THIS STORY WAS NOT WRITTEN BY XSCOUT
Now that I have that out of the way, let me explain. This story was actually written by Fox's Gal back in 1999 because she wanted a better resolution than my character death story 'I Know Someone'. She had my full permission and later on we wrote Mulder's POV of this story in 'Not Without Permission', which will also be included on my page. I have left the story exactly how it was initially posted way back when so if there are any spelling or grammatical errors then I apologize, I didn't proofread this for sake of purity to the original author. I have solely included this on my page so that people will not be confused when trying to read 'Not Without Permission'. Sadly she doesn't have a fanfiction page so I cannot link any of her other works for you but it was an honor and a pleasure to have her write a story based on mine.
Everything from here on out is Fox's Gal's own words. Enjoy!
Summary: Agent Scully receives letters from a psychopath regarding Agent Mulder.
Disclaimer: Nope, I'm not Chris Carter in disguise. These characters do not even sort of belong to me, I'm just borrowing them for the time being to amuse myself. They really do belong to Chris Carter and 10-13 Productions as well as those Fox folks. The serial killer belongs to XScout who was gracious enough to lend him to me for the time being. Sydney Dawson Elizabeth Morris and Karen Williams are my characters however.
Author's Notes: This is a sequel to "I Know Someone" by XScout. I would recommend reading it because…well, because this is Scully's point of view and this isn't going to make a bean's worth of sense if you don't know what she's responding to. Though I did include the letters in this story, I still suggest you read it. Oh and one more thing: there is no character death in MY story. So go…read it…now. Then come back.
I'll Be Seeing You
July 4, 1998
Dana Scully was not enjoying herself. Given the way this Fourth of July barbecue was going, she would almost rather be back in the basement of the Hoover building working with Mulder on that damn profile. Instead, she was at her mother's house gathered in the back yard with the rest of the Scully clan trying to be personable and cheerful when what she really wanted to do was to tell Bill to shut the hell up for once. Her brother was getting on her nerves more so than usual today with his snide and rude remarks about "that guy, Mulder." She hated the way Bill said Mulder's name. He said it so contemptuously; it made her want to start referring to Bill in the same tone. She didn't because…well, because she was Dana and Dana was a better person than that. That's it, keep telling yourself that and maybe you'll start to believe it. Truth is you would really like to tell him exactly where he can shove that boat of his. She smiled secretly and glanced at her watch. It was nearly 6:00. She had somehow, through severe persuasion and intense cajoling, convinced Mulder to stop over and at least say hi. She neglected to tell him that Bill would be there though. Well, I'll make it up to him and buy him lunch or something. I shouldn't be the only one to suffer through this shit.
"Earth to Dana, earth to Dana. Are you there Dana?"
Apparently, Bill had been trying to get her attention for a few minutes. She smiled tightly and looked at her older brother, sincerely wishing it had been him who had been out at sea instead of Charlie. "Sorry Bill, I must have been woolgathering. What was that again?"
"I said, is that Mulder guy going to show up or what?"
Scully opened her mouth, ready to spit out a retort when she heard the distant thud of a car door. "I bet that's him now. I'll be right back." She sprinted into the house and opened the front door just as Mulder was about to knock. She surprised him and he gave a little start.
"You seem to constantly be trying to give me a heart attack Scully. What is it, are you trying to prove that my eating habits alone are enough to kill me and you're just around to help put the plan in motion?"
She grinned and pulled him inside. He was actually wearing khaki shorts and a pristine white T-shirt, his feet clad in boat shoes. (Boat shoes? Since when does he own boat shoes? She wondered.) She had been secretly afraid that he would have shown up in the previous night's work clothes since he had still been working on their latest file when she left the office that night. He really had been working himself too hard lately. Ever since the fire he had buried himself in his work even more so than usual. They might have their office cleaned up and restored, but there was a scar on both of their souls now that would take a long time to heal.
She knew he hadn't been sleeping well…well, he never did, really. But he also was barely eating enough to keep a gnat alive. She worried about him, she was well aware of that, but she wasn't about to admit it to him. He'd probably laugh it off and say she was mothering him. Well, someone has to. She thought.
He looked at her, a twinkle in his eye and a lopsided grin on his face. "You know Scully, for an FBI agent, you're pretty transparent."
"How do you mean?"
The grin widened. "Yes I have been home to sleep and I came with my appetite in tact, so lets have some burgers and potato salad or whatever it is you Scullys have for food around this joint." She turned and led him to the back yard.
She looked over her shoulder at him. "I should warn you, Bill's here and he's been asking about you."
Without breaking stride, Mulder turned around and headed back for the door.
Scully hurried after him. "Mulder, come on. You're not going to leave me out there with him, are you?"
"Do you really want an answer from a…let's see if I can get this right. A "sorry son of a bitch?""
"Yes, I want an answer from a sorry son of a bitch. That's the best kind of person to get answers from."
"No Scully, I'm sorry. No."
"Please Mulder? For me?" She tried the pitiful little smile he always gave her to get her to relinquish and give him his way. She wasn't sure, but she thought he was beginning to weaken.
"Scully…"
"Please?"
He looked at her for a long minute, studying her. He took a deep breath, as though he were preparing to face a guillotine. "Okay." They headed back for the yard together.
Aside from the verbal abuse from Bill, the rest of the evening was rather enjoyable. They all enjoyed the feast Mrs. Scully called a cookout and then piled into cars and headed off to the local high school to catch the fireworks. Rather than squeezing in with Bill, Scully opted to ride with Mulder. She wasn't sure whether she did it more because she wanted to, or because she knew it would irritate the hell out of Bill. What the hell, why not a little of both?
They sat on the grass together and "oohed" and "aahed" with the rest of the crowd, and for a moment, Scully felt like she and Mulder were just two regular people. They were normal people with normal lives and normal jobs.
It couldn't have been further from the truth.
Scully pushed that thought from her mind as she concentrated not only on the colorful bursts of light coming from the sky, but also on Mulder's close proximity. Their knees bumped when they were both sitting Indian-style and their fingers brushed when they stretched out on the grass. It was during one of these finger brushes that Mulder's fingers brushed her own and in the process, he slid her hand into his, allowing their fingers to intertwine. Scully thought it best to pretend not to notice. Inside, she reveled in the moment.
Once the fireworks were over, Mulder got up and helped Scully to her feet. They made their way back to the car, hand in hand. Mulder leaned his head in the general direction of Scully's ear. "I need to talk to you." He murmured.
She nodded.
Once at the car, Scully called out to her mother that she'd be by later to pick her own car up. She and Mulder had some things to take care of. Her mother nodded cheerfully while Bill glowered at both of them. Dana smiled sweetly at her brother and got into the car.
"So, what do you need to talk to me about?"
He took a deep breath. "Do you know anywhere around here where we can sit and get a good cup of coffee?"
"Sure."
She talked him through the narrow streets and led him to a coffee shop that she and her mother frequented when Scully stayed with her from time to time. Mulder parked and they walked across the street to the old fashioned cafe. Mulder opened the door for her and followed her inside. She chose a booth and he sat across from her. He was being extremely close lipped. In all actuality, it was bothering her quite a bit. They ordered coffees and once the waitress left the table, Mulder was ready to spill his guts.
"We have a problem."
Scully wasn't sure how to answer that. Yes, you could say that. The Smoking Man, The Consortium, Black Oil, Krycek, Agent Spender, Shapeshifting Aliens…yes Mulder, I think that's a pretty astute observation. She opted to say nothing and instead allow him to continue uninterrupted.
"This file we were assigned. I've been working on it. Putting a profile together and such." He clenched his jaw and Scully noticed that the muscle twitched.
"And the problem is…?"
"I…don't…think…" He paused and looked at her, afraid to go on. "I don't think you should be involved."
Stay calm Dana. Don't overreact. She looked at him levelly and raised an eyebrow. "May I ask why not?"
The waitress brought their coffees and Mulder proceeded to overload his with sugar and cream. More than likely, he was doing it to keep his hands busy. He was nervous, she could tell that rather easily.
"I'm learning things about this guy…after taking a closer look at the file already compiled on him…there's a reason he's never been caught Scully."
"What? What is it? Is he like some master of disguise or something?"
He shook his head. "We're not the first ones to get this case."
"Mulder, I'm waiting for you to get somewhere with this."
