Disclaimer: The X-Files belong to Chris Carter and 10-13 Productions. Medford really exists but everyone in it is mine. Figuratively speaking of course. Apologies to anyone who lives there for any oversights. A teeny tiny reference is made to 'Oklahoma', a marvelous story by Amperage and Livengoo which I highly recommend and can be found on the Gossamer X-Files site... if it still exists.
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully investigate a series of murders that echo Mulder's past. Can they save the next victim without becoming victims themselves? Set in Season 5
Author's notes: This was originally written in 1998, please be lenient with it. A big thank you to LuvMulder, Lena, and Kel for editing and giving medical advice way back when, I hope you're all still enjoying the stories. Mulder is a bit of a 'Mary Sue' in this, forgive me, I was young and infatuated. Please read and review. Also, I had no idea how long to make the chapters, please let me know if they are too long. Thanks.
Some acronyms used in this fic: UNSUB - Unidentified Subject. ASAC - Assistant Special Agent in Charge. VCS - Violent Crimes Section (can also be referred to as BSU - Behavioral Sciences Unit or ISU - Investigative Support Unit). Perp - perpetrator
CROSSING BRIDGES
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington DC
Monday, January 6
9:00 am
"Has it ever occurred to you that a filing cabinet was specifically designed for *filing*?" The auburn headed woman directed her question at a stack of papers strewn haphazardly across one of the two desks in the cramped basement office.
"And a good morning to you too." The man behind the mountain of documents glanced up from the file that he had been scrutinizing with single-minded intensity. "Are you trying to tell me that you don't approve of the Mulder Filing System?"
"Only someone with your memory could find anything in here." Dana Scully threw her coat on the stand by the door, flopped into her chair, and strained to see what case file deserved her partner's attention. Attention which she cherished when it was directed at her, especially at times like this, when the fine lines and soft angles of his face were accentuated by thin wire frames. Sometimes she just wished- What was she thinking? This was neither the time nor the place. She doubted it ever would be.
She rearranged the thoughts in her head, pushing the most recent ones to the back and bringing her Special Agent mode to the fore. "What are you reading?"
Not having noticed her discomfort, Mulder leaned back in his chair and launched into a description of his latest theory. "It seems that there has been a lot of flight activity in Santee, California."
"Of course there is, the Marine Corps Air Station Miramar is located just Northwest of that city, it used to be the Miramar Naval Air Station. My father was stationed there when I was young." Sometimes she wondered just how much of that two hundred plus IQ he used.
He gave her an exasperated look. "I know that, but the term 'usual flight activity' does not include planes that can maneuver like fireflies or hover for hours on end above the mountains."
"And you think it could be another Ellens Air Force Base." It was not a question. She shuddered silently at the memory of that case so long ago. The look on Mulder's face when he had asked 'How did I get here?' still cropped up in nightmares from time to time.
"Exactly. There have also been an abnormally high amount of honorable discharges of pilots stationed there, due to health reasons." His eyes shone with excitement as he handed her photographs of men with strange, yet familiar, burns covering their bodies.
"*This* time we're going to-" He was interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone. He sighed and reached over to answer. "Mulder." He sat up straighter in his chair and glanced at Scully. "Sir... Yes, I know him... Yes, I'm vaguely familiar with that case... he did? Sir, with all due respect, we just came across a case which could... but, Sir... I understand... Yes, Sir."
Scully watched her partner's facial expression change from surprise to confusion, then to barely restrained anger. When he slammed the phone back into its cradle, she was afraid to ask. Instead, she just raised an eyebrow and waited expectantly.
Mulder exhaled loudly and slumped further in his chair. "You know Agent Dale Connor?" He continued after her head shook negatively in response. "Well I do. I worked with him in Violent Crimes." He blanched at the memory. "He's working on a serial killer case in Oregon."
"The one the gossip-mongers have nicknamed 'The Medford Murderer'?" Both auburn eyebrows inched upwards.
He smiled involuntarily at her fond reference to the press. "That's the one. Seems Connor's requested that *I* come out and profile the killer. Apparently he's accumulated enough points with the higher-ups that he has the authority to bring in anyone he wants. He would also like you to join in the fun and go over the autopsies on the three victims." His mouth settled into a frown, "We leave for the Beaver State at 11:30 am out of Dulles, so you better start packing."
Unable to contain his fury any longer, he stood abruptly, grabbed his coat, and stormed out the door, leaving Scully in the cluttered office alone with her thoughts.
She sat back and closed her eyes, reviewing what she knew about the well-publicized case. Three girls between the ages of eight and ten had been kidnapped over the past two months and then their bodies were returned exactly two weeks after being abducted. They had all been badly beaten and then killed in different ways.
Damn! Why did they always stick Mulder with the cases involving children? Didn't they know how much it tore him up inside, especially when the victims were girls? Of course they did, but why should they care? He was just Spooky Mulder, profiling machine. Never had there been an agent with a higher solve rate in the history of the VCS. She had heard stories of Mulder's past glories in Violent Crimes from other agents, during the Mostow case. He had been handed the most violent and unsolvable cases and expected to find an answer. He had been flown around the country to murder sites where he would get inside the killer's head with only twenty-four hours, at the most, between each case. Patterson had almost killed Mulder with work - she knew, or knew most of what had happened in Oklahoma. Mulder had worked himself so sick that he had to be hospitalized, but they refused to send him home, knowing he was their only link to the killer.
And now, after almost driving him insane, the God damn VCS kept throwing their dead end cases on Mulder's desk, and when his resulting profile solved the case he barely got a thank you. Sometimes when there were no good X-Files to be investigated, one couldn't even tell that the two agents weren't assigned to Violent Crimes.
She glanced at the clock - 9:43 am. There was no use in putting off the inevitable. She lurched out of her seat and headed up to Skinner's office to pick up the files that she knew Mulder had neglected to retrieve.
