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Scavenger 

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Chapter Three

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Eleanor paced the hard, waxed floor in Sam's office, glancing 
every so often out the window to where Mulder stood talking 
on his cell phone.  Sam tracked her progress from behind his 
desk.  "It's a break from pattern," she told him.  "He's 
escalating and we have to find out why."

"You don't even know yet whose hand it is."

Eleanor stopped in her tracks.  "You can't be serious.  We 
both know that hand belongs to Bea Nelson or Shannon 
Blessing.  You can't bury your head in the sand forever, Sam.  
This thing's here, it's real, and it's not going away just 
because you want it to."

"It could be a third woman," he answered mildly.  "We don't 
know."

Eleanor cursed.  She hadn't thought about that possibility.  
"I hope not."

"The important thing is going to be to make an ID as quickly 
as we can."

"I agree, but you heard what Jessell said -- the hand's been 
shellacked.  We have to remove the coating in order to print 
it, and I don't want to do to that until Mulder's pathologist 
gets here."

"And in the meantime?"

Eleanor walked slowly to his desk, where she fingered the 
hard edge before speaking.  "Mulder wants to talk to the 
relatives and witnesses.  I've got Tipton rounding them up 
right now -- without giving the specifics about why, of 
course.   No need to tell Bea's parents or Shannon's family 
about the hand until we ID it."

Sam's chair creaked as he leaned back.  "And Corbett?"

"He's coming too, I assume.  Like I said, Jimmy's making the 
calls."  Sam continued to stare at her, and Eleanor flushed.  
"You asked me to stay away and I have.  I don't know what 
more you want from me."

"You're not worried what he'll say to Mulder?"

"Not if it's the truth."

Sam got up and came around the desk.  "He'll pull you from 
this, Eleanor.  You know he will.  They do things differently 
in DC."

"He won't.  It's my case and I brought him in.  He's not even 
here in any official capacity."

"Yes, but I am."

She narrowed her eyes at him.  "You wouldn't dare."

"I'll do what I have to do to protect this office, Eleanor.  
And you."

"You're my boss, Sam, not my babysitter."

His jaw tightened.  "And as your boss, I'm telling you to be 
careful.  You're already overly invested in this case--"

"He's sending me body parts, Sam!"

"--I know that.  Which is exactly the reason you need to keep 
cool and keep your distance."

She looked up at him, mute.  "I can't do that," she said at 
last, shaking her head.  "And you know it."  She went to 
leave, but he stopped her at the door.

"Eleanor." She bowed her head, did not turn around. She 
closed her eyes and squeezed hard wood in her hands.  His 
"At least stay away from Corbett."

She left without giving him a reply.

XxXxXxXxXxX

As usual, Scully checked in at the morgue before she checked 
in at her motel.  Mulder sat waiting for her on the outside 
steps, shirtsleeves rolled up and a chewed up coffee stirrer 
between his teeth.  She couldn't see his eyes behind his 
sunglasses, but he removed the stirrer and grinned at her.

"Morning, Scully," he said as he stood.  "Thanks for coming 
up to give me a hand.  Or should I say, letting me give you a 
hand."

"Funny," she acknowledged, tilting her head to look up at 
him.   "You have an ID yet?"

"No, the preservation prevents printing."  He held the door 
for her.  "It's almost certainly female.  The nails are 
painted and the fingers are small, but victim's age could 
range anywhere from twenty to mid-forties."

"I'll see what I can do."  They descended the dim staircase, 
hall lights off on a Saturday.  Their footsteps tapped out a 
syncopated rhythm that, after six years of long hallways, 
beat in Scully's blood.

"What did Kersh say when you talked to him?" Mulder asked.

She glanced sideways at him.  "I didn't," she replied.  "I'm 
here on my own time."  

Just like you, she thought but didn't say.  Mulder smiled.

"I wish I could promise you a consulting fee, but we're on a 
strictly small town-budget here, Scully."