"Listen, this case started at the Georgetown PD, okay? A couple of missing persons became un-missing in a very unpleasant manner. Three people in as many months had been abducted and found about one month later, beaten beyond belief and murdered. Two detectives were working the case. There's just one problem though; someone conveniently failed to inform us that those detectives first assigned to investigate this guy had also been abducted. First was a man, Michael Donovan, kidnapped and missing for approximately three weeks. His partner turned up missing at that point. They were found less than a week later."
"What? Why weren't we informed of this?"
"Apparently whoever assigned you and me to this didn't think it was an important bit of information. But Scully, that's not the end of it. A month ago, when the detectives turned up missing, Georgetown PD turned this over to the FBI. Violent Crimes had it first."
"Not Agent Murphy…"
"One in the same."
Scully sat back and digested this. Agent Eric Murphy was an enthusiastic and well-liked agent in the VCS. She had always thought that he didn't seem the type to involve himself in the kinds of cases Violent Crimes specialized in. On a stakeout about a month before, he went to get some dinner for himself and his partner and never came back. Four weeks later, his mangled and mutilated body had recently been found floating in a water hazard at a golf course 20 miles away from where he had been staked out. It had been a big issue at the Bureau, causing the Assistant Directors to emphasize the importance of staying with your partner. Murphy had been a rather large man too. He had been roughly 6'3" and weighed in at about 200 pounds. What had been done to him had reduced his status to that of a rag doll. She hadn't done the autopsy, but from what she had heard, he had been so messed up, the coroner couldn't tell what might have killed him first. The rumor was that judging from the amount of water in his stomach, he might have actually been alive when he had been dumped in the water hazard.
"What does this have to do with us Mulder?"
"Scully, you're not going to like this…I don't think you should be involved in this. I really, really don't."
"Mulder, this is absurd. We're partners. You're intentionally going against the very thing that Skinner has been preaching to us."
"Scully, you haven't seen what I've seen."
She was unconvinced. "And that would be…?"
"The autopsy reports and photographs of Francine Taylor and Michael Donovan." He met her gaze as evenly as he could, but it was hard. The images of what was left of the two people were burned into his photographic memory; a man and a woman. It was nearly more than he could bear, even with his VCS background.
Their lists of injuries were more than he could even stomach. They both had only been dead approximately 12-15 hours when they were found. The man, Michael Donovan, had a shattered left tibia and fibula. His right thigh had been fractured in at least 6 different places; the pelvis had been nearly completely crushed; he had several bullet wounds, two went clean through his right thigh, one was lodged in his shoulder. He had eight broken ribs, several fractures in his skull, and finally the top seven vertebrae had been crushed. The final blow was probably what had killed him. He had suffered from malnutrition to such an extent that his skin was stretched tautly over his bones. The skin had also been cut with either razors or knives in what appeared to be some sort of pattern. Macabre modern art of some sort.
Francine Taylor had been his partner. She had fared no better at the hands of this psychopath. It was she who had convinced Mulder to dissuade Scully from the case. In life, Francine Taylor had been petite, about 5'4", with light brown hair and blue eyes. All in all, she had been a vibrant, attractive woman with a promising career ahead of her. That career had been squashed; possibly by one of several blows to the head, possibly by the raging infection that had spread throughout the various wounds on her body. She hadn't suffered the starvation her partner had suffered, possibly because she had only been missing a week. Her torso looked as though she had been beaten with either a switch or a riding crop. She had bruising all over her body; she too had broken ribs, fractures in both legs, one hand had been completely crushed, all of the bones smashed into miniscule pieces. Her skin too, had been marred with a razor, the bloody swipes making some sort of odd pattern. Her face looked nothing like the pictures he had of her. Her bottom lip was split open and her jaw was shattered. There had been extensive sexual abuse, but Mulder hadn't wanted to hear the details.
He looked at Scully and fought to keep the images of Francine Taylor from superimposing over her face. Unbidden, pictures of Scully in that unfortunate woman's place kept surfacing in his mind. Fuck Skinner and fuck his damn policies. I'd rather die than see her hurt and he's just going to have to deal with that. He didn't realize that Scully had been staring at him, intently. "What?"
"I said, was it the same MO as the others?"
He nodded, "Yeah, pretty much."
"I'm not doing this Mulder."
He had misunderstood her, and for a moment was relieved. "I'm so glad because…"
"I'm staying on the case."
His mouth went dry. "Scully, please…please don't do this."
"Mulder, how can you possibly think this is fair? You don't want me to work with you on this case because I'm a woman. Admit it. That's the reason."
He buried his head in his hands. No…no, that's not the reason. The reason is because I couldn't bear for that to be you. He sighed deeply. "Fine."
They sat in uncomfortable silence, nursing their coffees. Scully was glad she had another day in this holiday weekend to get over being so damn angry with Mulder. Mulder was trying to figure out how he could not get his partner involved in this case. He knew it was going to be another sleepless night for him. He looked at his watch: 12:42 a.m. Or another sleepless morning as the case may be. He was feeling restless and planned on going for a good hard run when he got back to his place. That was usually how he came up with his best ideas and theories. Of course, he couldn't tell Scully this, she'd laugh and say that some of his theories sounded like they had been conceived in the wee hours of the morning while he was running around like a lunatic. This time, he had to figure out how to keep Scully out of this at all costs.
July 5, 1998
2:05 a.m.
After Mulder had dropped her off at her mother's house, Scully opted to stay the night rather than drive home. There was still a light on in the house and Scully knew her mother had waited up for her. She let herself in and went upstairs to where Maggie Scully was keeping herself occupied by reading a very thick suspense novel. Dana eased the bedroom door open and knocked lightly.
"Come in, dear." Mrs. Scully patted the bed and Dana sat down.
She glanced at the book her mother was reading. "The butler did it." She said wryly.
"No dear, the butler's the one who's dead."
"So it was the chauffeur." She smiled.
"Speaking of chauffeurs, did you and Fox have a nice ride?"
Dana groaned inwardly. "Not particularly."
"What's the matter this time?"
"Well, for some reason he doesn't want me to get any more involved with this case we're working on."
"Fox doesn't want you to work on an X-File with him?"
"Well…" It was such a long story how they even got this case to begin with. "It's not exactly an X-File. We're helping out the Violent Crimes Unit and just happened to be handed this particular file. Nothing paranormal from what I can tell. It's just one sick bastard. A sadomasochistic monster, your run of the mill psychopath from what I can tell."
"I can't imagine why Fox wouldn't want you involved."
Scully detected the note of sarcasm in her mother's voice. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It's supposed to mean that I, for one, can see why Fox might not want you to be involved. I'm sure it is a very disturbing case and I'm also sure that he has his reasons."
"Why do you have to be so logical?"
"Where do you think you get it from, dear? Now, you go off to bed and I'm sure if you give Fox a call in the morning, you two will be able to iron everything out. You usually do. And if you think it will help, invite him over for brunch. My blueberry pancakes can perform miracles on a man. Especially a stubborn one like Fox."
Scully smiled and hugged her mother. Talks that she had with her always left her feeling better. She couldn't understand it. She closed the door silently behind her and headed for her old room.
She slept, but there was no rest for Dana Scully. Her mind was filled with images she couldn't piece together, feelings of intense fear and screams. Agonizing screams that could have well come from the gates of hell itself. She woke up a mere 4 hours later covered in sweat, adrenaline racing, heart pounding. She couldn't explain it, but she knew she had to talk to Mulder. She was ready to step away from the case for him. Something about him last night had really disturbed her. There was something that he couldn't tell her, and she wasn't sure if she really wanted to know. She sat up in bed, knowing for a fact that her sleep for the night was quite over. She got up and made her way silently to the kitchen where she could, at the very least, start some coffee.
The first cup from the coffeepot was in her hands and she looked at the microwave numbers glaring at her in the semidarkness of the kitchen: 6:25. She knew that Mulder wouldn't have even gotten back to his apartment until at least 2:30, depending on how fast he decided to drive. She hated calling him so early, but somehow she had the feeling he'd be up. Dana grabbed the kitchen phone and quickly dialed Mulder's home phone. She let it ring until the answering machine picked up.
"I know you've probably turned off the ringer, but I wanted to let you know that I'm ready to step away from this for you. Why don't you give me a call at my mom's house and we'll discuss it further over brunch?" She had half expected him to pick up the phone at the mere mention of food, and was disappointed when he did not. He must really be tired…
Brunch had come and gone and still there had been no word from Mulder. Scully assumed that he was probably pouting over their late night discussion and she would have to wait until Monday before she could talk any sense into him. She still tried to call his apartment as well as his cell phone, but there was no answer. By the time she was at her own apartment she gave him one more call before she settled into bed for the night. It was 11:30 and he had not returned a single one of her calls. That was very unlike him.
