Title: I’ll Be Seeing You(1/3)
Author: Fox’s Gal
Rating: R (naughty language…)
Classification: SA
Keywords: Scully Angst
Spoilers:
Summary: Agent Scully receives letters from a psychopath regarding Agent Mulder.
Disclaimer: Nope, I’m not Chris Carter in disguise. These characters do not even
sort of belong to me, I’m just borrowing them for the time being to amuse
myself. They really do belong to Chris Carter and 10-13 Productions as well as
those Fox folks. The serial killer belongs to XScout who was gracious enough to
lend him to me for the time being. Sydney Dawson, Elizabeth Morris and Karen
Williams are my characters however.
Author’s Notes: This is a sequel to "I Know Someone" by XScout. I would
recommend reading it because…well, because this is Scully’s point of view and
this isn’t going to make a bean’s worth of sense if you don’t know what she’s
responding to. Though I did include the letters in this story, I still suggest
you read it. Oh and one more thing: there is no character death in MY story. So
go…read it…now. Then come back.
Feedback: Yes, yes, a thousand times YES! Please send any and all feedback to
kmarie27@yahoo.com

July 4, 1998
Dana Scully was not enjoying herself. Given the way this Fourth of July barbecue
was going, she would almost rather be back in the basement of the Hoover
building working with Mulder on that damn profile. Instead, she was at her
mother’s house gathered in the back yard with the rest of the Scully clan trying
to be personable and cheerful when what she really wanted to do was to tell Bill
to shut the hell up for once. Her brother was getting on her nerves more so than
usual today with his snide and rude remarks about "that guy, Mulder." She hated
the way Bill said Mulder’s name. He said it so contemptuously; it made her want
to start referring to Bill in the same tone. She didn’t because…well, because
she was Dana and Dana was a better person than that. That’s it, keep telling
yourself that and maybe you’ll start to believe it. Truth is you would really
like to tell him exactly where he can shove that boat of his. She smiled
secretly and glanced at her watch. It was nearly 6:00. She had somehow, through
severe persuasion and intense cajoling, convinced Mulder to stop over and at
least say hi. She neglected to tell him that Bill would be there though. Well,
I’ll make it up to him and buy him lunch or something. I shouldn’t be the only
one to suffer through this shit.
"Earth to Dana, earth to Dana. Are you there Dana?"
Apparently, Bill had been trying to get her attention for a few minutes. She
smiled tightly and looked at her older brother, sincerely wishing it had been
him who had been out at sea instead of Charlie. "Sorry Bill, I must have been
woolgathering. What was that again?"
"I said, is that Mulder guy going to show up or what?"
Scully opened her mouth, ready to spit out a retort when she heard the distant
thud of a car door. "I bet that’s him now. I’ll be right back." She sprinted
into the house and opened the front door just as Mulder was about to knock. She
surprised him and he gave a little start.
"You seem to constantly be trying to give me a heart attack Scully. What is it,
are you trying to prove that my eating habits alone are enough to kill me and
you’re just around to help put the plan in motion?"
She grinned and pulled him inside. He was actually wearing khaki shorts and a
pristine white T-shirt, his feet clad in boat shoes. (Boat shoes? Since when
does he own boat shoes? She wondered.) She had been secretly afraid that he
would have shown up in the previous night’s work clothes since he had still been
working on their latest file when she left the office that night. He really had
been working himself too hard lately. Ever since the fire he had buried himself
in his work even more so than usual. They might have their office cleaned up and
restored, but there was a scar on both of their souls now that would take a long
time to heal.
She knew he hadn’t been sleeping well…well, he never did, really. But he also
was barely eating enough to keep a gnat alive. She worried about him, she was
well aware of that, but she wasn’t about to admit it to him. He’d probably laugh
it off and say she was mothering him. Well, someone has to. She thought.
He looked at her, a twinkle in his eye and a lopsided grin on his face. "You
know Scully, for an FBI agent, you’re pretty transparent."
"How do you mean?"
The grin widened. "Yes I have been home to sleep and I came with my appetite in
tact, so lets have some burgers and potato salad or whatever it is you Scullys
have for food around this joint." She turned and led him to the back yard.
She looked over her shoulder at him. "I should warn you, Bill’s here and he’s
been asking about you."
Without breaking stride, Mulder turned around and headed back for the door.
Scully hurried after him. "Mulder, come on. You’re not going to leave me out
there with him, are you?"
"Do you really want an answer from a…let’s see if I can get this right. A "sorry
son of a bitch?""
"Yes, I want an answer from a sorry son of a bitch. That’s the best kind of
person to get answers from."
"No Scully, I’m sorry. No."
"Please Mulder? For me?" She tried the pitiful little smile he always gave her
to get her to relinquish and give him his way. She wasn’t sure, but she thought
he was beginning to weaken.
"Scully…"
"Please?"
He looked at her for a long minute, studying her. He took a deep breath, as
though he were preparing to face a guillotine. "Okay." They headed back for the
yard together.
Aside from the verbal abuse from Bill, the rest of the evening was rather
enjoyable. They all enjoyed the feast Mrs. Scully called a cookout and then
piled into cars and headed off to the local high school to catch the fireworks.
Rather than squeezing in with Bill, Scully opted to ride with Mulder. She wasn’t
sure whether she did it more because she wanted to, or because she knew it would
irritate the hell out of Bill. What the hell, why not a little of both?
They sat on the grass together and "oohed" and "aahed" with the rest of the
crowd, and for a moment, Scully felt like she and Mulder were just two regular
people. They were normal people with normal lives and normal jobs.
It couldn’t have been further from the truth.
Scully pushed that thought from her mind as she concentrated not only on the
colorful bursts of light coming from the sky, but also on Mulder’s close
proximity. Their knees bumped when they were both sitting Indian-style and their
fingers brushed when they stretched out on the grass. It was during one of these
finger brushes that Mulder’s fingers brushed her own and in the process, he slid
her hand into his, allowing their fingers to intertwine. Scully thought it best
to pretend not to notice. Inside, she reveled in the moment.
Once the fireworks were over, Mulder got up and helped Scully to her feet. They
made their way back to the car, hand in hand. Mulder leaned his head in the
general direction of Scully’s ear. "I need to talk to you." He murmured.
She nodded.
Once at the car, Scully called out to her mother that she’d be by later to pick
her own car up. She and Mulder had some things to take care of. Her mother
nodded cheerfully while Bill glowered at both of them. Dana smiled sweetly at
her brother and got into the car.
"So, what do you need to talk to me about?"
He took a deep breath. "Do you know anywhere around here where we can sit and
get a good cup of coffee?"
"Sure."
She talked him through the narrow streets and led him to a coffee shop that she
and her mother frequented when Scully stayed with her from time to time. Mulder
parked and they walked across the street to the old fashioned café. Mulder
opened the door for her and followed her inside. She chose a booth and he sat
across from her. He was being extremely close lipped. In all actuality, it was
bothering her quite a bit. They ordered coffees and once the waitress left the
table, Mulder was ready to spill his guts.
"We have a problem."
Scully wasn’t sure how to answer that. Yes, you could say that. The Smoking Man,
The Consortium, Black Oil, Krycek, Agent Spender, Shapeshifting Aliens…yes
Mulder, I think that’s a pretty astute observation. She opted to say nothing and
instead allow him to continue uninterrupted.
"This file we were assigned. I’ve been working on it. Putting a profile together
and such." He clenched his jaw and Scully noticed that the muscle twitched.
"And the problem is…?"
"I…don’t…think…" He paused and looked at her, afraid to go on. "I don’t think
you should be involved."
Stay calm Dana. Don’t overreact. She looked at him levelly and raised an
eyebrow. "May I ask why not?"
The waitress brought their coffees and Mulder proceeded to overload his with
sugar and cream. More than likely, he was doing it to keep his hands busy. He
was nervous, she could tell that rather easily.
"I’m learning things about this guy…after taking a closer look at the file
already compiled on him…there’s a reason he’s never been caught Scully."
