Do Not Archive.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Chapter Four

XxXxXxXxXxX


They were in bed together, as much as they ever were, and 
Mulder was telling her a very creepy bedtime story.  "They 
brought me in after the seventh victim," he said, his voice 
low against the silent, flickering TV.  "Jennifer Weisman.  A 
road works crew found her out by the side of the highway on 
I-80 with her hands and her feet missing.  But what really 
stuck with me was the tape residue around her mouth, a sticky 
mix of adhesive and blood.  He'd gagged her and tortured her 
for two days before he killed her.  She was just fifteen 
years old."

"It sounds awful."  Scully hugged her pillow with one arm, 
facing him as he spun the terrible tale.

"Jennifer was only the fourth body found, but we just knew 
the other three missing girls had to be the work of the same 
guy.  He was regular -- about one a month -- and their 
disappearances coincided with periods we suspected he'd been 
active.  Plus, they vanished from the waterfront like 
Jennifer and the others.  All the bodies turned up along I-80 
so we started looking at long-haul truckers based out of 
Chicago."

"Is that how you caught him?"

"No."  He rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling.  When 
he didn't say anything further, Scully reached out and 
touched his arm.

"What is it?"

He turned his head.  "Coben took Eleanor because of me."

"Mulder--"

"It's true.  I was the one who said to squeeze him at the 
waterfront.  We knew he was scheduled to take another one, 
and I'm the one who pushed for aggressive, obvious police 
patrol to try to force his hand."

Scully pushed herself up on one elbow.  "You were acting to 
protect the girls, Mulder.  It only makes sense to increase 
police protection in the area where the girls were being 
kidnapped."

He started shaking his head before she had even pled her full 
case.  "They didn't need to be visible.  That was my doing.  
I wanted to protect the girls, yes, but I also wanted to 
force him to change strategy by cutting off his source.  If 
he couldn't get a new victim, I thought he might revisit the 
old ones -- maybe show up along I-80.  Instead he took 
Eleanor."

"You couldn't have known--"

"I did know."  He sat up.   "I knew it was a possibility.  
Frustrate him down by the lake and there was a chance he'd 
just go somewhere else."

"But you caught him."

Slowly, he nodded, not looking at her.  "He took Eleanor 
right from his own neighborhood.  That was his mistake.  She 
lived just two blocks away.  I figured if Coban was stressed 
he might start digging in his own backyard, and sure enough, 
that's what happened.  Eleanor was different from the others.  
He didn't have time to stalk her properly, so he picked one 
he knew just from passing her on the street everyday.  So we 
rounded up a list of suspects in the area and started 
pounding on doors.  We might have missed him if he hadn't 
come out to see what the ruckus what about."

Scully drew up next to him so they were shoulder to shoulder.  
"He wasn't on this list?"

Mulder shrugged.  "He had a prior for peeping, but nothing 
hard-core.  And he wasn't a trucker."

"So how did you know it was him?"

"Tattoos. He had what looked like bracelets burned into each 
wrist.  They were in just the same place that all the victims 
had been severed."  He shook his head.  "She thinks I'm some 
big hero, Scully.  She doesn't know the whole story."

Scully considered.  "And if you tell her, then what?  Does it 
change anything?"

"I don't know.  I'm kind of afraid to find out."

"If it hadn't been Eleanor, it would have been someone else."

"But it was Eleanor."

"And you think telling her all the details of Coben's capture 
will make things easier for her somehow?  Or will it just 
make you feel better?"

He stared at her.  "You saw the pictures, Scully.  I don't 
think there's any way for anyone to feel better about what 
happened."

"You want off the pedestal," she replied.  "And if Eleanor 
won't take you down, you'd just as soon remove yourself."

"Maybe."

Scully sat with him for a minute in silence, both their heads 
bowed.  She reached over and patted his knee.  "You can't 
change what happened ten years ago, Mulder.  As for the 
pedestal, the way I see it you have two choices.  You can 
knock yourself down or you can live up to Eleanor's high 
estimation."  She pushed off the bed, yawned and stretched.  
He blinked at her in the eerie light.

"How do I do that?"

She gave him a tired smile.  "You already are."  Picking up 
her shoes from the floor, she walked on stockinged feet to 
the door.  "I'm going to get some sleep.  I suggest you do 
the same."