"Wherein I trade autopsies for chickens?" she asked as they 
reached the outer door to the deserted autopsy bay.

"Ice cream.  Get me an ID and I'll buy you a cone."

"You'll buy me one anyway.  It must be ninety-five degrees 
outside."

"Not in here."  He walked to the wall of refrigerated coffins 
and pulled out a drawer.  "We're storing the hand here even 
though it doesn't seem likely the tissue will deteriorate."

Scully peered down at the hand, which was lying face up with 
its pink-tipped fingers in the air.  "I should say not," she 
said as she noted the shiny coating.  "No telling how long 
it's been like this." She snapped on a pair of gloves and 
carefully removed the holding tray.  Bringing it over to the 
strong overhead light, she set it down on the table and 
studied the hand from several angles.  Mulder lingered at her 
hip.

"Well?"

"Looks female all right.  Sliced right through the 
radiocarpal joint."  She picked up a magnifying glass and 
leaned in closer.  "I'd say she was under forty.  Cartilage 
in the joints would give us a better idea about her age.  She 
was right handed."

"How do you know?"

"This raised bump here on the middle finger.  It's from 
holding a pen or pencil."

"Bea was a student, so she would have been taking a lot of 
notes.  I'll check to see if we know whether she was right-
handed."

Scully hummed a response and went back to the hand.  "The 
skin isn't damaged around the sever point," she said after a 
minute.  "He removed it with just one clean cut and no sign 
of struggle or restraint."

"Suggests postmortem amputation," Mulder said.

"Or she was drugged beforehand."

"Can you find that out?"

"Maybe.  It will depend on what drugs were given, if any, and 
when they were given.  Too close to death and they might not 
have been absorbed into the tissue yet." 

A quick knock at the door made them turn in unison.  "Hi," a 
woman said.  "Sorry to be late, but I just got off the phone. 
You must be Agent Scully."

"Deputy Kot," Scully answered, straightening her spine.  The 
terrible pictures had turned into a 3-D young woman.  To 
Scully she still looked like a teenager playing dress-up.  
The deputy's hat nearly swallowed her head.  "It's nice to 
meet you."

"Thanks for coming up to help us."  The woman moved to stand 
at Mulder's side.  "I'm sure Agent Mulder has filled you in 
on the background."

"Actually, he hasn't."

Mulder turned to Kot.  "Scully just got here."

"But I did a little reading on my own last night," Scully 
said, and Mulder's attention shifted back to her.  That's 
right, she told him silently, you can't lose me that easy.  
"I know the basic facts of the case: three people have gone 
missing from this area in three years."

"Then you must also know why I contacted Agent Mulder."

Scully considered her words before answering.  "I know of 
your prior history together, yes."

"Short but memorable."  Kot gave a rueful smile.  "At least 
on my part."

"Mine too," Mulder assured her, and Eleanor ducked her chin.  
Scully said nothing.  Mulder continued, "But it looks like 
everything old is new again.  Someone left this hand gift-
wrapped at the end of Eleanor's driveway.  Whoever it was 
obviously intended to reference the Coben case."

"But no one here knows who I am," Eleanor said.  "At least 
not until today."

"Someone knows," Mulder told her.  He gestured at the hand on 
the table.  "This was Coben's signature."

"As if I need reminding.  But it doesn't make sense that this 
guy is trying to copycat Coben.  Coben's victims were all 
teenage girls.  We don't have a missing teen in the bunch.  
And Mark Roy was a fifty-nine year old man."

"If you don't mind my asking," Scully interjected, "what 
makes you sure the disappearances are necessarily related?  
From what I read, there's good reason to believe Mark Roy 
might have committed suicide."

"I know.  It's strange.  But three days after he vanished I 
got the card again."

"Card?"

Mulder nodded at Eleanor.  "Show her."

