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Scavenger
by syntax6


July 1988


It's too dark to be out but too hot to sleep.  I hear summer 
night sounds from my open window -- teenagers laughing, a ball 
slapping against the pavement.  Sirens wail far away.  I am 
spread like Jesus on the cross, no body parts touching, but 
still my skin burns into the sheets.  I go out into the dead 
air.  Chicago stored the sun all day long, and now heat is 
radiating back off the concrete.

I prowl around the neighborhood but no one is out.  Fans spin 
in the windows over my head, and I catch snatches of 
arguments, of television shows wafting out into the night.  
Jack and Lindsay Burnbaum are making love.  I am standing 
underneath their window in the shadows when I first see her.  
She's wearing short shorts and her long blond hair flows in 
the wind as she bikes towards the park across the street.  He 
pulls up in a car next to her and says something I can't 
catch.  Directions, maybe.  She points down the road but he 
doesn't drive away.  He gets out of the car.  I can see he 
has a cloth in his hand, and I guess it's a handkerchief to 
wipe away his sweat.  

I am wrong.

She struggles briefly when he puts the cloth over her mouth, 
then goes limp in his arms.  He stuffs her into the car.  I 
am wooden, transfixed.  He sees me when he loads her bike 
into his trunk; our eyes meet across the street.  Still I 
cannot move.  He stares hard and raises a finger to his lips.  
The slam of the car door makes me jump.  He drives away and I 
don't see his face until much later, on the news, next to 
faces of other young girls he had taken.

Until then, since then, I see his face in my mind, his finger 
pressed to his lips.  I see her rag doll body shoved into his 
car.  Shhh.  Don't tell anyone.

I never have.

XxXxXxXxX

July 1998

She came out of the bathroom toweling her hair dry, ready to 
leave, but he was still sprawled in bed.  Always he wanted to 
stay just a little bit longer, kiss her just one more time.  
It was one of the things she hated about him.  "It's almost 
midnight," she said as she laid the damp towel over the back 
of a cheap motel chair.  

He nodded and put his watch back on, but made no other move 
to dress.  "July already.  Seems like we just had Memorial 
Day."

"Yep."  She went to the window and looked at the thick summer 
night.  "He'll take another one soon, just like last year.  
We've done nothing to stop it."

"Christ, Ellie.  Not this again."  He sat up and threw off 
the sheets.  "I thought you agreed to let this go."

"No, Sam, you agreed that I would let this go.  I still 
consider serial murder serious business."

He came naked to the window, long limbs moving in easy grace.  
It was one of the things she loved about him.  "We have no 
proof of murder," he said.  "You know that as well as I do.  
We don't even know these people are dead."

"They're dead."

He touched her shoulder, pushing it back down with gentle 
fingers.  "People leave their lives all the time and don't 
look back."

She jerked away.  No one needed to explain to her the urge to 
disappear.  She knew the price of admitting her inside 
knowledge, knew what it would be to invite the devil into her 
life again.  "Bea Nelson, Mark Roy and Shannon Blessing are 
dead," she told Sam.  "In the next two weeks, unless we do 
something, another name will be added to that list.  We'll 
have another grieving family and no answers to give them.  Is 
that what you want?"

"What would you have me do?  I have no bodies, no evidence, 
no suggestion that a crime even took place.  I'm not ignoring 
you, Ellie, but I have to have something to go on here 
besides your gut feeling they've been murdered."

"Just don't blame me when you've got another one missing."  
She crossed the room for her shoes.

"And what will you do if that doesn't happen? What will you 
obsess about then?"

"You're saying I need this?"

He eyed her.  "Maybe part of you.  Face it, Eleanor.  You get 
off on drama."

"Not me."  She snapped her laces together.  "You're the one 
who always wants to make things complicated."

He grabbed her arm when she tried to pass him.  "Stay," he 
said softly, sliding his fingers down to her narrow wrist.  
"We can talk about it."

