Scully packed light when on assignment. She had been on the road so often that she knew what was important. Still, she relished the ritual of packing. It was evening. She had laid out her two suits on the bed. Carefully, she placed them in the bifold insert of the one piece of luggage. Next, she stowed her heels at the bottom. Scully had her make-up bag packed. She placed it in zipped compartment at the top. And that was it. She looked around the room. Her gun and badge sat quietly on the nightstand. Scully closed the case carefully and zipped it shut. She closed her eyes to listen to the stillness. There was a low hum of insects. Light traffic out on the main strip. She could discern the ramblings from Mulder's room through the thin walls. Movie of the week, she guessed. Her cellphone chirped and her eyes popped open. "Agent Scully. He escaped," Rick was breathing heavy. "Sorry, this is Inspector Rick Richards. Billy Newbold escaped. I couldn't get a hold of Agent Mulder..."

Scully's shoulders dropped. "We'll be there in ten." She unzipped her suit case and flopped it open. Shaking her head, she grabbed her badge and gun. "Mulder," she bellowed. She heard the television click off. "Mulder!" She heard him scramble over to her room. He entered without knocking and wide-eyed. "Get your gun. We're going on a manhunt." His eyebrows raised.

When Scully and Mulder arrived there were a handful of police officers milling about the New Haven station and an ambulance. Scully's first impression of the scene was that a fracas between two bowling teams had gotten out of hand and the result was a lot of middle-aged men rubbing the backs of their necks. Inspector Rick stood over an officer who sat on the bumper of the ambulance with a cold pack smooshed against the side of his face. As Scully approached Rick, she heard the officer mumble, 'strange kung fu'. Mulder split off and walked directly into the station. "How'd he get out?" She asked Rick.

Rick shook his head. He flipped his notebook shut and stashed it in the breast pocket of a Jimmy Buffet-inspired short-sleeved shirt. She could smell a hint of whiskey on his breath. Rick nodded again, it would seem, in disbelief. "Well, this here's Larry, the officer on duty. It seems that they were in the process of transferring Billy to another cell when Billy overpowered him." Again, shaking his head. "I know. Surprise, surprise. Any way, Billy stole Larry's keys and gun."

Scully was miffed at the whole explanation. Clearly this was written along her brow line.

"There was a blockage in Billy's toilet and it had flooded. It happens from time to time. So, our procedure is to move the prisoner to another cell and call maintenance in the morning." Scully joined Rick in shaking her head at the stupidity of it all.

"How did Billy get past the other officers on duty?"

Rick grimaced. "He got out the back door." Scully put her hands on her hips. "It's a fire exit," Rick added.

Scully found Mulder in the station, examining the security footage. She watched as a handcuffed Billy Newbold easily evade Officer Larry with quick footwork. Indeed it was some form of martial arts. Mulder looked at Scully and shrugged. Scully said, "how much of a head start?"

"It took the rest of the officers about half an hour to realize what had happened." Mulder replied.

"Perp escapes with a little over a half an hour start in a police cruiser." Scully calculated a timely return of Mr. Billy Newbold.

Scully returned to her hotel room around midnight. Her suitcase lay agape on the bed, neatly packed. She fell next to it face-first. The old springs creaked in agony as Scully's weight sunk into the mattress. She kicked off her shoes and closed her eyes. The walls were rice-paper thin, so she listen to Mulder settle in for the evening. The television clicked on to an info-mmercial about a 'miracle cleaning product'.

It's not often Scully slept well on the road. It's part of her job to deal with nightmares. A lot can happen in the dark, in a strange town, and chasing society's demons. Not to mention that the FBI rarely shelled out for a hotel room that didn't smell like cigarettes and body odor. In New Haven, Scully curled into a ball on top of the covers in her street clothes and dreamt deeply. The case had concluded to her satisfaction. There was the nagging question as to how they would explain the resources spent on a non-case, but that was tomorrow. For now there was the droning of Mulder's television interspersed with an occasional cricket chirp to lull her into a fitful sleep.

Perhaps it was the distant sound, but Scully could not identify the reason her eyes popped open. They shot to the digital clock on the nightstand that read '3:37 am'. Yellow lights scanned into the room through rips in the curtain that speckled the wall opposite. The dots grew brighter and threatened to burn into the wall as a roaring sound filled the room. Scully pushed up and twisted to look at the window. A ray of light caught her grey-blue eyes. She squinted as the wall exploded. The concussive force of a truck exploding through her hotel room knocked her against the opposite wall.