It wasn't until much later, when he felt the ax handle slipping greasily in his hands, that he let it drop into the snow. He stared at it for a long time, sweat trickling under his shirt, chest heaving with the exertion of breathing. Looking down at the ax, he felt oddly detached, as if in a trance, unable to comprehend why he had been stopped. The handle glistened red against the white snow. He stared stupidly at it for another long moment, still unable to understand what had made him stop. He lifted his hands. Trembling. Blistered. Torn. Streaked with his blood. His own body had set a limit on his self-punishment. He started to laugh, but just as suddenly fell quiet, a shock of fright riveting him to the spot. He could feel eyes upon him. He could sense a darker evil reaching out to touch him. He looked up to see someone -- or something -- across the deeply drifted yard, glaring at him through the sheets of wind-driven snow. The creature's body was indistinct in the blinding whiteness of the storm, but Mulder was sure he could see its eyes. Almond shaped and sinister. They seemed to glitter hungrily at him. He felt those eyes evaluating him and a chill run up his spine. Was this a fever-fueled dream? It moved, manlike. Not closer, but sideways, slowly, as if trying to evaluate the federal agent from another angle. If it was a man, his features were largely lost in the blur of the storm. Mulder blinked, trying to get a clearer view, but when he looked again, it was gone. He panicked. His chest felt tight, and the dizziness he had held off by the sheer force of will threatened again. The agent backed up against what remained of the woodpile, instinctively protecting his blindside as he anxiously peered back into the snowstorm for a glimpse of the creature. His hearing loss made him feel vulnerable. In his mind's eye, he visualized the creature moving closer to him, unseen and unheard. He felt helpless again. The hairs on the back of his neck were raising up, prickling at him; a leftover ancient instinct against danger. And Mulder had always depended on his instincts, ancient or otherwise. He edged forward again, cautiously, and picked up the ax. His hands sang out in pain. He gritted his teeth and searched through the blizzard again. Nothing. Had he imagined it? Had it been a fever dream? A figment born of his exhaustion? But remembering the cold evil he saw in those dark eyes, he didn't think so. Perhaps it was the fabled Poe Mountain Horror? One more sweep of the area, and he finally dropped the ax. He couldn't feel the evil's presence anymore. It was gone. He forced himself to start picking up firewood, steeling himself for the struggle of pushing through snow drifts to get the wood to the porch and then into the house. The house. Scully was in the house. There was warmth in the house. Possibly food for him. He wanted to be safe. He wanted to be warm. He wanted to sleep. And he didn't want to see the eyes of the Poe Mountain Horror looking for him in his dreams. *************************************** Hodd Arlik belched and rubbed his hand over the top of his swollen belly. He hadn't been feeling well for some time now and it was beginning to worry him that his stomach pains were almost constant these days. And there was that bit of numbness in his legs that was becoming more of a bother. He took a final drag on his cigarette and flicked the stub of it into the fire in the hearth in front of him. He belched again and silently cursed his wife. Stretching lazily, his lip curled into a sneer as his thoughts turned to Mulder. Damned pretty boy. Maybe he'd better take it easy on him, though, or the cocky bastard would end up useless to him. Arlik shifted on the couch so he could watch his prisoner from the front window. He could see the man staggering through the snow drifts toward the porch. Hodd scratched his chin and smiled. It would have taken him hours to do that cordwood up. Kind of nice to have this fed doing it for him. he snickered to himself. He'd have Fancy Pants clean out the old goat shed next. He frowned as he watched the agent stumble. The armload of cordwood crashed and banged against the front door, rattling the glass. He patted the gun at his belt and headed for the door. Stupid city boy. "What was that noise...? Oh God, Mulder." The red headed female agent had rushed out of the kitchen with Edie. Seeing her partner sprawled on the drifted front porch, she ran for the door, shoving Arlik aside. "Hold on, there, girlie." Hodd growled, catching her up under her arm and pushing her away from the door. "Fancy's gonna do this all by hisself, un'erstan'?" Scully slunk back, rubbing the sore spot on her arm and glaring at her captor. "He's sick. He shouldn't be out there much less doing your work." "I'm not gonna tell ya twice to keep your damn mouth shut, woman," Hodd snapped at her, showing her the gun. "I can add to Fancy's troubles right now, if you like." Scully shook her head vigorously and stepped back again. She felt Miss Edie's hand, in a comforting gesture, on her back. She ignored it, watching through the door as Mulder slowly struggled to his feet and began picking up the scattered wood again. He didn't look well. "Welcome back, Fancy," Hodd chortled as he threw open the door for the other man. Mulder sidestepped into the warmth of the cabin, careful to keep out of Arlik's reach. The door slammed behind him. He stood for a moment, just grateful for the heat in the room. He hurt so badly. His head. His ear. His hands. He moved unsteadily toward the fireplace, forcing one foot in front of the other. He sank down to his knees by the woodpile and let the armload of firewood tumble the rest of the way to the floor. "Yer awful noisy, Fancy. Is that how you do it in the city?" Hodd prodded him in the back with his foot. Mulder, still unable to clearly hear what was being said to him, swung his eyes around to meet Arlik's. He was sick and irritable. The prodding sent shocks along his fevered skin. When he looked up at Arlik, it was with hate-filled eyes. But Hodd Arlik only saw the arrogance he so detested in the young man. "Keep them goddamned eyes down from me, boy!" he roared and sent a fleshy open palm hurtling at Mulder's face. Scully gasped audibly as she watched in horror; the blow sent her partner reeling backward and sprawling into the front of the room. He lay dazed and unmoving. Arlik leaned over and caught the agent up by his coat. "Get the message now, Fancy? Un'erstan', boy? " The room was rolling viciously. Mulder felt sick. He couldn't quite hear Arlik's diatribe, but he knew what mistake he had made. He kept his eyes diverted and prayed that Arlik would let him go. He just wanted to be safe again. Warm again. Sleep again. Please. Sleep. Warm. In his bed. His eyes rolled back, and he didn't even feel it when Hodd Arlik answered his prayer: The big man dropped the unconscious federal agent to the floor again. "Useless piece of crap," Arlik snarled as he straightened up. His wife was glaring at him from the shadows of the room. Arlik rubbed at the sharp stab of pain in his belly. "He's a useless tit, jus' like yer 'Sugar Boy'," he snapped at her. She didn't move, just kept glaring. Damned spooky woman. Arlik rubbed again at his belly. "Get me my whiskey. An' wake this bastard up to finish his chores. I want his bitch back in her leg iron. I want my dinner early an' I don' want any further word from neither o' ya!" He was screaming now. The belly pain was like fire in him. He waved at Scully with