Title: Mortuus Iterum
Author: Skinfull
Rating: NC 17
Classification: Case file for VS 13...complete with all gory scenes
Feedback: Various Murders are occurring in the DC area with a hint of familiarity to them.
Mortuus Iterum (Dead Again)
By Skinfull
3/3
FBI HEADQUARTERSMulder walked past Kimberly without a word and stalked into Skinner's office. The words he was ready to spew out in anger died on the tip of his tongue as he faced an empty room.
He swirled around on his heel and faced a bemused Kim who stood leaning on the doorjamb.
"Where's AD Skinner? I need to talk to him." Mulder ground out trying to hold back his anger.
"He is gone looking for you. Where is your cell phone Agent Mulder?"
"It's..." he patted down his pockets but didn't find it. "It's in the back of a police car." Kim quirked her eyebrow at that admission. "Where did Skinner go...I.. ?" Mulder asked but before he could finish his question the phone rang and Kim reached over the desk to answer it.
"AD Skinner's office."
Mulder waited patiently for the call to end and watched as Kim's face turned ashen. Her eyes slowly turned towards him and fixed him with such a look of sympathy and suddenly he knew that call was for him. His heart lurched into his throat as he stared in slow motion, Kim holding the receiver out to him as his pulse roared in his ears. His mind clammed up with a dense fog; his hands grasped the phone without realising it and pressed it to his ears. It was hard to form words over the lack of breath.
"Hello?"
"Agent Mulder." It was AD Larkin. "I was calling for Skinner."
"What happened?" Even his own voice seemed to be coming from somewhere else.
"He got away." Larkin sighed shakily into the phone and Mulder instinctively knew he had more to add. "He has taken a hostage."
This time Mulder felt the blood drain from his own face. Without listening for more, Mulder handed back the phone and raced out of the room.
He sprinted through the corridor to the FBI garage and was fumbling in his pocket for his keys when he heard a familiar voice calling his name. Turning, he saw Skinner running towards him.
"Mulder! Wait!"
Mulder tugged the right key free and unlocked the car. He gunned the engine and was surprised to see Skinner jumping into the passenger seat beside him.
"What the hell do you think you are doing?" Skinner shouted pulling on his belt as Mulder careened out of the garage and onto the street. "Mulder!"
Mulder ignored him and focused on the traffic. Weaving in and out of the cars took more concentration then his mind was prepared to offer.
"Mulder! You won't get near this case. You're too close."
"Too close?" Mulder scoffed.
"She is going to be okay," Skinner offered but Mulder made no reaction.
"The area is surrounded with over fifty SWAT members. They won't be going far."
Mulder reached over Skinner and grabbed the cell phone out of the glove box. The spare that Scully insisted he carry. Thanking god she had forced him to keep one in the car he dialled an old familiar number from memory.
"It's not the geography I'm worried about." He pressed harder on the accelerator and sped through the streets, ignoring Skinner's white knuckled grip on the dashboard as he waited for a reply.
"Lone gunmen."
"Frohike I need you to get some info for me."
"Mulder! Stranger! You missed the best session-"
"Frohike listen!" Mulders urgency bit through the banter.
"What is it?"
"Professor Michael Brown. Professor in psychology at Georgetown University."
"What do you want on this guy?"
"Everything. I'll call you in one hour." As Mulder held the phone away from his face to press the end call button, he heard Frohike's protests.
At the apartment block he screeched to a halt and raced through the throng of onlookers to the perimeter. Flashing his badge the Agent on duty lifted the tape for him and allowed him in. Mulder found AD Larkin immediately and grabbed his shoulder, twisting him around.
"What the hell happened?" he shouted in Larkin's face before other agents pulled him away.
"Agent Mulder!" Skinner came up behind him and brushed the restraining agents away.
AD Larkin straightened his jacket and turned to face Mulder.
"Get him out of here!" he said coolly and quietly, staring Mulder straight in the eye.
"I should have been here! You bastard!" Mulder went to lunge for him again but the grip of Skinner's strong arms held him back and turned him away. With the aid of the burly AD, Mulder was forcibly removed from the crime scene and back towards his car.
"What the hell do you think you are doing?" Skinner barked, his fury plain in the tone of his voice as he pushed Mulder against the door of the car. Mulder didn't reply and concentrated only on his ragged breathing. "Do you want to get fired? Is that what your after?"
"I have to find her." Mulder's heartrending whisper cut through Skinner's anger like a raw wind. "I should have been with her!"
"What the hell happened? Why weren't you on the raid?" Skinner asked looking over his shoulder angrily, checking to make sure Larkin was still across the road.
"AD Larkin," Mulder bit out the name with contempt, "sent me back to the Hoover building to sort out the warrant." He moved his feet, shifting his weight from side to side as he glared across at Larkin.
"Agent Mulder, I'll deal with him. I want you to go home. I want you away from this crime scene and out of harms way while we deal with this situation. Do I make myself clear?"
"Sir-!" Mulder started to argue but the sting of disappointment in Skinner's eyes crumbled his words to dust.
"I know what your thinking Mulder but you'll only make it worse. Get out of here and I'll call you with any new developments." Without offering him the solace Mulder begrudgingly expected, Skinner turned and walked away.
Mulder let his head fall back onto the roof of the car with a soft thud. He closed his eyes from the glare of the morning sky but her image burned there tauntingly.
"Agent Mulder? You okay?"
Mulder looked up to see Detective Brice approaching slowly.
"Been better." He straightened up away from the car and pulled the drivers door open.
"She called me." It took a moment for Brice's words to sink in.
"What?"
"She called me to get a medical team up to an apartment. They found someone who had been injured."
"They?" Mulder asked realising he was stuck in monosyllabic mode.
"She was working with Agent Bryson." Detective Brice stepped closer and placed his hands on the hood of the car as if he needed the help to stand.
"Bryson?"
"She called for medical assistance. But when we got up there she was gone."
"Where was Bryson?"
"They found him dead. He had been stabbed through the neck. Didn't have a chance. Also..."
"What?" Mulder urged. Could this get any worse?