"What? What is it? Is he like some master of disguise or something?"
He shook his head. "We’re not the first ones to get this case."
"Mulder, I’m waiting for you to get somewhere with this."
"Listen, this case started at the Georgetown PD, okay? A couple of missing
persons became un-missing in a very unpleasant manner. Three people in as many
months had been abducted and found about one month later, beaten beyond belief
and murdered. Two detectives were working the case. There’s just one problem
though; someone conveniently failed to inform us that those detectives first
assigned to investigate this guy had also been abducted. First was a man,
Michael Donovan, kidnapped and missing for approximately three weeks. His
partner turned up missing at that point. They were found less than a week
later."
"What? Why weren’t we informed of this?"
"Apparently whoever assigned you and me to this didn’t think it was an important
bit of information. But Scully, that’s not the end of it. A month ago, when the
detectives turned up missing, Georgetown PD turned this over to the FBI. Violent
Crimes had it first."
"Not Agent Murphy…"
"One in the same."
Scully sat back and digested this. Agent Eric Murphy was an enthusiastic and
well-liked agent in the VCS. She had always thought that he didn’t seem the type
to involve himself in the kinds of cases Violent Crimes specialized in. On a
stakeout about a month before, he went to get some dinner for himself and his
partner and never came back. Four weeks later, his mangled and mutilated body
had recently been found floating in a water hazard at a golf course 20 miles
away from where he had been staked out. It had been a big issue at the Bureau,
causing the Assistant Directors to emphasize the importance of staying with your
partner. Murphy had been a rather large man too. He had been roughly 6’3" and
weighed in at about 200 pounds. What had been done to him had reduced his status
to that of a rag doll. She hadn’t done the autopsy, but from what she had heard,
he had been so messed up, the coroner couldn’t tell what might have killed him
first. The rumor was that judging from the amount of water in his stomach, he
might have actually been alive when he had been dumped in the water hazard.
"What does this have to do with us Mulder?"
"Scully, you’re not going to like this…I don’t think you should be involved in
this. I really, really don’t."
"Mulder, this is absurd. We’re partners. You’re intentionally going against the
very thing that Skinner has been preaching to us."
"Scully, you haven’t seen what I’ve seen."
She was unconvinced. "And that would be…?"
"The autopsy reports and photographs of Francine Taylor and Michael Donovan." He
met her gaze as evenly as he could, but it was hard. The images of what was left
of the two people were burned into his photographic memory; a man and a woman.
It was nearly more than he could bear, even with his VCS background.
Their lists of injuries were more than he could even stomach. They both had only
been dead approximately 12-15 hours when they were found. The man, Michael
Donovan, had a shattered left tibia and fibula. His right thigh had been
fractured in at least 6 different places; the pelvis had been nearly completely
crushed; he had several bullet wounds, two went clean through his right thigh,
one was lodged in his shoulder. He had eight broken ribs, several fractures in
his skull, and finally the top seven vertebrae had been crushed. The final blow
was probably what had killed him. He had suffered from malnutrition to such an
extent that his skin was stretched tautly over his bones. The skin had also been
cut with either razors or knives in what appeared to be some sort of pattern.
Macabre modern art of some sort.
Francine Taylor had been his partner. She had fared no better at the hands of
this psychopath. It was she who had convinced Mulder to dissuade Scully from the
case. In life, Francine Taylor had been petite, about 5’4", with light brown
hair and blue eyes. All in all, she had been a vibrant, attractive woman with a
promising career ahead of her. That career had been squashed; possibly by one of
several blows to the head, possibly by the raging infection that had spread
throughout the various wounds on her body. She hadn’t suffered the starvation
her partner had suffered, possibly because she had only been missing a week. Her
torso looked as though she had been beaten with either a switch or a riding
crop. She had bruising all over her body; she too had broken ribs, fractures in
both legs, one hand had been completely crushed, all of the bones smashed into
miniscule pieces. Her skin too, had been marred with a razor, the bloody swipes
making some sort of odd pattern. Her face looked nothing like the pictures he
had of her. Her bottom lip was split open and her jaw was shattered. There had
been extensive sexual abuse, but Mulder hadn’t wanted to hear the details.
He looked at Scully and fought to keep the images of Francine Taylor from
superimposing over her face. Unbidden, pictures of Scully in that unfortunate
woman’s place kept surfacing in his mind. Fuck Skinner and fuck his damn
policies. I’d rather die than see her hurt and he’s just going to have to deal
with that. He didn’t realize that Scully had been staring at him, intently.
"What?"
"I said, was it the same MO as the others?"
He nodded, "Yeah, pretty much."
"I’m not doing this Mulder."
He had misunderstood her, and for a moment was relieved. "I’m so glad because…"
"I’m staying on the case."
His mouth went dry. "Scully, please…please don’t do this."
"Mulder, how can you possibly think this is fair? You don’t want me to work with
you on this case because I’m a woman. Admit it. That’s the reason."
He buried his head in his hands. No…no, that’s not the reason. The reason is
because I couldn’t bear for that to be you. He sighed deeply. "Fine."
They sat in uncomfortable silence, nursing their coffees. Scully was glad she
had another day in this holiday weekend to get over being so damn angry with
Mulder. Mulder was trying to figure out how he could not get his partner
involved in this case. He knew it was going to be another sleepless night for
him. He looked at his watch: 12:42 a.m. Or another sleepless morning as the case
may be. He was feeling restless and planned on going for a good hard run when he
got back to his place. That was usually how he came up with his best ideas and
theories. Of course, he couldn’t tell Scully this, she’d laugh and say that some
of his theories sounded like they had been conceived in the wee hours of the
morning while he was running around like a lunatic. This time, he had to figure
out how to keep Scully out of this at all costs.
July 5, 1998
2:05 a.m.
After Mulder had dropped her off at her mother’s house, Scully opted to stay the
night rather than drive home. There was still a light on in the house and Scully
knew her mother had waited up for her. She let herself in and went upstairs to
where Maggie Scully was keeping herself occupied by reading a very thick
suspense novel. Dana eased the bedroom door open and knocked lightly.
"Come in, dear." Mrs. Scully patted the bed and Dana sat down.
She glanced at the book her mother was reading. "The butler did it." She said
wryly.
"No dear, the butler’s the one who’s dead."
"So it was the chauffeur." She smiled.
"Speaking of chauffeurs, did you and Fox have a nice ride?"
Dana groaned inwardly. "Not particularly."
"What’s the matter this time?"
"Well, for some reason he doesn’t want me to get any more involved with this
case we’re working on."
"Fox doesn’t want you to work on an X-File with him?"
"Well…" It was such a long story how they even got this case to begin with.
"It’s not exactly an X-File. We’re helping out the Violent Crimes Unit and just
happened to be handed this particular file. Nothing paranormal from what I can
tell. It’s just one sick bastard. A sadomasochistic monster, your run of the
mill psychopath from what I can tell."
"I can’t imagine why Fox wouldn’t want you involved."
Scully detected the note of sarcasm in her mother’s voice. "What’s that supposed
to mean?"
"It’s supposed to mean that I, for one, can see why Fox might not want you to be
involved. I’m sure it is a very disturbing case and I’m also sure that he has
his reasons."
"Why do you have to be so logical?"
"Where do you think you get it from, dear? Now, you go off to bed and I’m sure
if you give Fox a call in the morning, you two will be able to iron everything
out. You usually do. And if you think it will help, invite him over for brunch.
My blueberry pancakes can perform miracles on a man. Especially a stubborn one
like Fox."
Scully smiled and hugged her mother. Talks that she had with her always left her
feeling better. She couldn’t understand it. She closed the door silently behind
her and headed for her old room.
She slept, but there was no rest for Dana Scully. Her mind was filled with
images she couldn’t piece together, feelings of intense fear and screams.
