Title:  Only Skin Deep   2 of 2

Author:  mimic117

Email:  mimic117@yahoo.com

Rating:  NC-17 with some very disturbing content

Category:  S, A, MSR, established relationship

Summary, further notes and disclaimer in part 1.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Location Unknown
Tuesday
7:50 PM

Julie sorted through the pile of mail in disgust.  Gas company.  
Electric company.  Water company.  Letter from the landlord.  
What on earth did they all want?

She slit each of the envelopes in turn, then pulled out the 
contents.  The landlord was threatening to have her evicted if 
she didn't pay her back rent and all the utility companies had 
sent shut-off notices.  The nerve of some people!  Momma 
always said a woman couldn't let people boss her around or 
they'd take advantage just because she was female.  

The handful of bills was added to the pile on the kitchen 
counter.  They'd get their money when she was good and 
ready.  She had better things to do than listen to their whining.  

She needed to make supper.  Stupid work had kept her late, 
looking up more of their dumb files.  Now Fox would be hungry 
and it was all their fault.  She'd brought him a chicken 
sandwich, onion rings and a milk shake.  The shake was 
almost melted, but it was okay.  Fox liked it that way.  

Picking up a bottle from the counter, she popped the lid on the 
shake, then poured a thin stream of the clear liquid from the 
bottle into the cup.  She stirred with the straw as she thought 
about how much he was going to enjoy it.  She'd gotten mocha 
because he liked it best.

The sandwich and rings went onto a plate, then she placed the 
plate and drink on a Styrofoam tray.  She pulled the straw out 
of the cup and threw it into the kitchen trash can with the lid.  
Straws really shouldn't be sold with drinks.  The edges were 
sharp and could hurt if they poked someone in the eye.  She 
didn't want Beautiful Fox to injure himself on something as silly 
as a straw.  

Julie carried the tray through the living room and into the 
hallway.  She set it down on the chair outside the door and 
smiled at the picture on the video monitor.  

Fox was exercising again.  He exercised constantly, except 
when he was pacing.  He was a very active man, her Beautiful 
Fox.  Sometimes he pulled the bed around the room or 
pounded on the walls, just because it made her laugh.  

He was thoughtful in so many ways.  He never yelled at her or 
called her names.  He didn't get angry or throw things.  He 
hadn't raised his voice to her, not once.  

She looked over her shoulder at the plastic-covered door on 
the other side of the hall.  The same couldn't be said for Ron.  
She'd been so sure he was perfect.  

Thankfully he'd finally stopped smelling bad.  The extra plastic 
over the door seemed to have done the trick.

Julie looked around at the hallway, then out toward the living 
room.  It had been an incredible stroke of luck that she'd taken 
a house with three bed-and-bath suites.  It seemed like such a 
wasted expense at the time, but Momma believed everything 
happened for a reason.  This time the reason was so Julie 
didn't need to move and find another house before Fox could 
be with her after she discovered her mistake about Ron.  

Well, Momma always said, "What's over and done has finished 
its run."  Julie glanced at the door behind her again.  Ron was 
certainly finished.  She wasn't going to think about him 
anymore.

She returned her attention to the monitor.  Fox was doing 
crunches.  He usually started with warm-up stretches, then 
push-ups, then crunches.  He always jogged in place to cool 
down.  She really enjoyed watching his muscles while he 
exercised.  His stomach was already becoming tighter and 
more defined.  She worried that he might tire himself with so 
much activity, but he seemed to like it.  

Julie watched Mulder finish his routine and head for the 
bathroom to rinse off.  She appreciated the fact that he cared 
for her enough to wash after he exercised.  It was one of the 
many small, loving things he did for her.  After a few minutes, 
he walked out of the bathroom, water droplets glistening in the 
patch of hair on his chest.  More drops ran down his sides, 
dampening his already-clingy boxer briefs.  The result left very 
little to the imagination--especially for someone who had 
already seen what they covered.

Like last night.  She'd enjoyed his naked body for hours.  His 
skin was softer than it looked, silky under her fingers.  Fox 
loved the way she touched him, said it set his blood on fire. 
They'd made love all night long.  Kissing and touching and 
murmuring to each other.  He cried out her name when he 
came, slurring the letters until they sounded like an "s" 
instead of a "j."  It made her giggle whenever he did that.  
Silly Beautiful Fox...

She watched the monitor as he swiped water off his chest.  She 
could hardly wait for tonight.  Fox was such a romantic lover.  
Kind, patient, passionate.  He was always running his hands 
through her cascading tresses.  

Julie trailed her fingers through the ends dangling over her 
shoulder.  She should get ready for tonight.  Her hair needed 
washing.  She could wear that new negligee Fox bought for 
her, the blue one he said matched her eyes.  He hadn't smelled 
her new perfume yet, either.  Yes, she should hurry and get 
ready.  She wanted tonight to be perfect.  

Brushing a hand along the wall, Julie walked down the hallway 
to her bedroom, humming to herself.  Behind her on the tray, 
Mulder's supper slowly cooled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Location unknown


Mulder loved being groped awake.  Scully knew exactly how he 
liked to be touched, and he *really* liked what she was doing 
right now.  He kept his eyes closed so she'd think he was 
asleep.  Guys got hard-ons in their sleep all the time.  She 
wouldn't be able to tell if he was reacting to her stroking his 
dick or just having an autonomic response.  

Ooh, she was massaging his balls, too.  That was a challenge.  
He wouldn't be able to hold still much longer.  A breathy giggle 
made him open his eyes to see what was so funny.  

"NO!"  He threw himself off the mattress and scrambled into a 
corner before the face above him completely registered.  His 
head swam as he turned to see who it was.  He knew it wasn't 
Scully, but it took a few seconds before his foggy brain pulled 
up the right name.

Julie.  She'd been touching him in his sleep.  He wasn't at 
home and this wasn't a dream.  She'd actually been fondling 
him.  Now she was staring at him with a puzzled look on her 
face.  

"What's wrong, Beautiful Fox?"

"Don't touch me."  He pressed as far into the corner as he 
could manage.  The photos on the wall scratched and prickled 
his back.  Damn it.  There was no place to hide in this fucking 
room.  

She looked even more confused.  "You never minded before."

Oh God.  Did that mean... ?  He swallowed.  "You've... you've 
touched me before?  While I was sleeping?"

"Almost every night."  She beamed at him.  "You're so beautiful 
when you come.  Wait.  I'll show you."

Before he realized what she was doing, Julie jumped up from 
the bed and left the room, closing the door behind her.  

She'd touched him.  Mulder scrubbed his palms over his arms, 
trying to rub out the feeling of strange hands on his penis.  He 
stopped and looked down.  His boxers were still pulled up, his 
erection already deflating.  

Thank God.  He shuddered.  Jesus.  She'd touched him!  How 
many times?  No wonder he'd been having erotic dreams every 
night.  He'd put it down to whatever sedative she was using 
because those types of dreams only happened if he was 
drugged up in the hospital.  He never considered that dreams 
of Scully touching him might be caused by-- 

Why hadn't he stayed asleep this time?  

No supper last night.  Now he remembered.  The queasy 
feeling in his stomach couldn't completely hide its emptiness.  
For the first time, Julie hadn't brought him anything to eat all 
day.  He must have fallen asleep at some point, in spite of his 
gnawing hunger and without the drug.  Why couldn't she have 
drugged him last night, too?  It would have been better to stay 
asleep and not know.  

No it wouldn't.  Knowing, not knowing--it didn't matter.  It only 
mattered that she'd sat next to him on the mattress so she 
could pump his dick and watch him orgasm.  She'd been sitting 
right next to him.

Could he have overpowered her while she thought he was still 
asleep?  Days of ingesting sedatives had made him slow.  He 
even forgot to see if she had his gun with her.  She carried it 
constantly.  Did she bring it with her when she jacked him off?  

Mulder wrapped his arms around his middle and squeezed.  He 
had to quit thinking about it.  But he couldn't.  She'd touched 
him.  Without his permission.  Who gave her that right?  She 
*had* no right!  God DAMN her!

He jumped when the door opened again.  Julie had a thick 
sheaf of paper in her hand and a huge smile on her face.  She 
also had his gun.  He could kick himself for not checking 
before.

"Here."  She tossed the papers on the bed and backed away.  
"I was saving those just for us."  

Mulder waited until she was standing by the chair before he 
approached the mattress again.  He could see the papers were 
actually photographs, bound along one side into a type of 
booklet.  He picked it up and recoiled at the first image.  

A woman's hand with pink-painted nails was wrapped around a 
naked, erect penis.  His penis.  He wanted to convince himself 
that it might belong to just about any other guy.  Under the 
circumstances, though, he knew he'd be a pretty poor kind of 
man if he couldn't recognize his own dick.  

He also wanted to believe the hand was Scully's but he knew 
her hands almost as well as he knew his own dick.  That 
*wasn't* Scully's hand.  The only other possibility made his 
flesh creep.  

The next picture was almost identical.  And the next.

"Flip it," Julie said.  Her eyes held a disturbing glitter.  
"Flip through the whole thing at once, like you're leafing 
through a magazine." 

It was like watching someone jerk off in a silent movie.  
Everything was there, from her hand moving up and down as 
she milked his cock to the splatter of spunk on his naked chest 
and his penis starting to soften and he was gonna be sick.

Mulder couldn't have dropped the packet faster if it had burst 
into flames.

"I need a shower." 

He stumbled into the bathroom and stripped off his shorts 
without waiting to hear if she replied.  He didn't care if she 
was watching or not.  She'd already seen it.  Touched it.  Played 
with it.  What the hell did it matter if she copped one more look?  
Let her look.  Let her look all she wanted.  He didn't have any 
say in it.  

The water was hot.  Too hot.  He needed to boil her touch out 
of his pores.  Every place she'd put her fingers made his skin 
feel like it was covered in battery acid.  Exposed nerves 
screamed in the stinging spray, but that was good.  If it hurt 
enough, he could be sure her touch was burned from his skin.  

He scrubbed as hard as he could with his fingernails, not 
bothering with the soap or wash cloth she'd already left on the 
sink.  His stomach clenched over and over again, only he 
couldn't puke--he hadn't eaten anything.  

Mulder laughed, sounding slightly hysterical even to himself.   
He wondered if he'd ever be hungry again.  In fact, he probably 
shouldn't eat anything else while he was Julie's captive, 
whether it meant starving to death or not.  He could last for a 
few weeks without food assuming that he had water.  He just 
needed to hold on until he was rescued.

How long would that be?  Would Scully ever find him?  He 
knew she'd be looking, but would she know *where* to look? 

Scully.  Just the thought of her made him calmer.  He stopped 
scrubbing and let the water wash over his raw skin.  Angry red 
lines testified to how hard he'd tried to rid himself of Julie's 
touch.  But he knew scrubbing wouldn't work.  First he needed 
to escape.  Then he could think about what had happened and 
how to deal with it.  Not right now.  

He shut off the water and got out of the shower.  He'd stopped 
trying to cover up days ago, but he didn't need to worry about 
being ogled.  Julie was standing by the bed, flipping through 
her obscene little booklet.  Over and over she riffled the pages, 
a rapt smile on her face.  Mulder turned his back to dry off and 
dress, but also to block out her expression.  

He'd stop eating supper.  Now that his initial shock was over, 
he needed to be reasonable.  She wasn't drugging his 
breakfast, on the days she remembered to bring it.  Supper 
was the culprit and would be avoided from now on.  If Julie 
asked why, he'd tell her.  But he had a feeling she wouldn't ask.  
If something didn't fit into her fantasy, she'd ignore it or 
rationalize it.  He was going to get awfully hungry on one meal 
or less a day, but there was no way he'd put himself in a 
position to be molested in his sleep again.  