Eleanor went over to the nearby desk and shuffled through a 
ratty-looking folder.  "These are my own notes on the cases," 
she said over her shoulder.  She extracted a plastic sandwich 
bag with what appeared to be hand-lettered envelopes inside.  
"Bea Nelson, Shannon Blessing and Mark Roy all disappeared 
within two weeks of my birthday, July 16th.  After each 
disappearance, I received a birthday card."  She handed them 
to Scully.  "You can see they're all the same."

Scully slipped on another glove and extracted the envelopes 
from their plastic protection.  "They've been dusted," she 
said, noting the powder that still clung to the surface.

"I've sent them all through our labs.  They've pulled more 
than a dozen prints but nothing that hits on any of the 
databases.  I don't think any of them are from the sender, 
though."

Mulder cocked his head at her.  "How do you know?"

"None of the cards have any prints in common."

"Except yours," Scully said.  "Right?"

Eleanor nodded.  "Of course.  And there was one thing that 
was a little odd.  I found Mark Roy's prints on the first 
card, the one that came after Bea disappeared.  But he was a 
postal worker so I figured that explained it."

Mulder joined Scully to peer over her shoulder.  She checked 
the back and front of each envelope first, taking in the neat 
slit at the top and the bold black lettering that spelled out 
Eleanor's name.  "They're postmarked at the nearest branch," 
Mulder murmured.  "Either he's a local or he made a special 
trip."

Scully pulled out one of the cards.  A garish clown face 
grinned up at her, his gloved hands waving by each ear.  The 
printed script inside read, "It's your birthday -- go a 
little crazy!" 

Underneath, in the same dark lettering:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ELEANOR

There was no signature.

Scully looked at each of the three cards in turn.  "Some 
birthday present, eh?" Mulder said from behind her.  "Most 
people just send a sweater."

The canceled postmarks read July 8, 1995, July 13, 1996, and 
July 15, 1997.  Scully rubbed the corner of one with her 
thumb.  "Why did you save the first one?" she asked Kot.

"Excuse me?"

"The first card.  You couldn't have known it was the start of 
a pattern, and there's no signature or return address.  Who 
did you think it was from?"

Eleanor colored.  "I... I wasn't sure.  Someone playing a 
joke, maybe.  Or the guys I work with.  I hadn't lived here 
very long at that point so I didn't know what to think."

"But you kept it."

"Yes."  She pursed her lips.  "I can't tell you why.  I 
didn't even remember I had it until the second one came.  
Then I dug the first one out from my desk drawer, and sure 
enough, it was a match."

Scully stared at her a minute, into those same bottomless 
eyes she had studied in the pictures.  Scully had been a 
sixteen-year old girl once, was an officer of the law and had 
known a killer's hands around her throat.  But she couldn't 
see any of her own experience reflected back at her; 
Eleanor's eyes gave nothing away.

Scully tapped the envelopes against her palm and then stuck 
them back in the bag.  "Okay.  Send me copies of the prints 
you pulled from the cards.  I can cross-check them against 
any I might pull from here."

"You think that person--" Kot gestured at the hand.  "Might 
have touched my cards?"

"No."  Scully picked up her magnifying glass and bent down to 
study the hard, reflective coating.  "But the person who sent 
your cards might have touched this hand." 

"How soon do you think you can ID it?" Mulder asked.

"I need to figure out what it's dipped in so I know the best 
way to dissolve the shellac.  A couple of hours, maybe."

"I'll be in touch."  He brushed Eleanor's elbow, nudging her 
towards the door.  Scully raised up.

"Where will you be?"

"We're going to talk to the relatives again and see what they 
remember about the victim's last days.  Call me when you get 
an ID."

"Vanilla swirl," she called as the door swung shut.  "With 
sprinkles!"

XxXxXxXxXxX

"She seems nice."  Eleanor steered the car back toward home 
base as Mulder fiddled with the air conditioning vents.

