Date: Thu, 17 Jul 1997
Subject: Prise du Mort, by Sheena, (1/5), MSR/X-File, Rated R

Title: Prise du Mort
By: Sheena
E-mail: wendyt@ucla.edu

Genre: X-File/Romance

Classification: MSR/X-File

Warning: This is a Mulder/Scully romance. It has some angst, humor, Mulder
jealousy and of course, all that MSR and UST we love so much. So if you
aren't interested in that type of scenario, bail now or consider yourself
warned.

Rating: R for graphic imagery and profanity.

Author's Note and Thanks: I sincerely appreciate any and all feedback.
Please let me know what you're thinking. Thanks to the authors who force me
to challenge myself in order to keep up with the status quo, to the readers
who take the time to enjoy my stories, and to CC and Co. for bringing us
these special characters to wreak havoc with. And a special thanks to David
Smith for motivating me to get off my butt and start writing again and to
all the folks on the list who so generously offered their help.

Summary: Mulder and Scully are drawn into a bizarre series of murders and
have to stop the killer before one of them loses their lives. Romance
alert!

Note: While the story is not true, all the religious terminology and
history given in this story is factual.

The Obligatory Disclaimer: I didn't create 'em and I don't own 'em. All
glory goes to Chris Carter for that one. (I personally don't think Fox
Broadcasting had anything to do with an endeavor as creative as actually
designing these characters but what the hell) And Chris Carter answers to
1013 which is a subsidiary of Fox Broadcasting so eventually it all goes
back to the three-piece suits in charge (surprise, surprise). Nuff said.

B7 * * * * * *

Part (1/5)

The city was Saharan from the feel of the steaming interior of the Ford
Taurus. With one hand, Mulder struggled to loosen his tie while keeping the
other planted firmly on the steering wheel. From the corner of his eye, he
picked up the indiscreet squirming of his undoubtedly equally scorching
partner. Mulder tried to refocus on the endless stretch of highway before
him, doubting his talents as a chauffeur would be helpful if he ran them
both off the road due to a couple of wandering glances in the wrong
direction. Her direction, namely. He decided to distract them both.

"Hot Scully? You could always- slip into something more comfortable."
He
affably tossed her a joking leer while her eyebrow arched ever so slightly.
She smiled, apparently consenting to play along with him.

"You, Mulder?"

He nearly swerved the car out of their lane.

"Come again, Scully?" He gasped.

She chuckled, pleased at his reaction. Attempting to keep a grin from
leaping to her face, she stated dryly,

"I mean, Mulder, are you hot, too? Maybe we should stop and grab a bite.
We could go over this case file. I'm having troubles with it."

Mulder's shoulders relaxed even as he cursed the direction his mind had
automatically leapt to. He twitched his nose.

The air conditioning must be broken, he mused. How else could I smell her
skin sitting three feet away from her? I could reach out and touch her, he
thought. Bring her wrist to my lips, taste her skin. It must be wet from
the heat of the car. He briefly wondered if her clothes were sticking to
her, her back, her legs, her- NO. No, no, no, I am not going to spend the
afternoon distracted by her. Oh god. Being trapped in a confined space
with this woman for an extended period of time was *not* good for his
sanity.

"Sure." he answered nonchalantly.

Sure, Mulder, you s.o.b., he berated. How about a cold iced tea? How about
a cold shower is more like it.

He pulled off at the next exit and drove aimlessly till he caught sight of a
fairly cheesy looking diner and pulled into it's parking lot.

"Where are we going, again, Mulder?"

"Where the second body was found, you mean? It's a homeless shelter in
South Venice. She turned on the side entrance around 3:30 this morning."

Stepping out of the car, he couldn't help but notice Scully tugging at her
clothes which were indiscriminately aligned on her small frame from the car
ride. The edge of her slip peaked out from the navy skirt she was wearing
and Mulder inwardly groaned as she adjusted herself. His discomfiture was
obvious. Patently obvious, he feared. He carefully folded his jacket over
his arm, covering his midsection and let his hand fall to the small of her
back, guiding her into the restaurant. A waitress with a thick layer of
garishly red lipstick greeted them.

"Welcome to the Coal Miner's Company Diner. Seat 'cherself and I'll be
right with you." Her southern twang didn't seem out of place despite the
fact that they were in the outskirts of Los Angeles.

Mulder ushered Scully through the restaurant and slid into a booth at the
back. Scully smiled as the air conditioning washed over them and started
enjoying the camp atmosphere.

"So Mulder-" she began.

"So Scully." he countered. He grinned widely, bearing his teeth in a third
grade school-boy way. Scully tried not to let herself get distracted by his
endearing goofiness. She pulled out a folder and started matter-of-factly
spreading papers out on the table. At that moment, the waitress appeared.
They briefly ordered some food before Scully returned to the papers before
them.

"About this case, Mulder. I've been looking over these files but I was
wondering, who assigned us this case? It didn't come from Skinner, did it?
I mean, looking over it, it doesn't appear to be an X-File. There's nothing
about it that seems overtly-" she trailed off, not wanting to say
something
that would offend him. After all, the X-Files were mother's milk to him,
and it wasn't like they didn't both take enough criticism for their work as
it stood. He leaned in conspiratorially and whispered,

"Overtly- spooky?" he suggested mockingly. He tapped his index finger
lightly on her wrist. "Tsk, tsk Agent Scully, don't leap to conclusions."

She sat back and tried to look stern but couldn't quite manage it. Mulder
was obviously feeling restless. She sighed. He was going to be a handful
on this case, she could tell. He leaned back briefly before relenting.

"Alright Scully, what is it about this case that confuses you? Where did it
come from? A friend of mine, whom I used to work with in Violent Crimes
called me and asked if we'd help them out on this one. It's bizarre and
I've had luck with psycho's like this."

"Takes one to know one." she let slip sardonically.

"Touche, Scully. Anyway, the first murder occurred on the 6th of January.
A little over a week ago. At first, it was assumed to be an isolated
incident. The victim wasn't raped or desecrated in a manner which would
make one suspect it was a serial killer situation."

"Then why do I get the feeling you're about to tell me this is a serial
killer?"

Mulder stifled a laugh. Only Scully knew him this well.

"Well, I do think it's the work of a serial killer. An ingenious one, at
that. No fingerprints, car tracks or footprints were left at the site of
the first killing."

Scully blanched and leaned back in her chair as the waitress came back with
their food. A club sandwich for him, the fruit platter for her. She
quickly ran her fingers through her hair and Mulder's gaze followed the
fingers brushing through her auburn locks. Her fingers caught on a snarl
and he had the urge to reach out and untangle it but he stifled it.

"Alright, Mulder, I'll bite. Why do you think it's a serial killer? Aside
from the fact there's been a second murder which we didn't know about till
this morning."

"Have you checked out the coroner's report yet?"

"No, I haven't had a chance to. Why?" she leaned in and in so doing,
caught whiff of his cologne.