He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders.  No 
more panicking.  Keep a clear head and come up with a plan.  
When he turned to leave, his eye was immediately caught by 
the photo on the wall at the end of his bed.  Her "favorite."  

Plan A: find a way to get those fucking pictures off the wall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dana Scully's apartment
Thursday
2:15 PM

Scully held her breath and threw open the clothes hamper.  It 
really wasn't wise to leave dirty laundry in an enclosed 
container for over a week.  It was her own fault for not washing 
them, but she'd had more important things to think about 
recently.  She wouldn't be home at such an hour if Skinner 
hadn't threatened to drive her himself.  Finding her asleep at 
the conference table first thing this morning hadn't made him 
more receptive to her declarations of "I'm fine."  

At least she wasn't the only one sent home.  Skinner had called 
the task force together and dismissed half the members for the 
day.  He said everyone else would continue on with their 
assignments and then be allowed to stay home tomorrow.  
They'd been hammering way at the evidence for nearly two 
weeks without getting any closer to finding Mulder or the 
kidnapper.  Skinner thought some time away from the case 
would do them all good.  

Scully had simply brought it home with her.  

She pulled a pile of clothes from the hamper and tossed them 
into a basket at her feet.  How was she supposed to think about 
anything else with her partner missing?  Partner?  No.  He was 
so much more now. Friend, lover, the person she relied on 
most, trusted most, whose opinion mattered more than anyone 
else she knew.  Maybe that was part of the reason why she'd 
been running herself into the ground trying to find him.  She felt 
slightly rudderless.  She was still a competent agent, capable of 
doing her job, but a vital part of her investigative ability was 
bouncing ideas off Mulder.  How was she supposed to get her 
thoughts in order while her sounding board was missing?

Missing and drugged.  Those drugs worried her.  She'd done 
more research, and if Mulder was still getting them on a daily 
basis, as indicated by the photographs...  Behavioral changes, 
depression, vomiting, headaches.  Those were the least 
harmful symptoms of growing barbiturate dependency.  He 
could have ulcers in his mouth or throat, vision changes, 
hallucinations, an allergic reaction and breathing difficulty.  
It would all depend on exactly which drugs he was getting, in 
what form and the dosage.  Each of the chemicals they'd 
already identified would be enough to cause problems.  
Combined, there was no way to know what they were doing to 
his body.  

She pitched more clothes into the basket.  So much evidence 
leading nowhere.  The few witnesses hadn't been any help at 
all.  Landlords normally had minimal contact with their tenants.  
The one in Kentucky only seemed to remember the voice, hair 
and bustline.  His facial description could include half the 
blonde women under the age of forty in a five-state radius.  

Another armload of dirty clothes and the basket was 
overflowing.  Scully peered into the hamper.  It was still a 
third full.  She was going to need another basket.  

They hadn't located an employer in Kentucky yet.  That fact 
bothered Scully.  So far, the Bureau was the only employment 
hit they'd had and they weren't completely certain she actually 
worked there.  Skinner was personally conducting a side 
investigation but it was proving to be an uphill fight.  Due to 
retirements and a really nasty flu sweeping through the 
building, the past six months had seen an unusually high 
number of permanent and temp employees.  They had no idea 
which she was or in what department to look.  Taking all their 
current information into account, chances were very likely that 
she'd supplied false information.  So how had she gotten past 
the rigorous FBI screening in the first place?

Scully picked up the full basket, bumping against the hamper 
as she turned to leave the bedroom and knocking it away from 
the wall.  She staggered from the force of the blow, surprised 
by how much it threw off her balance.  

Okay, so Skinner was right.  She *was* tired.  Getting away 
from the investigation made sense.  She didn't have to like it or 
sit around and twiddle her thumbs.  She needed to keep busy, 
keep going over the evidence, keep doing something to avoid 
losing her mind.

She needed to stop thinking and wash her underwear.  The full 
basket she placed on the washer before snagging another one 
from the shelf.  She'd sort everything into the washer rather 
than doing it at the hamper the way she usually did.  There 
were too many clothes this time.  She'd never let them go for 
so long before.  The dwindling pile of underwear in her drawer 
should have been a clue, but she'd had other things on her 
mind.

Back at the hamper, Scully filled the second basket, then tried 
to straighten the hamper.  It wouldn't move.  There was 
something keeping it away from the wall.  Pulling it out farther, 
she fished behind it and brought out a wad of green fabric.

A T-shirt.  *Mulder's* T-shirt.    

She gathered it up, rubbing her fingers over the cloth.  It was 
soft, worn.  Sense memory kicked in.  She could feel it under 
her hands, stretched over Mulder's chest and back, clinging to 
his contours.  Suddenly, she remembered how it got behind the 
hamper.  

It was the Saturday night before her trip to Chicago.  Mulder 
wanted to spend some quality time together.  They watched a 
really bad sci-fi movie with Mulder providing commentary that 
was much better than the original dialog.  When it was over, 
she pulled him into the bedroom for *her* idea of quality time.  
He stopped at the foot of her bed and peeled his T-shirt off.  
Wadding it into a ball, he bent at the knees, then bobbed up 
and launched a hook-shot at the open hamper.  The shirt hit 
the edge of the lid and toppled over the back, sliding down 
between the hamper and the wall.  Mulder clutched his head 
and groaned.  "He chokes!  His career is over!  Oh the agony!"  
He continued to babble nonsense but Scully wasn't paying 
attention.  She was too busy tackling him around the waist and 
knocking him onto the bed.  

She'd always preferred full-contact sports.  

The sex had been energetic, fun and playful.  They both knew it 
could be a couple days before they would be together again so 
they'd made the most of the opportunity.  It wasn't surprising 
that she'd forgotten about his errant shirt in the afterglow.

It was the last time she saw him.  Mulder reluctantly agreed to 
leave her alone on Sunday so she could get things ready for 
her trip, but not before she'd accused him of being clingy.  She 
regretted that.  He really wasn't any more needy than he'd ever 
been, but she had a tendency to read more into his actions 
these days.  She'd tried to make it up to him by calling before 
bed Sunday.  She knew he was masturbating while they talked, 
but she didn't let on.  Now she wished she had.  

A spot of water landed on the shirt in her hands, a small dark 
circle on the lighter cloth.  It spread, blurring along the edges 
as it soaked in.  She blinked and felt another drop of moisture 
fall over the edge of her lashes.

NO!  Scully dashed the tears from her cheeks with angry 
swipes of her hand.  What the hell was she doing?  She had no 
business behaving as if Mulder were dead.  He WASN'T.  She 
refused to believe it, and if she didn't believe it, she 
shouldn't act like she did.  

The evidence was in favor of him still being alive.  All the 
victims had died of starvation, which meant they survived for a 
long time.  A human male in good shape could live for at least a 
month, maybe longer, if he had water available.  All the crime 
scenes they knew about had attached bathrooms.  It was part 
of the kidnapper's MO, there was no reason to think she would 
have changed this time.  So Mulder had water.  He was alive.  
All they had to do was find him.  

Scully took a steadying breath.  No more tears.  No more hand-
wringing.  No more giving up, not even for a second.  End of 
discussion.  

She looked at the T-shirt in her hands, crumpled by the force of 
her grip.  Balancing the ball of fabric on the edge of the open 
hamper, she stripped off her shirt, then tugged the wrinkled 
jersey over her head.  They were together again, her and 
Mulder.  His presence wrapped around her, comforting and 
supportive, believing in *her* ability to unlock the secret of 
his whereabouts.  He was counting on her.  He knew she could 
find him.  She wouldn't allow herself to doubt it again.

Scully slammed the hamper lid and picked up the full basket.  
Maybe Skinner knew what he was doing.  She should stop 
thinking about the case, give her mind a rest for a few hours.  
She needed a break as much as she needed to find Mulder 
and she wasn't going to do that if her brain was running on 
fumes.  

Laundry first, then a decent meal followed by a good night's 
sleep.  Check the TV guide for a movie to pass the time.  Think 
about Mulder but not the investigation--she'd allow herself that 
much indulgence since she couldn't seem to stop thinking 
about him anyway.  Tomorrow she'd go back to work, with a 
fresh viewpoint.  

She'd be damned if she'd let his kidnapper win.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Location unknown


Mulder curled his toes around the edge of the bathtub rim, 
hoping that would stabilize his balance a little more.  One hand  
supported him against the wall next to the tub, but he needed 
the other one free to grab the shower head.  Then he could let 
go of the wall and use both hands to wrench the shower head 
off the fixture.  

That was the theory, anyway.  If it worked, he might be able to 
break through the drywall or the door using the shower head as 
a hammer.  If it didn't work, the shower would most likely be 
unusable, in which case he was going to start smelling pretty 
gamy in a few days. 

It felt like he'd been trying to take the damned thing apart for 
weeks.  Considering how often he'd experienced wobbly 
shower nozzles in motel bathrooms, he thought it would be a 
cinch.  But so far, no amount of turning and twisting had 
budged it an inch.  All he'd gotten for his labor was raw palms 
and a renewed determination that no stinkin' shower head was 
going to get the better of Special Agent Fox Mulder.  If he 
couldn't wrench it off, he'd rip it apart.

A sudden dizzy spell caught him unaware.  He'd been having 
them on a regular basis but this was different from the light-
headed feeling he'd experienced since his kidnapping.  
Something had changed.  His headaches were becoming less 
frequent, he wasn't as hungry as he should be and his mouth 
wasn't dry anymore.  The vivid dreams had stopped but that 
could simply be the result of natural versus drugged sleep.  If 
he slept at all.  He was having problems with insomnia, in spite 
of continuing to exercise.  He simply didn't feel tired the way 
he had before.

The unfortunate trade-off was dizziness, persistent nausea and 
increasing stomach pain.  He felt restless, shaky and anxious, 
too, worse than he would have expected, even under the 
circumstances.  Some of it had to be caused by withdrawal 
from whatever Julie was using to dope him.  Without it in his 
system every day, the side effects were lessening as the 
withdrawal symptoms kicked in and overlapped.  Just his luck.

It took several minutes for the spinning sensation to subside.  
Once he was feeling clear-headed again, Mulder pushed the 
shower curtain to the side and leaned toward the protruding 
nozzle.  Grasping it firmly with one hand, he leaned away from 
the wall and swung his other hand over to grab it also.  

Success!  So far.  Now, if he could only... 

Unfortunately, the shower head was designed to rotate, so all 
of his manipulating only resulted in normal movement.  Up, 
down, side to side, there was plenty of play in the fixture.  It 
looked like he'd have to apply a lot more pressure or this was 
going to be a waste of his time.  

He couldn't get enough purchase going up or down, so he 
opted to push away from himself using the full force of his 
arms.  A couple of small cracking noises and he felt the nozzle 
jerk.  It was working!  A little more pressure...

Another wave of dizziness hit.  It was worse than the last one.  
The whole room seemed to tilt, although he didn't remember 
moving his body.  He tried to stay still, but couldn't suppress 
the instinctive need to rebalance.  One hand let go of the 
shower, flailing toward the plastic curtain to steady himself as 
he waited for the world to stop leaning.  Instead, his other hand 
slipped and the whole damned room canted sideways.

Shit!  He was falling!  

He latched onto the shower curtain, but his weight and 
momentum ripped it off the hooks, pitching him forward rather 
than acting as an anchor.  Tile and chrome rushed into his line 
of vision.  His face bounced off the nozzle before he tumbled 
into the bathtub.  It all happened so fast.  One minute he was 
teetering on the side of the tub, the next he was crumpled up in 
the bottom of it, watching explosions of stars while water 
dripped down his cheek and off his chin.  