the gun and watched carefully as the petite red-head moved reluctantly to the old bedstead on the other end of the room. She bent down and snapped the cumbersome chain around her ankle. Sitting back on the bed, the agent watched her partner, pointedly ignoring the other two people in the room. The room fell silent. Only the howling winds outside and the pop and crackle of the fire in the hearth could be heard. "Well?" Arlik hissed at his wife who had not moved. "Are ya deaf, too, or do ya want me to put a bullet hole in your boy's leg while you jus' stand there and stare at me? " "You'll have yer whiskey, Hodd," Edie said in a voice that was barely audible. "An' yer early dinner." She stole another glance at her "Sugar Boy" and left the room. "More like it." Arlik grumbled. He turned back to Scully. "An' you," he hissed, waving the gun as he approached the bed. "Mouthy women don' last here. I'll keep Pretty Boy over there as long as his back is strong an' I have a use fer 'im, but you..." He brought the barrel of the gun up under her chin, forcing her face up until she had to look at him. "...If *you* want to survive, you better be thinkin' 'bout ways you can make yerself useful to me, hear?" He dragged the barrel of the gun down her neck to her breasts, smirked, and walked away, heading for the kitchen. Scully sat, eyes closed, waiting until she could no longer hear him in the room. Then she slowly eased herself off the old bed, taking the length of chain with her to keep it from ringing out noisily as she made her way to Mulder. Close enough that she could hear his ragged, noisy breathing, Scully reached for him but stopped when something at the window to the left of her partner caught her eye. Seized by fright, it took Scully several moments to realize that the thing outside was a human face. It was staring at the stricken agent, who was beginning to move groggily on the floor near the window. Its eyes were studying the injured man, ignoring her. Was it a man? She couldn't be sure; its features seemed to defy characterization. Its face was thin with sharp points defining its chin and bony nose. Its mouth seemed disfigured, and it took Scully another moment to realize that it was scarred, as if resulting from a repair of a birth deformity. It must have grown weary of her staring, because suddenly the sinister dark eyes turned on her, returning the stare. Scully felt an icy fear in her gut. It was a man, or a man-thing, she felt, but she still didn't feel that it was human. It was the personification of evil. Was it the murderer that Edie had described to her? The devil-man? And, just as suddenly it was gone into the storm. Mulder's soft groaning and muttering snapped her out of her trance. She moved quickly to his side. Whomever the ghostly figure outside was, Scully was certain he was going to change this nightmare she and her partner were in for the worse. ********************************** Mulder was rolling to his side and trying to sit up. He was slipping pathetically, his arms seeming to buckle under his weight. Scully had gotten her arms around his chest and helped him to a sitting position. "They really hurt, really hurt bad," he was whispering. He leaned against her. He had his teeth clenched and his eyes squeezed shut as he squirmed against her shoulder. "What hurts, Mulder? Your ear? Let me see." "My -- hands. Jesus, they hurt. Feels like fire in my bones." She noticed he had buried his hands between his legs. She reached for them, gently pulling them free. They were bruised and torn where blisters had been raised up and then ripped away by the rubbing of the rough ax handle on unprotected flesh. Scully also felt the tell-tale ice-cube texture of his fingertips. Hard, unyielding and colored deadly shades of white and blue: frost- bitten. She prayed there wasn't tissue damage yet as she quickly pulled up her sweater and eased Mulder's sore hands to her own warm skin. His frozen fingers needed to thaw slowly, and her body temperature was all she could offer him right now. He winced and bit down on his lip briefly, closing his eyes. She held his hands a little tighter to her belly. "Just let them warm up, Mulder. I know they're hurting. It's probably going to get worse as they thaw out." Instinctively, she stroked his damp hair. She could feel the heat of his fever and saw it in his eyes when he looked up at her. He glanced down at her small hands, pressed over his against her bare flesh and attempted a light-hearted smile. "Above and beyond the call of duty, Agent Scully?" His smile faded too fast for her to respond to his weak attempt at a joke. A wave of dizziness forced him to drop his head to her shoulder. He remained still, groaning softly again. She could feel his icy fingers twitch against her warm torso. "Sorry, Scully." She heard his voice, soft and ragged. "I'm so sorry I got you ... us... into this." Scully shook her head against his, hoping he would understand the gesture if he couldn't hear her. "Stop, Mulder. If we were a team of federally-paid *psychics* maybe we'd never have to leave the office to solve these cases." Whether he heard or understood her, she couldn't tell. He lifted his head just then and fixed his glassy hazel eyes on her. "Scully. Hear me out while I'm having a lucid moment here. You've got to promise me." His voice was begging. "Promise me you'll try to get out of here. Escape. By yourself." She started to shake her head again, but his eyes darkened, and he became angrily more insistent. "Scully, don't. You've got to listen to me. Please." He searched her eyes, but she avoided looking at him, knowing what he was going to ask of her. He nudged her a bit with his sore hands, gasping with the shock of fresh pain it caused him. She had to look at him now, ashamed to show him that her eyes were brimming with tears. She knew why he was going to ask this of her. Pain and fever were crippling him. Even if Hodd Arlik were to suddenly be struck down by an avenging angel or drop dead from slow poisons, Scully thought dismally, they still wouldn't have a chance at escape from this damnable place together. She doubted if there was enough of Mulder's famous stamina or strength left to handle an attempt to get off this mountain. In his clear-headed moments, he must have realized it, too. Leaving him behind with a delusional woman who feared losing her imaginary "Sugar Boy" wasn't an comfortable option, either. Blinking back the tears, she forced herself to meet his eyes. The dark and changeable eyes of Fox Mulder. Eyes that could be so easy for her to read one moment and so closed up and distant in the next. They were pleading with her now. She gave him a tiny shake of her head, her lower lip quivering. She couldn't -- wouldn't -- do it. Dropping his head in resignation, he shook his own head and looked up at her again. "You never did tell me who you pissed off at the bureau to pull this assignment with me, Doctor Scully. Four years of punishment is a long time for any official indiscretion you may have committed." Sad smile. He didn't make her promise. "Hush," she said, laying a finger against his lips. She gently pulled his head back down to her shoulder and laid her hands over his again. Looking over the top of his head, she made another vigilant scan of the frosty windows. Nothing there. The ghost was gone. Only the dimming light of an early winter day and the moan of winds that were waiting for darkness to usher in another onslaught of snow and cold, making prisoners of all the living