"His uniform was gone. Brown had taken his uniform."
"That must be how he got close enough to take her." Mulder muttered aloud, his mind clicking into overdrive as he started to fit the pieces together. Clues he didn't realise he had, corners he didn't know he'd turned. He reached into the car and grabbed the cell again and hit the redial button. Brice looked on in confusion as Mulder got into the passenger seat and urged him to jump in to the driver's.
"Frohike, what have you got?" Mulder snapped on his seatbelt and pointed west.
"Nothing. This guy is clean. He has an alert on his record that was put on this morning but I'm guessing that was why you were calling me."
"Yeah. You have nothing for me."
"Nothing. He has been working at Georgetown University for the past four years. Exemplary record, had papers published and is considered a brilliant mind in the criminal psychologist field."
"What papers?" Mulder asked and turned to Brice. "Go to Georgetown University."
"In 1998 he published 'Criminal Serial Killers and the Forces that guide them', 'The mind of the Sane Serial Killer' in 2001, He goes off the map then for a while and emerges early last year attempting to publish another paper entitled 'Genetic Killers' in which he claimed loftily to have broken the genetic code of the mass murderer."
"Jesus, how did he move from psychology to genetics?"
"Well there was a four year gap."
"Long enough to study genetic biology and break the gene code?" Mulder said sceptically.
"No. His paper was never published and he resumed his position at the university."
"Seems he was doing more there then just teaching classes."
"Mulder I'll keep looking but it doesn't look too promising."
"Okay Frohike. Let me know if you find anything."
Mulder hung up the phone and slipped it into the inside pocket on his jacket. He rubbed his shoulders off the seat back and glanced at Brice.
"If he was an employee at the university of Georgetown then why didn't his finger prints come up with a match for the ones we inserted into the database?" Brice asked suddenly, with his head cocked to the side and his frown deep. "All educational employees have background checks and prints taken."
The question stumped Mulder, and he paused a moment in thought before snatching his phone again and quickly dialling a number.
"Gerry, it's Fox Mulder," he said as soon as he heard the call clicking into place.
"What can I do for you?"
"The prints you ran for me? What level search did you use?"
"A level four. All records including state and military as far as security clearance will allow."
"Does the system check for prints if the record belongs to a deceased criminal?" Brice looked over at Mulder at his strange question but quickly turned his eyes back to the road.
"No. The system was designed to move all prints belonging to the deceased to a separate folder. It needs to be searched separately."
"Will you run the prints again?" Mulder asked, his heart lurching a beat with the adrenaline boost that usually came with one of his spooky leaps as it coursed through his body. "Run all the prints we lifted from all the scenes and check them against the records we have dating back as far as 1900's."
There was a an incredulous pause, a sigh and then... "Okay, I'll get it started right away."
"Call me as soon as you find something...anything...no matter ..."
"No matter how weird...I know Mulder. You got it. I'll call you."
"What are you thinking?" Brice asked as he pulled the car up outside the university hall and looked over to Mulder.
"What if...what if the reason we didn't find a match for his prints was because his prints kept changing."
"Changing?" Brice looked over sceptically but followed Mulder's lead as he jumped out of the car and over to the University Reception.
"With each crime scene we found a lot of prints, but none of them linked the separate scenes. The only thing that linked the bodies were the quotes."
Mulder stalled a moment to scan the board of directory. He spotted the name Prof. M. Brown and noted the room number. Racing through the hall with Brice on his heel, he hared into an elevator and repeatedly stabbed the button for the third floor in his urgency.
"But fingerprints are...they are unchangeable Mulder! It's not like you can produce new ones. If anything he had an accomplice."
Mulder looked over to Brice and briefly thought of explaining his theory, but decided against it. When the elevator doors started to open he rushed forwards, exiting at the first opportunity. Brice raced after him, but they both pulled up short as they turned the corner and spotted the two Agents on guard duty outside Brown's office.
"Agent Mulder," one of them said as he approached. "We were told to expect to see you."
"Excuse me," Mulder said as he sidestepped around him, but the guard put a hand on his chest.
"We have orders not to let you in here."
"Sorry?" Mulder looked up.
"AD Larkin called and left orders."
"You've got to be kidding?" Mulder's anger flared as he started to argue but the Agent on duty looked away. "He is impeding this investigation."
"It is our understanding that you have been taken off this case," the larger Agent muttered sneakily.
"Taken off active duty even?" the other one added.
Brice chose that moment to step in and move Mulder aside.
"I am still on this case. And I'm pretty damn sure the bureau doesn't want a territory war with the local police department."
"This is an active Federal bureau case. You have no jurisdiction here."
"Okay, I'll call my department head and relay that Agent...what's your name?"
"Agent Rankson."
"Agent Rankson has actively stopped my investigation citing local jurisdiction as the reason." Brice started to turn but the other Agents swapped uneasy glances.
"Okay we can let you in but not him."
Brice looked over to Mulder, silently urging him not to argue. He knew the local Agents were well within their rights to deny him entry, given their orders. The door was opened for him and he entered, the larger of the Agents on guard duty followed him in and held the door wide open, conceding Mulder the option of watching.
Brice ran his eyes over the office and scanned the row upon row of files and folders.
"Has this room been processed yet?" he asked as he snapped on a pair of latex gloves.
"No. CSU is on the way."
"Brice, the PC," Mulder called from the doorway. "Check the latest files."
The pc was in standby mode and took only seconds to restart. The screen flickered and on came the prompt for a password.
"It's looking for a password," he said as he searched the desk for a trinket or photo that might give him a clue to the password. But it was clear of personal items. No family pictures, no snow globes or memorable charms from vacations, just file after file of psychological research.
Brice was trying more possible words but to no avail when Mulder called out. "Plenary!" Brice looked up to Mulder who was pointing at a leaflet on the notice board across the window. Pinned to it was a small black and gold lettered invitation for Prof Brown to attend the annual Plenary Award Ceremony in Ohio.
Brice hurriedly tapped it in and was surprised when the screen flickered to a windows desktop. He scanned through the icons displayed there but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Through windows explorer he accessed the recent documents but again there was nothing of note that jumped out at him. Recent emails to and from other members of faculty gave no clues and the recycle bin was empty.