Agonizing screams that could have well come from the gates of hell itself. She
woke up a mere 4 hours later covered in sweat, adrenaline racing, heart
pounding. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew she had to talk to Mulder. She
was ready to step away from the case for him. Something about him last night had
really disturbed her. There was something that he couldn’t tell her, and she
wasn’t sure if she really wanted to know. She sat up in bed, knowing for a fact
that her sleep for the night was quite over. She got up and made her way
silently to the kitchen where she could, at the very least, start some coffee.
The first cup from the coffeepot was in her hands and she looked at the
microwave numbers glaring at her in the semidarkness of the kitchen: 6:25. She
knew that Mulder wouldn’t have even gotten back to his apartment until at least
2:30, depending on how fast he decided to drive. She hated calling him so early,
but somehow she had the feeling he’d be up. Dana grabbed the kitchen phone and
quickly dialed Mulder’s home phone. She let it ring until the answering machine
picked up.
"I know you’ve probably turned off the ringer, but I wanted to let you know that
I’m ready to step away from this for you. Why don’t you give me a call at my
mom’s house and we’ll discuss it further over brunch?" She had half expected him
to pick up the phone at the mere mention of food, and was disappointed when he
did not. He must really be tired…
Brunch had come and gone and still there had been no word from Mulder. Scully
assumed that he was probably pouting over their late night discussion and she
would have to wait until Monday before she could talk any sense into him. She
still tried to call his apartment as well as his cell phone, but there was no
answer. By the time she was at her own apartment she gave him one more call
before she settled into bed for the night. It was 11:30 and he had not returned
a single one of her calls. That was very unlike him.
Scully could not ignore the niggling in the back of her mind that there was
something wrong. There was something very wrong.
2 hours later…
Scully was still awake. She knew that sleep was going to elude her until she was
sure that Mulder was all right. She sat up in bed and looked at the glowing red
digits on her alarm clock: 1:30. She knew that he should be up. He was always up
at the oddest times. She grabbed the phone and dialed Mulder’s number. She let
it ring, and she let the answering machine pick up, and she left a message.
"Mulder, I know you’re probably mad at me right now. Please, if you are there,
please pick up the phone." She listened to the silence, sighed, and hung up. Her
message had not gone unheard, however. The eavesdropper listened to the concern
in Dana Scully’s voice and smiled.
July 6th
4:45 a.m.
Scully had made coffee, did a calisthenics routine she hadn’t tried since her
days at Quantico, showered, dressed, painted her nails, and sewed a button back
onto the jacket to her favorite slate blue pantsuit. There was nothing left for
her to do but go into work. She had called Mulder several more times, but this
time not even the answering machine picked up. She hung up, tears stinging her
eyes. She knew there was something up, and she knew that it went beyond the
typical "Mulder-Ditch." It was time to take action. She grabbed her briefcase
and umbrella and headed out the door into the predawn fog.
Traffic was obscenely light as she made her way to the Hoover building. She was
going over in her mind exactly what she was going to tell AD Skinner. Somehow,
she thought, just telling him that Mulder had disappeared without a trace wasn’t
likely to raise any concerns. Skinner was only too aware of Mulder’s bad ditch
habit. Scully thought furiously about how she was going to explain to the
Assistant Director that she was doing something that she often chastised Mulder
for: playing hunches. Scully knew in her gut that there was something dreadfully
wrong with Mulder. Not answering his phone; that she could come up with
countless explanations for. Not answering his cell phone? That was a lot
tougher. In typical Scully fashion, she tried to think of some conclusive
evidence that she could give to Skinner that would prove to him as well as to
her that something was amiss.
An idea came to her. Instead of heading on into work like she had originally
planned, Scully got off at the nearest exit and headed instead to Mulder’s
apartment in Alexandria. She found a decent parking spot near his building and
noticed, as she made her way up the sidewalk, that Mulder’s car was there. Hope
surged up into her chest as she quickened her pace. She waited impatiently for
the elevator and after what seemed to be an eternity, she found herself hurrying
down the hall to his apartment.
Once there, she rapped on the door several times. Her heart thudding in her
ears, she leaned against the door and tried to make out any sort of noise.
Scully found that she was afraid to go inside. Her hand trembling, she tried the
doorknob. It was locked. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her key
ring. She inserted Mulder’s key into the lock and turned it. The lock clicked.
Scully held her breath as she pushed the door open.
Oh my God. Oh God, this is bad. This is very, very bad.
The apartment was a wreck. It looked like someone had gone through it with a
bulldozer. Books were toppled off of the shelves, drawers were pulled out and
their contents dumped on the floor, his desk was on it’s side, his computer
lying on the floor in pieces. The couch cushions were pulled from the couch and
were lying on the floor, ripped open. Everywhere she looked, Mulder’s personal
things had been violently violated. Miraculously, the fish tank hadn’t been
touched. Scully wanted so badly to clean the place up for Mulder, but she knew
that this was now a crime scene and touching anything would be a severe breach
of protocol. She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and glanced at her
watch. It was 5:30. This was too important to wait for the AD to wake up and get
into the office. She tried his home first. Scully wasn’t surprised when he not
only answered the phone but also sounded awake while doing so.
"Hello?" His voice sounded tight over the phone. Perhaps because he knows that
good news never comes this early in the morning.
"Sir? It’s Agent Scully. I’m at Agent Mulder’s apartment. I think you should get
over here as soon as possible."
"Is there something the matter with Mulder, Agent Scully?"
"It would appear so Sir. His vehicle is parked outside, his apartment is in
shambles and he is nowhere to be found." She was struggling to keep the panic
out of her voice. That’s it Dana, calm, cool, and collected. Keep your head. It
doesn’t do anyone any good to get hysterical. She quelled the rising panic she
was feeling and took control of herself. Skinner was saying something about
being over right away and that he would organize a team as well. He instructed
Scully to stay put and to try and get an idea of what, if anything, the person
who did this was looking for.
Scully looked around again, trying to force the realization into her mind.
Mulder was in danger. Of that, she was completely and utterly sure. She walked
around, careful not to step on anything breakable. Mulder’s desk chair lay on
it’s side near the overturned desk. She righted it and sat down, trying to
absorb what was going on around her. She felt her eyes burn and a sob rise in
her chest. She pushed it back away far deep inside her. She willed the tears
back from where they came. She realized that the longer she sat there, the
harder it was going to be to keep her composure. She got up out of the chair and
headed for the door. She would wait for Skinner and his brigade of agents in the
hallway. As she walked past the couch, something caught her eye…or maybe it was
the lack of something. Mulder’s answering machine was missing. Her mind raced
back to the previous night. When did I leave that last message? What time was
it? She closed her eyes. She had sat up in bed and looked at the alarm clock…it
had been about 1:30 in the morning. She had made her first call to Mulder’s
number at around 4:30 or so. The answering machine hadn’t picked up then. That
was about a three hour window to figure out who might have done this and when.
The longer she stood in that apartment, the more sure she was of the severity of
Mulder’s situation. She walked out the door and waited in the hallway.
It wasn’t more than a half an hour later when the AD arrived on the scene.
That’s what it is now Dana. It’s a crime scene. It’s not Mulder’s apartment any
more. It’ll be his apartment again once he’s back in it safe and sound. She
heard herself giving Skinner a full account of what had happened to her
knowledge. She mentioned that she had been trying to get in contact with Mulder
all day Sunday. She noted the time of her final message to Mulder as well as the
next call that did not give way to the answering machine. Skinner nodded, aware
of the three-hour window without her having to specify.
Scully felt strange, detached. She felt as though the entire situation was
happening outside her body. She wasn’t the one experiencing these feelings of
rage and helplessness, it was some other poor woman. Some other woman’s life was
being ripped to shreds. Not hers. Not Dana Katherine Scully’s life. Her life was
a neat little package all wrapped up with a bow. Granted, the wrapping job might
have been a little skewed, but all the same, she liked the wrapping job. A
little voice in the back of her head screamed at her that someone had attacked
her package and tore the paper and bow off of it, leaving what lay underneath
exposed and vulnerable.