Scully could not ignore the niggling in the back of her mind that there was something wrong. There was something very wrong.
2 hours later…
Scully was still awake. She knew that sleep was going to elude her until she was sure that Mulder was all right. She sat up in bed and looked at the glowing red digits on her alarm clock: 1:30. She knew that he should be up. He was always up at the oddest times. She grabbed the phone and dialed Mulder's number. She let it ring, and she let the answering machine pick up, and she left a message.
"Mulder, I know you're probably mad at me right now. Please, if you are there, please pick up the phone." She listened to the silence, sighed, and hung up. Her message had not gone unheard, however. The eavesdropper listened to the concern in Dana Scully's voice and smiled.
July 6th
4:45 a.m.
Scully had made coffee, did a calisthenics routine she hadn't tried since her days at Quantico, showered, dressed, painted her nails, and sewed a button back onto the jacket to her favorite slate blue pantsuit. There was nothing left for her to do but go into work. She had called Mulder several more times, but this time not even the answering machine picked up. She hung up, tears stinging her eyes. She knew there was something up, and she knew that it went beyond the typical "Mulder-Ditch." It was time to take action. She grabbed her briefcase and umbrella and headed out the door into the predawn fog.
Traffic was obscenely light as she made her way to the Hoover building. She was going over in her mind exactly what she was going to tell AD Skinner. Somehow, she thought, just telling him that Mulder had disappeared without a trace wasn't likely to raise any concerns. Skinner was only too aware of Mulder's bad ditch habit. Scully thought furiously about how she was going to explain to the Assistant Director that she was doing something that she often chastised Mulder for: playing hunches. Scully knew in her gut that there was something dreadfully wrong with Mulder. Not answering his phone; that she could come up with countless explanations for. Not answering his cell phone? That was a lot tougher. In typical Scully fashion, she tried to think of some conclusive evidence that she could give to Skinner that would prove to him as well as to her that something was amiss.
An idea came to her. Instead of heading on into work like she had originally planned, Scully got off at the nearest exit and headed instead to Mulder's apartment in Alexandria. She found a decent parking spot near his building and noticed, as she made her way up the sidewalk, that Mulder's car was there. Hope surged up into her chest as she quickened her pace. She waited impatiently for the elevator and after what seemed to be an eternity, she found herself hurrying down the hall to his apartment.
Once there, she rapped on the door several times. Her heart thudding in her ears, she leaned against the door and tried to make out any sort of noise. Scully found that she was afraid to go inside. Her hand trembling, she tried the doorknob. It was locked. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her key ring. She inserted Mulder's key into the lock and turned it. The lock clicked. Scully held her breath as she pushed the door open.
Oh my God. Oh God, this is bad. This is very, very bad.
The apartment was a wreck. It looked like someone had gone through it with a bulldozer. Books were toppled off of the shelves, drawers were pulled out and their contents dumped on the floor, his desk was on it's side, his computer lying on the floor in pieces. The couch cushions were pulled from the couch and were lying on the floor, ripped open. Everywhere she looked, Mulder's personal things had been violently violated. Miraculously, the fish tank hadn't been touched. Scully wanted so badly to clean the place up for Mulder, but she knew that this was now a crime scene and touching anything would be a severe breach of protocol. She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and glanced at her watch. It was 5:30. This was too important to wait for the AD to wake up and get into the office. She tried his home first. Scully wasn't surprised when he not only answered the phone but also sounded awake while doing so.
"Hello?" His voice sounded tight over the phone. Perhaps because he knows that good news never comes this early in the morning.
"Sir? It's Agent Scully. I'm at Agent Mulder's apartment. I think you should get over here as soon as possible."
"Is there something the matter with Mulder, Agent Scully?"
"It would appear so Sir. His vehicle is parked outside, his apartment is in shambles and he is nowhere to be found." She was struggling to keep the panic out of her voice. That's it Dana, calm, cool, and collected. Keep your head. It doesn't do anyone any good to get hysterical. She quelled the rising panic she was feeling and took control of herself. Skinner was saying something about being over right away and that he would organize a team as well. He instructed Scully to stay put and to try and get an idea of what, if anything, the person who did this was looking for.
Scully looked around again, trying to force the realization into her mind. Mulder was in danger. Of that, she was completely and utterly sure. She walked around, careful not to step on anything breakable. Mulder's desk chair lay on it's side near the overturned desk. She righted it and sat down, trying to absorb what was going on around her. She felt her eyes burn and a sob rise in her chest. She pushed it back away far deep inside her. She willed the tears back from where they came. She realized that the longer she sat there, the harder it was going to be to keep her composure. She got up out of the chair and headed for the door. She would wait for Skinner and his brigade of agents in the hallway. As she walked past the couch, something caught her eye…or maybe it was the lack of something. Mulder's answering machine was missing. Her mind raced back to the previous night. When did I leave that last message? What time was it? She closed her eyes. She had sat up in bed and looked at the alarm clock…it had been about 1:30 in the morning. She had made her first call to Mulder's number at around 4:30 or so. The answering machine hadn't picked up then. That was about a three hour window to figure out who might have done this and when. The longer she stood in that apartment, the more sure she was of the severity of Mulder's situation. She walked out the door and waited in the hallway.
It wasn't more than a half an hour later when the AD arrived on the scene. That's what it is now Dana. It's a crime scene. It's not Mulder's apartment any more. It'll be his apartment again once he's back in it safe and sound. She heard herself giving Skinner a full account of what had happened to her knowledge. She mentioned that she had been trying to get in contact with Mulder all day Sunday. She noted the time of her final message to Mulder as well as the next call that did not give way to the answering machine. Skinner nodded, aware of the three-hour window without her having to specify.
Scully felt strange, detached. She felt as though the entire situation was happening outside her body. She wasn't the one experiencing these feelings of rage and helplessness, it was some other poor woman. Some other woman's life was being ripped to shreds. Not hers. Not Dana Katherine Scully's life. Her life was a neat little package all wrapped up with a bow. Granted, the wrapping job might have been a little skewed, but all the same, she liked the wrapping job. A little voice in the back of her head screamed at her that someone had attacked her package and tore the paper and bow off of it, leaving what lay underneath exposed and vulnerable.
Without meaning to, Scully had become lost in a fog. Granted, the fog was in her own mind, but it was still making it very difficult to concentrate. She could barely hear what Skinner was saying to her. Something about her taking some time off. She was too close to this. She shook her head, not so much to disagree with Skinner, but more to rid her mind of the confusion. He was still talking to her. She looked at him and concentrated on what words his lips were forming.
"…time off…be assured…find him…take a step away…go home…"
She swallowed and the apartment suddenly felt very stuffy. She nodded and agreed with everything Skinner was saying. She needed to get the hell out of there.
She wasn't about to go home though.
Scully got into her car and tried to force her mind to pay attention. This was too important not to. She closed her eyes and took some deep cleansing breaths. She needed to be where Mulder was. She needed to feel him. She couldn't do that here. She had to go to the basement. Their basement.
Mulder and Scully's Basement Office
10:26 a.m.
Scully was fighting a major migraine. She had been in the office since nearly 6:30. She wasn't sure what she expected to find, but she didn't much care as long as everything was in one piece. Given the security around that place, if their office had in any way been disturbed, surveillance cameras would have picked out the guilty party. Security had been stepped up considerably since the fire. It might have been her imagination, but Scully could still smell the charred scent of smoke as if it clung to every wall of the building. Their work, their quest, their history went up in cinders in what had only been a matter of minutes. On the one hand, Scully wondered how anyone could just waltz into a federal building and set the basement on fire. On the other hand, Scully marveled that They had gone this long without resorting to such tactics.
Everything was gone. The poster. That silly "I Want To Believe Poster." The first thing she laid eyes on when she first walked into that office. It was the same office, just refurbished with new filing cabinets and new furniture. There was no new poster though. She wasn't sure Mulder would even want a new one. She probably missed it more than he did.
While she was relieved to find the office in order, Scully almost wished that she had found it disturbed. It would have put her one step closer to finding Mulder, she was sure.