Everything hurt.  The back of his head, an elbow, right side, 
both knees--his ass.  And what did he do to his face?  It was 
stinging like a son-of-a-bitch.  As much as he wanted to simply 
lie there, he had to get out of the tub and assess the damage.

Mulder pushed himself upright, groaning when his ribs 
protested the movement.  Terrific.  He'd probably cracked one.  
He took a deep breath and winced.  Or two.  Damn it!  Just 
what he *didn't* need.  Getting out of the tub was painful but he 
kept going until he'd managed to hook his legs over the side 
and sit up.  He couldn't very well stay in there with water 
dripping on his head.

Hang on a minute.  The top of his head wasn't wet.  He looked 
up at the shower, expecting to see a trickle coming from the 
broken fixture.  But he hadn't caused nearly as much damage 
as he was hoping for.  In fact, it looked just fine, if a bit 
crooked.  So why did it feel like there was something running 
down his face?  He looked into the tub.  

Blood.  Not a lot, but more than he liked to see, considering he 
was the only potential bleeder available.  

Holding his breath, Mulder touched the side of his face.  His 
fingers came away slick and red.  The open edges of a long cut 
stung from the salt on his fingertips.  His eye felt heavy, like 
it might be swelling.  His hands were a mess, too.  The old raw 
patches had split open.  New, ragged tears on his palms 
attested to the strength of his hold on the shower head when it 
all went to hell.  He'd also lost a couple chunks of skin on the 
insides of his knuckles.  It appeared his luck was still going 
downhill.  

He needed to clean up, which was going to be difficult since he 
couldn't see the damage to his face.  How was he going to do 
this without a washcloth or towels?  There was plenty of water 
but nothing on which to dry off except tissues or toilet paper, 
and those would just make a mess.  The easiest way would be 
to see if the shower still worked, but at the moment, he was fed 
up with it.  He'd wash in the sink as well as he was able.  

Bending carefully over the sink, he gingerly splashed water 
onto his face.  Fuck, that hurt!  Teeth gritted, he did it again.  
And again.  Using the tips of his fingers, he gently swiped water 
over the cut.  There was no way to know if he was cleaning it or 
not.  He was just doing what he thought Scully would do under 
the circumstances.  

God, he hoped she never ended up in a situation like this.

He kept rinsing, watching the water swirling down the drain 
become less and less pink until it finally ran clear again.  If 
the pain in his face was any kind of gauge, the cut should be as 
clean as he was going to get it.  

When he shut off the water and stepped back, cold droplets 
squirmed down his neck and chest, tickling his naked torso.  

Turning his arms this way and that, he checked for bruises, 
bumps, anything that looked abnormal.  His arms were fine 
except for a small knot in front of one elbow.  Knees were 
about the same.  There was a purple patch developing on 
the right side of his chest.  X marks the cracked ribs.  He 
pulled his boxers down--nothing unusual on the hips, 
surprisingly enough--and back up again.  It looked like the 
main damage was to his face, his ribs and his manly pride.  

Mulder's teeth chattered.  The water on his skin was cooling.  
Plus he'd have to sleep in damp boxers if he didn't find a way to 
get dry.  

He walked to the bed and pulled the top sheet off.  Scrubbing 
the stiff fabric over his chilled body felt good.  He thoroughly 
blotted his hair since most of the water seemed to be coming 
from there.  When he gingerly patted the sheet on his cheek, it 
came away with only a couple bloody streaks.  Good.  At least 
the gash was clotting and not dripping down his face anymore.

His sheet was a bit of a mess, but that was the least of his 
worries.  He studied the raw skin on his hands.  His shower-
head-dismantling days were over for the moment.  He should 
probably give his body a break, but that wasn't going to get him 
out of this situation.  Not that anything he'd done so far had 
helped.  

The sound of the key in the door caught his attention.  Julie 
must be bringing his supper.  It felt late enough to be evening.  
Sitting in front of his food without touching it was going to be 
harder than yesterday.  It seemed like a long time since 
breakfast.  He was really hungry after his bathroom gymnastics.

As always, his gun was the first thing he saw.  She'd never left 
it behind or dropped her guard.  Not even once in all the time 
he'd been there.  He was beginning to think he'd never find a 
way around her.

After the door was open far enough, she eased the chair 
through with his supper tray balanced on the seat.  The drug du 
jour for tonight.  Pizza and garlic bread.  What a shame.  Just 
the sight of it made his mouth water.  He had no way of 
knowing exactly what she was doping so he couldn't eat any of 
it.  Looked like she'd gotten pepperoni, mushrooms and green 
peppers, too.

She stopped in the doorway.  Mulder tore his gaze away from 
the tray.  She'd never done that.  What...?

The look on her face was like nothing he'd seen on her before.  
Horror, revulsion, panic, disgust--he couldn't quite tell exactly 
what emotion was winning.  But it didn't look like she was 
happy to see him.  

She backed up and pushed the door open farther.  It took 
Mulder a second to figure out what was going on.  Then she set 
the chair down in the hall and grabbed the door.

She was leaving!  "Julie!  Wait!"

He reached out to stop her but his ribs protested the 
movement.  Mulder cradled his side in reaction.  Before he could 
say another word, she was out in the hallway and had slammed the 
door.  She'd never closed it that hard.  Usually she simply pushed 
it shut and locked it.  He wasn't sure why he tried to make her 
stay, but something didn't feel right.  He'd never seen that kind 
of emotion on her face.  She looked horrified.  Why?

His cheek twinged.  The cut on his face?  Was that what 
bothered her?  He touched the area gently.  What did it look 
like?  He knew the skin was broken, but was there bruising?  It 
felt a little swollen.  It couldn't look *that* bad.  Could it?

Mulder sat down gingerly on the bed.  It was going to be a long 
night.  He frowned at the door.  What was wrong with Julie?  
Why hadn't she stayed?  He doubled over, the sudden pain in 
his stomach almost overshadowing his aching ribs.  That sure 
didn't feel like hunger pangs.  What the hell was going on?  

It seemed to last a long time; there was no way for him to 
judge.  Once it eased up, Mulder lay down, panting and sweaty.  
He was dizzy again on top of being hungry, nauseous and in 
pain.  

It probably didn't matter in the long run whether Julie had 
stayed or not.  After all, there was no fucking way he would 
have eaten the food.  

Still, pathetic as it sounded, he was tired of being alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Conference Room 4B
Saturday
2:54 PM

Scully tried to block out the chatter of everyone around the 
conference table while she read.  Fifteen minutes ago, Agent 
Dan Samuels had found several old news articles online, a 
missing person story out of California, dated just over four 
years ago.  Same MO, same crime scene details, same photos and 
handwritten letters to the victim, same careful planning leaving 
little evidence with which to solve the case.  It was enough to 
prove a connection with the other victims they'd linked to 
Mulder's kidnapper, though.  Skinner was already on the phone 
with the chief of police out there, trying to get anything else 
they could use.  

This made three victims other than Mulder.  A police department 
in Iowa had called the day Scully stayed home.  She would have 
been upset about missing the call if there had been anything 
new to learn.  The name they'd gotten from the landlord was 
completely different from the previous one and totally useless 
so far.  The one in California would probably be more of the 
same.  How did someone manage to leave a trail of bodies and 
crime scenes across three states without a single person 
noticing that her aliases were fake?  In these days of instant 
identity theft, Scully couldn't believe so many landlords 
continued to neglect background checks.  Once the woman 
chose a victim, she probably went from house to house until 
she found one where they didn't ask too many questions.  She 
obviously knew what she was doing and simply waited until 
someone inadvertently helped her do it.

Part of the problem was the ordinariness of the names the 
kidnapper used for renting houses.  Beth Reynolds wasn't any 
more uncommon than Carrie Collins.  Every time they found a 
new name, the phone lines hummed with calls to rental 
agencies within a fifty mile radius of the Hoover building.  
Unfortunately all they had to show for it was sore ears.

Discovering the name the kidnapper used when she was hired 
by the FBI didn't help, either.  They'd finally narrowed down the 
likely employees to Jeanie Wilson, file clerk, hired through a 
temp agency during a flu epidemic six weeks ago.  Her 
immediate supervisor recognized the description but Scully 
suspected it wasn't going to do them any good.  

Jeanie Wilson hadn't shown up for work yesterday or today.  
She could have run off or she could be holed up with Mulder.  
Skinner sent a team to the address in her personnel file.  She 
didn't live there, had never lived there.  The elderly couple the 
agents encountered was quite adamant about having owned the 
house for forty years.  

Everything led to a dead end once they started checking out the 
kidnapper.  Scully couldn't imagine how the woman had 
managed to create a false driver's license and fake social 
security number with enough validity to fool the temp agency, 
but considering the whole snafu surrounding her Federal 
background check... 

Someone was in really big trouble.  Scully had never seen 
Skinner in such an icy rage before and she would be perfectly 
happy never to repeat the experience.  A separate investigation 
was already underway, looking into how someone was hired 
without a thorough background check.  Even the most 
rudimentary security precautions would have caught the false 
address.  Yet "Jeanie Wilson" had been hired by a government 
organization that is synonymous with background checks!   She 
never should have made it past the first round of screening, let 
alone through the front door.  Heads would be rolling down the 
halls like marbles the minute Skinner determined where to 
swing his axe.  

More phone calls were made, but no rental was forthcoming 
under the name Jeanie Wilson.  Scully hadn't expected them to 
find anything.  This woman was either clever, lucky or both.  
She seemed to have a knack for skirting obvious traps which 
would lead to revealing her true identity.

Conversations stopped upon Skinner's return to the conference 
table.  Scully set down the article print-outs and hoped for good 
news.  

"Listen up, people."  Skinner consulted a legal pad in his hand, 
then continued, "Another victim has turned up in California, the 
earliest one we're aware of.  According to the detective in 
charge of that investigation, the crime scenes and 
circumstances match up with all the other known cases.  This 
time, though, we have a little something extra.  A second name, 
used to get a job in a grocery store.  The same grocery store 
where the victim worked."

Excited murmuring rose around the table.  Jane Hatter raised 
her hand.  

"Sir, that matches Agent Mulder's case but neither of the other 
victims worked with the kidnapper."

"Good point, Agent Hatter.  Who talked to the victims' employers 
in Iowa and Kentucky?" A hand went up on the far side of the 
room.  "And you are?"

"Tim Gardner, Sir.  I usually work the bomb squad."  

Skinner frowned.  "What are you doing here?"

Gardner cleared his throat.  "Well, my SAC said you needed 
bodies for a manhunt and since there haven't been any bombs 
reported lately..."

The agent sitting next to him muttered, "Business has been 
slow."  Several people laughed.  

"Right," Skinner replied.  "So go back over what you found out 
from the employers."

Gardner spread his hands.  "Nothing."  Skinner raised his 
eyebrows.  "I mean, nothing more than what the police found at 
the time the bodies were discovered.  No one by that name was 
working or had worked with the victims at any time."

"Nobody recognized her description?"  

Scully watched the man blanch.  "Description?" he croaked.

Skinner planted his hands flat on the table and leaned forward.  
"You didn't give them her description?"  His cold, clipped tone 
sent a chill down Scully's spine and his words weren't even 
directed at her.  She'd been on the receiving end enough times 
to know the effect it was having, though.  

Agent Gardner visibly swallowed.  "I'm sorry, Sir.  The police 
had already questioned the coworkers so I was just following up 
their reports.  No one told me to give her description, just to 
ask if they knew her.  I thought they meant her name.  I work 
with bombs, not missing persons.  I didn't know--"

"Well you know now.  Don't you?"  Skinner's smooth purr was 
extremely deceptive and in some ways worse than before.  

