Hodd smirked at the two women as he brought the prisoner into the kitchen. "Looks like we'll be breakin' up the set, Edie," he growled. "Fancy's leavin' and good riddance." He shoved Mulder into a chair and looked sidelong at Scully before seating himself at the end of the table across from where the women were seated against the far wall. "How 'bout that, Red? Take a good long look at yer 'Mr. City Pretty' over here. Mebbe you'll wanna be thinkin' of some sweet departin' words fer yer boyfr'en' while we're eatin'. You know -- 'fore he leaves us." He pulled Mulder's service revolver from the waist of his pants and waved it warningly at her. "Remains to be seen what I'm gonna do 'bout you." He placed the gun to his right, away from his prisoner but within quick reach. Scully blanched and looked at her partner. Mulder sat silently , staring down at the place setting in front of him. She could tell he was seething. And she could tell he was scared, too. The hopelessness and helplessness were taking their toll; the monster had him now. "Please shut up, Hodd," said the newcomer as he sat down directly across the table from Mulder. "You really do weary me with your prattle. I don't want to encourage any interaction with those two creatures over there." Arlik snorted and began reaching hungrily for the hot dishes of food in front of them. "Fox, will you need to be restrained in your chair ?" The question was put to him casually, like a parent speaking to an errant child in a restaurant. Mulder shook his head, but did not look up from his study of the chipped china. "Perhaps I should begin our dinner with a proper introduction of myself?" the odd man offered conversationally as he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and began polishing each utensil next to his plate. There was no answer. Only the noisy clatter of Hodd Arlik's eating as he ignored all else at the table but the plateful of food he had gotten for himself. "Come, come, Fox. Be pleasant. We are, after all, at the dinner table." The little man smiled with artificial brightness at the sullen young man across from him. Still, there was no answer. "Well, then, forgive me if I proceed with my introduction anyway," the killer laughed lightly. "I thought you should like to know in the interest of completing that 'profile' of me in your lovely head." He reached for his cup and carefully wiped it as he continued. "My name is Darrius *Job* Ottman. I had the name 'Job' added years ago when I was of an age to do it legally. Amusing story, actually: I had recalled that that was the pitiful little moniker given me by my own mother when in many of her drunken stupors." He paused and cocked his head to the side dramatically as if being thoughtful. "I suppose it was by way of an apology from her -- you know, naming me after that upstanding fellow in the Bible who had been so sorely tested in his life by his Creator. Anyway, the idiotic little name stuck. Through two of the homes she gave me up to. By age eight, I was rescued from some of my trials by my mother's family who rightfully disowned her and saw to my -- How do I put this? -- Well, let's call it 'normalization'." He leaned forward, looking at his prisoner earnestly. "Becoming 'normal' was its own trial, of course. As you can well imagine, dear Fox. The numerous useless surgeries. The hospitals. The pain. The taunts. The lessons. The endless cruelty of children. The endless cruelty of adults. How to speak. How to behave. How to be 'normal' -- in a world that wasn't ever, ever going to let me be 'normal' nor was it ever going to accept me as I was, either." Mulder couldn't help his own fascination. He brought his darkened eyes up slowly to study the man as he spoke, painting a portrait of a disturbed life. While he carefully wiped the clean plate in front of him several times, Darrius Job Ottman smiled pleasantly at the federal agent. "That's better, Fox. I don't know why, but it's important that you hear and understand me. It's as if... as if..." He paused and smiled again, staring hungrily at Mulder. "It's as if I'm pouring a bit of *my* essence back into you, Fox. If you can know about me and understand what I need and why I need it, then what you give to me tonight will be all the sweeter." He paused again and closed his eyes, shivering, as if in the excitement of anticipation. Mulder's stomach roiled, and he forced himself to look down, away from the monster, not wanting to give him any further satisfaction. In her chair against the far wall, Scully was listening with evident abhorrence. She squirmed as she watched the man rake his eyes over her partner. The details of Roy Earl Destin's autopsy swum back to her. She couldn't let this beast feed on Mulder. Her fists clenched unconsciously where she held them in her lap. The gentle touch of Edie Arlik's hand over hers startled her. "Patience, child, patience," the tiny woman muttered, not looking at her. The killer reached across the table as he talked, picking up each of Mulder's utensils, polishing them and carefully replacing them as they were. "Now there you go again, Fox. You are being impossible. But perhaps *my* manners are in question. I've been monopolizing this entire discourse. Why don't you tell me something of yourself? Unlike those silly youngsters that I owned in the past, I'm quite interested in getting to know more about you before I..." Hodd Arlik began a curious, choking cough that drew peevish looks from Ottman. Arlik covered his greasy mouth with his fist and coughed again with a peculiar, strangling sound. Scully noticed Edie stiffen alertly at her side. Something was happening. "Tarnation, woman." Arlik roared. "Get me my... whiskey to... wash this... crap down." His skin was looking duskier. Edie hastened to pour him a glass of murky amber liquid from one of his still jars and meekly returned to her seat. Ottman pointedly ignored the others, turning the full force of his attention on Mulder. "You seem to be an educated man, Fox. Have you a college degree?" Mulder maintained his sullen silence. Ottman's clawed hand slid over to the gun next to Hodd, who was now breathing noisily. With a dexterity that belied his handicap, Ottman picked up the gun and rested it casually in the crook of his arm. It was no accident that the gun now pointed in Scully's direction, Mulder knew. The threat did not need to be spoken. The agent drew himself up in the chair and met Ottman's eyes. "I have a degree. In psychology," he answered hastily. "Marvelous." the other man remarked with mock joy. He laid the gun back down. "From where, Fox?" "Oxford," Mulder answered. "Oxford? England? Dear God. What a prize you are turning out to be." Ottman brought his misshapen hands together in a muffled clap and seemed to shiver in