things on this mountainside. All the *living* things. Scully shuddered, remembering the face at the window and the black depths of those peculiar eyes when they had turned on her. And the hungry eagerness they held when they had watched Mulder. What human would want to be out there now? Maybe she had imagined the whole thing. The crackle of a floor board behind her startled Scully and in turn roused Mulder to lift his head up quickly when he felt her jump. Edie stood about six feet away. Scully sensed that she had been standing there a while, regarding the two partners. Mulder felt Scully tense up with irritation as Edie approached. His eyes wandered between the two women. The look of anger on Scully's face told him she must have been having an on-going argument with Hodd Arlik's wife. He still couldn't fathom Edie Arlik's kindness toward him in defiance of her husband's cruelty. He sensed her concern for him, but he didn't understand it. Scully seemed to, though, and now Scully was being impatient with the woman. What was the disagreement? Had she expected something of the woman? Perhaps it was only natural to expect help with an escape from the one person who had shown them any kindness, he reasoned. But Mulder could tell by the woman's very demeanor that she was battered and fearful. Did Scully really expect this frail woman to take on her brute of a husband on their behalf? "I have medicine for him." Edie's voice was soft. Scully registered a small shock of surprise. Edie hadn't referred to Mulder as "Sugar Boy". Did that mean the woman was beginning to get a grip on the reality of their situation? She nodded to the little woman and nudged her bewildered partner up to a full sitting position. Edie extended a cup filled with the milky white fluid she had given him before. Scully reached for it and, when she put it to Mulder's mouth, he reached up to take it from her. "No." Scully shook her head at him and pushed his hand back down. "Be careful of your fingers." He may not have heard her, but he understood her message. "His hands," Edie commented. "They need lookin' after?" She was still being deferential to Scully. "Yeah, Miss Edie," Scully said wearily. "They need looking after." Mulder drank the medicine, grimacing sharply at each swallow. But he smiled gratefully at the little woman when he had finished. She smiled back, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. He watched, puzzled, as she knelt down beside him and impulsively reached out to touch his face. Edie ran the back of her fingers over the stubble of beard that had grown over Fox Mulder's jaw. "I don't believe I ever felt whiskers on Sugar's face," she said with a smile, a tear rolling down her cheek. "No, ma'am," Scully responded gently. "Your Sugar was only a ten year old boy." She could see how hard it was on the old woman to surrender this delusion. "Fox. You say his name is Fox?" Edie asked Scully without letting her eyes leave Mulder's face. "Yes, Miss Edie. Fox Mulder." "Suppose my 'Sugar Boy' coulda growed up as fine as this one?" Edie asked. "I suppose he could have, Miss Edie, if he'd have been given the chance," Scully answered somberly. Mulder watched the exchange between the two women silently. He thought he could make out the familiar timbre of Scully's voice, but the words were indistinct. He was having trouble concentrating on their faces. He began to feel the soft lull of the pain-killer. "He's getting groggy," Scully observed as she glimpsed Mulder's head began to nod sleepily. "We have to be quick, Dana," Edie said, standing up and taking one of the young man's arms. "I only gave him enough to keep him quiet for a little bit. When he comes around ag'in, I got some food an' drink an' fever medicine I want you to try to get in 'im." She looked back at the kitchen doorway, apprehensively. "Hodd's gone out the back to the goat shed where his still's at. No tellin' how long he'll be gone, but he's sure to come back in a bad temper. Let's get Fox to your bed for now. I can redo his shoulder bandage and get more medicine in his ear. You can bandage his hands. And I think I'll have time to fetch up the rest of the firewood from the yard." Edie Arlik spoke in an excited rush as the two women steered Mulder to the small bed on the other side of the room. "Miss Edie, maybe you shouldn't go." The little woman cut Scully's worried complaint off. "I got a whole lot o' 'shouldn't's' in my life, child. We ain't got time fer the arguin'. Slip his coat off and that sweater. I'll get my medics." She was gone from the room before Scully had Mulder out of one sleeve of his parka. He was moaning, but Scully could tell he was soon going to be oblivious to the discomfort and said a silent prayer of thanks for the backwoods pharmaceutical genius of Edie Arlik. When the woman returned with water, her medicines and clean supplies, Scully had already removed the bandages from her partner's shoulder and ear. "You're a wonder, Miss Edie. His shoulder wound is healing nicely. His ear looks a bit better, too. I'd give my eye teeth to know what's in those magic potions of yours." Edie smiled as she handed Scully a pot of dark amber-colored ointment. "Years of love an' attention from my Nonny an' lots of my own recipes -- that's what goes into 'em. Oh... an' prayers, o' course. I ain't no church-goer, but I sure do believe there's someone out there watchin' after me an' lovin' me." Scully thought. "See here, Dana, spread that ointment over his poor hands 'fore you cover 'em. It'll keep infection from settin' in an' they'll heal up jus' fine." Edie paused to smooth away a dark lock of hair from Mulder's forehead. "He'll heal up so fine all he'll have is a memory. If I had a medicine to take these bad memories away, I'd give that to him, too." The little woman felt his forehead and frowned. "Fool Hodd. Didn' do this young fella's fever any good to be out there in that cold," Edie grumbled. "I'll bring tea 'fore I go out, Dana. You have to get him to drink." Scully nodded. She understood the concept well enough. Scant minutes later, Mulder was bandaged and resting quietly. Edie pulled the blankets up and over his chest. "Dana. Put some more wood on the fire. I'll be back as soon as I can gather more of the wood he cut." "Miss Edie, wait." Scully called to her before she disappeared from the room. The little woman looked back questioningly. "Is the key to this leg iron still here?" Scully asked. "If you free me, we can go out there together and get the chore done twice as fast." Edie chewed her lip with worry for a moment and then hurried into the kitchen, returning with the key Scully had asked for. As the agent unlocked the chain and reached for her parka, she noticed the thin flannel coat Edie was putting on. "Wear my coat. I'll take Mulder's, and I won't have to worry about losing you to pneumonia in a day or so." Edie accepted the warm coat gratefully. "Sweet child. It's been a long time since anyone worried about me, an' I thank ya for it." She smiled affectionately at Scully and then motioned her toward the front door. "Let's hurry. He'll be back soon. We only need to bring the wood as far as the stack on the front porch. Most times, I hafta do this anyway. Hodd's always too drunk by the time he's cut half a cord." Between the two women, it only took three trips to gather the wood Mulder had cut, picking it up from the snowdrifts around the woodpile. Scully surreptitiously looked for the ax that her partner had to have used, but it was nowhere to be seen. She