=====o================================================o===== "Rustic Suite" - Saraband (adagio) by Mary Ruth Keller (mrkeller@eclipse.net) Disclaimed in Prelude =====o================================================o===== -----o-------------------------------------------o----- Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery, Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee: Fairies use flowers for their charactery. Away; disperse: but till 'tis one o' clock, Our dance of custom round about the oak Of Herne the hunter, let us not forget. The Merry Wives of Windsor -----o-------------------------------------------o----- Red Pine Poultry Monday, January 20, 1997 10:17 am The victim was a farmer who lived just over the county line. While Fortner had alerted his counterparts promptly, they had not been so diligent in informing their citizenry. The agents were standing over the torn body of a slender man in his sixties. The Sheriff sighed. "Richard Marshall. He served in the Korean War with my uncle." Scully, who was finished examining the corpse's neck, shook her head as she rose. "Well, Mulder, you were right. We weren't so fortunate." Her partner frowned. "As were you, Scully. They went where the food was." The man's shotgun lay beside him, the body and weapon both not twenty feet away from another mutilated cow. Mulder's cursory survey revealed the same pattern of death and damage. "Now what? How do we track them out here?" Scully walked to stand beside him. "We'll get the state troopers involved." Sighing, he mentally prepared himself for a long stay. "Yeah, we'll send messages for broadcast on the local TV and radio stations in the surrounding counties. I had thought this some extra-normal phenomenon, Scully, but now I'm sure it's just predation by a pack of wild animals. We have to stop them before they kill again." Fortner cleared his throat. "Sheriff Lewis can bring in a few bloodhounds to track them down, now that it's happening in his county, Agents. With all the extra help, you don't have to stay. We can handle things here." The red-haired woman smiled. "No. We'll see this through. It's our case, and we'll be able to bring in outside expertise if the dogs turn up anything new." Fortner regarded the pair gravely. --o-0-o-- Rural Arkansas Monday, 3:57 pm After the dogs had backtracked to Marshall's house, they finally caught the scent of the pack. The agents were following on foot with the two county Sheriffs and their deputies. The trail had taken them further to the north, away from Fordyce. Finally, the group reached a clearing in the pine forest and the hounds stopped, baying and milling about in confusion. The partners exchanged a glance and began combing the field for burn marks or flattened patches of grass. They, too, were blocked by a lack of evidence. Mulder kicked at the long blades in frustration. "Where are they? What am I missing?" Scully pushed her hair behind her ear. "I don't know. They have to be somewhere; they weren't just beamed up." --o-0-o-- An intense pair of eyes watched the scene from the cover of the woods, amused by the consternation on the agents' faces. His revenge was growing sweeter, and the look the tall man sent skyward made him wish he had a camera. The cost of the helicopter had been worth every penny. The coyotes were well away from here by now, back on his ranch near Maud. Once he discovered his nemesis' interest in UFO's, it had taken months to train the wild canines. But the addition of the timber wolf had been inspired genius, driving Mulder to seek the paranormal where there was none to be found. He had sat outside the courthouse in an old beaten-up truck, hearing the argument between the agent and his partner about werewolves, watching her back down and begin developing strategies. He hadn't planned on Mulder having a partner; the agent had been a dedicated loner in Behavioral Sciences. According to the rumors in the town, they were lovers here on a tryst, as if he cared. Halberstam only wanted the Fox, and if he was leaving a Vixen and kits behind, too bad. It would only make his fruitless struggles at the end more demoralizing, his vengeance more complete. --o-0-o-- Fordyce Sheriff's Office Monday, 7:34 pm "Scully, I'm just not seeing something." Since their return to this building, her partner had been unable to sit for more than a few seconds. After urging them both to get a good night's sleep, Fortner had left them shortly before 6:45. Scully walked from the conference room over to where he was staring