**************
Somewhere Over The United States
3:04 pm
Dana Scully took off her glasses and rubbed here eyes. She hated flying. She had read the file three times and still could not get her mind off the fact that they were thousands of feet above terra firma. She could handle it if there was water beneath them, being the daughter of a Navy officer, but she had never been able to stomach air travel.
She glanced jealously at her partner, who lay asleep in the cramped space next to her. It never ceased to amaze her how he couldn't seem to sleep anywhere but on his battered old couch or in an airplane, even when he was in an area unsuited for his long frame. He had read the case file once, committing it to his eidetic memory and had then promptly dozed off.
As her gaze drifted over his lanky body to reach his handsome face, she couldn't help but smile at the sleeping figure. He looked so young and innocent when he was slumbering that she could almost envision him with a teddy bear tucked under his arm. A place where she wouldn't mind being herself.
She sighed sadly, all too aware of the impossibility of such a situation. Mulder had no room in his life for a relationship. He was driven by the search for 'The Truth' and until he found that elusive truth Scully knew that he would never be happy. Fox Mulder shied away from intimate relationships; probably because everyone he had ever loved had been taken from him or had betrayed him in some way. His sister Samantha was snatched away from him and upon reappearing she refused to have anything to do with her brother, despite the fact that he had spent the last twenty-five years searching for her. His mother had withdrawn her love after her daughter disappeared. His father, not an affectionate man by nature, killed in front of him. And of course there was that 'English Witch', Pheobe, who had broken his heart. With a track record like that, who could blame him for being aloof and reserved?
She heard him mutter something in his sleep and glanced over. The innocent look had been replaced by one of tension. A few beads of sweat had formed on his forehead and his face was creased in anguish. She could see his eyes moving rapidly under his eyelids and his fingers twitching in response to whatever dream he was having.
"No... " he mumbled quietly.
"Mulder." Scully reached over and shook him gently.
"Don't... Don't take her... " was his muffled response.
"Mulder, wake up." She shook him harder.
"What? Huh?" He shot up in his seat and searched the cabin, trying to remember where he was. "Scully?"
"You were having a nightmare." She gazed at him with concern. "You want to talk about it?"
"Just your regular run-of-the-mill nightmare, nothing worth mentioning." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, hoping that Scully would stop looking at him that way. He hated it when she was worried, particularly when he was the cause of it. Which, in his estimation, was too often.
"Uh-huh. And given your predilection for some of the most terrifying nightmares I have ever had the pleasure of not having, what is your definition of a regular nightmare?" An eyebrow arched up.
Mulder wished she would just forget it and turned to stare out the window as he replied, "Regular as in I've had it before and I'll have it again, so it's not worth mentioning."
Scully knew when to stop pushing. She laid a hand on his arm and softly said, "I'm always ready to listen."
A soft smile graced his lips. "I know."
*****************
Medford, Oregon
Spouter-Inn
7:37 pm
After a long flight and a short delay in Portland, they had boarded a small commuter plane that took them down to Medford. Once there they rented a car and drove to their hotel, a quaint looking place that reminded Scully of an over-sized Beaver Cleaver's house.
As they approached the desk the clerk raised his head and smiled broadly at them. He was a balding man in his late fifties, overweight, but with a healthy pink complexion. "Evenin' folks." He bobbed his head at Mulder. "What can I do for you and the missus?"
Mulder forgot what he was about to say, his mouth open in mid-thought, and glanced over his shoulder at Scully, who had a bewildered look on her face. He chuckled quietly - this was not the first time that they had been mistaken for a couple and would most likely not be the last. Inwardly he cringed at her surprise. Was it that much of a shock to her that they looked like a couple after all these years? To the clerk, pulling out his ID, he stated, "I'm Agent Mulder and this is Agent Scully, we're with the FBI. We have a reservation."
"Oh, my mistake." The little man's grin grew wider and his skin more pink. "Ah yes, here we are, rooms 23 and 24. It has a connecting door... That won't be a problem will it?"
"No, that's just fine, thank you," Mulder replied. They took their respective keys and headed back to the car.
After unloading, Scully unlocked her door and held it open as Mulder brought her luggage in. She peered into the dimly lit room and flinched. "God, Mulder, do you have 'The Traveler's Guide to Last Rate Motels' or something? Your gift for picking the worst accommodations in a town is an X-File in itself."
"I pick them by their name. Don't you think Spouter-Inn is appropriate?" He gave her a sly smirk, his eyebrows waggling suggestively.
She looked at him quizzically. "I don't get it."
"*You* don't get it?" he grumbled. "C'mon, Scully, the Spouter-Inn is where Starbuck stayed at the beginning of Moby Dick. Geez, I thought you knew all there was to know about that piece of literary rubbish."
"It is not rubbish, it is a classic. And no, I do not know everything about it - just the relevant stuff."
"Whatever you say. After you, Madam." He swept his arm in front of her, bowing ever so slightly.
She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face.
By the time they had both settled in it was already 9:00 p.m. so they just phoned in, letting the officer on duty know that they had arrived and would be present in the morning.
The officer informed them that "Agent Connor is out of town for the night anyway, so try to get some sleep and see you bright and early". However, Mulder wasted no time getting into the case, spreading the papers and photographs across his floor.
"Night Mulder, don't stay up too late, we have any early start tomorrow."
"Mm-hm." He waved her good night as he continued to sort through his papers.
***********
1:08 am
Scully awoke from her light sleep to stare blearily into the red numbers on the clock. God, it was too damn early to be awake. She looked over and saw light creeping out from under the connecting door. She got up and knocked gently on it - it wasn't locked, a precaution they always took in case either one needed the other. When there was no reply she cautiously opened it, not wanting to wake Mulder if he was asleep. Not expecting him to be hunched over on the floor, she tripped over him.
With a startled cry she tumbled into him and found herself sprawled across his lean body. "Jesus, Mulder!" she growled as she attempted to untangle herself from him. His proximity to her was causing her spine to tingle and her face to flush. She could feel hard muscles ripple across his chest and stomach as he laughed at their predicament. She couldn't help the thoughts running through her head as his warm breath wuffled in her hair and his strong hands gripped her arms.
