Author: CeilidhO

Summary: What if Scully had accepted the transfer to Salt Lake City? Three years later, she and her new partner are assigned to a bizarre string of kidnappings, with dangerous results. Meanwhile, a serial murderer is at large in Charleston, and Mulder is the only one who can stop him.  (Prequel to "Disciple")

Disclaimer: I own nothing, Chris Carter owns everything. (Except the characters I invent.) We all know the drill. Please don't sue me.

*                   *                   *

Charleston, South Carolina

August 10, 2001

3:01 am

          The warm wind rattled the palmetto leaves as the thin man walked through the darkened street.  He sneeringly avoided the sidewalks, instead marching up the middle of the road.  He angrily gave the finger to a driver who dared to honk at him. 

His frustration grew as he looked up at the crescent moon.   His lean face reflected in the pale bath of moonlight, harsh lines carved into the flesh from years of dissatisfaction.  In his head echoed an endless stream of curses, railing against every object that met his eyes.  His eyes were nearly purple in the bone-white light.

The rare moisture was beading on the worn pavement beneath his feet, the scattered remnants of an unexpected afternoon rain shower.  The wind was still damp from it, and it felt odd on the man's skin after the stifling stillness of the usual Carolina summer.

He passed a dark alley, framed in wisteria from a nearby house.  He caught a silver flash in the darkness, sudden and abrupt against his sight.  Wary, he stepped closer to the swimming, inky blackness of the lane, and finally right to its edge.

"Hello?" he muttered crabbily.  "Is some s.o.b. in there?"

In a rush of wild, violent motion, an arm shot out from the darkness and dragged him screaming from the light.

*         *         *

Quantico, Virginia

August 13, 2001

11:32 am

          Fox Mulder sat in his drab grey office, the summer sunlight filtering through the heavy café curtains that stretched across the top of the bare far wall.  The room was murky, and Mulder's feet were hazy to him from where they were propped on the desk in front of him.  His long legs extended back to the shabby wheeled chair where he sat.  A large pile of sunflower shells littered the floor below his drooping hand.

          A loud knock on the closed door startled him, and Mulder jumped, dropping the magazine that sprawled listlessly on his lap.  Swearing, Mulder leaned over to pick it up, calling peevishly at the same time:

          "Come in!"

          The door was opened, and Mulder saw a well dressed, forty-something man carrying a file folder. 

"Yes?  Can I help you?" he snapped.  The man extended his hand confidently.

"Agent Mulder?  I'm Agent Jonathan Fuller."

Mulder glared at him.  "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

The man's self-assured manner faltered for a moment, but quickly recovered.  "I'm a profiler, worked on the Dunne case…" Seeing that none of this had any impression on the other agent, Fuller got to the point.  "I'm your new partner."

"You're kidding," Mulder muttered.  "They must be scraping the barrel more than usual."

"Excuse me?" the other man said, faintly incredulous.  Mulder made a neutral noise and gestured to the other chair, which was piled with junk.

"Have a seat, Agent Fuller."  He smirked at the agent's expression, and turned to the slide holder on the desk, resuming the mind-numbing work he had been avoiding when Fuller had knocked.  The other man shuffled uneasily after a few moments of being ignored, and spoke up after a few more.

"Agent Mulder," he began.  "I was sent down here because I heard you had a new case.  Do you?"

Mulder looked up and stared at Fuller for another pickling moment of silence.  When he began to fidget with discomfort again, Mulder spoke.  "I do indeed, Agent Fuller."  He purposely pronounced the name like an insult.  "You interrupted me when you arrived."  Mulder polished the last slide and slipped it into its slot in the tray, then hefted the plastic circle and carried it to the projector.

"What…" Fuller began, but Mulder shushed him and flicked off the lights.  The projector whirred to life.

"Three deaths," Mulder said, assuming his lecture voice.  "In nine months.  Two women, one man.  Each a different race, a different social class, a different life."  A passport photo of each the victim flashed on the screen as he spoke.  He pressed the button again, bringing up a crime scene photo.  "Each with exactly the same wounds: eight stab wounds, perfectly through the heart, lungs, navel, kidneys, stomach, and lower intestine.  Each also had the skin on the left side of the face removed.  That includes the left ear, eye, nostril and the left side of the mouth."   

"Jesus Christ!" Fuller exclaimed.

"Oh, I doubt he'll be much help in the situation," Mulder said, his tone mocking.  "Just whip out that Bureau credit card and buy us two tickets to South Carolina."

*         *         *

Charleston, South Carolina

August 14, 2001

2:52 pm

          Mulder climbed into the rental car in a foul mood.  Fuller had managed to irritate and infuriate him more than pretty much anyone had before.  The man was arrogant, rude, insensitive and completely oblivious to anyone but himself.  On the flight, he'd referred to the flight attendant as a 'hunk of meat'.

           Speak of the asshole, Mulder thought as Fuller climbed in the car, his shirt open and sweat clotting his brow.  Without another word, Mulder started the car and pulled out of the rental lot, swinging onto the street.  Above them, the sky burned a vibrant blue, dotted here and there with low clouds.  The heat was thick and clinging.