excitement again. "I can't wait, but wait I must. Tell me no more just yet. I want to prolong this discovery of you. I want to draw this out and enjoy it. So, first, we must eat. I'm so sorry I delayed us with talk." Mulder recoiled at the sight of the food as the weird little man began portioning out food for himself and his prisoner. His stomach was churning anxiously, and he didn't feel the slightest bit hungry. Hodd Arlik was gulping his whiskey and groaning. Ottman shot him a venomous look of disapproval as he began his own meal. "Of course, never let it be said that our Mr. Arlik was hampered by common manners. Serves you right for wolfing your food." he snapped, turning to his own plate and delicately picking at his food. It was several minutes before he noticed that Mulder wasn't eating. He motioned to his prisoner. "Eat now, Fox. Just ignore the crudities of our ersatz host." He returned to his meal. Mulder had noticed a flicker of body language from his partner, however. He glanced over at her. She was warning him with her eyes and an almost imperceptible nod in the direction of Hodd Arlik. Shifting his attention to the big man at the end of the table, Mulder realized there was something wrong. The man's normally dusky color had deepened to a deathly blue-gray. His eyes seemed bulge, and his coughing had evolved into a struggle for breath. Seeing Mulder's expression, Ottman also turned his attention to the man at the end of the table. Heaving a sigh, the little man rose and began to slap Arlik on the back. "Fool!" he barked at the struggling man. "Suffocation would serve you right. You eat like a wild pig." Mulder shuddered. Something peculiar was happening. He could feel it. This was no simple case of choking. He looked at Hodd's nearly empty plate. His eyes wandered over the table, resting for a moment on the bowl of hot mushrooms. There was something about mushrooms he should remember. He gazed quizzically at the same mushrooms, untouched where Ottman had put them on his plate. A quick look at Ottman's plate revealed the man had already consumed more than half of his portion. Realization crept over him like ghostly fingers sliding up his spine. ********************************** He looked over at Miss Edie and his partner. Edie Arlik sat ramrod straight in her chair, staring at her husband as he struggled for air. One glance at Scully was all he needed. Her leaden expression was no mask for the inner fight she was going through. Her lower lip was pinched and her eyes were too bright. But she did not move, nor would she meet her partner's eyes. Nor would she look at the man who had suddenly pitched forward to the floor and lay there in the throes of a convulsion. Mulder thought numbly. He felt a precipitous drop in his gut. This would have been the depths of horror for his partner, as a doctor, as an agent and as the woman he knew her to be. The drumming of the stricken man's heels convulsing on the floor echoed in his ears. Mulder pulled in his lower lip and lowered his head. Would it never stop? How long would this death throe last? And then silence. He dared not look up. He could not hear Hodd Arlik's tortured breathing any more. "Poison?" It was Ottman's voice, light and amused. "You've poisoned him? Was it the drink?" There was no answer from Edie. She stared resolutely at the place where her husband had been sitting. Scully did not move, either. She said a silent prayer asking forgiveness from her God and began calculating the distance between her and Mulder's gun; the distance between Mulder's gun and Mulder. Ottman's laughter was thin. "No, then. Not the drink." He paused, his face shadowing over with his own realization and then murderous rage. "It wasn't supposed to be just him, was it? Not just Hodd, but perhaps me, too, filthy creatures? " More stony silence. A sweep of Ottman's hands sent bowls of food flying toward the women, crashing against a cupboard and shattering at their feet. They did not move but, in that instant, Mulder sprung like a waiting cat for the gun. Ottman saw him coming and snatched the weapon off the table in time. Mulder stopped himself, backing slowly into his chair. Ottman was smiling wickedly as he stepped over Hodd's body and moved toward Mulder. "So what was it? Which food?" He spoke at the women but did not look at them. Instead he eased up behind Mulder and slid his arm around his prisoner's neck, serpent-like, pulling the young man's head up sharply against his thin chest. He pressed the cold metal barrel alongside the agent's injured ear with purpose. Mulder closed his eyes against the sizzle of pain that started up along his jawline. He swallowed a whimper. The discomforting pressure on his torn eardrum was touching off the vertigo and the clinch of the killer's arm around his throat was tightening. It was becoming harder to think. He clawed at the arm around his throat. "No answer?" Ottman's voice sounded a little strange. It was high and tense. "What have I eaten, you beastly bitches?" Mulder could feel him shaking, but his hold did not loosen and the agent had to redouble his weakening efforts to break free, to breathe. "Tell me! Or I'll make sure your 'Sugar' is next." Scully twitched but Miss Edie again laid a gentle hand on the other woman, stalling her. "All right. All right, then," the little man began puffing breathlessly. "Then perhaps I should share. Maybe... you'd like to see your... Sugar Boy... die like... your husband." He released Mulder and shoved him forward to the table. "Pick up your fork, Fox. Edie has made a special treat for you." Mulder hesitated. The barrel of the gun rammed painfully into his back. "Do it!" the killer shrieked. Mulder lifted the fork obediently. "Eat!" Ottman screamed at him. He pressed the gun to the back of his head. Mulder looked nervously at Scully. Her eyes were wet and one hand was held tightly to her mouth. She began shaking her head violently. "No! No, don't make him eat. It was the mushrooms. The mushrooms," she shouted at Ottman. "Please. Don't let him die like that." She dropped her head to her lap. Mulder's fork clattered noisily to the table. He felt weak, hot and cold. "Don' matter none, now," Edie said quietly. "You may be dead in minutes. Nothin' you can do." Ottman began muttering frantically. He was frightened. The situation was clearly reeling out of his control. So much had changed in the scant space of five minutes. Mulder wasn't even surprised when Ottman turned on him, his eyes transformed and steely with madness. "But there *is* something I can do," he hissed. The killer scrambled to the body of Hodd Arlik, patting the dead man's pockets, looking for something, all the while glancing nervously between his three captives. He pulled a set of handcuffs from Arlik's back