wondered where it could have gone, but did not linger too long before following the other woman back to the house. ********************************** Something was wrong. Before she was even through the door, Scully could see that Mulder wasn't in the bed at the far side of the room. The blankets were scattered and the thin mattress hung limply over the side of the bed. She heard Edie begin a whispered litany of prayers. "Dear God, don't let Hodd've found him. Please, God." "Ladies!" Hodd Arlik's drunken roar came from the kitchen. "C'mon in!" They dropped their armloads of wood at the door and followed the sound of Arlik's voice with dread. Hodd Arlik was leaning against a cupboard, supporting himself because he was clearly too drunk to stand. His face was an ugly mask of viciousness. In his right fist he clutched a thin leather strap, which he tapped against his thigh while he waited for the two women to come into the room. " Me an' Fancy was jus' havin' a talk." Arlik was grinning. "Well, I guess, in truth, he hasn't had too much to say fer hisself." "Where is he, you bastard?" Scully's voice was quaking. She didn't see her partner anywhere. "Bastard, is it?" Hodd rasped angrily. "You got some kinda mouth on you, bitch. Edie sure ain't been doin' a job o' educatin' you 'bout the rules o' *my* house. O' course, she been so busy doin' all her 'Sugar Boy's' chores, I'm surprised she has time fer anythin' else. Right, Edie?" Edie Arlik looked as if she wasn't breathing, sculpted stiff with fear. Her eyes searched the room wildly. "Where is he, Hodd? What'd ya do to the boy?" Hodd wagged his head drunkenly at her and snarled sarcastically, "Now what's a man to do when his orders ain't been obeyed, Edie? You know what the punishment is, doncha, Edie? He's 'posed to get a whippin'. This happened to your 'Sugar' before, didn' it? Ya 'member? You an' yer damned interferin'. Huh? 'Member?" Edie bit her quivering lip and looked down at the strap he clutched. "It weren't his doin', Hodd. He was outta his head with fever. Jus' like las' time. You didn' beat him? Please. Tell me you didn't take the strap to my baby ag'in." Her voice was rising with panic. "Sugar? Sugar, are ya here?" Scully felt frozen in place. Edie was gone, reverted into her tiny fantasy world again, sucked in by terror and memories and the taunting of her sadistic husband. She had been in a scene like this before, perhaps many times. "He ain't yer goddamned 'baby', Edie," Hodd screamed at her. He suddenly became animated, kicking out at something in the shadows on the other side of the table. Scully heard the sickening thud of boot against flesh and a low groan. Before she could even react, she saw Hodd Arlik begin to raise the strap and bring it down. A sharp crack of leather against bare skin animated her. She leapt across the table, but was met by Arlik's broad fist, catching her under her ribs. The female agent rolled to the floor, clutching her abdomen, unable to pull a breath in. She could only watch helplessly as Arlik renewed his attack on her partner, who was huddled at the big man's feet. Mulder's ear bandage had been ripped away and part of his shoulder bandage was gone as well. Raised welts showed flame- red against the pale skin on his back. Some had begun to bleed. Mulder was conscious, Scully realized. She could see him still struggling, weakly trying to move away from the painful bite of the strap, hobbled by the effects of the drug Edie had given to him earlier. Scully had just begun to push herself up again, when she saw, to her dismay, Edie Arlik drop her thin body protectively over Mulder's naked back. The gesture did little to abate Arlik's ire. Scully knew she had to do something quickly; Hodd was drunk enough and angry enough to kill his wife and probably her partner, but her opportunity was stolen from her. >From the corner of her eye she caught a movement from the doorway. She turned to see the ax she had been looking for tumble onto the table with a noisy crash. Hodd Arlik stopped, and for the first time, Scully saw raw fear in the man's eyes. "Hodd? Have you been keeping a little secret from me?" purred a cultured, male voice. The room was deathly quiet except for the steady click of well- heeled expensive shoes on the worn linoleum floor. Scully couldn't see the face belonging to this stranger's voice from where she sat. She did see Edie pick up her head and stare hatefully at the newcomer. Scully was filled with dread. Far from being a new chance at rescue, this person seemed to represent a new level of hopelessness for the two agents. The man stopped abruptly, short of her sight at the opposite end of the table. She could tell he was oddly dressed, immaculate-looking in an ice-cream colored suit , white shirt and tie, and white highly polished shoes. If he had been out in that storm, there was little evidence of it. His hands, however, were hidden in black leather gloves. It looked peculiar against the stark creaminess of the rest of his attire. "Remove this creature from my way, Hodd." The voice was full of derision as the man waved a dismissive gesture toward Edie. Hodd moved like a man startled out of a deep sleep. He grabbed his wife roughly by one arm, attempting to pull her away from Mulder. Edie, however, clung tightly to the young man. "Don't do this, Hodd. Dear God, don't let him do this. Hodd, you'll burn in the hottest fires of hell if you let him touch Sugar Boy." Arlik seized her, pulling her tiny body over the floor and dropping her next to Scully. "Shut up, woman," he hissed, shaking a fist in her face. "This ain't yer say-so." Edie Arlik cowered up against Scully, who had reached out , putting a protective arm around the little woman's thin shoulders. "Sugar Boy, is it?" purred the voice again, seemingly amused. Scully watched as the figure moved closer to Mulder and crouched, gracefully slow and cat-like, near her partner's huddled form. She sucked in a noisy, startled breath when she got her first glimpse of the stranger's face. He paused to send a perfunctory glance her way when he heard the gasp. His face, framed in wild, graying strands of long curling hair was the face of the phantasm she had seen at the window. His scarred and bizarre visage and unkempt hair seemed at odds with his otherwise impeccable appearance. The man quickly turned back to the object of his curiosity, ignoring the two women. "Turn him over, Hodd," the man ordered gruffly. He looked reluctant to touch Mulder, as if repelled by the agent's bruised and bloodied flesh. Arlik placed a boot under Mulder's shoulder and pushed. Scully had hoped Mulder was oblivious to the discomfort, safe in the sleep of unconsciousness. But she could see him clench his jaw and arch his back against the jarring pain. His eyes were tightly shut, and he was breathing in fast, punctuated breaths. "Oh my," the strange man said in a delighted stage whisper. He passed his glove hands over the planes of Mulder's body, as if anxious to touch it, yet he stayed well away from any actual contact. He made a frustrated noise and stood up to face Hodd Arlik. "I cannot look at him like this. Nor can I bear to touch him. He is filthy and unshaven. Clean him and bring him into the front room. I will be waiting. Then we will need to discuss why you went out 'hunting' without orders from me." "It weren't planned," Arlik rushed to explain, seemingly sobered up by this man's surprise appearance. It was clear he feared this man even though the other man was only half his size. "They's