"Hmmm?  Oh, Scully?  Yeah, I guess she's nice."  He settled 
back under the blast of frigid air.  In truth, if someone had 
asked him to list a thousand adjectives to describe his 
partner, nice might have come into play in the early nine 
hundreds.  Nice was too flat a word, too squishy.  Nice 
people helped the elderly cross the street and brought 
flowers to your hospital room when you were ill.  Scully was 
more likely to bust the elderly out of a top-secret 
government research facility and take *over* the hospital 
room when you were ill.

Eleanor adjusted her hands on the wheel, her eyes straight 
ahead.  "Who do you think it is?  The hand."

"I don't know."  He looked at her, took in the stiffness of 
her pose.  "Scully will find out soon."

She gave a short nod.  "I hope so."

"You okay?"

"Yes."  She seemed to force the word out.  "I just don't know 
how I'm going to face them all knowing what I know.  All of 
them have been asking me for years if there is any news, and 
now I have some but I can't share it."  She shook her head.  
"They're going to know something is up.  I haven't called 
them all in for an interview like this in over six months."

"Blame it on me.  I'm the one who wants to talk to them, 
after all."

She looked over, surprised.  "Thanks."  

"Don't thank me yet.  I want to talk to them alone."

"What--I know these people.  I know this case."

"Exactly why I want you out of the room.  I don't want them 
taking any cues from you."

"You think I'd coach them?"

"I think that they've probably spent three years giving you 
the same answers, to the point that they already know what 
they're going to say before you even ask.  I'm not shutting 
you out, Eleanor.  I just want to shake things up a little, 
see what falls loose."

"Fine."  She slouched a little.  "I'll go over to the lab and 
see if they pulled any prints from the gift wrap."

"No, you need to sit down and think hard."

"What?"

"Someone in this town has figured out who you are.  Are you 
sure you didn't tell anyone?  Not a friend, a boyfriend, a 
priest?"

"No, no, and no.  Believe me, I didn't want anyone to know 
what happened to me.  Gossip spreads like wildfire around 
here.  If I'd let it slip about Coben, everyone west of 
Worcester would have the story by now."

Mulder chewed his lip.  "What about your family?"

"What about them?"  Her tone hardened.

"On a visit, maybe, they could have said something."

"They haven't ever visited.  I haven't talked to either of my 
parents in over a year."

"Oh."

"It's easier on all of us this way."

"I, uh, I think I can understand that."

She glanced at him.  "I had a little brother, Scott.  Did you 
know that?"

He hesitated, then nodded.  He didn't tell her that, after 
her abduction, he'd received a file jammed with every known 
fact about her short life, including her softball batting 
average and the name of the boy she'd lost her virginity to 
sophomore year in high school.  Scott's sad story had 
received a whole page.

"He died," she said.  "When I was ten.  He was just six years 
old, but he'd been sick for over two years.  We took a trip 
to Disney because he wanted to meet Goofy.  Dad tried renting 
a costume once but Scott wasn't fooled.  God, it was hot when 
we went.  August in Florida has got to be a taste of hell.  
But we met the whole lot of them -- Goofy, Mickey, Minnie and 
Donald.  Scott died less than a month later."

"I'm sorry."

"It was the worst thing that ever happened to my parents."  
She pulled into a space outside the station and stopped the 
car.  "I see the Nelsons' Jeep.  They must be here already, 
so I guess you can start with them."

Mulder followed her inside, where a gray-haired couple waited 
on the bench.   The man shot up at their entrance; the woman 
rose more slowly, as if she might shatter, her hand on her 
husband's arm.  "Eleanor," the man said gruffly.  "You've got 
news for us?  You've heard something about Bea?"

"No, Ed.  I'm sorry."

"But you said to come as soon as we could--"

"Ed, this is Fox Mulder.  He's from the FBI."

Mr. Nelson clutched his wife around the shoulders.  "We've 
talked to the FBI already.  Fat lot of good it ever did us."

"He's from Washington," Eleanor told them.  "Not Boston.  And 
he's an old friend.  He's looking into the missing persons 
cases for me, and he'd like to ask you a few questions if 
that's all right."

