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

Chapter Eleven

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


The whole of Annette Crenshaw's old house, upstairs and 
downstairs, was dark when Scully arrived.  The couple in the 
second floor apartment had not needed any urging from the 
police to clear out; their neighbor's body exiting the 
downstairs on a coroner's stretcher had been incentive 
enough.  From the looks of things, half the street had left 
with them.  Houses up and down the row sat black and empty.

Scully stood on the front porch, her breath misting in the 
cold night, and felt around in her pocket for the key.  She 
had to detach the crime scene taped "X" over the front door.  
The old wood stuck momentarily, and she had to throw her 
shoulder against it to break it free.

She immediately reached around to flick the hall light on but 
kicked the loose snow from her boots before stepping inside.  
The old house creaked with the weight of her footsteps as she 
walked through it.  The hardwood floors, high ceilings and 
small rooms told Scully the architecture dated back at least 
a century, likely more.  

As she touched the smooth, cold doorknob to the bedroom, she 
thought of how many hands had been there before hers, how 
just twenty-four hours earlier Annette had probably tugged it 
closed for the last time.  

The door opened with a faint whine.  Scully could still smell 
the blood in the room before she hit the light switch.  The 
overhead fixture set the small room ablaze with light, 
shining a spotlight on the silent, violent scene.  The sheet 
was torn, drenched in blood.  Scully could make out the dried 
stain where the body had been.  The rope was gone from the 
headboard.

She turned her head, deliberately not looking anymore, and 
hurried to the dresser.  Annette's small apartment had not 
given her much storage space and the top of her dresser was 
crammed with knick-knacks, beauty supplies and framed photos.  
Scully spotted the one she was after and lifted it free from 
the rest of the clutter.

It showed Annette with another young woman about her age; the 
other girl was fair where Annette was dark.  They had their 
arms around each other and smiled big for the camera.  But 
what intrigued Scully was the frame, which was decorated with 
dozens of tiny yin-yang symbols.

She flipped the frame over and opened the back to release the 
photo.  "Me and Sandi, 1998," it read on the reverse side.

She was about to dig out her phone and try Mulder again when 
she heard the cry of a police siren in the distance.  It 
sounded like it was getting closer.  Scully set the picture 
down and jogged to the front of the house to see the street.  
She ducked down in the dark living room, her face close to 
the cold windowpane. 

A black and white unit went racing past with its lights 
flashing.  A second one was close on its heels, and an 
ambulance skidded around the corner, bringing up the rear.

Wide-eyed, bent over to peer out the window, Scully wondered 
what the problem was, and then her cell phone began to ring.

Its insistent chirp faded almost to oblivion as a fire truck 
went screaming past the house.  Scully fumbled with one hand 
for her phone.  "Scully," she said, a little breathless.

"Agent Scully, it's Detective Ahuja."

"Detective," she said as she turned away from the noise 
outside.  She put her hand over her free ear and tried to 
hear.  

"Agent Mulder asked me to call you.  He said his cell phone 
has been stolen and there's some possibility the killer took 
it."

"When?"

"He doesn't know when.  But if you've left him any 
messages..."

"I told him I'm here."  Scully whirled first one direction 
and then the other, checking to make sure she was alone.  "I 
left three messages for Mulder telling him I was going to 
Annette's.  I wondered why he wasn't picking up."

"Sit tight.  Mulder's on his way.  Everything's okay there?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."  She reached over and turned on 
another light.  The sirens had stopped and the house had gone 
quiet again.

"Wait, what?"  

She heard voices in the background.  "What's going on?"  
Manny asked a question she couldn't quite hear.  "What's 
happening?" she asked again.  She heard rustling, the sound 
of Manny standing up.

"There's been an accident," he told her.  

"Oh my God."  She knew.  All at once she knew.

"Mulder was driving to get you..."

"I've got to go."  She clicked off the phone and started to 
run with it still clutched tight in one hand.  Outside, the 
frosty air hit her like a wall but she kept going, the hard 
heels of her boots splitting the icy edges of the sidewalk.

She ran past her car.  It never even occurred to her to get 
in.

She took in painful gasps of frigid air.  Her mouth was cold 
and open, the wind making her eyes tear.  She nearly fell at 
one patch of ice, catching herself hard against the rough 
scrape of a tree.  

Please be okay, she thought.  Please, please, please. 

The emergency vehicles came into view as she rounded the 
corner onto the main street.  She saw red and blue lights 
spinning crazily, and the bright glare of a dozen high-beam 
headlights.  "Oh, God." 