Without meaning to, Scully had become lost in a fog. Granted, the fog was in her
own mind, but it was still making it very difficult to concentrate. She could
barely hear what Skinner was saying to her. Something about her taking some time
off. She was too close to this. She shook her head, not so much to disagree with
Skinner, but more to rid her mind of the confusion. He was still talking to her.
She looked at him and concentrated on what words his lips were forming.
"…time off…be assured…find him…take a step away…go home…"
She swallowed and the apartment suddenly felt very stuffy. She nodded and agreed
with everything Skinner was saying. She needed to get the hell out of there.
She wasn’t about to go home though.
Scully got into her car and tried to force her mind to pay attention. This was
too important not to. She closed her eyes and took some deep cleansing breaths.
She needed to be where Mulder was. She needed to feel him. She couldn’t do that
here. She had to go to the basement. Their basement.
Mulder and Scully’s Basement Office
10:26 a.m.
Scully was fighting a major migraine. She had been in the office since nearly
6:30. She wasn’t sure what she expected to find, but she didn’t much care as
long as everything was in one piece. Given the security around that place, if
their office had in any way been disturbed, surveillance cameras would have
picked out the guilty party. Security had been stepped up considerably since the
fire. It might have been her imagination, but Scully could still smell the
charred scent of smoke as if it clung to every wall of the building. Their work,
their quest, their history went up in cinders in what had only been a matter of
minutes. On the one hand, Scully wondered how anyone could just waltz into a
federal building and set the basement on fire. On the other hand, Scully
marveled that They had gone this long without resorting to such tactics.
Everything was gone. The poster. That silly "I Want To Believe Poster." The
first thing she laid eyes on when she first walked into that office. It was the
same office, just refurbished with new filing cabinets and new furniture. There
was no new poster though. She wasn’t sure Mulder would even want a new one. She
probably missed it more than he did.
While she was relieved to find the office in order, Scully almost wished that
she had found it disturbed. It would have put her one step closer to finding
Mulder, she was sure.
Skinner had already been down. His orders for her to go home were met with deaf
ears. Scully didn’t want to consider it. The last place she needed to be was at
her apartment. There was nothing there for her. Mulder wasn't there. Mulder was
here. He was here in so many aspects: The suit jacket thrown haphazardly across
the swivel chair, the open bag of sunflower seeds on his desk, the row of
sharpened pencils just waiting to be thrown into the ceiling and the half empty
bottle of iced tea sitting on the desk. Scully felt a smile creep on to her lips
as she mused where he was hiding a new stash of porno tapes. The smile faded
quickly though.
She was adamant that she would stay for only as long as she needed to. Skinner
made her promise that she wouldn’t stay longer than she needed to, but the thing
was, Scully knew that she would need to stay for a very long time.
At the moment, she sat with several file folders spread open in front of her.
She had her glasses perched on her nose as she studied every note taken on the
entire case. She read the autopsy reports. Bit by bit, she began to realize why
Mulder asked her not to continue on this case. As the pieces came to her, she
began to compose a time line. In the process, she also began to compare
similarities of the victims.
Apparently, the three missing persons that started the Georgetown PD
investigation had not been related in any way, shape or form. Then, two
detectives become victims, then a federal agent, and then one more federal
agent. Scully digested this and thought there was something odd about Francine
Taylor’s involvement. For a moment, Scully excluded her from her notes. Without
Ms. Taylor, the victims were all male, law enforcement officers, aged 35-40. All
were of impressive stature, and all had female partners. It was this fact that
gave Scully a rather sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. All victims, save
Mulder, had been missing for approximately one month before they were found
dead. They all incurred similar injuries to such an extent, the cause of death
had been questionable. Scully glanced at the calendar on the wall. She had four
weeks to find Mulder alive.
This realization sparked something in Scully. Urgency took over and grief took a
back seat. She began gathering all the information Mulder had accumulated on
this case. They’d only been on it for about a week, and he had put together a
rather unimpressive file. Inside the file folder were autopsy reports,
interviews and the beginnings of Agent Murphy’s work. Scully felt a gnawing in
her brain. There was very little mention of Agent Murphy’s partner. She was a
new agent, Murphy had been her very first partner. Scully knew her casually, her
name was Elizabeth Morris. She was a tall athletic woman with black hair and
light green eyes. She was also first on Scully’s list to talk to about this
incident. Underneath her most recent notes, she wrote Agent Morris’s name. That
would wait a little longer. There were more pressing things she needed to get in
order. A trip to Mulder’s apartment was now necessary, regardless of how painful
it was going to be. There was something that this killer had been looking for
and Scully needed to know what that thing was and if he had found it.
The chances of her being able to get into his apartment today were somewhere
between slim and none. She knew that Skinner would be down any moment now to
inform her that she was going to be forced to take a leave of absence. It was
time to make some photocopies for her own reference. She knew that she shouldn't
be doing this. She knew that of all the times to follow protocol, this should be
one of those times. But she also knew that if she didn't do something, it was
going to cost Mulder's life. He had put his life on the line for her before. He
had broken rule after rule to ensure her safety. It was time now for her to do
the same. She made copies of everything in the inch-thick file folder and
slipped it inside her briefcase. Then she returned the file to the file cabinet.
She checked her watch and started up to Skinner's office. She would take her
leave voluntarily. Anything to give her more time to focus on the situation at
hand.
Dana Scully's Apartment
11:48 PM
She was getting frustrated. Of all of the things in that case file, there was
scarcely anything that was of use to her. Scully found the profile that Mulder
had done as well as some preliminary interviews. Most of what made up the bulk
were the reports that the other individuals who had had the case had started.
Not surprisingly, there was very little in those reports as well; especially
since they practically mirrored each other. Scully resisted the urge to hurl the
folder and it's contents across the room. Instead, she took off her glasses and
stood up to stretch.
She had gone into AD Skinner's office to notify him that she was going to be
taking an administrative leave of absence. He had been surprised, since he had
suspected that he was going to have to force her to do so. He had also seemed
suspicious of her motives at first. Scully had given him her best "of course I'm
on the level here" look. He was so used to Mulder pulling things over on him, he
had started to suspect Scully of the same. The only difference is that he
doesn't expect it of me. I suppose that works to my advantage here.
For the time being, the main investigation going on was the disappearance of
Agent Fox Mulder in conjunction with the other disappearances and murders. The
team presently working on the case was not optimistic about finding Mulder
alive. Most of them were also afraid of being targeted themselves. Scully didn't
doubt the abilities of the team that Skinner himself had hand picked, but she
knew that if anyone could find the missing agent, it was she. Or at least, she
had thought she knew. At the moment, even Scully was having her doubts. Scully
looked at her dining room table, now covered with papers, and felt an
overwhelming sense of defeat. She and Mulder had been working that case for a
week and this was all they had been able to come up with? A profile and some
interviews? Mulder, we did more than this. I know we did. And that's not even
the right profile…that one isn't typed up…what the hell is going on here? She
sat down and picked up the offending sheet. I distinctly remember looking at the
profile you did for this creep, and I distinctly remember it being typed.
Mulder, what have you done? She bit her lip and read.
Suspect is at least between the ages of 35-40, clean cut most likely. Muscular
build, at least 6'/200 lbs. Probably works out at a gym. He is of above average
intelligence, probably a B student in high school, maybe better in college.
Might have studied medicine, but didn't pass the boards.
Suspect probably came from an abusive family. Has a history of
physical/sexual/emotional abuse. Comes from a well off family, yet there was
abuse in the home. His parents were divorced when he was young; pre-elementary
school age. His mother remarried shortly afterwards. His stepfather abused him.
College and medical school became an escape for him.
He would have tortured small animals as an adolescent. Small dogs and cats
mostly. Would later turn to self-mutilation. Probably has scars and tattoos.
These markings will be on indiscriminate parts of his body: the back, shoulders,
buttocks, upper thigh.
Torture he inflicts on his victims would make a great deal of noise. Suspect
probably lives in either a very isolated area or the inner city where no one
will hear him or pay him any attention. Not the suburbs, not a town, not an
apartment building.