"Nothing!" he called out to Mulder without looking back to him. From the doorway Mulder's eyes scanned the room but there didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary. Arch lever Files lined the walls in an orderly fashion. On the wall was some strange artwork Mulder recognised but couldn't place. The large oak desk was covered and neatly arranged with notes and folders.
"Did you check the trash can?" Mulder called out but Brice shook his head. It was empty. Brice leaned down in front of the desk and pulled out the drawers. Thrusting his hands into the jumble of stuff inside, he quickly searched through them all until he came to the bottom drawer.
"It's locked," he said before bracing himself and roughly pulling on it. The drawer flew open and in it rested a red folder. Brice yanked it out and rested it on the desk. On the spine of the folder in small concise letters read "Psychology Thesis: Inside the Mind of a Killer"
Mulder went to take a step in but the Agent guarding the door held him back for a moment. He hesitated, looking between Mulder and the folder before removing his hand from his chest and letting Mulder pass.
Brice opened the folder and flicked past the index to the first page. Before him was a list of names on a printed Excel sheet. After each name were dates and computer file names and through each line were highlighted rule marks, crossing each one out in turn.
All but one.
Darkness... Location unknown.Dana Sully woke to the stale stench of car fumes. The smell forced it's way into her airways making her cough. Her body screamed in protest as the sudden jolt of pain shot down from her temple. Holding as still as she could, she closed her eyes tight and slowed her panicked breathing. As she became more aware of her surroundings she realised she was in the trunk of a car. Oh god not again?
Judging from the bumps and way she was being tossed about, she guessed they were travelling at a high speed. Minimal light seeped in through the gap left by the missing left tail light but it wasn't enough to see much of anything. She felt her hands bound tightly behind her back and her feet had been taped together with what she guessed was duct tape. She deliberately pressed her back to the floor of the boot and felt her empty holster folding against her spine.
Damn.
Determined not to focus on the negative, she took a deep breath and started to worm her hands away from their bindings. She could feel the thin twine rubbing her skin raw but it was a pain she welcomed. At the same time she blew hard on the tape across her lips, wetting her lips and trying to create a gap. Eventually she managed to wet it enough to loosen the glue that fastened it to her skin. Trying to ignore the stale smell and the rough texture of the trunk carpet, Scully rubbed her face along it to try to catch the seam of the tape.
It was loosening; she realised in delight and kept rubbing it.
Eventually the glue gave way and she managed to peel a corner off. With her mouth and tongue she loosened the rest and peeled it away with her shoulder. Determined now and with the victory of the tape removal boosting her, she pulled harder on the rope that held her hands in place.
Just then the car stopped.
She froze. A front car door opened and she could hear soft gravel footsteps and across loose pebbles to the rear of the car. Frantically she yanked on her hands and pulled harder. But it was no use the knots were too tight. Please don't let history repeat itself... please, her mind railed in panic.
A key fumbled in the trunk lock. The sound of it clicking open before the lid was lifted and the bright sunlight burst in, blinding her. She turned away from the light and held her eyes closed.
"Well, well, you've been busy." The voice was familiar. "C'mon, out you get."
With two strong hands hooked under her arms, he lifted her out of the trunk and rested her carefully on the ground below. Scully blinked away the water in her eyes as they became adjusted to the light. She noticed a small red brick house across the wide yard with a taller shed behind it.
It was a farm, she realised. Through squinted eyes she took in the plush green land that rolled away behind the buildings and the lack of other residences in the area.
"Up we get." He lifted her up again this time holding her close to his body, one arm behind her back and supporting her head as the other lifted the crook of her knees, as if wanting to protect her more then harm her. It was then she recognised the uniform he was wearing. The black SWAT combat trousers with heavy combat booths, a black tee shirt and bulletproof vest. Across the name tag over the Velcro fastening was the name Bryson.
"Who are you?" Her voice sounded dry and scratchy as he carried her across the stone yard towards the small house. "What did you do to Agent Bryson?"
"Who am I?" he laughed; a deep smoky laugh. "Professor Michael Brown. And you?"
"You still have a chance to get out of this," she said ignoring his question.
"Get out of this? And ruin all my hard work?" With his elbow extended he pressed it against the front door and pushed it open.
Inside on house was a large living room. It seemed to be the only room in the house Scully noted, as she spied the fold up bed packed in beside the fireplace. Another wall was lined with kitchen cabinets, a fridge and a sink, and then next to the front door was a small table with two seats.
Gently and with the utmost care, Michael rested Scully down on the rug before the fireplace.
"What are you doing?" Scully struggled to sit up but he leaned over and pushed her back down again, her back against the floor. He held her shoulders down for an instant.
"I just have one more chapter to write." His eyes flickered with something incomprehensible when he spoke, as though it was the most everyday thing. Perfect conviction in his words. He opened one of the kitchen press's and pulled out a small laptop. He booted it up and set it on the table by the window.
"Chapter?"
"Final chapter. Law Enforcement...or rather the resistance thereof." He seemed oblivious to her presence for a moment as he configured his PC and accessed the desired files.
"You're writing a book?" Scully asked trying to recall her hostage negotiation rules. Number One, gain his trust...or just keep him busy so he doesn't kill me, she thought.
"A book?" He laughed again, this time it was harsh. "No Books are for people who can't think. This is a thesis."
Scully saw the gleam in his eye. Heard the pride in his voice as he conversed about it an knew that he would need no more prompting to reveal more. She was right.
"Inside the Mind of a Killer. The intellectual perfect paper. My paper. It's going to be so pertinent as a resource to understanding the criminal mind. From child to sexual predator, to cannibalistic killing, the final fascinating chapter is the confrontation with law enforcement."
"So instead of researching the material you decided to act it out? Study your own reactions thus knowing precisely the mind of a killer?"
"Very good. It'll be a benchmark of publication for everything that follows." Michael tapped a few more keys on his laptop then checked the progress and turned to face her. "Did you ever hear of the name Mathew Nicholson?" he asked her almost non-chalantly.
