PARVOR NOCTURNUS   AUTHOR: Ewa   E-mail:    ewa@whatewa.com    ARCHIVES: IMTP for the first two weeks, then whatewa, Ephemeral, Gossamer, MTA, and any other site that has received prior written permission. All others, please contact the author SPOILER:  AvatarRATING:  PG 17 CATEGORY: X-file VS9  KEYWORDS: MSA/R, Sk,  M POV,   SUMMARY: Scully stands accused of murder.  DISCLAIMER: Mulder & Scully as well as all other recognizable character references belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and Twentieth Century Fox Television. They are used here without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. Kenny 'The Kid' Andrews is the creation of Susan Proto and Vickie Moseley and was released to consult on this case with their permission. Other characters belong to the author.   THANKS: To Susan Proto and Vickie Moseley for Kenny. To Laurie and Vickie for their beta and for their helpful suggestions. To Tabula Raza for beta reading this concoction. With comments like '[oh my god! he almost killed Kenny! that bastard! sorry. couldn't help it. I'll thwap myself]', she made correcting this a lot more fun. Thanks also to Brandon Ray who cooperated with the continuity and the biggest bouquet to Susan who, with her 'slicin' and dicin', made this what it is. What a wonderful team you all are.  AUTHOR'S NOTES:  Parvor Nocturnus - Night terrors.This was written as one of the episodes of Virtual Season 9.     Feedback always welcome! It's the only recompense I get for the work involved producing this.  ewa@whatewa.com  02.06.01   PARVOR NOCTURNUS Prologue   The feeling of emptiness, of abandonment, was so intense it took her breath away, contracting her lungs with the pain, causing her heart to shrivel within her.    It was over now. She'd been stripped of everything, everyone she'd ever had. The pain of it all, the horror was almost too much for her to bear. The loss of something so precious. That, which had been taken away from her, could never be replaced, could never be restored. She was alone, adrift, no one left to guide her, to help her. She'd been here before, but she couldn't remember when, she couldn't remember why, only the anguish, only the agony.  She felt moisture on her face... it was tears, she felt them as they coursed down her face. Reaching out her hand in the darkness, she fumbled around, needing physical contact with something, anything. Her hand brushed against something solid-she recognized her nightstand. Her mind focused itself on finding the light switch.    By the light of the lamp she saw the blood. Blood on her hands... blood all over her, it was everywhere. So much blood. With incredulous eyes she looked down at herself and felt bile rising in her throat. There was a horrible, erratic thumping in her chest, as if a large bird was trapped inside her ribcage and was beating itself to death. Gasping, she lay in her bed, panting with terror. She was trembling all over, drenched with sweat. Long shadows, nightmare light. The sounds of screams reverberated in her ears, rebounding off her bedroom walls, finally bringing her to full consciousness.   It was her own voice she could hear, it was she who was screaming.   Then, Jeff was in the room with her, looking as shaken as she felt. He was beside her using the phone, telling her not to move, that everything would be all right.   With force of habit, Scully reached over to her nightstand, and with trembling fingers picked up her cell phone. She punched in a well memorized number. As she waited for her call to be answered, she gazed unbelievingly at the marks she'd left on the nightstand; at the red smears that were now covering the number pad on her cell phone. Trying to calm herself, she remembered the words she'd said to her partner so often. "Mulder. Mulder breathe, slowly, in... out... that's it. Take it easy now."   She heard the voice on the other end of the phone sleepily identifying himself and she began to speak. "It's Scully. You need to get down here now, there's a situation." Her voice quavered as she continued,  "S-sir? I think I'm in need of your assistance."    ACT I MULDER'S APARTMENT Saturday, very early morning   The chirping of his cell phone broke into his restless sleep, bringing Mulder relief from that nameless thing which wandered through his disturbed rest causing him to wake drenched in sweat.   "Mulder." He glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand, 6:02 a.m. He struggled to sit up and make sense of where he was. "Mulder, you'd better get over here right away. There's something damned weird going on."   Mulder was surprised. He was used to his partner calling him at this hour but his stomach cramped with anxiety as he recognized his superior's gravelly voice. A feeling of dread rolled over him.   "Weird? How do you mean, weird? What's happened? Where are you?"  "It's Scully..."   Mulder was speechless for a second, incapable of anything apart from trying to get air back into his lungs and fighting the panic that threatened to overtake him. Taking deep breaths, he forced the question past his lips, disregarding any attempt at protocol in the heat of the moment. "Skinner, is...is she all right? He couldn't trust his voice further.   "She's safe Mulder, but you need to get over here at once, something strange is going on."   The reassurance Skinner gave as to Scully's safety did nothing to placate Mulder. Even as he yelled through the phone, "Where are you?", he was pulling on his pants and pushing his sockless feet into his shoes. Shit! Wrong one!  "Just get over to Scully's apartment, ASAP."   Mulder grabbed his badge and gun off the nightstand and headed for the door, tee shirt and jacket in hand.   "Dammit! Car keys!"   Snatching them off the table, he ran out of the apartment and down the stairs two at a time, to where his car was parked; dressing as he went, the early morning chill and his mounting apprehension causing a shiver to run down his spine.     SCULLY'S BUILDING  6:37 a.m.    The roads were all but empty of traffic as he sped to Scully's apartment with little regard to speed limits or traffic cops. He couldn't help wondering why she hadn't phoned him. There must be a reason and that's what scared him.   Why hadn't he insisted on staying over last night? That was their usual arrangement for the weekends of late.     Mulder picked his way through the crowd of onlookers, D.C. police and paramedics who were milling about the hallway outside Scully's apartment despite the early hour.     "What the hell...!"     As Mulder approached the door, one of a pair of officers standing outside the open door of Scully's home, stepped forward.     "Sir? Sir, I'm sorry but you can't go in there."     Mulder flashed his badge at him and addressed the other.     "I'm looking for Assistant Director Walter Skinner?"     "And you are?"     "Special agent Fox Mulder, FBI."     "So, what's the FBI's interest in this?" The officer addressed his colleague.     "She's one of their own."     Mulder decided that the sixty seconds standing there, waiting for some sort of an acknowledgement from the pair of officers  was about forty-five too long, Mulder threw them an irritated glance before he took charge of the conversation. "Exactly what's happened here?"     "When we've figured it out sir; don't worry, you'll be among the first to know."     Mulder swept past them, too apprehensive to take note of the officer's sarcasm.     He felt the waves of dizziness and nausea sweep over him as he caught sight of his partner. White as milk, she sat on her once pristine sofa.     He felt a hand kindly but firmly push him down onto a chair and heard Skinner's reassuring voice over the humming and buzzing in his ears.    "She's okay, Mulder, she's not hurt. It's not her   blood, she's *all right*."  Mulder took a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to chase the threatening blackness away.     "I'm okay now, just need a minute." Mulder told his superior breathlessly. His continued heavy breathing must have convinced Skinner that he was hyperventilating.     "Relax." He felt Skinner's hand firmly on the back of his neck. "Relax, Mulder." His breathing started to calm. "Easy now, that's it," his boss's concerned voice both soothed and bothered him. This was all too surreal, Mulder couldn't help thinking.       As the dizziness receded, Mulder looked up at Skinner. The AD was as impassive as ever, but there was a look of strain and exhaustion about his eyes. He was a big, powerful man, but right now, his broad shoulders were slumped. Skinner sank down slowly into the chair next to him, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.     "She doesn't know what happened, she woke up in this state," The AD's voice was tight. "And, uh.... It was her neighbor Jeff Jackson who called this in. He was rather shaken by it all. The local boys are still questioning him," he paused, looking uncomfortable, his eyes settling on Scully for a moment before meeting Mulder's eyes again. Mulder read the uncertainty in the AD's eyes.     Mulder's eyes locked on to Scully's white, blood spattered face. He saw her bewilderment and the lack of comprehension in her eyes. Her gray flannel pajamas were covered in blood, it looked like there was gallons of it.     He dropped to his knees by the sofa and went to take her hand in his. He couldn't bear to see her like this.     "Stop, Mulder, don't touch her!" Skinner's warning stopped him dead. Mulder's eyes widened. For a moment he stared at his superior uncomprehendingly. What was going on here?      "This is all evidence. They're saying this is a possible homicide." Skinner's embarrassment as he tried to explain was patently obvious.     Mulder just managed to restrain himself. Not believing what he'd just heard, he turned to his superior for enlightenment.     "Who...? Who is saying?"      "The local boys."     Skinner was looking bad. "Sir, are you all right?" Mulder asked, Skinner was biting his lip as he nodded.     "What in God's name happened here?" Mulder looked at his partner, who appeared to be in some kind of trance.     "We don't know that yet, but we're working on it."     "Scully? Scully, can you hear me? Look at me. I'm here now. It's all gonna be okay now, everything's going to be fine" his soft tone of his voice belied his panic.     His arms ached to encircle his partner, to comfort her, to take that bewildered look from her face. Everything's going to be fine, everything's going to be fine. The phrase kept going through his head like a prayer, a mantra to chase his fear away.     She roused herself enough to answer her partner.     "Mulder...I'm...I'm perfectly fine." Her fragile, anxious voice contradicted the statement. Scully shivered, Mulder was back on his knees in front of her.     "Yeah, I can see that." Mulder had to ball his hands to keep from touching her.     Then she stared directly into his eyes, her gaze unbearably intense. "Mulder, I'm okay," she murmured, breaking the direct eye contact. Her voice wavered, telling of the fear she insisted on denying. Her voice quivered as she spoke again. "I don't know what happened, I woke up and I was covered in blood. I can't remember anything."  "It's gonna be okay, Scully, we're here now."  He saw her swallow hard before she nodded, then the shivering started shaking her fragile-looking body.     "Sir?" Mulder turned to his superior. "Can't we at least cover her in a blanket? She's in shock, just look at her." The look on his supervisor's face informed him that this couldn't be an option.     Mulder paused and turned to address one of the detectives on the scene. "Do you have any suspects?  Is there any sign of forced entry? There must be evidence of an intruder of some kind."  "No, we checked that one out. It appears that her door was ajar when one of her neighbors heard her screams and found her. *He* called 911. I've been in this business along time now, I know the drill. We're doing a house-to-house on the tenants at the moment," the detective huffed.     "I'm sorry detective, don't mean to step on any toes. I didn't mean to imply...."     The last thing Mulder wanted to do was to antagonize the locals, and he acknowledged he had a natural gift for doing just that. Scully was the one who normally held him in check, smoothed things over.      "Yeah, no problem, I appreciate what it's like when a colleague is involved."     Skinner moved the man to the side so Mulder and his partner could have a little privacy.     For a moment Mulder didn't know how to start, what to say, she looked so frail and lost. Her eyes had a shadowed look, they seemed haunted by the same dark fear thatwas in her voice. Just as a child might reach for its security blanket in times of stress, Scully's hand reached up to her neck.     "Scully, are you hurt?" He asked gently. Guilt washed over him. "I'm sorry Scully, I should have been here...."     "I'm all right Mulder, it-it's not your fault...."   Mulder tried again. "Talk to me, Scully. Can you do that?" She nodded her head.     Mulder took a long breath. "What happened, Scully?"     "I don't know. I've no idea, no rational explanation. I was so alone, so empty."     She'd told him about her planned date before they'd finished work yesterday. He tried that avenue first. "Did you go to your friend's bachelorette party? What happened to you?"     "Mulder, I don't know, I can't remember."     She paused for a moment to take a deep breath trying to control the trembling. "I keep thinking in a minute I'm gonna wake up and this all will have been a dream, a terrible dream. I'm gonna wake up and phone you and have you talk to me and tell me everything's fine. Tell me Mulder, tell me I'm just having a nightmare.... Tell me I'm asleep and this is just a bad dream. I've had dreams before. Mulder, tell me you'll be right over and everything will be fine."     The pleading in her voice was almost too much for him. Mulder felt as if he'd betrayed her when he couldn't offer her the words of comfort she so desperately needed.   This *wasn't* a dream. There was nothing he could say or do that would change that. He needed so much to hold her, to reassure himself as much as her. It *was* his fault. He should have insisted on being here for her when she got home last night.     "I'm here now Scully, I'm not going to leave you. We'll sort this out together, I promise you. Just hang in there. M-maybe you drank too much last night, maybe it's someone's idea of a sick joke."     A female officer interrupted them. "We're going to need your pajamas, Ms. Scully."      "Of course...yes."     Scully was beginning to look vague again.     "Ms. Scully, just change, no shower or bathing."     "Scully?" She didn't appear to hear him. Moving like a sleepwalker, she went with the officer.     Later, Scully came out of her bedroom, her ashen complexion more made prominent by the white police issue overalls she dressed in. The smudges of blood still on her face stood out in sharp contrast. Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder could see Skinner talking into a phone in low angry tones that carried despite the man's best efforts.     "This is absolutely inconceivable...Don't you think you're jumping to conclusions, here....I don't care...yes, of course I realize the implications...due process.... Fine. Do whatever you feel you have to do."     He glanced away from his partner, to where their superior had just slammed down the phone, a look of controlled fury on his face. Their eyes met and Skinner came over to the agents, looking very agitated, a gray tinge to his face.     "I'm sorry. Things have just gotten a damn sight worse. A homicide's just been called in. The body of a male has turned up downtown. Seems he was bludgeoned to death as he slept...they think... someone's trying to score brownie points." Mulder was surprised at the mask of quiet defeat Skinner was wearing.     Their superior was having great trouble coming to the point.      "They think you could be a suspect, Scully."     Mulder looked at his partner, his face mirroring the disbelief in hers.     Things happened so fast then. Before they knew what had hit them, two officers were ready to escort Scully down to the local P. D. for questioning.     As they led her out of the room she tried to turn toward him.     "Mulder!"   The note of panic in her voice nearly made him do something desperate and only Skinner's hold on his shoulder stopped him rushing after her. "I'll go with her, I'll see to it that she's okay. Mulder? Mulder! Damn it! Are you listening to me agent?" Skinner commanded.     Mulder tried to focus on his superior's voice.     "You're no good to her like this, Agent. You're too close to be objective. The scene's been secured downtown. I need you to get your butt down there and find out what the hell is going on. Do you hear me?"     "But...."     "But, that's an order Agent. I'll be in touch as soon as I know anything."     Mulder saw he was wasting his breath. There was a moment of tense silence before Skinner eased his iron grip on Mulder's shoulder and turned to follow Scully and the officers out.     Mulder stood in the center of the room that had become a second home to him. For a moment, he felt too shell-shocked to move. God! He'd nearly blown it then. Don't panic, he thought to himself. Don't panic, Skinner's right, if you want to help Scully, you'll have to keep your cool.     LOCATION OF THE CRIME SCENE  Downtown Washington, D.C.  Saturday, 10:20 a.m.     Yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the breeze, cordoning off the site. Clumps of shocked neighbors and curious passers-by distracted from Saturday morning shopping stood around outside the building as he parked the car and made his way to the entrance. The building itself, although not run down, had a slightly shabby look about it which was shared by so many others in this neighborhood.     