pocket and grinned at Mulder. "I'll need you now, dear Fox. I'll need your blood. Your untainted, un-poisoned blood. It will keep me safe from their treachery, boy. You're my talisman, Fox." The man was babbling, not making sense. The specter of his own death had loosed his last tenuous hold on what remained of his sanity. And his total insanity made him even more dangerous. Mulder was certain they would all be dead within minutes if one wrong move was made now, but he could feel his own reality slipping with the pain and weariness of his body. He didn't even offer any resistance when he felt his arms being jerked to his back and secured to the chair with handcuffs taken from Hodd Arlik's body. He felt surreal. The altar was being prepared; he was going to be forced to give his sacrifice to this insane "priest" now. Yet, all he could really focus on were Scully's soft sobs. He just wanted to comfort her, plead with her to stop crying. This had all been too much for her, he thought, too much for both of us. "Stop your hysterics," Ottman bellowed at her. He waved the gun at Edie. "You! Husband-killer! Get up!" Edie visibly cringed at the name. She looked haunted suddenly. It was the name she expected at her Judgment Day. It was the name she hoped the good Lord was going to overlook on her behalf. "Get my medical bag from the front room. Get it now." Edie moved woodenly around the table. Mulder watched dully as she moved past them. There was some kind of transformation going on; he could sense it through the fog of pain and dizziness that was beginning to claim him. He looked up startled at the strangled angry noise coming from the direction of his partner. She was vaulting to her feet and coming straight at Ottman. Mulder's heart froze. What was she doing? She was unarmed! >From the edge of his peripheral vision, he saw the flash of the gun discharge. The noise seemed to register late on his shattered ear drum, sending new paroxysms of pain through him. He clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut. He did not see his partner go down. He only knew that when he was able to open his eyes again, Scully was nowhere to be seen. Had Ottman shot her? Was she on the floor on other side of the table, out of sight? Was she alive? He began to fight his restraints. He had to get to her. "Scully," he cried out. He began to stand, bringing the chair up with him, only to be pulled roughly back to the floor by claw-like hands. Those grotesque hands were ripping and tearing at his shirt. Ottman's face had become gargoyle-like in his madness. "*You* must save me, Fox, my boy," the man gasped and wheezed as he pulled shreds of the shirt away from Mulder's body. "If they've poisoned me... If there was enough to kill me, your blood will cleanse me." Mulder twisted angrily away from the cold feel of the madman's deformed hands on him. "Scully!" he shouted again. No answer. He felt faint, and he could feel his adrenaline-driven strength beginning to ebb. Ottman was tugging at him. The Poe Mountain Horror meant to start his blood-letting now. No ceremony. No preamble. Only the crazed frenzy of a killer with an insane obsession. "Scully!" Mulder's cries were full of despair. No answer. Edie Arlik returned to the room, her face and demeanor unchanged. She passed by the body of her husband without giving it a glance. She put the medical bag on the table and opened it, stepping back to a respectful distance, seemingly unaware of Mulder's struggles. Ottman was sweating, grunting as he wrestled with the younger man to keep him seated in the chair he was bound to. Perhaps the cramping had started? Mulder held out hope; perhaps what little of the mushrooms the monster had eaten would be enough to do in a man of his size. If only there were more time. If only he could put up a fight long enough. But Mulder was stunned into momentary stillness at the sight of all the gleaming scalpels and small suture sets in the open bag. There were syringes, unmarked vials of drugs. A killer's Little Portable Shop of Horrors. Ottman grabbed carelessly at a scalpel. He was acting like a desperate man now. He came at the stricken agent hungrily. Mulder squirmed and rocked the chair to the side, away from the bite of that scalpel. "No, Fox, *NO*!" Ottman shrieked at him. "Be still! You must be still!" He pulled the chair around viciously and locked it up against a cupboard. Mulder writhed, but it made little difference. The scalpel plunged into the breast muscle below his collarbone, cutting deep and unevenly. Fox Mulder was too shocked to scream, to protest, to plead. It was the final insult. His body went limp and his head rolled back. He never saw Miss Edie descending on the Darius Job Ottman like an avenging angel, wielding a scalpel she had concealed in her sweater. He never heard her scream for her "Sugar Boy", and he never heard the one shot that rang out just before Ottman dropped dead at his feet. ********************************** The friendly snap and pop of a warm fire tempted him through the last veil of unconsciousness. He slowly opened his eyes and watched soft-edged shadows dance against the wooden wall, struggling to sort out the ghostly images. He sensed dull whispers of pain and panic kept at bay by whatever drugs were coursing through him right now. There was a dim memory of restless dreaming. he realized finally with some surprise. But now he felt no panic, no fear. He felt safe. And warm. He cautiously shifted and felt the stiff pull of bandages on his chest, over his shoulder and on his ear. Careful not to tempt the vertigo back, he drew his eyes slowly toward the buttery yellow light spilling from the fire in the fireplace. He smiled gratefully at the vision of his partner, Dana Scully, sitting huddled before the fire, arms wrapped around her legs, chin resting on her knees, gazing into the flames. He watched her for a long time, just thankful she was alive and seemingly unharmed. In that unspoken language between them, it wasn't too hard to figure out that his partner was engrossed in some soul-searching. Being isolated in this cage full of demons had given her plenty of opportunity to find her own personal demons as well. Mulder knew. He had seen a few of his own in the past several days. His eyes wandered the room that had been a prison to them both. It didn't feel like a prison any more. The aura of death and hate was gone, passed on like the winter storm. It was quiet outside and it was quiet in here, save for the crackling fire. When he looked toward his partner again, two bright blue eyes looked back, crinkling up in a relieved smile. "Hey," Dana said softly. "Hey," Mulder answered. There was a sweet comfortable silence between them for a long moment. Then Fox Mulder wriggled his hand free of