I get stuck with background checks for 
four days while Skinner offers you a fancy assignment up 
here."

Wearily, Scully shut down her computer.  "How did you find 
me?"

"Your plane ticket said Boston.  Not too hard after that.  
Proceed directly to the nearest morgue.  Do not pass go, do 
not collect two hundred dollars."

Right.  She guessed that was the wrong question.  "Okay then, 
why are you here?"  

"I heard you wanted out of the X-files.  You might have 
mentioned that, Scully, on your way out of town.  You might 
have given two weeks' notice or at least left a note."

"I never said I wanted out of the X-Files.  This is a 
temporary assignment.  I may be back in DC tomorrow."

"And if you're not?  What then?"

"Then maybe you can have Diana take my place.  Or were you 
just planning that anyway?"

"I wasn't---I never."  He paced the room.  "I have said 
nothing about Diana joining the X-files."

"Yes," she agreed.  "You said nothing."

"That's because nothing has been decided."

"When were you going to mention it?  When I came to work and 
found her sitting in my chair?"

"Scully, you and I have been over this and over this."

"Then we needn't go over it again."  She shoved her papers 
and her laptop into her briefcase.  When she raised her head 
again, Mulder was standing over her with his hands on his 
hips.

"You're trying to force my hand with Diana, is that what this 
about?"

She sighed.  "If that's what you think..." 

"I don't know what to think.  You leave town without a word.  
I have to find out from someone else that you're thinking of 
leaving the X-files."

"Who?" she challenged.  "Who told you that?"

Mulder blanched, and then sputtered.  "I--it doesn't matter 
who told me.  The point is, it should have come from you."

Scully gathered her coat and her things to go meet Ray.  "Go 
home, Mulder."

He shook his head.

"Mulder.  I'm here for a few days.  I will be back.  If you 
really want, we can talk about it then."

"The last time you went off on one of these expeditions 
alone, you ended up in the emergency room."

He didn't need to remind her.  She had swallowed two Tylenol 
earlier to calm the throbbing in her still-healing abdominal 
muscles.

"I got shot by the agent I was working with," she said, "so 
statistically, I'm safer in this room alone than with you in 
it."

He looked genuinely wounded.  "You really think I would shoot 
you?"

Scully took a deep breath and relented.  "No, Mulder, I don't 
think that.  But I do think you should go home."

"I read the case files on the plane up here," he said, and 
she did not bother to ask how he had obtained them.  "You've 
got an ugly one here, Scully."

"I know it."

"Skilled entry into the homes so that he doesn't wake the 
victims.  He's practiced at controlling both of them at once.  
Brings his tools with him and exits without detection.  This 
killer has been a work in progress for some time now.  He's 
probably already in the system.  He may have other victims 
the cops don't know about."

"Everyone is on it, Mulder.  Truly."

At that point, Ray Peterkin reappeared, looking much like she 
remembered with his short dark hair and wire-rimmed glasses.  
"Dana, sorry I'm running a bit behind."  He drew up short 
when he saw Mulder.  "Oh, I didn't realize you had company."

"Ray Peterkin, this is Fox Mulder," Scully said grudgingly.

"The Fox Mulder?" Ray asked, reaching to shake Mulder's hand.

"There better not be another one," Mulder replied.

Scully already saw the gleam in Ray's eye and mentally 
expanded the dinner list to include three.

"Say, I don't suppose you would mind taking a look at the 
case for us?"

Mulder slung an arm around Ray's shoulders.  "Ray, I already 
have some ideas."

The men walked out together, talking with great animation, as 
Scully followed silently, ever behind.

///

End chapter one.  Continued in chapter two.

Yes, yes, it's a serial killer again.  But I took 3 years 
off, I swear!

Syn <--- not obsessed, no siree

Feedback makes my world go 'round: syn_tax6@yahoo.com