She turned her arm so their fingers touched but did not meet 
his eyes.  "Go home, Sam.  Julia will be wondering where you 
are.  I'll see you in the morning, okay?  We'll talk then."

Mute, he released her and she pushed out into the night heat.  
Tree creatures chattered at her from tall pines; white gravel 
crunched under her feet as she made her way to her car.  Her 
T-shirt melted against her sticky skin.  Eleanor paused, her 
hand on the door, and glanced around her into the thin woods.  
Her gut wasn't wrong, she knew.  Evil was close.  Once you'd 
seen it, felt it, it lived inside you ever after.

Touched, they liked to call it.  She'd been touched.  

Ellie knew touched could mean gifted or insane.  Maybe she 
was both.  But she wasn't wrong.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder sat at his desk in the bullpen and contemplated the 
paper airplane in his hand.  From this angle, he was pretty 
sure he could land it right under Scully's nose.  If they'd 
been in the basement, she would have written something clever 
on it and tossed it right back at him.  Better even, because 
Scully was a physics major who grew up with two annoying 
brothers; she kicked his ass in the paper airplane arena 
every damn time.

Here in the open, though, she would just unfold it and put it 
in her scrap pile.  Not nearly as fun.  But then her shopping 
list would have "Muldersonic" written on the back, so it 
might be worth it.  He tapped the pointed nose against his 
finger, contemplating.  His computer beeped.  E-mail.  He 
clicked to read the new message:

"To: Fmulder@fbi.gov
"From: Dscully@fbi.gov

"Don't even think about it."

Mulder grinned and rocked back in his chair.  When he looked, 
her red head was bent over her work, as though she'd never 
noticed him.  Mulder placed his plane on top of his monitor, 
a silent threat.  Nice to know he could still hold her 
attention across a room full of crowded agents.  Sometimes he 
wondered. 

"You make me a whole person," he'd said.  She had said 
nothing.  "I love you," he'd said.  She had walked out of the 
room. 

But here, at least, in the back of her head, Dana Scully had 
eyes only for him. Maybe he could make that be enough. 

He leaned over his keyboard to write her a smart-assed reply, 
but his phone rang before he could type.  "Mulder," he said, 
anticipating another pulse-pounding assignment involving 
missing fertilizer.  

"Hello, Agent Mulder.  This is Eleanor Kot."  She paused.  
"Eleanor Kot Wakefield.  Do you... do you remember me?"

The background noises faded away; Mulder hunched down in his 
chair.  "Uh, yes.  Of course."  Just those few words and he 
was back in a Chicago walk-up, smelling the stench of urine 
in the halls.  They found her broken and bleeding in a 
closet, her hair chopped but her hands and feet still intact.  
Ten other girls had not been as lucky.  For a split second, 
Mulder feared Coben was loose again.  No, he remembered.  
Coben had been executed last fall.  No chance for a reprise.  
He relaxed.  "What can I do for you, Miss Wakefield?"

"It's Deputy now," she said.  "And I use Kot as my surname.  
It's just easier that way."

"I understand."  She'd been sixteen at the time of the 
killings, which made her... twenty-six?  Mulder marveled it 
had been that long.  "How can I help you, Deputy Kot?"

"I need you to come up her to Massachusetts, to Woodsbury," 
she replied grimly.  "I've had three people go missing in the 
last three years, and my gut tells me it's one man behind all 
three."

"Bodies?"

"No.  They've never been found."  He could hear the 
frustration in her voice.  "But each one disappeared between 
July 2 and July 12."

"It's July 1st now," Mulder remarked, noting his desk calendar.

"Exactly.  That's why I need you to come right away."

He hesitated.  "I don't do that sort of work anymore.  I 
haven't for a long time."

"No one else will believe me.  They say it's just a bunch of 
unrelated missing persons cases and I should let the matter 
drop.  But he's going to get another one, Agent Mulder.  I 
can feel it."

"I can transfer you to our Behavioral Sciences Unit.  Someone 
there will be happy to--"

"He sends me cards."

"What?"