One of the officers stepped forward as Mulder approached the house. The expression on his weary, Hispanic face told Mulder that it had been a very long shift.     "Sorry, sir..." the cop began, but stopped when Mulder produced his badge and identified himself. The officer lifted the tape and Mulder ducked under. Mulder went to introduce himself to the detective in charge, knowing that he had to make nice with the locals.     "So, what have you got?" Mulder asked.     "Not a whole hell of a lot."     "Any sign of a break-in?"     "The door was wide open when we got here, his bedroom...well, look for yourself!"     In the spartan living room Mulder paused, looking around, trying to gauge what sort of a man the victim had been. He absorbed every detail of his surroundings; the layout of the room, the ambiance or in this case, the lack of it. There were half-empty cartons from Chinese take out on the coffee table, a couple of empty beer cans overturned on the floor under the couch.     Mulder stepped through into Marcus Lowry's bedroom. The victim lay where he'd been fatally assaulted. Mulder took in the exact placement of the body, the carnage all around it. A few clothes and shoes were scattered on the floor, just where they'd been dropped.     Mulder listened to the detective's speculation. "Looks like he was asleep when he was attacked. The guy never stood a chance."    A police photographer moved in front of them, busily clicking away. The continued flashing of his camera reminded Mulder that he had the beginnings of a headache.      The blood-soaked body lay on the bed. Dressed in     t-shirt and boxers, the victim lay face down on the bed, at least Mulder assumed that was the position; there wasn't a great deal left of the face or head to be positive. The attack had been ferocious, the blood spattering the wall behind the headboard. "Any witnesses, suspects?"     "We're talking to the neighbors now. So far there's not a great deal to go on. No one saw anything, heard anything. Oh, apart from one party animal. The guy from down the hall was trying to make his way up the stairs in the early hours and he swears something brushed past him, it was too dark to see clearly in the moonlight, but he got the impression it was a woman. Seemed very confused when we tried to draw him on that. Some witness huh? He was still so 'out of it' when we spoke to him, I doubt if he would have recognized his own mother. Anyway there's a security camera down in the foyer, we'll be checking that to see if we can pick something up. As to suspects, I hear they're holding a woman in Georgetown. Lucky break or what? It was probably a lover's tiff or some such."      Mulder felt nauseous. This was not the first time he'd seen so much blood, or such horrendous injuries, it was the fact that the police here seemed to feel that the case was all done and dusted, and the perp already in detention. He was glad he hadn't let these schmucks know his connection to Scully.     He went across to speak with the coroner. Forensics was still working on cross-matching the blood stains; the prints were being processed.     "This is all provisional of course. The initial exam shows this was typical of a blunt force trauma attack. There appears to have been eight or nine blows to the head; cerebral contusions with bruising to the brain, multiple skull fractures....The body had not yet attained rigor mortis when we arrived at the scene. I'd put the time of death between three and four this morning," the coroner told Mulder.     "When will you know for sure?"    "Probably later in the day, depending on how fast I can get the autopsy done and the blood and other samples processed.  This being Saturday, things tend to wind down a little. I'm running a toxicology screen as well. He may well have been doped before he was attacked."     Mulder handed the coroner his card.     "Look, I'd appreciate if you could let me know..."     "Sure, no problem, I'll call you as soon as I've got anything, Agent Mulder."     The detective in charge took over. Mulder recognized several plainclothes officers from Homicide. "This is how we'll divide it. I want all phone messages checked, his cell phone, the email anything that might be of use. Interview any family, friends, work, previous sexual partners. Watkins, you've started on the neighbors?"   "Yes, sir, not much so far, other then the party-goer who was a bit worse for drink and whatever. We've got his statement already, such as it is. One of the neighbors mentioned a club the victim hung out at....'The Tiempo'."     "Griffiths, you and Pariet start checking on his social activities; get down to that club and check it out. Right, guys, let's get this show on the road."     Everywhere Mulder went he found detectives, cameras, a rush of uniformed men, and the incessant cackle of radios. He needed to be still. Mulder cleared his throat. "Mind if I take a look around?" He asked the officer in charge.     "Nope, help yourself."     He started to explore the rest of the house. There wasn't much to see. The victim was obviously a bachelor, living on his own. The state of the kitchen and fridge was only marginally better than Mulder's own. A half-empty box of stale looking cereal in one cabinet, the remains of a six pack of imported beer and some moldy cheese in the fridge.      He moved into the small unremarkable bathroom, containing only a small selection of masculine toiletries, a razor left in the sink, a toothbrush and a tube of paste which had been squeezed in the middle and lay minus its  cap on the edge of the tub. A wet towel was thrown in a heap on the floor together with dirty socks and a pair of boxers. The guy certainly wasn't very house proud.     Mulder walked back into the bedroom, his footsteps loud and echoing on the wooden floor. He stood, almost mesmerized, gazing at the bloody spot where the victim had lain. Just then, one of the men examining the now empty bed called out.   "Hey sir! look at this." Using a pencil the cop carefully lifted something off the sheet, something covered in blood, something that glinted in the light as it swung to and fro from the pencil.    Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder saw a small black shape scoot into the corner behind the closet.   The sound of his cell phone distracted him.      FIRST DISTRICT POLICE PRECINCT Saturday, 2:10 p.m.Scully wanted Mulder present during her questioning, Skinner's call informed him. Mulder wasted no time getting down there.   Her relief was evident as she glanced up at him when he walked into the interview room. In those few seconds of eye contact they managed to communicate their feelings. Catching his eye Scully had questioned him with the raise of her eyebrow. A barely perceptible shake of his head confirmed that he was none the wiser now. With a crease of her brows, she asked if he was okay. Even now, when she was in such a position, the woman was worrying about him. The smile in his eyes told her that he was okay.    Scully leaned back in her seat and let out a breath slowly. Mulder could see she was mentally preparing herself for the coming ordeal. Awkwardly, he went to stand by the wall next to where Skinner sat.  The detective in charge dictated into the recorder.   "Special Agent Fox Mulder has entered the interview room, time...2:12 p.m."   Seeing Scully dressed in prison orange overalls shook Mulder, but at least she'd had a chance to shower.   "You up to this?" Skinner asked her.   Scully nodded. Looking at her haggard face, Mulder felt concerned and duly so.   Detective Foster took over.   "Right. So, Ms. Scully, let's go back to yesterday evening."Mulder was annoyed at how quickly they'd stripped her of her title, no 'Agent Scully' or 'Dr. Scully', just plain Ms.  "I was invited to go to Jodie's bachelorette party last night." His partner started to explain.   "Who's Jodie?" she was interrupted.   "She's my friend from med school. We've kept in touch over the years. I-I went, but I decided to leave early, I had work to do. "And what time would that have been?"   "About eleven, I had a report to finish. I needed to check it over. I wanted to get it out of the way. I was finally done about one thirty. I was going to call my partner to tell him I'd..." "Isn't that a bit unusual?" "How so?" Mulder could hear the tension in her voice. She wouldn't want to make their relationship public.   "Wasn't it a little late?"   "No, Mulder is still up at that time."   "And *did* you call him?"   "No. I decided it could wait. I felt too tired. I made myself a mug of hot chocolate and went to bed."   "And this morning when you awoke?" The second officer demanded. She didn't appear to have heard him.   "I had this dream... and then I woke up. You know how sometimes you're not quite sure if you're awake or asleep....I had this awful feeling of emptiness, of loss. As if something very precious had been taken away from me.... I felt moisture on my face... tears. I reached out my hand to put the light on and there was blood on my hands...blood all over me, everywhere.... I must have screamed.... Next thing, Jeff Jackson was in the room with me." She paused to take a shuddering breath."Who is Jeff Jackson?""He and his wife live across the hall. He's a shift worker. He must have called 911....I don't understand. I was asleep, I was asleep the whole night. I was sound asleep...."   "Why did you call AD Skinner and not your partner?" Mulder felt himself especially attentive at hearing that question; he wondered about that as well.   Scully, however, seemed surprised at the question.  "I don't know, he's my superior... I don't know."   One of the officers thrust a photograph at Scully. Mulder had a quick look at the image of a man, but he didn't recognize him.   "Do you know this man, Ms. Scully?"   Scully frowned as she studied the photo. "Umm, no, I don't know him, but I have seen him... yesterday. I saw him last night at the club where the party was held. We spoke briefly as I waited for the waitress to get the drink order. I didn't get his name. Why?"   "What did you talk about?"   "It was just small talk, I was waiting for the drinks and he was waiting for his girlfriend, Annelise, to finish her shift. She was one of the waitresses."   "So you talked long enough to find *that* out. What was the name of the club?" "The Tiempo."   The detective's tone of voice hardened. "This was Marcus Lowry, The man whose blood you were covered in. The preliminary tests have matched the blood found at both scenes," he informed her. The SOB wasn't going to spare his partner anything, Mulder thought as he looked into her shocked face.   "Is this your cross and chain?" "I-I don't...." Scully's fingers instinctively sought the cross she'd always wore. Her fingers blundered around her collarbones, seeking solace. Mulder saw her fighting the emotions as it dawned on her that she no longer wore the tiny cross and chain that had been such an integral part of her life for so long. "Can you explain how it came to be found at the scene?   Mulder saw her lip tremble, saw her bite it, and a tiny bead of scarlet appeared.   Her eyes sought him out. "Oh, God, no...." How strange it was that both he and Scully had spoken in unison, Mulder thought later. "Mulder, I swear...." The look of anguish in her eyes almost finished him. He turned away, walking toward the wall. He felt the pain across his knuckles and realized he had punched the wall.  He swallowed hard. God help him, he wasn't helping Scully behaving like this. He thrust his hands deep into his pants pockets, breathing deeply, knowing he had to calm down if he was to be of any use to her. 'I want to believe' stated the poster in their office. Yet he knew her well enough, trusted her enough to believe in her innocence despite the mounting evidence to the contrary. His vision swam. He closed his eyes. FBI BUILDING AD SKINNER'S OFFICE Saturday, 6:04 p.m.   At the muffled "Come in." Mulder turned the knob and reluctantly pushed open the door.   "You requested to see me, Sir?"   "Yes, Mulder, I did," he responded not unkindly. "Thank you for coming so promptly. Please, take a seat." The AD turned from where he'd been standing by the window, looking out through the white slatted blinds at the Old Post Office Pavilion below. He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk.   The AD looked ill at ease. Skinner took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Mulder got the impression that what ever was coming was going to be equally difficult for both of them.  "Listen Mulder and listen good, we're talking about a federal agent who has been accused of murder.  This isn't just going to peter out. This isn't a case for your crop circle or spoon-bending philosophies."  At any other time, Mulder would have probably taken issue with the AD over these remarks, but he realized they were not said to censure him. Mulder could almost taste the man's frustration. "I need empirical proof, scientific facts. The blood on Scully's pajamas didn't appear there by translocation. And then there's the matter of what appears to be her cross and chain."   "What are you implying, Sir?" Skinner walked around his desk to sit in his chair. He looked at Mulder rather narrowly before taking a sip of his coffee. "I'm not implying anything, Mulder. Under normal circumstances, Agent Scully is the strongest person I know.  But the fact is, given Scully's highly distressed state at present, if clumsy or inappropriate psychological pressure is applied, it could lead to a confession and she could admit to anything."   Mulder tried to ignore the small, hard kernel of dread that was forming in his gut. That's what he was afraid of too.  He was surprised by the look of compassion on his supervisor's face. He'd seen the AD angry, sad, scared, hurt, he'd seen him starved of companionship, but never this, never as if he were physically hurting for his agents.And then it was gone and Skinner continued. "Mulder, she's vulnerable. We both know that Scully is wholly incapable of this. But I've been down that road, I remember what it's like. I was lucky in that I had two good agents on my side, who believed in my innocence and were prepared to fight to prove it. Let's see if we can do the same for Agent Scully. All our energy must be put into proving this to others. We need proof -- cold, clinical, irrefutable proof. We've got to find out what happened. This theory of amnesia, do you believe it?" "What's not to believe?"   "It all seems fantastic, and yet....  Do you have any theories, Agent?"   Mulder let out a cracked laugh as the full implication of the situation hit him.  "What? You mean an X-File explanation? For once in my life I've got no theories to offer, no unsubstantiated leaps of logic. Nothing, other than a gut feeling that she's being set up, that we're being set up. All I can consider at the moment is the fantastic."   "Could this have been done while she was under the influence of anything? She said she'd had a mug of hot chocolate before going to bed, could that have been doctored?" Skinner pondered.   "Let's hope that just this one time she wasn't fastidiously tidy."   "I'll get someone over there immediately. No, not you, Mulder. As far as this case is concerned we must be like Caesar's wife, seen to be squeaky clean. Before you say anything Mulder, I *know*. Your paranoia must be catching, but at this moment in time, I'm not sure what we're up against either."   Skinner was on his agents' side, Mulder reminded himself. He decided not to belabor the point, but it didn't make the situation any easier to bear.  "Forensics has confirmed that the blood on her pajamas matches that of the victim, the splatter pattern is consistent with the ferocity of the attack. And they recovered a baseball bat that just outside the building which could well be the murder implement. They're using the FBI's FINDER  to check out the prints. "Her necklace was found at the scene. The only inconsistency, the only thing in her favor so far, is Scully's size. It would be extremely difficult for someone of her stature to have the strength to inflict so much damage. The angle is all wrong, too. I can't understand it...  On the face of it, it's an open and shut case...."  "Sir!"   "Mulder, go get some rest. It's been a long, traumatic day for us all. We need clear heads if we're going to help her."   "I can't see myself getting much rest while Scully's stuck in some jail cell."   "Mulder, You're not listening to what I'm telling you. I'm working on that, but for tonight, things have to stay as they are. Get your ass into gear and go home, get some rest. If you can't sleep, I don't suppose anyone would be any the wiser if you discreetly looked over some of the computer files on this."    Mulder couldn't believe his ears. For a moment he wondered if he'd strayed into one of those parallel universes that Scully always reckoned he was in. Skinner suddenly looked ill at ease.  He blinked and looked away. "Goodnight, Agent." Mulder sighed. "Goodnight, Sir."   MULDER'S APARTMENT Sunday 1:18 a.m.  He'd managed to access some of the files, but there was nothing there that he didn't already know. He sighed and stretched, he felt as if he was stuck in one of those Escher etchings, the ones where everything looks normal, but when you look further, water is flowing up hill although it appears to be cascading down. "Yeah, one of those etchings just about summarizes things." Mulder let out a weary sigh.   