the soft blankets she had tucked around him and reached out for her. Scully smiled sadly and scooted over to the bedside. He folded her into a half-embrace, pressing her soft red hair to his chest. She struggled. "Mulder, your bandages..." "Would you hush?" he asked seriously. "I just wanted to...I needed this right now." She relaxed, drawing her arm up to encircle his and waited. He would have questions, she knew. He always had questions. She just didn't know how long this shock would consume him. She couldn't predict when he would be ready to ask his questions. She knew her own deep shock was going to take a long time to heal. He held her head firmly to his sore chest. He didn't want her to look up just then and see the tears of gratitude sliding from his eyes. She was alive. There was too much to say and too little control on his feelings to say it any of it now. He took a deep breath and took another tact, something safer and less emotionally loaded. "I always seem to miss out on the... uh... climax." He felt her smile against his skin. "Just as long as you're always around for the 'denouement', Mulder," she laughed gently. Then she sighed. "This time, we both seem to have missed the climax." "Mmmm. I can think of some situations in which that wouldn't be much fun." He started to yawn but stopped when he felt a twinge of pain in his ear. Scully groaned and sat up. "Yes. Of course you can, Agent Mulder. And *that * loaded statement marks the official point at which I know you will be a completely healed... heel." She smiled primly at him and tucked his arm back under the blankets. He smiled back. For one moment she thought he was ready to ask. She thought she saw it in his eyes. "So. We're still here..." Scully nodded, smoothing the blankets around him. "The storm just let up at dawn. I ventured out for a bit at noon, but ..." She shrugged sheepishly. "I haven't a clue as to where we are, Mulder. We just have to have faith that there'll be people out looking for us now that the storm's let up. It's been over five days." Mulder's hazel eyes widened in surprise. "What?" he gasped. "How long have I been...?" "Out of it?" Scully finished for him. "Two days, give or take a few hours." She rubbed her arms as if warming herself against some inner chill. Her face looked suddenly drawn and tired. She shuddered, remembering how she had picked her way unsteadily over three corpses, making her way toward the too- still, too-pale body of her partner, blood streaming bright and wet over his chest and stomach. "I wasn't sure," she said quietly, as she reached over and pushed a lock of dark away hair from her partner's brow. "I wasn't sure you were going to make it, Mulder. By the time I came to, you had lost quite a bit of blood." "What happened to you? " he asked, wide-eyed. She pulled back a lock of her red hair, revealing a small white bandage near the top of her right temple. "I deserved this, in a way. I reacted emotionally in a situation that could have used some clearer thinking. I'm sorry. I was so scared that he..." She paused and shook her head. "Just stupid. But someone up there likes me, Mulder. It was close enough to knock me out cold. When I woke up, everything was so still. And then I saw you. Mulder, I was sure you were dead. And when I found that you weren't, I was sure you were dying. And, at that point, I wasn't sure I was going to be able to help you." Mulder could tell how much that meant to her. "But you did, Scully. I'm probably just a little worse for wear, but here I am, alive to make you rue another assignment with me." "Well, you have Miss Edie's little 'wildflower pharmacy' to thank for helping you through these last few days," Scully informed him. She looked away from him, suddenly awash in memories of the little woman. "Miss Edie. She's dead?" Mulder asked gently, seeing the distress on his partner's face. Scully sighed and nodded. "From the way the bodies looked, I think it's a pretty safe assumption that Miss Edie attacked Ottman when he went after you. You must have passed out. Ottman's throat had been slashed and there was a bloody scalpel in Miss Edie's hand. She died of a gunshot -- struck her right in the heart. Probably a fluke shot squeezed off by that bastard before he fell over dead." Mulder looked surprised. So much had happened. He glanced toward the kitchen doorway. "Where are all the bodies, Agent Scully?" "Well, I had to be practical, Mulder. After getting you stitched up and stabilized, I made journal notes about the crime scene, bagged what evidence I could, and disposed of the bodies, dragging Arlik and Ottman outside, just beside the house. It was as far as I could go..." She paused, and Mulder squirmed a hand free to lay over hers. "God, Scully, I'm so sorry. It must have been awful for you." Scully shook her head quickly. "No. You know, Mulder, I had so much pent up rage and hate and frustration, that dragging their dead carcasses outside into the cold -- like so much unwanted garbage -- was really like a catharsis for me. Really. But..." Her eyes moistened. "Miss Edie's little broken body..." Scully began to cry openly. Mulder reached up and pulled her gently back down to rest on his chest while she sobbed. "Her -- her body... I just couldn't... I took the little lace pillow she had given you and some of those blankets -- she told me she made them for her 'Sugar' -- and I wrapped her little body in them and carried her back to the shed where she said she kept her goats. She'll be safe there 'til someone comes for us. Then I want to give her a proper burial -- here -- Mulder." Mulder nodded for her, stroking her hair to comfort her, but he remained silent, pondering the impossible mix of fate and happenstance that had brought them both to this living nightmare. And he wondered again about the curious little woman who had watched over him so faithfully. "She did it for you, Mulder," Scully said, lifting her head and looking into his eyes with a sad smile as if reading his perplexed thoughts. "And she did it for someone she loved once. For her 'Sugar Boy'. This must have been like a re-enactment of the nightmare she carried around in her head for *years*." "What do you mean?" He had missed so much. "Edie's Sugar Boy was a little kid. I think Arlik had kidnapped him and brought him up here to snap Edie out of a depression over losing her third baby. Turns out, *he* was the bastard murdering them as they were born. The third and last birth had been particularly hard, leaving her crippled. So that creep kidnaps someone else's kid and hands him to Edie like giving someone a puppy because their dog died." Scully was shaking with outrage she had kept locked up for days. "When Hodd dragged you in that night, Mulder, Edie fell deep into a delusion that must