"No." she concentrated on worming her wrists out of the knots as best she could without drawing his attention.
"Mathew Nicholson was the son of a local Sheriff back in the 1800's. He grew up in this very house. His father was as corrupt as they come, taking bribes, framing people for murder and generally causing more trouble than the criminals themselves." Michael stood up and went over to the kitchen sink where he poured out a glass of water for himself. Retaking his seat back at the table he continued to talk.
"So Mathew grew up in this environment where it was okay to hurt people, kill them even to get what you want. Can you imagine what that does to a kid?"
He paused as if waiting for a reply but Scully offered him none.
"He killed first when he was twelve. It was a deputy from his father's own precinct. The story goes that the boy caught the deputy stealing from his father and tried to blackmail him. When the deputy dismissed the boy's attempt he was stabbed fifteen times in the stomach His throat was slashed and his fingers were cut off."
Scully's eyes widened and she stared back at Michael. Her hands stopped their wriggling as she focused on his words, realising suddenly this was a prophecy of what was about to happen to her.
"At twelve he commits murder. Knowingly and willingly taking another person's life. It didn't end there. He moved through the sheriff's office killing anyone who dared defy him, and by the time he was sixteen he had slaughtered over twelve deputies."
Michael approached Scully and lifted her head. Supporting her at the neck he let her sip from the glass he had filled from a tap on the sink, letting take her fill of water, before gently replacing her head onto the rug
"It was on a stormy night in June that he committed his last and most heinous crime." He stood up over her and looked down. The dimming daylight casting threatening shadows onto his face, while his voice washed over her with a lilting yet confident tone. "While his father slept, he crept into his room," Michael said lowering his voice to a whisper, moving over her. Slowly he came down to her face level and knelt over her.
"He stood over the bed and doused a cloth with ether. Holding it over his father's mouth he waited for it to take effect. Then with a small knife he sliced his father's belly open." Michael dragged the top of his fingers across her stomach mimicking the slicing motion, making her flinch, both from his touch and his fetid breath.
"Next he attacked the legs, sawing them off from just below the knee, the arms were severed from above the elbow. He bound the wounds so the bleeding was slowed but left his father's belly open. Then he waited for the ether to wear off. He sat by his father's bed and watched as he came to."
Scully gasped in horror at the image he created and his fingers touched her elbows and knees. Lifting her shirt out of her pants he exposed her belly and ran his flat palm across her trembling skin.
"Still suffering from the effects of the ether and no doubt the loss of blood his father didn't realise what had happened. As he came to, there was a knock at the door. The story goes that Mathew stood to slash his father's throat but before he could finish the job one of the Sheriffs deputies walked in, saw what had happened and shot Mathew before he could kill his father."
Michael paused; his breathing was ragged and labored as he spoke this time, breaking his words as he panted. He sat back on his heels and let his hand linger on her exposed belly. His eyes watched the play of his fingers moving across her pale soft skin. He seemed to be elsewhere, his mind was scattered and his eyes glazed over.
Scully lay on her back still, trying to keep her breath from stuttering with fear. She summoned up all her control; knowing she would need that. Her eyes facing the ceiling, her mind raced through the possibilities of getting out of there alive. Without her noticing it the room had darkened considerably as low-level storm clouds blocked the sun. A cool breeze wafted in through the open window. She watched as he stood to close it, and then stepped over her as if she were a sleeping dog to light the fire.
Michael left the lights off, preferring the eerie light from the flickering flames. It would be a strong storm like this that could kill his remote connection to the PC at his office, so he watched the progress bar on the screen, willing it to complete the download of his unfinished paper to his laptop.
Scully wormed her body back away from the fire and closer to the table, small movements that he didn't appear to notice. From her vantage point on the floor she could see the screen. Guessing what would happen when he was finished working on his laptop she was dismayed to see it crawling past 90
Closing her eyes for a moment, she slowed down her breathing and tried to calm her racing mind. When she opened them he was standing over her, watching her with a soft expression on his face. She flinched as he bent lower and knelt beside her.
"Don't be afraid," he hushed, speaking softly as he reached over to brush her hair out of her face. Looking up to his features, Scully watched in horror as his skin rippled and changed before her eyes.
His cheeks tightened and became gaunt and his hairline receded back at the top of his forehead creating a widows peak of hair in the middle, shortening and turning a bright blonde color. Scully shut her eyes tightly, hoping the hallucination would disappear when she opened them but instead it had settled. His eyes were a dark rich blue now instead of brown. She stared back into the face of a teenager.
Highway 341After reading the name Mathew Nicholson on the file, Mulder called Frohike and asked him to do an immediate search for an address. Frohike came up with nothing and for twenty agonizing minutes they waited.
Finally when it rang Mulder pounced on his cell phone. Frohike spelled out an address that Mulder didn't recognise but Detective Brice knew immediately.
Brice raced out to the car and jumped in. Without checking to see if Mulder had joined him he shoved the gear into drive and took off through the university campus at breakneck speed. Luckily Mulder had anticipated his dash and had made it into the car in time. Thanking Frohike, he pulled his belt on and glanced over at Brice who was pulling frantically at the police band CB receiver.
"10-17 This is Detective Brice Car 4-2-3-Bravo-Delta on route to Front Royal. I need immediate backup. Repeat immediate back up. Over."
"This is Precinct 42. What seems to be the situation? Over."
"I am in pursuit of a Murder suspect who we believe to be at Whitmore Farm in Front Royal. Over."
"Okay sir we'll get them out there ASAP. ETA 14 minutes. Over."
"10-4. Over and out." Brice tossed the CB radio back towards the console, not caring if it sat in place or not. It was then that Mulder's phone cut through the silence, making him jump.
"Mulder," he barked immediately without looking at the caller ID.
"Agent Mulder," It was Skinner. "Where are you?""Sir, I was just about to call you. We know where he is. We know where he's taking her."
"You have an address?"
"A place called Whitmore farm. It's in Front Royal."
"Okay, I'll get a team out there." Skinner pushed on with the next question Mulder was dreading. "Where are you?"
