Title: Illusions
Author's Note: This story takes place somewhere near the end of the seventh
season of the X-Files. It's my first X-Files fic, so please be nice. Mulder
first, then Scully is on the trial of a serial killer who seems to know
impossibly too much about his victims. Also, a bit of emphasis on the Christian
religion. I'm Christian, so naturally some of my characters are-however, the
characters beliefs aren't necessarily my own. Hope you like it.
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, they're Chris Carter's and all those
people over at Ten Thirteen Productions.
Chapter 1
St. Louis, Missouri
Unknown Residence
The man sat at his computer screen, shaking in barely controlled rage.
Sweat dripped off his forehead as he glared at the screen, rocking back and
forth.
"No," he growled. "lies, all lies." They were all traitors, traitors to
the truth, and rock-steady in their self-deception. Scorn streamed from him
like water from a fountain, changing his barely controlled rage into a cold
blaze of anger. He stared at the screen, looking more closely at the words of
the story.
As he looked at the computer screen, he reached into the mind of the
hapless writer. He or she . . . had to know, had to understand the truth. As
he sat, he felt the change begin.
He let his eyes drift shut as he shut out the physical world from around
him. He reached deeper, trying to find the mind, the soul of the writer. There
. . . right in front of him. He could just see her presence behind a flimsy
veil. He reached out with all his fury and betrayal, swiftly changing them into
power and ripping the veil to shreds and slipping behind the shroud.
He was no longer inside his small apartment in downtown St. Louis, but in
an unfamiliar hallway, perhaps of a local grade or high school. One figure, the
one whose mind he now occupied strode purposefully down the hall, the man
quickly followed. As the girl rounded the hallway, it disappeared, leaving them
outside in another, unknown place, perhaps the school gymnasium.
It was then that he knew he was inside her dreams. He rarely visited
their dreams. It was a time in which the subconscious ruled nearly all. Very
little, if any coherent thought existed in the dream world, and thus it was
difficult to know the people he sought out . . . those who had betrayed him.
Betrayed him, and betrayed themselves constantly. Betrayal infuriated him like
nothing else, it was the most capital sin.
He watched her carefully as she turned and stopped. She appeared to be
waiting for someone, almost bored. The man looked around the gym. The colors
were swirling, unreal. Shades of shifting color that didn't actually exist.
The colors were almost purple, almost red . . . but they didn't quite make
sense, like dreams themselves. He studied the young woman almost clinically.
She had short red-brown hair that came to about two inches above her shoulders.
She had wide, brown eyes and open, deceptively honest features. She was of
average height, with a stocky build.
"There you are, Abby," a young male voice said. he walked up to the young
woman without hesitation. Then he landed a wild punch right on her jaw. Abby,
the girl, backed up, fighting back with some obvious skill. She used a series
of standard blocks, which the man recognized. As the man observed the fight, he
noticed something else. The girl was using rather standard self-defense moves,
locks and pressure points that weren't learned by a few, violent encounters in
the school yard.
Abby leapt back, sharply executing a front snap kick to the young man's
knee. He went down instantly, grabbing his knee and howling aloud, one of the
few audible sounds in Abby's dreamscape.
"Abby," a voice called out, surprising the man and at the same time
chilling him to the bone. Another young woman had appeared from nowhere. She
stepped forward out of the shadows and stared at the young man still kneeling on
the floor. "Go away," she said calmly, and with a certain amount of authority.
The image instantly vanished, and the girl turned to Abby with a gentile smile.
"You're dreaming, Abby."
"Oh," she replied, "all right, then."
Abruptly, the other girl, slightly taller and with a dark complexion,
seemed to notice the man's presence. That had never happened before. "What are
you doing here?" she asked as the dreamscape dissolved.
The man sat in front of his computer, noting that very little time had
passed. He would return to her mind later on, to uncover her betrayal. He was
on a mission, and would not be deterred.
World Martial Arts Academy
Olivette, Missouri
Monday, December 19
8:25P.M.
Serri walked out of the World Martial Arts Academy, rotating her sore
shoulders. If she hurt now, she could imagine what this would feel like in the
morning. She looked off to her right in the parking lot outside the Academy,
trying to spot Abby before she left for the night. She caught sight of the girl
and gave a casual wave; Abby waved back with enthusiasm.
"See you tomorrow?" Abby asked, shouting across the parking lot.
"No," Serri responded in her slightly deeper voice. "But I'll be here
Wednesday, helping out with the kiddie classes, and taking the six o' clock."
"So Mr. Adams can kill us," Abby responded, seemingly cheerful for such a
dire sentence.
"Amen," Serri responded. "Adios," she said with a final wave as she
headed toward her car, swinging her bag over her shoulder. She fished her keys
out of her purse before she reached the car, but paused when she heard a muffled
thump. Serri's head turned to the side as she listened closely; then the loud
obnoxious blaring of a horn nearly made her jump out of her skin.
Heart beating quickly from the surprise, she looked around the nearly
empty parking lot in confusion. She and Abby had been the last to leave beside
their instructor, and his car was darkened, with no movement inside. Her
questioning eyes focused on Abby's car as the horn belted an angry note out
again. The lights were on in Abby's car, and Serri was close enough to see two
people struggling furiously in the front seat.