"Mr. Nelson," Mulder said, extending his hand.  "It's nice to 
meet you.  I'm very sorry about what you've been going 
through.  I know how hard it is."

"With all due respect, Agent Mulder, you haven't got a clue."

Mulder waited out a beat of silence and then dropped his 
hand.  "Okay," he said.  "Okay.  If you'd rather not answer 
any questions, I guess I can understand that."  He started to 
walk away, but the woman's sharp voice stopped him.

"No, wait!  We'll answer.  Please, Ed.   For Bea?  What does 
it matter if we go through this one more time?"

Before he could answer, the door opened again and a young man 
in combat boots walked in.  He was clean-cut but dressed all 
in black, with silver studs lining his right ear.  "Mr. and 
Mrs. Nelson," he said with some surprise.  "What's going on?  
Did they find Bea?"

"Derek," Mrs. Nelson said.  "They called you too?"

The main door hit Derek on the backside and he moved out of 
the way.  Standing on the threshold was another man, older 
with a ring of red-gold hair on his bald head.  He blinked 
nearly invisible eyelashes as he took in the array of faces.  
"Eleanor, what the hell is going on here?"

Eleanor reached for him to come inside.  "Henry, thanks for 
coming so quickly."

"Where's Susannah Roy?" he demanded. "She's the only one of 
us missing from this little party."

"Please, if you'll just come inside and sit down--"

"They've got new evidence," Ed Nelson broke in.  "They just 
won't tell us what it is."

"No one has said anything about new evidence," Eleanor 
soothed.

Ed would not be calmed.  "Why the hell else would you drag us 
all down here after all this time?"

Derek stalked past them and sat down gracelessly on the 
bench.  "It's July," he said.  "Don't you get it?"  All heads 
turned towards him, and he spread his hands.  "They're afraid 
he's going to take another one."

XxXxXxXxX

The private joke, of course, is that everyone could know so 
long before it happens.  It's like that old party game -- if 
you found out you had a year to live, what would you do with 
it?  I spend most of my year in preparation so that I won't 
make mistakes.  Time is on my side.

This year Eleanor has brought complications.  First Mulder, 
and now I hear there's a second one sniffing around.  They 
can play the game as long as they stay in their proper 
places.  I have work to do and can't deal with distraction 
right now.

I saw her on the street today, near Alfie's grocery.  We 
passed within inches of one another but I don't think she 
even noticed me.  Whatever she's buying, I hope she enjoys 
it. 

She has just twenty-four hours left to live.

XxXxXxXxX

Scully tossed her overnight bag on the bed and yanked her 
shirt free from her pants.  Walking over to the window, she 
turned the air conditioner full blast and leaned into the 
noisy breeze.  Her hair fanned from her face as she sighed in 
relief.  She held the hem of her blouse up and away from her 
body so the cold air flowed over her sticky skin.  From her 
pants pocket, her cell phone chirped.

"Scully," she said, still swaying over the air conditioner.

"Lift that shirt another couple inches and I could be selling 
tickets out here."

Her eyes snapped open and she tugged her shirt back down just 
before he rapped on the window in front of her.  "Have you 
just been sitting out there in the bushes waiting for me to 
get here, Mulder?"

"No, I just got lucky."  He paused to give her an open leer.  
"In more ways than one."

She ignored him and clicked off the phone.  "I left you a 
message," she said as she opened the door.  "Did you get it?"

"I haven't checked in an hour or so."

"The hand belongs to Shannon Blessing."

He nodded, sinking into the nearest chair.  "I can't say I'm 
all that surprised."

"I thought you were leaning towards Bea."  Scully lingered by 
the AC unit, letting the air rush up her back.

"Bea was the first victim, which makes her special.  
Shannon's more expendable.  Any insight into how she might 
have died?"

"Not at this time.  I sent out blood and tissue samples to 
the lab."  She pushed away from the cold metal and crossed to 
sit on the bed, facing him.  "You and Eleanor talked to the 
families?"

"I did, yes."

"And?"