Her stomach flipped as she jogged closer, rounding the end of 
a fire truck to see the crash scene in all its twisted glory.  
A fireman stopped her, his heavy gloved hand catching her 
square across the chest.  "Ma'am, you can't go in there."

"I'm FBI."  She tried to break loose to find her ID but she 
couldn't tear her eyes away from Mulder's car.  It was upside 
down, the windows smashed.  Hunks of snow lay scattered in 
the street.

"You can't go in there."

"He's my partner!"  She wrenched free of him and ran to the 
car.  Two EMTS were crouched by the driver's side door.  She 
fell down on her knees next to them.  "Mulder?  Mulder are 
you okay?"

"Ma'am, please..."

"Scully?"

"Oh, God," she said, exhaling when she heard his voice.  She 
placed a trembling hand on the shell of the car and tried to 
lean down to see him.  "Are you all right?  Mulder?"

"I'm all right.  My legs are stuck."

It was dark, but they had high-intensity flashlights trained 
on him.  She could see him squinting at her but there was 
blood running down his face. "You're okay?  Can you move your 
toes?"

"Toes are a-okay."

"Ma'am, we need to you move aside so we can get your friend 
out of here."

"Mulder," she said, reaching inside for him.  His hand closed 
over hers and his grip was reassuringly strong.  She squeezed 
him tight.

"I'm all right, Scully.  They just have to cut me out of 
here, okay?"

"Ma'am."  One of the EMTs grabbed her arm and tried to move 
her forcibly out of the way.  "You need to let us do our jobs 
now.  Your friend is going to be all right."

"I'm a doctor," she said, not letting go of Mulder.

"That's all very good, but unless you can operate the Jaws of 
Life, we need you to step aside and let us work.  Okay?"

Scully looked up and saw a man standing there ready with the 
tools necessary to spring Mulder.  "Okay," she said, 
reluctantly letting go of him and trying to rise to her feet.  
She required EMT assistance for this small task, as 
adrenaline had suddenly made her legs turn to rubber.  
Rounded shards of glass clung to her wet pants.

They backed her up more than thirty feet before going to work 
on the crumpled car.  Scully hugged herself and tried not to 
give orders.  The metal they were cutting was decidedly too 
close to Mulder's head.

Manny Ahuja appeared behind her and touched her gently on the 
shoulder.  "Hey, I got here as fast as I could.  How's 
Mulder?"

"They're peeling back the sardine can now.  He seems to be 
okay, but of course we won't know anything until we get him 
to a hospital."  She glanced up at him.  "What the hell 
happened?"

"Don't know.  I just heard the call come in."  He looked 
around at all the cruisers and trucks.  "I don't see the 
other car anywhere.  Looks like a hit and run.  Icy street, 
dark night -- could be an accident."

"You don't really believe that."

"If it's our boy, he's sure changed his M.O."

The men managed to pry open the car enough to help Mulder out 
onto the stretcher.  Scully hurried forward again.  "Mulder, 
are you okay?"  She took his hand and he squeezed it.

"Score one for American craftsmanship," he said as he turned 
his head to look at the scrap heap that used to be his 
Taurus.  "Although I don't know how I'm going to explain this 
to the rental agency.  Do you think the eleven dollar 
insurance surcharge will cover this?"

She peered at the cut near his temple, but it did not appear 
too deep.  He had glass flecking his hair, which she gently 
brushed away.  "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"Ma'am, we need to get him to the hospital."  The EMTs 
started rolling the gurney to the waiting ambulance; Scully 
walked with them.

"Is your stomach tender?  Can you breathe okay?  How many 
fingers am I holding up?"

"Seventy-six."

"Mulder," she said, frowning at him.  "This isn't funny."  
But she saw one of the EMTs hide a snort against his sleeve.

"I'm all right, really.  My chest hurts from the seatbelt and 
the dash really messed up my knee, but I'm going to be fine."

"He could have internal injuries," Scully told the EMTs.  "He 
needs X-rays and possibly a CT scan."

"Yeah, and you know a really good place where he can get all 
those things?  The hospital!"  They halted at the ambulance 
to prepare to lift him inside.

"I'm going with you."

"The officers can take you right behind us."

"I'm going with you."

Mulder weakly raised one arm.  "Guys, she carries a gun.  You 
probably don't want to have this fight."

"Fine," the older one said with a sigh.  "Get in."

They ran the lights and siren despite the fact that it wasn't 
a strict emergency.  Scully leaned over Mulder and used her 
pocket flashlight to check his pupils for proper reactivity.  