at the Dallas county map. "I think so too, Mulder." As he looked down at her, she, in her fatigue, focused on his unshaven chin. "The thing I keep coming back to is this: we have a case with all the appearances of canine predation, except for the missing tongues, and now the vanished animals. You and the Sheriff may have been right about this being a hoax, but I don't think it's a poorly executed one, not at all." He turned to face her as she leaned against the wall. "Oh?" She began pacing, tired, but driven to share her conclusions. "I think this is all targeted at you for some reason, Mulder. It is enough like UFO-style cattle mutilations to pique your interest, just enough to bring you down here, but not so similar that you could decide immediately and return home. Nor is it different enough that we would call in the rest of the Bureau's resources." He nodded. "You think someone wants me here, for a while anyway. But what about you? How does it involve you?" She shook her head. "I don't think I'm part of the plan." Scully watched his face darken. "Then you should head back to DC. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you on a case this insignificant. It may be our new adversaries who have planted all this - " He stopped when she stepped in front of him. "No, I don't think so. This is too subtle for the crew we're up against now, after the recent coup. I would have expected it from the Old Men, but McConnell and his Group prefer brute force." She unconsciously rubbed her wrist. Mulder noticed it was still slightly swollen. He moved a little closer to her, trying to shield her with his body from the forces raged against them. She lifted an eyebrow, sending him a reminder of her self- sufficiency, but her up-curved lips thanked him for his concern. They stayed close while he mentally reviewed her conclusions. "So someone wants me here, for revenge? Punishment?" She shrugged. He reached in his jacket for his cel phone. "I'll call Behavioral Sciences. They have records on file of the cases I was involved in, so they can tell me if any of the killers I helped convict is free on parole. None of them have served long enough to be released for their crimes otherwise." --o-0-o-- Fortner's Family Inn Monday, 10:18 pm Mulder stared at the list of names over and over while he tracked a path back and forth in the deep pile of the rose-colored carpet. His feet pressed down on red and green yarns as well, their colors woven in the shapes of carnations and lilies in spiral designs. Twenty-five men had been jailed as a result of his work before the X-files. Outside of Boggs, all but two were still incarcerated, and they had died in 1994 and 1995 respectively. Scully was watching him from her seat on the sofa. "Fortner agreed with us, you know." He nodded, not bothering with a spoken response. "But your list is incomplete." Now he looked over at her. "Those aren't all your cases." He snorted. "Oh, you wanted them to include the seven acquittals as well? All of them were guilty, Scully. If you had been working with me then I might have been focused enough to convict the rest." He dropped the paper on top of the television and slumped on the sofa beside her. "Three were released because of improper search warrants, but those were Paterson's job to obtain. The other four were acquitted because we either couldn't find the evidence to support my profiles they all fitted or else the defense found flaws in my work." Growling angrily at his failure, he stalked to the window. "Why would any of them be after me, Scully? They beat me." Standing beside him, she read the darkness of his years under Paterson's charge in his eyes, when the man had driven him to the brink of insanity for his own ends. Her partner, needy of the approval that this other father figure would purposely withhold from him, had allowed himself to be used yet again. Scully grasped his elbow and shook it. "Stop it, Mulder. I won't let you torture yourself now. You and I both need a full night's sleep so we can function tomorrow." Pursing his lips, he stared down at her, attempting to think of a sarcastic jibe to drive her away, as he had driven away everyone while under his former mentor's tutelage. But the fiercely protective light in her eyes stopped him, and he sent his gratitude in a lopsided grin. "I still want to check out those omelettes, Scully. They're supposed to give us the strength we need to use this room for its rightful purpose." She punched him lightly on the arm, relieved he was refusing to