cops! City cops. FBI agents. An'... An' this one..." He pointed at Mulder accusingly. "He was close to figgerin' my part in the killin' of them boys you took. He'd figgered out 'bout you, ya know. He was tellin' the sheriff..." "Shut up, Hodd. You know I can't bear to listen to your histrionics, especially in your slaughtered version of the English language." The other man's voice was calm. He renewed his interest in Mulder, more fascinated than before. "So, an FBI agent? Profiling me?" He glanced back at Scully, this time his dark eyes lingering and evaluating. His misshapen lips twitched in a curious imitation of a smile. "You. What is this one's name?" He pointed down to the man at his feet. "Special Agent Fox Mulder," Dana began. She could feel the anger creeping into her voice, the resentment of a prisoner in a hopeless hell with only a shred of dignity left. "And I am..." "I did not ask *your* name." The arch reply cut her off. He directed the rest of his speech pointedly to Hodd Arlik. "You may tell her I do not care what *her* name is. If she must be part of this little comedy that you have so clumsily arranged, then see to it that she keeps me happy by doing as she is told and keeping her mouth shut." He turned back to Scully briefly. "This will be the last time I address you directly, unclean creature. You are not worth further bother." Then he turned away from her dismissively. Scully felt cold shock. The man's manner oozed of pure contempt for women. Worse, he was clearly accustomed to being deferred to. Out in the 'real' world, this strange and evil man would have been a scorned, impotent outcast at the very least, or the sociopath inmate of an asylum for the criminally insane. Here, in the isolated vacuum of Hodd and Edie's warped lives, he was used to ruling like a tyrant king. Scully could feel her anger gathering, but a tight warning squeeze of Edie Arlik's hand on her thigh aborted any further comment she might have made. "I am tired and hungry, Hodd. Make sure a proper table is set for our dinner. I want this fellow seated at our dinner table where I can observe him as I eat. I will wait for no longer than twenty minutes for him to be brought to me and no longer than forty minutes for our dinner, understood?" Hodd Arlik's head was bobbing moronically in agreement. The man turned to leave the room, pausing to place a hand on the ax he had thrown to the table. "And put this in a safe place, Hodd." He glanced significantly at Scully. "I fear there are others who may have dreamed of other uses for it." When he had gone, Hodd grabbed up the ax, scowling at the two women still huddled on the floor. "Get moving. Dinner in forty minutes -- and get Fancy cleaned up for company." His voice was venomous. He stalked out the back door, clutching the ax as if he, too, had dreamed of other uses for it. Edie was too quiet for a long moment, staring back at the prone figure of Mulder. She moved to get up from the cold floor, pushing herself to her feet with Scully's help. "We have our orders, girl. The bathroom is just down the hall. If you can help Sug..." She paused, obviously struggling with herself. "Please help him -- your partner -- clean up. I'll get supper finished, and you can help me while the men..." Again a struggle and this time a small tear from her eye. Her voice got quieter. "...while they strike a bargain over the boy." She moved quickly, not daring to look over at Mulder. Scully went to her partner's side. His eyes were opening, dully searching the new surroundings in confusion, as if just waking up. He winced and ducked his head protectively when he was startled by her shadow. "Shhh. Shhhh. It's okay, Mulder. It's just me." She had whispered, not expecting him to respond to her voice. He did seem, however, to relax at the touch of her hand on his arm. He looked at her questioningly as she wordlessly urged him to his feet and led him down the dim hallway nearby. He followed her meekly. She looked back at him as he stumbled awkwardly after her. Eyes wide and dark, scanning the unfamiliar hall and settling on her, bewildered but trusting. Like leading a lamb to slaughter, Scully thought, her gut twisting in on itself. He was clearly lost in a haze of pain, fever and drugs; there was no way she could make him realize what horror awaited him in the other room. Perhaps it was a blessing. He had profiled this monster. He had seen the bodies. Perhaps there was a certain amount of bliss in this forced ignorance. And she was being compelled to push him along into the maw of the monster that waited now... for him. ********************************** Mulder stopped to brace himself in the doorway of an old bathroom, fighting a wave of dizziness and watching Scully turn on water taps in an old rust-stained tub. What was she doing? Why wouldn't she look at him? Had something happened? He closed his eyes and dream-like visions of rough hands reaching for him rose up, unbidden. Pulling him violently from his warm bed. Drugged confusion. The stinging bite of something slicing into his feverish skin. A black snake striking at him. Again and again. He forced his eyes back open. His skin was twitching and he could feel the slither of sweat -- or perhaps it was blood -- slide down his back and the front of his chest like the thin, sharp points of icicles drawn over his body. Scully was pulling out a shaving kit. Who did that belong to? What was she doing? She had paused, considering the razor carefully. Mulder smiled lopsidedly at the sudden picture he had of her: ever the little flame-haired warrior, testing all manner of things for their battle-worthiness. Far from feeling battle-worthy himself, though, he felt battle-weary. He leaned into the doorway and felt himself slipping along the rough wood. The beating had left him feeling dazed. Perhaps it was his fever. He just wanted to close his eyes and rest right now. It was hard to think. "Mulder!" Was that Scully's voice he heard? Yes. He *had* heard her. He had heard her call out his name. His hearing was returning; a small victory, meaning little or nothing in view of the greater conflict they were in the midst of. "I think I heard you." His voice sounded too loud in his own head, he thought fuzzily. And slurred, like he was drunk. Scully's face swam a bit in front of his eyes, but he had seen her small, relieved smile. He smiled in return, and slowly realized he was caught up in his partner's arms. How did that happen? He forced himself to smile. He had done it for her as a reassurance. She liked it when he smiled, didn't she? It was one of their little signals; the non-verbal "I'm fine." Would she feel better now and not look so worried? He had dreams about that worried look: His partner's face framed against backgrounds made up of sterile hospital walls; or dim waterfront warehouses; or deep woods dappled with bright alien lights. The frigid feel of lather against his face startled him from slipping back into haunted visions. He felt the tug of a razor pulling gently at his face; he heard the ragged scrape of razor on beard and skin. His head ached, and his skin felt too sensitive. He must have struggled, because he felt Scully's cool hand on his forehead, holding him still. "Shush. Shush." He thought he heard her again, the sound distant and echoing. His ear ached and his jaw flamed with renewed pain as he felt that annoying razor being drawn near his injury. He must have struggled some more, because Scully's grip on him was a bit more insistent. He was getting upset