Mulder chortled once more and helped Scully back to her feet, all the while marveling at how one touch from this woman could send his mind reeling. The beauty of her porcelain skin, fiery hair, and gracefully petite features was only rivaled by the beauty of her soul.
Not wanting Mulder to notice her rush of emotion, she quickly turned away from him and went over to sit on his bed. Interpreting her actions as a sign that she was uncomfortable with such physical intimacy, however accidental, Mulder closed his eyes in silent grief and returned to his position on the floor. He couldn't possibly know the reasons behind her uneasiness.
"Mulder, it's 4 am in DC, go to bed." Scully rarely got jet lag, but sometimes after a long flight she could hardly keep her eyes open. He had to be at least a little tired, she was sure of that.
He gave her his 'Are You My Mother?' look. "It's only one in the morning here so I will still be able to get my usual four or five hours of sleep, don't worry." His grin faded into a grim line. "Besides, I can't sleep until I get a handle on the UNSUB." He jumped up and started pacing about the room with the pent-up energy of a caged tiger. "He's going to kill again, we'll have another body tomorrow." Mulder said it with such conviction that it was practically a fact.
Scully gave him a hard stare. "How do you know that?" She was starting to get dizzy from watching him go back and forth.
"This guy has a strict schedule to keep - two weeks between abduction and murder. He won't deviate from that unless he has a reason, which he doesn't at this time." Mulder ran a hand through his already tousled hair, his eyes focused on some unseen point. "He had a family member or loved one kidnapped and killed in the same manner, when he was a child. The two week deadline is most likely the same amount of time between that loved one's disappearance and the discovery of his or her body. Probably his sister."
Mulder sank into a chair, rubbing his eyes, his voice soft. "His parents blamed him for losing her and beat him, telling him he deserved it. He believes it wasn't his fault, so now he is getting his revenge by repeating the experience with other 'sisters'."
Scully was frowning. The scenario Mulder had just described was hauntingly familiar. A young boy loses his sister and his parents place the blame on the brother. She saw the look of despair in her partner's dark eyes and realized just how close to home this hit. The second part of his description was almost as if he were recalling a memory. He had said "*believes* it wasn't his fault", as if the young boy really were guilty, as Mulder was convinced of his own guilt in his sister's abduction. That he really deserved to be beaten. Did that mean that Mulder's father had... ? No, she couldn't believe that, not after seeing how distraught Mulder had been over his father's death. Needing to snap him out of his reverie, she asked a question. "And you reached this conclusion by?"
"The first victim, eight year old Carol Sullivan, broke her arm four months before she was killed. She broke it in a fall from the tree house her brother built. Two days after the fall, Daniel, the brother, was admitted to the hospital for bruises on his back and neck,\ that he had supposedly acquired from a tumble down the stairs. The second victim, ten year old Stephanie, and her twin brother Steven Bannon, had been reported missing on November fourteenth. They hadn't come home after school and their parents were desperate. Steven showed up that evening around six, after spending the day playing with his friends in an abandoned factory. His sister, who usually walked home with her brother, had panicked when he didn't come to her class to pick her up and attempted to walk home by herself. She got lost in the woods and wasn't found until late the next afternoon. Six days later Steven was admitted for a broken jaw, which his parents claimed he fractured in a roller-blading accident."
Mulder turned to the piles of paper on the floor and rummaged around in the files to return with medical charts. He handed them to Scully and continued as she flipped through them. "The third girl, nine year old Carlie Warren, shot herself in the foot when playing with her parents' gun. Her brothers, Mark and Eric, were supposed to be watching her while their parents were out, but they had been playing video games instead. The two boys were brought to the hospital with bruises on their faces and abdomens, presumably from a fight at school. The girl who is currently missing, another nine year old, is Mary Jane Hathaway. She was in a car accident with her brother Michael, sixteen years of age and driving under the influence. Though neither were badly injured according to the doctor on call, Michael was admitted the next day with a fractured rib, which the doctor said might have been missed in the initial examination."
"Each of these diagnoses is plausible, child abuse was ruled out in every one of them." Scully offered, her hand waving off-handedly at the reports in her lap.
He resumed his frantic pacing, as if to match his movements to the speed of his thoughts. "That may be true but what matters is that the killer doesn't believe that it's true. He assumes that those boys were blamed for what happened to their siblings and were punished physically. He sympathizes with them and feels that if he removes the source of the blame, then all will be set right." Regret and disbelief tinged Mulder's voice at the use of such insane logic.
Scully finished skimming through the reports and now set the aside. "If he has been carrying all this rage and guilt with him for so long, then why did he just start two months ago and not sooner?"
Mulder paused in his tracks and closed his eyes. "I'm not sure... maybe one or both of his parents died and now he feels that he no longer has to fear their disapproval and subsequent punishment." He crouched back down and ruffled through the loose papers.
Scully shrugged, knowing that when he was in this agitated state there was no point even trying to persuade him to rest. She rose from the bed and stepped back into her room, tossing an exaggerated sigh over her shoulder, "G'night Mulder."
"Don't you mean good morning?"
The door closed with a resounding 'thud' and Mulder grinned.
*********
4:33 am
Her blood was beginning to pool at his feet, the light in her wide eyes dimming. Little gasps of pain breathed past her tiny pink lips, whimpers becoming softer and softer.
All because of him. He had done this to her, had made her the victim. It was only fair. All of his life, *he* had been the victim, the one who was blamed. Now they'd see who was responsible. *They* were.
He could still feel the stinging slap of his father's palm against his cheek, the burning sensation as a cigarette was extinguished on his skin. Dad's voice echoed in his head, deriding him, taunting him. And it made him angry. So angry.
It was his fault she died? No! He could have done nothing, he was but a child! But this girl, this girl in front of him, she *was* dead because of him. He had the power this time, he chose who was at fault. And it wasn't himself.
His heart pounded in his ears, his pulse racing with pleasure as he watched the life slip from the girl's body. He felt powerful. Fulfilled. Redeemed.