Mulder wasn't surprised at how tired he was. He didn't need a lot of sleep as a rule, but this last week, he'd found it increasingly difficult to rest. Oh, he could fall asleep all right, it's just that he didn't want to stay asleep. Maybe it had something to do with his recent experiences, but that was still too raw for him to explore in any great depth. Maybe it was because he was missing Scully's presence in his bed during the week; undoubtedly that had a lot to do with it.  The dreams, although always very vague, had been increasingly disturbing, making him waken with all the symptoms of a full-blown panic attack. He hadn't said anything to Scully, not wanting her to make a fuss. She'd had her own problems to work through and deal with.   Tonight, he lay down on his couch by the light of his gurgling fish tank, his thoughts on his partner; how scared she would be in that cell, how alone. He wanted to hold her, comfort her, make her world right again. Not being able to talk with her, hold her, comfort her was killing him. Just leaving her there was inhuman.    Once he'd got over his initial feelings of...could it be jealousy? He'd been glad that Scully had been with it enough to have initially called their superior. She *was* in deep trouble with this and him, being first on the scene might have compromised things. Skinner was right on that score, but it didn't make things any easier to accept.    He'd come to understand something over the last months, this thing between them and Skinner... this cautious trust. It was never spoken of but nevertheless Mulder was sure it existed. Mulder wondered if they could ever be friends; they were friends, the three of them, in a strange, dysfunctional way. "Why spoil the habits of a lifetime," Mulder added under his breath.  Though it was a tentative sort of friendship, they owed Skinner their gratitude.    But now Mulder felt powerless.  He needed to prove her innocence, but for once, he didn't know how. It was as if all his investigative powers had deserted him just when he needed them most.   There was more to all this, much more. Everything dovetailed too smoothly, there was too much coincidence. If he could find that one link, he had a gut feeling that it would all lead to an explanation.   He had faith in her; he had faith in them both. The remarkable thing about faith was that it wasn't a sudden flash from the heavens or an unexpected insight. It was something that quietly sustained. "You can do your worst, but you'll never destroy her, never destroy us, ever."   The gurgling of the pump and the flickering of the muted TV gradually lulled him to sleep.   It was the scuffling shuffle that first alerted him, the whispering. There was something or someone in the room with him, he could make out a small, crouched form near the corner of the room, he saw it approaching the couch, black and threatening, growling and snarling softly. He tried to move, tried to reach for his gun, his heart slamming against his rib cage. He was paralyzed. It was as though he was being held down.   His heartbeat threatened to choke him. His fear was such...he fought to move, to make a sound.... He heard the screams reverberating in his ears, and realized they were his. And then, he was free. He froze, flattened against damp fabric, sweat beading on his skin, face down, afraid to move. Afraid to even breath, although his lungs were clamoring for oxygen. What? Where? He rolled over and looked around in panic. The big room with the muted TV and illuminated fish tank was quiet, save for the gentle gurgling of the pump.   He was on the couch and his living room was exactly as it had been. There was nothing. No one but him in the room.  His attempt to sit up made the room shimmer and shake around him, he sank back down sweat pouring from him. Nauseous with the panic, he tried to catch his breath and still his pounding heart.   He raked a hand through his hair, trying to gain control. The dream again, over the last few nights it had changed, mutated. It had become more explicit, more terrifying. It was no good, he wouldn't sleep, didn't want to sleep again. He was an expert when it came to nightmares.  Hadn't he had more than his fair share of them over the years? The incidents with Modell, Pfaster, Schauz had all caused him to wake up bathed in sweat. But this one, this was turning out to be the granddaddy of them all.   It had just turned four in the morning and though still trembling, he got up to shower and dress.   HOOVER BUILDING Basement Office Sunday, 7:34 a.m.   Mulder had been seated in front of the computer screen for several hours now and his spine was beginning to protest. He'd read up on the case of a Toronto man who had killed his mother-in-law while he was allegedly asleep. He had pulled this, and many similar cases, off the net. This sort of phenomenon seemed to be universal; there were reported cases in the UK and in Australia.   Mulder swung idly on the back legs of his chair. It was a habit that drove Scully to distraction. He felt a smile pull across his face as momentarily he visualized Scully's face whenever he did this. He was trying to rationalize the facts. In most of the cases, the victim was in close proximity to the perpetrator, room next door, down the hall. In one case the victim lived in the adjoining house, but had left a window open. In all the cases the victim had been well known to the perp, as had been the location. There was one a lot closer to home. Hadn't Skinner been accused of strangling Carina Sayles in similar circumstances a few years back? He swung back further, holding on to the desk with one hand, he aimed and threw another sharpened, yellow government issue pencil up at the acoustic tile ceiling overhead. It neatly joined the other dozen or so already up there. Strange how doing this helped him focus.  In Scully's case there were plenty of dissimilarities. Scully had only met the victim for a very short time and she'd met him at the club, not where he'd met his end. How was she supposed to know where he lived? She couldn't even have easily looked the address up unless she'd asked someone else his name. The most important factor was that the distance between the apartments involved a twenty-minute drive each way...over an unfamiliar route. Interesting, but how to prove it? The other factor that had him scared shitless was the cross. Was it Scully's? How did it get there?   He was going to have to see things from the point of view of someone trying to prove her guilt; that was the way to prove her innocence.   "How are you doing, Agent? I thought I'd find you down here, even on a Sunday. Haven't you got a home to go to, Mulder?"    Skinner's voice startled him. Mulder jumped, the chair wobbled backwards alarmingly, before crashing forwards onto all its four legs, almost depositing Mulder in a heap on the floor in the process. He'd been too engrossed in his thoughts to hear the hum of the elevator or the AD's footsteps as he approached the basement office of the X-Files division.   "H-how can I help you, Sir?"   Skinner had a smile on his face. "I thought I'd come down to tell you the news, personally. I've managed to persuade them to set bail for Scully."   Mulder was out of his seat. His eyes widened. "When?" "Now, the authorities recognize the evidence is still circumstantial this point, so that's why they're allowing Scully out on bail."  "Sir, this great news, but...she's in no state to be left on her own," Mulder hesitated.   "I agree with that assessment, Agent. That's the reason..."   "The reason, Sir?"    "That's the reason I offered her residence in my guest room until this mess is sorted."  Mulder's face registered the surprise that Skinner expected.  "Mulder, I need you to investigate this case.  If she stayed with you, she'd be left alone most of the time while you were off chasing any number of possible leads, now wouldn't she?"Skinner paused for a moment to allow his reasoning to sink in.  Then, softly and with understanding, the AD added, "I'll keep her safe for you.  I promise."  Neither of them said anything for a moment. Mulder glanced up, he didn't know what to say. He trusted Skinner to keep his word, to do his best...but it rankled nevertheless. This should be his job, to take care of his partner, but he also saw the truth in the A.D.'sreasoning.  Scully needed someone to find the truth and he was heir best bet at that point.  Skinner would have to be the one to stand guard, while he sought out the real killer.  The fact that Skinner recognized that before he did was mildly surprising.  "Thank you, Sir," he said after a moment. "I want you to know I appreciate it."  Skinner appeared to understand Mulder's reticence in agreeing to these arrangements without belaboring the reasons.   "It's no trouble. I'm glad I could help out. I'll see what I can arrange Mulder, I understand that you feel you're in an untenable position. Our biggest problem is going to get Scully to go along with this." Skinner paused for a moment, "Oh, umm, one other thing Agent, go easy on the pencils, eh."  FIRST DISTRICT POLICE STATION Sunday, 3:12 p.m.   Both men went to 'spring' Scully later that day. Mulder had persuaded Skinner to go to Scully's apartment with him, so that he could pack a bag for her. He was worried about the effect coming back to her home in the state it was still in, might have on his partner.   Skinner was right in his prediction that Scully would be furious over the arrangements, but the two men were finally able to persuade her, albeit over many protests, it was for the best.   It had taken an inordinate length of time to get through the paperwork to release Scully. To Mulder, it felt as though Skinner had to sign every damned form in the place in triplicate. This was bureaucracy at its best. He took this opportunity to lay all the facts on the line for his partner.   "You all done being mad, Scully?"  Mulder asked her quietly, as they waited in a deserted corner for Skinner to fetch them.   Smiling gratefully, if a little embarrassed, Scully nodded "Yes." The frown evaporated from Scully's face like mist before the sun. "I'm all done."   Mulder breathed out a sigh of relief. "If you behave, I'll bring some bagel's from Katz's over tomorrow." She smiled at that. He knew in her opinion, the best bagels on the planet came from the little hole in the wall shop down the street from his apartment.   "Yeah, you're on, Mulder."   He massaged the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He was wiped out. The strain and lack of sleep were beginning to get to him. He was grateful that his partner could never stay mad at him for long.   Finally Skinner reappeared. "We're finished here, so we can leave now," Skinner said.  "I think it's probably best if I help Scully get settled in her temporary quarters while you get back to work, Agent."Giving Mulder a look of encouragement, Scully squeezed his hand. "Just so you know..." she said just loud enough for him to hear. After a few seconds staring at her, he swallowed and nodded. Their hands trailed apart as he left her side to get back to work.  It was time for some ferreting around at that club Scully had been to.   THE TIEMPO CLUB Sunday, 7:29 p.m.   It was still very early, relatively speaking, when he got to the club. He ordered a drink and struck up a conversation with one of the waitresses. News of Marcus Lowry's death had reached here, and Fleur, the waitress who served him, although distressed, had quite a lot to say on the matter.    Marcus was a popular regular there. Recently he'd been seeing Annelise, one of the other girls who worked here. In the course of the conversation, Fleur confirmed that Annelise had been on the early shift last Friday but that she wouldn't be on duty until later on tonight.   Since the club was almost empty, he offered to buy Fleur a drink. He didn't have to ask any questions, she was very forthcoming. Mulder let her ramble on.  He learned a lot, but nothing that bore any obvious connection to this whole mess.   A greater problem faced Mulder on his returned back to the basement office the following day.   HOOVER BUILDING Basement Office Monday, 7:40 a.m.   In the early morning mist the J. Edgar Hoover Building looked like a great concrete cage as he drove in. The area may well be the hub of tourist attractions, but at this hour of the day it was still quiet. Making his way down in the elevator to their basement office, Mulder's mind was going over yesterday's events, and trying to sort out how best he could serve Scully's cause. He'd left the promised bagels in the car, planning only to check on his emails before going over to Skinner's apartment.   He was surprised to see the door unlocked and ajar so early in the morning. It couldn't be Scully.  Skinner? No, he wouldn't have let himself in like that. Mulder was even more astounded to see a short, balding man sitting at his desk rummaging through the papers and files, which have been left on the desk in their usual haphazard state.   "What's going on here?"   "Agent Mulder?"   "Yes, and you are?"   "Special Agent Davis. I've been called up to coordinate this inquiry."   "What inquiry is that? I don't know what it's like where you're from, but last time I checked, breaking into someone's office was deemed to be invasion of privacy."  "Agent Mulder, we're operating under guidelines laid down by the Office of Professional Conduct."   "And what has that to do with me?"   "I want you to make yourself available this afternoon."   "Available for what?"   "A formal hearing regarding Agent Scully's case to assess and determine Agent Scully's ability to continue as a Special Agent in the FBI. We will be appointing our own team of investigators to pursue any criminal case, so there will be no further need for you to investigate this case."   "Why? In case I can prove her innocence?"   "We expect to see you at the hearing at five p.m. sharp, Agent Mulder." Mulder was seething, he still could not believe what he'd just heard. He stared at Davis's back as he left the office. The morning light was sober and pale as it filtered through the tiny window close to he ceiling. It made the room seem horribly quiet. He heard the agent's footsteps dying in the hallway.   For a moment everything felt faded, silent, and dangerously calm. Mulder turned back to see what Agent Davis had been examining on his desk. The sight that met his eyes made him shake uncontrollably. There was a black figure crouched in the corner of the room.   He shivered as he recognized the feeling of pure evil, the thing from his dreams. He blinked, and all there was on the chair was his black trench coat, just where he'd carelessly thrown it yesterday, forgetting to take it with him when he went home. Was he losing it? He felt sure whatever 'it' was *had* been there. He still felt the waves of evil. Their malevolence gradually receded, but the stench of it left him nauseous and trembling and feeling suddenly very cold. And yet... how could that be? That was it! With one weird thing after another, his nerves were shot to pieces. He'd started imagining things. Impossible things.   With trembling hands he reached for the back of his chair. He sank down onto its comfort, his head on his icy hands, his irregular breathing rasped loud in the stillness. He though of the dreams, his dreams...all those layers of silence on silence. In his nightmares he saw a presence. Were all the broken nights and the strain of all this getting to him?   Shit! He needed help with this, someone to bounce ideas off, someone with objectivity, someone with an open mind, who thought like him, but his partner was in no position to help, and Skinner.... Well even with the best of intent, Skinner wasn't a lateral thinker.   Then he remembered 'the Kid'. He'd worked with Kenny Andrews last fall on a case involving the systematic murder of members of the clergy. Mulder had met up with Kenny in Biloxi Mississippi, when he'd been seconded to VCS to help the young profiler. The kid had his intuitiveness, could see and feel things where other's couldn't.   Kenny was an up and coming profiler extraordinaire. Mulder's position in that case had been mainly to stop Kenny from going in too deeply, and to show him the way out once he'd crossed that line. 'To be spooky, but not lose his marbles'. It was a pity that in the course of that case Mulder was the one who 'lost it' and had shot the younger man at La Guardia airport.  Knowing the circumstances, Kenny had easily forgiven him, but would he be willing to work with Mulder again?   Mulder considered various methods as to how to present the issues to Agent Kenneth Andrews, and in the end he decided that the straightforward approach was probably the best. As he searched through to find Andrews' number, he speculated that it wasn't really surprising that Kenny was so intuitive, so in tune with things. The boy had inherited his spirituality both from his Native American mother and his Irish father, and with a combination like that....   When he put the call through asking if Andrews would consider consulting on the case, he expected to have to eat a lot of crow. He was amazed when Kenny, having heard the problem, had simply said, yes. His only proviso was that Mulder lay in a large supply of Coke, but that had been a given anyway.   OFFICE OF PROFESSIONAL CONDUCT Monday, 5 p.m.   The hearing was every bit of the complete farce that Mulder had expected it to be. They were ushered in through a set of large double doors, where they found an oval table around which several high-ranking members of the FBI sat.   