Skinner had already been down. His orders for her to go home were met with deaf ears. Scully didn't want to consider it. The last place she needed to be was at her apartment. There was nothing there for her. Mulder wasn't there. Mulder was here. He was here in so many aspects: The suit jacket thrown haphazardly across the swivel chair, the open bag of sunflower seeds on his desk, the row of sharpened pencils just waiting to be thrown into the ceiling and the half empty bottle of iced tea sitting on the desk. Scully felt a smile creep on to her lips as she mused where he was hiding a new stash of porno tapes. The smile faded quickly though.
She was adamant that she would stay for only as long as she needed to. Skinner made her promise that she wouldn't stay longer than she needed to, but the thing was, Scully knew that she would need to stay for a very long time.
At the moment, she sat with several file folders spread open in front of her. She had her glasses perched on her nose as she studied every note taken on the entire case. She read the autopsy reports. Bit by bit, she began to realize why Mulder asked her not to continue on this case. As the pieces came to her, she began to compose a time line. In the process, she also began to compare similarities of the victims.
Apparently, the three missing persons that started the Georgetown PD investigation had not been related in any way, shape or form. Then, two detectives become victims, then a federal agent, and then one more federal agent. Scully digested this and thought there was something odd about Francine Taylor's involvement. For a moment, Scully excluded her from her notes. Without Ms. Taylor, the victims were all male, law enforcement officers, aged 35-40. All were of impressive stature, and all had female partners. It was this fact that gave Scully a rather sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. All victims, save Mulder, had been missing for approximately one month before they were found dead. They all incurred similar injuries to such an extent, the cause of death had been questionable. Scully glanced at the calendar on the wall. She had four weeks to find Mulder alive.
This realization sparked something in Scully. Urgency took over and grief took a back seat. She began gathering all the information Mulder had accumulated on this case. They'd only been on it for about a week, and he had put together a rather unimpressive file. Inside the file folder were autopsy reports, interviews and the beginnings of Agent Murphy's work. Scully felt a gnawing in her brain. There was very little mention of Agent Murphy's partner. She was a new agent, Murphy had been her very first partner. Scully knew her casually, her name was Elizabeth Morris. She was a tall athletic woman with black hair and light green eyes. She was also first on Scully's list to talk to about this incident. Underneath her most recent notes, she wrote Agent Morris's name. That would wait a little longer. There were more pressing things she needed to get in order. A trip to Mulder's apartment was now necessary, regardless of how painful it was going to be. There was something that this killer had been looking for and Scully needed to know what that thing was and if he had found it.
The chances of her being able to get into his apartment today were somewhere between slim and none. She knew that Skinner would be down any moment now to inform her that she was going to be forced to take a leave of absence. It was time to make some photocopies for her own reference. She knew that she shouldn't be doing this. She knew that of all the times to follow protocol, this should be one of those times. But she also knew that if she didn't do something, it was going to cost Mulder's life. He had put his life on the line for her before. He had broken rule after rule to ensure her safety. It was time now for her to do the same. She made copies of everything in the inch-thick file folder and slipped it inside her briefcase. Then she returned the file to the file cabinet. She checked her watch and started up to Skinner's office. She would take her leave voluntarily. Anything to give her more time to focus on the situation at hand.
Dana Scully's Apartment
11:48 PM
She was getting frustrated. Of all of the things in that case file, there was scarcely anything that was of use to her. Scully found the profile that Mulder had done as well as some preliminary interviews. Most of what made up the bulk were the reports that the other individuals who had had the case had started. Not surprisingly, there was very little in those reports as well; especially since they practically mirrored each other. Scully resisted the urge to hurl the folder and it's contents across the room. Instead, she took off her glasses and stood up to stretch.
She had gone into AD Skinner's office to notify him that she was going to be taking an administrative leave of absence. He had been surprised, since he had suspected that he was going to have to force her to do so. He had also seemed suspicious of her motives at first. Scully had given him her best "of course I'm on the level here" look. He was so used to Mulder pulling things over on him, he had started to suspect Scully of the only difference is that he doesn't expect it of me. I suppose that works to my advantage here.
For the time being, the main investigation going on was the disappearance of Agent Fox Mulder in conjunction with the other disappearances and murders. The team presently working on the case was not optimistic about finding Mulder alive. Most of them were also afraid of being targeted themselves. Scully didn't doubt the abilities of the team that Skinner himself had hand picked, but she knew that if anyone could find the missing agent, it was she. Or at least, she had thought she knew. At the moment, even Scully was having her doubts. Scully looked at her dining room table, now covered with papers, and felt an overwhelming sense of defeat. She and Mulder had been working that case for a week and this was all they had been able to come up with? A profile and some interviews? Mulder, we did more than this. I know we did. And that's not even the right profile…that one isn't typed up…what the hell is going on here? She sat down and picked up the offending sheet. I distinctly remember looking at the profile you did for this creep, and I distinctly remember it being typed. Mulder, what have you done? She bit her lip and read.
Suspect is at least between the ages of 35-40, clean cut most likely. Muscular build, at least 6'/200 lbs. Probably works out at a gym. He is of above average intelligence, probably a B student in high school, maybe better in college. Might have studied medicine, but didn't pass the boards.
Suspect probably came from an abusive family. Has a history of physical/sexual/emotional abuse. Comes from a well off family, yet there was abuse in the home. His parents were divorced when he was young; pre-elementary school age. His mother remarried shortly afterwards. His stepfather abused him. College and medical school became an escape for him.
He would have tortured small animals as an adolescent. Small dogs and cats mostly. Would later turn to self-mutilation. Probably has scars and tattoos. These markings will be on indiscriminate parts of his body: the back, shoulders, buttocks, upper thigh.
Torture he inflicts on his victims would make a great deal of noise. Suspect probably lives in either a very isolated area or the inner city where no one will hear him or pay him any attention. Not the suburbs, not a town, not an apartment building.
It was pitifully short for one of Mulder's profiles. Scully couldn't get over her surprise at the conciseness of this one. Usually he went into so much more detail. It was almost like he would step into the person's mind and then record whatever came to mind. Scully used to refer to his method of profiling as a "psychotic free-write." It may be short, it may be incomplete, but it's all that I have right now. It will have to do. Scully gathered everything into a stack so that she could comb through every word and jot her own thoughts down. She was no profiler, but there was no time like the present to give it a go. She stood up again to get a fresh pad of paper when her eye caught something on the floor next to her chair. It was a small, yellow piece of notepaper. Scully stooped to pick it up and noticed that there was something scrawled in Mulder's handwriting. What the hell? Where did that come from? She picked up the scrap of paper and looked around for where it might have come from. It had been wadded up and smoothed out. How odd…Just then, she remembered. The week before, Mulder had been over at her apartment and they had just begun research on this case. They had ordered pizza and Mulder offered to pay. He had been sitting where she was right now and began to dig through his wallet for exact change. She remembered the yellow scrap because of what had been written on it.
Meet F.T. 5/29 home. Bring PRO.
She had teased him then about meeting a woman and he had shrugged it off, never giving her any explanation. He wadded up the paper and stuck it in the pocket of his jeans. Apparently, he had not stuck it in all the way, since it had been sitting there on the floor. Realization suddenly hit her.
F.T. Francine Taylor. He was meeting with Francine Taylor. But Francine Taylor's dead. Why would he…? She answered the question before she could even finish it. She wasn't dead May 29.
Things were beginning to open up before Scully that she had never expected. She felt a sudden rage against Mulder come over her. Her eyes filled up with tears as she wadded up the paper into a tight ball and threw it across the room. "You bastard!" She yelled, tears coursing down her cheeks. "You knew and you didn't tell me! You Godddamned bastard!" She shouted at the empty apartment. Her anger was so sudden and so intense that it scared her. So many times in their partnership, he had left her to pursue leads on his own. He had claimed over and over again that he didn't want to involve her or put her in any danger. As many times as she had gotten mad at him, lectured him, yelled at him…he continued to ditch her.
But this was too much.
There was nothing she could do by that point but rest her head on her arms and release all of her sadness, guilt, anger and helplessness. That night, she cried long and hard; her heart breaking at what might be the final "campaign of misinformation" her partner would ever willingly participate in. At some point, Scully didn't know when, she fell asleep like that, slouched over the table, resting her head in her folded arms. It was well past midnight; approximately 48 hours since she had last seen Mulder. It had already felt like 48 days.