"We are about 4 miles east of Front Royal. 2 minutes away from the farm."
"Jesus Mulder!" He heard Skinner cursing under his breath. "You are trying to get fired! If AD Larkin knew you were-"
"If AD Larkin let me do my job in the first place and watch my partner's back I wouldn't be in this situation!" Mulder countered and Skinner had no argument. He knew Mulder had been treated unfairly but a direct order from an Assistant Director wasn't something any Agent should dismiss. "Sir, he has her and he is going to kill her if we don't stop him. We need immediate back up out here."
"I know Mulder," Skinner's voice softened for a moment then all of a sudden he was back to all business and harsh commands. "I'll have the SWAT chopper there ASAP. Don't go in and don't attempt to engage the suspect. Wait on the boundaries of the land for the tactical support to get there. Hear me?"
"Yes sir."
"I mean it Mulder."
"Yes sir."
As Mulder ended the call and quickly replayed the info to Brice his phone trilled again, coming to life in his hand as it rang loudly.
"Mulder."
"Agent Mulder, it's Gerry in forensics."
"You found something," Mulder prompted.
"Yes. I found a match for four sets of prints." Gerry spoke lowly as if afraid he might be overheard.
"One match for four sets?"
"No...four matches." Gerry coughed nervously. "Four matches, one from each crime scene."
"Who?"
"The first scene we uncovered was at the apartments on the southeast. Those prints aligned perfectly...100 perfectly," he repeated for emphasis. " And get this... to a set that was taken from Albert De Salvo in 1936."
Mulder let the words hang between them, not wanting to interrupt he urged Gerry to continue silently.
"The second set was lifted off the rope that bound the body parts at Whitley House. They matched up to prints taken from Albert Fish in 1903."
"And the third?"
"This will blow your socks off, the third we lifted off the inside of the victims car."
"Ted Bundy?" Mulder guessed, the sinking feeling in his stomach churning up a storm.
"...Well...Yes."
"And the fourth?"
"None other than John Reginald Christie. Arrested in 1953."
"Okay, thanks Gerry."
He turned to Brice and thought of explaining his theory; his thoughts on how Michael Brown had escaped capture for so long, but it seemed fruitless now and precious time was running out. It didn't matter how he had done it or who might believe him. All that mattered now was finding him and finding Scully. Before she became his next victim of design.
At the farm border, Detective Brice killed the siren and pulled the car to a slow stop off to the side of the road. The small dirt road was lined with shoulder high embankments and a trail of long rye grass ran down the centre of it.
From the trunk Brice pulled out two rifles, tossing one to Mulder and a pair of binoculars, plus a box of rounds. He lifted the trunk carpet to reveal a second compartment that housed the bulletproof vests. He slipped his on easily then passed a second to Mulder. Checking his equipment and running a quick glance over Mulder's, Brice walked halfway up the embankment and peered through the binos.
"I see the farm." He passed the binos to Mulder who came up alongside him "See the car?"
"Ford Mustang. Classic American wheels. It's his car. Lets get a closer look."
"Aren't we supposed to wait?" Brice followed Mulder who scrambled over the embankment and crouched low as he ran through the scattering of trees to follow the taller agent.
"I'm not waiting for him to kill her." Mulder hissed, his eyes resolute.
Whitmore Farm
Scully closed her eyes and tried desperately to close her lungs. But it was no use. Her instinct to survive overpowered her better instincts not to breathe.
Michael crouched over her, his feet planted on either side of her head as he watched her squirm. The rag he had doused with ether was pressed carefully against her mouth, covering her nose as well. At first she struggled, but with his restraining hand on her shoulder he held her in place and waited for the ether to take effect.
Her lungs burned with the need for oxygen and she had to give in. Slowly she took in a shallow breath, inhaling the bare minimum but as the sweet smell of the toxin washed over her the muscles she was controlling so strictly suddenly relaxed, leaving her airways wide open. The ether swam through her nasal pathway and saturated her lungs. As she began to lose consciousness she mentally prepared herself for the effect of the ether.
"(CH3CH2)2O," she murmured. "Molar mass: 74.12 g/mole; Boiling point: 34.5 degrees Celsius...sweet vitriol."
Michael watched in awe as she fought the strength of the ether until she finally succumbed to the gas and passed out. He checked his watch and knew he didn't have much time. Tossing the doused rag aside he sat her up and removed the twine that bound her hands. Seeing the raw bleeding skin where she had tried to squirm free, he felt a pang of regret for her discomfort but it quickly dissipated as his excitement grew.
Mulder pressed his back to the front wheel of the mustang and took a few deep-steadying breaths. The rifle felt cumbersome and heavy in his hands compared to the sig saur he was used to. Silently he cursed Larkin again for his ill made order to remove Mulder from this case. Something he planned to address officially or unofficially depending on the outcome here.
Brice arrived beside him and peered over the hood of the car. The house looked empty but the tell tale smoke that rose from the chimneystack clued them otherwise.
Silently Mulder signalled for Brice to wait where he was and he braced himself on the loose gravel as he ran stealthily towards the house. Brice waited for the signal then raced over to another window. Crouched below the sill they both took deep breaths before peering in.
Michael slowly removed the tape from her ankles and laid her limp legs back onto the floor. He had removed her blouse and vest and had angled her arms out from her body. After tossing the balled up tie aside he gently removed her shoes and reached up to undo her pants.
Her small figure yielded easily under his strong hands as he lifted her hips to pull away her pants.
Mulder took a deep breath and slowly moved over the sill to peer inside. The room was dark, but by the flickering light of the fire he could make out the dark shadows in the centre of the floor. Scully's almost naked, unconscious form was sprawled out while Brown stood over her carefully folding her clothes.
The serial killer turned away from Scully to place her folded clothes onto the table but out of the corner of his eye he caught the movement by the sill. Surreptitiously he slid a gun out of his jacket that hung on the chair in front of him, and turned his back to the window. Hiding the gun from prying eyes he cocked it and braced himself.