Mmmmm, so good. She couldn't help noticing the way his eyes shifted
slightly when they talked about catching a suspect, the manner in which he
licked his lower lip every once in a while. Like he was tasting something
candy-coated that had stuck to his mouth. And his sleeves, rolled up to the
elbows, revealing his forearms, sculpted out of the finest golden mold. She
admired the effortless, spiraling grace with which he consumed his meal; in
the same manner he would interview a witness or challenger the views of
their superiors; totally unabashed. He reminded her of something out of a
Benvenuto Cellini sculpture, so rich in absolute faith in one's self and
convictions. So- aesthetically pleasing.

She shook her head. Back to reality, Dana. Fantasize about your partner
later. She picked up the report and began reading it as Mulder bit into his
sandwich.

Tomato hung from the edge of the sandwich and he maneuvered it into his
mouth but a couple of seeds fell to his lap. Chagrined, he shrugged and
continued to devour it. His efforts were interrupted by Scully.

"I see what you mean here, Mulder. It's strange. The coroner found that
the lividity of the body indicates the girl had died while being suspended
upside-down in the air. That's not a spur-of-the-moment fledgling murder
tactic."

"Right, and she was found by a groundskeeper of the local university library
lying on her back in the woods adjacent to it. On her back, Scully. Which
means-"

Scully completed his thought for him.

"Which means she wasn't killed there. The killer must have dropped off the
body there post-humously, leaving her in a different positon than the one
she was killed in." She looked back to the report. "Huh, this is also
strange, Mulder. The report adds a footnote, saying that the typing exam
done by the LAPD serology unit indicates that there were two different blood
types in the girl's body. The I.D. units that came to the scene only found
trace blood samples around the stab-wound and there were no blood stains to
indicate a struggle."

"Which follows our idea of the body being moved to where it was found."

"Yes, but traces from the wound were taken from the same place. The point
of entry. The two blood types were comingled, though. That makes no sense,
even if one of them is the killers. How would he get his blood mixed with
hers? Why would he do that if he's as smart as you think he is, knowing it
would be found in the autopsy and only reveal himself?"

"Well, that's the sixty-four thousand dollar question, isn't it?" He
stretched back in his chair and Scully was momentarily entranced by his
cat-like languid movements. She looked at her plate.

"Well, let's get out of here. The sooner we get there, the better." She
concluded and stood up to leave.

B7 * * * * *

The man knelt in the darkness, listening over the throbbing beat pumping
tinnily from behind the brocade walls and the water rushing madly from the
fountain in the square. His hand ran over the skin of the woman trembling
under his grip. The water from the sink sounded loudly against the
porcelain basin and echoed against the din from the club above him. He sat,
waiting. He slowly poured the water from a ceramic pitcher over the woman's
head and wiped a rag reeking of formaldehyde over her arms. A muffled moan
accompanied the violent tremors of her body.

"Laver tete." he affirmed.

In the din, the hollow clip of heeled shoes on concrete and the smoky air
that carried promises and lies flushed out once more, over his head. He
kept quietly to the darkness, waiting for the signal to begin the
purification again. The woman let slip a muffled groan and he quickly
brought down his elbow to her head, knocking her unconscious. He crooned in
a halting pant,

"Not yet pet, not yet-" He glanced around again and pressed his lips to
her ears, hoping to reach her in her unconsciousness. "Not yet, not yet.."
He would be patient. He turned his eyes to the sky through the window made
dingy by the woodrot in it's frame. To a nearby glen of trees just outside.
The speckled leaves from the trees made the puddles seem alive, giving face
to the rain that had fallen for so many days and nights. He felt a
tightening in his internal organs. The sign would have to come soon, it was
getting harder to wait. He would try to be patient, though.

B7 * * * * * *

Thomas Baskin turned his back from the crime scene when the FBI officers
started walking toward him. He had seen them flash their badges to the
officers guarding the established perimeter surrounding the crime scene.
One of them, the man, grimaced slightly as they approached where the body
had been found. He loped around it carefully, checking it from all angles.
Baskin figured he looked pretty sharp. The other, the woman, moved briskly
to his side and engaged him in conversation. Baskin averted his eyes
momentarily. She was breathtaking.

Figures, he thought. All the pretty ones wind up with the Feds.

The woman saw him and motioned to her partner. It was a pretty busy street,
a commercial district and there were a lot of people moving around but they
stood out, there was purpose in their movements. They moved as a pair, at
the same pace, towards him. The man took the lead, taking out his badge.

"Detective Baskin? I'm Agent Mulder, with the FBI, this is Agent Scully.
Dave Melman called me in, sir. I understand you're having some problems
with this case, he thought I might be able to help."

Baskin nodded at them.

"Well, we can use all the help we can get, of course. I'd be glad to hear
both your inputs." He let his eyes fall to the redhead a little longer than
necessary before turning back to the area being taped off with "Caution"
signs.

Scully moved carefully under the signs and leaned down to the outline of the
body. She looked up at Baskin.

"I'd like to get a look at the coroner's report as soon as possible." He
tilted his head. She continued, "I'm a medical doctor, Detective, and I did
my residency in forensics." Baskin nodded, impressed.

Brains and beauty, slugger. She's batting two for two.

"In that case, maybe I can get you in to help out with the autopsy. I'm
sure we can use your insight." He turned to the other agent. "Do you have
any preliminary questions?" Agent Mulder glanced at Scully for a moment,
then back to him.

"Were there any fingerprints dusted or bloodstains? Any secretory fluids
found?"

Baskin slowly shook his head, thoughtfully.

"No, there weren't. It's been a pretty wet winter for Southern California
this year. A doozy of a rainy season and we're going under the assumption
that a lot of the physical evidence was washed away by the rains. That
should be over though, if today's weather is any indication of the future."
He smiled briefly. "I tell you what; you've probably been stuck in a hot
car for a while." He looked to Scully. "I can't believe the heat we're
getting all of a sudden. In January, no less. And here I thought I'd have
to trek out here in my galoshes when the call came in this morning." His
gaze lingered a moment on her and then turned back to Mulder. "I tell you
what, why don't you two go check into a hotel and settle in. I'll let you
know when we have anything from forensics." He looked warmly at Agent
Scully and thought he caught out of the corner of his eye Mulder squaring
his shoulders. He briefly wondered if they had a thing going. He knew it
was against policy but hey, he couldn't blame the guy.

* * * * * * *

Mulder haphazardly pulled his clothes out of his duffelbag. Unfortunately,
he yanked a little too hard and wound up with most of his clothes draped all
over the room. He sighed. Detective Baskin had thrown him off, earlier.
The way he had looked at Scully; it made that primordial Australopithecus
within Mulder want to grab the good detective and grunt like a buffoon,
telling him in no uncertain terms that he was treading on "Private
Property". He was ashamed of his instinctive jealousy; after all, he didn't
own Scully. He had no right to sniff around her like some dog. Then
again, he supposed he never had been good with separating himself from his
work when it came to Scully. He thought back, <"Of course I'm being
territorial, Scully> The Tooms case. That two-bit knockoff cop, that
pretentious climber, him and his shitty instincts could've cost them
Scully's life. He shuddered at the thought.