Serri dropped her back and raced the seventy feet over to Abby's car in
record time. Barely pausing to think, she ran around the passenger's side of
the car and yanked open the door. The assailant, male or female she could not
tell, had a hand on Abby's neck, forcing her against the glass window of the car
door. His other hand held a knife. She grabbed his free arm, forced it behind
his back as she had learned in Tae Kwon Do classes, and pressed upward, making
the assailant let out a howl of pain, and release his hold of Abby. Serri
dragged him, or her, out of the car, throwing him down onto the asphalt ground.
Now Serri's heart was racing, the assailant was just coming back to his
feet. She kicked him hard in the chest, right below the sternum, knocking him
backward and on the ground again. This time he rolled on his side and backwards
coming to his feet just out of her range. She fell automatically into a
fighting stance, and let her concentration deepen as she focused on the attack.
He came forward, swinging wildly with the knife, coming down over his head,
probably hoping to stab her on the neck or shoulder. She blocked quickly,
grabbing his arm and twisting it until it locked, with his elbow facing the
ground. She swiftly kicked him in the shin, then elbowed him in the neck with a
yell, hoping to disconcert him or break up his focus.
The knife fell out of his hand and clattered to the ground. The assailant
punched her in the back with his other hand, striking her directly over her
right kidney. Pain flashed in Serri's back and side, she was grateful she had
managed to weaken him already. He grabbed her around the waist, pinning her
arms to her side. Serri dropped, twisting hard with her shoulders down and to
the left, throwing him over her shoulders and into Abby's car. The assailant
jumped to his feet and ran off, obviously limping, but making good speed.
Suddenly exhausted, Serri managed to stagger around the driver's side of the
car. Her hands shook as she grabbed the door handled and yanked the door open.
Abby fell out and backwards. Serri caught her and fell down on to the parking
lot, trying to keep Abby from hitting the ground with any force. Using her left
hand to get to her feet in a crouching position, she gently pulled Abby the rest
of the way out of the car and laid her gently on the ground.
Abby!" she said, her voice nearly shouting. She tapped her shoulder
briskly. "Abby, can you here me?"
Oh crap," she said out-loud. She quickly leaned over the unconscious
girl, her ear directly over her nose and mouth as she watched the girl's chest
rise and fall. "Thank God," she said with all reverence. She checked the
girl's pulse-fast and somewhat irregular. She got to her feet quickly, and
looked inside the open car door. Sure enough, there was a cell-phone on the
floor, nearly hidden under a mat. She picked it up with trembling hands.
"Check the scene for safety," she said sarcastically, "Oh right, Mr. Kasten, I
did that, and perceiving the danger, I dove right in. Gotta love sophomore
heath class." She quickly dialed 911 as she knelt next to the still unconscious
girl.
The next moment a voice answered, she quickly interrupted the female
operator. "Yes, I have an emergency, my name is Serri Corazai. Unconscious
victim, she was choked, but she's breathing. Pulse is a bit weird, but I ain't
no doctor. Uh, location. The World Martial Arts Academy on 9715 Olive Street
Rd."
"How long has she been unconscious?" the woman asked.
"No more than ten minutes," Serri replied, for the first time a tremble
appeared in her voice. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, willing any
emotion away, at least for the time being.
"What is the victim's name?" she asked. "And age?"
"Abby Baker, seventeen," Serri replied, feeling her eyes well up with
tears, her hands were still shaking, but she refused to let it show in her
voice.
A few minutes later Serri could here the sirens, first the ambulance
arrived, then three police cars. Numbly Serri answered each of their
questionings. Both her parents and Abby's parent's showed up after that. The
paramedics said Abby would be alright. There would be some bruising, but
nothing permanent.
Mulder's apartment
Alexandria, Virginia
Wednesday, December 21
6:55PM
"Crap," Mulder said disgustedly as he finally managed to unlock his
apartment door and slip inside. He kicked the door closed behind him, and
flipped on the light switch. Dropping the thick case file on the coffee table,
he headed for the bathroom. Returning with a towel he managed to soak up most
of the water and melted ice which clung to his hair.
"Freezing rain and sleet," he growled to himself. Of course this would
come up just as a new X-Files had presented itself to him. And this one
definitely fit in the weird category. Mulder didn't know if it was supernatural
in origin, but it was definitely weird enough for him to jump when A.D. Skinner
had given him the case. Now his flight to Saint Louis had been canceled. He
had been to the city a few times in his career in the FBI. Apparently Skinner
knew the city well, and had actually looked amused when Mulder was enthusiastic.
Mulder had asked him what was so funny.
"The weather," Skinner had replied, to Mulder's confusion. That hadn't
really meant anything to him then. Now he imagined how much worse the weather
had to be there then here in Washington. Just then his lights flickered and
died on him. Mulder looked off to the side, then shook his head, rising to his
feet, and searched for flashlights and candles. He settled down on his couch,
then took out the case file, squinting at it in the dim light.
Yes, this case did have his complete attention. There had been several
murders in the Greater Saint Louis Area. Each had been different, killed in a
variety of different ways. One had been shot, one impaled with a crow bar, one
brutally and repeatedly stabbed, and one simply had the crap beat out of him.
The crime scene photos of that last one had been particularly brutal. Whoever
the assailant had been, had managed to draw out the person's death in one of the
most painful ways possible. Maximum pain, but minimum injury, until of course,
he killed her.