Gardner jumped out of his seat and scurried for a phone.  
Samuels joined him, solely on the basis of Skinner's pointed 
glance.  They both pawed through copies of the file for the 
employer phone numbers with one hand while beginning to dial 
with the other.  

"I don't care who you have to call," Skinner ordered, "don't let 
them hang up and don't leave a message.  There must be 
*someone* you can talk to.  She could have been working there 
under a different name, so describe her carefully.  Make sure 
they know how urgent this is.  Throw your weight around.  Just 
get those names!"

Everyone in the room seemed to be holding their breath.  When 
Skinner turned to look at Scully, she saw in his eyes the same 
thing she was feeling.

It was about damned time for some good luck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Location unknown


Mulder concentrated on the photograph in his hand, 
unsuccessfully attempting to ignore his throbbing face, aching 
ribs and spasming gut.  His hair in the picture looked about the 
same length as it currently was, so it hadn't been taken that 
long ago.  He was carrying a grocery bag from his car.  It was 
light out, but not for much longer.  Wearing a suit, so he was 
on his way home from work...

He dropped the photo onto the pile at his feet and frowned.  Hell, 
it could have been one of any number of days recently.  Julie 
had obviously been watching him for a long time.  Probably a 
couple of months, judging by the variety of clothing and scenes 
in the pictures.  He'd been trying to pinpoint the dates, give his 
mind something to think about, but they'd all blurred together 
under the weight of one thought.

She wasn't coming back.  

Granted Julie's visitation schedule had never been all that 
reliable, but he was pretty sure she hadn't left him alone for 
such a long stretch before.  Skipping an occasional meal was 
one thing.  He'd almost gotten used to being hungry.  Now the 
feelings in his stomach went beyond simple I-didn't-eat-supper 
hollowness.  Besides the increasing grumbling, sometimes the 
nausea and cramps bent him double.  He filled up on water to 
help, but with only his cupped hands to drink from, it took a long 
time and simply made him pee more.  

There was also the fact that he hadn't heard any movement in 
the rest of the house recently.  The noises were never very 
loud, but he'd heard them.  Doors closing, dishes rattling, a 
shower going on.  It seemed like an awfully long time since 
there'd been any noise, even taking into account his currently 
faulty sense of time.  

Something must have happened to her.  Perhaps she'd been in 
a car crash.  Gotten sick.  Gotten bored, distracted, maybe 
disgusted.  He tentatively probed his sore, swollen cheek.  
Considering the look on her face the last time he'd seen her, 
that was the most likely possibility.  

His front-runner-favorite scenario was that she'd been arrested.  
By Scully, for preference, but anyone at all would do, provided 
they realized who they had and who else was in need of their 
help.  

He wanted to be glad she wasn't coming back, to feel that it 
served her right if she'd been hurt or caught.  Nevertheless, he 
knew he would be the one to ultimately suffer, whatever the 
reason for her sudden abandonment.  

She was his only source of food, erratic though it was.  If she 
didn't come back, he'd eventually starve to death.

He stopped removing the photos from the wall to glance at the 
door.  Was that what had happened to the poor bastard across 
the hall?  How long could a man live on nothing but water?  
Mulder had caught the stench of death on his first day of 
captivity but he'd tried to ignore the implications while there 
was hope of escape.  Now...

He yanked another photo off the wall but didn't bother to study 
it.  Looking at his own face had lost its charm a long time ago 
and trying to figure out when they were taken was an exercise in 
futility.  Every bit as useless as speculating about how he was 
likely to die.

Once he finally realized that he'd been discarded, he made 
good on his silent threat to take down every fucking picture in 
the room--starting with Julie's "favorite" at the end of the bed.  
THAT one he'd figured out after seeing her disgusting little flip 
book.  Head back, eyes closed, lips parted, brows furrowed, 
beads of sweat on the upper lip--it didn't take a genius to 
recognize the look of impending orgasm.  He couldn't tell if it 
came from the same collection of pictures in the flip book or 
not, and he really didn't care to know.  All he wanted was to get 
it off the wall and tear it into a pile of confetti.  

He might have gotten a little carried away with the tearing part.  
Once started, he'd found it hard to quit.  Those hateful images 
had mocked him every waking hour of his captivity.  One photo 
became two, became three, became more, until the 
combination of drug withdrawal, lack of food and sheer rage 
forced him to stop. He'd needed to rest from the physical and 
emotional strain, but the result had been worth the exhaustion.  
The glossy bits of paper were piled on the toilet tank and a few 
of them disappeared down the john every time he took a leak.  
Childish, but satisfying. 

His investigator's conscience pricked him about the wanton 
destruction of evidence, but he couldn't bring himself to care.  
It wasn't like pictures of Fox Mulder were in short supply these 
days. 

He pulled yet another photo down, then dropped it onto the floor 
and braced his hands against the wall while he rode out a wave 
of dizziness.  The pressure of leaning on the wall intensified the 
pain in his ribs.  The vertigo didn't last long, but it left him 
feeling drained, trembling and tired.  

Time for more water.  His banged-up ribs had necessitated an 
end to exercising.  At least peeing gave him something else to 
occupy his time.  

He wandered into the bathroom and crouched over the sink, 
cupped hands dipping from the flowing spigot to his greedy 
mouth.  His stomach wanted something with a bit more 
substance but the water was all he had to offer.  It was too bad 
the developing chemicals made the pictures inedible.  He had 
enough to last a couple of weeks or more.  

Once he'd swallowed all he could bear to drink, he shut off the 
faucet and dried his hands.  He'd torn his sheet in half to use 
for towels.  It had taken a bit of effort to rip it in two, but 
he managed.  One half he left on the sink for drying his hands.  
The other one he used for his shower.  That half was currently 
spread out on the bedroom floor to dry.  His impromptu swan-
dive onto the shower head had bent the fitting and cracked the 
connections.  Water sprayed out around the base of the head 
instead of out the nozzle holes, but it was easier to clean his 
cuts in the shower than bending over the sink.  He was rather 
proud of his own attempts at normalcy when by all rights he 
should either be gibbering in panic or curled into a catatonic 
ball.

And since he was in the bathroom...  Mulder peeled off his boxer 
briefs, then tossed them in the sink.  Julie always brought clean 
ones with her, but she hadn't been back for a while.  They 
probably weren't dirty enough to need washing but it would 
give him something to do besides peeing.  He'd have to lay 
them on the floor like the sheet, hope they'd dry out before the 
cavalry showed up and caught him with his assets showing.

Because Scully would find him.  He had no doubt about that.  
He couldn't, or he might as well stop drinking water and die.  He 
had to believe that she wouldn't give up.  That she'd locate him 
before he was beyond help.  And when she did, he didn't want 
her to find him in dirty undershorts.

There wasn't any soap but he cleaned his boxers the best he 
could, scrubbing and wringing as much as the pain in his ribs 
and torn hands would allow.  The tears on his palms were 
definitely infected, the skin around them puffy, red and tender.  
His face was probably as bad.  Heat radiated from the cut's 
edges when he touched it and the skin felt tight.  There wasn't 
much he could do other than wash all his injuries and hope for 
the best.  

The right side of his chest had already passed the purplish 
stage and was headed toward Technicolor.  Definitely a couple 
badly damaged ribs, maybe even cracked.  He tried not to move 
too fast, bend too much or breathe too deeply.  Being more 
careful had put a crimp in his continued attempts to bust out, 
but he had no plans to quit completely.

Satisfied with the results of his laundry attempt, he spread the 
wet garment on the floor in the bedroom.  It would take some 
time for them to dry out, but it wasn't like anyone was around to 
be shocked by his nudity.  If Scully's rescue team showed up 
soon, he'd wear the boxers damp.  It wouldn't be the first time.  
Better damp than dirty.

Naked, he shuffled back to the stack of photos on the floor.  
There really wasn't any rush to deal with the ones he'd taken 
down but it made him feel better to put them completely out of 
sight.  He slowly bent and gathered everything up, then carried 
the bundle to the bed where he stuffed it under the mattress.  

He yawned.  Time for a nap.  Exhaustion was beating him on 
the head and he wanted to be somewhere comfortable when it 
won.  

Crawling onto the mattress, Mulder pulled the quilt over himself.  
The pictures under the bed crackled as he curled up to 
conserve warmth.  The room felt chilly, something he hadn't 
noticed before.  He'd never paid attention to the atmosphere of 
his prison, but now it seemed to have gotten colder.  Maybe the 
outside air was cooling.  That could mean it was night.  Or the 
heater had malfunctioned.  Or maybe his body's thermostat 
was off.  Whatever.  

He looked around the room and smiled at the blank spaces on 
the walls.  He was more than halfway done.  If only he'd had 
enough energy to finish.  He could hardly wait until his own 
image no longer stared at him every hour of every day.  If Julie 
*did* return, he'd deal with the repercussions.  But he was 
pretty sure she wouldn't be coming back anytime soon.  

Mulder yawned again and massaged the gnawing in his gut.  
Just as soon as he rested a bit, he'd get back to those pictures.  
After he was finished with them, he'd find a way out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Conference Room 4B
Sunday
1:14 PM

Two steps forward, two steps back.  All this evidence 
and they still weren't making any progress.  

Scully stared at the names scrawled across the surface of the 
whiteboard.  Sally Jensen, Jenny Singleton, Carrie Collins.  
She'd had such hopes for the new set of work aliases but the 
response was the same at each place.  Sure, they 
remembered her.  Quiet, a loner, inclined to daydream, unusual 
voice.  She had an erratic work history, coming in late a bit 
more often than they liked.  She'd quit suddenly, no notice given, 
no forwarding address left behind.  No one recalled her 
interacting with *any* of her coworkers, let alone the victim.  

Three identical situations, three different names, three new 
dead ends.  None of the aliases yielded anything they could use.  
Scully thought they might have something when the name 
Carrie Collins turned up at back-to-back crime scenes, the first 
time to rent a house, the second to get a job.  That was a bust, 
too.  There was no pattern to the names, no connection 
between the victims, no link to a particular type of job, no 
preference for a certain part of the country.  She'd worked at a 
bar, a diner and a grocery store from California to Kentucky to 
Iowa.  Now she was a Federal file clerk in DC.  

And yet they had no idea where to find her.  

There was something in the evidence they weren't seeing.  
Granted what they had wasn't much, even taking the cases 
together.  They now had three known victims and the evidence 
from Mulder's kidnapping.  With that many crime scenes, they 
*should* have more to go on, but they'd been at a standstill 
almost from the beginning.  There was a full set of matching 
prints, but no one to match them with.  The drugs were 
consistent, or nearly so, for the cases where traces were left 
behind.  The exact sedatives differed but it was a similar 
mixture, probably whatever was most available on the Internet 
at the time.  Drugs couldn't be ruled out where they weren't 
actually found at the scene.  Barbiturates tended to break down 
rapidly after death and decomposition would have further 
muddied the likelihood of finding any residue.  

Scully looked away from the board when Agent Jane Hatter 
entered the room carrying two Styrofoam cups, a file folder 
tucked under one arm.  Scully was surprised to see that 
everyone else had left.  They'd probably gone to lunch while she 
was busy trying to wring Mulder's location out of the meager 
evidence.  Agent Hatter walked over to her and held out one 
cup, then set the other on the table.

"What's this?"  Scully took the cup and peered into the steaming 
liquid.

"Tea.  I thought you might prefer it to the compost-grade sludge 
currently inhabiting the coffee pot.  I saw a couple of guys from 
the landscaping crew headed toward it with pickaxes."

"Thanks."  Scully took a gingerly sip then nodded at the folder in 
the other agent's hand.  "Something new?"

The other woman grimaced.  "More victims.  Two at once this 
time."

Dear lord, when was it going to end?  

