7:45 a.m.
Somewhere in the upper atmosphere, it was raining. The clouds, ominous and black as they rolled through Cleveland skyline, would occasionally rupture as the strong, icy winter air tore at them, splitting in places to reveal a dirty, silvery sky the color of oyster shells. Occasionally a sound not unlike that of a harsh wind would filter down through the gauzy cloud cover and for a brief shining moment the sleek silhouette of a rapidly descending plane would emerge from the gray, a torch in the heavy skies as the light reflected off its metallic fuselage, before disappearing back into an embankment and being lost from view. These were small planes for the most part, little 2-engine or propeller craft descending on the Cleveland Hopkins International Airport at regular intervals: airborne buses carting around relatives and businessmen across the Midwest and Canada. When he was done with the case, he and Scully would almost certainly be on one of those self-same planes, a little half-full Continental or American Eagle puddle-jumper on its way back to Washington with a middle aged, bored-looking stewardess and an inexperienced but enthusiastic pilot.
Kicking his mind back to reality- or at least, the reality he shared with other people commonly known as "real life," Mulder twisted his scarf around his neck and gritted his teeth in anticipation of the cold walk back to the car. Something in his body language or the way he carried himself on the way out of the 2nd Precinct lobby must have alerted Scully to his daydreaming, because the next thing he knew she was standing next to him, umbrella in hand.
"Whatcha thinking about, Mulder?"
It was a question without answer really, because even if Mulder told her what he had in fact been thinking about- (the planes, the sky, the way she always asked if they had Dr. Pepper before settling for a Diet Coke if they didn't), it would have seemed pointless and trivial. She would just give him one of those "what's the frequency, Kenneth?" looks that translated into "I don't really care that you got deathly seasick your first time in a plane back when you were a kid, I was just wondering if it was relevant to the case." It wasn't that she was being cruel (because she wasn't), it was just that despite their years together, her words still occasionally found a way to cut through his thick hide and sting him without her realizing it. And so, instead of actually telling her what he had been thinking about (the way that he had never seen her sleep on board planes and the fact that she always took the right side of the overhead compartment), he simply shrugged and said "nothing," because that was easier than getting into the truth and a hell of a lot less confusing at times. She seemed to accept that for an answer and, bracing herself, pushed her way through the glass doors and out into the street.
The rain had stopped falling directly on the city and as such they didn't really need the umbrella, but just the same she opened it up, seemingly relishing the sharp sliding sound of the mechanical device in motion, its oily working punctuated by a single short click. While the rain proper had stopped, the air was thick with water, leaving a thin liquid coat on all exposed surfaces and causing car tries to sizzle as they cruised the blacktop streets, commuters on their way to work. Sticking close to her, Mulder shielded himself under the wide brim of the umbrella, enjoying the bittersweet comfort which this close proximity to another human being brought. Silently they made their way back to the Taurus.
It was only after they were comfortably seated in the rental, Mulder behind the wheel, Scully riding shotgun, that they spoke again.
"Well, I dunno Mulder," said Scully, breaking the silence as they stared through the completely obscured windshield at the blue Eclipse parked directly in front of them. "That was just..." she paused, searching for a better word and, failing, continued "...weird."
"How so?" replied Mulder, absently running his fingers through his hair. It was cold and slick to the touch, moistening his fingers and causing mini rivulets to run down his forehead. Scully broke off her gaze and turned to face him.
"Didn't you feel it? It was like something from a movie down there. I mean, first we have Detective Preston. Less than 12 hours ago he was the big man in charge and was was coordinating the crime scene like the Normandy landings. The next thing you know, he breaks down and apologizes to you for being rude?"
Mulder turned and looked at Scully, his eyes clever and alert.
"What? You don't think he'd recognized that he might have hurt my feelings and as such decided to act preemptively by trying to smooth over any misunderstanding?" He gave Scully a momentary smile before feeling it blink out on his face. This didn't feel like it was going to be a very humorous day.
"Mulder, call me uncharitable, but the last time Preston felt regret was probably when he forgot to zip up his pants." At this Mulder couldn't help but burst out laughing. He liked laughing: it helped relieve the tension. Soon enough, Scully was smiling too, rubbing her temples as she chuckled under her breath.
"Ah Scully," uttered Mulder between the occasional chortle. "Where would I be without you?" Scully ceased massaging her temples and looked at Mulder, holding his gaze a while before letting it drop.
"Beats me Mulder," she replied, gazing back over the watery hood of the Taurus. For an instant Mulder felt the almost incontrollable urge to hug her, to hold her, to tell her how much she meant to him and how happy he was that she had come along. It was a stupid thought and he recognized it as such, but just the same he let it linger, feeling the bond between them momentarily contract and strengthen. But the moment passed and it was gone, slipping away into the fog professionalism and personal responsibility. He let the after-feeling linger for a while, before letting it fade to black. Overhead the sky was split by the whistle of a rapidly powering down engine and in the distance another plane slid through the cloud cover, landing gear dropping into position as it made its final approach.