The men at the table leafed through thick folders. God alone knew what they had in front of them. To Mulder it seemed they had both of their histories dating back to their very first day with the FBI. For long moments, the only sound was rustling paper. It was unnerving in the extreme.   Finally, one of the men spoke. "You are familiar with the reason that this inquiry was called?"  From that point on, Scully hadn't stood a snowball's chance in hell. She stood before three other agents apart from Davis. The whole process lasted ten minutes from start to finish. The final report had been written long before any of them had stepped into the room. Do the math, Mulder. Did you seriously expect anything else, he silently chided himself.   They suspended her without pay pending investigation. He felt for her as she handed over her badge and her gun. Skinner tried to protect her as best he could. He was all business, the efficient AD in charge. But in this case his stance had gotten him nowhere, the whole thing had been a forgone conclusion. As for himself, Mulder hadn't been allowed to get a word in edgewise.  He saw the gratitude in Scully's eyes that they had been there for her, and he felt her embarrassment at them witnessing her humiliation at being censured in this way.   Looking at Skinner, Mulder saw that the man felt for her pain as much as he did.   Outside he wanted to either put his arms around her or hit someone. In the end he did neither. Skinner pinned him with his gaze, a silent warning not to compromise his partner any further. It was like having a bucket of iced water thrown over him. He had to learn to be patient, to bide his time.   He shared with Skinner the news that Kenny Andrews had agreed to help clear Scully. The A.D. appeared pleased with this bit of news. He remembered the last time those two had worked together.   "So, he's back to active duty then. He must be either very trusting or very foolish," Skinner said with a dry laugh, shaking his head.   "Neither -- for a greenhorn he's good. More than that, he's extraordinary. I explained the situation and he found it very intriguing. Apart from that, he said he owes me a consult. Though why he thinks *he* owes *me* is hard to understand."ACT II   MULDER'S APARTMENT Monday, 11:29 p.m.   It wasn't strictly ethical, but hell, they'd only suggested that it wasn't necessary for him to investigate the case. No one ordered him to stop the investigation and certainly no one ordered him to have no contact with his partner.  There certainly wasn't anything wrong with him calling her. Mulder needed to hear her voice.    She picked her cell phone up on the fourth ring.   "Yes, Scully," she panted, her voice cracking.   "You're slipping, Scully....Scully? You okay?"   There was a brief silence and then a unsettled sigh. "Scully, are you still there?"   "Mulder.... I needed to hear you. I miss you."  He could hear her labored breathing.   "What's wrong? Scully? Have you been crying?" He could still hear the hitch in her breathing. Wrong question, she'd never admit to that. "For God's sake, Scully, talk to me. Are you all right?"    "I'm fine, Mulder. I was asleep, I was dreaming..."   "Asleep?  It's just barely eleven. Since when have you gone to bed before the late news is off?" he asked, trying to make a joke of it, but failing to hide his concern. "You sure you're okay?" He didn't want to ask about her dream, but it was obviously not a happy one. With all she'd been through these last few days, it was hardly surprising.   "It's been a long day, Mulder. One I don't really care to remember." She trailed off.   As if that was an explanation, Mulder thought. He tried to change the subject, lighten the atmosphere.   "How's Skinner treating you?"   "It was good of him to offer, he's laying a lot on the line here, and I appreciate it.... It's so good just to hear your voice." She paused for a moment.  "Mulder, exactly why am I here?"   "Are we talking metaphysics here, Scully?" That was always his line. It was an old answer to an old question, but he knew it never failed to make her smile, and it did this time too, he could hear it. It was the least he could do for her tonight. "Skinner thought by your staying with him, it would ease my mind so I could put all of my energy into investigating this case. And I am, Scully.  I'm going to find the killer, I promise." He could hear her relaxing as he talked to her.   "Hey Scully, you remember Kenny Andrews? I asked him to come over so I could bounce ideas off him."   "Who?  Oh, you mean 'the Kid'?" she responded with a smile in her voice.  "Yeah, him, we've done a deal. He should be arriving some time tomorrow. It's not a bad deal, a few six-packs of Coke in exchange for support. Say, Scully, could this go down as bribery and corruption?" He could really hear the smile in her voice now.   "You mean he's forgiven you for taking pot shots at him?" There was soft laugh.   "What's to forgive? He, better than most, understood what happened there. He's a good guy. He wants to help and I can't be seen to have anything to do with any of the evidence. I need him to keep an eye on things, to keep me in the loop."   "Mm-hmm" Scully sounded more relaxed now, almost drowsy.   "Hey. G-woman, go to sleep now. I'm only on the other end of the phone."   "G'night, Mulder. And thanks."   He smiled as he heard her yawn. "Catch you later."   "Yeah, later," Scully said.   Sleep was a long time coming to him that night. He never doubted for a moment that Scully had been set up, but why? And by whom? He worried about the way the evidence was pointing; he'd have to see if the security camera showed anything.He missed her. Missed just being able to talk with her. Missed her questioning him, "Do you have a theory?" Missed being able to answer her with, "Me? I have plenty of theories."  He missed having her refute them in the dance that was solely their own.  More than anything, he missed the luxury of having her sleep in his arms.     He wasn't conscious of having fallen asleep. All he knew was that he was completely paralyzed. No, not entirely, since he could breathe, he could see. He felt the vibrations through his body, the pain in his spine. He could hear the scrabbling getting louder, coming nearer, neared to the bed. It was pulling on the bedclothes, crawling up the bed. The sound was getting louder, more terrifying.   He could make out the black shape in the moonlight that broke through the gap in the blinds. It moved stealthily towards him,panting. His heart pounded in his chest, threatening to suffocate him. He couldn't move, he couldn't throw the weight off his chest. He looked up and saw the creature looming over him. As darkness overpowered him, he screamed and screamed and screamed. And suddenly he was free.   Gradually the ringing in his ears stopped and the vibrating pain eased. He tried to sit up, heart pounding, slapping a blank wall for the light switch as he shook from the horror. Strange shapes, unfamiliar shadows, crowded horribly around him; nothing offered any clue to his whereabouts, and for a few delirious moments he wondered if he was dead. Then he saw the flashing, demonic red of a digital clock face. Absolute panic subsided as he saw the time, two-thirty. In the streetlight that filtered through the blind, he looked around the room, his room. The bedroom was the same as ever, nothing out of place. Yet he could still smell the rank scent of it. This was more than a dream. The knowledge scared the shit out of him. This wasn't to do with the case.    These occurrences had started before....  Skinner! Skinner had dreamt things once, and look where that had ended. What was it he'd said? "There was a presence, something or someone was in the room with me...." Skinner had dreamt of an old crone, had thought he'd seen her during the day.   Mulder shook his head, rejecting his own rationale. Imagination was a creative tool. He employed it to enhance his work, but never for total fabrication. "At least not before now," he muttered to himself. Was this all more the effects of stress and sleeplessness than he knew? Were his mind and perception so steeped in the conspiracies and lies, that he could no longer distinguish reality?   Did he want to consider the fantastic? He had once told Scully to consider the fantastic when science failed; but had he considered science at all? It worried him that he turned to this so readily in an effort to make sense of what was senseless. He got up and found his clothes.  He dressed as best he could while his hands still shook then went out into the kitchen to get himself some coffee.  Another night's sleep curtailed.   MULDER'S OFFICE Tuesday, 6:45 a.m.   He was going through his old notes and files, pulling up all he could on that incident five years ago, when Skinner was going through the divorce with Sharon. Then, his supervisor had been accused of murdering Carina Sayles.    