Two could be truly labeled as X-Files. One seemed as if the victim had
died of old age, his body just having been run down. However, the victim had
been a twenty-two year old basketball player for Saint Louis University-not
exactly an old man. The next was one of Mulder's frequently recurring cases
that never seemed to turn out how they were presented. Spontaneous Human
Combustion-but this time it seemed like the real deal. The lab and the
coroner's office had gone over the scene several times. There had been nothing
to act as an accelerant, no matches, no lighters; the clothes the victim had
been wearing were less than conducive for burning. It had been raining the
entire night of the murder, and the man had been found in Forest Park. From
what the crime scene revealed, he had been killed in the park, not moved from
another location.
Mulder leaned back, then leaned forward again. The cases weren't
connected, or at least, they hadn't appeared to be. The only thing that linked
them was the lack of evidence and the lack of a signature or modus operandi.
Skinner wanted him to offer his expertise on the two possible X-Files, but
Mulder wanted to review the other cases as well. Even for a city with a high
crime rate like St. Louis, this was odd. Perhaps it was a single killer, or
perhaps two working in tandem. Mulder didn't know yet. His first priority
would be the two X-Files.
Just as he pulled out the file folder for the man who had been burned
alive, the telephone rang. Mulder reached out to pick it up.
"Hello?" he asked, his voice distracted as he held up a photo of the wizened dead man.
"Mulder," the familiar voice on the other line said somewhat tiredly. "It's me."
Mulder smiled, putting down the photos and giving Scully his entire attention for the moment. "Hey, Scully," he said cheerfully. "How was your flight?"
"Terrible," she answered, a touch shortly. "Wind turbulence all the way."
Mulder winced in sympathy. "I'm sorry," he said, looking at the window as
a flash of lightning procured a low rumble of thunder. "Here's a terribly
mundane question, how's the weather? It sucks here. I'm sitting where trying
to review the case Skinner gave me and the power just went out about fifteen
minutes ago. Do you think my landlord will be angry if I burn down the
apartment complex from overuse of candles? It's slightly different than the
last flood disaster."
This time Scully actually chuckled aloud. "It's nice here," she said.
"I'm glad I took the early flight if its storming now."
"Ice, too," Mulder said, his tone a bit mournful. He changed his tone.
"So how goes it for the Scully Family Reunion?" he asked, his tone not
mocking in the least.
"Pray for me," Scully said as Mulder grinned. "The typical Christmas
chaos. So, what's the case?"
"Two actually," Mulder said, reaching for the report and laying it on his
lap. He leaned his elbow on his knee as his voice became slightly more
distracted. "Um, one twenty-two year old dies of old age after playing an all-
star game of basketball for St. Louis University. And another guy goes up into
flame. One of your personal favorites, Spontaneous Human Combustion." Mulder
paused, reflecting. "You know, in light of most of our cases, they really
should change the name from 'Spontaneous Human Combustion' to 'Carefully
Contrived Human Combustion'."
"Maybe you should suggest that to the person who coined that phrase,
Mulder," Scully said with amusement Mulder could here easily through the phone.
"Any evidence?"
"Nada," Mulder replied. "There's no connection between the murders,
either. And there has also been about five or six unsolved murders in St. Louis
in the last couple of years. One of those cases which start with no leads and
end with those, too. That itself could be a pattern." Mulder stared at the
pictures of the victims again, letting his mind absorb them, hoping to come up
with something.
"Mulder?" Scully asked through the phone.
"Nothing, Scully," Mulder said quietly. "There is something similar about
whoever's killing these people."
"What's that?" Scully asked, her voice holding the slightest touch of wariness.
"Rage," Mulder said, his voice soft and reflective. "terrible, consuming
rage. He kills because in his mind he has to. Something about these people
really ticked this guy off."
"So you do think they're connected," Scully said.
"Maybe," Mulder repeated. "Or this could just be something the murders
have in common. If it wasn't premeditated, then rage is common. And the way
the rest of the victims were killed? All very hostile, but that doesn't prove
they were connected. So I have to act under the assumption they were not."
"Good luck," Scully said. "Uh, I have to go. Dinner is in an hour or so,
and I have to help out."
Mulder smiled. "Get to work, Scully," he said teasingly. "Have a nice
vacation."
"Thanks, Mulder," she replied, then was gone.
Lambert International Airport
St. Louis, Missouri
Friday, December 23
3:55PM
Mulder walked outside of the airport into what he expected to be cold,
windy, December weather in the Midwest. Instead, he walked outside, into the
top floor of the parking garage. Mulder quickly shrugged off his coat, sweat
was already gathering on his forehead. It had to be at least seventy-five
degrees outside, with an impossibly warm breeze. This is insane, he thought to
himself, its nearly Christmas, and its some kind of Indian Summer out here.
Mulder stared at the bright, beautiful blue sky and shrugged it off. He wasn't
one to complain about nice weather.
"Special Agent Mulder?" a man asked, approaching from Mulder's right.
Mulder turned, squinting in the sunlight to face the tall, older man approaching
him.
"Detective Miller?" Mulder asked in realization as he reached out to
shake the other man's hand. He had dark gray eyes and short, salt and pepper
hair. His strong angular features bespoke of character and quiet patience, and
Mulder found himself immediately liking the man-something that didn't happen all
that often.