It was too early for interruption, he wasn't quite ready. He clamped his teeth down on his lower lip and spun around just as Mulder peered over the sill again. Michael squeezed the trigger and the shot rang out loudly in the small confined room.
With a yell Mulder fell back and Brice jumped up. He swung his rifle into position and aimed it through the small window. But Michael was too quick. His gun was already aimed and the trigger already pulled.
Brice jerked back as if he were on a wire and lay motionless on the gravel. The storm clouds that had been threatening to break all day shuddered in the sky and shattered what was left of the cool evening. Rain fell harsh and sudden, washing rivulets of blood across the gravel where the fallen man lay.
Creeping over by the window Michael clutched his gun to his side, ready to shoot again. The sky had darkened enough to block his view but he could still make out the fallen figure of a cop. Looking left and right for the other figure Michael was surprised to see nothing.
Quickly he backed away from the window. Crouching lower he bent beside Scully's still body and glanced at her, as if checking that she was still there.
Outside in the pounding rain Mulder secured his hand over the small bullet hole that pierced the skin over his left shoulder. It had caught his flesh and ripped straight through the muscle and out the other side. He ripped of the sleeve of his shirt and balled up the thin cloth to press it harder. Somehow how he had managed to roll away from the house and flattened his body against the wall around the corner.
Peering around he watched Brice lying still in the pounding rain. He willed him to move and blinked past the heavy drops that hit his face. In the distance and over the rain he could barely make out the sounds of choppers approaching.
No close enough, he murmured, his chest heaving.
Mulder dropped the rifle and pulled his own FBI issue gun from its holster.
Michael rubbed his sweaty forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and fumbled through the kitchen. For the first time since he had started his plan he felt like he was loosing control. So many conflicting thoughts raced through his mind but he resisted the urge to lunge for his laptop to record them all.
Finally his fingers curled around the edge of the knife he was searching for. With razor sharp serrated edges the stainless steel blade was perfect. He pressed his fingers to his captive's carotid pulse. It was a slow but strong pulse, just as he hoped for.
Crawling on his knees away from her head and along her body, he carefully lined the knife up against her leg. Bracing the left limb with one hand, Michael rested the serrated edge of the blade against her skin, and drew it back slicing it open.
Mulder crept along the outside wall, pressing his back to the jagged bricks. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder he tightened his grip on the gun and crouched by the door. He could tell it wasn't locked by the way it rattled in the stiff wind so slowly he pushed it open, wincing at the creek it made. Pausing for a moment Mulder took a breath to holdback the searing pain that ripped through his shoulder and carefully peered around he edge of the wooden door.
And found himself looking into the barrel of a gun.
"C'mon in." Michael stepped back to give Mulder the room he needed to crawl further into the room. "You're a little early but that's okay."
Nudging him with the gun Michael urged Mulder across the room towards the table that sat in the corner by the window. On the floor Mulder saw the blood pouring freely from the open wound that sliced across his partner's shin just below her kneecap. He felt sick to the core. He wanted to run over to her, cover her up, take her so far away, but the persistent gun that prodded his wounded shoulder told him otherwise.
"What are you doing to her?" Mulder asked through gritted teeth, the sting in his shoulder racing down his arm and across his back, sending shots of electric pain to his skull.
"Get comfortable, and watch."
Thoughtless of his wound Michael bound Mulder's arms around the leg of the table. He smiled at the Agent's discomfort and made his way back to Scully's side, setting the gun down he grabbed the knife off the rug.
She moaned.
"Wait! No!" Mulder called as he saw Michael grab the knife again and brace Scullys leg. "Don't!"
He watched as Scully's head fell to the side and her lips parted. She took in a slow breath and released it. With a soft barely audible moan she moved her head again.
"Sorry, you're not part of this script," Michael said without looking up. "You don't get to interfere."
He took a tighter hold of her leg and realigned the knife to match up with the slice he had already made.
"You fucking son of a bitch!" Mulder pushed his shoulder against the underside of the table and lifted it off the ground before throwing himself towards Michael. The table flew up and Mulder managed to loop his hands under the leg. With his wrists free but still bound he charged at him, trying to dodge the knife that was now aimed at his heart.
Michael turned to face Mulder's charge and braced himself on the ground before lunging up, swinging the long blade in his wake. With a guttural roar he slammed his fist into Mulder's shoulder and followed it through with his other hand to stab the furious agent in his side, but Mulder jerked away from the knife, causing it to only graze his skin painfully.
Mulder's bound wrists smashed into the side of Michael's face causing it to shimmer and change. Mulder stared at his hair as a streak of it, about an inch wide, turned brown from his forehead to the nape of his neck. His cheeks rippled as if facing a strong wind.
Michael smiled at Mulder's shocked expression and drew the knife back to stab him again.
The thudding sound of the chopper blades cut through the howling wind.
Mulder lifted his arms to block the knife but Michael was too quick. The knife slipped into his left side, slicing through skin and muscle as if it was butter.
"AARRGGHH!" Mulder yelled out in pain, throwing his head back, he gnashed his teeth together and felt his head swimming. His eyes rolled back into his head and he fell limply onto the floor.
Michael stood back, panting and weary. He looked over to Scully who was becoming more and more lucid. She moaned as her head moved. Her eyes blinked rapidly, shaking off the effects of the ether, she tried to lift her head but found it too heavy.
The killer rushed over and slammed her head back against the floor, stunning her for a moment. He turned back to her knee grabbing it roughly this time. His blood curdled and boiled though his body as the need for urgency increased.
Scully moaned in protest as he straddled her feet, holding her still while he groped for the knife that lay just out of his reach. Scully watched in horror, his fingers touching the blade but unable to grab it. She found her body heavy and unresponsive to the fighting urges she had. Even her throat was constricted and raw.
"Stop moving!" Michael yelled out, his anger inflaming as she tried to squirm out from under him. Her fingers scraped the carpet, inching ever closer to the knife.
Behind him she could see Mulder lying still and lifeless on the floor, a pool of blood seeping out ominously wider and wider beneath him.
Seeping is good, Scully thought groggily, seeping means his heart is still pumping...for now.