descend into his well of self-pity. --o-0-o-- Sal's Diner Monday, 10:56 pm "You folks the agents from the FBI?" Snapping her gum loudly, the waitress slipped her pencil out of her bleached beehive hair, waiting and staring at the dark-haired man. The decor of the diner was classic American kitsch, the long counter that ran the length of the right side of the room covered by white linoleum with gold flecks. The synthetic leather on the fixed stools beneath it was the same burnt color as the rest of the booths, which wrapped from the back of the dining area around under the side and the front windows, ending at a yellowed, broken jukebox. Mulder was checking his partner's expression, which told him she was mightily displeased with the entrees. He leaned back, a loud squeak emanating from the orange vinyl of the booth as he did. "Yes Ma'am, we are." He glanced quickly at his partner but only glimpsed the top of Scully's head, since her face was now buried in the menu. Her eyes were about level, he knew, with those of the smiling, dancing pink pig in a chef's hat on the cover. "I'd like to have the triple ham omelette, with the hash browns and biscuits, extra gravy please." He smiled sweetly at the tall, bony woman in a mid-thigh turquoise polyester dress, who was scratching on her pad. "That comes with three links of sausage for only twenty-five cent extra, yah know." He leaned towards her, noting the badge with 'Hi, my name is Carol,' in large friendly letters, beside a smaller rendition of the same naked, rotund boar. "I hope it's real *pork* sausage, Carol, not any of that healthy vegetarian stuff." He caught one green-blue eye fixed on him. The waitress sighed, resting one hand in a pocket of a stained white apron she wore over her shift. "Yes, Sir, all made local. You, Ma'am?" Scully closed the menu. "I'll have the turkey sandwich. No chips." She looked up at the waitress. "With mustard, not mayonnaise." The gum snapped as the pencil flew. "Ooh, on a diet *are* we?" Assuming a mask of stoic suffering, the agent ignored the woman's jibe. After Carol shouted their orders into the kitchen, Scully leaned over to whisper to her partner, "There are not one, but *two* strikes against the meal you've ordered tonight, yah know." He hunched over until they were nose to nose, resting his head on one hand. "Yeah, all my ancestors are spinning in their graves, Scully. I'm sure if you go back a few generations, you'll find a rabbi or two, but it really doesn't matter, does it?" She frowned. "What doesn't matter?" He settled back to sip his coffee. "Being God's Chosen People." He snorted. "It didn't help much with Hitler, or the Pogroms, or the Inquisition, or - " "Mulder!" He lifted an eyebrow at her. "What, Scully, I'm just telling the truth." "I know, but despite all those odds, the contributions of men and women of Jewish ancestry to western culture has been enormous! Take music, for instance, with Mendelssohn, Mahler, Schoenberg, the Strauss family, or in the sciences, with Einstein, Meitner and Freud, just to name the most famous ones." He shook his head. "Thank you for reminding me, but I'm not about to start wearing a skull cap to work." Leaning back, Mulder checked on the progress of the cook with their food. She cocked her head. "No, since this is *you* we're discussing, it would have a little rotating spaceship on top." He grinned, knowing she would leave off the weighty lectures tonight. She dropped her voice into a dark tease, "But, if you do, I'm poking you to see if you leak green goo." When she tapped his wrist, his eyes glittered. He had been waiting for this next objection with a ready riposte. Scully put on her best stern doctor manner. "I will not be responsible for your heart attack on this trip, Mulder." He interlaced his fingers on his green plastic placemat. "Here I was hoping you would use all your emergency skills on me. No mouth to mouth resuscitation?" He pouted. She straightened, crossing her arms. "That's no problem. Sheriff Fortner is a qualified paramedic, and he wants to see this case solved as much as you and I do. I'm sure he could handle that part while I pound on your chest." He grimaced playfully. "Ooh, Scully, I'll have to order that whip and hat for you yet." She propped her head up with a fist under her chin, and her eyes glinted back. "Cheapskate! I suppose I'll have to supply the warrior princess outfit myself." The surprise that registered on his face awarded her a temporary victory, but he could not concede without attempting to have the