"When the car was in the air, my life flashed before my 
eyes," Mulder said as she pulled back one eyelid and peered 
down at him.  "Check to see if it's still in there, will 
you?"

"Mulder."  She drew back and laid a hand gently on his chest.  
"What happened?"

He covered her hand with his own.  "I was on my way to meet 
you at Annette's when this car came out of nowhere, crossed 
the yellow line and slammed into me."

"Accident?"

"Only if he accidentally backed up and did it a second time."

"Did you get a look at the car?"

He shook his head.  "All I saw were two headlights getting 
closer and closer." 

She gripped his hand with both of hers now and bowed her 
head.  "You could have been killed."

"I think that was the general idea, yeah."

"Manny said your phone had been stolen.  He said the killer 
may have listened to your messages.  Mulder, if he heard me 
and went after you..."

"Hey, shh.  We don't have any idea what happened yet."  He 
extracted his hand and touched her cheek.  "I'm just glad he 
didn't go after you."

"I'm not the one who made a target of myself."

The ambulance pulled to a stop in front of the hospital, and 
the EMTs shifted to prepare for disembarking.  "We're going 
to take him inside now and let the emergency docs have a look 
at him," said the one.  He looked at Scully.  "Assuming 
that's okay with you."

"Yes, please," she said, not taking the bait.  

They unloaded Mulder, and he reached for her hand again on 
the outside, lacing their fingers together.  "Don't knock it, 
boys," he said.  "Most guys just get to play doctor -- I've 
got the genuine article."

The men laughed and Scully felt her face warm, but she didn't 
let go of Mulder's hand.  

After all, she was the genuine article.

//////////

Jane sat in a back booth at Mallory's with a beer in front of 
her.  She had a file folder by her thigh and a shredded red 
napkin in her lap.  For the third time in ten minutes, she 
checked her cell phone for any messages, but there were none.  
She had left just the one for him -- meet me at Mallory's at 
nine -- and she did not dare call again.

She picked with her fingernail at the edge of the silver 
label and kept one eye on the door.  A couple of unis blew in 
on a cold wind, stomping their boots on the mat and then 
bellying up to the bar.  

As usual, she was practically the only woman in the place.  
Loud, male voices echoed off the hard floor while sports 
played silently on the TVs.  Some sort of rock song banged 
out a bass line she could feel in the wooden bench, and she 
touched the folder to make sure it didn't slide to the floor.

One of the bartenders slipped free and approached her table.  
She saw him coming and suppressed a roll of her eyes.  "Can I 
get you another?" he asked, wiping his hands on a green apron 
and nodding at her empty beer bottle.

No way he would have asked her that if she'd been a lone male 
officer sitting in the corner.  "I'm fine, thanks."

"You sure?"  He grinned and leaned down.  "It's on the 
house."

"No, thank you.  I'm waiting for someone."  She tried to see 
around him to the door.

He gave a good-natured sigh.  "Of course.  All the beautiful 
ones are taken, right?"

Jane was instantly suspicious and she gave him a second look.  
No one had ever called her beautiful before.  "Aren't you 
supposed to be on the other side of the bar?"

But he was not dissuaded.  He smiled a bit and shoved his big 
hands into the pockets on his apron.  "Aren't you supposed to 
be out catching criminals?"

A sudden draft told her the door was open again, and she 
leaned out of the booth for a look.  Across the room, Chief 
Windsor met her gaze and frowned.  

"My other party is here," Jane said to the bartender.  "If 
you'll excuse me."

He turned for a look and whistled.  " I know when I've been 
one-upped," he said.  " Tell the Chief whatever he wants to 
drink, it's on me, okay?"

Windsor was undoing the scarf from his neck as he reached 
Jane's table.  "I got your message," he said in a low voice.  
"Did we have to meet here?"

"I figured this would look casual," she said as he sat down.  
"Besides, isn't this where you take all the girls?"

"What did you want?"

She picked up the folder and slid it across to him.  "The top 
one is the print I showed you earlier, the sneaker print 
found at Annette Crenshaw's place.  The bottom one was from 
the Fontana's back porch last fall."

Windsor studied the images side-by-side.  "They appear to 
match."

"They're a near-perfect match.  The recent one shows a little 
bit more wear, but I'd bet money they're from the same guy.  
See that mark at the top?  That's an irregularity in the 
rubber from where the pattern didn't quite cut through all 
the way.  It's the same in both prints."

"Who are the Fontanas?"

"They found two hats missing.  They didn't report it until 
after the case made the papers, so we didn't pay much 
attention to the print at the scene.  I figured any tracks by 
the doer would have been washed away by then."