The sound of the helicopter was louder than the wind and the windows rattled harder then before. Outside the leaves danced heartily, pattering against the windows in a swirl of dust and pebbles.
Scully felt stronger now as her hand moved up from her side, slowly, as if through water. She grabbed the front of her assailant's shirt and tried to push him away. But it was no use.
The heavy sound of footsteps raced across the pebbles outside and Michael felt his plan falling apart before his eyes.
"NOOOOOO!" he yelled out, slamming his fist down into Scully's face with desperate fury and lunging once more for the knife. His fingers finally curled around it as the door flew open. Ignoring the men that poured in behind him Michael grabbed the knife with both hands and raised it up high up above his head, aiming for the centre of Scully's chest.
She stared up in horror as his face shimmered again; his cheeks rippling as if they were alive, his features changed and his face took on a whole different identity. The faces of five different men stared back at her. It swirled and rippled like a lake in winter and Michael felt a burst of energy that exploded in his chest and he started to laugh, a manic uncontrolled laugh that tore into her ears.
"Put down the weapon!"
"FREEZE!"
The two SWAT members that charged into the room shouted demands simultaneously, but Michael ignored them all. Without a glance back a roar erupted out from the pit of his stomach and swung the knife down in a smooth arc.
Scully's eyes watched the knife fly towards her, the blade glinting in the firelight but before it could pierce her chest the gunshots rang out. One bullet hit Brown in the upper chest and the other cut through his shoulder, embedding itself in the plaster wall over the fireplace.
Michael fell limply over her body his blood pouring freely over her chest, but with no strength left to move him Scully had to wait for the SWAT members to remove his dead weight him.
As they eased him off her and placed him carefully onto the rug beside her, Scully shakily sat up and grabbed her blouse from the chair. With trembling fingers and a pounding headache Scully managed to crawl over to where Mulder's lifeless form lay.
"Get an EMT over here now!" she yelled but was unsure of how loud her voice was, it seemed thunderous in her head.
She ripped open his shirt and fumbled her shaky hands down his side to the massive stab wound. Without the right equipment Scully needed to improvise. She pressed her ear to his right side of his chest and listened to the shallow sounds of his lung inflating. But when she pressed it to his left side there was nothing.
Holding her own breath she listened again but still, nothing.
Just then the EMT's arrived. Scully scrambled to her feet, oblivious to her state of undress and explained to them how he'd been injured. Standing now she felt light-headed and tired, but before it could wash over her fully a strong pair of arms encased her shoulders. As the darkness swam over her, engulfing her mind she looked up into Skinner's concerned face.
Howard University Hospital
Walter Skinner stood at the hospital desk waiting for the nurse to turn to him. She had steadfastly ignored him and his badge for the past ten minutes and he was quickly running out of patience.
"Skinner!"
He turned on his heel surprised at the casual use of his name, even more so when he spotted AD Larkin marching up to him.
"Your report?" Larkin demanded crisply.
"Sorry?" Skinner's face started to turn red as his eyes narrowed and he turned to face Larkin full on. annoyance radiating from every pore.
"As agent in charge of the raid on Whitmore Farm I will be expecting your report."
"My report," Skinner said with barely controlled anger, "will be sent in when all aspects of the raid have been cleared up and I've done a little side investigation of my own."
"Now we have a dead suspect-"
"A dead suspect?" Skinner roared cutting into Larkin's tirade. "You wouldn't even be near him if it wasn't for Detective Brice and Agent Mulder."
"And I don't want this case to roll over because a few people delayed reports," Larkin continued as if Skinner had never spoken.
"Listen to me, Larkin," Skinner took a step closer to him and lowered his head. "I know well how you treated Agent Mulder on this case, I know how you abused your position-"
"I did no such thing!"
"-to satisfy your own personal vendetta. Now because of Agent Mulder I have a good Agent recovering instead of lying dead on a slab in the morgue!" Skinner's low growl grew in intensity as he spoke and his face reddened.
Larkin stammered for a moment, knowing he was beaten, he opened his mouth to say something but clamped it closed instead.
"So I am about to go and check on their well-being but first I want you the hell out of here. The case is yours, the claim is yours. Take it." Skinner turned his back on Larkin and slammed his badge onto the reception desk.
The nurse who had watched the altercation with interest looked up at him, startled.
"What can I do for you sir?"
"The room for Dana Scully please, and be quick about it."
Scully woke slowly and naturally curled over onto her side, her arm groping for Mulder's familiar warmth. But instead a sharp sting in her leg that shot across her shin woke her suddenly, fully. It was then she became aware of the overly starched sheets and pillows, the medicinal smell that permeated the air and the small friendly nurse that stood at the end of her bed.
"Good morning Ms Scully," the nurse reassured, smiling wider as she approached the head of the bed, Scullys chart in her hand. "How are you feeling today?"
"Today?" Scully almost squeaked as she looked around, finding the window with the slowly rising sun creeping over the buildings outside. "Mulder! Oh my god, how's Mulder!" she cried suddenly, pulling the bedclothes off her legs to get out.
"Careful now!" the nurse admonished her, grabbing her and pulling her back onto the bed.
"Agent Scully?"
They looked up to see AD Skinner standing at the door. He let it close softly behind him as Scully was pushed back against the pillows and covered with bedclothes gruffly by the nurse, who was no longer smiling.
"Sir?" Scully asked trying to sit up but the nurse was firm. "How is he?"
"He seems to be doing fine. Now."
"I want to see him."
Scully brushed the nurse's busy hands away and sat up. With a little effort she threw the sheets off her legs and swung them over the side of the bed. It was then she noticed the thick bandage over her left knee and halfway down her shin.
"What happened?" Gingerly she reached out and prodded the bandage, feeling the tingling sting across her leg.
"You don't remember?" Skinner asked tentatively glancing at the nurse who quietly left the room to get the doctor.
"No sir, it's all a bit blurry." She looked up and waited for him to fill her in on the gaps.
"Your leg was...cut. Some ligament damage but nothing major. Doc says you're to stay off it for a couple of weeks."