But Baskin was a good detective, he could tell. And wasn't it natural that
he look at Scully? Didn't he, Mulder, spend only too much of his
extra-curricular time dwelling on the same subject? He knew it meant that
deep down, he wasn't any better than the guys who catcall at women on the
streets. Still, he couldn't help himself. She was his Achilles Heel.

His thoughts were abruptly cut off as Scully knocked softly on his door.

"Enter at your own risk." he called out. She opened the door to his mess
and chuckled lightly.

"Mulder, the clothes go in the dresser, not on the floor." She stooped over
to pick up a pair of pants.

"No, Scully, I'm going for a new look. The room wears my clothes, not me.
How do you think it'll fly at the Pret-a-Porter?" He shot her a wry smile
as she tossed a t-shirt over his head.

"Well, then, what do *you* wear?" she asked suggestively. A slight blush
crept up underneath his collar.

How did she do that? he wondered. He felt himself tighten; it was habit by
now. She was an addictive habit. It was like heroin. He *needed* a daily
dose of Scully or he couldn't think straight. Course, he couldn't think
straight around her, either, but it was a much sweeter sensation.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he shot back. He watched as she sat down on a
nearby chair and carelessly swiveled for a moment before turning to face
him.

"I keep thinking of this case, Mulder. Something about it doesn't sit right
with me." she looked at him as if she wanted to say something else.

"Yeah, it's pretty gruesome." he encouraged her.

"Yeah." She stopped. "Hey, what did the toxicology report on the first girl
find?"

"Uhhh, it's on my desk in front of you." She sorted through the files and
picked it out. He started to put his clothes away more neatly as she read
it. She read aloud to him as he folded his clothes.

"It seems pretty straightforward. Dirt from the crime scene, cosmetic
chemicals from the residue of her makeup-" she halted. He turned to her.
She straightened up and read the next part carefully. "Trace elements of
sodium hypochlorite, anionic and nonionic surfactants, aluminosilicates,
sodium carbonate and sodium sulfate were found in small quantities on the
victims skin and under her nails."

"In English Scully, what does that mean?" She stood up and started pacing.

"Those are cleaning agents, Mulder. Used for scrubbing tile and grouting
tubs, stuff like that. Bleaches and - even most detergents probably have
them in small amounts. Why would he be using that crap on her?" She
shuddered slightly, as if she was cold, and quickly discarded the file,
stepping away from it uncomfortably. He stood up to be nearer to her.
"This is sick, Mulder. I know we're supposed to- to get inside his head
to
determine his next move but- I don't know if I want to figure this guy's
head out. We could get lost in there." He reached out and touched her
shoulder, pulling her ever-so slightly to him.

"Hey, don't worry. It's okay." he murmured softly. She looked up at him
then. Her almond shaped eyes were obscured slightly by the shadow of the
nearby drapes but they still shook him with their probing and stark beauty.
They were the most awesome shade of blue, so clear and radiant. He let his
hand rest for a moment on her cheek and she closed her eyes. He thought he
discerned her swaying slightly against the pressure of his skin against her,
but he wasn't sure. She looked up at him. Just then the phone rang. She
sighed and moved to the phone.

"Hello." She halted. Mulder watched her. "Oh, hello Detective." Mulder's
ears perked up and he listened intently to the one side of the conversation
as he put his clothes away. She mostly just said, "Hmmmm" and "yes" and
"oh". At one point she laughed slightly and he thought he saw her smile
secretly to herself. He wondered if Baskin had complimented her? Asked her
out? His thoughts ran amuck in his over-active imagination. She turned to
him as she hung up.

"What's up?" Mulder asked.

"The coroner's report confirmed that it's by the same guy. Down to the
last. The lividity, the serology report, the chemicals-"

"It's a serial killer, then." Mulder said gravely. Scully just nodded. She
then turned to him.

"Who found the second girl?"

"Someone called in hearing a strange noise from next door, it was dry
cleaners open late. The on-duty police officer found her when he went in to
check it out."

"What did the person at the dry cleaners hear?"

"Not sure. You want to go check it out?" She shrugged.

"What the hell, why not? I'll go grab a jacket and meet you downstairs in
five minutes."

End, Part (1/5)

Part (2/5)

* * * * * * * *

He watched from across the street as the two government people stepped
inside the dry cleaners. He had returned to the last site too, to the
college library where he'd let the first one's body lie. He liked to
revisit where he had left the shells of the souls no longer slaves to their
sin.

He saw the world through black, piercing eyes. He had been watching people
on the street, as directed by the subway prophets. He wiped his brow and
observed them parade down the avenue, through the jungle, searching vainly
for the feast of saints they couldn't find. He pitied their wretchedness,
how they betray themselves and turn their prayers to Judas. Sun rays beat
down on their backs from the newly vacant sky. They were being cooked
alive, he realized, and their seared flesh stank like the meat of dead
animals to him. They could never be clean.

The government people came out of the dry cleaners and stopped to converse.
He perched and watched them. The man was no good, he could tell. Another
one of the mindless heathens. The woman was different though. She could be
cleaned, he mused. The man was only polluting her, though. He would have
to get the man first. He wouldn't purify him. There would no point in even
trying to save someone already damned. A gun would do on that one. Then
the woman could be unshackled from her spiritual numbness. He could feed
her to the saints, and they would all be free.

B7 * * * * * * *

The man in the dry cleaners looked up sharply as Mulder and Scully entered
his shop. Scully looked at him curiously. He was a sad-faced man. It
looked like his happiness and one eye had been left in the fields in
Cambodia. A patch covered part of his face and one of his eyes and he
stooped slightly, as if gravity bore more heavily on him than most.

"What you want?" he blurted in halting English. Mulder approached him and
spoke non-threateningly.

"We're sorry to bother you sir, but we're with the FBI and were wondering
if we could ask you a couple of questions about last night." The man looked
suspiciously at him but it appeared he decided to cooperate because he
stopped encasing clothes in plastic sheets and looked intently at them.
Mulder continued. "We understand you heard a noise here last night." The
man nodded slowly.

"Dog barking, then ahhhh, I call police." He cast his eyes downward.
Scully stepped forward.

"You called the police because you heard a dog barking?" she probed.

"No dogs around here." He responded. She leaned closer to him and looked
into his tethered face and eyes.

"Is there something you're not telling us, sir? Something else? I assure
you we're not here to get you in trouble, we just want the truth." The man
looked searchingly at her.

"You look like a friend of my daughter. When I live in Florida, my
daughter, she have friend with hair red like fire." Scully smiled. The man
looked around briefly and then leaned towards Scully.