July 7, 1998
4:38 AM
She wasn't sure what woke her up. It might have been the feeling of pins and needles that had overtaken her left arm. It might have been the cramping, aching neck and back muscles. It might have been the nightmares. Scully was pretty sure that it was the latter. She had dreamt of Mulder. She was running toward him, trying to find him, but never succeeding. She ran into door after door, wall after wall trying to find him. When she did find him, it had been far too late. Far too late to help him, far too late to apologize for her anger, and far too late to tell him how she felt about him. Every time she closed her eyes now, she saw the bruised and broken face of her partner. There would be no more sleep for her tonight.
Instead, she stood up and listened to the chorus of cracks and creaks that followed. She rubbed her face and wandered into the bathroom to take a wake up shower. She looked in the mirror at herself and soon wished she hadn't. My God, I haven't looked like this since…her mind trailed off. Since my cancer. Since Mulder broke every rule in the book and snuck into that secret room and stole the cure. Oh Mulder, where are you? She ran the water as hot as she could stand it and stepped into the shower. She had been running through her last hours with Mulder in her head. The whole thing, his arrival at her mother's house to their strained ride back home, went through her mind over and over again. Scully's analytical mind was trying to pick out something, anything that would give her a place to start. Usually as hard as Mulder might have tried to keep things from Scully, she could always see through the facade. She kept trying to pick his words and actions apart. She wasn't getting anywhere. Instead of her mind analytically picking Mulder's words and actions apart; she was remembering his warm fingers entwined with her own during the fireworks show. The scent of his musky cologne assaulted her nose, the earnestness in his green eyes as he asked her to step back from the case became clear in her memory.
Dana swiped at the tears in her eyes with a soapy hand, getting soap in her eye in the process. The pain made her curse. Her mind wandered back to her first phone call to what was Mulder's empty apartment. She had been in her mother's kitchen joking about Mulder's stubborn streak being softened by her mother's blueberry pancakes. Her mother. She hadn't told her mother. Oh shit. She couldn't bring herself to do it. Mulder was like a son to her mother. That's exactly why you need to tell her. You need to tell her Dana, and you know it. Scully steeled herself for what was going to be a very difficult visit. It was time to turn off the water and face the world. This was no time for a simple phone call.
Maggie Scully's Residence
7:45 AM
Scully let herself into the house. Her hands were trembling so much she could barely turn the key in the lock. She was greeted by the sight of her mother reading the morning paper while enjoying a cup of coffee. Maggie Scully looked up at her daughter in surprise. To say she hadn't been expecting her would have been an understatement. A smile began to light across her face until she saw her daughter's expression.
"Dana, what's the matter? Are you alright?"
Scully couldn't answer her. Her eyes filled with tears as she bit her upper lip.
"Dear, what's the matter?" She was up and heading toward her daughter. Mrs. Scully's face went ashen. "Dana, has your cancer come back?"
Scully swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and shook her head. I only wish. "It's Mulder. Mom, Mulder's gone."
"What do you mean he's 'gone'?"
"He was kidnapped, Mom. He's gone. Not a trace of him anywhere. His apartment was trashed. He's…gone."
"Fox has been abducted? Do you have any idea…? Do you know who's taken him?"
"I have an idea…but I can't be sure and there's no way to find out. Mom…I don't know what to do. He could be dead already." Her composure was threatening to break again.
"Dana, do you believe that? Do you believe that Fox is dead? Because, if you do, you've lost him half-way already."
She thought about this. "I don't know if I think he's still alive, or if I want him to be alive so badly…"
"Dana, of all of the times you need to have faith that Fox is alive, this is one of the most important." She led her daughter to the couch. The two women sat down; Maggie pulled her daughter into her arms. Dana's protective wall began crumbling. It collapsed on itself as Maggie began patting her back soothingly. Dana's body shook with sobs and unintelligible mumbles. Her mother only continued in her attempt to soothe her.
About 20 minutes later, Dana's tears had subsided and her trembling had ceased. She sat in silence next to her mother. Her mind was going miles per minute trying to pull herself together.
"Dana, do you have any idea how many times I didn't know whether your father was dead or alive?"
The question had come out of nowhere. Dana could only look at her mother and shake her head. She didn't trust her voice.
"It was pretty often actually. More often than any woman should have to deal with. He would be out on a ship and I'd be home with you kids. It was the not knowing that killed me."
Scully thought about this. She never once remembered her mother betraying any of these feelings in front of the children. Part of her strength, I suppose. "What did you do? How did you get through it?"
"I knew that he wouldn't leave me. I just knew that he would never desert his family."
"But…"
"Dana, it's all in the mindset. Fox would not leave you. Just like you'd never leave Fox."
11:38 AM
En Route: Dana Scully's Apartment
Scully hadn't expected the visit to turn out like it had. She didn't know what she had expected, actually. She stayed for awhile, talking with her mother. Mrs. Scully had given Dana hope. She had also done a decent job of restoring her faith that she would find Mulder alive. She was never so thankful to have such a wonderful mother. Dana Scully had no idea that after she had left, Maggie Scully shed tears of her own for her adopted son.
She pulled into her parking space at her apartment complex and noted that the mail truck was just leaving. She glanced at her watch. Early…well, it's here, might as well get it. Scully went to her little mailbox and turned the key. The door swung open and she retrieved the contents that lay within. While walking up to her apartment, she began thumbing through her mail.
"Bills, bills, I might have won $1 million dollars, more bills…" She stopped, not trusting herself to go any further. In her hands was a plain white envelope with her name written on it in Mulder's careful script. The feeling that went through her was a mixture between surging hope and debilitating nausea. She wanted to sit on the floor and read it that moment, but she didn't trust her emotions enough to. She then bolted up the stairs to her door.
Once inside the apartment, she leaned against the closed door and slid to the floor. She carefully opened the letter, sure not to damage the contents within. She pulled out a single sheet of white notepaper. The sight of Mulder's handwriting at once soothed and worried her. She looked at the words without reading them. She was almost afraid to read what he had written. Finally, a voice inside her head told her that she had spent enough time looking at the letter and it was about time to read it.
July 5, 1998
Dear Scully,
It's an ungodly hour in the morning and I've just returned from dropping you at your mother's house. There are so many things I haven't told you about what's going on, and I have decided that it's time for you to know. I have only come to this decision after a lot of thought, because if you don't know what I know…no one will ever know. God, that sounds cryptic, even for me.
If what I have anticipated to happen has happened, then I am gone. Otherwise I would have filched this before you ever got your little hands on it. So, I'm letting you know that I am aware of what's going on. I'm gone. I don't know where I am, and I don't know where I'll be. I do know that you're probably ready to kill me right now though.
I don't know how much you've figured out on your own with this case. I can only assume that you've been forced to take leave, or you've taken it voluntarily. I also can only assume that you're concerned as to my present whereabouts. Trust me, I am too. I've done something that you may never be able to forgive me for, and if you never do…well, know I have my reasons. I hope to be able to explain it all to you in vivid Technicolor. I hope to be able to explain it to you at all.
There is something waiting for you at TLG HQ. God, I hope you know what I'm referring to, or I'm in deep shit. Please go there and get what I've left for you. If you're angry (I know, I know…you're probably mad as hell right now) please don't take it out on them. They have no idea what's going on, only that they have something for you and you'll be picking it up. If you care to share this with them, by all means, do so.
Right now, I'm off to go for a jog as well as to drop this in the mailbox. I need to clear my head. I hope to see you tomorrow, but somehow, I don't think I will. There are things I want to tell you, Scully. Things that I want to say in person. I know I'll be seeing you.
And you'll be seeing me.
Always,
Mulder
She didn't know what to do after reading that. She rested her head against her knees and tried to begin to sort things out. There was a dull throbbing coming from somewhere in her head. A mantra began to keep in time with the throbbing. He did this on purpose. Over and over again, this played in her head. It didn't sink in. It wouldn't sink in. Not even Mulder would do something so utterly moronic. Not even Mulder would intentionally stick himself in harm's way to…Save me? Would he? God, no…no, he wouldn't do that. Her mind snapped back to all of the times she had been the one dying, she had been the one in danger. Donnie Pfaster, Eugene Tooms, Cancer, the shapeshifter who was after that clone of Samantha…Had he really done such a thing? Had he actually sacrificed himself, literally?
Hold on there Dana. Mulder's a bright boy. He must have seen the pattern that was forming in the victims. There was no way…he would never have come after me. I was never in any danger, Mulder.