"I'll try.  And Scully?  Thanks for coming up here.  I know 
it isn't your job to watch my back any more."

"No, more like a full-time hobby.  Good night, Mulder."

"Night."

The humid night enfolded her as she walked down the path to 
her door.  Warm cement tickled her toes.  In the distance, an 
owl hooted and Scully stopped to listen.  She was a city girl 
but not unused to the wild; there had been camping trips with 
her family and camping trips with Mulder -- it was a tossup 
which was worse.  No one ever died during the Scully family 
expeditions but then Mulder never put night crawlers in her 
sleeping bag.

The owl's cry echoed mournfully from the treetops.  Below, 
the bushes rustled.

Scully squinted in the blackness.  The movement ceased, but 
she could feel eyes peering out from the thick trees, 
watching.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Eleanor lay in bed, the blankets and top sheet stripped away.  
She wore only her underwear.  A fan pivoted a breeze along 
her body, swirling her hair even as the rest of her kept 
entirely still.  The phone rang.

"Hello?"

"It's me."  His voice whispered over the line.

She laid her arm across her eyes.  "What do you want, Sam?"

"She's asleep.  I could come over for a bit."

"I don't think so.  It's late, Sam, and I'm tired.  I'm 
already in bed."

Silence stretched on the other end.  "As I recall, that 
didn't used to be a problem.  Quite the opposite as a matter 
of fact."

"That was then, this is now, and I just don't have the energy 
tonight."

"It doesn't have to be for that.  Why do you always try to 
make everything about sex?"

"You're the one who brought it up, not me."

 "Just...  let me see you.  I'll bring wine.  We can have a 
drink and talk."

She flopped over on the hot sheets.  "Not tonight.  It's been 
a crazy day, and I'm exhausted.  Tomorrow I'm going to 
have to tell Henry Blessing and his two kids that we have 
Shannon's hand in our morgue.  Pardon me if I'm not up for 
small talk right now."

"Pardon me if I thought we were beyond small talk."

Ellie sighed.  "Go to bed, Sam.  I don't want to fight."

"I don't want to fight either.  That's not why I called."

"Why did you call?"

"I wanted... jeez, Eleanor.  I care about you.  I know this 
case has been hard on you, and I just wanted to make sure 
you're doing okay."

If she weren't, she wouldn't tell.  He'd yank her from the 
case in a heartbeat.  But the genuine concern in his voice 
softened her frustration.  "Thank you.  I appreciate it.  And 
I'm doing fine, I promise."

His tone turned hopeful.  "Maybe we can get together tomorrow 
night?"

"Maybe."  The over-bright summer moon hung in her window.  
She could see the trees waving in the wind.  "Good night, 
Sam."

"Night, Ellie.  Sleep well."

She hung up and went back to her fevered half-dream state, 
summer pressed uncomfortably close against her skin.  The 
lazy hum of the fan let her drift in the moonlight.  Minutes, 
maybe hours, later, the ring of the doorbell made her sit 
straight up in bed.  She reached for her robe and her gun.

"This better not be you, Sam," she muttered under her breath.  
Peering through the peephole, she let the gun go lax in her 
hand.  She hesitated for a long moment before opening the 
door.  "Derek," she said through the screen.  "It's two in 
the morning."

He gave the casual one-shouldered shrug she knew so well.  "I 
couldn't sleep in the heat.  You?"

"I was sleeping, yes."

"Oh.  Sorry."  But he didn't leave.

"Why are you here?  You know we're not supposed to get 
together outside of the station anymore."

"You wouldn't tell me the truth at the station, so I figured 
I'd come on out here and try again."

She rubbed her forehead with her free hand.  "I told you 
everything I could."

"Well, it's not enough."  His voice took on a forceful edge.  
She could see the sheen of his skin in the moonlight; his jaw 
twitched.  "It's been three years, Eleanor.  You can keep me 
standing out here on your porch if you want to, but I think I 
deserve some answers.  You owe me at least that much."

"Come inside."  She pushed out the screen door; he brushed 
her breasts with his arm as he past her, triggering all sorts 
of sense memories she'd thought long gone.  He pulled out a 
pack of cigarettes and a lighter.  She wondered what it meant 
that his tin-can ashtray still sat on top of her 
refrigerator. 

"Is it Bea?" he asked, lighting up even as he followed her to 
the kitchen.  "Did you find Bea?"