Agent Hatter pulled a sheet of paper out of the file and handed 
the rest to Scully.  "AD Skinner thought you'd want to read the 
autopsy findings.  I'll add the new names to the board and see if 
they help."

For several minutes, the only noise in the room was the squeak 
of the dry erase marker.  The information in the file looked like 
a clone of the others.  Fingerprints matched.  Envelopes of 
photos were hand delivered to each victim, more photos used 
to taunt the victim's wife or girlfriend.  Yet another set of 
names for work and rental purposes.  Similar crime scene evidence, 
including the used furniture, attached bathroom, hole near the 
ceiling in the hallway.  Except for the extra body, the cases were 
nearly identical.

Scully skimmed over the internal exam but her eyes kept drifting 
back to one area.  There was no mention of muscle atrophy or 
lessened fat reserves in the omentum and mesentary/peri-
colonic tissues.  Was she reading that right? 
Such a finding could only mean one thing.

The victims hadn't starved.  The body fat and muscle hadn't 
been utilized the way it would during the process of starvation.  
So how did they die, then?  Scully flipped to the end of the 
report.  "Respiratory paralysis/cardiac arrest due to possible 
overdose of undetermined chemical substance.  Lab results 
pending." 

The kidnapper poisoned them?  Accidentally or on purpose?  
Like the others, they weren't found until at least a month after 
they'd died, so the drugs had broken down by the time the 
bodies were autopsied.  She could have been drugging them 
every night and miscalculated the dosage.  Scully felt suddenly 
cold.  Mulder was not only in danger of starvation, but of 
overdosing, too.  Granted none of the other victims they knew 
about had died that way, but still...

She checked the date on the front of the folder, then looked at 
the names on the whiteboard.  The new victims were listed as 
second and third.  Early casualties.  Hopefully that meant the 
kidnapper had either changed drugs or hadn't learned the 
correct dose until later.  Maybe she'd been careless, combined 
the wrong sedatives.  Any reason other than deliberate 
poisoning.  Because if she'd done it on purpose--

Agent Hatter's voice drew Scully's attention away from her dark 
imaginings.  "No.  This can't be right."  

"What is it?" Scully asked.  Anything to avoid going where her 
mind wanted to take her.

The other agent held up the paper.  "Someone wrote the names 
in the wrong order.  Hang on.  Let me..."  Scully watched the 
other woman erase the entire list and start over.

California, one victim, Jill Simmons rental name, Sally Jensen 
work name.

Utah, two victims.  Those were the new ones.  Sally Jensen 
rental name, Beth Reynolds work name.

Iowa, one victim, Beth Reynolds rental name, Carrie Collins 
work name.

Kentucky, one victim.  The one before Mulder.  Carrie Collins 
rental name, Jenny Singleton work name.

Jane Hatter gasped.  "My God!  Do you see what I see?"

Scully felt like she was moving through water as she rose from 
her chair.  She picked up a marker and drew a line from the 
work alias in California to the rental alias in Utah.  Another 
line from work in Utah to rental in Iowa.  A third line from 
Carrie Collins in Iowa to Carrie Collins in Kentucky.  "This is 
it," she whispered.  "I was right.  There IS a pattern."  

"No wonder we couldn't find it!" Hatter exclaimed.  "Whoever 
wrote the names up must have read the year wrong for the 
Kentucky victim.  They had him second instead of last."

Scully shook the marker at the list.  "The kidnapper used one 
alias to get a job and a different one to rent a house.  When she 
moved on, she would use the work alias to rent the next house 
in another state.  We've been looking for patterns and 
connections in all the wrong places, but we never would have 
seen it without these last two victims."   

Scully reached out with the marker, circled the name Jenny 
Singleton.  "THIS is who we need to look for!  Find a house 
rented to that name and we'll find Mulder."  She whirled and 
pointed the marker at the other agent.  Energy shot through her 
veins for the first time in two weeks.  "Get Skinner!  We need to 
start calling real estate and rental agencies again.  Put out an 
APB on that name.  Leave messages, knock on doors, do 
whatever it takes.  We've finally got her this time!"

Agent Hatter didn't bother to reply, she simply took off running. 

Scully threw down the marker.  Hands on hips, she studied the 
whiteboard with its damning evidence.  So simple, and yet all it 
took was a glitch in the pattern, one set of names in the wrong 
place, to throw them off.  Well, they had all the pieces now and 
the pattern was there for everyone to see.  It didn't take an 
expert to know the next step.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  

Hang on a little longer, Mulder.  We'll be right there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Location unknown


The darkness was a shock after so long with the lights always 
on.  For a moment when he'd first awakened, Mulder thought 
he'd gone blind in his sleep.  Then he spotted a faint line of 
light under the door and could breathe again.  

His eyes were okay.  The power was out.  There was always a 
possibility that Julie had come back while he was sleeping and 
turned off the lights, but Occam's Razor said it was more likely 
to have been the power company.  As immersed as Julie was in 
her fantasy world, she'd probably forgotten to pay the bills.  If 
Scully didn't find him soon, the water could be next and then 
he'd *really* be in trouble.

It was getting harder to crawl out of bed and go to the bathroom 
for water, especially in the pitch dark, but he forced himself to 
make the effort.  He didn't want to be dehydrated AND 
malnourished when rescue arrived.  The more water he took in, 
the easier it would be to recover once he was home.

Of course, it would also take him longer to die, but he didn't 
want to think about that.  He tried to keep his mind off his 
fellow victims, especially the one in the house with him.  Mulder 
knew the two of them weren't Julie's first, or even her second.  
He would bet good money on a path of bodies, probably stretching 
across several states.  There would be one, maybe two victims 
at each location.  A couple would have accidentally overdosed 
on sedatives as she was learning to calculate a non-lethal 
amount.  The rest died of starvation.  Did they cry?  Scream?  
Throw themselves against the door, prying at the unyielding 
edges of the frame in an attempt to be free?  

Mulder ran the tips of his fingers over the nails on his other 
hand.  They were ragged; what was left of them.  He knew 
pulling at the door wouldn't work but he'd had to try.  Without 
any kind of tool to help, he didn't have much chance but it had 
given him something to do.  It would have been so easy to give 
in to the depression and despair crouching along the edges of 
his psyche.  Morose demons whispered that Scully didn't love 
him.  She wasn't looking for him.  She'd never cared about him 
at all.  He was alone and likely to remain so until he died.  In 
the long, silent hours, he almost allowed them to convince him it 
was true.  

Then he realized it was most likely the withdrawal symptoms 
talking.  The demons could all go fuck themselves.  His partner 
would never stop looking for him.  She loved him at least as 
much as he loved her.  There was no purpose to be served by 
despair, wasting precious energy on crying or berating the 
fates.  That would imply he didn't believe in Scully's ability to 
track him down.  

Losing hope would be worse than dying alone.

He was used to being alone.  At least he had been until Scully 
came along with her sorority-girl hairdo and her scientific 
skepticism and her grudging willingness to follow where he led.  
His very own Doubting Thomasina.  

Mulder lay on his side, watching the thin strip of light 
under the door.  It was both comforting and maddening to know 
there was a world continuing on without him.  A world which 
included fresh air, light, plenty of food, open doors and Scully.  
Where was she?  He wanted to see her.  He wanted to see her 
so badly it hurt.

Mulder rolled away from the light and curled around the ache in 
his heart.  His ribs didn't like that at all.  Pain stabbed his 
chest, catching his breath on the jagged edges.  His limbs 
suddenly felt heavy and disconnected, like they didn't belong to 
him any longer.  He broke out in a sweat, mouth dry, heart rate 
soaring at the same time his thoughts began to fuzz around the 
edges.  He was losing consciousness.  He didn't need to see the 
already-dark room turning black to recognize what was 
happening.

One more time.  He just wanted to see Scully once more before 
he died.  Was that too much to ask?

Please, don't let it be too much to ask.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

247 Willowbrook Drive
Monday
2:58 PM

The SWAT team leader inserted the landlord's key and eased 
the front door open.  Scully had vehemently protested the 
addition of a SWAT team to the rescue mission but Skinner 
insisted.  He wanted the advance team to quietly sweep the 
house, checking for the kidnapper, traps and other dangerous 
situations before they allowed anyone else in.  Scully pointed 
out that there hadn't been any evidence of booby traps at the 
previous crime scenes, yet Skinner was adamant.  The 
kidnapper might have left the scene but they didn't know that 
for sure, he said.  They weren't going to take any chances.  
Scully would do it his way or she wouldn't be going along.

She didn't have any choice but to agree.

Scully remained outside, cell phone clamped over an ear while 
she waited for Danny to check on the cars they'd seen inside 
the garage.  Two cars, two license plates.  One she knew was 
Mulder's.  The other was a surprise.  It wasn't the kidnapper's 
car because that had already been found and impounded two 
days ago for parking in a short-term lot.  She'd leased it under 
the same name as the house.  It was assumed she took a cab 
or walked to another rental agency for a new car.  Using what 
they knew about her name pattern, people were already 
scouring the rental agencies, but Scully suspected they 
wouldn't find "Jeanie Wilson" that easily.  She would probably 
use a completely different name, maybe even her real one, 
until she got to her next stop.  Then she'd get rid of that car 
and lease a new one under a new identity.  

Once again, the kidnapper had chosen an area of rental 
houses.  That helped to explain why no one noticed any odd 
activity or bad smells--everyone moved around so much, they 
never got to know their neighbors.  Unfamiliar neighbors leads 
to disinterest in their goings-on leads to ignoring whatever 
doesn't directly concern them.  

When Danny got back to Scully, he simply confirmed her 
suspicions.  One car was definitely Mulder's.  The other 
belonged to a lawyer from Arlington Heights.  It appeared they 
might have more than one victim, like in Utah.  But was Mulder 
taken first or second?  The kidnapper hadn't traveled far to 
locate her targets--the house was an easy walk from Mulder's 
apartment and Arlington Heights was almost the same distance in 
the other direction.  The two places were so close, the woman 
had probably seen Mulder on one of his runs.  He could have 
passed right through the neighborhood at some point.  Maybe 
that was how she'd singled him out. 

It felt like hours before they gave the all-clear and Scully was 
able to rush through the doorway, pushing other agents aside 
in her hurry.  

It was dark inside.  She flipped a switch but nothing happened.  
Someone held out a sheet of paper, illuminated by a flashlight.  
The name Jenny Singleton was on the paper.  "The power's been 
turned off.  She stopped paying the bills.  We've already called 
the electric company to get it turned back on."

No electricity meant no heat, no light.  What must Mulder be 
thinking, trapped in the dark?

"Where's Mulder?" Scully demanded.  Let's cut to the chase.  I 
want my partner back.  

The other agent pointed to a hallway where several people had 
congregated.  They were blocking her view.  She shoved 
through the crowd.  

The hallway was empty.  Two closed doors faced each other 
with another door at the end of the hall standing open.  She 
could see FBI jacket-covered backs milling around inside the 
room.  There was a wooden chair standing against the wall 
next to one door and a USB cord dangling from a hole near the 
ceiling.  Agent Janis climbed onto the chair and shone a 
flashlight into the opening.  Scully could feel the tension 
rise as he reached into the hole and pulled out a small, 
round object.  

A mini web camera.  So that's why every crime scene had a hole 
in the drywall near the ceiling.  The kidnapper used a web cam 
connected to a computer monitor to watch inside the rooms.  
Scully checked the other side of the hallway.  Yes, there was 
another hole in the wall, but without the dangling cord.  The 
the camera had been there at one time but she moved it after--

God!  Where was Mulder?  The doors on either side of the hall 
were obviously locked, one with two slide bolts and a keyed 
knob.  The other was completely covered with multiple layers of 
plastic and duct tape.  A faint smell of death hung in the air.  