"Oh Mulder, what have you done?" She hadn't realized she had spoken out loud until she heard the words echo through her own ears. "Great Dana, now you're talking to yourself. Let's see how much further Mulder can push you over the edge this time, shall we?" You won't know for sure how far he's pushed you until you get that package he's talking about. Just the idea that Mulder had premeditated this made her sick to her stomach. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know what exactly was in that package. She couldn't very well let it go though. She had to go see Langly, Frohike, and Byers. Scully only wished the visit could be a happier one.
TLG Headquarters
1:07 PM
Frohike was quick to open the door. Scully watched his face split in a smile at the sight of her. He really has no idea. She actually liked visiting them here; they always made her feel welcome. This time, she wished that the circumstances were different.
"Agent Scully, what brings you to these parts? You've finally accepted your undying love for me?"
The beginnings of a smile bent her lips. She shook her head. "I understand you have something for me?" She was beginning to totally distrust her voice. It was giving out at the most inopportune moments lately.
Frohike nodded and bustled over to a table that held a monstrous piece of computer equipment. Langly was hunched over the computer, typing furiously. Byers was nowhere to be seen. Frohike came up to her, a very large and exceptionally thick envelope in his hands. Taped to the top of the envelope was a smaller white one. Mulder's scrawl was unmistakable across the front of the white envelope.
Scully.
She took the package into shaking hands that did not go by unnoticed by Frohike.
"What's happened? Mulder came by the other night at some ungodly hour and drops this off for you. He said you might come by and pick it up in a few days. He didn't say a word to us about where he was going or what he was doing. Now, you've shown up and, I'm sorry, but you look worse than you have in your entire life. Where is Mulder?"
Be strong, Dana. "He's gone. I'm not entirely sure of any details, but I believe he's been kidnapped by a suspect we had been investigating for the past week. I'm hoping that this will help me find him."
"Is this a formal investigation?"
"There is one going on, but I don't have the time to wait for them. Frankly, I don't think Mulder has the time to wait for them either."
"That sounded like a loaded statement."
She sighed. This was going to be very hard. "I found a distinct pattern in this serial killer's MO. He kidnaps his victims and tortures them. After a month, they're found dead; their bodies dumped for anyone to find."
"How long has he been missing?"
"I last saw him at about 2 AM, July 5th."
"So he's been missing for about two days."
God, had it only been two days? It felt so much longer. She looked at her watch. 1:15 PM. She did some quick math. She had last seen Mulder approximately 59 hours, 15 minutes ago. She didn't want to correct Mulder's friend, so she nodded.
"If you need us…" He trailed off. Again, she nodded.
"I'll be in touch." She turned for the door.
"And Agent Scully?"
"Yes?"
"When you see him again, tell him that this is giving him an unfair advantage over me in acquiring your affections."
She smiled again. She nearly laughed, but not quite. She turned the handle on the door and let herself out. The sunlight was so bright, it was too beautiful a day for Mulder to be in danger. The whole thing was the epitome of surrealism to Scully. After this, there would be no more lost days. There wouldn't be any more lost time between the two of them. Things will be different this time, she vowed. It was time to get back and get to work. It was time to find her partner. She opened her car door and put her new acquisition on the passenger seat. She laid a hand over it protectively, almost afraid that if she didn't, it would disappear from her touch. Much like Mulder had.
Dana Scully's Apartment
2:15 PM
She got back to her apartment in record time, knowing this time that she had better wait to get into her home before opening the latest letter from Mulder. She wanted privacy. Knowing the paranoiac that he was, the first letter was bound to be vague just in case it had been intercepted in the mail by the mysterious powers that be.
This time around, she was very nervous. She let herself into the apartment and made sure to lock the door behind her. She walked purposefully over to the coffee table in front of the couch where she deposited the heavy envelope carefully. She gingerly tore the white envelope from the yellow one and opened it. This letter was longer and, no doubt, more in detail. She was very afraid for what she was going to find.
She forced her eyes to focus on Mulders handwriting. His careful, yet slightly messy print distracted her and she made herself come back to earth to read what was written. She kept going back to the writing. This had been in his hands. He had thought these words out and wrote them. A lump formed in her throat as she pictured him concentrating on this very piece of paper, chewing thoughtfully on the end of a pen. Again, she shoved the image from her mind. Scully read the words one by one, trying to comprehend as well as read the words.
Dear Scully,
Well, now that you have this…I should be able to find some comfort in knowing that you're reading these words. I should be able to find comfort in knowing that your fingers are holding this piece of paper. The fact is, if you are reading this (and I hope you're not. I hope you're not reading this. I hope you never had to read that last letter. Shit, I'm rambling…)I am in danger.
I have done an exceedingly stupid thing. I have used myself as bait to catch a killer so that hopefully he will not kill again. You're reading this because at some point in my little master plan, I fucked up. I've done some stupid shit in my time, but I think this wins. I'm thinking back to the VinylRight. The moments I spent staring down the barrel of a rifle, protecting that life-sucking son of a bitch. I put myself in danger then. I didn't have much of a choice then, I thought it part of the job. This time is different. I don't know why I'm doing this now…yes I do. I'm doing this for you. I'm doing this for all of the times that I had wanted to protect you and couldn't. I couldn't only because I do not possess the ability to read the future. So many times I said to myself, "if I only knew…" If I only knew that Donnie Pfaster had targeted you, I could have done something. If I only knew what those bastards had in mind, I could have prevented your abduction. This time, I know. I know that this guy is targeting law enforcement officers. I won't let it be you, Scully. I won't let you be Francine Taylor.
By this point, you've probably put together that I have been hiding things from you. You're probably pissed, and you have all right to be. Let me explain a few things from the beginning. This goes way past our involvement in this case. This goes back to Georgetown.
When Michael Donovan came up missing, Francine Taylor came to me. I had done a little bit of profile work for the Georgetown PD a while back and she remembered my name. She let me look at what she had. All the evidence she had collected, all the notes she had taken. You see, when he was taken, Francine began conducting her own investigation. Violent Crimes had it by that point. She was sure though, that if she didn't do this herself, he would never be found alive. She began receiving letters from the killer. I took them and began drafting up another profile. In total, I did about 3 of them. There's one in the official case folder that you probably have a copy of. There's another one that you read a few days back. That one was typewritten and I have it in front of me right now. That one is now in your possession in this packet. The third is one that I put together after reading Francine's notes and letters. That one is the one, Scully. That's the one. I met her to give her the profile. She was going to go off searching for him. She disappeared soon after that. She's dead because of me, Scully. Yet another accident I could have prevented.
A few nights ago, after you had left for the day, I was working late. I had both of their autopsy reports in front of me. Every time I looked at her photo, I saw you. I saw your face with her injuries. I'm not letting that be you. I'm not giving him the option. He's going to target me. There's only one difference here Scully, I'm not going to let him kill me. I know that you are going to find me, and I also know that you won't make the same mistake Francine did when she went looking for Donovan. I don't know what that mistake is, but I trust you'll figure it out. You are going to find me, and you're going to find me alive. I would never die without your permission, Scully. I may be a sorry son of a bitch, but I'm a considerate, sorry son of a bitch.
These are my notes. This is everything I have on this case. Everything. You can do this Scully. I know you can, because I'm here with you. I'm right beside you handing you my bullshit theories for you to pick apart. I'm here, and I'm alive, and I'm waiting for you. We're going to get this psycho.
This is what I'm going to do, just in case I don't make it back to my apartment to call you. I want to call you and apologize for being such a jackass. Not just tonight, but always. But, you see, I can't call you before I go, because you'll talk me out of going through this hair-brained scheme. So, I'm apologizing now. Then, I will put this into an envelope, drop it off with the 3 Musketeers, drop your first letter in a mailbox, and go for a jog. I need to clear my head and formulate a plan. If, by chance, I don't make it back…well, I'll just play it by ear. That didn't sound good, did it? Whatever it is that I do, I swear to you, I will live through it.
If I don't make it back, I want you to follow my jogging route. That is the last place I'll be if I don't make it back. Please go through my route. That is where you should start. You know where I go, I know you do. You'll find something there. I don't know what, but that's where you'll find your first clues.
I'm sorry for rambling. It's not every day I do something this stupid.
I'll see you soon, Scully.