"No," she said.  "It's Shannon."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

He made himself sick.  This sort of crap was the exact shit 
he busted other guys for every day, but he couldn't seem to 
stop himself.  She made him sick, made him crazy.  It was her 
fault he was sitting in his car behind the tall weeds on the 
edge of her property, watching her house.  

Just a look, he'd promised himself.  Just drive by and make 
sure she's there.  

But like the fly in a web, once he saw the house he couldn't 
drive away.  He'd parked and drunk the beer he'd brought, 
though about knocking on her door.  It was one thing to 
refuse him over the phone; in person, when he could put his 
hands on her, she might change her mind.  The idea was 
sounding better and better when he heard a motorcycle whiz 
past.  Only one motorcycle would have reason to come down 
Eleanor's road, and Sam knew the punk driving it.

He muttered a curse and straightened in his seat for a better 
view.  Corbett parked his bike right near the house and took 
the steps two at a time.  Shortly after he rang, Eleanor 
appeared.  Sam gripped the wheel.  "Don't let him in," he 
ordered.  "Don't do it."

A moment later, Derek disappeared inside.  Sam roared and 
banged the wheel over and over with his fist.  "God dammit, 
Eleanor, I thought we had settled this!"  He tossed his empty 
bottle out into the grass and started his engine.  If she 
heard him peel away into the night -- well, so much the 
better.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

The worst part about the dream was that she never knew when 
it was coming.  Good days, bad days, boring days -- there was 
no rhyme or reason.  The beginning wasn't always the same, so 
even in her sleep it could sneak up on her.  She would be 
with Mulder, sometimes arguing, sometimes walking -- once, to 
her chagrin, they had even been making out -- when the room 
would start to spin.  She felt the floor go out from under 
her, like an earthquake, and bile would rise in her throat.

Dark and cold set in next, but those were bearable.  The 
worst part was feeling herself expand, the terrible pressure 
that pushed her internal organs back up under her ribs, and 
the second heartbeat that echoed hers.  She heard it in her 
head, felt it in her bones, relentless.

The end was the same:

She awoke clawing the sheets, gasping for air.  Always, her 
hand went to her middle to touch the phantom inside.

Scully rolled out of bed on shaky legs and went to splash 
water on her face.  She knew the source of the dream, of 
course; she'd read his reports until the paper was 
threadbare.  It got so she didn't know how much of the dream 
was her memory and how much was his nightmare come to life in 
her subconscious.  Plus, there were holes.  She remembered 
most the pounding inside her and the white white ice.

Water dripped down her chin as she stared at her face in the 
mirror.  I went there to quit, she thought, I went to leave 
him.  

She remembered her speech because she'd practiced it in the 
car on the way to his apartment.  She had vague recollections 
of standing there, telling him she was through.  His face, 
crystallized in disbelief, this she would always remember.  
But his answer...

What?

She could ask, but then he might tell her.

How embarrassing, she thought, if he had said okay.  If he 
had been relieved.  You were great Scully, but I agree it's 
time for a change of scene.  Keep in touch.  She had 
practically forced herself back on him at the end, had in 
fact been forcing herself ever since -- wither Mulder goest, 
she went also, whether he liked it or not.  Lately he'd been 
disappearing on his own again, leaving her behind like 
something he'd scrape off his shoe. 

Thanks, he'd said last night, and seemed to mean it, but 
still she didn't dare ask.

She showered and dressed and went to knock on his door.  No 
answer.  Just as she was scanning the parking lot for his 
car, her cell phone rang.  "Scully."

"Hey, Scully."

"Where are you?"

"Ippichitiwah.  Jasper Cullen, the guy who used to own the 
gas station, retired there.  I'm hoping he can tell us who 
was working the night Bea Nelson and Shannon Blessing stopped 
by."

"You could have woken me."

"It's an hour away and I wanted an early start. Besides, I 
need you to check in with Eleanor today, see how things go 
with Henry Blessing."

"That will take all of an hour, Mulder.  Then what?"

"Surprise me.  I should be back by lunch and we can compare 
notes then."

Notes, she thought, and began walking back to her room for 
her things.  "Mulder, you know the FBI investigated Bea 
Nelson's disappearance three years ago."

"Out of Boston, yeah.  I read the file."

"We have to let them know about the new developments."

"No."