have been brewing in her for years. It was like that kidnapping all over again. She fixated on you as her Sugar Boy. I'm not sure, but I suspect Hodd killed that boy, too. I got the feeling he had abused the boy badly and that maybe he had died during or after one of those beatings. Seeing Hodd torture you was replaying the nightmare for her." Mulder nodded in agreement, finally understanding the peculiar old woman's need to protect him. "I'm so grateful it's over, Scully," he said softly after a few moments of silence. He laid a hand over his injured ear and grimaced but said nothing more. "Well, it's not over yet, mister," she responded wearily, pulling his hand gently away from his ear and patting his covers, trying to steer the subject away from thoughts of Edie. "You've definitely had damage to that eardrum. That's an automatic ticket into a hospital bed when we get back to civilization. And you still have a fever. Your blood count has got to be..." "Bleeding, broken, bruised and beaten," Mulder sing-songed, trying to lighten the mood. "No wonder the bureau pushed me into the harness with you. It was either you and your medical bag or Harkins in Accounting-- you know, to keep me in line with all those 'X'-traordinary 'X'-pense reports." "As your partner, Harkins would have been dead by now. Of a heart attack. Dropped over on his desk, face first in expense reports that rival NASA's and requisition sheets that resemble something out of a production of a Wes Craven movie." Scully jibed in response to his playful remark. Mulder smiled broadly and settled back, closing his eyes. Scully watched his smile fade. She knew what he was thinking. "He's really dead, isn't he?" he asked quietly, not seeking an answer. He opened his eyes and stared at the wooden rafters overhead. "The murderous, soulless bastard that was just a dream on eleven neatly typed pages of paper five days ago. He became *real* for me -- and now he's dead." His brow furrowed, and Scully could sense the transformation in him. She was familiar with it. Mulder's eyes were lit with the fire of the hunt again. His need to fit all the pieces of the puzzle together. The questions had begun. They spent the next several hours reviewing the case that had become their personal hell. They talked, conjectured and philosophized over cups of tea, bowls of broth, and stale biscuits. Outside, heavy cloud cover ushered night in earlier than usual. But without the steady moan of storm winds, the snow-muffled silence made the house seem as quiet as a tomb. Mulder had stopped asking questions. He seemed lost in thought. Noticing her partner's characteristic enthusiasm fade earlier than it would ordinarily, Scully ended the discussion. "Medicine rounds, partner. Two for you. one for me, I think. My headache is back, and you look exhausted." "But I just slept for two days, Scully," Mulder protested. He did feel tired, but he knew the thought of going back to sleep bothered him. He told himself he was just hungry for more of the details he had missed, victimized by injuries and his captors. "No...you 'repaired'," Scully was lecturing. "But you did not 'rest'. Rest is something you do voluntarily." He nodded with some evident reluctance. "Right again. Doctor. I don't even have the energy to fight about it. Bad sign, huh?" He settled deeper into the warm blankets. "Let's hope the new day dawns on a fleet of emergency personnel outside that front door," he sighed, half-asleep already. But behind his closed eyelids, he could sense deadly images lurking, waiting for him, wanting him to return to unconsciousness, where they could wreak havoc with him again. He looked quickly at his partner. "Hey, Scully?" he added quietly. "Whatever medicine you give me? Make sure I won't'dream. Okay?" "Understood," she answered simply. **************************************** Scully awoke with a start. The fire was blazing, recently fed. She looked over to Mulder's bed. Blankets thrown back. Empty. The red-headed agent bolted upright, spurred by a sharp pang of panic. "Hey, Scully. I'm right here. It's okay." His voice, soft and quick to reassure, came from the direction of front door. Scully whirled, heart pounding, still half-awake. "Mulder. Damn it!" "Hey," he said again, sounding a bit defensive. "I'm okay!" He added sheepishly, "I just couldn't sleep." Scully relaxed and brushed strands of hair from her face. He *did* look okay. He was too thin, of course. He still looked a bit feverish. But standing there, barefoot, his jeans hanging loosely on his hips, a blanket draped protectively over his bare shoulders and chest, dark hair mussed and tumbling over his forehead -- he looked better than "okay". Scully fought a slow smile that began creeping over her lips. Mulder cocked his head at her, quizzically. "What...? " Before she could answer sensibly though, he suddenly turned to look out the glass of the front door. "I think I hear something," he said excitedly. As she drew up beside him, Scully could here the distant buzz and whine of engines. A snow mobile? No. Several snow mobiles. Scully looked up at her partner. He drew her into a tight embrace, smiling. X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X+X Hospital Room 506 Emory University Atlanta, Georgia Fox Mulder craned his neck to the side and wriggled his shoulder for the fifth time in as many minutes. The itch in his jaw and throat were deep, no place that he could scratch. And the pain was becoming more than a nuisance. He glanced at the nurse call button. He could ask... He shook the thought off. The price of being without the pain was a bit more than he was willing to pay right now. He forced himself to think of other things. On morning rounds, that good-looking intern had taken a few minutes extra out of her schedule to explain that the delicate surgery on his eardrum had gone better than expected yesterday. His infection had not spread, she said, despite the beating his body and his immune system must have taken. He looked ruefully at the trail of IV tubing running from his arm, over the bed, to several bags of fluids hanging on a pole with an automatic dose meter attached and yawned. He felt exhausted. It had not been a restful night. The little machine blinked red numbers and codes at him. Like he cared. Damn, he hated IV's. And then he smiled to himself. Well, it had garnished him enough attention from that intern, hadn't it?. She was going to come back. She promised. She would bring charts, pictures, articles, she said. She wanted to show him just how well he was doing. Did he know how complicated the workings of the inner ear were, she had asked in a far-too-eager voice. Well, yes, his partner had told him. But he didn't tell the beautiful young intern that. Did he appreciate how delicate