"Last night, I hear- I hear something."

Mulder interrupted.

"Not the dog, though?" The man looked between them and then lowered his
voice to a conspiratorial tone.

"I hear something I no hear since I left Florida. I hear a man cry out
something."

The old man shook his head, as if trying to release the echoing shrieks of
the night before from the ears of his memory.

"What did you hear a man cry out?" Mulder asked.

"I only make out two words, cause it was late and I no hear too good."

"What did you hear, sir?" Scully questioned.

"Two words; 'santeros' and 'petro.'" The man looked worriedly at her and
then smiled briefly. "You go now. Go home, this city, it crazy. You too
nice to be here." Scully reached out and clasped her hand over his
momentarily and then turned to leave with Mulder.

B7 * * * * * * *

"So what does it mean, Mulder?" Scully asked once they were outside.
Mulder wandered over to the driver's side of the car, and unlocked the door.
He didn't answer her immediately. Instead, he turned to her.

"Hey, Scully, why don't we go grab a bite to eat."

"Sure, Mulder, so long as you tell me whatever it is that's rattling around
in that head of yours." She got into the passenger side of the car next to
him and waited, knowing that he'd start talking when ready. He did.

"There was a story in the press a couple of years ago, Scully. Strange
stuff. In Dade County, Florida, this little third grade girl skipped
school." He paused.

"And-" Scully prodded him.

"She dropped out of school to become a Santeria priestess. The girl's
initiation rites took three to four weeks, according to religious experts,
and she was legitimately excused from school by her parents." He looked
over to her. "Hey, separation of church and state, know what I mean?"

"Mulder, what are you talking about?" Scully demanded, exasperated.

"Those words, Scully, santeros and petro. They refer to santeric rituals.
Santeros are the priests that slaughter animals as an offering of blood to
appease their gods. Petro rites invoke the darker spirits of the vodoun
religion, or voodoo as it is called in lamens terms."

"Mulder, what are you saying? That we're dealing with voodoo?" she sighed.

"Well, not technically, Scully. Voodoo is a recognized religion in many
parts of the world and doesn't necessarily condone violence. I think we're
dealing with a darker branch of something related to it, maybe. I don't
know."

"But this pathology does have a documented history?" she asked, as they
pulled into the lot of a Thai restaurant. He didn't respond till they were
seated in the restaurant.

"Of course, Scully. All religions, even in their darkest hour, have a
history, acknowledged or not. The notorious slave revolt of 1791 in Haiti
began at an August evening voodoo ceremony. Participants pledged allegiance
to Satan if their nation were freed from the French. Nearly two centuries
later, voodoo was a major factor in the rise and fall of the Haitian
Duvalier dynasty. At first voodoo frightened and intimidated the people
into submission, then it enraged them into violence and destruction. Many
people believed Duvalier was the incarnation of the voodoo god, Baron
Samedi, the spirit of death and one of the malevolent spirits of the voodoo
pantheon. It's even been speculated by some that voodoo may be partially
accountable for the AIDS outbreak in Haiti. Because voodoo priests use
cadaver components in various potions and powders and because human blood is
used in sacrificial worship, some AIDS experts believe the disease has been
spread by contact with these contaminated remains."

"Mulder, I don't want a history lesson. And need I remind you that AIDS is
spread only through the exchange of bodily fluids and that the AIDS virus
dies upon contact with the air. It would be impossible for it to spread
through the use of corpse remains in voodoo rituals. Not to mention the
fact that considering the epidemic proportions of the AIDS virus in Haiti,
the entire population of Haiti would have to be practitioners of -" She
stopped when she heard Mulder chuckle. "What, what's so funny?"

"Ever the pragmatic doctor, Scully."

"Anyway," Scully said, "so you think that our killer is a practitioner of
voodoo?"

"Well, except for one thing. I mean, let's try to see him from the
psychological perspective. This guy, he uses various cleansing chemical
agents on his victims. That would indicate that he's trying to clean them,
to purify them. If that's true then he sees himself as helping them, as
saving them from themselves because he is the agent of this purification.
He mixes their blood with the blood of someone or something else. Again, in
establishing this alien blood into their system, he's changing them."

"But why?"

"Again, he probably thinks he's refining their blood by using the blood of
someone or something more pure than they."

"Why does he hang them in the air?"

"You've got me there. I have no idea. And there's one other thing that
doesn't make sense."

"What's that?"

"Why does he stab them? If he's trying to decontaminate them, stabbing
them defeats his purpose, it mars them. It flaws them. It doesn't follow."
He leaned back. "Any ideas?"

"I'd like to examine the bodies, tomorrow, and see if I can determine if
the stab wound occurred post-mortum."

"You think he stabbed them after they died?"

"Maybe. That way, he wouldn't be marring them, if they were already dead,
you see? He would be desecrating the corpse, but we've seen that before.
And from what I know of the voodoo religion, the body is considered a mere
object once the spirit leaves it. Maybe he believes he's releasing the
spirit from the body by making a wound near the heart. Or it could just be
a random act of unnecessary violence. I mean, the guy's obviously crazy."

"I dunno," he stroked his chin thoughtfully, "it has to mean something
though." He stopped and groaned before throwing his head back. "Let's
change the topic, I'm getting depressed." She laughed.

"Good idea." They shared a comfortable silence and then she said,
laughingly, "So what do you want to talk about?"

"What do you think of Baskin?" he asked smoothly.

"He seems like a good officer. Actually-" she paused, "he asked me to
dinner tomorrow night." She looked up at Mulder, "I mean, we can discuss
the case and-" she trailed off.

Mulder was staring at her, he realized. He lowered his voice,

"Sure, sounds like a good idea." Then he looked up at her, "You deserve a
night on the town, Scully." He had meant that to come off as a joke but
there was a note of wistfulness in his voice. "Well, if you're going out
tomorrow night, we'd better get going. After all, you need your beauty
sleep, right?"

She smirked at him as he stood up to leave.

End Part (2/5)

Part (3/5)

B7 * * * * * * * *

The following night, Mulder sat on his bed in the hotel, petulantly
flipping through the channels of the television in his room. He exhaled
sharply as the events of the day replayed in his mind.

They had spent the day going over their findings with Detective Baskin.
Mulder oscillated between admiring Baskin's technique as a thoughtful and
intelligent investigator and hating him for it. He knew by now that Baskin
must know who he was dealing with. Spooky Mulder, the alien chaser.
Despite which, Baskin listened thoughtfully to his suggestions and paid
careful attention to what both of them had to say. There was none of the
condescending chauvinism directed towards Scully or the outright insolence
towards Mulder that they had both come to expect from outside investigators.