It was pitifully short for one of Mulder's profiles. Scully couldn't get over
her surprise at the conciseness of this one. Usually he went into so much more
detail. It was almost like he would step into the person's mind and then record
whatever came to mind. Scully used to refer to his method of profiling as a
"psychotic free-write." It may be short, it may be incomplete, but it's all that
I have right now. It will have to do. Scully gathered everything into a stack so
that she could comb through every word and jot her own thoughts down. She was no
profiler, but there was no time like the present to give it a go. She stood up
again to get a fresh pad of paper when her eye caught something on the floor
next to her chair. It was a small, yellow piece of notepaper. Scully stooped to
pick it up and noticed that there was something scrawled in Mulder's
handwriting. What the hell? Where did that come from? She picked up the scrap of
paper and looked around for where it might have come from. It had been wadded up
and smoothed out. How odd…Just then, she remembered. The week before, Mulder had
been over at her apartment and they had just begun research on this case. They
had ordered pizza and Mulder offered to pay. He had been sitting where she was
right now and began to dig through his wallet for exact change. She remembered
the yellow scrap because of what had been written on it.
Meet F.T. 5/29 @ home. Bring PRO.
She had teased him then about meeting a woman and he had shrugged it off, never
giving her any explanation. He wadded up the paper and stuck it in the pocket of
his jeans. Apparently, he had not stuck it in all the way, since it had been
sitting there on the floor. Realization suddenly hit her.
F.T. Francine Taylor. He was meeting with Francine Taylor. But Francine Taylor's
dead. Why would he…? She answered the question before she could even finish it.
She wasn't dead May 29.
Things were beginning to open up before Scully that she had never expected. She
felt a sudden rage against Mulder come over her. Her eyes filled up with tears
as she wadded up the paper into a tight ball and threw it across the room. "You
bastard!" She yelled, tears coursing down her cheeks. "You knew and you didn't
tell me! You Godddamned bastard!" She shouted at the empty apartment. Her anger
was so sudden and so intense that it scared her. So many times in their
partnership, he had left her to pursue leads on his own. He had claimed over and
over again that he didn't want to involve her or put her in any danger. As many
times as she had gotten mad at him, lectured him, yelled at him…he continued to
ditch her.
But this was too much.
There was nothing she could do by that point but rest her head on her arms and
release all of her sadness, guilt, anger and helplessness. That night, she cried
long and hard; her heart breaking at what might be the final "campaign of
misinformation" her partner would ever willingly participate in. At some point,
Scully didn't know when, she fell asleep like that, slouched over the table,
resting her head in her folded arms. It was well past midnight; approximately 48
hours since she had last seen Mulder. It had already felt like 48 days.
July 7, 1998
4:38 AM
She wasn’t sure what woke her up. It might have been the feeling of pins and
needles that had overtaken her left arm. It might have been the cramping, aching
neck and back muscles. It might have been the nightmares. Scully was pretty sure
that it was the latter. She had dreamt of Mulder. She was running toward him,
trying to find him, but never succeeding. She ran into door after door, wall
after wall trying to find him. When she did find him, it had been far too late.
Far too late to help him, far too late to apologize for her anger, and far too
late to tell him how she felt about him. Every time she closed her eyes now, she
saw the bruised and broken face of her partner. There would be no more sleep for
her tonight.
Instead, she stood up and listened to the chorus of cracks and creaks that
followed. She rubbed her face and wandered into the bathroom to take a wake up
shower. She looked in the mirror at herself and soon wished she hadn’t. My God,
I haven’t looked like this since…her mind trailed off. Since my cancer. Since
Mulder broke every rule in the book and snuck into that secret room and stole
the cure. Oh Mulder, where are you? She ran the water as hot as she could stand
it and stepped into the shower. She had been running through her last hours with
Mulder in her head. The whole thing, his arrival at her mother’s house to their
strained ride back home, went through her mind over and over again. Scully’s
analytical mind was trying to pick out something, anything that would give her a
place to start. Usually as hard as Mulder might have tried to keep things from
Scully, she could always see through the façade. She kept trying to pick his
words and actions apart. She wasn’t getting anywhere. Instead of her mind
analytically picking Mulder’s words and actions apart; she was remembering his
warm fingers entwined with her own during the fireworks show. The scent of his
musky cologne assaulted her nose, the earnestness in his green eyes as he asked
her to step back from the case became clear in her memory.
Dana swiped at the tears in her eyes with a soapy hand, getting soap in her eye
in the process. The pain made her curse. Her mind wandered back to her first
phone call to what was Mulder’s empty apartment. She had been in her mother’s
kitchen joking about Mulder’s stubborn streak being softened by her mother’s
blueberry pancakes. Her mother. She hadn’t told her mother. Oh shit. She
couldn’t bring herself to do it. Mulder was like a son to her mother. That’s
exactly why you need to tell her. You need to tell her Dana, and you know it.
Scully steeled herself for what was going to be a very difficult visit. It was
time to turn off the water and face the world. This was no time for a simple
phone call.
Maggie Scully’s Residence
7:45 AM
Scully let herself into the house. Her hands were trembling so much she could
barely turn the key in the lock. She was greeted by the sight of her mother
reading the morning paper while enjoying a cup of coffee. Maggie Scully looked
up at her daughter in surprise. To say she hadn’t been expecting her would have
been an understatement. A smile began to light across her face until she saw her
daughter’s expression.
"Dana, what’s the matter? Are you alright?"
Scully couldn’t answer her. Her eyes filled with tears as she bit her upper lip.
"Dear, what’s the matter?" She was up and heading toward her daughter. Mrs.
Scully’s face went ashen. "Dana, has your cancer come back?"
Scully swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and shook her head. I
only wish. "It’s Mulder. Mom, Mulder’s gone."
"What do you mean he’s ‘gone’?"
"He was kidnapped, Mom. He’s gone. Not a trace of him anywhere. His apartment
was trashed. He’s…gone."
"Fox has been abducted? Do you have any idea…? Do you know who’s taken him?"
"I have an idea…but I can’t be sure and there’s no way to find out. Mom…I don’t
know what to do. He could be dead already." Her composure was threatening to
break again.
"Dana, do you believe that? Do you believe that Fox is dead? Because, if you do,
you’ve lost him half-way already."
She thought about this. "I don’t know if I think he’s still alive, or if I want
him to be alive so badly…"
"Dana, of all of the times you need to have faith that Fox is alive, this is one
of the most important." She led her daughter to the couch. The two women sat
down; Maggie pulled her daughter into her arms. Dana’s protective wall began
crumbling. It collapsed on itself as Maggie began patting her back soothingly.
Dana’s body shook with sobs and unintelligible mumbles. Her mother only
continued in her attempt to soothe her.
About 20 minutes later, Dana’s tears had subsided and her trembling had ceased.
She sat in silence next to her mother. Her mind was going miles per minute
trying to pull herself together.
"Dana, do you have any idea how many times I didn’t know whether your father was
dead or alive?"
The question had come out of nowhere. Dana could only look at her mother and
shake her head. She didn’t trust her voice.
"It was pretty often actually. More often than any woman should have to deal
with. He would be out on a ship and I’d be home with you kids. It was the not
knowing that killed me."
Scully thought about this. She never once remembered her mother betraying any of
these feelings in front of the children. Part of her strength, I suppose. "What
did you do? How did you get through it?"
"I knew that he wouldn’t leave me. I just knew that he would never desert his
family."
"But…"
"Dana, it’s all in the mindset. Fox would not leave you. Just like you’d never
leave Fox."
11:38 AM
En Route: Dana Scully's Apartment
Scully hadn't expected the visit to turn out like it had. She didn't know what
she had expected, actually. She stayed for awhile, talking with her mother. Mrs.
Scully had given Dana hope. She had also done a decent job of restoring her
faith that she would find Mulder alive. She was never so thankful to have such a
wonderful mother. Dana Scully had no idea that after she had left, Maggie Scully
shed tears of her own for her adopted son.