with her. What did she think she was doing anyway? He dared to open his eyes, sending her a glare of annoyance. He wasn't so drugged that he couldn't recognize how upset his partner was, though. She looked frightened for him, and so he determined to be still while she finished shaving him. But, what, he wondered, was going on? He imagined he heard himself asking her -- repeatedly -- but she just kept shushing him. The drawn bath was slowly warming the air in the dingy room, and he felt drowsy again. Scully was gently toweling off his face. He smiled for her again. Thank you, Scully, he tried to tell her. He was puzzled when she seemed to get sadder. What's wrong, Scully?, he tried to ask. Or did he ask? Could she hear him? Did she know he was beginning to hear her again? She was wiping hurriedly at her eyes and telling him "shush" again. Scully? What's wrong? Are you okay? Scully? Scully? "Shh." He felt so sleepy. He heard the distant echo of a door slamming somewhere and a ghostly draft of wintry air slipped into the room. Its frigid touch made him realize he was half-naked. He felt the floor under him shudder with the vibration of a heavy tread and noticed Scully stiffen with fear. He followed her gaze to the face of Hodd Arlik. His gut wrenched. The vision of Arlik's rough, violent hands pulling at him struggled with his conscious mind, threatening to push him into the safety of a dead faint where Hodd and his ugly hands could not harm him. His skin was crawling, and he found himself obsessively watching Hodd Arlik's hands. He was looking for that thin black strip of leather that he remembered in his drugged dream. Remembering it alive, disengaged from Arlik's control, beating him, biting him, hungry for his blood. The black snake. "Get out!" He heard Arlik order Scully. "You're taking too long. I'll do it." Bits and pieces of an angry exchange echoed in his head, and he saw Arlik push his partner from the room. Things were happening too fast. Where did Scully go? He felt helpless panic. Those rough hands were reaching for him again. This nightmare was too real. Would it never end? He felt himself being plunged roughly into deep, overly-warm waters. Plunged under water. Unable to breathe, unable to fight. The old nightmare: Drowning, defenseless, powerless, scared, and his father nowhere in sight. He was sure he was going to die. *************************************** Fox Mulder was wide awake now. Adrenaline was coursing like jet fuel through his veins. Nothing like near-death to rev one's motor. Drugs, pain, dreams -- all were purged in the singular effort needed to breathe, to live. To kill Hodd Arlik. His body betrayed his mind, however. He struggled to raise his head above water and felt his damaged hands slide uselessly over the porcelain edge of the ancient tub. He kicked with his legs, churning and heaving water over the slick sides of the tub. His legs were still strong, but the slippery surface mocked their effort. Full of terror and challenge, Mulder blindly swung his arms upward and was rewarded with a painful sensation that told him he had connected with part of Hodd Arlik's face. He was instantly free of those ugly hands. Pushing himself upward, he broke the surface of the water, sucking warm, sweet air into his lungs and coughing water out. Hodd Arlik was roaring in pain. His dusky face was awash in a new color -- blood red. Streaming from his squat nose, staining his yellowed teeth. "I'll kill ya, Fancy!" Hodd's voice echoed clearly and painfully in his head. Hodd Arlik's face was twisted with hatred when he leaned in over the tub. Mulder pressed back as far as he could, but there would be no escape from this attack, either. He saw those rough hands reaching for him and closed his eyes tightly, willing himself to be elsewhere. "You'll do nothing of the sort, Hodd." Mulder eased his eyes open. He had heard a low, strange voice. Had he really heard someone? Was it real? It was real enough to stop Hodd Arlik's attack on him. The agent blinked away rivulets of water streaming off his wet hair. There was someone else here? Had he heard someone else? For a long moment all he could hear was his own labored panting and all he could see was Hodd's bloody face hovering over him, looking frustrated. Arlik moved back reluctantly as if pulled away. A new face came into view and Mulder felt his heart suddenly begin to trip-hammer noisily in his chest. It was the face he had seen in the storm; he couldn't be sure it was human then, and he wasn't sure it was human now. It leaned over him. "Hello, Fox." ********************************** It was a man, Mulder realized. The realization did not make him feel any less alarmed. The stranger had a malignant aura about him, but something was familiar, too. Something was familiar. The man was leering at him, and suddenly Mulder felt humiliated and vulnerable. The man was too slight to be a physical threat, but there was an air of malevolence about him that seemed overpowering. "Who are you?" Mulder wanted his question to sound a bit braver than it did. The man turned his odd almond-shaped eyes away from his lingering evaluation of the young man's lean body and looked directly into Mulder's eyes. His eyes narrowed, and he touched Mulder's face with one gloved hand. "So much nicer shaved," the man mused, disregarding Mulder's question. "Who are you?" Mulder's voice was raised and steady this time, made braver with indignation. The man ignored him. He gently pushed the agent's head to the side and probed along the agent's neck and jaw. Mulder had tried to move away, but when the man touched his injured ear, the hostage struck out, grabbing his hand. The stranger hissed in surprise and pulled away. The black leather glove slid off easily and hung limply in the Mulder's wet hand. The captive federal agent stared. The man's hand was... what? Something was odd, that much was certain. Mulder struggled to understand what he was looking at. The hand, papery white and thin, had long skeletal fingers that ended in peculiarly pointed fingernails. But there was something else. Wasn't there? Mulder's eyes widened. There were only four digits on this man's hand. They were oddly grouped; two on either side of a space where Mother Nature had blithely omitted a middle finger, giving the hand an alien, claw-like appearance. Malformed. From birth. Mulder knew then. Suddenly, he felt light-headed. He knew who this was. It was becoming harder to breathe; there was a tightening in his chest, a rolling lurch of his stomach. The killer of five young men. The *real* Poe Mountain Horror. He watched with morbid fascination as that frightening hand slowly pulled the other glove off, revealing a twin, a misshapen partner. And one of them was gesturing to him. "I believe that is my glove, Fox." Mulder placed the leather glove in the grotesque hand extended to him and looked up into the malevolent eyes. The man smiled at him, like a patient, indulgent uncle. "I like you, Fox." The smile got wider and colder. He stroked the agent's cheek. "You *know* who I am, don't you?" Mulder cringed at the feel. Dead. Cold and dry. He tilted his head away, with a half measure of repugnance and a half measure of defiance. He heard high, thin laughter ringing painfully in his sensitive ears. "What a delight this one is going to be. Darling Fox. Hodd, who would have dreamed that your ignorant fumbling would have netted such a wonderful treasure for me?" The big, bear-like man standing nearby looked perplexed, not understanding