          It took half an hour to reach the police station, and the air-conditioned building was a relief.  Mulder crossed the room to the main desk, flashing his badge.

          "Hi," he said to the clerk.  "I'm Special Agent Mulder from the FBI.  I got a call from the chief of police yesterday."  He completely ignored Fuller, who glared at him from behind.

          "Oh, yeah," the clerk said.  "He said to come on back.  Who's that with you?"

          Mulder didn't try to hide the dismissive tone in his voice when he answered.  "Another agent.  Where's the chief?"  

          "C'mon with me."  The young man led them behind the desk and into the main room.  A prostitute leered at them from a holding bench, and they crossed through a sea of messy desks to an office at the back.  A broad man of about forty in uniform was bent over a desk inside, but straightened at their knock.

          "Agent Mulder?" he asked when he caught sight of their suits, the South thick and slow in his voice.  Irritation lit Fuller's face again at being passed over, and this time he jumped into the conversation.

          "And I'm Agent Fuller," he declared.

          "Nice to meet you," the chief said.  "I'm Captain Baylor Clancy.  Welcome to Charleston."  He turned back to Mulder.  "We found the body of the most recent victim quite a ways out of the city, pretty much in a swamp, but he was killed in the city, in an alleyway.  Which site would you like to see first?"

          "I suppose the death site," Mulder said, and then turned to Fuller, his eyes mocking.  "C'mon, Snoopy, back to the car."

          Fuller flushed bright red, and when they were back in the parking lot he rounded on Mulder.

          "Goddamnit Mulder, I'm not your lackey!  I know what you're trying to do, and I'll let you know something."  He sneered.  "I'm not going to be tossed out like the others.  I have influence in Washington.  I know people, people who could get your sorry, pathetic, alien-chasing ass out of the FBI so fast it would make your mother dizzy."  When Mulder remained silent, he took it for victory and went on.  "Yeah, I thought so.  Not so tough.  So, I think I'll be taking charge from now on, okay buddy?"

Mulder stared out at him, his gaze never shifting an inch.  He slipped on sunglasses, cloaking his eyes, and pulled out his cell phone.  He hit speed dial, turned his back to Fuller, and spoke for a few moments, indecipherably.  When he turned around, he handed the cell phone to the other agent and walked to the car, satisfaction filling him. 

He let the smirk hang his face as he watched Fuller's back stiffen, his gestures grow broader and angrier, and finally slam the phone shut.  He stalked to the car, and threw himself in. 

"I hope you're fucking happy now, Mulder," he snapped.  "I'm on the first flight tomorrow morning."

Mulder gazed at him with exaggerated sadness.  "Oh, so soon?  Too bad."

Fuller looked about to explode with anger as Mulder backed them out and followed Clancy's police cruiser into the street.

*         *         *

The alleyway off Crown Street was bright in the afternoon sunlight, and Mulder slipped under the yellow crime scene tape blocking off the entrance.  The bloodstains splattered on the wall and asphalt were almost black with time and exposure, but they were clearly pooled in two separate areas.

"Close as we can figure it," Clancy was saying, "He stabbed him through the heart here."  He pointed the first black spot.  "Did the rest of the stabbing here."  He pointed to the stains spread over the junction between the wall of the nearby store and the pavement.  "And removed the skin over there."  He gestured to an immense stain on the flattest part of the alley.

Mulder took it all in, his sunglasses dangling from his hand.  "I agree, Captain, but you should probably have a forensics team determine for sure."

"Who is this guy?" Clancy asked in bewilderment.  "He's butcher with the knife, but so precise, too.  He punctured all those organs exactly in the center."

"He has medical knowledge, then," Fuller said sulkily.  "That's obvious."

Clancy turned to Mulder.  "Some kind of deranged doctor, then?  Rejected med student, de-licensed surgeon…"

"All valid possibilities," Mulder said, his mind far away.  "But somehow I don't think so.  It's too obvious.  This guy appreciates subtlety."

Subtlety…  Delicate…  Skin…  The left side…  The sinister side…

Mulder laughed, low in his throat.  "He's playing a joke, with the faces.  In the middle ages, the left side was known as 'sinister'.  It's like a pun for him; left, sinister, murder, evil.  He thinks he's so clever."

Clancy was staring at him like he had just sprouted a third eye.  "How on earth did you get that?" he asked, wonder and trepidation clear in his voice.

"Just follow the brain-train," Mulder said flippantly.  "It rarely derails.  And look at the next station."  His roving eye had finally caught something: a yellow slip of paper wedged in a crack in the mortar of the brick wall.  He snapped on a pair of gloves and crossed over to it, easing the paper out gently, unfolding it to the message, written in stark red ink. 

'Slice, slice!  Three down, you to go.'

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A/N:  Hee-eere's Mulder!  You asked, I delivered.  I'll work as fast as I can in creating the Mulder chapters to go with the Scully ones, and when they're evened up the story will go on with alternating POV chapters.

I hope you like the new improved, shiny and sparkly version of the story!

~Ceilidh