"Which one?" Scully asked no one in particular.  Please, she 
prayed, don't let it be the plastic-covered door.

Agent Pryzbyzki indicated the other one.  "We're pretty sure 
he's in there but we haven't detected any movement.  Unless 
he's unconscious, he should have heard us by now."

"Then let's get him out of there!"  Scully grasped the doorknob, 
but Pryzbyzki pulled her back.

"We don't know if the kidnapper is with him!  We can't simply go 
barging into an unknown situation.  Perkins went to get a torch.  
We'll cut the door open as soon as we can."

He was right.  Scully knew he was right but that didn't make it 
any easier to wait.  If Mulder was in that room, he should have 
given them a sign that he'd heard all the noise they were 
making.  Yell, bang on the door, scream at them to hurry up.  
But so far, there'd been nothing.  Agent Gardner, stethoscope 
pressed to the door, indicated that he didn't hear anything 
inside, either.  The door was thick so maybe it didn't mean 
anything.  Mulder was still alive.  He HAD to be.

She watched Janis try to work a cable camera through the 
hole left by the web cam with one hand while staring at a tiny 
video screen in the other.  "There's something blocking the 
bedroom side," he said.  "Maybe a piece of glass or plastic 
covering the peephole.  I can't get much light into the room, but 
it looks like the door is clear of wires."

"Can you see Agent Mulder?" Jane Hatter asked.  

Janis squinted at the screen.  "There's someone on the bed but 
they're too far away to tell who it is."  

Scully looked around at the overwhelming evidence.  The  
kidnapper had abandoned her victims.  Did she leave because 
she got angry, or because they were both dead?  Scully needed to 
know, right NOW.

"Mulder, we're here!" she yelled.  "We're going to cut the door 
open.  Are you okay?  Can you answer me?"

Still no sound.  She ignored Agent Gardner's yelp as she pulled 
the stethoscope off his neck.  Ear buds inserted, she flattened 
the scope to the door, straining for any sign of her partner's 
presence.  She thought she heard a faint rustling, but nothing 
else.  

Where the hell was Perkins with that cutting tool?

As if summoned by her very will, an acetylene torch hissed to 
life behind her.  "Clear the area," Perkins demanded.  Everyone 
moved toward either end of the hallway, but nobody went far.  
Scully turned to Pryzbyzki while the bright blue flame of the 
torch did its slow work of cutting around the knob.

"Could you see any movement at all?" she asked.  "Even a 
slight reaction to the noise out here?"  

He thought for a moment.  "There may have been, but the light 
didn't reach very far.  I don't want to say for sure, Agent 
Scully.  I mean..."

Her shoulders sagged.  "I know.  It's okay."  He didn't have to 
say any more.  She had a good imagination.

Cutting the knob loose took an eternity and yet no time at all.  
Perkins turned off the torch and set it down before sliding back 
the deadbolts.  Leaving the knob locked into the frame, he 
tested to see if the door would move.  It did.  He hooked a pry 
bar into the gap around the knob and pulled.  The door flew 
open, slamming against the hallway wall.

If Mulder was conscious, that would get his attention.

Agent Gardner held up a hand to keep Scully back, allowing 
the SWAT leader to enter first.  The light mounted on the barrel 
of his rifle swept the room, painting the walls left and right, 
until it settled to one side of the door.  Scully heard a murmur, 
then Gardner beckoned her into the room.  Flashlight in hand, she 
stepped through the doorway.

Her gaze passed over the empty bed.  He wasn't there!  Heart 
pounding, she followed the SWAT leader's beam of light.   

Mulder.  He was alive.  Arm raised to shield his eyes, he'd 
scrambled into a corner, back to the wall.  Dressed solely in 
boxer briefs, he seemed thinner than she remembered.  In the 
glare of the beam spotlighting his face, she could see beard 
stubble on his chin, but the rest of him was in shadow.  

"Get that light out of his eyes!"  She pushed the rifle aside.  
What was the idiot thinking, pointing a gun at an obviously 
unarmed man?  Several flashlights were also turned off behind 
her, plunging the room into a state of subdued twilight.  She 
hadn't realized so many people had followed her in.

"Scully?"  Mulder lowered his arm and blinked at her.  His voice 
cracked, sounding rusty, underused.  "Scully."  He stumbled 
forward, kicked the edge of the mattress and dropped to his 
knees on the blankets.  "Scully!"

She rushed to him, flashlight forgotten on the floor.  "Mulder!"  
Falling to the mattress, she opened her arms.  He laid down in 
her lap and curved his legs around her back, burrowing his face 
into her stomach.  He grunted as she gathered him close, not 
caring who might be watching.  

"Are you okay?" she asked, fingers already mapping the 
prominence of his ribs, noting the lumps and bumps on his 
arms, back and head.  

"I'm okay."

"You're okay?"

"Yeah.  You're here.  Knew you'd find me.  Never stopped 
believing it."

"I called to you before.  Why didn't you answer?" 

His arms tightened around her waist.  "I thought I was 
hallucinating... the drugs... didn't want to raise my hopes."

She hugged him back, mind reeling at all the unspoken 
implications in his words.  "I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner."

"Told you not to take the beltway.  Crazy at rush hour."

She couldn't hold back a watery chuckle.  "I should listen to you 
more often."

"Been telling you that for years, too."  

It felt so good to have his arms around her again, hands 
rubbing up and down her back, she almost missed his 
whispered question.

"How'd you find me?  I was afraid she hadn't left enough clues."  

Her heart ached at the fear in his voice.  Despite his earlier 
words of faith, she knew he must have been dangling from the 
ragged edge of despair by his fingertips.  

"The clues were there, Mulder.  It just took time to find them.  
I'll tell you all about it later."

They remained on the bed for several minutes, not saying 
anything.  The other agents kept their distance but went about 
the business of collecting evidence.  Hatter and Janis crowded 
each other inside the miniscule bathroom, dusting every 
surface for prints.  A mini vacuum hummed along the floor 
behind Scully, sucking up fibers and whatever else it could find.  
Duct tape ripped out in the hallway.  Plastic rattled as it was 
torn off the other bedroom door.  Team members passed the 
hall on their way to other parts of the house, voices fading in 
and out.  Scully heard Skinner issuing orders from the kitchen.  
And still Mulder silently clung to her.

He finally stirred, turning his head in Scully's lap, giving her 
a look at the rest of his face.

She gasped.  "Mulder, what happened?"  

He reached up to touch the puffy, red flesh but she intercepted 
his hand.  "Fought with the plumbing.  It hit back."

"Well next time, duck.  We need to get you out of here."  
She glanced at the doorway, wondering what was taking the 
ambulance so long.  It should have been right behind the 
SWAT team.  She yelled over her shoulder, "Where the hell's 
that stretcher?"

A voice called in from the hallway, "There was a pile-up near 
the airport and it took some time to free a unit.  It's just 
coming around the corner."

Mulder struggled to sit up.  "Don't bother with a stretcher, 
Scully.  I can walk."

She pushed him down.  "No, you can't."

"Yes.  I can."  He proved it by jerking out from under her hands 
and wobbling upright.  Even in the dim light, a large mottled 
patch was visible on his chest, extending under his right arm 
and wrapping around to his back.  Scully shot off the mattress 
and retrieved her flashlight from the floor.  She slowly circled 
her partner, cataloging every hiss and flinch as she explored 
the damage. 

"How did this happen?" she asked.

"Like I said, the plumbing was in a feisty mood."

"Can you breathe okay?"  He didn't seem to be struggling for 
air but she still had to ask.

"I won't be belting out arias for a while, but I'm fine." 

"Does it hurt when you move?"

"If I move quickly, yeah.  Can't bend fast or do cartwheels, but 
otherwise it's not too bad."

He was probably telling the truth.  He'd laid down in her lap 
without complaining and also managed to get off the mattress 
on his own.  She wouldn't bet against at least one fractured rib 
but apparently there weren't any severe breaks.  

Mulder must have sensed her continued determination to haul 
him out on a stretcher.  "I'm not gonna race straight out the 
front door, Scully.  I just..." He glanced around at the 
activity in the room but she got the impression he was seeing 
something else.  "I want to get out of here."

She'd been so pleased to find him, she'd almost forgotten why 
they were there.  He was moving around all right and seemed 
sufficiently stable.  His request wasn't unreasonable, 
especially under the circumstances.  Maybe he *would* be 
better off someplace where they had more space.  She removed 
her FBI jacket and draped it around his shoulders.

"Okay, Mulder.  But only to the living room for now.  Happy?" 

"So happy I could barf.  Oh wait.  I'm running on empty.  Better 
take a rain check."

She had to smile.  By all rights, he should be sobbing on the 
floor or in a catatonic stupor.  But no.  This was Mulder.  Even 
being locked up for weeks hadn't dulled his sense of the absurd 
or his ability to surprise her.   

He rolled his eyes when she took his arm to guide him from the 
room but she wasn't really trying to hold him up.  She simply 
couldn't stop touching him.

They came to an abrupt halt in the doorway.  Mulder was 
staring at the door across the hall.  Agent Gardner had his 
stethoscope against it.  He looked up at Scully and shook his 
head.

"Come on, Mulder," she murmured.  "Let's get you out of this 
place."  The sound of the acetylene torch firing up followed 
them down the hallway.

While they moved slowly out to the other room, Scully blinked 
back tears as every person in the vicinity greeted her partner 
with a touch on the arm, a gentle pat on the shoulder, and the 
words "Good to see you, Mulder."  Or "Nice to have you back, 
Agent."  Some of these people were the same ones who hadn't 
wanted to search for him in the first place.  Now they were 
welcoming him as one of their own.

She saw him smile faintly, nod, swallow a couple of times, but 
he didn't speak.  He looked dazed, like he couldn't quite 
believe he was free.  She guided him to the worn sofa in the 
living room where the curtains were open.  He squinted in the 
bright sunlight.

Scully beckoned to Agent Samuels, standing guard near the 
front door.  "Could Mulder borrow your hat, please?"

"Sure, Agent Scully."

Mulder peered up at his partner.  "Do I know these people?  
Have you checked the Hoover basement for pods recently?"

Samuels laughed and plunked his FBI baseball cap on 
Mulder's head.  "Technically, we're possessed.  Here.  
Squinting will give you unsightly wrinkles."

Mulder tugged the hat down over his forehead and sent him a 
small nod.  "Thanks."

"My pleasure."  The other man flipped them a little wave then 
went back to his post and let in the paramedics.  Scully would 
have liked to stay and supervise the exam, but Gardner was 
calling to her.  Reluctantly, she told Mulder, "Be right back," 
and went to see what he needed.

The other bedroom was unsealed and the door stood open.  
The odor of death greeted her at the threshold.  Sickly-sweet, 
it clung to the back of her nose and throat.  Agent Gardner 
pointed toward the dark room behind the door.

"We thought you'd want to take a look."

Scully pulled latex gloves from her pocket and tugged them on.  
"Has anyone been inside yet?"

"Just to peek around the door and check the layout.  There's a 
body on the mattress, no sound or movement."

She took a handkerchief out of her pocket and held it over her 
nose.  "Call the coroner and another ambulance.  After I'm 
done, close the room up again so it stays undisturbed until he 
gets here."

Pulling the door open just enough to give her room to pass, she 
stepped through and turned on her flashlight.  

Was this how Mulder's room had looked?  She'd been so 
focused on the man, she hadn't really paid any attention to the 
scene.  That's what all those other highly-trained people with 
her were for.  She was just there to find Mulder.  