But at the same time, Mulder couldn't help noticing the sidelong glances
Baskin kept furtively shooting in Scully's direction. Nothing transparent
or disrespectful, just an admiring and appreciative glimpse. And every time
Scully looked Baskin in the eye, Mulder felt a strange sick tendril of
jealousy curl inside him. His fists tightened even as he conversed with
them. And more than ever before, he found himself inventing excuses to get
close to Scully. Tapping her on the shoulder to show her some evidence,
leaning in closer to her to read her something from a file, anything to be
able to smell the scent of that honeysuckle shampoo still lingering fragrant
in her hair.

And then, tonight came, faster than Mulder had anticipated. He groaned in
frustration as it played out in his head.

He had strolled over to Scully's room, having invented some inane question
to ask her, but he honestly just wanted to see her too much to leave her be.
He knocked on her door timidly.

She replied. "It's open."

He opened the door to her, standing in front of a full-length mirror,
checking herself from different angles. Her hair was still damp from a
shower and curling slightly, framing her face. She was wearing a plain yet
elegant forest green dress, not tight or revealing. Yet Mulder felt his
pulse quicken even as he stood in her doorway. He started, and spoke
quickly, pushing the words from his mouth frenetically.

"Hey Scully, I uh, I was thinking we should check out that library
tomorrow. See if there's any similarities between the dumping sites of the
bodies."

She turned and looked at him thoughtfully.

"That's a good idea, Mulder."

He was rapping his knuckles lightly and rapidly against the wall. He
nodded almost imperceptibly.

"You leaving soon?"

She nodded.

"Thomas is meeting me in the lobby."

Mulder's throat tightened as she used Baskin's first name. She didn't even
use *his* first name. Course, he mused, who's fault was that? <"I even made
my parents call me Mulder, Scully. Mulder-"> He regretted so many
things.
So many small and inane ways he'd pushed her away from him over the years.
So careful to remain isolated.

He had wanted to take her and wrap her in his arms, enfold her in a tight
and close embrace. Instead, he had just given a thin-lipped smile and left.

Her phone had been ringing off and on all night. He had briefly wondered
if it was her calling for him but then, why didn't she call on the cellular
or in his room? He slid off his bed to raid the mini-fridge of it's
miniature liquor bottles. His phone rang and he leaned over to pick it up.

"This is Mulder." He answered. A soft and ragged breathing echoed in his
ear. "Scully?" he asked immediately. "Are you okay? Scully?" He heard a
shuffling and then silence. "Scully?"

"No, Agent Mulder. This is the front desk. We have an important message
for your partner. Where is she?" a hushed voice asked. Mulder sighed,
wondering the same thing himself.

"She's out for the evening. Can I take a message?"

A pause followed.

"No, it's a, a personal message. Do you know where she can be reached,
son?"

Mulder paused. Something was wrong. He couldn't hear any other phones in
the background or voices of other people who might be staying at the hotel.

"Let me speak to the concierge, please." He said. The phone went dead in
his hand. He thought a moment before putting the phone down. He wondered
if he should call Scully. He weighed the consequences of disturbing her on
her date with the possibility that someone could be after her. It wasn't a
hard decision.

B7 * * * * * * *

Scully chewed her tortellini slowly, appreciating it's flavor. She was
half-listening to Thomas and half letting her mind wander.

They had gone to a revival at a local theater on the West Side, a Woody
Allen tribute. It was a gorgeous evening, and after the film they had
walked to a nearby Italian restaurant that was perched on the waterfront.
It was next to a public garden, centered around a brook that ran out to sea.
It was the wee hours of night, when the lights of the street were dimmed and
the mist from the ocean blanketed the garden like a fog. It was a peaceful
evening, a pleasant respite from the grisly topics of the day but Scully
wasn't thinking about that. Or if she was, neither she nor the faintly
rushing waters were talking much. She amiably half-listened to Thomas,
telling her a story about being an investigator in the LAPD. She wished she
could concentrate on their date. Her heart wasn't in it, though.

It's strange, she thought. I've always pushed men away because of work.
Even in medical school and at Quantico. I guess I've always felt that I had
to work twice as hard to keep up. But here I am, where I belong in life, in
a no pressure situation, and I can't enjoy myself. I don't want to enjoy
myself. Thomas is bright and thoughtful but- her thoughts turned awry.
He's not who I want to be with.

She turned her thoughts to the conversation at hand. What was he saying,
anyway?

"And the woman is just standing there, the guys toupee in one hand, the
handkerchief in the other. She didn't know which one to drop first." He
laughed out loud at recounting the experience and Scully smiled.

"I think Mulder and I probably have it easier dealing with the paranormal,
it sounds like you have your hands full."

He nodded enthusiastically.

"Los Angeles is a crazy city. I have a t-shirt that says, 'Los Angeles is
like a granola bar; take away the fruits and nuts, and all you have left are
the flakes.'" And then broke out into laughter again. "But really, what do
you and Mulder do? It sounds like you're involved in some interesting
stuff."

This time it was her turn to nod enthusiastically.

"Yes, we.." and she was interrupted by her cellular. "Please excuse me,"
she said, "I have to take this." And then she flipped open the phone.
"Scully." she answered automatically.

"Scully, yeah, listen, I'm sorry to interrupt you but I'm at the hotel and
something kindof bizarre just happened. Someone called, saying they were
from the front desk trying to get in touch with you but- well, I don't
think
they were from the front desk, they.." the phone crackled and Mulder paused.
"Hold on a sec, Scully, someone's at the door." She heard him put down the
phone and heard him answer the door. It was quiet for a few moments and
then suddenly she heard Mulder shouting.

"Scully, get out, NOW, SCULLY!" he screamed and then a muffled thud, and
then nothing. Scully was breathing hard, clenching the tablecloth of the
table with her other hand.

"Dana, is something wrong?" Baskin asked cautiously. Scully's face had
gone white. She heard someone pick up the phone.

"Mulder, Mulder dammit, is that you?" She heard an exhaled breath and then
a sigh. The sigh was strangely pitched, high and light, full of pleasure.

"No, it isn't."

"Who the hell is this! Where's Mulder?" she demanded. Other people in
the restaurant had turned in their seats to watch her but she was oblivious
to the stares she was receiving.

"He's alive, but I'm not sure for how long. I think I hit him very hard,
for he doesn't seem to be breathing normally. He won't die yet, though. I
thought I owed you a visit, though, to investigate how well your
investigation of me is coming along."

Scully's voice hardened and she enunciated her words carefully.

"Listen you shit, if you hurt him in any way, I *will* kill you. Take him
to a hospital and turn yourself in, otherwise, this scenario can only end
with me putting a bullet through your fucking head."

The man's voice changed. He started to pant slightly.

"Nooooo, you don't understand." He crooned in her ear. He then said
clearly, "I'm not going to take him to a hospital. I'm going to let him
live till tomorrow and then I'm going shoot him during the full moon
tomorrow night. Don't worry, pet, it will finish him quickly."

The phone went dead and Scully fell to her chair. She slumped over and put
her hand to her forehead. As if from very far away, she heard Baskin's
voice,

"Dana, what is it? What's wrong?"

She had no answer.