"Mulder--"

"What new developments, Scully?  We don't really have any 
yet.  The only real progress we've made is on the Blessing 
case, and the FBI wasn't involved in that."

"Yes, but they're related."

"Boston didn't think so three years ago.  I doubt they've 
changed their minds."

She paused with her jacket in hand.  "I don't understand.  
Calling Boston means more bodies to run down leads.  We can 
work at least twice as fast, and if your theory is right, 
time is of the essence here."

"If we had more leads, I might agree with you.  But this guy 
is just like Coben in one regard -- these kidnappings are 
planned out weeks ahead of time.  If we get suits crawling 
all over this place just before he intends to strike, we 
could spook him."

Scully frowned, rocking from one leg to the other.  "You're 
afraid to force him out of his pattern."

"I'd just like to do it more carefully this time."

"I don't know."  She pinched the bridge of her nose between 
her thumb and finger.  "If he takes another one and we didn't 
call..."

"Just hold off one more day.  Okay, Scully?  For me?"

For him was the exact wrong reason to hold off, but it was 
the reason that stuck.  She blew out a long breath.  "One 
more day."

XxXxXxXxXxX

"Eleanor, I'd like to see you."

She turned around from her desk, eyeing the clock as she did, 
and looked at Sam.  "Can it wait?  Henry Blessing is due here 
any minute."

"This will only take a minute."

"Fine."  She tossed her pen down so hard it landed with a 
bounce and then went to join Sam in his office.  He'd taken a 
seat behind his desk, tipped his chair back to cast a 
speculative look at her.  She didn't waver under his gaze.  
"What did you want to talk about?"

"Henry's on his way in?"

"Yes, I called him this morning.  I didn't tell him what we 
found, but he knows something's happened.  I figured it was 
best to tell him here, away from the children."

"I agree.  What's Mulder up to this morning?"

"He's tracking down Jasper Cullen, and Agent Scully should be 
here soon.  She wants to sit in on the interview with Henry."

He nodded, rocking.  "Ellie, about last night--"

"You brought me in here to talk about that?"

His eyes narrowed.  "I shouldn't have called so late, 
disturbed your rest.  You have my apology."

She stiffened.  "Is that all?"

"You were able to get some sleep then?"

"I'm fine," she said, enunciating each word carefully.

"Uh huh."  He continued his scrutiny until she started to 
squirm.

"I've got work to do, Sam."

"You'd best get to it then."  His voice dropped low, almost 
like a warning.

Eleanor hesitated a beat, then pivoted on her heel and left 
the office.  She ran square into Jimmy Tipton.  "Eleanor, 
called on the carpet so early in the morning?"  His words 
were teasing, but his tone was filled with admiration.  
Eleanor sighed and sidestepped him.

"Jimmy, I thought you were off today."

"I switched around my schedule in case you needed any help, 
what with that hand and all."

At that moment, Eleanor saw Scully come through the front 
door.  "Thanks, but I've got it covered.  Go enjoy the 
holiday, Jimmy.  Take in some fireworks or something."

"Eleanor--"

"Agent Scully," Eleanor called, waving her over.   As Scully 
wove her way through the rows of desks, the door opened again 
and Henry Blessing entered.  Scully stopped and followed 
Eleanor's gaze.  "I wish like hell I didn't have to do this," 
Eleanor whispered to her.  Henry Blessing stood frozen by the 
front counter, his face stricken.  Slowly he removed his 
baseball cap and clutched it in his hands.

"Better get it over with," Scully murmured, and Eleanor 
nodded.

"Henry," Eleanor said.  "Won't you come with us?"  A hush 
fell over the station as she led the man to their small 
conference room.  Henry obviously picked up on the tense 
atmosphere, and balked at the doorway.

"It's Shannon, isn't it?  You've found Shannon?"

Eleanor touched his arm.  "Come inside," she said gently.  
"We'll talk about it."

XxXxXxXxX

Dust kicked up around Mulder's tires as he turned onto 
Killbourne Road.  The Cullen farm sat at the far end, white 
painted mailbox keeping cheery watch over the old house.  A 
German Shepard on the lawn raised his chin to watch Mulder 
park the Taurus.  "Nice doggie," Mulder said, taking off his 
sunglasses.  "Easy."

The dog's ears flattened and his tail thumped on the dry 
grass.  Mulder took cautious steps towards the porch.