Now, she took in as much of the room as she could with the aid 
of a flashlight.  The beam glinted off porcelain fixtures in an 
adjacent room that didn't seem to have a door.  Photographs 
ringed the wall, three feet wide at least.  They bore no 
resemblance to the sunken face of the man curled up on the 
mattress.  

She approached the bed solemnly, then squatted down near 
the head and extended two latex-clad fingers toward his neck, 
although she already knew what she'd find.  Life was 
extinguished, long gone from this poor, tortured creature.  
Just as his murderer was gone, escaped beyond the reach of 
retribution.  For now.  

Scully stood and contemplated the signs of decay on the 
corpse.  Death by starvation was her opinion, but that 
determination would be the coroner's call.  Hopefully they'd be 
able to notify his family soon.  Did they know he'd been 
kidnapped or did they think he'd run off?  It was a bittersweet 
day, to have found one lost man only to discover another they 
hadn't known was missing.  

She whispered into the shadowy room, "We'll be looking for 
her.  I promise," then turned and walked out the door, pushing 
it closed behind her.  

Compared to the silent room of death, the rest of the house 
was like a prairie dog town.  Agents swarmed over every room, 
dusting for prints, photographing surfaces, removing whatever 
had been left behind.  The paramedics were helping Mulder 
onto a stretcher, apparently having been more persuasive than 
she'd been.  Someone had traded him Scully's jacket for a bigger 
one.  He made an incongruous picture with his borrowed coat and 
hat topping bare legs and boxer briefs.  

He was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.  

Scully walked out to the living room, intent on following her 
partner.  There were plenty of trained agents around.  The 
investigation could continue without her.  She'd gotten what 
she came for and she wasn't going to let him out of her sight.

She stopped at the front door on her way out.  "If anyone needs 
me--"

"We know where to find you," Agent Samuels replied.  "Go 
make sure they take care of Mulder."

He didn't have to tell her twice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dana Scully's apartment
Tuesday
7:18 PM

Mulder jerked awake, heart tripping double-time in the first few 
seconds of panic as he sat up and scanned his surroundings.  

Beige walls.  Sunlight filtering through drawn blinds.  Faint 
sound of movement through the open door.  Scully's place.  
Safe.  She'd found him and he was safe.  

He flopped back onto the pillows, consciously willing his heart 
rate and breathing to return to normal.  The doctor had told him 
to take frequent naps, but jolting awake every couple of hours 
appealed to him less and less.  He'd be grateful when his 
mind finally caught up to reality and accepted that he wasn't a 
prisoner anymore.  

Pans clattered softly in the kitchen.  He wondered if Scully was 
still upset with him.  He understood why the doctors wanted to 
keep him hospitalized.  Really.  He did.  The residual effects of 
the sedative cocktail he'd been getting continued to make 
themselves known and lack of food had left him weak.  It wasn't 
like he could ignore the withdrawal symptoms or stop at the 
nearest burger joint on the way home and start chowing down.  
But he couldn't stay there.  He couldn't bear the thought of 
giving up control to anyone else so soon after being rescued.  
Not even when the control was benevolent.  Staying in the 
hospital meant someone else telling him when to eat, when to 
sleep, when to shower, when to take a leak, sticking him with 
needles, listening to his heart, poking at his aches.  He needed 
to regain control of his life as quickly as possible.

His waking panic attacks were mild compared to the feeling of 
utter terror which had overwhelmed him at the thought of 
remaining cooped up.  Two of his ribs had hairline fractures, 
but the hospital taped them and he wasn't having as much 
trouble breathing.  He wasn't dehydrated, thanks to the nature 
of his accommodations, so IV fluids weren't necessary.  The 
drug withdrawal was much better than it had been.  He 
understood the need to reintroduce foods slowly, especially 
after the first round of stomach cramps.  But Scully could 
monitor him at home.  He didn't have to be confined to recover.  
He couldn't.  He wouldn't.  And he'd made his feelings on the 
matter as clear as he was able without succumbing to hysteria.  

Scully hadn't been happy with his decision, but once she 
agreed, there was nothing the doctors could do about it.  They 
gave him some clear broth to start building his strength, 
observed him for a few hours, explained his eating schedule for 
the next week, then reluctantly turned him loose.  

If he'd been capable of running to the car, he would have.  

Mulder stretched under the sheets, enjoying the idea that he 
could get up and walk out the door, out of the apartment 
building itself, head anywhere he wanted to just *because* he 
wanted to.  

He wanted to pee.  Provided he could make it there and back 
on his own.  He'd needed help last night, but Scully had plied 
him with small cups of broth and protein drinks all evening and 
he felt much stronger by the time they went to sleep.  He'd 
have liked to do more than just sleep but it was going to take 
him a while to get the memory of Julie and her pornographic 
flip-book out of his head.  He needed to regain his emotional 
equilibrium every bit as much as his physical strength.  More 
work for the Bureau shrinks.  

Sitting up wasn't too bad.  No dizziness or swimming head and 
the binding around his ribs made it easier to move.  The doctors 
said it might take another week to be rid of the withdrawal 
symptoms.  The stomach pains and nausea were better.  The 
headaches had already stopped by the time Scully found him 
and he was pleased to realize that he wasn't shaking anymore.  
He would definitely think twice before ingesting any type of 
medication from now on.  Scully'd already had a rotten time 
convincing him to accept antibiotics for his infected cuts.

He stood and tested his legs for a few seconds before moving 
in the direction of the bathroom.  Nice firm gait.  Perhaps a 
tad shuffly, but not bad, all things considered.  

Standing at the toilet required bracing his hand against the wall, 
but lots of guys did that.  Nothing unusual there.  

He stopped to check out his reflection in the mirror while he 
gingerly washed his hands around the bandages.  His face was 
looking a bit better since yesterday.  His first glimpse in the 
hospital bathroom had been a shock.  That shower head did a 
real number on his cheek.  The cut was shallow but ragged, 
longer than he would have liked to see.  The puffy pinkness 
around the edges had gone down and the scabs looked 
cleaner.  Well, they should, considering the industrial-strength 
antibiotics coursing through his veins.  Too bad they wouldn't 
help with the extensive bruising.  His eye wasn't swollen shut, 
but there seemed to be every color of the rainbow laid out 
across one side of his face from eyebrow to jaw line.  He'd 
probably looked worse the last time he saw Julie.  No wonder 
she'd run off.

He pulled up his t-shirt and turned to the left, then the right, 
studying his body.  Rows of athletic tape overlapped each other 
as they wound around and around his chest.  Blurry edges of 
the bruise peeked out over the top of his bandaging.  At least 
he didn't appear to have lost a lot of weight.  Not ordinarily a 
vain man, he was still grateful that he didn't look like a 
concentration camp survivor.  And all the exercising the last 
couple weeks had redefined his chest, tightened his abs, 
bulked up his biceps.  Not bad.  Maybe he should keep 
exercising.  Scully might like it.  

He opened the bathroom door to find her waiting for him in the 
hallway, fists on hips.   "What are you doing out of bed?"  

"I haven't wet the bed since I was five.  I didn't think now 
would be a good time to regress."  

"Why didn't you call for help?"

Mulder threw his arms out wide.  "Help with what?  I'm up, I'm 
mobile, I don't need help holding my--"

"Get back into bed."  Her pointing finger stabbed across the 
rest of his words.  

He lowered his arms and shrugged.  "Whatever you say, warden."  
He tried to put a spring in his step on the return trip, 
just to show her that he was perfectly capable of taking a leak 
on his own like the other big boys.  Scully walked as close as 
she could beside him.  He got the feeling she was waiting to 
catch him if he teetered the slightest bit.  

"Come on, Mulder, don't be like that.  You'll recover faster if 
you follow the doctor's orders.  He said you need lots of rest.  
Don't you want to get well quickly?"

He stopped next to the bed and faced her again.  "I didn't 
realize this was a race.  Besides, you know I work best under 
pressure."

She pointed to the bed.  "That's not what I heard from Janice in 
Accounting when I first started working for the Bureau.  Now 
get back in."

He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her instead.  
"Scully!  I am appalled by this previously unseen nasty streak 
in your nature."

"You're just jealous that I got in a zinger while you weren't 
looking." 

"That, too."  He finally climbed under the covers, to show her 
that he was doing it on his own terms, not hers.  Scully sat on 
the edge of the bed and smoothed the hair out of his eyes.

 "Can't catch it as fast as you throw it out, Mulder?"

"I'm just not used to having it flung back at me.  I'll have to 
sharpen my reflexes so I can counter with my fastball."  He 
grabbed her hand, then kissed the palm.  She smiled at him.

"You ready for a snack, Nolan Ryan?  We've got some yummy 
applesauce and juice to get you closer to solid food."

"Sure.  It will give me a chance to come up with a biting reply 
at some point well after the fact."

"A dull mind is the first sign of aging, you know."

His leer was automatic and lop-sided but no less sincere.  "Get 
under these covers and I'll show you *exactly* how well I'm 
aging."

Mulder leaned toward her, lips puckered, but was interrupted 
by a knock on the apartment door.  He flopped back on the 
pillow.  "Were you expecting someone?"

Scully patted his leg and stood.  "Skinner said he'd stop by to 
check on you and bring some paperwork I need to fill out.  
Looks like he showed up not a minute too soon."  

As she walked out of the room, Mulder called to her retreating 
back, "Statements like that could damage a guy's self-esteem."

"I'll tell him you think his timing stinks," she hollered.

Rather than let Skinner find him tucked in bed like an invalid 
granny, Mulder decided to meet them in the living room.  They 
were so engrossed in some papers, he was almost to the 
armchair before Scully saw him.  She might not want him 
walking around but he wasn't comfortable talking to his boss 
while flat on his back in her bed.  

"Mulder."  Skinner advanced, hand outstretched.  "It's good to 
see you.  How's the face?"

Their handshake was firm.  Mulder tried not to wince at the 
pressure on his torn palm.  "Better," he replied.  "I won't be 
winning any beauty pageants in the near future, though." 

"You wouldn't have won any before either."

There was a definite smirk on Skinner's face and Mulder could 
feel his own mouth responding.  A traditional, manly exchange 
of glad-you're-alive and thanks-for-finding-me.  

Skinner picked up a thick folder from the coffee table and held 
it out.  "I thought you might want to see this."

Mulder took the file, but didn't open it.  He looked at it for a 
few minutes, wondering if he was ready to discover what Pandora's 
box held.  It wouldn't be pretty, he already knew that.  But was 
he mentally up to seeing the kind of damage one small woman 
was capable of wreaking?  

Finally, he set the folder back on the coffee table and turned to 
Skinner.  "How many?"

The other man sat down on the couch before answering.  It 
must be bad.

"You were number seven," Skinner said.  "One other scene 
yielded two victims, three had one each."

Mulder snorted a mirthless laugh.  "Lucky number seven.  Who 
was unlucky number six, in the other bedroom?"

Scully perched on the arm of his chair.  "You knew?"

He couldn't stop the involuntary wrinkling of his nose.  "Let's 
just say I had my suspicions."  

Skinner leaned forward, arms on knees.  "His name was 
Ronald Kilgallen.  A chef in one of the trendy DC restaurants 
we can't afford to eat at on a government employee's salary.  
He'd been missing for about two months."

Turning to Scully, Mulder asked, "How did he die?"  

"Starvation."  He closed his eyes and felt her rub his shoulder.  
"Time of death was hard to pin down because of the body's 
condition and the interior crime scene, but probably three to 
five weeks ago."  

Mulder did the math in his head.  If this other guy was missing 
for two months and Mulder'd been a captive for nearly three 
weeks, then his housemate must have--

His eyes popped open in horror.

"Jesus!  She probably abandoned him right after he was 
kidnapped!  He'd be able to survive on water for a while, which 
means he was still alive when Julie was stalking me.  He must 
have died during the week before my kidnapping.  She 
deserted him in order to fixate on ME."