the other man's joke. "Finish his bath, Hodd. I warn you: no more rough stuff with Fox. I won't tell you again. And I want those bandages off of his hands. I must see if they are as exquisite as the rest of him. See to it that he is decently dressed for dinner." Having issued his commands, the odd man turned abruptly and left the room. Hodd scowled and slowly began unraveling the bandages from his prisoner's hands. Mulder watched, feeling detached, numb. His mind was reeling. There were fewer and fewer differences between his sleeping nightmares and his waking nightmares. ************************ Scully glared as the man in the ice cream colored suit walked past her through the kitchen. He gave no indication that he was aware of either woman as he continued on into the front room. Once the ugly stranger had gone by, Scully started for the hallway to the bathroom. It had gotten too quiet in there. She had to know if Mulder was all right. "No, child." A small hand kept her back. Dana looked down at Miss Edie, but the woman had already gone back to her cooking as if unmindful of all the terrifying commotion they had heard from down that hallway just a few moments earlier. "I have to see him, Miss Edie," she whispered harshly at the other woman. "I need to know if he's okay." "He's jus' fine. Don' fret." Edie Arlik never looked up. "Set the table fer three. Jus' the menfolk. We're not allowed at table." Scully gaped at her. What was going on here? Edie was acting as if she were in some kind of trance. And the arrival of the Poe Mountain serial killer had added a sicker twist to all the bizarreness of the Arlik household. "He is not *fine*, Miss Edie," Scully hissed. "He's about to be sacrificed to that human monster. Don't you care?" No answer. "What's wrong with you? Don't you see what will happen? Please, we need your help. *He* needs your help." The prodding seemed to have no effect. "Miss Edie, if it weren't for you, Hodd would have killed my partner by now. You helped him. He really needs you now. We both do. They have the guns; we have nothing to defend ourselves with. Don't you understand?" Edie Arlik acted as if she hadn't heard a word that Scully had said. "Please, Miss Edie? Don't do this. Please." Scully was surprised to hear herself pleading. It was as if this tiny woman were the thin thread of hope she had clung to throughout this ordeal she and Mulder were being dragged through, and now the thread seemed to be dissolving in her grasp. "Don't you care about him any more? Don't you *know* what that man in the other room is going to do to him? I've seen the other bodies, Miss Edie. Do you want me to describe how that man tortured those boys?" Her voice was tight and emotional, and she could feel tears of rage and fear starting to burn in her eyes. "Do you want to know what he's going to do to your Sugar Boy?" A tiny hesitation. But the woman did not look up. "Set the table, child," was the only reply. Scully slumped against the oven in a gesture of defeat and disbelief. She stared incredulously as Edie began humming to herself. The tune seemed oddly light and sweet, out of place in this atmosphere of terror. Scully thought. She watched as Edie began frying fragrant onions and wild mushrooms. Edie glanced slyly at Scully and smiled for a brief second. The red-headed agent was puzzled. Following Edie with her eyes as the little woman glided over to her to her herb cabinet, Scully wondered what it was that she was looking for. She was digging through boxes and jars, reaching deep into the back of the cabinet. Edie never looked up as Hodd pushed his charge into the room, prodding him toward the front room doorway. Mulder was looking wildly around the room and seemed relieved when he found Scully. "Are you all right?" he asked. "Shut up, Fancy," Arlik growled. "Keep movin'." Scully nodded quickly at her partner before Arlik took a handful of the overly-large white shirt that Mulder now wore and shoved him forward. He looked back at her but did not offer a reassuring smile. Edie was back at the stove, acting as if there were nothing else going on in the house except the ordinary ritual of preparing a dinner. She still didn't look up as she spoke, as if to no-one in particular. "Pan-fried rabbit, mashed potatoes and parsnip, and a favorite treat: seasoned mushrooms. It's the mix that's the secret, child." She was smiling to herself as she uncapped a jar of preserved mushrooms, murky black and watery. They sizzled and hissed as Edie added them to the large pan full of fragrant mushrooms she had already prepared. Scully watched in renewed wonder. Edie was acting very oddly. "Child, wake up. I told you to set that table. They'll soon be in here fer their dinner." Edie looked directly at Scully, scolding her with a bright smile on her face. Scully thought and moved to obey, her mind racing. Time was growing short. ********************************** The black leather gloves were off, neatly placed on the table, next to an old-fashioned medical bag. They made an ominous picture, and Mulder couldn't prevent himself from staring at them as his captor tugged him toward the fireplace. He knew what was in that bag. He knew because he had seen inside this monster's head; he had seen his handiwork; he had imagined the atrocities in progress. Arlik was pushing him onto a rickety ladder back chair, pinning him tightly down by clutching the back of his shirt. Mulder found himself face to face with the killer he had profiled just a few days ago. When the federal agent had been in this brute's head, when he had dreamed of the man's damaged psyche and speculated about his deformities and abnormal hungers, he had been safe. He had been safe when he had first conjectured about this monster. His own mind had separated him from the reality of the horror as it always had. His own reality protected him, allowing him to view monsters through the veil of imagination. He had been sleepless, yet still safe, in his soft bed at Miss Etta's inn; he had been in the watchful company of his trusted partner; he had been in the protective swarm of his own kind, law enforcers all. And no one but him had a clue to this horror. They were all normal people who could never imagine another human so unlike them. People who were more willing to search for aliens from outer space than to look among themselves for such a deviant. Mulder knew that was why Scully was often so skeptical. She wanted life to be less brutal than he knew it really was. She wanted to fight against the existence of the monstrous side of life that was so easy for him to comprehend. That was why she anchored his storm-tossed soul; he wanted to believe, too. But he had seen too much, and understood the horrors too easily. Now, the thin, safe veil between his imagination and this monster was gone. He was isolated in his nightmare. It was reaching for him as if contact with his flesh would make it corporeal. His nightmare was about to become real. Mulder flinched and shut his eyes when he felt the cold touch of the killer's hideous hands on his face. Sliding over his neck. Pushing the folds of Hodd Arlik's shirt away, baring his shoulder and chest. Touching. Cold, dry, dead. The points of those oddly-shaped fingers brushed deliberately over the raised welts on his back. He shuddered, gooseflesh raising up painfully. The spidery touch of those fingers traced the curve of welts over his shoulders, pausing to probe his shallow wound. Mulder sucked in a quick breath at the sharp burning sensation, but