At least, that is how he would feel if he were the killer.
Mulder stood for a few more moments, staring at the photograph of the pitiful remainder of a once vibrant youngster, his hand trembling slightly as he held it and considered the man he was profiling. So much pain and anger at life, at his parents, at a God who let his sister be taken. Would all of that lessen with each death?
He dropped the photo to the table and scrubbed his face with both hands, willing the psychological dirt to wipe away. This was getting to be too much. Every time he thought about the killer's emotions and motives, the more he identified with the man. If anyone in the world understood what it was like to lose someone and be burdened with guilt, it was Mulder.
Suddenly, it hit him. He actually felt *sorry* for a man who killed children. Nausea gripped his throat and stomach, forcing him to stagger to the bathroom and retch into the toilet, his hands gripping the sides of the bowl tightly.
His head was spinning with unanswered questions. Was Sam dead? It was his fault, right? He deserved whatever punishment his father had meted out, so why did he still feel anger towards his dad? What made him so different from the killer? Why wasn't he out there, butchering kids to prove that children can't protect each other?
Did it matter? In the end, it all came down to one simple fact - He had lost his sister.
Mulder reached up and pulled the lever, numbly watching his dinner swirl away. After a moment, he stood on shaky legs and moved as quickly as he dared back to his bed. He collapsed on the hard mattress, absently noting that he was still wearing his dress shirt and slacks. He closed his eyes, hoping for sleep to overcome him. But instead of the sandman, grotesque corpses flashed against his eyelids, his mind replaying each murder with vivid accuracy.
His eyes snapped open, desperate to get away from the visions. But his bed was covered with them. Photographs of little girls. Bloody, broken, mangled, and twisted. They were everywhere. He couldn't escape them.
So why try?
*************
Spouter-Inn
Tuesday, January 7
7:11 am
Scully woke up to the noise of water running next door. Mulder had probably gone out for a five mile jog already. She shook her head, stretching languorously. Not being a morning person, she couldn't understand why anyone would get up an hour early to go running in the frigid morning air. Maybe being an insomniac wasn't such a bad thing after all, it certainly came in handy in getting work done.
She heard the water shut off and the sound of bare feet padding around on the thin carpet. She found herself envisioning a Mulder she had only seen a few times - clad only in a towel, water glistening on his well defined muscles, wet hair dangling in his eyes. They were such a beautiful shade of hazel, able to change from a golden green to deep brown to obsidian black, depending on his mood. His hair was soft and thick with a few stubborn locks resting on his forehead.
She shook her head, breathing heavily - her imagination was too vivid. Enough of that, it was time to get ready.
Mulder was pulling on his slacks when the shower flipped on in Scully's room. Images of her small, shapely body flitted across his vision. God, how he wanted her. Not just physically, no, that was too base to describe what he felt when he thought of her. He wanted her heart. She certainly had his. 'Why would she ever want someone as screwed up as you?' said the little voice deep inside.
"Shut up," Mulder grumbled. He put on the tie Scully had given him last Christmas, the only conservative one he owned. Time to go to work.
His hand was raised to knock on the door to her room when she opened it abruptly and he was rewarded with a surprised "Oh!"
"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you *again*."
She blushed slightly at his reference to the previous night. Or morning. Whatever. "I wasn't startled, you just caught me a bit off guard."
"Yeah sure."
"No, really, I... Mulder, are you okay?" She looked at him more closely. He had dark smudges under his eyes and he was a bit more pale than normal.
"Uh-huh, why?" He seemed honestly confused.
"You look like hell. Did you get any sleep?"
He got that trapped look on his face and she could almost imagine him scraping his foot on the ground. "No."
"Mulder, you really should-"
He stopped her in mid-sentence with a glare. "I'm fine. C'mon, we'll be late." Without waiting for her to reply, he strode to the rental car and got in.
*********************
Medford Police Station
8:59 am
The two federal agents strode in to what could have been NASA's Mission Control. There were maps taped to the walls, photos and red tags pinned across them, people swarming through a sea of paper, stale donuts, and old coffee.
"Looks like they've been busy," Mulder commented. He looked around for Agent Connor, his gaze coming to rest on the figure walking towards them. He was a burly man, small but compact like a wrestler, his rough features weary and his long handlebar mustache drooping. His shock of black hair was shoved under a baseball cap and his uniform was wrinkled from being slept in too many nights.
"You th' new FBI?" he asked in a thick Scottish accent.
Scully stepped forward and proffered her badge, Mulder following suit. "Agents Scully and Mulder. And you are?"
"Ach, me an' my manners. Sheriff Michael Macgregor a' yer service." He gave her a little bow and a wink. "I've heard a lo' about ya both, I'm grateful we got ya on this case, it's got us all baffled. I s'pose yer lookin' fer Connor?"
Before either could reply, a shrill nasal voice cut through the noise of the bustling room. "Spooky!"
Scully watched Mulder's teeth grind and his muscles tense, preparing to face yet another agent who couldn't control his 'Spooky Mulder' comments.
"Agent Connor, good to see you again." It was plainly evident from Mulder's tone that it was anything but.
"It'll be like old times!" Connor had maneuvered his way past the desks and people to reach the motionless group and now was staring intently at Scully. "This must be the inscrutable Doctor Scully." He reached down and took her hand, bringing it up as if to kiss it. She managed to turn it into a hasty handshake, noticing that Mulder was unconsciously clenching his fists.
"Yes, well, I am sure it will be a pleasure to work with you'" she said coldly. She hated it when male agents treated her differently because she was a woman. Chauvinist pigs.
"Yeah, me and the Spookster worked on the Gary Lee Worman case in '88. We had some great times then, didn't we?"
Mulder closed his eyes and prayed for patience. It was someone like Connor who was a 'gawker' at car accidents. "Would that be before or after Worman killed eleven women?" He felt Scully's hand on his arm in both a gesture of reassurance and a silent warning to not antagonize the ASAC. He shot her a grateful look.