his surgery was? Well, actually, Scully had speculated with him about what they might do. But he failed to mention that, too. It couldn't hurt to get a second opinion, could it? Was he curious about the procedure? Did he know it would save his job with the FBI? Well, that's why Scully said she had insisted on the best doctors as she put him in the ambulance headed down to Atlanta within two hours of their rescue No "ifs". No "ands". No "statements". Everything could wait until he was better, Scully had ordered. He sighed and rolled onto his side, staring at the door and yawning again. Damn. That hurt his ear. ESPN was playing, muted, on his television set, but he wasn't interested. , he snorted to himself. He was bored. And tired and sore and... That intern. Titian-colored hair. Ringlets, though. Not straight and tamed like Scully's. And eyes. Mmmmm. Too green, though. Colored contacts; he was sure of it. He had noticed the shiny telltale edge of them in her eyes. He huffed and tossed himself onto his back again, wincing at the pinching sensation that crawled over his back, over the healing cuts and welts. And then: He warned himself away from another dangerous train of thought. He began flipping through channels on the muted television. Twice through and nothing . Televangelists, shopping channels, and dolphins at sexual play on the Discovery Channel. He paused and watched. Thank heaven for the Discovery Channel. Thank heaven for dolphins. Thank heaven for... Did he find out that intern's name? She had a soft southern drawl. Probably a local southern belle. She wore make-up. Lightly done and pretty. Did she have freckles? It was a wonder how Scully's freckles appeared or disappeared depending on whether she chose to bother with make-up or not. He sighed again and glanced toward the door. There was a lot to be said for the post-surgical fog of anesthesia; he hadn't been this restless yesterday. He vaguely recalled a phone call from Assistant Director Skinner. He couldn't even remember what had been said, but when Esther, one of his two favorite nurses, had awakened him a while later, he found the receiver of the phone tucked painfully under his neck. He doubted that the conversation with his boss had ended with the proper decorum. If it had been anything more important than the platitudes and niceties given to a hospital-bound agent, he was sure Skinner would have gotten a message through somehow. He closed his eyes out of sheer tedium. "I know you're not sleeping." He smiled but did not open his eyes. This was no soft southern drawl. It was the familiar voice of his partner. "Did you forget you shot me off to Atlanta, Scully? Made me a bed-ridden patient for three days while you stayed behind and got to play FBI Agent-In-Charge?" "Well, it's apparent you're well enough to be cranky," he heard her say wearily. He heard the squeak of leather as she sat in the chair nearest to the bed. "You've had enough time to make up a long list of complaints." "I'm not *cranky*. And I'm not complaining." he continued to complain, popping his eyes open to look at her. "I've been bored." Two pretty dark-haired, dark eyed nurses leaned into the doorway. "Shift change, Fox. We'll stop by later." He looked over and smiled brightly. "Hi Esther. Hi Pat. I'll be waiting." "They're cute, Mulder. So, you were telling me about being bored?" Scully prompted, trying to keep the smile out of her voice. Mulder blushed a deep red, and Scully was unable to keep herself from laughing. "Don't worry, Mulder. I'll promise not to watch when they take your blood pressure. Here. I got this. Just for you." A bright helium balloon with the cartoon caricature of "Tigger" floated into view with a big red "Get Well" greeting scrawled across the top. "Tigger, Scully?" He squinched up his face. "The gift shop was all out of those anatomically-correct 3-D 'Playmate of the Month' balloons, Mulder," his partner intoned in a playful growl as she anchored the balloon to his IV pole. "Yeah, well, I hear they're all the rage in the cardiac unit," he growled back. She laughed and dropped a heavy manila envelope on his stomach. "That's just Phase One of the wind-up of our case in Berrien, Tennessee. Oh... and Miss Etta sends her love in the form of an all-butter, old-fashioned, made-from-scratch pound cake that I left in the car just now. Sorry. I'll bring it up later." "It can wait, Scully. I don't think I can handle any more 'watching over' by little old ladies." He looked up quickly at Scully. She was smiling sadly. "So," he said softly. "You still had to walk through the fires of hell while I was here, enjoying legally administered drugs. Are you okay? Did it go well?" "Well, on the 'bright' side -- Sheriff Zames is busy answering phone calls from all over the world again. He's having to explain how a serial killer was able to lurk all around Poe Mountain while everyone else was out hunting for aliens. And, of course, Washington is doing 'handstands' over the fact that a team of its 'brightest & finest' had had the foresight into the problem *before* anyone else was killed. They are waving your profile around like a standard going into battle." She watched Mulder wince and shake his head in disgust. "But there were more people killed, weren't there?" he whispered, flicking a corner of the envelope, but making no move to open it . Scully bowed her head for a moment. "Yes. Yes, there were." She watched the freezing winter rain pelt the window before continuing. "Matt Merrill --the deputy?--has been most helpful. He's personally overseeing Edie's burial today." She glanced at her watch. "In about an hour, I guess." ********************************** She fell quiet. Mulder could tell there was more, but he just decided to wait for her. "They found the skeletons of three infants yesterday, when they had started the extensive search of the property. Newborns, they said. Buried in shallow graves in Edie's herb garden area. Probably buried about twenty to twenty five years ago, it would seem." Scully shook her head, as if brushing away a thought. "Edie'll be buried in that garden, and when the coroner is done with the remains of the infants, Matt has promised to put them to rest beside Edie." Mulder just nodded. There didn't seem much to say for a moment. "Funny thing is -- We found out that that property is technically owned by the National Park. Hodd had been squatting on it for years, unchallenged. Burying Edie and her children on it could have been a legal nightmare, but the governor heard about the case, heard about what she did for you and me, and interceded with the Parks Service Division. I'd heard Attorney General Reno, at the suggestion of our Director Freeh, made phone calls as well. I'm sure Skinner started that ball rolling. Anyway, the