Neither Scully nor Skinner questioned how he knew or denied 
that he was right.  The evidence was probably in the folder and 
easy enough for them to figure out, too.  Julie had called him 
"Beautiful Fox" more than once.  And then there were the 
letters Scully told him about, with their fixation on "beautiful" 
songs.  He'd been abandoned after his sudden disfigurement.  
It all fit together far too perfectly.  Here was something else 
for him to deal with: another man died simply because their 
kidnapper thought Mulder was more "beautiful."  

New baggage to carry around.  Soon he'd need his own 
personal luggage cart to haul all of it.  

Skinner cleared his throat, breaking the silence.  Mulder was 
grateful.  He wasn't really up to wallowing inside his own head 
yet.  He'd had weeks of nothing else.  Now he needed some 
answers.  Scully had told him what she knew last night, the 
most important thing being the fact that Julie had escaped 
capture.  Maybe Skinner knew more by now.

"Any leads on where she might have gone?" Mulder asked.  

"Not yet."  Skinner leaned closer.  "But we know her pattern 
now.  We have the name she used at the Bureau.  We've sent 
that out along with her description to law enforcement in the 
surrounding states.  As soon as you're ready to work with a 
sketch artist, we'll send a picture out, too."

"What about her employee ID photo, Sir?" Mulder asked.  "That 
would be a lot faster than a sketch."

Skinner looked down at his hands.  "Gone.  It's not in the 
system anymore.  Whoever this Julie is, she knows what she's 
doing."

"How the hell did she end up at the Bureau in the first place?  
Her personal info must have been completely bogus.  Didn't 
anyone think that was significant enough to preclude 
employment?"

Skinner's jaw muscles tightened.  He always did that when he 
was especially peeved.  This should be good.

"They never ran a background check," he replied.

"What?"  Mulder didn't know why he was so surprised.  Julie 
seemed to have the luck of a thousand leprechauns.

Skinner waved a hand in acknowledgement.  "I know.  
Somebody dropped the ball, big-time.  They're still trying to sort 
it out.  Short answer--five women were hired on an emergency 
basis at the same time from the same employment agency, and 
whoever was supposed to process their applications at *both* 
places fucked up.  The employment agency verified that her 
address was valid, but didn't check to make sure she lived 
there.  She didn't.  The Bureau's foul-up can only be described 
as a complete pooch-screw.  The person in charge had a 
sudden medical emergency and whoever was supposed to 
take over, didn't.  They were thrown into such an uproar, none 
of the background checks were done on those new hires.  In 
the meantime, we were trying to figure out who inside the 
Hoover was most likely to be your kidnapper.  By the time we 
did, she was long gone.  The information on her application 
turned out to be totally useless."  He yanked off his glasses and 
pinched the bridge of his nose.  "My God!  We're the Federal 
Bureau of goddamned Investigations!  Could things have gone 
more wrong?"

Mulder had never seen his boss so upset.  It was comforting to 
know it was on his behalf.  Nevertheless, he couldn't resist a 
dig.

"That's why they put the 'F' in FBI, Sir."

Skinner snorted and replaced his glasses.  "Thanks for your 
understanding, Agent Mulder.  As you can imagine, the higher-
ups are somewhat red in the face at the moment and they 
strongly advised me to pick your brain.  Is there anything more 
you can tell us about your kidnapper?  Anything she might have 
let slip during conversation?"

Mulder shook his head.  "She hardly talked to me.  Every time I 
saw her, she was deep inside her fantasy.  I'd ask questions 
but the answers didn't match up with reality.  She registered my 
movements but she rarely responded to me verbally.  I know 
her first name is Julie and that's pretty much all I know.  I'm 
sorry I can't be more help, Sir."

Scully gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.  "The fact that 
you're alive is a big help, Mulder.  You're the only eyewitness 
we have who's been trained in observation.  No one else 
remembers much about her appearance other than her voice 
and hair color.  With your sketch and the descriptions we've 
gotten from landlords and coworkers, she won't be able to hide 
for much longer."

"But she's still out there.  What if she comes back?"  He'd been 
trying to suppress that particular fear ever since his rescue.  
Now it was hanging in the middle of the room for all of them to 
gawk at.  His kidnapper was on the loose.  What did that mean 
for him?  

They should have gone to his apartment from the hospital.  His 
clothes were there, after all.  But he simply wasn't ready to face 
the scene of so many of Julie's pictures.  It wasn't rational, but 
his apartment felt tainted.  He wouldn't be able to sit on his own 
couch without remembering that revolting flip-book.  It made 
him queasy every time he thought about it.  He hadn't asked 
Scully if they'd found it in the house and she hadn't volunteered 
the information, but then she might not know yet.  It could take 
them days to process the scene.  Maybe Julie had taken it with 
her.  Maybe she was in the building across from his apartment, 
waiting for him to come home.  There would probably be 
surveillance all over the neighborhood exactly for that reason, 
but it didn't comfort him enough to make him go back to his 
own place.

"There's no indication that she returns to her victims," Skinner 
said.  

"They're dead," Mulder replied.  "I'm not."

"As far as she's concerned, you are."

Oh.  Why hadn't *he* thought of that?  He was supposed to be 
the hot-shot former profiler, yet he couldn't seem to profile his 
way through a wet tissue when it came to his own case.  He 
shouldn't have needed someone else to point out the obvious.  
If she'd left him to die, then to her, he *was* dead.  Maybe he 
didn't have anything to worry about after all.

Other than working through the fresh damage to his psyche, 
which was going to be loads of fun.

Skinner stood.  "Take your time reading the file, Mulder," he 
said.  "That's a copy of everything we found during the 
investigation.  If you have any questions Agent Scully can't 
answer, feel free to contact me.  Otherwise I'll see you at work 
in a few days."

While Scully escorted their boss to the door, Mulder carried the 
file to the dining room table and sat down.  He wasn't ready to 
look at it yet, but he couldn't bring himself to leave it behind.  
Maybe he'd be better able to deal with it after some food.  His 
brain was finally beginning to register the hollow echo in his 
middle.  

He was so focused on the closed folder, he didn't notice 
Scully's return until she stood next to him and put an arm 
around his shoulders.

"We'll find her, Mulder.  It's only a matter of time."

"But will it be soon enough to help the next poor bastard who 
catches her eye?"  

"I don't know.  All I can promise is that we'll do our damnedest 
to prevent another kidnapping.  You know that."  

"Yeah."  He gave her a small smile and got one in return.  "I 
just hate to think of anyone else going through such hell."

"Me too."  She touched the file folder gently, almost reverently.  
"Here's a thought.  When you feel up to it, look through the 
information.  See if there's anything else we could use to find 
her.  You have special insight.  You might be able to help."  
Scully kissed the top of his head, then went into the kitchen.
  
Mulder rubbed his hand over the manila cover of the file folder.  
They were all in there.  Him, Ron, the other five men who'd 
caught the attention of a killer.  How did she choose her 
victims?  Was it something about them, or something about 
her?  Or were they simply at the wrong place when their 
kidnapper's particular delusion kicked in?  How many more 
would fall victim to her twisted fantasy?  

Scully was right.  Maybe he could help.  He flipped the folder 
open and saw the photo from his FBI personnel file staring back.

Lord have mercy on all "beautiful" men until Julie was found.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two Months Later

Hilton Elementary School
Kent, Ohio
2:35 PM

High-pitched squeals mixed with baritone encouragement drew 
Julie's attention from the copier back to the open window.

"Come on, Cedric!  You can run faster than that.  Jay, this isn't 
hurdles.  Run around the cones, don't jump over.  Good job, 
Keesha, keep going, keep going!"

She watched the group of children race around an obstacle 
course on the playground while the machine in front of her spit 
copies into a tray.  Julie giggled.  She'd almost forgotten to 
switch originals with so much to distract her.  She would lose 
her job if she didn't finish her work and that simply wouldn't do. 

Julie's face flushed as she watched.  The physical education 
teacher was so beautiful, loping along behind his students, tall, 
thin frame moving loosely and confidently.  His dark hair shone 
in the sun.  The pitch black mustache and goatee made him 
look like a pirate.  She was so intent on her observation, she 
almost missed someone speaking to her.

"Do you have Miss Smith's copies ready, Kimmie?  She was 
hoping to pick them up when she brings her gym class back 
inside."

Julie turned to the school secretary and pointed at a shelf, even 
though she hated to relinquish her wonderful view.  "They're all 
set, Mrs. Irman.  I'm working on Mrs. Dison's copies now."

The older woman gathered up the stack of papers.  "Bless you, 
dear.  I don't know what we did without you, standing here hour 
after hour making copies.  I just wish we had a better place for 
you to work besides the old gym equipment storage room.  It's so 
cramped and musty in here."  

"I don't mind."  Julie looked out the window again.  "I enjoy 
watching."

Mrs. Irman moved to stand next to Julie.  "They are beautiful 
little monkeys, aren't they?"

"Oh yes."  Julie smiled at her private joke.  She wasn't looking 
at the children.

"And Mr. Baines is so good with them," the secretary 
continued.  "He's a real prize."

"You mean Sean?" Julie asked.  Beautiful Sean.  It was such a 
nice name.

The other woman touched her sleeve.  "Try not to call him that 
around the children.  It's a matter of losing authority.  What if 
they decided it would be funny to call him by his first name?  
You understand, Kimmie.  Don't you?"  

A phone rang in the distance.  The secretary tsked.  "I have to 
run," she said, hugging the pile of copies close.  "Don't forget!"

"I won't forget, Mrs. Irman," Julie replied.  Remembering all the 
rules was turning out to be harder than she'd imagined, but she 
wouldn't need to worry about it much longer.

Getting hired as an elementary school assistant was a lot 
easier than she'd expected.  Easier than the FBI.  The school 
hadn't asked a lot of dumb questions or run background 
checks.  That was a good omen.  She was sure of it.  

As she continued to watch the phys-ed teacher leading his 
charges, a young woman exited the building and walked toward 
the group.  Miss Smith, retrieving her class.  Beautiful Sean 
saw her, too.

"Okay, everybody," he called, "come back to the circle and 
have a seat.  Cedric, you can stop running now.  Join your 
class in the circle.  Time to cool down."  

Julie had seen Miss Smith hanging around the gym a number 
of times.  She seemed to think Mr. Baines was attracted to her, 
always laughing and smiling at him, flirting like a tramp.  Julie 
knew better.  Especially after she saw the two of them arguing 
last week.  You didn't raise your voice to a beautiful man that 
way.  Miss Smith obviously didn't know how Sean should be 
treated.

Today the hussy was all smiles and batting lashes but it was 
too late.  The packet of photos was almost ready.  Julie had 
been taking pictures of Beautiful Sean for weeks and she 
almost had enough to decorate the room.  Only a few more 
days and she'd leave the envelope in his office mailbox.  Then 
she'd meet him at his house and they'd drive to their new home 
to be together.  Forever.  

The clanging of the period-change bell reminded Julie that she 
had a job to do.  She reluctantly returned to her copies.

They were going to be so happy.  Momma had always wanted 
her to marry a teacher.  She said they were sensitive, stable 
and made good fathers.  It was easy to see that Beautiful Sean 
was wonderful with children.  She really couldn't have chosen 
any better.  

He was perfect.  

She watched the noisy group file through the doorway.  Mr. 
Baines herded them left and right, trying to keep the line 
moving and prevent pileups.  He looked at the copy-room 
window in passing and waved.  Sean was always doing special 
little things like that because he knew they made her happy.  
And when Julie was happy, she liked to sing.

"You must have been a beautiful baby.  You must have been a 
beautiful child..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THE END 

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