"Scully," he started, hesitated, then continued, "I know what you're probably going to say. But just the same, I have to say it. I," he paused for a moment, unsure of how to continue, looking for the correct phrase. Deciding there was no easy way to say it, he went for the throat. "I think I know who's going to be our next, and probably last victim." Despite his apprehension, her answer was comparatively gentle.
"Ok Mulder," she responded, turning to face him, her auburn hair suddenly incredibly bright in this terminally drab city. "What's your theory?"
"There are still a lot of pieces missing Scully. And I know we've been over this a hundred times before, that no matter what it is we see or think we see, you always maintain there's a rational explanation." She started to protest but he cut her off with a single impatient gesture. "I"m not trying to start a fight, Scully, I'm just stating the situation as I see it. In any case, it doesn't really matter because what I'm about to propose makes perfect sense on the strategic level, even if some of the details are peculiar or just down right bizarre, ok?"
For a moment he felt a sudden rush of adrenaline in his system, convinced that he had set off some sort of self-defense mechanism inside of his partner. It hadn't been his intention, but he had been prepared for the possibility. To his relief after a few seconds of tense silence, she smiled, her lips spreading back to reveal a row of small white teeth as her face warmed.
"Mulder, you know you don't have to preface every explanation you give with an apology. I mean, I can understand it if my criticism has a tendency to get to you from time to time," she reached over and, pausing for a moment, placed her hand on his shoulder before letting it drop again. "You're my partner, and it's my job to bring you back down to earth every once in a while," her smile fading it bit as she noticed Mulder's eyebrows climb. "No pun intended." Mulder's smile returned and, perhaps anticipating a smart-alec joke looming on the horizon, she cut him off. "So, Mulder, do you want to tell what you think is going on here?" Tapping his foot on the floor, Mulder briefly organized his thoughts and, having accessed the file marked Cleveland, Freezing Case in the poorly lit junkyard of his brain (a junkyard for expensive, exotic foreign cars perhaps, but a junkyard nevertheless), delivered his summary.
"Ok Scully," he started, his voice warm in the limited space of the car. "What have we established in terms of victim linkages? First of all, all three victims were found dead in extraordinary circumstances."
"That's assuming of course that the deaths are related," interjected Scully. "But considering the extraordinary circumstances in which they were found, I can accept that."
"Secondly, the victims all reported working together- or at least, are all connected via this Yuri's place, right? Now we know that this whole bar is really a front for the Russian mob and it's highly doubtful that these three victims were busy busing tables for minimum wage."
"Again Mulder, I agree," replied Scully, glancing out the rapidly fogging window. "However, how any of this has to do with finding out who the next victim is going to be is beyond me. Mulder Sighed.
"I'm getting to that Scully. In any case, let's say that these three victims worked directly for the mob and weren't just affiliated members or associates. How would that change the picture?"
"I suppose..." breathed Scully, a slight hint of frustration creeping into her voice, "that somehow these three victims would all be wanted dead for the same reason."
"In other words, someone or something is pissed and is gunning for revenge."
"Mulder, we don't even-" An impatient gesture on his part cut her off.
"I know Scully, I know. We don't even know who did this or how it happened or what the precise cause of death is other than instantaneous flash-freezing. I'm sure you're playing around with some interesting theories in your head right now, but to be honest I think natural explanations are going to have to take to the sidelines for now."
Reaching forward, Mulder slid the key into the ignition plate of the Taurus and gave a brisk turn. Moments later the heavy engine rumbled to life and the internal buzzer went off, conscientiously reminding Mulder that he was operating a motor vehicle without a seat belt- and therefore in violation of the law. Putting the car into gear, he glanced at his partner and was unsurprised to see the expression on her face melding into one of speculative curiosity. As if guessing her question, Mulder replied.
"In any case, if this is a matter of revenge from beyond the grave, I plan on finding out before anyone else gets hurt."
"And how do you plan to do that Mulder?" Scully clicked the lock of her seatbelt into place.
"By asking the only person who's given us any good information on this case so far."
And with that, Mulder clicked the yellow blinker on and pulled out into the light traffic of 23rd Street, the gray drizzle pitter-pattering off the Taurus' roof and running down onto the pavement below.
Apartment 21A Sanger Avenue
9:12 a.m.
The hallway smelled slightly of burnt food and one of the lights near the end of corridor had burnt out, but beyond that the Sanger Avenue apartment building was much the same as it had been when Mulder first visited it a few days earlier. Wrinkling her nose, Scully broke the silence.
"Well, Mulder, you sure know how to pick the spots." Mulder flashed her a toothy, half-serious grin.
"This coming from a lady who spends her time cutting up dead bodies for a living?"
She shrugged.