"He won't hurt you."  The screen door banged open and a 
young, bare-chested man stepped out carrying a tall glass of 
lemonade.  "Duke's as old as these hills."

Mulder still halted in his tracks.  "I'm looking for Jasper 
Cullen," he said.  "Fox Mulder, FBI."

"FBI?  What's the FBI want with my grandfather?"

"I just need to ask him a few questions.  You are?"

He took a long swig of lemonade and wiped his mouth on his 
forearm.  "Chris Cullen.  I stay here during the summer.  
Gramps and Gran are at church and won't be back for another 
hour, but you're welcome to come in and wait."

"I'll do that, thanks."  Mulder eased his way around Duke and 
mounted the rickety porch steps.  Chris held the door open 
for him. 

"You can have a seat wherever you can find one."

Mulder looked around the sitting room, which was jammed wall-
to-wall with furniture, ceramic farm animals, stacks of old 
newspapers, and what looked like a collection of patent-
leather purses.  "I take it your grandparents are 
collectors."

He snorted.  "That's the understatement of the century.  This 
place is a death trap.  God forbid there was ever a fire.  
Hey, you want some lemonade?"

"No thanks."  Mulder picked his way to an overstuffed 
armchair.  Chris took the couch and put his large, bare feet 
on the coffee table -- right next to a painted rooster.  "Are 
you in college?" Mulder asked.

"Grad school now, at the University of Chicago.  But I've 
been spending part of my summers here since I was a kid."

"Then you would remember when your grandparents owned the 
Gas-n-Go over near Woodsbury."

"Well, sure.  They sold that place about three years ago."

Mulder pulled the VHS tape out from his pocket.  "You might 
be able to help me, then.  This is from the security camera 
your grandparents used, and I need to identify the man 
working behind the counter."

"I knew a bunch of the folks that worked for them, sure.  Let 
me take a look."  He popped the tape in the VCR and snapped 
on the TV.  The picture rolled a minute before steadying, and 
once again Bea Nelson entered the store.  "Well, this is 
easy," Chris said, pointing at the TV.  "The guy working the 
counter?  He's me."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Scully sat with Eleanor at the conference table after Henry 
Blessing had staggered out the door.  "I think that went as 
well as can be expected," she told the young deputy.  "It's 
never easy."

Eleanor gave her a bleak look.  "He thinks she might still be 
alive."

"Possible, I suppose.  People live with amputated limbs all 
the time."

"You don't really think she's alive."

Scully rolled the pen in front of her back and forth on the 
smooth table.  "No," she said at last, "I don't."

Eleanor checked her watch.  "Mulder should be calling soon, 
shouldn't he?"

"Yes, but there's no point in waiting around."  Scully stood 
and gathered her notes.  Eleanor rose as well.

"Why?  What are you going to do?"

"We're going to your place."

"My place?  Why?"

Scully stopped and looked her in the eyes.  "Very little 
about this case is known.  We have three victims with no 
obvious connection and not one body to go on.  We don't know 
the cause of death or even where the victims were abducted.  
The one thing we do know is that the perpetrator has fixated 
on you for some reason.  He sends you cards and he's been to 
your house at least once."

Eleanor swallowed visibly.  "So?"

"So, if he's watching you that closely, he may have left 
traces of himself behind.  Like it or not, Ms. Kot, your 
house is ground zero right now."

Eleanor looked pained, but nodded.  "Okay, then.  What do you 
want me to do?"

"We need a crime scene photographer and a bunch of evidence 
bags."

"It's a holiday.  CiCi's off today."

"Then call her back in.  The longer we wait, the colder the 
trail."

This was how she came to be tramping around in grass up to 
her waist with the sun blazing down on her neck and a grumpy 
photographer in tow.  "I was supposed to be at the beach 
today," CiCi said.

"We pay you well for your time," Eleanor returned as she 
pushed aside a tickling wave of weeds.

"I'm not sure it's worth it.  I may just stick to taking 
portraits from now on.  No one calls me up for an emergency 
family sitting on the Fourth of July."

Scully barely listened to them.  She drifted farther away, to 
the edge of the property where there was some shade.  Her 
eyes struggled to adjust from the bright sunshine, and when 
the images cleared she saw a clear set of tire tracks under 
the oak tree.  "Over here!" she yelled.  The other two women 
hacked their way through the dried-out grass until they stood 
next to her.  "Someone was parked here," Scully said.  "We're 
going to need shots of these tracks from all angles and 
probably a casting, too."