"And Mulder?" She reached out for the crutches that rested against the wall behind him. Skinner passed them to her and watched as she slid off the bed, resting her weight on the two cumbersome sticks.
"His lung was damaged and he lost a lot of blood." Skinner walked alongside her slowly, surprised at how agile she was on the crutches.
They made their way through the halls into the surgical department where Skinner led the way to a private room near the end of the hallway. Falling heavily into a chair, tired and weary Scully rested the crutches onto the ground at her feet and reached over to take Mulder's hand. Here they were again. She fought back the tears that suddenly threatened.
Skinner watched the silent exchange with a sinking heart. It was all too often he found himself in this position, with either or even both of his agents too close to death's door. He watched as Scully's delicate fingers brushed Mulder's limp hand but Mulder made no response. She limped to the end of the bed and picked up his chart to study his medications.
"What happened with Brown?" she asked wearily without looking up from Mulder's sleeping figure as she replaced the chart in its holder.
Skinner hesitated. "He was brought to the ER. He sustained two gunshot wounds, one of which perforated the aorta."
"He's dead." Her voice was flat.
"Yes. It was called about forty minutes ago."
"His face...what about his face?" she asked closing her eyes at the sight of his rippling features.
"Sorry?" Skinner stepped closer.
"His face was...different. It moved." She spoke slowly, afraid to air her thoughts without the opportunity to review them, to filter them into a report she could present.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. A folder from his office implicates him in every single murder including 2 we hadn't uncovered yet."
Scully, tired of standing, weary from the effort, closed her eyes and shook her head. She felt Skinner's heavy hand on her shoulder and the gentle squeeze of reassurance he offered her.
"Get some rest Dana," he said and when she had opened her eyes he was gone.
Claiming her seat by his bed Scully took her lover's hand again and watched his chest rise and fall with the slow careful movements of sleep.
"We're here again, Mulder." She glanced around his body at the heart monitor, the tubes and EKG pads that snaked their way out from under his gown, and the nasal oxygen cannula that circled his face. "Sometimes I think you just fake these injuries so you can get some time off."
Scully wiped the rogue tears that stained her pale face with the back of her hand and squeezed his hand again. She stilled and held her breath when his fingers squeezed back.
With a gasp she turned her watery gaze up to his face and watched as his eyes flickered open. With a groan of pain as she leant too hard on her leg, Scully stood off the chair and leaned down closer to his head.
"Mulder?" she cooed softly, brushing his hair with shaky fingers. His eyes were closed again but she could see them moving beneath the lids. "Hey."
"Scully?" his voice croaked out into the silent room.
"I'm here," she said as the moved her head into his line of sight. "Hey."
"Are you okay...you're leg," he whispered, panting and breathless.
"Shhh Mulder, I'm okay. Just a scratch," she said with a smile, wiping more tears away.
"Brown?" he croaked, trying to ignore the pain as he spoke.
"He's dead," she said simply, no sign of sorrow or regret tingeing her voice.
"His face Scully...did you see his face?" Mulder implored sending himself into a fit of coughing.
Which one? Scully thought silently but said nothing. At her silence Mulder turned his head slightly to face her.
"You did see it didn't you?" he coughed again and Scully shushed him. She reached over his head and pressed the call button for the nurse.
"Mulder, calm down, it's okay. I'm here and I'm not leaving. You sleep. Heal. " She pressed his shoulder back as he tried to sit up.
The door swung open and the room filled with two nurses and the on call doctor rushed in. One nurse gently led Scully over to the chair and then joined the others at Mulder's bedside. They thoroughly checked his wounds and vitals and asked him loads of questions before becoming satisfied with his condition. The nurses' left and the doctor smiled over at Scully.
"You'll be fine Mr Mulder. You just need plenty of rest and some TLC from this nice partner of yours." He winked at him and walked back to the door and stood there for a moment. "No water just yet, I'll send in some ice chips for you."
"Okay," Scully said with a smile when she caught Mulder's face as he let his tongue loll out over his lip.
"Yummy, Ice chips. My favorite." Mulder quipped when the doctor had left, then added "You saw didn't you?"
"Saw what?" she asked non-commitedly.
"Oh c'mon Scully, I saw it too. His fingers prints, we ran them against the old database and came up with four matches."
"Four matches?" Scully said confused.
"The folder we found in the office, it details everything that he used to feel during the murder...including the invigorating rush he felt as his face changed." Mulder coughed again and Scully rested a hand on his chest as she waited with him for the painful spasms to pass.
"Mulder shush," she soothed. "He died. His body is in state custody now and they won't authorize an autopsy. There is enough evidence to prove he was our guy so they don't need to."
"Then we'll make them authorize one! Contact Skinner!"
"But there is enough evidence-"
"Forget about the evidence Scully! What about the truth?" he coughed again and sat up slightly but the pain was too much, pushing him back down onto the soft bed. "What about finding out how he manipulated his own fingerprints, his own skin and changed his hair colour at will!"
"Mulder it's over. Relax," she pacified him but her gentle words only riled him further.
"No Scully it can't be." He urged her with his eyes, the only part of him that wasn't aching.
"It has to be," she said more sternly than she expected then added with a whisper, "I can't look at his face anymore."
Mulder looked over to her wet face and tear filled eyes. For the first time since he woke up in the sterile room he noticed the blue green hue that tainted her pale skin. The bruised swollen side of her cheek was raw and looked sore.
Gently he reached up and cupped her cheek. With his thumb under her chin, he turned her to face him fully and looked deeply into her sad distant eyes.
"Hey," he said softly, urging her closer. "Hey, look at me." Her eyes fluttered open and she bit back a sob. "Come here."
Mulder opened his arms and pulled her into a tight embrace. Carefully but with a jolt of pain through his side he managed to shift over onto the bed, making room for her to climb up beside him. Curled up by his side, she let go of the fear she as held the panic she was barely controlling and the tears she never was. Her arm draped over his chest and gripped his shoulder and he held her close and kissed her hair.
"Now it's over, I love you." he whispered, his lips ticking her skin as he spoke against her forehead. "Now it's over.
And she whispered, "Love you too."
The End.
Skinfull
June 2005.