The door, much like the rest of the hallway seemed more or less unchanged since the last time Mulder had visited. He allowed of course that it hadn't been that long since he had had his foot jammed at the bottom of that unpleasant entryway, but just the same, it paid to be attentive. Considering the usefulness of what the old man had told him earlier in the week with regards to the case, Mulder wouldn't have been surprised to see the door kicked down and a blood trail leading outside to the nearest dumpster. Much to his relief, the door was intact and apparently undamaged.
Carefully, Mulder bent down and examined the knob and lock of the doorway. Running his fingers along the rough wood, he satisfied himself that there were no tool marks or other abrasions that might suggest a forced entry. Looking over his shoulder he was relieved to see that whatever her reservations, Scully had apparently divined his thoughts and had moved the the far side of the doorway, out of the way of any fire that might greet their arrival.
Righting himself, he quietly took up position on the hinge-side of the door opposite Scully. Extending his hand, Mulder gave a series of short, sharp raps on the edge of the door and the listened. There was no reply from the inside, nor could he make out any particular sounds emanating from the other side that might suggest his witness had been compromised, such as the sound of safeties being clicked off. Looking up from the door, Mulder caught Scully's eye and nodding at her, slid the edge of his coat back, placing his hand on his holstered pistol.
Setting his hand on the cold doorknob, Mulder removed his pistol from it's holster and, keeping it low, tried the knob. It slowly slid into an (evidentially) well-oiled rotation and instead of stopping halfway into its orbit, it continued to turn. Mulder had to admit this was not proceeding as he had expected, locked doors generally being the norm in this section of town. The knob continued to turn and, after what seemed like minutes (although it could only have been seconds), he felt the latch engage and slide back out of the frame. In some dark corner of his mind he felt the air shift, the subconscious edge of Scully's body tensing. He didn't need to look to know that her pistol was out. Taking a deep breath, the opened the door and stepped into the entryway.
The apartment couldn't have changed much since Mulder had last seen it, but it was difficult to tell. As he scanned the dark living room, his pupils dilated and soaking in as much light as possible, it occurred to him that he had actually never been inside the old man's apartment. Just the same, he wasn't particularly surprised at its contents.
The place was tidy but poorly lit. The shades were drawn and in the semi-obscurity of a cloudy late winter morning, the entire room was hung with shadows. Clearing the doorway, Mulder stepped out of the entryway and lowered his gun, fairly confident that the flat was deserted. Or at least insofar as no one looking to put down some heavy firepower on the two federal agents was concerned.
On the edge of his already heightened senses, Mulder heard a soft, plasticine click and, an instant later, a thin, sharp beam of white Maglight brilliance cut across the scene, shredding the darkness and illuminating the far wall. Mulder smiled for a instant. Scully had always been the practical one.
"Well Mulder," came the voice slicing out from behind the shaft of light, "it doesn't look like your mystery man's home."
He glanced around, dropping his pistol along his side, trying to somehow will something-anything- into existence that might help. He knew it was stupid and that he was grasping at straws, but just the same it didn't feel right. He was unwilling to give up so soon.
Re-holstering his firearm, Mulder stepped into the living room and took in the scene. Despite its small size, his partner's flashlight cut swathes through the room, its beam playing across the furniture and swelling into a yellow bullseye where it was interrupted by the far walls.
The place was fairly small, which was expected considering the generally cramped nature of the neighborhood, but it seemed fairly uncluttered-almost elegant in its setup. A thick carpet of indeterminate color covered the floor and lent the dwelling a cozy, vaguely homely air. A sofa and the ubiquitous T.V. set sat towards the middle of the room and, back against the wall, a single, shaded window provided the only other source of light apart from Scully's flashlight. Two doors stood to the left, one off to the right. All three were closed.
"Mulder." Scully's light danced in the dim, filling in a few more details of the room for Mulder's mental image. "I don't want to make things difficult, but we can't just come in here uninvited. You know that."
"The door was unlocked."
"That doesn't make a difference, you know that. Besides," she turned to look at him, "it might help if you clued me in a little here." Feeling frustration rise a bit in his gut, he bit his lip and forced it back down.
"Well Scully, what exactly is it you want to know?" He raised his arms in a gesture of mock defeat. "I mean, I told you everything I know. I thought that talking to the guy who lives here might be helpful. So, I chased down a lead. What more do you want?"
"Well, we could start with some empirical evidence. Add to that a few facts, some scientific method, and a plausible explanation and then we'd be on the next flight out of here."
"Instead of?"
"Instead of..." Mulder winced. "Instead of standing here in this anonymous apartment in the middle of Cleveland looking for a man whom you think might have some vague connection of the case. She took a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice had softened.
"I mean, Mulder, that sometimes you tend to get so fixated on an idea that it becomes the only one that matters to you and as such the only one we follow up on. I-" She hesitated for a fraction of a second. Looking up at her partner, she could sense something shift. "What is it Mulder?"
A long silence.
"There's someone else here."