Always,
Mulder
Her eyes had filled up yet again. Just when she thought she had no more tears to cry, she surprised herself. He didn't know. He hadn't picked it up. She couldn't believe that he hadn't picked up that she was never in any danger to begin with. He intentionally put himself in harms way to protect her, when she was never in any danger. In fact, Mulder was probably the one being targeted all along. He was just making himself easier to find. Scully could only shake her head in amazement. She scanned the sheets of paper again and then decided it was time to delve into the mysterious packet. She ripped it open and eased the materials out. This collection was more impressive than the first was. Right on top were two profiles. One was the typed one she had read before and the second one was the mysterious "other" profile. If she hadn't been so worried, she would have been annoyed with him for being so…Mulder. Honestly, why keep all three? She skimmed the newest one, looking for details that hadn't made it on to the other two.
Male between the ages of 35-40, at least 6', approx. 200 lbs. Muscular build, works out regularly at a gym. "Clean cut." Looks like your "everyday Joe."
Knowledge of medicine, not a doctor though. Failed out of med. school?
The torture and mutilation that he inflicts on his victims would produce a large amount of noise. He lives isolated in the woods, or he lives in the inner city where no one would pay him any attention. Definitely not the suburbs, not a town, not an apartment building.
Uses his knowledge of medicine in his torture methods.
He has a history of sexual and physical abuse. He comes from a fairly well off family, yet there was abuse in the home. His parents were divorced when he was young; pre elementary school age. His mother remarried shortly afterwards. He was abused by his stepfather. College, and then medical school, was his escape.
He would have tortured small animals as an adolescent; cats and small dogs mostly.
He's of high intelligence. A B-student in high school; did better in college, once he was out of his mother's home. At least a 3.5 GPA. Didn't pass the boards between second and third year Ed school.
Used self-mutilation as a form of escape. Will have scars on arms, legs, and/or wrists from self-mutilation.
Will have at least one tattoo. More than likely, he will have two or three. They will be in indiscriminate locations; the back, shoulders, buttocks, upper thigh.
May have a pierced ear, although this is less likely than the tattoos because he can't hide the earring.
He works for himself. A carpenter or a landscaper. Must have given his services to various golf courses. Victims found in the vicinity of several different golf courses. Perhaps not recently, but at some point in the last few years. He had to have been familiar with the layout of the course as well as the surrounding areas.
Why does he target law enforcement officials? Perhaps he asked for their help when he was younger, and didn't get any. Something must have happened in his recent past to re-trigger his anger though. I think something happened to a loved one (wife, girlfriend) that the police (G-town?) could not prevent, but which he thinks they could have. His murders of non-law enforcement officials were a way to draw his intended victims into the game. Perhaps his abusive father or stepfather was a law enforcement officer?
The letters he sends to the partners…taunting? Perhaps stemming back to a situation of his own with a loved one? Trying to instill a feeling of helplessness that he's felt.
The perpetrator has no social life. He devotes far too much time to his victims. He must take time out to work. Probably has a decent job that makes good money.
(Mulder wrote in the margin by this statement: "See description of the room where D is being held. Too much expensive equipment.")
He is probably slow to anger, but has a vicious temper when provoked. More than likely, he isn't angry while he's torturing his victims. He's enjoying himself too much. However, he probably is prone to losing his temper when things don't work out his way.
(By this there was another note in Mulder's handwriting: Taylor's injuries of a much more violent, angry nature. Not methodical.)
How does he target who he's after? How does he choose one partner?
This was more like what Scully had come to expect from one of Mulder's profiles. She glanced at the beginning of the profile and noted the reference to letters. Scully began digging through the papers to find the letters to Francine Taylor that Mulder had mentioned. There were three letters. That's not right. There should be four. One for every week he'd been missing. Then she remembered that Taylor had gone after him and turned up missing. That had probably been the fourth week. A thought came to Scully and she made some hasty notes in her pocket notebook to find the missing letter, if there was one. She had her first clue. Or so she hoped…she settled back and began to read the letters.
Scully was shaking uncontrollably by the time she was halfway through the second letter to Francine Taylor. Whoever this man was, he was way sicker than she could even begin to imagine. The letters followed a pattern. The first came after Donovan had been missing for one week. It went into detail about how he had been abducted. Then there was a long and detailed list of all of Michael Donovan's injuries. Scully cross referenced the list to his autopsy report and saw that the list was quite accurate.
"Score one for you Mulder. This guy does probably have some medical background." She scanned the rest of the second letter. That one was more emotional. He went into more detail about the deteriorating mental state of Michael Donovan. There was more mention of new injuries as well as infections to the previous ones. The terminology was quite technical and the more she read, the more she was sure that not only was this guy a bona fide psycho, he was a highly educated one. The second letter as well as the first held a very superior tone. That stood out to her quite clearly. There was also something else. Something she couldn't quite touch on. She went on to the third letter.
The third letter went into even more medical detail about Michael Donovan and his precarious dance on the line between life and death. The author wrote about using Taylor to provoke Donovan's anger. He wrote about toying with the man as though he were a mere puppet. The thing that Scully couldn't quite touch on began to make sense. She became quite sure that the two partners were probably either in love or already intimately involved. Or he was to her like Mulder is to you…She read on. He wrote on, proclaiming Donovan's love for Taylor almost like he was doing them both a favor. Who the hell does this guy think he is? Cupid? She would have liked to read on, however there was no more to read in this collection.
Scully began to be very afraid. However, she had become such a master of hiding her own emotions, she just pushed her fears down deep inside her and continued to concentrate on the task at hand. She began to make her own notes.
Mentions a van – perhaps uses it for work?
Playing Cupid? Maybe he's targeting the male halves of the partners to work out his own frustrations? Did he have a girlfriend? Maybe she left him for a law enforcement officer. Maybe he killed her? May have been in love once and it ended. She was his first victim.
Why the men? Maybe he wishes he killed himself but is too cowardly to do so, so he kills other men? Maybe he thinks he can relate to these men. He thinks they're in the same situation as he was, with a woman who didn't love him? A one sided relationship where the man loves the woman more than the woman loves the man. He thinks that he's saving the men, as he would have wanted to be saved?
He thinks he's superior. Sounds overly confident. Enjoys toying with emotions. Considers himself a puppet master.
***Must find FT's fourth letter.
"God Mulder, I suck at this." She threw her pen in frustration. She put the letters aside and looked at what was next in the stack. Autopsy reports on all of the victims to date. In order, the victims were a 29-year-old Caucasian woman, a 42-year-old Black male, an 18-year-old Philippine woman, a 32-year-old Caucasian woman (F. Taylor), a 36-year-old Caucasian male (M. Donovan), a 35-year-old Caucasian male (Agent E. Murphy). Scully noticed that the pattern became more distinct after the investigations started. It was almost like he tried to make the first victims random. Scully had her doubts as to how random the first victim was. She jotted down the name of the first woman: Alicia Tibbs. She figured she'd investigate the other two seemingly unrelated victims. The man was named Harold Baker and the younger woman's name was unknown. She had yet to be identified. She was a Jane Doe, probably a prostitute. Scully knew what that meant. She would have to question some of DC's working girls to get any inside information on this victim.
Scully composed a "to do" list.
Find FT's fourth letter
Retrace Mulder's steps.
Talk to Agent Morris (invite to lunch? Must be unofficial…)
Find Mulder
The first thing she thought she should do before any more time passed was to retrace Mulder's steps. That was the most important thing because it was so time sensitive. She left the rest of the paperwork to go through later. It was time for Dana Scully to go for a little walk. She pulled on a pair of sneakers, fastened her holster about her waist and put on a lightweight windbreaker to hide her gun. Scully made sure that she brought along some plastic bags, some latex gloves and a tiny set of tweezers. She wasn't sure if she was emotionally ready to see where Mulder was last, but she was beginning to learn how to ignore those emotions. As this thought entered her mind, she murmured to herself, "I'm becoming more like him every day." Scully got into her car and backed out of the lot. She headed toward Alexandria and hoped for the best.
Mulder's Apartment Building
7:48 PM
She parked next to where Mulder's car should have been. She couldn't get over how empty the loaded parking lot looked without Mulder's car. It had probably been towed to a lot where forensics could go over it carefully and gather any evidence. Scully was pretty sure they wouldn't find anything. She looked around for any agents. Even though she wasn't really doing anything wrong, she still felt like she was going to get caught doing something illegal. She thought of Mulder being held somewhere against his will, probably beaten and bleeding and she found herself not much caring about whether she got caught. She started on Mulder's familiar jogging route. Scully kept her eyes to the ground, looking for anything that would lead her to Mulder. She wasn't expecting a "Post-It" note stuck to the sidewalk giving detailed instructions as to how to find Mulder. She also wasn't expecting to find what she found.