"That's me," the man said in a warm, mid-range voice. He gestured for
Mulder to walk with him. "I'll drop you off at the rental agency-this one's a
bit away from the airport and won't be as crowded. Hotel's smack dab in the
middle of downtown, and we don't have much of downtown-you know the way to the
Marriott?"
"Yes, sir," Mulder responded. "Anything turn up on any of the cases?"
"Nothing," Detective Miller admitted. "They're doing the autopsy of the
latest victim this afternoon."
Mulder slid into the passenger's seat of the navy blue car. "Latest
victim?" he asked, surprised.
"Yeah, we found another one, this one we know has a connection to an
attempted murder earlier this week, if not to any of the other murders. But it
is slightly . . . odd."
Mulder felt his heartbeat increase as he focused on the detective's words
with interest. "Odd in what sense?" Mulder asked, not bothering to shield his
curiosity.
"Conflicting stories," Detective Miller said with a quiet side. "The girl
that was attacked, Abby Baker, says a guy was in her car and had a kind of piece
of sharpened wood, a stake of some sort, and tried to stab her with it. The
victim we found this morning had been impaled with some kind of wooden object
through the heart."
"Another victim was impaled," Mulder noted. "Accept that was with a
crowbar through the abdomen."
"Right," the detective said. Mulder noticed his knuckles were white on
the steering wheel. "However, the more reliable of the witnesses, one Serri
Corazai, said the man had a knife. "Ms. Baker also claimed to be able to
describe the physical features of the attacker."
"You had a positive I.D.?" Mulder nearly exclaimed, he sat up straighter
in his seat.
Detective Miller slowly shook his head. "No," he said slowly. "Serri
told us the man had been wearing a ski-mask. Ms. Baker shouldn't have been able
to see anything."
"You know one of the witnesses?" Mulder asked, noting the first name
usage.
"Yes," the detective answered. "She and her sister were very good friends
of my daughter, Anne. I knew both of them, reliable, extremely reliable. Both
had good reputations among teachers and adults at the school and outside of
school-not an easy thing to accomplish as a teenager."
"No," Mulder admitted, he smiled slightly. "I sure didn't have one."
"Me either," the Detective said, flashing a quick grin as well.
"Hey," Mulder said. "Let's say I find my hotel later, let's go down to
the morgue and see if they have any new information about what has happened."
The detective shot him a grateful look. "Thanks. I am going to tell you a
couple of things. Everyone working the force thinks these murders are related.
I don't know, its just a feeling. We can't prove anything though."
"The evidence of the connection is in the lack of evidence," Mulder
muttered as he stared blindly out the car window."
"Exactly," the detective affirmed. His voice lowered to an intensity that
made Mulder look over at him. "Whether or not its one guy, this has to stop,
its tearing families a part." Detective Miller took in a deep breath, and
Mulder could see the pain in his eyes. "My daughter Anne was murdered last year
in a drive-by-they never caught the man who did it. No one else should have to
suffer the way we did, never knowing."
Mulder nodded, he couldn't agree more with Detective Miller.
They pulled up in a small parking lot to the city morgue and quickly entered in
the single door. Down the hall and inside was a coroner's office like any other
Mulder had been inside. He knew them particularly well because of Scully's
expertise as a pathologist.
"The doctor's already started," Detective Miller said as the two entered
through the door. Mulder's hazel eyes swept over everything in the room and
rested on the corpse. It was a tall, African-American man in his early
twenties. Mulder quickly swept over any connections to the earlier victim. An
oozing hole in his chest was painfully visible, as was the mangled necklace the
victim wore. Mulder took a step closer to the annoyance of the pathologist who
was just logging the case number. He barely made out the twisted remnants of a
cross, one similar to the small gold one Scully wore. Judeo-Christian
background, Mulder reflected. That is one similarity between the relativity
unconnected assortments of victims. That had been offered as a connection,
perhaps the killings were hate crimes. That however, hadn't fit the profile.
Hate crimes simply weren't this intelligent or well executed. The idiots that
committed those often bragged of their deeds in order to gain 'recognition for
the cause' or other such idiocy.
Mulder strode around the end of the autopsy bed, his eyes still on the
victims. He didn't want to stay for the entire thing, simply because he didn't
have Scully's nerves in this area-he'd be puking up his guts if he had to weigh
someone's intestines in what looked like one of those scales that measured fruit
in the grocery store.
A gleam of light caught Mulder's eyes, and he turned, fixing his eyes on
the back of the victim's head. He had no hair, so it was relatively easy for
Mulder to pick out what he was looking for. He crouched down until the man's
head was level with Mulder's eyes. A smattering of gold ink was arrayed in what
looked like a symbol.
"Excuse me," Mulder said, loudly interrupting the pathologist. "Did you
see this?"
The woman sighed loudly, and came around to look where Mulder pointed, she
turned, reached out to the tray and picked up a magnifying glass. Holding it in
front of the victims head, Mulder could just make out the symbol, it was omega,
the last letter of the Greek alphabet.
"Omega," Mulder said out-loud. The symbol was so small it could have been
overlooked.
"What?" the detective asked, he appeared shaken.
"Omega," Mulder said, "the last letter of-"
"-the Greek alphabet, I know," the detective finished. He quickly walked
over to the agent's side. "You found it on the back of his head?"
"Yes," Mulder said slowly. "Why?"
"Because Anne had a mark like that, too," the detective said slowly.