did not open his eyes. He could imagine how much this man was enjoying this play; he did not have to see him. He felt the paper-dry touch on his face again and then a more insistent touch on his chest, fingers pulling at still-damp hair and scraping roughly over his skin. "He's so responsive," the man whispered reverently. The voice sounded tinny and painful in the captive's injured ear. He wasn't sure the return of his hearing was such a blessing any more. Mulder shuddered again and shifted uncomfortably when the hands slid down his chest and pressed onto the flat plane of his stomach. He felt a flame of anger grow in his gut. He was feeling violated. But the touching stopped. Mulder realized he had been holding his breath and let out a silent sigh of relief. He opened his eyes only to meet the leering gaze of the killer. "Give me your hands, Fox." Mulder stared at him, dumfounded. What did he think he was asking for? The misshapen lips twisted into an imitation of a grin and the man extended his two malformed hands. "I simply meant for you to put your hands in mine. I must see them." Mulder hesitated. "Now. Fox." The simple order dripped with threat. Still he did not move. Hodd Arlik leaned forward with a grunt of impatience and grabbed his prisoner's sore hands, pushing back the long shirt sleeves that covered all but the fingertips, and forced them into the other's hold. "Quit yer goddamned arrogant games, Fancy," he growled. Annoyed, he said to the other man, "So, get on with this. If you like him so damn much, pay me the thousand dollars for 'im and take 'im outta here. He ain't been nothin' but trouble since I laid eyes on 'im in Berrien." The other man ignored Arlik. He was turning Mulder's hands over and back again, examining them closely. He did not look pleased. "You've ruined him, Hodd," he exclaimed, dropping Mulder's hands back onto his lap in disgust. "His hands are a mess. How am I supposed to determine whether they are what I want -- what I need? And he's ... how old?" Arlik shoved Mulder. "Answer 'im, fool! Or ya been struck *dumb*, too?" "Older than any of your other victims," Mulder snapped, rubbing his sore shoulder where Hodd had struck it. He met the killer's glare, and for a long moment, nothing was said. "Lower your eyes, ya l'il fucker," Hodd barked. He lifted his hand to backslap his prisoner. Mulder cringed, but the blow never came. "Don't do that, Hodd. And please, curb your vulgar tongue." The order that stopped Arlik was delivered smoothly. The stranger looked back to Mulder, his odd eyes crinkling at the edges with amusement. "Well, so you are, Fox. You *are* older than those silly boys -- children, really. I don't know why I didn't think about this before, but -- thank you -- you've made something very clear for me." The killer leaned closer and began stroking his captive's cheek. "Perhaps I should have been choosier. Maybe simple youth is not the answer to what I am looking for." Mulder swallowed. He hated the touch of this freak's hands. He despised the man himself, yet he needed to know for sure. He needed to understand for himself, even if it turned out that this profile was to be his last; the hunter done in by the hunted. "Why did you torture them? What are you looking for?" The other man feigned surprise at the question. "Why, Fox, I thought you were the one who knew me so well," he chortled. "I can only look so far into the darkness," Mulder responded softly. "And you see farther into that darkness than most, don't you?" added the man, lifting the agent's face so that he could look directly into his eyes. "I need -- how shall I say this -- *revivification* . I need to consume whatever it is that makes one whole and beautiful, Fox, so that I might be renewed. And possibly made whole myself? Just like you? Just like everyone else?" Was he describing a kind of vampirism? Mulder shifted uncomfortably in the chair. Is he taking -- and drinking -- the blood of his victims under the delusion that their "essence" is what makes their bodies fully formed while his is lacking? He barely concealed a shiver as the other man circled, drawing a bony finger over Mulder's shoulders. "I've needed it for a long time, but the need is never satisfied. My wholeness is never quite accomplished. I gorge myself on their youth, their beauty, their lives -- and then -- I wait. I wait for my skin to change. For my face, my hands. I wait for nature to finish whatever it is she couldn't bring herself to finish on me before she spat me out into this barren existence!" His voice was full of bitterness now. "I wait. And I wait. But... Nothing. Nothing happens. Nothing changes. And so the need grows again." His eyes grew a little darker, and he moved his face closer, holding Mulder's head between his claw-like hands. "But you have made me think, sweet Fox. You have made me wonder if perhaps *your* essence would serve me best. I may have wasted time and resources thinking I needed only the very young ones. I mean, you and I seem to be so well matched. So... familiar." He drew his crabbed fingers admiringly through Mulder's thick dark hair, his eyes glittering in the firelight. "After all, Clever Fox, are you not the man who 'profiled' me? Isn't that the term they use? Profiled? How flattering." He leaned toward his captive. "How...absolutely...intoxicating." He tightened his grip suddenly and pressed his grotesque lips to Mulder's mouth. Surprised, the young man struggled against their repulsive feel. Dry, cold lips. The killer tightened his grip again, painfully, and bit down, viciously sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of the agent's full, lower lip. Mulder was electrified with shocks of pain. His lip, his ear, his head. The agony was explosive. He yelped, instinctively pushing the nightmare away from him. Arlik's heavy hands were instantly on his shoulders pinning him to the chair, to prevent any attempt at escape, but his brain was still reeling with the memory of the pain. He pressed the back of his hand to his bloody mouth and glared at the man who lay sprawled on the floor before him, laughing maniacally. Mulder watched warily as the man picked himself up and carefully brushed himself off with exaggerated dignity. "Well, I won't make that mistake again, Fox. You do taste delicious, though. As expected." The odd little man straightened himself and with an extravagant sweep of his arm, announced to Arlik. " Sold, Hodd! I'll take this delight. But *I* will set the price. You've used him rather badly, and I'm not pleased about getting damaged goods." He pulled out a long European-fashioned wallet from the inside of his immaculate suit coat and extracted two crisp hundred dollar bills from it. His face was a malicious mask as he neared Mulder. He leaned over with deliberate slowness and insolently tucked the bills into the waistband of Mulder's jeans. "You are mine now, Fox," he hissed, "And you will never touch me like that again. Understood?" Mulder did not answer except to lock eyes with the killer, grimacing when Hodd Arlik roughly pulled at him, searching for the money. "Two hunnert?" the big man croaked. "Hey!" "You'll take it and like it, Hodd. Oh, he's worth more, I'll grant you. Just consider it my punishment for your stupid stunt and your bad handling of him. You should have offered him to me first, you insipid idiot." The killer smiled again as he looked back into Mulder's angry eyes. "Gentlemen. Our business is concluded. Let's have dinner, shall we?" **********************************