As Connor started up a conversation with the other two men about the last case he and Mulder had worked on, Scully took the opportunity to size up the arrogant agent.
The man reminded her of an anorexic version of Tom Colton. He was easily six feet tall, with thinning red hair, telling of his Irish ancestry, cropped close to his head in an FBI regulation haircut. Offhandedly she thought how glad she was that, aside from the countless rules he disregarded, Mulder didn't follow that particular regulation either. Connor's bony features and stance were saturated with self-importance, his tone condescending, and there was a general air of haughtiness about him.
She hated him.
*Hated* was such a strong word, perhaps disliked. Extremely disliked. She brought herself back to reality with a mental shake of her head in time to hear the end of Connor's last statement.
"... impossible, nobody could figure it out. Then, in comes Spooky here and solves the case in twenty-four hours. We caught the guy in record time. You know-"
"Ahem," Scully cleared her throat. "Shouldn't we be focusing on the case at hand?"
"Oh, yeah. Guess we're just going to have to reminisce later." Connor looked sufficiently penitent and Mulder just looked relieved.
They headed towards the main office, which the FBI team had appropriated as their base of operations, Mulder's hand in its customary place at the small of Scully's back.
Upon entering the office Dale Connor underwent a transformation that both shocked and pleased Scully at the same time. "I've got my men compiling all the evidence we've managed to gather so far and we're working on victimology, pathology, and forensics. Up 'til now we've come up with nothing. We need some insight into this guy, we need to know what he's thinking." It seemed to Scully that he gone from being a presumptuous nuisance to a determined Agent in Charge. He still had an air of arrogance about him, but at least he held it in check. He became wholly focused on the case, his devotion to it evidenced by the files and photos plastered to the wall behind his desk.
Reading Scully's mind, Mulder whispered, "This is why I put up with him. He is actually a decent agent when push comes to shove."
Connor picked up several papers from the fax machine and passed them out to the others. "Just before you arrived, I got this sent to me from Missing Persons. An eight year old by the name of Janet Furcini was reported missing an hour ago. It usually takes twenty-four hours to be considered missing, but with this guy still on the loose we're not taking any chances. The sheriff has graciously volunteered some of his officers to aid in the investigation, as time is of the essence."
"It mightn't be th' same killer, we dinna find Mary Jane's body." Macgregor's hopeful expression turned to one of dismay, "A' least no' yet."
"We'll find her in a ditch by the side of the road." Mulder said quietly.
"An how are ya comin' t' tha' conclusion?" Macgregor asked in astonishment.
"Well, take a look at how the other girls were killed. Carol Sullivan had a broken neck and was severely beaten - what could have happened if her tumble from the tree house was more serious. Stephanie Bannon was starved and unkempt when they found her, not to mention she had been disemboweled and her jugular was torn out. That is what one might expect to find if she had been lost in the woods for an extended period of time and finally killed by a pack of wolves."
Mulder took a deep breath and continued. "Carlie Warren was shot in the head, a different version of her initial gunshot wound. The perp is killing them in a way that exaggerates their first injuries. It's as though he wants to prove that it could have been worse if the girl's siblings weren't there. He is trying to vindicate them.
"Mary Jane Hathaway was hurt in a car accident so... " Mulder trailed off.
"So, many car crash victims are found by the side of the road," Scully finished for him.
"Exactly. She will probably have some broken bones, a concussion, and glass cuts. More than likely she will have died from loss of blood and internal injuries." Mulder shuddered involuntarily as he described the body.
"Did you check to see if Janet Furcini was admitted to a hospital anytime recently?" Scully inquired.
"No, I hadn't thought it necessary." Connor looked peevish.
"I'll call th' hospital ri' away." Macgregor scurried out of the room.
"Ask if she had a brother and if he has also been admitted!" Mulder shouted after the Scot.
"Mulder, we're not even sure the girl has been kidnapped." Connor was being obstinate.
"It has been exactly two weeks since Mary Jane went missing. The perp has a deadline to meet. I've summarized it all in my profile." Mulder handed Connor the profile he had finished earlier that morning.
"Mmm." Connor grunted as he took the file and began to flip through it.
Mulder and Scully took a seat in the couch opposite the senior agent's desk. Mulder closed his eyes and rotated his neck on his shoulders, trying vainly to ease the tension there. He felt a slight pressure on his knee and he opened his eyes to find Scully staring worriedly at him. He smiled slightly and laid his hand atop hers, which was resting on his knee. A nonverbal 'I'm fine.'
Not that either one believed that old phrase anymore, but it was always a good standby. They had modified it and given it their very own meaning: I'm not doing so great, but with a little time and some support, I'll be okay. As long as I have you.
Macgregor came back just as the ASAC finished skimming the profile, a look of awe twinkling in his eyes. "You were ri' on th' spot laddie, both Janet an' her brother were in th' hospital last week."
He handed Mulder the notes he had taken from the admittance clerk over the phone. Mulder skimmed the papers momentarily before speaking. "Says here that she was being treated for first degree burns from a gas stove. Seems her brother was too busy doing his homework to help her make lunch, so she tried to do it on her own. Nearly burnt down the whole house. Nick, her brother, was treated three days later for food poisoning."
"Sounds like th' other victim scenarios, Connor."
"It certainly does, Mike. So Mulder, what do you suggest?" Connor looked expectantly at the other agents.
Mulder seemed lost in his own world, delving into the insane universe of a killer's mind. "Oh God... he'll burn her," he whispered.
"What?" Scully leaned closer.
Mulder turned horrified eyes to his partner. "He'll burn her."
"That makes sense if he stays true to form. Don't worry Mulder, we'll get him first." Scully hoped in her heart that this was true. Mulder's fear of fire had abated somewhat after the incident with Cecil L'Ively, but he still had some problems dealing with it.
"Mike and I will go interview the parents, you two can join the search for Mary Jane." With that taken care of, Connor whisked out of the room and disappeared into the forest of people and papers.
"Good luck to ya both," Macgregor added and followed the younger man.