End Part (3/5)

Part (4/5)
B7 * * * * * * *

Scully and Baskin stood outside the library, the midday sun pouring down on
their backs.

"Could he be around here, Dana? He might have just dropped the girl here
out of convenience."

Scully was lost in thought. She had spent last night in her bed, twisting
her sheets in her hands and choking herself on the lump that wouldn't leave
her throat. Her bed was a double; relatively luxurious compared to what her
and Mulder were used to but she had had a nightmare that kept her up the
rest of the night, too sick too sleep. In it, she was in a graveyard, late
at night, running from grave to grave, wiping away the moss that covered the
tombstones, searching for his name. She came to a fresh grave and fell to
her knees, frantically digging at the fresh earth. But no matter how much
dirt she tore up, she couldn't reach him. And then the grave had started to
swallow her, pulling it in to it's filthy depths. Right as the earth
started to cover her head, she had awoken, crying and sweating through her
pajamas. Then she had repeatedly turned over in her bed, feeling for
another body who might be lying next to her.

She just wanted to hear Mulder's voice so much, to touch him and prove he
was real.

Mulder's voice kept reverberating against her skull, his panicked cries from
their conversation and the voice of the man who kept him from her. She
heard Mulder's voice in her head. <It has to mean something, Scully>

"I don't think he'd act randomly. I think it has to be significant in some
way. I mean, why here? A university campus has a lot of activity, even at
night, more so than other places, he was risking being caught by choosing to
leave her here. And why the library? Why not a dumpster where it might
take days to find the body?" She looked up at the tall arches of Powell
library, at the gothic Roman architecture. It stood out against the bright
sky, shadowing the lawn. The pane glass windows depicted typical Christian
tableau's. She paused. "Baskin?"

"Yeah, Dana, what is it?" he replied as he walked over to her.

"What was the name of the homeless shelter where the second girl was
found?"

"The Philip Jacobson Homeless Shelter, why?"

"Philip Jacobson?"

"Yes, why?"

"This library, look at the windows. The designs on them are religious.
Was this library ever used for religious ceremonies?"

"Dana, it's illegal for a public university to allow religious services in
it's buildings."

"But what about secret ceremonies?"

"What?"

She sighed and kicked the grass then walked over to a nearby bench and sat
down. Baskin followed her.

"When I was a kid, I remember my mother telling my sister about some
teenagers who were arrested at the beach. They had been sacrificing
animals, trying to invoke spirits, stuff like that." She sighed.

"Right, well, you leave kids alone long enough with a Ouiji board-"

"No, that's not what I mean."

"There's a lot of strange shit out there, Dana. Trust me, I know. But
they're just sick kids, Dana. Playing with stuff they don't understand and
can't control."

"Yeah, but they went to the beach because they figured it had some meaning.
This guy dropped the body on the doorstep of a building with religious
ornamentation."

"So? If he's into voodoo, doesn't that make sense?"

"But at sites of *Christian* worship? Wouldn't he leave them where voodoo
spirits would find them?"

"I thought you and Mulder described the bodies as just being shells. Why
would it matter where he leaves them?"

She stood up suddenly and turned on him.

"Well, obviously it does, because there's a pattern, of religious rites,
and there's no such thing as a randomly occurring pattern." She felt tears
well in her eyes as the image of Mulder sprang to her eyes. He was out
there, somewhere, suffering. He needed her. She could almost feel his
thoughts. She shook her head, Mulder needed her strength now. He needed
her to find him. She needed to think straight. "I'm sorry, Thomas. I'm
just worried about Mulder." She looked up at him.

"You really care about him, don't you?" He looked at her as if he was
uncovering some secret part of her. She nodded.

"Yes, I do." She turned to the library again. Her mind swam with thought
and beat in time with her heart, heavy in her chest.

"Where's the thread that brings them together? What would Mulder do? Get
inside his head, Scully, what is he doing?" she questioned to herself aloud.
"What does he want? Why does he do it?" She thought back to childhood, to
Sunday School with her parents, going up the steps of the church, she used
to feel like she was in another world, hushed and privy to her thoughts.
Like the walls had eyes and ears, they knew what she was thinking. "Philip
Jacobson Homeless Shelter and A.Powell Research Library." She thought back
to the masses she attended as a child.

Somewhere inside her, a thought beat against the surface of her
consciousness. She started whispering to herself, "Then Philip went down to
the city of Samaria, and preached Christ unto them."

"What was that, Dana?" Baskin asked. She didn't hear him through the
collision of her thoughts.

"And the people with one accord gave heed unto those things which Philip
spake, hearing and seeing the miracles, which he did."

"Dana, what are you muttering?" he asked.

Something clicked inside her then. She snapped her head up and said aloud,

"For unclean spirits, crying with loud voice, came out of many that were
possessed with them: and many taken with palsies, and that were lame, were
healed. And there was great joy in that city."

"Dana, please, you have to concentrate."

"NO, Thomas, listen to me. Listen," and she said her next words very
carefully, "But there was a certain man, called Simon, which beforetime in
the same city used sorcery, and bewitched the people of Samaria, giving out
that himself was some great one." She stopped for a moment. "My god,
Thomas, he thinks he's saving their souls."

"What does it mean, Dana?"

"Just think, Thomas. The story is of how unclean spirits were cast out by
Philip. It's in the Bible; the miracles recorded in the acts of the
apostles. The killer thinks he's cleaning the spirits of his victims,
setting them free. And he leaves them at centers of past religious worship.
Places where religion has died, though, just like the bodies of his victims.
Hey Thomas," she paused, "what does the A. in A.Powell stand for?"

He thought for a moment.

"Andrew, I think. Why?"

"Andrew, one of the apostles. Philip, one of the apostles. Places where
religion is dead." She murmured.

"So he thinks he's an apostle? He thinks he's the figure in the story,
Philip?" Baskin asked.

"He's not Philip."

"Who is he?"

"He's Simon."

"What?"

"Nevermind, it's not important. Listen, he wouldn't be killing the victims
in a place of religion. Not if he's leaving the bodies there. It would be
just the opposite. The opposite of the apostles."

"Where?" Baskin asked.

Scully stopped before answering.

"Thomas, I want you to call the station and have them get a listing for me.
I think I have an idea."

B7 * * * * * *

Mulder's eyes opened to light. He squinted, trying to let them adjust.
Where was he? He felt behind himself, his hands were tied against his back.
A gag covered his mouth. His knees were tied together and he was sitting on
the floor. He looked around and choked at what he saw. Across the room
from him, a woman was strung up, hanging upside down from a cord in the
ceiling. Cotton was shoved in her nostrils and ears, a gag covered her
mouth, her pockets were turned inside out and her knees were tied together.
Her face-.

Mulder felt his stomach roll and he crouched forward as his insides heaved.
When the waves subsided, he looked back to the girl. Her face was a
sickening purple color, the blood having distilled there from having hung
upside down for so long. He felt tears dampen his face.