Author's Note: This story takes place somewhere near the end of the seventh
season of the X-Files. It's my first X-Files fic, so please be nice. Mulder
first, then Scully is on the trial of a serial killer who seems to know
impossibly too much about his victims. Also, a bit of emphasis on the Christian
religion. I'm Christian, so naturally some of my characters are-however, the
characters beliefs aren't necessarily my own. Hope you like it.
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, they're Chris Carter's and all those
people over at Ten Thirteen Productions.
Chapter 1
St. Louis, Missouri
Unknown Residence
The man sat at his computer screen, shaking in barely controlled rage.
Sweat dripped off his forehead as he glared at the screen, rocking back and
forth.
"No," he growled. "lies, all lies." They were all traitors, traitors to
the truth, and rock-steady in their self-deception. Scorn streamed from him
like water from a fountain, changing his barely controlled rage into a cold
blaze of anger. He stared at the screen, looking more closely at the words of
the story.
As he looked at the computer screen, he reached into the mind of the
hapless writer. He or she . . . had to know, had to understand the truth. As
he sat, he felt the change begin.
He let his eyes drift shut as he shut out the physical world from around
him. He reached deeper, trying to find the mind, the soul of the writer. There
. . . right in front of him. He could just see her presence behind a flimsy
veil. He reached out with all his fury and betrayal, swiftly changing them into
power and ripping the veil to shreds and slipping behind the shroud.
He was no longer inside his small apartment in downtown St. Louis, but in
an unfamiliar hallway, perhaps of a local grade or high school. One figure, the
one whose mind he now occupied strode purposefully down the hall, the man
quickly followed. As the girl rounded the hallway, it disappeared, leaving them
outside in another, unknown place, perhaps the school gymnasium.
It was then that he knew he was inside her dreams. He rarely visited
their dreams. It was a time in which the subconscious ruled nearly all. Very
little, if any coherent thought existed in the dream world, and thus it was
difficult to know the people he sought out . . . those who had betrayed him.
Betrayed him, and betrayed themselves constantly. Betrayal infuriated him like
nothing else, it was the most capital sin.
He watched her carefully as she turned and stopped. She appeared to be
waiting for someone, almost bored. The man looked around the gym. The colors
were swirling, unreal. Shades of shifting color that didn't actually exist.
The colors were almost purple, almost red . . . but they didn't quite make
sense, like dreams themselves. He studied the young woman almost clinically.
She had short red-brown hair that came to about two inches above her shoulders.
She had wide, brown eyes and open, deceptively honest features. She was of
average height, with a stocky build.
"There you are, Abby," a young male voice said. he walked up to the young
woman without hesitation. Then he landed a wild punch right on her jaw. Abby,
the girl, backed up, fighting back with some obvious skill. She used a series
of standard blocks, which the man recognized. As the man observed the fight, he
noticed something else. The girl was using rather standard self-defense moves,
locks and pressure points that weren't learned by a few, violent encounters in
the school yard.
Abby leapt back, sharply executing a front snap kick to the young man's
knee. He went down instantly, grabbing his knee and howling aloud, one of the
few audible sounds in Abby's dreamscape.
"Abby," a voice called out, surprising the man and at the same time
chilling him to the bone. Another young woman had appeared from nowhere. She
stepped forward out of the shadows and stared at the young man still kneeling on
the floor. "Go away," she said calmly, and with a certain amount of authority.
The image instantly vanished, and the girl turned to Abby with a gentile smile.
"You're dreaming, Abby."
"Oh," she replied, "all right, then."
Abruptly, the other girl, slightly taller and with a dark complexion,
seemed to notice the man's presence. That had never happened before. "What are
you doing here?" she asked as the dreamscape dissolved.
The man sat in front of his computer, noting that very little time had
passed. He would return to her mind later on, to uncover her betrayal. He was
on a mission, and would not be deterred.
World Martial Arts Academy
Olivette, Missouri
Monday, December 19
8:25P.M.
Serri walked out of the World Martial Arts Academy, rotating her sore
shoulders. If she hurt now, she could imagine what this would feel like in the
morning. She looked off to her right in the parking lot outside the Academy,
trying to spot Abby before she left for the night. She caught sight of the girl
and gave a casual wave; Abby waved back with enthusiasm.
"See you tomorrow?" Abby asked, shouting across the parking lot.
"No," Serri responded in her slightly deeper voice. "But I'll be here
Wednesday, helping out with the kiddie classes, and taking the six o' clock."
"So Mr. Adams can kill us," Abby responded, seemingly cheerful for such a
dire sentence.
"Amen," Serri responded. "Adios," she said with a final wave as she
headed toward her car, swinging her bag over her shoulder. She fished her keys
out of her purse before she reached the car, but paused when she heard a muffled
thump. Serri's head turned to the side as she listened closely; then the loud
obnoxious blaring of a horn nearly made her jump out of her skin.
Heart beating quickly from the surprise, she looked around the nearly
empty parking lot in confusion. She and Abby had been the last to leave beside
their instructor, and his car was darkened, with no movement inside. Her
questioning eyes focused on Abby's car as the horn belted an angry note out
again. The lights were on in Abby's car, and Serri was close enough to see two
people struggling furiously in the front seat.