Scully laid her hand on Mulder's shoulder to prevent him from moving just yet. "Mulder, maybe you should go back to the hotel and get a few hours of sleep. They don't need both of us for the search party and you could use the rest." Scully didn't relish the thought of having to deal with her partner's reaction to finding a little girl's dead body. At least she could try to spare him the grief.
"I'm okay," he snapped. His face softened in apology. "Look, I'm sorry, but I need to be there when they find her. I need to follow his footsteps, trace his every action, in order to anticipate his next move."
"All right, but if you're not one hundred percent by this evening, I am going to lock you in your room without your laptop or the files."
"Okay, okay." He put his hands up in mock surrender. "You drive a hard bargain."
"You should see me at the flea market." She grinned - he deserved a little extra. "Don't make me handcuff you to the bed."
She got what she expected.
"Ooh Scully, I didn't know you were so kinky."
She smiled. "Shut up Mulder."
*********************
Mt. McLoughlin Pass
Just Outside of Medford
12:53 pm
"Here! Stop here!" Mulder gestured frantically for the driver to pull over. The deputy hastily swerved off the road and onto the dirt shoulder. The patrol car behind them followed suit.
"Mulder, what is it?" Scully asked, scrutinizing the trees off to her right.
"We need to search this area. She's here somewhere," he answered cryptically and got out of the car. Scully shrugged at the driver and went after her partner. She found him speaking with the other two law enforcement officials who had accompanied them. One was another deputy, the other an agent assigned by Connor, fresh from Quantico. "I want you to canvas the area. Don't worry about going much farther than ten feet from the side of the road, she'll be in the runoff ditch."
The green agent scampered off, eager to please the FBI legend. The more experienced deputy wandered over to join his fellow officer. Scully stood by Mulder's elbow, waiting for him to acknowledge her. After about two minutes of watching him stare off into space, she gave up and took the offensive. "Mulder. Mulder!"
"What? I'm sorry Scully, did you say something?"
She rolled her eyes in feigned exasperation. "I want to know why you think this is the dump site."
"I don't know. I just have this feeling. You know, that tight knot in your stomach that tells you when the badguy is behind you, ready to blow your head off," he tried to explain.
"Agent Scully, Agent Mulder, we've got something!" one of the deputies shouted.
Scully shot Mulder a look that he had seen on many a face when he had worked in the ISU. It was disbelief. Well, it wasn't exactly a new expression for his partner at least.
The two agents jogged over to the frantic young man who had discovered the corpse of a raven haired little girl. The other deputy was on the radio, calling headquarters, and Agent Green, as Mulder had decided to nickname him, was off to the right, puking his guts out in the bushes. Mulder squinted his eyes, the only emotion he would let creep out, turning aside to survey the scene.
Scully bent down and began to examine the body. "Broken bones and glass cuts. I'll have to wait until the autopsy to be sure, but the rigidity of her stomach suggests internal bleeding, and the large bruise on her head indicates a possible concussion." She didn't remark on the eerie accuracy of her partner's prediction. It was just the way Mulder thought. Just another one of the many things about him that she couldn't understand but loved just the same. Loved? Now, why would she put it that way?
She stepped away from the small corpse and watched Mulder walk around in the muddy ditch by the side of the road. He stopped, bent down, and ran his fingers over the tracks in the dirt road.
"Deputy!" he barked over his shoulder.
"Yes, Sir?" asked the flustered youth. The kid couldn't have been more than twenty. Great. He and Agent Green could order Happy Meals for them all. "Is this road used often?"
"Um, not usually, but in the past few weeks there's been more traffic than usual, due to the big fur trade convention they're having up on Mt. McLoughlin come spring. Traders bring up their supplies and merchandise every time this year. They've got to do it early, 'cause this pass will be snowed in by next month."
"How long has this convention been meeting here?"
"Oh, just for the past seven years I guess, maybe eight, I'm not sure. Why?"
Green walked shakily up behind them, peering over Mulder's shoulder.
"Look at the tire marks." Mulder motioned to the barely discernible tracks in the mud.
The young agent was confused. "But we can't get an impression from those, so there's no way to try and match it to the killer's car."
"Yes, but if you look at them closely, you can see that the vehicle had chains on the tires, like he was expecting snow. He also drove away at high speed, as though he was surprised by another driver."
"But it hasn't snowed this early in the year since the eighties," the deputy pointed out.
"Exactly." Mulder stood up suddenly and walked back over to Scully, who was just finishing her preliminary examination, leaving the two newbies to try and make sense of the conversation.
"Find anything useful Mulder?" Scully asked hopefully.
"Yeah, the killer's been here."
She arched an eyebrow at him. "I thought that was obvious."
He gave her a dirty look. "Obviously. I meant before this. He grew up around here. His estimated age is late twenties to early thirties, so that means he would have lived here in the seventies, right?"
"Yes, that's safe to assume, but I don't see what... "
He waved his hands animatedly. "It hasn't snowed in January since the eighties, but he was expecting snow and no traffic. He didn't know about the fur convention because it started after he moved away. You see now?"
She nodded her head in understanding. "So you're saying we're looking for a local who has just moved back into town after many years of absence."
"He feels free now that his parents are gone. He came back to his hometown to make the murders more meaningful, more satisfying. But he had a close call today, he didn't expect this town to have changed and that scares him."
"Scared enough to make a mistake?"
"Perhaps." Mulder became lost in thought for a moment. "When he runs out of girls who fit his warped puzzle, he'll start killing the fathers."
"Why?"
"Because I... he doesn't believe his father was right to beat him. He wants revenge on the abuser, hence their deaths." Mulder looked down for a moment and when he lifted his head Scully thought she saw his eyes glistening with unshed tears. Of course, it could have been a trick of the light.
She hadn't missed his falter. He had been about to say that his own father hadn't had the right to beat him. Her fears were pretty much confirmed. At that instant she wished William Mulder was still alive so she could kill him all over again. What kind of monster physically abuses a twelve year old boy, burdening him with the guilt of something he couldn't possibly have had any control over? She took a deep breath to calm herself and went over to her partner, who was mumbling nonsensically to himself.