She pulled into her parking space at her apartment complex and noted that the
mail truck was just leaving. She glanced at her watch. Early…well, it's here,
might as well get it. Scully went to her little mailbox and turned the key. The
door swung open and she retrieved the contents that lay within. While walking up
to her apartment, she began thumbing through her mail.
"Bills, bills, I might have won $1 million dollars, more bills…" She stopped,
not trusting herself to go any further. In her hands was a plain white envelope
with her name written on it in Mulder's careful script. The feeling that went
through her was a mixture between surging hope and debilitating nausea. She
wanted to sit on the floor and read it that moment, but she didn't trust her
emotions enough to. She then bolted up the stairs to her door.
Once inside the apartment, she leaned against the closed door and slid to the
floor. She carefully opened the letter, sure not to damage the contents within.
She pulled out a single sheet of white notepaper. The sight of Mulder's
handwriting at once soothed and worried her. She looked at the words without
reading them. She was almost afraid to read what he had written. Finally, a
voice inside her head told her that she had spent enough time looking at the
letter and it was about time to read it.
July 5, 1998
Dear Scully,
It's an ungodly hour in the morning and I've just returned from dropping you at
your mother's house. There are so many things I haven't told you about what's
going on, and I have decided that it's time for you to know. I have only come to
this decision after a lot of thought, because if you don't know what I know…no
one will ever know. God, that sounds cryptic, even for me.
If what I have anticipated to happen has happened, then I am gone. Otherwise I
would have filched this before you ever got your little hands on it. So, I'm
letting you know that I am aware of what's going on. I'm gone. I don't know
where I am, and I don't know where I'll be. I do know that you're probably ready
to kill me right now though.
I don't know how much you've figured out on your own with this case. I can only
assume that you've been forced to take leave, or you've taken it voluntarily. I
also can only assume that you're concerned as to my present whereabouts. Trust
me, I am too. I've done something that you may never be able to forgive me for,
and if you never do…well, know I have my reasons. I hope to be able to explain
it all to you in vivid Technicolor. I hope to be able to explain it to you at
all.
There is something waiting for you at TLG HQ. God, I hope you know what I’m
referring to, or I'm in deep shit. Please go there and get what I've left for
you. If you're angry (I know, I know…you're probably mad as hell right now)
please don't take it out on them. They have no idea what's going on, only that
they have something for you and you'll be picking it up. If you care to share
this with them, by all means, do so.
Right now, I'm off to go for a jog as well as to drop this in the mailbox. I
need to clear my head. I hope to see you tomorrow, but somehow, I don't think I
will. There are things I want to tell you, Scully. Things that I want to say in
person. I know I'll be seeing you.
And you'll be seeing me.
Always,
Mulder
She didn't know what to do after reading that. She rested her head against her
knees and tried to begin to sort things out. There was a dull throbbing coming
from somewhere in her head. A mantra began to keep in time with the throbbing.
He did this on purpose. Over and over again, this played in her head. It didn't
sink in. It wouldn't sink in. Not even Mulder would do something so utterly
moronic. Not even Mulder would intentionally stick himself in harm's way to…Save
me? Would he? God, no…no, he wouldn't do that. Her mind snapped back to all of
the times she had been the one dying, she had been the one in danger. Donnie
Pfaster, Eugene Tooms, Cancer, the shapeshifter who was after that clone of
Samantha…Had he really done such a thing? Had he actually sacrificed himself,
literally?
Hold on there Dana. Mulder's a bright boy. He must have seen the pattern that
was forming in the victims. There was no way…he would never have come after me.
I was never in any danger, Mulder.
"Oh Mulder, what have you done?" She hadn't realized she had spoken out loud
until she heard the words echo through her own ears. "Great Dana, now you're
talking to yourself. Let's see how much further Mulder can push you over the
edge this time, shall we?" You won't know for sure how far he's pushed you until
you get that package he's talking about. Just the idea that Mulder had
premeditated this made her sick to her stomach. She wasn't sure if she wanted to
know what exactly was in that package. She couldn't very well let it go though.
She had to go see Langly, Frohike, and Byers. Scully only wished the visit could
be a happier one.
TLG Headquarters
1:07 PM
Frohike was quick to open the door. Scully watched his face split in a smile at
the sight of her. He really has no idea. She actually liked visiting them here;
they always made her feel welcome. This time, she wished that the circumstances
were different.
"Agent Scully, what brings you to these parts? You've finally accepted your
undying love for me?"
The beginnings of a smile bent her lips. She shook her head. "I understand you
have something for me?" She was beginning to totally distrust her voice. It was
giving out at the most inopportune moments lately.
Frohike nodded and bustled over to a table that held a monstrous piece of
computer equipment. Langly was hunched over the computer, typing furiously.
Byers was nowhere to be seen. Frohike came up to her, a very large and
exceptionally thick envelope in his hands. Taped to the top of the envelope was
a smaller white one. Mulder's scrawl was unmistakable across the front of the
white envelope.
Scully.
She took the package into shaking hands that did not go by unnoticed by Frohike.
"What's happened? Mulder came by the other night at some ungodly hour and drops
this off for you. He said you might come by and pick it up in a few days. He
didn't say a word to us about where he was going or what he was doing. Now,
you've shown up and, I'm sorry, but you look worse than you have in your entire
life. Where is Mulder?"
Be strong, Dana. "He's gone. I'm not entirely sure of any details, but I believe
he's been kidnapped by a suspect we had been investigating for the past week.
I'm hoping that this will help me find him."
"Is this a formal investigation?"
"There is one going on, but I don't have the time to wait for them. Frankly, I
don't think Mulder has the time to wait for them either."
"That sounded like a loaded statement."
She sighed. This was going to be very hard. "I found a distinct pattern in this
serial killer's MO. He kidnaps his victims and tortures them. After a month,
they're found dead; their bodies dumped for anyone to find."
"How long has he been missing?"
"I last saw him at about 2 AM, July 5th."
"So he's been missing for about two days."
God, had it only been two days? It felt so much longer. She looked at her watch.
1:15 PM. She did some quick math. She had last seen Mulder approximately 59
hours, 15 minutes ago. She didn't want to correct Mulder's friend, so she
nodded.
"If you need us…" He trailed off. Again, she nodded.
"I'll be in touch." She turned for the door.
"And Agent Scully?"
"Yes?"
"When you see him again, tell him that this is giving him an unfair advantage
over me in acquiring your affections."
She smiled again. She nearly laughed, but not quite. She turned the handle on
the door and let herself out. The sunlight was so bright, it was too beautiful a
day for Mulder to be in danger. The whole thing was the epitome of surrealism to
Scully. After this, there would be no more lost days. There wouldn't be any more
lost time between the two of them. Things will be different this time, she
vowed. It was time to get back and get to work. It was time to find her partner.
She opened her car door and put her new acquisition on the passenger seat. She
laid a hand over it protectively, almost afraid that if she didn't, it would
disappear from her touch. Much like Mulder had.
Dana Scully’s Apartment
2:15 PM
She got back to her apartment in record time, knowing this time that she had
better wait to get into her home before opening the latest letter from Mulder.
She wanted privacy. Knowing the paranoiac that he was, the first letter was
bound to be vague just in case it had been intercepted in the mail by the
mysterious powers that be.
This time around, she was very nervous. She let herself into the apartment and
made sure to lock the door behind her. She walked purposefully over to the
coffee table in front of the couch where she deposited the heavy envelope
carefully. She gingerly tore the white envelope from the yellow one and opened
it. This letter was longer and, no doubt, more in detail. She was very afraid
for what she was going to find.
She forced her eyes to focus on Mulders handwriting. His careful, yet slightly
messy print distracted her and she made herself come back to earth to read what
was written. She kept going back to the writing. This had been in his hands. He
had thought these words out and wrote them. A lump formed in her throat as she
pictured him concentrating on this very piece of paper, chewing thoughtfully on
the end of a pen. Again, she shoved the image from her mind. Scully read the
words one by one, trying to comprehend as well as read the words.