last word. "Scully! Have you been watching my - " His retort was cut off by the waitress, who was returning with her sandwich. Carol let the plate clunk loudly on the table as she disdainfully repeated the order to Scully. The agent nodded her thanks, sobering as the woman left. "Seriously, Mulder, there is something I won't back down on tonight." He dropped the contents of two sugar packets in his coffee, then raised his eyes to hers. "The bed thing?" "You need it. Sleeping on a wooden floor for two nights is no good for your rib-cage." He stirred carefully, then tapped the spoon on the rim of the cup before looking over at her, a hopeful smirk on his lips. "*Alone*, Mulder." "Scully, you take all the joy out of my miserable existence." While sipping the weak grey brew, she chuckled at his backhanded compliment. "And I'll go prematurely grey looking out for you, so I think we're even." She knew from his sigh that his mind had returned to the case. "Tomorrow, I'd like to get exhumation orders for the two men who died." "You think one of the graves may be empty?" He nodded. "It's happened before. We can also call the various prisons and ask them to verify the identity of the others." He spun the cup around in the saucer by pushing on the handle with his finger. "I should have left this one alone, shouldn't I?" His hazel eyes fixed on hers, seeking reassurance. "No, if this is deliberately aimed at you, the sooner we get this solved, the fewer people will suffer." She watched him sink into himself. "We'll find this guy, Mulder. At least in this case we'll be able to stamp it closed and feel like we nailed a perp." He glanced over at her unexpected turn of phrase. --o-0-o-- Fortner's Family Inn Tuesday, January 21, 1997 3:45 am Gasping, Mulder forced his eyes open. "Scully?" His voice was quiet but demanding. She rolled off the couch to stand by the bed, resting her hand on his shoulder. "Was it bad or just strange?" He shrugged. "Neither, only different." After he sat up, he slid shakily off the bed to follow her back to the sofa, where she offered him her glass of water. After he had drained it of its chilled contents, he sighed. "I'm still run down from the homeless case so I'm not thinking straight." He placed the tumbler, decorated with painted pink rosebuds around the rim, on one of the end tables. "Then let's try to work out what's eating you, Mulder." She wrapped her arms around her blanketed knees, facing him. "Just start talking. That's how this therapy is supposed to work, isn't it?" He grinned at her while tugging one of the grey covers over his own legs. "Yeah, I guess." "Tell me about the dream." He rubbed his chin. "It was like, no, it *was* ancient Greece. I'm certain of that. Only I was a woman, and you were a man." She raised an eyebrow at the mental image, so he returned her amusement with a smirk. Scully waved her hand to prompt him to continue. "You'll like this one too. I was sold into slavery by my family, and you were the man who bought me." Now his partner was grinning broadly, leaning against the back of the couch. "Mulder, you're right, these dreams mean absolutely nothing. You've just been away from your videotapes too long." He frowned. "Scully! It wasn't like that at all!" She lifted her head to focus on his face. His mournful expression sobered her, and she wrapped her arms around her knees again. "Oh? Go on." "I wasn't from Greece, and you had to teach me how to speak the language, little by little. Once I could, you set me free, but I had nowhere to go, so I stayed with you." "Hunh. That's strange." "Oh?" "Yes, Mulder, mine was set in ancient Greece as well, only you were the Delphic Oracle, and I was the priest of Apollo assigned to interpret your gibbering. The messages were for the delegation from Athens after Xerxes entered Thessaly in Greece." He raised both eyebrows. "*The* Delegation from Athens? Did I issue both prophesies, or did I get it right the first time?" Shaking her head, she tucked her blanket more tightly around her legs and hips. "But the Oracle had it right both times." Her eyes twinkling, she recited both divinations from memory, Mulder joining her after a few words. "You see, the Athenians had to abandon the Acropolis to the Persians, many shrines were destroyed, much too much blood flowed, and they did grieve." He nodded. "The Athenians did defeat the Persians with their wooden walls at Divine Salamis." Smirking, he placed a hand on his chest. "I'm honored Scully, you won't admit it while you're awake, but your