rest of the property will be razed next spring, but she'll be safe there." "And what happens with..." Mulder paused, his voice laden with hints of bitterness. He took a deep breath. "...Arlik?" He was having difficulty, Scully noted. She briefly wondered if it was too soon to talk about all this with him. So much had been uncovered, and there was so much else to tell him. She glanced at the envelope still laying in his stomach, untouched. "Arlik was a time bomb, Mulder. When Matt Merrill began checking out some of the leads you had suggested, he was able to find out all sorts of interesting facts about that man. Given time, Arlik would have destroyed himself and Ottman." Mulder's face looked set and remote. She could tell part of him was needing to pull away, to distance him from this discussion. The memories were too fresh. But Fox Mulder, 'Special Agent for the FBI', insisted on staying in the conversation. "No," Mulder asserted in a low voice. "Arlik wouldn't have -- couldn't have -- brought Ottman down. The bastard was too clever for the likes of Hodd. That's why Hodd made the perfect foot soldier for him." He looked back at Scully. "What did they find out about the connection between the two of them?" "Well, it looks pretty clear that Ottman and Arlik began their unholy alliance about ten months ago. Matt Merrill isn't sure about all the facts yet, but he thinks that they first met at a bar in Chattanooga. It would seem that Ottman was probably on the prowl -- looking for a rube like Arlik." Scully shook her head in wonder. "It can't have been chance that they just 'met', Mulder. Those two were so parasitically perfect for each other. They needed each other. But perhaps, without witnesses or statements from the criminals themselves, we'll never know how they got together. Ottman was independently wealthy, had been back in the States about a year, and was traveling -- supposedly -- when he met up with Arlik. He offered to set Arlik up with tow trucks, business contacts in auto salvage -- Matt Merrill tracked that info down just on the suggestions you gave him -- and, of course, Ottman also offered money in exchange for Arlik's help kidnapping young men. "The five young men from Poe Mountain aren't the first set of victims, Mulder." She looked over at her partner to gauge his reaction. Nothing. No surprise. He might have predicted this. "There are two missing persons cases in Atlanta that may fit Arlik's MO -- no bodies have been found, yet, though. There'll be a lot of digging going on at the Arlik homestead over the next few months, I suppose. Arlik hid the trucks and stolen vehicles in pole barns at the far end of the property. It was in one of those barns that Ottman had set up his - uh -- quarters, I guess you'd call them. Very sterile. Very lab-like. Very weird. And full of incriminating evidence including a freezer full of severed hands." She watched Mulder shudder. She really didn't want to continue, but there would never be a "good" time to tell him either. "That answers some of the 'how'; the 'why' is easier to answer in a way. Darrius Ottman didn't lie to us: He is the illegitimate child of the daughter of a wealthy family -- Hudson River Valley pedigree, old money -- they took him in, disowned his mother, and promptly put their 'foundling' through upper class training. There is at least one unfounded rumor that his mother had been a runaway -- left home pregnant by her own father, Darrius' grandfather, a pillar of the community. Once the family had him, they tried to correct a myriad of birth defects that he had been born with as well as a myriad of personality defects he had seemed to acquire in his early life on the streets with his mother. "Reports I had faxed to me yesterday show that he was institutionalized once as a young teen. All very hush, hush. He was held for about eighteen months, released and promptly sent off to schools in Gstaad, Switzerland. It seems his release was 'forced' -- bought out by his relatives who feared having him 'discovered' in an institution by the media when the family patriarch was about to make a run for a senate position." Mulder was watching her with bright eyed interest. "Let me guess," he sighed wearily. "The institutionalization was probably after some bloodletting incident -- probably carried out on a fellow student. And I'm sure if you read the entire record, young Darrius probably had several incidents of similar ilk with family pets, neighborhood animals. Sacrifices, experimentation..." He fell silent, his hand on the envelope, brooding. "It didn't stop did it? He got older and bolder, I'll bet. Any suspicious incidents in Europe?" "Well, uh... yes," Scully affirmed. She wasn't really surprised: Her partner's uncanny ability to profile killers like Ottman grew from the deep understanding of their warped psyches. Without ever having met them, he could predict nearly every aspect of their tangled lives. "There have been several reports of similar mutilation cases in parts of Europe that coincide with Ottman's whereabouts at the time. The reports are sporadic. Ottman was given a job in the diplomatic corps for several years. Apparently he was good at what he did, if not well liked. He frequently requested -- and got - - third world assignments." "Perfect victims, " Mulder mumbled. "He preyed on them. Countries where people have to sell their children to stay alive." He pushed the envelope off his stomach; it was beginning to feel too heavy, and he felt nauseous. He shut his eyes. Damn! His ear hurt. He rubbed his eyes. He didn't want to talk about Ottman any more. Not now. He didn't want to think about how many victims the sick bastard may have fed on over the years. Scully watched him twitch his shoulders. He was feeling the faint echoes of his nightmare, she knew, in every pinch and pang of his healing body. His eyes had lost the playful eagerness they had when she walked in a few moments ago. They were coloring darker, losing their green-gold glitter. ********************************** "What about Arlik? What happens with him?" he asked harshly. Scully noticed the abrupt shift in topic, but did not refer to it. She answered his question. There would be time enough to tell him, she hoped. "His body is destined for a pauper's grave. A potter's field somewhere outside of Berrien. No relatives, apparently. At least, no one came forward." "Go figure," Mulder snorted caustically. "Well, Hodd Arlik was destined for a grave this winter, one way or the other, Mulder. His autopsy showed an advanced case of lead poisoning," Scully added, shifting her eyes to gaze out the window for a moment. Mulder looked at her, surprised. "Lead poisoning?" he echoed. "Yes. Edie had told me. She knew he was poisoning himself with the old piping