Windsor tapped the photos and nodded. "This is good work, 
Dunbar."

"The killer and the hat thief are connected.  We have to go 
over everything again with a fresh eye.  Maybe he left clues 
at the hat scenes that he didn't leave at the murders."

He leaned forward in the booth.  "You can't tell the others 
about this."

"Sir..."

"We have no definite proof of a connection, not yet."

"This is proof."

"It's a strong lead.  I'm not saying it isn't.  But we need 
to keep this under our hats just a bit longer, so to speak."

"I think the others need to know what they're dealing with."

"Listen, Jane, we've got a leak somewhere.  The reporters are 
everywhere.  I had two of them tail me in here.  For all I 
know, they've got their telephoto lenses pressed against the 
windowpane and they're taking shots of us right now."

Uneasy, Jane glanced behind him to see if she could glimpse 
anyone watching.  For the first time, she noticed that many 
of the other officers were keeping tabs on them, watching out 
of the corner of their eyes as they pretended to talk or 
argue about the game.  

Maybe this wasn't the best place to meet, she thought.

"At least let me tell the FBI."

"When we have something more concrete.  Right now, it's the 
best lead we have, but if it gets out to the press, all he's 
going to do is destroy the sneakers.  What good would that do 
any of us?"

His beeper went off and he reached down to answer it.

"Excuse me," he said.  "I have to get this."  He pulled out 
his cell phone and dialed the number from the pager.  
"Windsor here.  Yes.  You're kidding me.  Is he hurt?  Yes, 
okay.  Yes, I know what this means.  Where did they take him?  
I'm on my way."

"Trouble?" Jane asked when he hung up the phone.  

Deep lines wrinkled Windsor's brow.  "Someone ran Agent 
Mulder off the road tonight."

"Oh, no.  Is he all right?"

"He'll live."  His sharp blue eyes pierced her.  "Keep a low 
profile, Dunbar, and remember what I told you.  If I see this 
in the papers tomorrow, it will mean your shield.  Don't make 
me regret bringing you on board."

"I won't say anything."  She took the pictures back and 
tucked them away.  "But if the killer is going after Mulder, 
doesn't he have a right to know everything we've learned?"

"Let me worry about Mulder.  You just stay out of the papers 
and make sure this guy doesn't get a mind to come after you."

Later, in bed that night with her doors double-locked and the 
evidence tucked in her desk, Jane thought back on the Chief's 
words.  He probably hadn't meant it that way, she thought, 
but it had almost seemed like a threat.

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

By this time, Mulder had sampled emergency departments all 
across America, and he gave the Boston Mercy General ER a B-
plus.  It had the same over-bright lighting that gave human 
skin a faintly green glow, the same harried staff in white 
coats and mismatched scrubs and the same scratchy gray 
blankets that smelled like hospital laundry soap.  But they 
let him have a Coke instead of juice and he got through X-ray 
in about half the time it usually took.

Whether this was because of his hotshot FBI status or the 
fact that Scully was running interference for him, he could 
not say for sure, but he was willing to bet they were willing 
to discharge him just to be rid of her.  

At the present moment, she was leaning over him and examining 
the stitch job they had done on the cut by his hairline.  
"Maybe we should have the plastic surgeon take a look at it," 
she said, smoothing his hair back for a better view.  "Just 
to be sure."

He batted her hand away.  "It's fine.  It's just six stitches 
and no one can see it anyway.  As long as I don't go bald, 
the world will never be the wiser."

She put her hands on her hips.  "It's your gamble."

"Hey, my dad died with a full head of hair."

"It's your mother's father you need to worry about.  The 
primary gene for male pattern baldness is autosomal dominant 
inherited from the mother."

He walked his fingers across the blanket and tickled her 
thigh.  "Say 'autosomal dominant' for me again, Scully."

"You are a sick and twisted individual," she replied, but she 
let him tickle her.

"Good thing I'm in a hospital then."

She reached down and took his hand.  "Good thing."

"Fox?"  The door swung open and Diana came through it, 
causing Scully to drop his hand and step backward.  He would 
have reached for her again but she was now beyond his grasp.  
"My, God, are you okay?"

Either she was over-acting for show or the bruises on his 
face were worse than Scully had let on.  She pushed between 
him and Scully and touched his cheek.  "They said your car 
was so mangled they had to cut you out of it."

"Let's just say I went from a four-door sedan to a compact in 
a big hurry."

"Is anything broken?"