He pulled up the name of the sleep clinic that had treated Skinner. In the cold light of day, it seemed very sensible to Mulder to not only check the place out, but maybe check himself in. Maybe someone there could explain his recurring dream to him, and hopefully, rid him of it. "Do the science *first* Mulder, then consider the fantastic. Scully would be proud of you."    The chirping of his cell phone interrupted his thoughts.   "Mulder." Out of sheer habit, he was expecting to hear his partner's voice. He leaned back in his chair, the bones in his back crackling.   "Hey, Mulder. Kenny Andrews, here. How you doing, Man? Did I wake you?"   "Oh, hi, Andrews.  No, I'm working."  Mulder massaged the back of his neck as he spoke to Kenny.   "You sound disappointed Mulder. Look, could you do me a favor? My flight should be into National at 2:50 this afternoon.  Can you pick me up?"   "Yeah, no problem, I'll wait for you at the gate."   "That'll be great. See you later."   "Yeah, later. Oh, and thanks, Kid."   Mulder wondered how he was going to explain all this to the young profiler, especially as he himself couldn't get a handle on it.    BETHESDA NAVAL HOSPITAL SLEEP DISORDER CLINIC Tuesday 10:30 a.m.   "Hi, Dr. Cardoso. We spoke on the phone. I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder. Thank you for making time to see me at such short notice."   "It's no problem, Mr. Mulder, this is a sort of slack time for us here.  Business doesn't pick up till late in this department," he said with a wry grin. How may I help you Mr. Mulder? What is it exactly that you're after?"   "It's just Mulder. Um, I need to find out more about sleep disorders, recurring dreams, especially nightmares, that sort of thing."   "Anything specific?"   "Well, er..."   "Tell you what Mulder, I'll give you a general rundown, and you just tell me what else you need. Feel free to ask about anything you don't understand."   She led Mulder over to a bank of monitor screens, explaining as she went. She threw out terms like 'parasomnia' and the various types of sleep, such as non-REM sleep and REM sleep.  The doctor went into detail about their differences.  Finally, Dr. Cardosa began to speak of an aspect of sleep that really caught Mulder's attention.  "There is a rare type of frightening phenomenon during sleep which is not quite like a nightmare. It's called 'night terrors' or 'parvor nocturnus'. This is a severe sleep disturbance, consisting of attacks of acute terror arising in deep sleep without lucid dreaming. It's accompanied by violent body movements, extreme agitation, gasping, moaning, screaming, sweating, confusion and in some cases, flight from the bed or the room, destructive behaviour and aggression directed towards objects or against themselves or other persons. Wounds, fractures and lesions may occur in consequence. Total or partial amnesia is symptomatic of this condition."   "Are there exceptions to this rule? Could the dreamer have total recall of such dreams? "Humm, I suppose there could be a possibility, but I've never heard of a case to be honest."   She moved over to a shelf and selected another video.   "Look, you can see with this young man. Here, the dreamer wakes up screaming and still frightened; he is covered with perspiration and is breathing rapidly. He is terrified, but has no recollection of what has just happened. Nightmares can be defined as long frightening dreams that often awake the sleeper, which tend to be more frequent during times of stress and change. In contrast, night terrors are episodes of panic that may cause the sleeper to suddenly sit up and shriek with fear. Mostly they are instigated by over-tiredness or stress."   "So I lose every which way," Mulder muttered to himself.   "Did you say something?"   "Em... sorry, no, just thinking aloud. I understand about the two different scenarios, but is it possible to experience a mixture of the two?"   "Yes there have been rare cases recorded. There have been instances where the paralyzing effect has not kicked in, and people have acted on their dreams, sometimes with tragic consequences, but as I've said, it's most unusual." "And these nightmares, terrors, whatever, is it possible to see them in your waking hours?"   "Mmm, it's hard to say. I suppose given a high enough level of stress. The mind is a strange thing."   "How about shared dreams?  Is that a possibility?"   "Ah, now, that's a different matter. It's a bit like God really, whether you believe or not, each person has a different picture in their heads. Shared idea, different perception."   It was almost 2 p.m. before he was finished at Bethesda. He had just enough time to get over to National Airport before Kenny's plane landed. Driving along the George Washington Memorial Parkway, Mulder considered how much things had changed since he last worked with Andrews.  He was looking forward to seeing him again, and having someone ground some of his ideas. Without Scully's calming influence, he was afraid that some of his ideas were getting too 'out there' for his own good.     MURDER SCENE Tuesday, 4:15 p.m. Mulder hadn't had any difficulty spotting Kenny in the Arrivals area of the airport. With his mixed heritage, his looks were both unusual and striking. His ink-black, curly hair was longer now than when they had first worked as a team.  This, together with his light copper skin, high cheekbones and angular nose, contrasted sharply with his soft, sky-blue eyes.    Mulder explained the difficulties and constraints of the case to Kenny as they drove from the airport. There was a great deal to go on. Kenny wanted to see Marcus Lowry's apartment and Mulder decided to swing by there on the way through. Seemed like Skinner must have done some ground work, as no one questioned their right to be there.  "Thanks for coming down, Andrews. You didn't have to, and I want you to know that I appreciate it. We both do," Mulder told Kenny as they moved through the apartment.   "It's no trouble, Mulder, I'm only glad you think I can be of help."  In the now bare bedroom they paused. The body had of course been removed, but the feel of death, the coppery smell of blood was still very apparent in the apartment. Even as they were looking at the crime scene, Mulder looked out of a window and spotted a pretty girl delivering flowers. She stopped to talk to the officer stationed at the entrance to the building.    When later, they stopped to talk to the officer on duty outside, they found out it was Annelise the waitress, Lowry's girlfriend. This was getting to be intriguing.      TIEMPO CLUB Tuesday, 7:20 p.m.   Mulder and Kenny caught up with Annelise at the Tiempo Club later that evening. She was prepared and willing to talk to them about Marcus. She didn't seem as upset as Mulder supposed she might be. The reason for this became clearer as she spoke.    "He was a friend. This bunch here liked to tease me that he was my boyfriend, but he was a friend, that's all. We did have a 'thing' going but that was for a very short time and some time ago. He'd broken off with his regular girlfriend and he'd been drinking. Well, one thing led to another, but it was one time, fun while it lasted. He came in here mostly for company I suppose. And we used to sit and talk if it wasn't busy. He'd wait for me and take me home on the nights he was in. I suppose that's why most people assumed we were an item."   "So, why did you bring flowers to the apartment today?" Kenny asked her.   "It just seemed the fitting thing to do. He was a friend, and he didn't have anyone else."   "He had no family?"   "They were non-existent for all intents and purposes."   "Last Friday, can you remember if Marcus spoke to anyone else?" Mulder asked.   "Things were a bit hectic. Apart from the regular Friday-nighters, there was a bachelorette party here. It was all hands on deck here that night I can tell you. I did see him talking briefly to a petite, redheaded woman. Actually, she was really good looking.  They chatted as she waited for an order of drinks but that was it as far as I know. I can't say I remember seeing her again that night.""So what happened when you went off-duty?" Mulder asked. "What do you mean?""Didn't Marcus see you home?" Kenny inquired.  "No, he got fed up waiting. The noise was getting to him, he just said goodnight and split; said he'd call me, but he never had a chance to...."   After they'd finished in the club, Mulder called Skinner's apartment. "Sir? Just finished talking to Annelise. She's corroborated what Scully told us, and I've got Kenny Andrews here."   Skinner interrupted. "The pair of you come over. I'd appreciate a heads up before we go any further. We need to trade notes and I'd like the chance to talk with Kenny. Besides which, Scully needs cheering up." Skinner sounded almost grateful.   "Give us half an hour. We'll bring some Chinese in with us."   "Yeah, do that. Scully will appreciate the visit."