Serri dropped her back and raced the seventy feet over to Abby's car in
record time. Barely pausing to think, she ran around the passenger's side of
the car and yanked open the door. The assailant, male or female she could not
tell, had a hand on Abby's neck, forcing her against the glass window of the car
door. His other hand held a knife. She grabbed his free arm, forced it behind
his back as she had learned in Tae Kwon Do classes, and pressed upward, making
the assailant let out a howl of pain, and release his hold of Abby. Serri
dragged him, or her, out of the car, throwing him down onto the asphalt ground.
Now Serri's heart was racing, the assailant was just coming back to his
feet. She kicked him hard in the chest, right below the sternum, knocking him
backward and on the ground again. This time he rolled on his side and backwards
coming to his feet just out of her range. She fell automatically into a
fighting stance, and let her concentration deepen as she focused on the attack.
He came forward, swinging wildly with the knife, coming down over his head,
probably hoping to stab her on the neck or shoulder. She blocked quickly,
grabbing his arm and twisting it until it locked, with his elbow facing the
ground. She swiftly kicked him in the shin, then elbowed him in the neck with a
yell, hoping to disconcert him or break up his focus.
The knife fell out of his hand and clattered to the ground. The assailant
punched her in the back with his other hand, striking her directly over her
right kidney. Pain flashed in Serri's back and side, she was grateful she had
managed to weaken him already. He grabbed her around the waist, pinning her
arms to her side. Serri dropped, twisting hard with her shoulders down and to
the left, throwing him over her shoulders and into Abby's car. The assailant
jumped to his feet and ran off, obviously limping, but making good speed.
Suddenly exhausted, Serri managed to stagger around the driver's side of the
car. Her hands shook as she grabbed the door handled and yanked the door open.
Abby fell out and backwards. Serri caught her and fell down on to the parking
lot, trying to keep Abby from hitting the ground with any force. Using her left
hand to get to her feet in a crouching position, she gently pulled Abby the rest
of the way out of the car and laid her gently on the ground.
Abby!" she said, her voice nearly shouting. She tapped her shoulder
briskly. "Abby, can you here me?"
Oh crap," she said out-loud. She quickly leaned over the unconscious
girl, her ear directly over her nose and mouth as she watched the girl's chest
rise and fall. "Thank God," she said with all reverence. She checked the
girl's pulse-fast and somewhat irregular. She got to her feet quickly, and
looked inside the open car door. Sure enough, there was a cell-phone on the
floor, nearly hidden under a mat. She picked it up with trembling hands.
"Check the scene for safety," she said sarcastically, "Oh right, Mr. Kasten, I
did that, and perceiving the danger, I dove right in. Gotta love sophomore
heath class." She quickly dialed 911 as she knelt next to the still unconscious
girl.
The next moment a voice answered, she quickly interrupted the female
operator. "Yes, I have an emergency, my name is Serri Corazai. Unconscious
victim, she was choked, but she's breathing. Pulse is a bit weird, but I ain't
no doctor. Uh, location. The World Martial Arts Academy on 9715 Olive Street
Rd."
"How long has she been unconscious?" the woman asked.
"No more than ten minutes," Serri replied, for the first time a tremble
appeared in her voice. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, willing any
emotion away, at least for the time being.
"What is the victim's name?" she asked. "And age?"
"Abby Baker, seventeen," Serri replied, feeling her eyes well up with
tears, her hands were still shaking, but she refused to let it show in her
voice.
A few minutes later Serri could here the sirens, first the ambulance
arrived, then three police cars. Numbly Serri answered each of their
questionings. Both her parents and Abby's parent's showed up after that. The
paramedics said Abby would be alright. There would be some bruising, but
nothing permanent.
Mulder's apartment
Alexandria, Virginia
Wednesday, December 21
6:55PM
"Crap," Mulder said disgustedly as he finally managed to unlock his
apartment door and slip inside. He kicked the door closed behind him, and
flipped on the light switch. Dropping the thick case file on the coffee table,
he headed for the bathroom. Returning with a towel he managed to soak up most
of the water and melted ice which clung to his hair.
"Freezing rain and sleet," he growled to himself. Of course this would
come up just as a new X-Files had presented itself to him. And this one
definitely fit in the weird category. Mulder didn't know if it was supernatural
in origin, but it was definitely weird enough for him to jump when A.D. Skinner
had given him the case. Now his flight to Saint Louis had been canceled. He
had been to the city a few times in his career in the FBI. Apparently Skinner
knew the city well, and had actually looked amused when Mulder was enthusiastic.
Mulder had asked him what was so funny.
"The weather," Skinner had replied, to Mulder's confusion. That hadn't
really meant anything to him then. Now he imagined how much worse the weather
had to be there then here in Washington. Just then his lights flickered and
died on him. Mulder looked off to the side, then shook his head, rising to his
feet, and searched for flashlights and candles. He settled down on his couch,
then took out the case file, squinting at it in the dim light.
Yes, this case did have his complete attention. There had been several
murders in the Greater Saint Louis Area. Each had been different, killed in a
variety of different ways. One had been shot, one impaled with a crow bar, one
brutally and repeatedly stabbed, and one simply had the crap beat out of him.
The crime scene photos of that last one had been particularly brutal. Whoever
the assailant had been, had managed to draw out the person's death in one of the
most painful ways possible. Maximum pain, but minimum injury, until of course,
he killed her.