Dear Scully,
Well, now that you have this…I should be able to find some comfort in knowing
that you’re reading these words. I should be able to find comfort in knowing
that your fingers are holding this piece of paper. The fact is, if you are
reading this (and I hope you’re not. I hope you’re not reading this. I hope you
never had to read that last letter. Shit, I’m rambling…)I am in danger.
I have done an exceedingly stupid thing. I have used myself as bait to catch a
killer so that hopefully he will not kill again. You’re reading this because at
some point in my little master plan, I fucked up. I’ve done some stupid shit in
my time, but I think this wins. I’m thinking back to the VinylRight. The moments
I spent staring down the barrel of a rifle, protecting that life-sucking son of
a bitch. I put myself in danger then. I didn’t have much of a choice then, I
thought it part of the job. This time is different. I don’t know why I’m doing
this now…yes I do. I’m doing this for you. I’m doing this for all of the times
that I had wanted to protect you and couldn’t. I couldn’t only because I do not
possess the ability to read the future. So many times I said to myself, "if I
only knew…" If I only knew that Donnie Pfaster had targeted you, I could have
done something. If I only knew what those bastards had in mind, I could have
prevented your abduction. This time, I know. I know that this guy is targeting
law enforcement officers. I won’t let it be you, Scully. I won’t let you be
Francine Taylor.
By this point, you’ve probably put together that I have been hiding things from
you. You’re probably pissed, and you have all right to be. Let me explain a few
things from the beginning. This goes way past our involvement in this case. This
goes back to Georgetown.
When Michael Donovan came up missing, Francine Taylor came to me. I had done a
little bit of profile work for the Georgetown PD a while back and she remembered
my name. She let me look at what she had. All the evidence she had collected,
all the notes she had taken. You see, when he was taken, Francine began
conducting her own investigation. Violent Crimes had it by that point. She was
sure though, that if she didn’t do this herself, he would never be found alive.
She began receiving letters from the killer. I took them and began drafting up
another profile. In total, I did about 3 of them. There’s one in the official
case folder that you probably have a copy of. There’s another one that you read
a few days back. That one was typewritten and I have it in front of me right
now. That one is now in your possession in this packet. The third is one that I
put together after reading Francine’s notes and letters. That one is the one,
Scully. That’s the one. I met her to give her the profile. She was going to go
off searching for him. She disappeared soon after that. She’s dead because of
me, Scully. Yet another accident I could have prevented.
A few nights ago, after you had left for the day, I was working late. I had both
of their autopsy reports in front of me. Every time I looked at her photo, I saw
you. I saw your face with her injuries. I’m not letting that be you. I’m not
giving him the option. He’s going to target me. There’s only one difference here
Scully, I’m not going to let him kill me. I know that you are going to find me,
and I also know that you won’t make the same mistake Francine did when she went
looking for Donovan. I don’t know what that mistake is, but I trust you’ll
figure it out. You are going to find me, and you’re going to find me alive. I
would never die without your permission, Scully. I may be a sorry son of a
bitch, but I’m a considerate, sorry son of a bitch.
These are my notes. This is everything I have on this case. Everything. You can
do this Scully. I know you can, because I’m here with you. I’m right beside you
handing you my bullshit theories for you to pick apart. I’m here, and I’m alive,
and I’m waiting for you. We’re going to get this psycho.
This is what I’m going to do, just in case I don’t make it back to my apartment
to call you. I want to call you and apologize for being such a jackass. Not just
tonight, but always. But, you see, I can’t call you before I go, because you’ll
talk me out of going through this hair-brained scheme. So, I’m apologizing now.
Then, I will put this into an envelope, drop it off with the 3 Musketeers, drop
your first letter in a mailbox, and go for a jog. I need to clear my head and
formulate a plan. If, by chance, I don’t make it back…well, I’ll just play it by
ear. That didn’t sound good, did it? Whatever it is that I do, I swear to you, I
will live through it.
If I don’t make it back, I want you to follow my jogging route. That is the last
place I’ll be if I don’t make it back. Please go through my route. That is where
you should start. You know where I go, I know you do. You’ll find something
there. I don’t know what, but that’s where you’ll find your first clues.
I’m sorry for rambling. It’s not every day I do something this stupid.
I’ll see you soon, Scully.
Always,
Mulder
Her eyes had filled up yet again. Just when she thought she had no more tears to
cry, she surprised herself. He didn’t know. He hadn’t picked it up. She couldn’t
believe that he hadn’t picked up that she was never in any danger to begin with.
He intentionally put himself in harms way to protect her, when she was never in
any danger. In fact, Mulder was probably the one being targeted all along. He
was just making himself easier to find. Scully could only shake her head in
amazement. She scanned the sheets of paper again and then decided it was time to
delve into the mysterious packet. She ripped it open and eased the materials
out. This collection was more impressive than the first was. Right on top were
two profiles. One was the typed one she had read before and the second one was
the mysterious "other" profile. If she hadn’t been so worried, she would have
been annoyed with him for being so…Mulder. Honestly, why keep all three? She
skimmed the newest one, looking for details that hadn’t made it on to the other
two.
Male between the ages of 35-40, at least 6’, approx. 200 lbs. Muscular build,
works out regularly at a gym. "Clean cut." Looks like your "everyday Joe."
Knowledge of medicine, not a doctor though. Failed out of med. school?
The torture and mutilation that he inflicts on his victims would produce a large
amount of noise. He lives isolated in the woods, or he lives in the inner city
where no one would pay him any attention. Definitely not the suburbs, not a
town, not an apartment building.
Uses his knowledge of medicine in his torture methods.
He has a history of sexual and physical abuse. He comes from a fairly well off
family, yet there was abuse in the home. His parents were divorced when he was
young; pre elementary school age. His mother remarried shortly afterwards. He
was abused by his stepfather. College, and then medical school, was his escape.
He would have tortured small animals as an adolescent; cats and small dogs
mostly.
He’s of high intelligence. A B-student in high school; did better in college,
once he was out of his mother’s home. At least a 3.5 GPA. Didn’t pass the boards
between second and third year Ed school.
Used self-mutilation as a form of escape. Will have scars on arms, legs, and/or
wrists from self-mutilation.
Will have at least one tattoo. More than likely, he will have two or three. They
will be in indiscriminate locations; the back, shoulders, buttocks, upper thigh.
May have a pierced ear, although this is less likely than the tattoos because he
can’t hide the earring.
He works for himself. A carpenter or a landscaper. Must have given his services
to various golf courses. Victims found in the vicinity of several different golf
courses. Perhaps not recently, but at some point in the last few years. He had
to have been familiar with the layout of the course as well as the surrounding
areas.
Why does he target law enforcement officials? Perhaps he asked for their help
when he was younger, and didn’t get any. Something must have happened in his
recent past to re-trigger his anger though. I think something happened to a
loved one (wife, girlfriend) that the police (G-town?) could not prevent, but
which he thinks they could have. His murders of non-law enforcement officials
were a way to draw his intended victims into the game. Perhaps his abusive
father or stepfather was a law enforcement officer?
The letters he sends to the partners…taunting? Perhaps stemming back to a
situation of his own with a loved one? Trying to instill a feeling of
helplessness that he’s felt.
The perpetrator has no social life. He devotes far too much time to his victims.
He must take time out to work. Probably has a decent job that makes good money.
(Mulder wrote in the margin by this statement: "See description of the room
where D is being held. Too much expensive equipment.")
He is probably slow to anger, but has a vicious temper when provoked. More than
likely, he isn’t angry while he’s torturing his victims. He’s enjoying himself
too much. However, he probably is prone to losing his temper when things don’t
work out his way.
(By this there was another note in Mulder’s handwriting: Taylor’s injuries of a
much more violent, angry nature. Not methodical.)
How does he target who he’s after? How does he choose one partner?
This was more like what Scully had come to expect from one of Mulder’s profiles.
She glanced at the beginning of the profile and noted the reference to letters.