Oh, god, where am I? Seeing he was alone with the woman, he thanked
whomever was listening that Scully was safely away from where he was.

He tried to ascertain his surroundings. He was in a room, dimly lit, with
one door and no windows. There were hard-wood floors; he listened
carefully and heard a strange music pulsating from somewhere above him.
Beneath where the girl hung, a circle was drawn and droplets of some mixture
had stained the floor. Several jars were lined up against the walls in an
orderly fashion.

"They're the purification mixtures." He heard a voice say. He whipped
around. A man stood in the shadows, obscuring himself. He drew out a gun
and started polishing it with what looked like a rag. Mulder paused.

Alright, Mr. Violent Crimes Expert, he thought. You have a madman with a
gun and no plausible means of escape. How do you work your way out of this
one? Just keep the psycho talking, keep him interested enough in the
conversation so he won't blow you away.

"Purification?" he muffled. The man looked apologetic.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you were saying," he said almost politely. "Let me get
that for you. I had to gag you, you understand, though no one could hear
you, certainly. Not where we are. I didn't want you to wake her." He said,
looking fondly at the girl. He moved to Mulder and removed the gag. "Yes,
the purification. She is almost ready. I think, though," he said "that I
should take care of you before I initiate her."

"Initiate her?"

"Yes, before I free her and cast her from here. The Dessounin process.
The separation of the spirit and the body."

"I see, and did she ask to be saved?" he asked, not threateningly, but
trying to maintain the look of curiosity.

"The debatement is a small price to pay for salvation. Her body suffers
but her soul recognizes the truth of what I'm doing."

"And when you're done?"

"Her gros-bon-ange will be free. I will leave her corps cadavre in the
fields for scavengers and start again. With your partner."

Mulder's eyes snapped wide.

"What did you say?"

"Your partner, Mr. Mulder, she needs to be saved. I could tell when I saw
her."

A frantic panic shook Mulder and a sweat crawled over his skin. Oh, god,
Scully, run run run. Don't try and save me, run from here. Never look
back. Forget, forget.

"Do you think that's necessary?" he managed.

"Yes." The man affirmed resolutely.

"What will you do?" he asked. He almost hated asking, fearing the things
he would hear, but he had to know. The man smiled and, like he was giving
Mulder a great gift, he said,

"Well, if you promise to be silent, I'll show you. I was about to begin on
her." He gestured to the girl.

Mulder's body shook with disgust at what that entailed but slowly nodded.
So long as he lived, Scully was safe. He wouldn't kill Scully without
killing him first, he rationalized. As long as Scully was safe, he would
endure anything. Even this. He watched as the man started pulling mixtures
from jars. Desperate, he tried to distract him from whatever it was he had
planned.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Call me Hounsi." He said and continued to move around the outlined circle
around the girl.

"Why are you doing this now, Hounsi?"

"The Les Rois marked my first killing, the ceremony of kings. Some call it
the twelfth day of Christmas, but we know better of it. I'm calling Legba,
the Loa of the gate and crossroads. I will ask him for permission to send
him this soul. No other Loa may cross from the astral plane to the material
one but Legba."

"So you practice voodoo?"

The man looked condescendingly at Mulder.

"I practice what God teaches." He stated simply.

"Really, well why don't you explain that to me." Mulder knew that as long
as Hounsi was talking, he wouldn't start the ritual. Hounsi dipped his hand
inside a jar and pulled it out. It was covered in blood. He began to speak
to Mulder, as a priest might give absolution for sins. In a firm and
dogmatic tone of voice, he spoke.

"The Western Culture has confused religion. They see Satan and God as two
separate forms. They don't know that God and Satan destroyed their enmity
and came together for the End. Christ is our judge and Satan the executor
of the judgments made by Jesus. Therefore, to love the Devil and kill for
him is a divine mission of love for Christ. Voodoo is the means, the way
all souls can be accepted through the gates and freed from the sin of the
corporeal world."

Mulder felt anger throb in his chest. Another fucking Koresh, he thought,
mixing religion and divine intervention to justify murder. He had always
respected Scully's faith in God, though he may not have understood it. It
made him sick to think that there were people who would so defile that faith
into something twisted. He saw that Hounsi wasn't being dissuaded by his
"keep him talking" tactics and he decided to take another route.

"Yeah, Hounsi, I've heard that excuse before. There was a book written in
1967 called 'As It Is', where the author said pretty much the same thing.
Then this fucking psycho, Charles Manson, decided to use that argument as an
excuse to go on a killing spree. Yeah, I've heard your game before.
Frankly, it bores me."

Hounsi stopped and looked at Mulder. A flicker of something ominous emerged
in his eyes.

"You just don't understand, Mr. Mulder."

Mulder knew he was playing a dangerous game but continued.

"Yeah, I always thought freaks like you were pretty pathetic; I mean, you
can't even take responsibility for your own actions. You have to insist
that God told you to do it."

Hounsi stopped then and pulled out his gun.

"I don't want to hear any more blasphemy, son, and it is time for you to BE
QUIET!" he yelled, shaking his gun at Mulder.

"Why, Hounsi, you afraid? Afraid that you're not *really* doing anything
but dressing up the slaughter of innocent women for no reason but your own
twisted satisfaction?!"

Hounsi's eyes boiled and he lifted the gun, pointed it at Mulder and turned
his head to the ceiling as he started shrieking. Then he pulled the
trigger.

Mulder slumped over. The blessed numbness receded and the words of the
madman crashed about his ears like stones from the heavens as he sank into
the abyss. He heard as the light faded to darkness,"

"Papa Legba, ouvri barre pou nous passer, Papa Legba, ouvri barre-"

End, part (4/5)

Part (5/5)

B7 * * * * * *

Scully pulled into the parking lot of the club at breakneck speed. Baskin
flew against the side of car door. It was dark, but still hot out. She
screeched to a halt and stepped out of the car, Baskin only a hair behind
her. She looked around frantically. The air felt clean but beneath the
bracing greenness of the land and the soothing greyness of the darkening sky
was something darker, an undercurrent of the strange musings that cling
within the human soul. The neon sign from the club across from the gravel
lot swallowed the darkness, flashing it's fluorescence like the halo of a
tormented angel. It flashed 'The Cave of Judas' in bright lights.

This city has secrets, she thought, striding towards the front door of the
club. And the most important knowledge comes not from the cafE9 gossip or
the shouts of the vendors fencing stolen goods, their shiny hip knives
gleaming like the brass faces of the watches they hock; not from the frantic
window-washers idling at intersections. For years now, she had been
interviewing people, interrogating them. She knew that the newspapers never
really knew what had happened to Jimmy Hoffa, where the bodies were buried
or when they would wash ashore. There were those who did, and the looks
they exchanged over the stacks of paperwork at the Pentagon or the Bureau
said more than any mere confession could've. And even these men didn't know
why the Bermuda Triangle swallowed ships like the great white whale in Moby
Dick, or where those bright lights in the skies came from at night, how far
they had traveled in their own search for the truth, their own expeditions.
Seen only by corn farmers and evangelists and a brilliant FBI agent ignored
by his peers and plagued by his own demons; he knew, as she was realizing,
that the most valuable information comes from what is left unsaid.