He shrugged.  "They're grieving families.  They backed up 
everything that's in the reports.  Derek says he doesn't know 
where Bea might have stopped on her way home.  Henry Blessing 
said his wife wasn't dating anyone when she disappeared.  
Susannah Roy is still absolutely certain Mark wouldn't have 
killed himself."

"Great.  Where do we go from here?"

"Ice cream," he said, standing.  "I'll meet you outside in 
five minutes."

He left and Scully cast a longing look at her bed.  Ten 
straight hours on her feet had left her feeling pounded into 
the ground, flat and lifeless.  Like yeast, she wished only 
for a cool dark room in which to rise again.  Her stomach 
grumbled at the prospect of ice cream, however, so she sighed 
and began tucking in her shirt.  By the time five minutes 
were up, she had fantasized herself into a double cone.  If 
there was one thing small towns were good for, it was 
homemade dairy.

Outside, far from traffic noise, the air thrummed with the 
sound of bugs in heat.  Their live-wire mating song vibrated 
through Scully, making her restless.  The night felt ripe to 
bursting.  She kicked the gravel at her feet and leaned like 
a sulky teenager against the warm car.  Stars winked at her 
overhead, amused at her misery.  She scraped her heel 
impatiently as sweat tickled the back of her neck.

Mulder ambled out of the darkness a good five minutes later, 
his suit exchanged for jeans and a T-shirt.  She felt a flash 
of envy that she hadn't thought to do the same.  "You're late."

"You look overheated, Scully."  He walked up within inches of 
her, so close she could smell his shower -- sweet, clean 
water --and she salivated at the very thought.  

"If you've completed your grooming extravaganza, maybe we can 
go now."

"Scully!  I didn't think you'd notice."

Heat flared in her cheeks.  Her shirt felt suddenly scratchy 
and her nipples hardened inside her bra.  He'd crowded her 
for years, breath feathering her face and tie hanging down 
into her lunch whenever she sat at her desk.  She was used to 
the suggestive looks, the innuendo, the possessive hand that 
roamed her body when they walked, but six years of teasing 
was enough to make anyone --

hot.

"Are we going or not?"

"Yep."  He waved a piece of paper under her nose.  "You get 
to hold the list."

"What list?"

"Bea Nelson stopped somewhere within ten miles of her house 
for gas.  These are all the service stations within that 
radius."  He handed her the paper and went around to open the 
driver's side door.  "One of them is bound to sell ice 
cream."

An hour and four gas stations later, Scully stood over the 
freezer at Fred's Gas-2-Go and surveyed the sad line-up of 
treats.  "Some of these were frozen in the Mesolithic era, 
Mulder.  I'm sure of it."

"Excavate me out a rocket pop then.  I'm going to talk to 
the guy behind the counter."

Naturally, he picked most phallic ice cream possible.  Scully 
bent down, almost landing head-first in the freezer, and 
fetched his rocket pop.  For herself she selected a Ben & 
Jerry's Cherry Garcia bar.  She took the items to the counter 
where Mulder was already engaged in conversation with the old 
man running the cash register.

"Yeah, we get a lot of folks that stop by here on account of 
how close it is to the highway, but you're talkin' three 
years ago now."

"I realize it's a long shot," Mulder said.  Scully eyed the 
melting ice cream.  He still hadn't made any move for his 
wallet.  "Do you have any idea who might have been working 
that night?"

"Let's see."  He stroked his whiskered chin.  "Early July in 
1995?  Oh!"

"You remember?"

"Well, no."  He looked apologetic.  "Me and the missus didn't 
buy this place until the end of July.  Jasper Cullen owned it 
before us, so it would have been one of his people."

Scully dug into her pocket and pulled out a loose five.  
Mulder's wild goose chase was at least going to net her a 
decent ice cream bar. 

"You know where we might be able to get ahold of Jasper 
Cullen?" Mulder asked.

