Disclaimer: I own nothing, except my own inventions.
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He hadn't needed to do anything. Housed in an under resourced and understaffed prison, when the fire alarm went off due to a fire starting in the southern quadrant, it had simply been a matter of slipping out with the prisoners in the evacuation and then disappearing into the crowd that gathered at the gates.
He had spent six years in that hellhole, thinking about that precious red hair, those well buffed nails, those delightful pieces that were the things of dreams. And now the thrill that came from being a free man was further fuelled by the knowledge that he could capture his desire once and for all.
Dana Scully was not going to get the better of him this time.
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Twenty two hours later he entered the house via the front door. Intent on looking around, any further exploration was halted by the arrival of a car in the driveway. Quietly closing the front door, he watches the side door open.
And then there she was framed in the doorway. His eyes are drawn to the fingernails on the fingers currently clutching two grocery bags in her arms. Even from his position, he could sense that her fingernails weren't up to his standard. The ring was going to have to go too.
This wondrous image was shattered when the door was pushed open further and two children ran into the room. He never felt shock, but there was a degree of something within him that heightened when the two children were followed by a man juggling a baby and two grocery bags of his own. Him!
Abducting his redhead this time was not going to be so easy this time and his plan was going to need to change. There would no bath at this residence tonight.
He slid away without a sound.
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When he returned later that night, the house was dark. He knew his way around, and walking toward the bedroom he finds his target asleep. Not only was she asleep, that man had various limbs wrapped around her.
He stepped quietly out of the room. There would be time enough for that.
Entering the next room, he mused that it was a shame that he didn't have a thing for children. The boy's hair was a shade darker than his mother's and the girl had the brown hair of her father.
There was nothing to be found here.
Leaving this room, he closed the door carefully as he crossed the hall and stepped into the next room. He could hear a phone ringing distantly in the background, but he ignored it as he stepped into moonlight beam cutting across the floor.
Stepping toward the crib up against the right wall, he saw a beautiful sight. There lay a little baby girl with wisps of red hair adorning her head. He could only see one hand – the other fisted up tightly – but those five little fingers and fingernails defied creation.
Perhaps it was time for him to experiment: mother and daughter.
Leaning over, he pushed his finger into the fist the baby was making, spreading her fingers as he looked down at ten digits of perfection. Moving, he places a gentle hand on the hair of the sleeping child. It was so soft, untouched by chemicals and abuse.
'Step away from my daughter,' said a low voice behind him. Rising, he turned.
Here was his problem each and every time, now standing in the doorway with a gun. 'How did you know?' he asked mildly.
'Prison called. Apparently Donald Pfaster died in a prison fire.'
'I didn't?'
'Figured you'd come back to finish what you started.'
He turned and reached into the cot, bringing out the unresisting baby from under the blankets and into his arms. Cradling the baby gently in his arms, he looked at the distraught man standing in front of him. 'What's her name?'
'Put her down.'
'You put it down.'
He watched as the man in front of him stood stock still for a moment before he placed the gun on the ground slowly and stood up once again, reaching his hands out. 'Give her to me.'
He said nothing as their eyes locked, his hand never stopping stroking the baby's downy hair as he could see the man in front of him desperately looking for a way out of this situation.
The silence is shattered some indeterminate time later by a small voice at the door. 'Daddy?' There stood the little brown haired girl rubbing her eyes as she tried to focus on him.
'Go back to bed sweetheart.'
'But what's going on? Why does the man have Char?'
Ah, so that was the child's name. Char – presumably short for Charlotte. Meaning little and womanly. How appropriate. It was always nice to know the names of your victims. It made the memories oh so much sweeter.
'It doesn't matter. Go back to bed.'
'But Daddy...'
'Please Izzie. Back to bed.' The tone had obviously done it as the little girl turned and fled from the room.
This impromptu visit had reignited the fire within the man in front of him. 'Give me my daughter.'
'You get what you want. I'll get what I want.'
'You're not having either of them,' swore the body slowly making his way toward him now. What did he think he was going to do?
'Put down my daughter,' said a new voice.
Turning to the short figure in the doorway, he saw past the gun pointed at him and noted the hair. Clearly motherhood had left her with little time to take care of herself. Well, he could solve that.
'Scully...' He still called her that. If he had this woman – which he would – she was going to be honoured and called by her name. Every strand. Every piece of flesh.
She ignored him.
'Put down my daughter,' she repeated, her eyes never leaving him.
He continued to stroke Charlotte's hair as he looked at the determined parents in front of him. Such love.
It was the cry of the child in his arms that was his undoing. He hadn't expected the little thing to wake up, and when Charlotte did, the cries were accompanied by much movement. When those green eyes opened and he stared into their depths as the crying intensified, time stopped.
What happened next was such a haze. Charlotte was snatched from his grasp before seconds later his shoulder was thrust back.
He only realised that he was now on the floor when his perception changed. The only one who had ever gotten away was now standing in the corner holding Charlotte. Even when the other two children ran toward their mother as their father approached him warily and blocked his view, his mind retained that image.
He was in love.
It was the last thing he thought before the blackness took over. There were two of them...