"I'll get the kit from the car," Eleanor said.  CiCi began 
taking photographs.  Scully walked around the perimeter, her 
gaze trained on the ground for any bits of trash the driver 
might have left behind.  About ten feet out, she struck gold 
in the form of a beer bottle.  She bagged it carefully and 
returned to where Eleanor was making the cast of the tire 
tracks.

"You can see my house from here," she said, her tone subdued.  
"He was pointed right at my front door."

"Yes."  Scully squinted into the distance.  "But he wasn't 
smart enough to pick up after himself.  If we get prints from 
this bottle, we'll at least know who we're dealing with 
here."

CiCi approached them as she unwound the camera strap from her 
neck.  "I'm dying out here," she said to Eleanor.  "Do you 
think I could get a glass of water from your place?"

Eleanor looked up from the cast.  "I've got bottles of it in 
the fridge.  Just give me five more minutes."

"I can get them," Scully offered.  

"No, I'll do it."

Her abrupt answer made Scully draw back.  "Really, I don't 
mind.  I'd like to take a look at the tree line from the 
house, anyway."

"Why?"

"He's watching you, and I'd like to get a sense of what he's 
seeing."

Eleanor pushed up with a sigh.  "Fine.  I'll go with you 
then."

Messy housekeeper, Scully wondered, or just territorial?  She 
worked to keep up with Eleanor's long strides across the 
unruly meadow.  When they reached the porch Scully turned to 
look back at CiCi.  She could barely see the woman's bright 
pink shirt.  "Not the closest spot he could have picked," she 
remarked.  "He might have brought binoculars."

"Great," Eleanor answered, unenthused.  "That's just what I 
need.  A peeping Tom with night vision goggles."  She opened 
her door and Scully stepped with her into the dim, cool hall.  
"The kitchen is just down on the right."

The warped wood floor creaked under their weight.  Scully 
followed Eleanor even as she looked around at the house.  
White walls everywhere gave it a chilly feel, but Eleanor 
clearly had not been concerned about showing off an unkempt 
home; the place was immaculate.  

Sun streaming in the large kitchen windows had warmed the 
room.  Eleanor's refrigerator had a slight rattle as well as 
a hum, working overtime in the heat.  She opened the door and 
removed three bottles of water.  Scully stroked a smooth 
silver chair and eyed the tin can sitting on the table.

"I didn't know you smoked," she said.

Eleanor whisked the can into the sink.  "I don't."  They each 
popped a bottle open and drank in silence.  Scully wandered 
back down the hall towards the living room.

"Nice house."

"Thank you," Eleanor replied, hurrying after her.

Scully took in the well-worn green couch and the simple white 
curtains.  The fireplace looked like it hadn't been used in 
years.  "He could have seen in here," she said, peering out 
one of the windows.

"I keep the curtains closed."

"Even during the day?"

Eleanor didn't answer.  "I think we should be getting back to 
CiCi, don't you?"

Scully hummed a non-response and strolled around the room.  
The wood at the baseboard was all in excellent condition, 
polished to a high sheen.  Against the far wall, there was a 
door.  Scully stopped in front of it and looked closely.  A 
dozen tiny nails held it shut.  "What's in here?"

"Nothing."  Eleanor shifted her weight in an impatient 
manner.  "We really should be getting back."

Scully turned and saw the other woman was pale, sweaty.  
"Okay, then."  She let Eleanor lead her out into the summer 
heat.  The sun, far in the sky, shimmered at them as they 
crossed the broad meadow.  Scully looked back often at the 
shuttered farmhouse growing smaller and smaller in the 
distance.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

The red-haired bitch is ruining everything.  I was willing to 
make allowances, but she is not going to fuck with me and my 
plans. I can make adjustments.  I have contingencies.  She is 
going to be sorry she ever got in my way.

In World War I, it was bad luck to be third man on a match.  
The first flare got the sniper's attention.  The second let 
him take aim.  The third sucker barely had time to light his 
smoke before he got a bullet between the eyes.

Well, the FBI has my attention, all right.  I'm taking aim.  

And tonight the lights go out.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Continued in Chapter Five -- probably soon since I actually 
know what happens next. *g*

Feedback always welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com