"Mulder, this was years ago," Scully said as she opened the 
box to her ice cream.  "Even if Bea stopped here that night, 
odds are no one would remember it."

"Camera would," said the old man, slapping the counter.  "You 
wait right here."

Mulder unwrapped his rocket.  "Want a lick?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

A moment later the man returned with an aged cardboard box.  
When he set it on the counter, dust sprayed the air.  "Jasper 
was a packrat of the first order.  This is all the crap we 
pulled out of the office when he moved.  At least some of 
them are tapes from his old security system."  He nodded at 
the lens watching them from overhead.  "Alma made me get a 
whole new setup when we took over on account of Cullen's 
camera going on the fritz.  We keep meaning to get rid of all 
this junk but never got around to it.  I don't know if it'll 
help you or not, but it seems like your best chance."

"Fantastic," Mulder declared.  "Scully, will you hold my 
rocket?"  Behind them, a teenage boy snickered.  Scully 
rolled her eyes but accepted the ice cream.

"No need to bring it back when you're done," the man told 
them.  "Alma will be glad I finally got rid of the damn 
thing."

"Thanks, this is great."  Mulder picked up the box and 
started towards the door.  Scully trailed after him, and the 
boy behind her snickered. 

"Hey, lady, want to hold my rocket, too?"

Scully nudged up her blouse with her elbow to reveal the 
weapon holstered at the small of her back.  "Sure.  How about 
you hold my gun?"

"Whoa."

Mulder held the door open with his ass.  "A one-rocket 
woman," he said as she walked past him.  "I like that."

"Stop grinning," she warned him, "or I'll deep-six your 
rocket in the garbage."  She felt him warring, but in the end 
he couldn't help himself:

"Scully, you can deep-six my rocket any time."

Mulder's ice cream didn't make the ride home.


They rented a VCR along the way and set it up in Mulder's 
room because Scully didn't want a musty old box sitting next 
to her bed all right.  "It would help if these things were 
labeled," Mulder grumbled as he rifled through the tapes.  
Scully sat on his bed and yawned.

"At most you're going to see her buying a bottle of Coke and 
some gas, Mulder.  I don't understand why this is so 
important."

"I'm not sure it is."  He popped a tape in the plastic mouth.  
The grainy image came up with the date "June 25, 1995" in the 
corner.  Mulder ejected the tape back out again.  "If you 
want, you can go to bed and I can do this on my own."

She forced herself to sit up.  "No, no.  I'm watching."

Three tapes later Mulder found the one he was looking for:  
July 2, 1995.  They sat shoulder to shoulder and watched the 
blurry customers stream across the TV.  "It would have been 
past midnight," he said as he fast-forwarded the tape.  "She 
didn't leave Worcester until eleven-thirty."

"There," Scully said, leaning forward.  "That's got to be 
her."

A slim young woman with cropped hair and tight jeans placed a 
bottle of water and a candy bar on the counter.  The clock 
read 12:11 am.  Bea paid cash for her purchases, which 
obviously included gas since she got only half of her twenty-
dollar bill back in change.  Her sloped shoulders suggested 
she was tired; she shifted from foot to foot as though she 
was in a hurry, but she didn't appear frightened.  As she 
gathered her food, a large man with a potbelly materialized 
behind her in line.  

"He's watching her ass," Mulder said.  "Check it out."

"Mmm-hmm."  The man continued to stare as Bea left the store.  
Then he bought a package of cigarettes and followed her out.  
"Rewind it," Scully said, and Mulder moved for the remote.

"Holy shit."  

"What?"

He froze the screen on the next customer, a plump blonde 
woman buying milk.  "That's Shannon Blessing."

XxXxXxXxXxX

Continued in Chapter Four.

Sorry for the delay this time.  I have been laid out flat by 
a nasty case of vertigo.  It's every bit as fun as Hitchcock 
makes it out to be!  Now that I can sit at the computer for 
longer than two minutes at a time, progress should resume 
quickly.  

Feedback -- I love to yak at syn_tax6@yahoo.com