"Just bent," he replied, struggling to sit up.  Diana reached 
behind him and adjusted the pillow.  "I'm fine, Diana.  
Really.  They're taking good care of me."

Scully leaned against the wall with her arms folded across 
her chest.  When he tried to meet her gaze, Diana's face 
became a blur.  He couldn't see them both at the same time.

Extricating his hand from Diana's, he sat forward with a 
groan.  "It's past midnight and this old man wants to get to 
bed.  Scully, can you hand me my pants?"

Scully pushed away from the wall and frowned at him.  
"Mulder, you haven't been cleared to leave yet.  You need 
crutches.  You need painkillers."

"I can walk," he said, gritting his teeth as his bare feet 
hit the floor.  His knee, with its deep bruise, screamed in 
protest.  "Pants?" he said, holding out an arm towards her.

Scully didn't move.

"It's kind of cold out there, Scully.  I'd prefer not to 
freeze my ass off -- literally."

With an obvious sigh, Scully picked up his dirty pants and 
handed them to him.  He sat back on the bed and looked 
pointedly at Diana.  "Do you mind?"

"Oh, of course," she said, taking the pants from his lap.  
"Let me help you."

He snatched them back. "No, I mean would you mind waiting 
outside."

She froze and looked at him for a moment, studying his eyes 
to see if he really meant it.  He did.  "Sure, whatever you 
want," she said as she straightened.  "I'll just be outside."

She left, the door latching softly behind her, and Scully 
stepped toward him.  He grimaced as he bent down to slip his 
feet into his pants.  "You didn't have to ask her to leave on 
my account."

"I didn't.  Oh, ow."

Scully caught his arm as he fell forward in pain.  "Easy, 
there."  She let him use her as a brace as he slowly 
maneuvered into his pants.  They were torn at the knee, hard 
in spots from the dried blood, but at least now his bare ass 
wasn't hanging out the back door.

"She's seen more of you than I have," Scully said as he 
stretched behind her to grab his shirt.  "And we both know 
you're not shy."

He winced as rib muscles contracted.  "You don't get what's 
going on here, do you, Scully?"

"What?" she asked as she took the shirt from him.  She held 
it so he could slip an arm through one sleeve.

He smiled. "It's a changing of the guard."

Her mouth twitched.  "One more bad pun and I'm going to have 
the nurses in here with the drugs."

"I could almost go for them right now," he said as he leaned 
his head on her shoulder.

"Oh, Mulder." She stroked his hair.  "They would be for me, 
not you."

He chuckled and raised his head.  "Let's get out of here, 
okay?"  

"I think you're going to need shoes."

He looked down, and sure enough, his feet were still bare.  
"Right.  Shoes."

A few minutes later, he was dressed enough for the outside 
world, so they started gingerly for the car.  They passed the 
waiting room, where Diana had been joined by Manny Ahuja and 
Chief Windsor.  Mulder's knee hurt like hell but he knew he 
had to stop and say a few words.

"Agent Mulder," Windsor said, extending a hand.  "Good to see 
you up and about.  How are you doing?"

"I hadn't realized the human body was collapsible, but you 
learn something every day.  They've fluffed me up again and 
I'll be all right."

"Detective Ahuja informs me you have reason to believe this 
wasn't an accident."

"No, sir, it wasn't.  Whoever hit me knew exactly what he was 
doing."

"So someone knew your car, knew where you were going."

"Probably whoever lifted my phone," Mulder agreed.

"Mulder, about that..."  Manny pulled a silver Nokia from his 
pocket.  "We found this at the scene, across the street from 
where your car landed.  It looks like it was thrown free in 
the crash."

Mulder took his phone and studied the casing from all angles.  
It had a crack on one side and a broad scratch mark 
consistent with hitting the pavement at high speed.  "I 
checked my car.  The phone wasn't there."

"Maybe it slipped under the seat," Diana suggested.

"Maybe."  He handed it back to Manny with two fingers.  "Do 
me a favor and have that printed, will you?"

"I'll get right on it."

"I could have it sent to our labs," Diana offered.

"Faster this way," Manny replied as he returned the phone to 
his pocket.  "I'll have an answer for you by morning."

"You're really so sure someone lifted your phone?" Windsor 
asked.

Mulder touched his head where it was beginning to ache.  He 
wasn't really sure of anything.  "The phone looks like it was 
thrown from a car," he said, "but it might not have been from 
mine."

///////////

End chapter eleven.  Continued in chapter twelve.

But wait, there's more!  It's two chapters at once!

Many thanks to Amanda for help with proofing.

Syn_tax6@yahoo.com