in his still... She knew, but she never told him. And, bless her, for as much as she hated that man, for as much as he used and abused her, she still felt as though she had sold herself to the devil for not telling that bastard he was killing himself." Mulder pushed himself back into his pillows and stared at the ceiling. "Then poisoning him at the dinner table that night must have really cost her." "Yes, it did," his partner admitted, then added quietly. "It cost us all, I suppose." Mulder glanced over at her quickly. To have knowingly allowed a man to die was a betrayal of Scully's very soul. He knew that the choice to sit still while Hodd Arlik choked and convulsed on the floor that night would haunt her for a long time. "He was a sadistic killer, Scully." His voice was soft but firm. Scully pursed her lips for a second and nodded. "I know, Mulder, I know. It wouldn't be so frightening to me if I hadn't *wanted* it so badly. Every time he even looked your way, I wanted to kill him with my own hands, and whenever he touched you..." She sighed, letting her shoulders slump. Silence again. Mulder swung his long legs over the edge of the bed to sit up. His back was really beginning to bother him, and the biting pain in his ear was becoming unbearable. It was as if all this talk was conjuring the nightmare to life again. He rolled his shoulders and craned his neck over again, trying to move the discomfort out of his head. "Why don't you ask for a pain med, Mulder? Knowing you, you're probably long overdue." Scully started to reach for the nurse call button, but Mulder stayed her hand. "No, don't. Please," he said too quickly. Scully searched his eyes, but he avoided her. "Mulder? Why are you being such an extraordinary martyr?" she inquired peevishly. "I'm not," he snapped at her. "Pat checked on my medications for me over an hour ago. It's just... um, the doctor hasn't changed my pain med orders, yet." "And...?" Scully prompted him when he fell silent. No answer. "What is the problem, Mulder?" Her partner groaned. "He's still got me on some kind of IM narcotic, Scully, and I don't want it. I didn't tell Pat." "But, Mulder, your injuries...," Scully began to protest. "No. Wait. Listen to me, Scully." He held up one cut and bruised hand in an impatient signal. "It... the drug. I don't want it. It makes me dream." There. He said it. He sighed. "I've been having nightmares, Scully." His voice got very quiet. "When I dream, I'm in that cabin. I've never gotten out of it. And you're gone. I look for you, but I can't find you anywhere. I'm alone, but I can see..." He swallowed convulsively. "I can see him, Scully. Ottman. His face at the window. It doesn't matter where I try to hide. He's at a window, every window, watching. And then I run toward that front room, thinking: I'll be safe if I can just make it out into the storm. That he won't see me in time to catch me, but..." Mulder stopped, breathless. He hung his head. Scully moved up to the bed and sat beside him. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I should have known." She squeezed his shoulder gently. "I'll go see about getting your meds changed to something else a bit less powerful." She moved the envelope from his bed and slipped it into his bedside stand. "Let's talk about the rest of this later, okay?" She couldn't tell him. Not now. When she returned with two tablets and a glass of water, her partner was gone from his bed. The reports, pictures and memos from the manila envelope were scattered over the blankets. IV pole and patient had disappeared. Scully felt a twinge of panic and searched the room for him. The sounds of retching and running water from the bathroom startled her. She threw open the door and was heart stricken to see her partner sitting in the corner of the tiled shower, head bowed to his knees, letting cold water stream over him. Scully snapped the water off and started toweling him dry without a word. She should have told him earlier. He would not tolerate anything held back. She silently berated herself: of course, he would have known if she held anything back. Yet, how could she have told him everything? He looked up at her, expectantly, accusingly. "Where's the report on Ottman's corpse, Scully?" His voice was deep and hoarse with emotion. She cringed. "I was trying to spare you this. I wasn't sure you should... you didn't need to hear this just yet." "Where's the corpse, Scully?" His voice was raised and trembling. She looked away. She couldn't answer, and that would *be* all the answer he needed. "They didn't find a corpse, did they?" His voice was a horrified whisper now. She looked back at him, blue eyes laden with guilt and grief. "No. No, they didn't. It was gone the day that they found us, Mulder." He looked as if he was going to be sick again. "There are wolves in the area, Matt Merrill said. And wildcats, bears," she said hastily. "They're tracking now -- looking for animal sign. Matt Merrill said it wouldn't be unusual ... and the corpse wasn't very big -- something could have dragged it off. Mulder?" Her partner had leaned his head against the cool, wet tiles and closed his eyes. "I know, Scully, I know," he said quietly. "There's a logical explanation." "They are looking, Mulder. Matt said he wouldn't let it go." Her partner sniffed and rubbed his eyes. "Yes. I'm sure he'll keep looking." He sighed and started, unsteadily, to get to his feet. He waved Scully's gesture of help away, but gently not angrily. "Could you get me some dry scrubs, Scully?" he asked meekly. By the time she returned to the room, the papers on his bed had been shuffled into some semblance of order and placed carefully on the bedside stand. Her partner had thrown a flannel blanket over his shoulders and was standing at the window, staring out into the sleet storm. He smiled at her when she pressed the dry clothes into his hands. "I'll be okay, Scully," he answered her unspoken question. "I just need some time to sort everything out in my head. I haven't been facing up to what happened to us -- to me -- up there in that cabin." He fingered his damp clothes self-consciously. "I was just remembering the dream I've been having. You know, I'm hiding and running in that dream, too. I'm keeping myself trapped in that cabin, I think. Maybe I need to make a break for that front door the next time that dream comes to me, meet the monster head on." Scully impulsively circled her arms around him and pressed herself to his damp body. "Don't let him win, Mulder. Don't ever let any of the monsters win. Please. I'm counting on you." He held her close and returned to staring out into the gray rain. Fox Mulder knew he could win against monsters. He'd done it before. He would do it again. =======XXXXX=======FINIS=======XXXXX=== 1996