Scully began digging through the papers to find the letters to Francine Taylor
that Mulder had mentioned. There were three letters. That’s not right. There
should be four. One for every week he’d been missing. Then she remembered that
Taylor had gone after him and turned up missing. That had probably been the
fourth week. A thought came to Scully and she made some hasty notes in her
pocket notebook to find the missing letter, if there was one. She had her first
clue. Or so she hoped…she settled back and began to read the letters.
Scully was shaking uncontrollably by the time she was halfway through the second
letter to Francine Taylor. Whoever this man was, he was way sicker than she
could even begin to imagine. The letters followed a pattern. The first came
after Donovan had been missing for one week. It went into detail about how he
had been abducted. Then there was a long and detailed list of all of Michael
Donovan’s injuries. Scully cross referenced the list to his autopsy report and
saw that the list was quite accurate.
"Score one for you Mulder. This guy does probably have some medical background."
She scanned the rest of the second letter. That one was more emotional. He went
into more detail about the deteriorating mental state of Michael Donovan. There
was more mention of new injuries as well as infections to the previous ones. The
terminology was quite technical and the more she read, the more she was sure
that not only was this guy a bona fide psycho, he was a highly educated one. The
second letter as well as the first held a very superior tone. That stood out to
her quite clearly. There was also something else. Something she couldn’t quite
touch on. She went on to the third letter.
The third letter went into even more medical detail about Michael Donovan and
his precarious dance on the line between life and death. The author wrote about
using Taylor to provoke Donovan’s anger. He wrote about toying with the man as
though he were a mere puppet. The thing that Scully couldn’t quite touch on
began to make sense. She became quite sure that the two partners were probably
either in love or already intimately involved. Or he was to her like Mulder is
to you…She read on. He wrote on, proclaiming Donovan’s love for Taylor almost
like he was doing them both a favor. Who the hell does this guy think he is?
Cupid? She would have liked to read on, however there was no more to read in
this collection.
Scully began to be very afraid. However, she had become such a master of hiding
her own emotions, she just pushed her fears down deep inside her and continued
to concentrate on the task at hand. She began to make her own notes.
Mentions a van – perhaps uses it for work?
Playing Cupid? Maybe he’s targeting the male halves of the partners to work out
his own frustrations? Did he have a girlfriend? Maybe she left him for a law
enforcement officer. Maybe he killed her? May have been in love once and it
ended. She was his first victim.
Why the men? Maybe he wishes he killed himself but is too cowardly to do so, so
he kills other men? Maybe he thinks he can relate to these men. He thinks
they’re in the same situation as he was, with a woman who didn’t love him? A one
sided relationship where the man loves the woman more than the woman loves the
man. He thinks that he’s saving the men, as he would have wanted to be saved?
He thinks he’s superior. Sounds overly confident. Enjoys toying with emotions.
Considers himself a puppet master.
***Must find FT’s fourth letter.
"God Mulder, I suck at this." She threw her pen in frustration. She put the
letters aside and looked at what was next in the stack. Autopsy reports on all
of the victims to date. In order, the victims were a 29-year-old Caucasian
woman, a 42-year-old Black male, an 18-year-old Philippine woman, a 32-year-old
Caucasian woman (F. Taylor), a 36-year-old Caucasian male (M. Donovan), a
35-year-old Caucasian male (Agent E. Murphy). Scully noticed that the pattern
became more distinct after the investigations started. It was almost like he
tried to make the first victims random. Scully had her doubts as to how random
the first victim was. She jotted down the name of the first woman: Alicia Tibbs.
She figured she’d investigate the other two seemingly unrelated victims. The man
was named Harold Baker and the younger woman’s name was unknown. She had yet to
be identified. She was a Jane Doe, probably a prostitute. Scully knew what that
meant. She would have to question some of DC’s working girls to get any inside
information on this victim.
Scully composed a "to do" list.
Find FT’s fourth letter
Retrace Mulder’s steps.
Talk to Agent Morris (invite to lunch? Must be unofficial…)
Find Mulder
The first thing she thought she should do before any more time passed was to
retrace Mulder’s steps. That was the most important thing because it was so time
sensitive. She left the rest of the paperwork to go through later. It was time
for Dana Scully to go for a little walk. She pulled on a pair of sneakers,
fastened her holster about her waist and put on a lightweight windbreaker to
hide her gun. Scully made sure that she brought along some plastic bags, some
latex gloves and a tiny set of tweezers. She wasn’t sure if she was emotionally
ready to see where Mulder was last, but she was beginning to learn how to ignore
those emotions. As this thought entered her mind, she murmured to herself, "I’m
becoming more like him every day." Scully got into her car and backed out of the
lot. She headed toward Alexandria and hoped for the best.
Mulder’s Apartment Building
7:48 PM
She parked next to where Mulder’s car should have been. She couldn’t get over
how empty the loaded parking lot looked without Mulder’s car. It had probably
been towed to a lot where forensics could go over it carefully and gather any
evidence. Scully was pretty sure they wouldn’t find anything. She looked around
for any agents. Even though she wasn’t really doing anything wrong, she still
felt like she was going to get caught doing something illegal. She thought of
Mulder being held somewhere against his will, probably beaten and bleeding and
she found herself not much caring about whether she got caught. She started on
Mulder’s familiar jogging route. Scully kept her eyes to the ground, looking for
anything that would lead her to Mulder. She wasn’t expecting a "Post-It" note
stuck to the sidewalk giving detailed instructions as to how to find Mulder. She
also wasn’t expecting to find what she found.
An alleyway. How utterly unoriginal.
She had found where Mulder was when he had been taken. There was a dark brown
stain on the sidewalk. She couldn’t imagine that blood could have sat there that
long without anyone cleaning it up. Even a city street cleaner would have picked
that up. She wasn’t entirely sure that this was Mulder’s blood, but there was
one way to find out. She silently thanked herself for having foresight as she
pulled the gloves, bag and tweezers out of the windbreaker pocket. Scully got
down on one knee to gather a sample. She was skeptical as to what she would
find, but there was something inside her that was screaming out to her, This is
what you’re looking for! As she was scraping at the brown spot, her eye caught
something else. A shell. Now, the spot here on the concrete might be
explainable, but a shell? I doubt it. She gingerly picked it up in her gloved
hands and placed it in a plastic bag. She would probably be able to get a make
and model of the gun the shell belonged to. She began to scour the alleyway for
any other clues. She found nothing. Scully got to her feet and began walking
away from the alley, dejected.
"What are ya lookin’ fer, lady?"
The voice startled her and Scully whirled around, pulling her gun out of the
holster and aiming it in front of her. She felt quite foolish when she saw who
the voice belonged to. There was a young boy in front of her, no older than 10.
He was very dirty and very thin. There was a dog of an indeterminate breed
sitting next to him dutifully. His eyes had widened in surprise at the sight of
her gun and he began to run away. Scully called after him.
"I’m sorry, you startled me."
The boy had started to run away, but slowed and turned around. If he had seemed
hesitant before, he was downright skittish now. He approached her slowly, trying
to hide his uncertainty behind what was obviously a false bravado.
"Aw, you din’t scare me." His tone turned cautious, "Are you a cop?"
"No, I’m not. I work for the FBI." She showed him her badge and smiled at him.
He was quite cute. Bright green eyes poked out from beneath the layers of dirt
and grime. Scully knew exactly what this kid needed: a hot meal, and a bar of
soap. Her conscience was at war. Don’t get involved, Scully.
He’s just a kid though.
Yeah, and what could he be capable of? You know what kids are capable of these
days. You see it every day. Come on, get the hell out of here. You got some
evidence. Get out.
But…what if…?
What if, what? What, do you think he was here or something? Come on, get a grip
girlfriend.
Would it hurt to ask? I think not.
She ignored what the other half of her mind was saying to her at that moment.
"Were you here a few nights ago?"
He eyed her suspiciously. "Maybe."
Scully realized that she was going to have to do some heavy bargaining. She
grinned. "Do you think a hamburger might jog your memory?"
His smile gave her all the answer she needed.

On to part 2