Two could be truly labeled as X-Files. One seemed as if the victim had
died of old age, his body just having been run down. However, the victim had
been a twenty-two year old basketball player for Saint Louis University-not
exactly an old man. The next was one of Mulder's frequently recurring cases
that never seemed to turn out how they were presented. Spontaneous Human
Combustion-but this time it seemed like the real deal. The lab and the
coroner's office had gone over the scene several times. There had been nothing
to act as an accelerant, no matches, no lighters; the clothes the victim had
been wearing were less than conducive for burning. It had been raining the
entire night of the murder, and the man had been found in Forest Park. From
what the crime scene revealed, he had been killed in the park, not moved from
another location.
Mulder leaned back, then leaned forward again. The cases weren't
connected, or at least, they hadn't appeared to be. The only thing that linked
them was the lack of evidence and the lack of a signature or modus operandi.
Skinner wanted him to offer his expertise on the two possible X-Files, but
Mulder wanted to review the other cases as well. Even for a city with a high
crime rate like St. Louis, this was odd. Perhaps it was a single killer, or
perhaps two working in tandem. Mulder didn't know yet. His first priority
would be the two X-Files.
Just as he pulled out the file folder for the man who had been burned
alive, the telephone rang. Mulder reached out to pick it up.
"Hello?" he asked, his voice distracted as he held up a photo of the wizened dead man.
"Mulder," the familiar voice on the other line said somewhat tiredly. "It's me."
Mulder smiled, putting down the photos and giving Scully his entire attention for the moment. "Hey, Scully," he said cheerfully. "How was your flight?"
"Terrible," she answered, a touch shortly. "Wind turbulence all the way."
Mulder winced in sympathy. "I'm sorry," he said, looking at the window as
a flash of lightning procured a low rumble of thunder. "Here's a terribly
mundane question, how's the weather? It sucks here. I'm sitting where trying
to review the case Skinner gave me and the power just went out about fifteen
minutes ago. Do you think my landlord will be angry if I burn down the
apartment complex from overuse of candles? It's slightly different than the
last flood disaster."
This time Scully actually chuckled aloud. "It's nice here," she said.
"I'm glad I took the early flight if its storming now."
"Ice, too," Mulder said, his tone a bit mournful. He changed his tone.
"So how goes it for the Scully Family Reunion?" he asked, his tone not
mocking in the least.
"Pray for me," Scully said as Mulder grinned. "The typical Christmas
chaos. So, what's the case?"
"Two actually," Mulder said, reaching for the report and laying it on his
lap. He leaned his elbow on his knee as his voice became slightly more
distracted. "Um, one twenty-two year old dies of old age after playing an all-
star game of basketball for St. Louis University. And another guy goes up into
flame. One of your personal favorites, Spontaneous Human Combustion." Mulder
paused, reflecting. "You know, in light of most of our cases, they really
should change the name from 'Spontaneous Human Combustion' to 'Carefully
Contrived Human Combustion'."
"Maybe you should suggest that to the person who coined that phrase,
Mulder," Scully said with amusement Mulder could here easily through the phone.
"Any evidence?"
"Nada," Mulder replied. "There's no connection between the murders,
either. And there has also been about five or six unsolved murders in St. Louis
in the last couple of years. One of those cases which start with no leads and
end with those, too. That itself could be a pattern." Mulder stared at the
pictures of the victims again, letting his mind absorb them, hoping to come up
with something.
"Mulder?" Scully asked through the phone.
"Nothing, Scully," Mulder said quietly. "There is something similar about
whoever's killing these people."
"What's that?" Scully asked, her voice holding the slightest touch of wariness.
"Rage," Mulder said, his voice soft and reflective. "terrible, consuming
rage. He kills because in his mind he has to. Something about these people
really ticked this guy off."
"So you do think they're connected," Scully said.
"Maybe," Mulder repeated. "Or this could just be something the murders
have in common. If it wasn't premeditated, then rage is common. And the way
the rest of the victims were killed? All very hostile, but that doesn't prove
they were connected. So I have to act under the assumption they were not."
"Good luck," Scully said. "Uh, I have to go. Dinner is in an hour or so,
and I have to help out."
Mulder smiled. "Get to work, Scully," he said teasingly. "Have a nice
vacation."
"Thanks, Mulder," she replied, then was gone.
Lambert International Airport
St. Louis, Missouri
Friday, December 23
3:55PM
Mulder walked outside of the airport into what he expected to be cold,
windy, December weather in the Midwest. Instead, he walked outside, into the
top floor of the parking garage. Mulder quickly shrugged off his coat, sweat
was already gathering on his forehead. It had to be at least seventy-five
degrees outside, with an impossibly warm breeze. This is insane, he thought to
himself, its nearly Christmas, and its some kind of Indian Summer out here.
Mulder stared at the bright, beautiful blue sky and shrugged it off. He wasn't
one to complain about nice weather.
"Special Agent Mulder?" a man asked, approaching from Mulder's right.
Mulder turned, squinting in the sunlight to face the tall, older man approaching
him.
"Detective Miller?" Mulder asked in realization as he reached out to
shake the other man's hand. He had dark gray eyes and short, salt and pepper
hair. His strong angular features bespoke of character and quiet patience, and
Mulder found himself immediately liking the man-something that didn't happen all
that often.