"It was my fault." He said it so quietly Scully had to strain to hear him. Suddenly the color drained from his face and he stumbled over to the rental car.
"Mulder? Mulder, you okay?" Scully hurried after him, all concern.
She found him kneeling by the trunk, spilling what was left of his breakfast onto the muddy ground. "It's all right Mulder, it's going to be okay," she murmured, gently rubbing his back.
After finishing, he leaned back on his haunches and scrubbed his face. "Shit, Scully. I'm sorry."
She gave him a crooked smile. "I'll give you points for missing my shoes." She reached down and hooked her arm under his elbow. "Come on, we'd better get you back to the hotel."
He was about to argue, but thought better of it when he saw the stubborn set to her jaw. Damned Irish temper.
*************
Spouter-Inn
3:32 pm
He had to be awake by now. Mulder rarely took naps and when he did, it was never for more than an hour. "How are you feeling?" Scully questioned as she walked into Mulder's darkened room.
"Hungry." He was lying on his stomach, files decorating all free space on the bed around him. The shades were drawn, the only light coming from the edges and from the muted TV.
She sighed dramatically. "I think you should hold off until dinner, give your stomach a rest."
"Yes, *Mom*," he drawled.
"Shut up and get ready." She threw his shirt at him. "I've got an autopsy to do and you have a police station to debrief."
He let out a martyred sigh. "My work is never done." He tugged on his shirt and grabbed a tie, the one dappled with tiny flying saucers.
*********************
Medford Police Station
4:47 pm
After debriefing the sheriff, his men, and the rest of the agents assigned to case on their findings at the crime scene, Mulder took Macgregor aside. "Sheriff Macgregor, can I speak to you for a moment?"
"Sure, laddie. Fine work you're doin' here."
"Mmm. Anyway, I was wondering if you could spare some men from the Furcini search team?" Mulder raised his eyebrows hopefully.
The burly man scratched his neck for a moment as if it helped speed up his thought processes. "Janet's Pa is real 'portant 'round here an' there's heaps a' pressure on us t' find her. So it'll take some doin' but I'm sure I can round up some a' my men for ya. Mind if I be questionin' what for an' why yer not usin' yer own men?"
"I need to start a search of all the kidnapping/murder cases committed in the area during the seventies and Agent Connor already denied me. He's got all the other agents doing background checks on the residents of fair Medford."
Macgregor scratched the faint stubble on his jaw. "Tha'll take a wee bit more time than my men can spare, but I'll do my best t' see wha' I can do."
"Thank you." With that, Mulder turned around and headed to the records room to begin the search.
Four hours later, that was where Scully found him. He had made it all the way from 1970 to halfway through 1973. "Mulder, it's almost nine o'clock, I think it can wait."
He rubbed his sore eyes and glanced up at her. "Macgregor was going to give me some of his men to help but Connor, in his infinite wisdom and ladder-climbing intentions, thought they would be more useful scouring the streets for Janet Furcini."
Scully snorted, "I thought you said he was a decent agent."
"Decent, but pig headed sometimes. When he gets a plan of action in his head he sticks to it. He's only decent when his plan of action is."
*************
Spouter-Inn
11:09 pm
Scully was shocked when Mulder had willingly agreed to go to bed early, but when she heard the tapping of his keyboard she knew why. He'd agreed so she would leave him alone to work. Damn him.
She typed up her notes on the latest autopsy and made an entry in her field journal before deciding to turn in. Mulder wasn't the only one who worked late.
She finally dozed off around ten but only slept for about an hour, when she was awakened by a muffled scream.
"Scully!"
She leapt from her bed and bull-dozed through the connecting door to find Mulder sitting on the bed, surrounded by papers and photographs. He had a not quite sane look in his eyes and Scully realized that he was still seeing afterimages from the nightmare.
When she had first started working with Mulder his cries in the night were unnerving and, as the years went by, she had grown accustomed to his nighttime terrors. But he had never reacted like this as far as she knew. He was hyperventilating and he looked absolutely terrified. His gaze frantically searched the room and recognition finally struck when he saw her.
"Scully?" His voice was slightly hoarse from his anguished cry.
"It's me, Mulder, you were having another nightmare." She sat on his bed and stroked his hair soothingly.
"It was so real, I was sure... "
"Want to talk about it?" She didn't want to push him, knowing that if she did, he'd close up instantly.
"Maybe. In a minute. Would you... " he fumbled with the bedspread for a moment, unsure if continuing was dangerous. Well, he'd never know unless he asked. "Would you just let me hold you for a little while?"
She was shocked but for an instant. It was such an innocent request, how could he know that it would make her heart skip a beat? "Sure." She tried to relax as his long arms enveloped her and his chin rested on the top of her head.
She heard his breathing slow down and his racing heart return to normal as he rocked her gently back and forth. He took a deep breath and she knew it was time for him to tell her. She slipped out of his loosening embrace and went to get a glass of water.
It had felt so good to be in his arms and their bodies had fit together so perfectly it seemed they were made for each other. If only it wasn't just comfort he was seeking. She angrily banished those thoughts. Mulder needed and deserved her full attention.
Mulder followed his slight partner with his eyes, noting every graceful movement, every delicate action. When she had gotten up he had felt so empty, so alone. The little voice returned. 'Get a grip Mulder, she's still in the room for Christ's sake. It's not as if she wanted anything but to give you a shoulder to cry on.'
She returned with the water and he drank greedily, careful not to spill when she eased down onto the bed next to him. He finished the water and set the glass on the endtable. "All right, I'm ready."
She gave him her full attention.
"We were in a dark warehouse - you, me, and the search team. You heard a noise and went after it and I tried to follow, but I couldn't move. I called your name but you just kept going. Finally I was able to proceed and I raced into the darkness where you had disappeared." He closed his eyes, replaying the scene in his mind's eye.
"When I found you, you were... you were dead and this demonic creature was standing over you. I rushed at it but it vanished. That's when I woke up."