"A few days after each disappearance I get a birthday card 
with a clown on the front.  No signature and no prints.  Now 
my birthday is about two weeks away, and another person is 
going to die unless I can convince my boss that we have a 
killer on our hands.  You said if there was ever anything I 
needed..."

He closed his eyes.  "You're sure the cards are related to 
the disappearances?"

"The timing is right.  That's all I know."

"Can you send me the files?"

Silence.  "I really wish you could come here.  If it's a 
matter of money, I can pay you for your time."

"It's not the money."

"What I'm telling you is that the files won't help.  On 
paper, the whole thing looks ridiculous.  One of the victims 
is male and two are female.  They range in age from twenty-
three to fifty-nine.  They lived in different towns.  We 
don't even have bodies to prove they are connected.  It's 
just... you know how you told me once you could feel when 
these guys got close?  It's like that.  He's here, he's ready 
to strike again.  If you come, I think you'll feel it, too."

Mulder relented, already mentally packing for the weekend.  
"I can come up for a couple of days and look around," he 
said.  "But I make no promises."

"Thank you," she said with obvious relief.  "Let me know what 
your flight information is and I'll pick you up at the 
airport."

"You realize people are going to ask how we know each other."

"I realize.  I've had ten years now and I'm ready for the 
questions."

Mulder remembered Coben's blood under her fingernails.  He 
wanted to tell her that twenty years would never be enough.  
One scrape and the scabs came crumbling away.  Instead he said 
he would call when he knew his flight number.

Scully was watching him openly when he hung up the phone.  
Her brows lifted but she didn't say anything.  He got up and 
crossed to her desk.

"I've got to go out of town for a while, to Massachusetts."

"Business or pleasure?"

"Neither, really.  I should be back by Monday."

"You're leaving right now?"

He nodded.  "May as well.  Not like things are afire here."

"The fire is in Massachusetts then."  Ever the investigator, 
Scully kept probing until he bled.  He sighed and confessed.

"Three missing persons.  The local cops think they might be 
related and they want me to look into it." 

"What does Kersh think about this?" she asked, following him 
as he walked back to his desk.

"I don't know. I don't plan to ask."

She hovered, saying nothing, as he gathered up some papers 
and shut down his computer.  "I could go with you," she said 
at last.  He shook his head, barely looking at her.

"No bodies to poke at.  Nothing for you to do up there."

"Is that what you think I do?  Poke bodies?"

"I'm not trying to belittle you, Scully.  I'm just saying 
you're off the hook, here.   There's no point in both of us 
ruining our weekends.  Go out, see a movie.  Call a friend.  
I'll be back in a few days."

She folded her arms.  "Why you, Mulder?  What's your interest 
in this case?"

He picked up his belongings and glanced at her.  "Call it 
personal."

"Mulder..."  He walked away, forcing her to trail after him 
again.  "Mulder, wait.  What do you mean it's personal?  I 
don't want to be getting another call that you're in the 
hospital, nearly drowned."

Yes, God forbid she should have to come down and hear another 
pathetic confession of love. 

"Western Massachusetts doesn't have any large bodies of 
water, Scully.  Feel free to make dinner plans."  He hit the 
elevator button.

"Fine.  Don't tell me.  I don't care."

He smiled as the doors slid open.  "See you Monday."

XxXxXxXxXxX

It took me a while to find her again, but the minute I saw 
her, I knew.  Her hair had grown back, darker now.  The 
fierce blue eyes were the same.  When she walked through 
town, her gun at her hip, her stride so certain, I always saw 
her as she was that night:  limp, helpless, small.  

Him, I didn't place right away.  He showed up with her on 
Saturday morning and I knew he seemed familiar.  Family, I 
thought at first, but then I remembered that she didn't talk 
to her family any more.  I went to the news clippings for 
clues and there he was.

Fox Mulder.  I'll be damned.  Just like old home week.

I tingled at the thought of true reunion.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Continued in chapter two.

Yes, I just can't stay away from the serial killers for very 
long.  It's a sickness. *g*

Feedback always welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com