An alleyway. How utterly unoriginal.
She had found where Mulder was when he had been taken. There was a dark brown stain on the sidewalk. She couldn't imagine that blood could have sat there that long without anyone cleaning it up. Even a city street cleaner would have picked that up. She wasn't entirely sure that this was Mulder's blood, but there was one way to find out. She silently thanked herself for having foresight as she pulled the gloves, bag and tweezers out of the windbreaker pocket. Scully got down on one knee to gather a sample. She was skeptical as to what she would find, but there was something inside her that was screaming out to her, This is what you're looking for!As she was scraping at the brown spot, her eye caught something else. A shell. Now, the spot here on the concrete might be explainable, but a shell? I doubt it. She gingerly picked it up in her gloved hands and placed it in a plastic bag. She would probably be able to get a make and model of the gun the shell belonged to. She began to scour the alleyway for any other clues. She found nothing. Scully got to her feet and began walking away from the alley, dejected.
"What are ya lookin' fer, lady?"
The voice startled her and Scully whirled around, pulling her gun out of the holster and aiming it in front of her. She felt quite foolish when she saw who the voice belonged to. There was a young boy in front of her, no older than 10. He was very dirty and very thin. There was a dog of an indeterminate breed sitting next to him dutifully. His eyes had widened in surprise at the sight of her gun and he began to run away. Scully called after him.
"I'm sorry, you startled me."
The boy had started to run away, but slowed and turned around. If he had seemed hesitant before, he was downright skittish now. He approached her slowly, trying to hide his uncertainty behind what was obviously a false bravado.
"Aw, you din't scare me." His tone turned cautious, "Are you a cop?"
"No, I'm not. I work for the FBI." She showed him her badge and smiled at him. He was quite cute. Bright green eyes poked out from beneath the layers of dirt and grime. Scully knew exactly what this kid needed: a hot meal, and a bar of soap. Her conscience was at war. Don't get involved, Scully.
He's just a kid though.
Yeah, and what could he be capable of? You know what kids are capable of these days. You see it every day. Come on, get the hell out of here. You got some evidence. Get out.
But…what if…?
What if, what? What, do you think he was here or something? Come on, get a grip girlfriend.
Would it hurt to ask? I think not.
She ignored what the other half of her mind was saying to her at that moment. "Were you here a few nights ago?"
He eyed her suspiciously. "Maybe."
Scully realized that she was going to have to do some heavy bargaining. She grinned. "Do you think a hamburger might jog your memory?"
His smile gave her all the answer she needed.
July 8
12:38 AM
Scully trudged into the apartment, tired but pleased. She had learned a lot from the young boy named Charlie. Granted, the double cheeseburger, onion rings, milkshake and hot fudge sundae probably helped him give her the information. Apparently, that alley was where Charlie and his dog (who was named Marvin) usually slept. In the wintertime, they would sleep in a Dumpster, but in the summertime, they would sleep high up in one of the neighboring buildings' fire escapes. While listening to him, Scully tried to ignore the pangs in her heart at the thought of this boy curling up next to cockroaches and rats for a good night's sleep. Charlie had gone off on a tangent explaining to Scully how hard it was getting a dog up into the fire escape. Finally, he got back to the story at hand. He had been up in the fire escape the night Mulder was taken. He gave Scully a full account of what he saw.
Charlie had just settled in for the night when a man drove a van up to the alley. He got out of his van and walked into the alley. He had found a spot to sit next to a Dumpster. He sat there until Mulder arrived. Given what Charlie said, he waited for Mulder for about a half an hour. Charlie sat up in the fire escape, unseen. He had just been starting to doze off when he heard the man get up from his spot beside the Dumpster. At that point, Charlie had woken up and became an audience and, Scully hoped, a viable witness. From what the young boy told her, he sat and watched as a man (Mulder) jogged by. The other man stepped out of the alleyway and shot him in the leg. Scully had tried to listen objectively, but her imagination had started to go wild with Charlie's vivid description of Mulder collapsing to the ground. The amount of blood had been unbelievable, or so he had said. Scully hadn't lost her composure at all during his synopsis.
"Did you hear anything?" She had asked.
He most definitely did hear something. That something was not a gunshot though. Scully noted that the abductor had probably used a silencer. This had advantages, as Scully found out. Charlie was able to hear everything that was being said. Mostly what he heard was Mulder. Apparently, while he was laying on the pavement bleeding profusely, he began reciting the Miranda Rights. Scully wasn't sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. The vision of Mulder being so typically Mulder made her want to chuckle. On the other hand, her worst fears were confirmed. Mulder was indeed kidnapped and was suffering from a severe injury. Scully didn't even want to contemplate the infection that was probably overtaking the gunshot wound by now.
Scully looked at her watch. It was nearly one in the morning. Common sense told her she should try and get some sleep. She wouldn't be any use to anyone, much less Mulder, if she wasn't running on all six cylinders. It had been a very long couple of days. She was physically as well as mentally exhausted. "All I need is a shower. That'll wake me up." She murmured to the empty apartment. A nice hot shower was exactly what she needed to revive her. A pot of coffee wouldn't hurt either.
About an hour later, Dana was still poring over the rest of the contents of Mulder's packet. She had finished a half of a pot of the coffee and had begun to convince herself she wasn't tired. She never got into the shower. She didn't want to waste any time that she could be devoting to finding her partner, but Scully's body was having a hard time keeping up with the demands she was making on it. She found herself seeing double as she tried to concentrate on the words in front of her. Her brain was having a hard time processing what should have been simple information. Instead of giving in to her weary state, she got angry at it. She stood up to stretch in an attempt to invigorate her tired body. Angry tears clouded her vision, which made her even madder. In a rare display of temper, Dana Scully kicked her couch with as much ferocity as she could muster. The pain shot up her leg, but she did not notice it. She had begun to pace around the apartment not unlike a caged animal. She was fighting so many things, she couldn't even begin to count them. Everything from the FBI to a faceless psycho to herself. She sat down on the couch, noting that her foot had begun to throb. At least the tears had subsided. She leaned back and closed her eyes for what she only thought would be a second. Scully fell asleep sitting up. She had lost the war she had been waging with exhaustion…for now.
She knew she was dreaming.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Dana Scully knew what she was witnessing couldn't be real. She was so willing to lose herself in the dream though. Mulder, pressing close to her, his warm breath tickling her ear. She wrapped her arms around him vowing never to let him go. The sound of his voice, a sexy chuckle that seemed to envelope her. She could feel his lips, his soft, smooth lips play against her forehead, then her temple, then her jawline, then the sensitive flesh on her neck. His hands buried themselves in her hair as she shivered at his touch. She moved closer to him, her cheek against the smooth fabric of his shirt. She could see him, smell him, feel him, and hear the thud of his heartbeat, could she taste him? She looked up into those familiar green eyes. Those eyes that were always hiding something. They absolutely gleamed right now as she lifted her mouth to his. She felt shudders wrack his body and he convulsed in pain. They two fell to the ground as he begged her to make it stop. She watched helplessly as tears formed in his eyes. Blood seemed to come from nowhere as he continued to beg her to ease the pain.
"Make it stop, Scully. Please make it stop."
She was still clutching him and could begin to feel a heat spread through his body. She pressed her lips to his forehead willing the fever to go down. He continued to groan in pain as sores began to open up on his skin. Festering boils marred his features. She could hardly absorb what was happening to him. She couldn't understand it. She could only hold him and promise him she'd fix it. She'd fix everything.
"I can save you Mulder."
She held his dying body in her arms as he continued to shake and convulse. He was quickly covered in blood from his sores. Scully too, was drenched in blood. Mulder's blood.
Mulder's blood on her hands.
Scully sat up with a start, that final thought echoing through her mind. She looked at her hands, searching for any trace of Mulder's blood. Though she saw nothing, she still felt compelled to get up and wash her hands.
On her way to the bathroom, she saw the time. It was 5:03 in the morning. She had only slept about three hours. That was good. She didn't want to lose any time on this. She had a lot to do today. She had never gotten around to that shower the night before and felt particularly grimy. Once in the bathroom, she began getting ready to face the day. She got ready quickly, as dawdling only gave her mind time to reflect on the nightmare. She had to drop the blood and the shell off to the crime lab. She had a few favors she could call in to keep this new information discreet. It probably wasn't a very smart thing to keep this from the investigative team, but Scully really thought she could proceed quicker if she did this on her own.