"That's me," the man said in a warm, mid-range voice. He gestured for
Mulder to walk with him. "I'll drop you off at the rental agency-this one's a
bit away from the airport and won't be as crowded. Hotel's smack dab in the
middle of downtown, and we don't have much of downtown-you know the way to the
Marriott?"
"Yes, sir," Mulder responded. "Anything turn up on any of the cases?"
"Nothing," Detective Miller admitted. "They're doing the autopsy of the
latest victim this afternoon."
Mulder slid into the passenger's seat of the navy blue car. "Latest
victim?" he asked, surprised.
"Yeah, we found another one, this one we know has a connection to an
attempted murder earlier this week, if not to any of the other murders. But it
is slightly . . . odd."
Mulder felt his heartbeat increase as he focused on the detective's words
with interest. "Odd in what sense?" Mulder asked, not bothering to shield his
curiosity.
"Conflicting stories," Detective Miller said with a quiet side. "The girl
that was attacked, Abby Baker, says a guy was in her car and had a kind of piece
of sharpened wood, a stake of some sort, and tried to stab her with it. The
victim we found this morning had been impaled with some kind of wooden object
through the heart."
"Another victim was impaled," Mulder noted. "Accept that was with a
crowbar through the abdomen."
"Right," the detective said. Mulder noticed his knuckles were white on
the steering wheel. "However, the more reliable of the witnesses, one Serri
Corazai, said the man had a knife. "Ms. Baker also claimed to be able to
describe the physical features of the attacker."
"You had a positive I.D.?" Mulder nearly exclaimed, he sat up straighter
in his seat.
Detective Miller slowly shook his head. "No," he said slowly. "Serri
told us the man had been wearing a ski-mask. Ms. Baker shouldn't have been able
to see anything."
"You know one of the witnesses?" Mulder asked, noting the first name
usage.
"Yes," the detective answered. "She and her sister were very good friends
of my daughter, Anne. I knew both of them, reliable, extremely reliable. Both
had good reputations among teachers and adults at the school and outside of
school-not an easy thing to accomplish as a teenager."
"No," Mulder admitted, he smiled slightly. "I sure didn't have one."
"Me either," the Detective said, flashing a quick grin as well.
"Hey," Mulder said. "Let's say I find my hotel later, let's go down to
the morgue and see if they have any new information about what has happened."
The detective shot him a grateful look. "Thanks. I am going to tell you a
couple of things. Everyone working the force thinks these murders are related.
I don't know, its just a feeling. We can't prove anything though."
"The evidence of the connection is in the lack of evidence," Mulder
muttered as he stared blindly out the car window."
"Exactly," the detective affirmed. His voice lowered to an intensity that
made Mulder look over at him. "Whether or not its one guy, this has to stop,
its tearing families a part." Detective Miller took in a deep breath, and
Mulder could see the pain in his eyes. "My daughter Anne was murdered last year
in a drive-by-they never caught the man who did it. No one else should have to
suffer the way we did, never knowing."
Mulder nodded, he couldn't agree more with Detective Miller.
They pulled up in a small parking lot to the city morgue and quickly entered in
the single door. Down the hall and inside was a coroner's office like any other
Mulder had been inside. He knew them particularly well because of Scully's
expertise as a pathologist.
"The doctor's already started," Detective Miller said as the two entered
through the door. Mulder's hazel eyes swept over everything in the room and
rested on the corpse. It was a tall, African-American man in his early
twenties. Mulder quickly swept over any connections to the earlier victim. An
oozing hole in his chest was painfully visible, as was the mangled necklace the
victim wore. Mulder took a step closer to the annoyance of the pathologist who
was just logging the case number. He barely made out the twisted remnants of a
cross, one similar to the small gold one Scully wore. Judeo-Christian
background, Mulder reflected. That is one similarity between the relativity
unconnected assortments of victims. That had been offered as a connection,
perhaps the killings were hate crimes. That however, hadn't fit the profile.
Hate crimes simply weren't this intelligent or well executed. The idiots that
committed those often bragged of their deeds in order to gain 'recognition for
the cause' or other such idiocy.
Mulder strode around the end of the autopsy bed, his eyes still on the
victims. He didn't want to stay for the entire thing, simply because he didn't
have Scully's nerves in this area-he'd be puking up his guts if he had to weigh
someone's intestines in what looked like one of those scales that measured fruit
in the grocery store.
A gleam of light caught Mulder's eyes, and he turned, fixing his eyes on
the back of the victim's head. He had no hair, so it was relatively easy for
Mulder to pick out what he was looking for. He crouched down until the man's
head was level with Mulder's eyes. A smattering of gold ink was arrayed in what
looked like a symbol.
"Excuse me," Mulder said, loudly interrupting the pathologist. "Did you
see this?"
The woman sighed loudly, and came around to look where Mulder pointed, she
turned, reached out to the tray and picked up a magnifying glass. Holding it in
front of the victims head, Mulder could just make out the symbol, it was omega,
the last letter of the Greek alphabet.
"Omega," Mulder said out-loud. The symbol was so small it could have been
overlooked.
"What?" the detective asked, he appeared shaken.
"Omega," Mulder said, "the last letter of-"
"-the Greek alphabet, I know," the detective finished. He quickly walked
over to the agent's side. "You found it on the back of his head?"
"Yes," Mulder said slowly. "Why?"
"Because Anne had a mark like that, too," the detective said slowly.