Scully said nothing for a moment, just digested the information for a little while. "Is this the first time you've had this dream?"
"This particular one, yes. Before, I used to dream about Sam's abduction, killers I profiled while in the VCS, or my father. Now they're about you. Your abduction, Duane Barry, Donnie Pfaster, Modell, the cancer. It's always the same, I try to save you, but I can't."
He had nightmares about her? Of course he did, he blamed himself for every bad thing that had happened to her during their time together, she should have suspected as much. She squeezed his hand tightly.
He took a deep shuddering breath and tried to lighten the mood. "Why can't I have normal dreams about women?"
Scully refused to take the bait. "Mulder, I'm going to ask you a question and I want you to answer truthfully okay?"
"Um... okay I guess," he answered suspiciously.
"Did your father beat you as a child?"
He stared at her, stunned. That was the last thing he had expected her to ask. For an instant, he thought about lying. But he could tell that Scully really wanted to know, that this was important to her. He looked away from her, studying an invisible spot on the wall. "He... he hit me every now and then. But he had his reasons."
"Mulder, no one has the right to abuse a child!"
He turned to her, frustration in his voice. "I know that, Scully, I didn't say it was right, I just said he had his reasons. His work was very stressful and he drowned his sorrows with alcohol. He blamed me for Sam. Hell, I blame me for Sam."
She didn't bother telling him it wasn't his fault, it was too deeply ingrained in him. "Mulder, I think you're too close to this case. You see yourself in the killer and that scares me."
He chewed on his lower lip for a moment before replying, "We almost have him Scully, I can almost see him."
"All right." She gave in, there was no way she would be able to convince him to step away from this case, not when he was this involved. "Do you want some sleeping pills?" When he shook his head, she squeezed his knee and stood up to leave.
"Scully?" He reached out and took her hand before she could move away. "Would you stay for a while? Until I fall asleep?"
"Sure, what are partners for?" She only half hoped that he didn't read as much into it as she had put in.
**************
Spouter-Inn Medford, Oregon
Wednesday, January 8
7:04 am
After waking up on the couch in Mulder's room at six and seeing the note he left on the table, informing her he had gone jogging, Scully took her blankets and sleepily dragged them back to her room.
When he came back and showered they went to the local IHOP for breakfast. Mulder wasn't hungry, but he attempted to down as much food as possible to allay Scully's fears. There was no mention of the previous night's episode, it was like a silent agreement between them to not discuss it. He didn't have to thank her, she knew. She didn't have to tell him she was concerned, he knew.
They returned to the hotel and Scully was about to enter her room when Mulder hissed, "Scully!"
She looked over and saw him pointing at his door - it was ajar.
They both removed their weapons from their holsters and silently counted to three. Mulder was the first to burst into the room, only to discover that it was empty and had been thoroughly trashed.
"This is becoming a habit, Mulder." Scully glanced around disgustedly.
"Oh yeah, it's all my fault," he said sarcastically. He walked into the bathroom and stopped abruptly. "Scully."
She joined him in the doorway and peered into the deserted bathroom. On the mirror there were three sloppy words scrawled in blood, "WE ARE ONE".
Scully heard Mulder's breath quicken and felt his muscles bunch, but she was unprepared for what he did next.
"No!" he shouted as he sprang towards the offending words. "We are not the same, damn you!" His fist slammed into the mirror, just above the dripping letters, splintering the reflective surface.
"Mulder!" Scully grabbed his fist as he brought it back for another blow. Blood was trickling from his skinned knuckles. He rounded on her, fury in his eyes. For a moment, she was afraid, worried that he wouldn't recognize her through the rage. But the anger flickered out of his eyes and his hand dropped to his side.
"Sit down, Mulder, c'mon." She helped him slide down the wall and lean forward, his head between his knees. "Deep breaths. There we go. I'll be right back, okay?"
No response. She took that as an affirmative and hurried over to her room to collect her medical bag. She returned quickly, noting that he hadn't moved an inch. "Mulder, I need to see your hand."
He still didn't respond.
"Mulder, please."
He raised his head and she saw such anguish in his eyes that she gasped slightly, her heart fluttering in her chest. He leaned his head back against the wall and slowly maneuvered his right arm across his lap, offering Scully the damaged appendage.
She worked fast and competent, disinfecting the cuts and bandaging them gently. "All done."
He spoke for the first time since that angry cry, "Scully?"
"Hmm?" She was placing her instruments back in the bag.
"How would he know about Sam?"
She settled herself next to him, ignoring how cramped they were in the tiny bathroom. "I don't know. Over the internet, I suppose. John Lee Roche did it, I don't see why our perp couldn't."
"Even so, how could he possibly know about my father? I never went to Child Welfare or Family Services. No one knew."
Scully's heart went out to the tortured man who was her partner. Such a caring and sensitive person mistreated and alone during his childhood. So alone. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it had been like for him.
"Like knows like?" It was all she could come up with.
Mulder gave a rueful snort and turned his head to look at her. "Just our luck. We're assigned to Violent Crimes and we still get an X-file. Psychic killers."
Scully flinched. Just like Luther Lee Fucking Boggs.
An hour later the room had been photographed and dusted for prints. Nothing appeared to be missing but it was obvious that, whoever it was, he had gone through Mulder's notes.
"Agent Mulder, Agent Connor is on the phone," the same young deputy from the day before informed him.
"Thanks." Mulder took the proffered phone. "Mulder."
"Hey Spook. I hate to ruin your day, but we've got another body. Our search team found Janet Furcini's body in a dumpster about a half an hour ago. She was covered in sixth degree burns. You were right on that count, but what I don't understand is why he killed her so soon."
Mulder swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. "Did you find anything else?"
"Yeah. We got a note this time. Says 'We are not to blame.' Any ideas on what that means?"
Mulder swallowed noisily, glancing back at his motel room. "I have a few. Stay there, we'll be right over." Mulder hung up the phone on Connor, who was sputtering about being told what to do, and strode quickly over to Scully. "They found her, we've got to go."