I have secrets, too, she thought. I've been lying to myself for years and
I didn't even know it. I'm in love with my partner, and he might die before
I can tell him so.

"You were right, Dana. This is the place. Why would anyone name a club,
'The Cave of Judas'. Kindof sick."

Dana pushed her way into the club, ignoring the vociferous protests of the
bouncer at the door. The crowds inside the club surged as faceless bodies
reaching in the dark anonymity of the floor grasping to the low and sudden
stage hoping in vain for a look, a touch; proof for their intoxicated veins
that the night was real and not a dream.

"Look for a door, an exit, something!" she yelled over the music. She
closed her eyes. Mulder, where are you? Where are you? I didn't travel
these hell bent backroads of America for four years to leave you. Talk to
me, her heart murmured against her chest.

"Dana, over here." Baskin hollered. She pushed her way over to him. "It's
a set of stairs, it's going down to what I guess is the basement."

She didn't hesitate. She yanked the door open and ran down the flight of
stairs, not bothering to look for a light switch. She came to a door at the
bottom of it, a rusty padlock swinging from it's hinges. She pulled her gun
from her holster and shot it off with one bullet. Flinging the door open,
she came upon one of the most horrific sights she could have imagined.
Mulder was lying on the floor, a puddle of blood seeping from his shoulder
and a man stood in the center of the room, standing beneath what appeared to
be the corpse of a young woman strung up like a slab of beef. She pulled
her gun on the man just as he pulled a gun on her. She heard Baskin stop
dead a few steps behind her.

"Agent Scully, I presume." The man said.

"Yes. And you must be the homicidal maniac I've been hearing so much
about." He glared at her as she stepped inside the room.

"It appears we're at an impasse, Ms. Scully."

"I don't think so. There's two of us, two guns, twice as many bullets, and
there's no way you're getting out of this room alive."

"If you shoot me, I guarantee you I'll live long enough to take your
partner's life. He won't die if you get him to a hospital soon, Agent
Scully but if we stand here arguing, he'll bleed to death in front of you."
The man sighed and looked at her longingly, "Why do you resist? Why do you
always resist? It's so much easier to let go. I can help you."

"I don't want your *help*, you bastard!" she shouted. "I've seen what
happens to those you help, you burn their skin with toxic chemicals and
torture them to death. That's not help, you twisted animal, that's a good
fucking reason to send you to the gas chamber and if I can, I assure you
I'll see that's exactly where you wind up."

"I cleanse the souls of sinners. I wash them of their sins."

"You hang them like animals,-"

"To help them ascend to the astral plane."

"You stab them after they die-"

"To release the spirit from their empty shell."

"I don't care what your pathetic excuses are, you shit." She cocked her
gun. "I am placing you under arrest for the deaths of Melany Rawlins and
Katherine Perry. You have the right to remain silent-"

"I wish you wouldn't do this, Agent Scully."

"You have the right to an attorney-"

"This isn't the end, Agent Scully,"

"If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you-"

Suddenly, the man pulled a jar our from behind his back and flung it at
them. In an instant, the jar shattered and Baskin threw his body over hers,
shielding her from the splintering glass shards that flew from the
explosion. The smell of alcohol assaulted her nostrils.

"Baskin, get off me." She looked up, around the room. The man was gone.

"What the hell, how did he get out?" Baskin shouted.

Scully flew to Mulder's side. She checked his pulse. It was slow, but
steady. She tore a sleeve from her shirt and applied a tourniquet to his
shoulder. She felt him move beneath her and moan slightly. His eyes
fluttered open.

"Scully." he murmured.

"Mulder." She whispered. A smile washed over her face. "You're going to
be fine, Mulder." She looked to Baskin. "Call for back-up." And he was out
of the door, racing up the stairs before she said another word. She looked
back to Mulder. "Come on Mulder, stay awake, I don't want to get bored
here."

"Did you get him?" he asked.

"No, he got away." She said.

"Letting the suspect get away, Agent Scully? You should know better."

"I'm doing something a lot more important, Mulder." She looked into the
hazel depths of his eyes and brushed her hand against his forehead. He
leaned his chin into her touch and turned his head to lightly kiss the palm
of her hand.

"What's that smell?" He sniffed the air.

"He threw some jar at us to get away. It's some sort of liquor."

He nodded.

"It's Kleren. Raw rum. It's used in Voodoo ceremonies."

"Save your breath, Mulder. You'll need it."

"I'm fine, Scully. He just got my shoulder. I can still speak fine."

She batted her eyes and pulled him closer to her, somewhat
self-consciously. She lowered her voice.

"I didn't say you'd have to use that breath to speak, now did I?" And with
that, she leaned her head down to his and tentatively touched her mouth to
his. His lips were warm and pliable and she felt them move over her own,
reaching, touching, caressing her senses. He moaned slightly, but not in
pain this time. He pulled away from her touch slowly and licked his lips.

"Scully, why do I have a feeling we're in even more dangerous territory
here?" He lifted his hand to brush her hair back from her face.

"Afraid I'll seduce you with my voodoo magic, Mulder?" she stated
playfully.

His eyes smoldered and then twinkled.

"Nope. I'm afraid I'll turn to cannibalism because right now," he paused
and looked directly into her eyes, "I really want to eat you alive."

She laughed and looked back to him. His eyes looked grave for a moment.

"He's not gone, Scully. He'll be back and there's," he paused, his face
tightened in pain, "there's still so much we don't know."

She nodded seriously and then smiled again.

"Mulder, I think it's time for me to enlighten you; there's always so much
we don't know. I think it comes with the line of work we dabble in." She
smirked momentarily and lightly traced the outline of his lips with the tip
of her index finger. "They don't die, Mulder, even when we send them to
meet their maker. But-" she stopped, "I'm not going to stop living
because
of it. We've been putting ourselves on hold for too long as it is."

He smiled.

"I couldn't agree with you more."

And as the sounds of sirens reached their ears, he pulled her to him once
more, convinced that he'd never have to let her go again.

End (5/5)

To be continued-.??? You tell me, folks. Feedback is *very* much
appreciated. wendyt@ucla.edu

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< Wendy Thomas a.k.a. Sheena, Empress of Evil >
< wendyt@ucla.edu Check out my Web Page at >
< http://www.geocities.com/CollegePark/Quad/4303 >
<*********************************************************>
< "There was no difference between the behavior of a god >
< and the operations of pure chance." >
< -Thomas Pynchon, "Gravity's Rainbow" >
<*********************************************************>
< "I will permit no man to narrow and degrade my soul by >
< making me hate him." >
< -Booker T. Washington >
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