unconscious mind knows the *truth*: I'm such a smart guy, I figure it all out before our cases even begin." "Mulder! Herodotus wrote after the war. For all we know, those prophesies could have been as meaningful as the witches' predictions in MacBeth." Sobering, he stared at her for a while. "Is that how you feel about me, Scully, that you have to interpret the ravings of a lunatic for the rest of the world?" She frowned, considering her answer carefully. "Scully?" She focused on his face. "I used to, Mulder, especially last year, when we were so angry with each other. Back then, I didn't want to be around when you opened your mouth, for fear I'd die of embarrassment." He tipped his head. "But now?" "Now, I understand that your theories are the jumping-off points for further investigation. Neither of us is right the first time, usually, and if we just keep looking, we'll find the answer is somewhere between your idea and mine. We had to learn to listen to each other, to look together rather than run away and traverse separate paths, each missing the evidence the other was finding." Mulder smirked. "Scully, that's the most long-winded way yet you've found to say sometimes I'm as loony as a bat, and sometimes you can't see the forest for the trees." She shook her head. "Whatever, Mulder. Oh, and I see another interpretation to my dream you haven't thought of yet, Doctor Freud." "Oh?" "Yes, the Oracle wasn't mad, she was just inhaling fumes from a volcano that made her hallucinate. She was considered a slave to the god, to Phoebus." "Scully! Are you saying you consider me enslaved to Phoebe still?" As she nodded, he grew thoughtful. "Hunh. I'll have to think about that." He brightened. "So explain mine?" She shrugged. "You feel like I'm teaching you the scientific method, that other language so you can be free?" He nodded. "You see it that way, too." She shrugged, moving into a cross-legged posture on the couch. "Great minds, Mulder." "By the way, with all your work on your advanced degrees, when did you find time to read Herodotus?" "Advanced degrees? Did Mom tell you about that?" He nodded. "She also told me why you were in bed for a week after finishing Medical School." Scully hugged her knees to her chest. "That was the hardest thing I ever had to do, Mulder, to quit when I was so close to that doctorate. It was after that I decided to become an FBI Agent. I had to prove to myself I could have pushed myself to finish." He leaned over and touched her hand. "Why didn't you just take a few months off and recover, then go back?" When Scully rubbed her face, he realized she was trying not to cry. "It's okay if you don't want to tell me." She shook her head, replying in a whisper, "The work was really cutting edge. By the time I recovered, two other groups had found the answer first, and I would have had to start all over. I didn't have another four years of working that hard in me, Mulder, and I needed to make a living somehow." He narrowed his eyes. "So you joined the FBI instead. That was what disappointed your Father, really, wasn't it? Not that you didn't become a regular doctor, but that you abandoned the doctorate for the Bureau?" She gritted her teeth. "Yes, Mulder, it was." Hoping to lift her spirits, he slid over beside her. "If my vote counts, Scully, I'm glad you did. Otherwise I'd be reading the paper one day, trying to figure out why this cute red-headed thirty-two year old is winning two Nobel prizes the same year." He raised both eyebrows. She crinkled her nose at him. "Flatterer." Grinning, he poked her shoulder. "Worked." Scully dropped her face on her knees. "I suppose. So, if these dreams are about how we view ourselves and each other, then my first dream must be telling me I think we are equals on a journey of exploration together through the X-files, right?" He moved closer until his side was touching her calves. "I'm glad you feel that way." He ducked to see her face. "You do, don't you?" As she nodded, he broke into a broad grin. "My first dream told me something important too. I could just as easily work with *you* as the Section Head, I hope you realize." She tilted her head. "Really, Mulder? I thought being able to boss me around officially would be your fondest dream." His immensely sad expression startled her. "Mulder! Are you serious?" He nodded. "I don't know how many ways I have to tell you this, Scully, but I don't want your obedience. I want your razor sharp wits and intellect operating freely on every case, regardless of the conclusions you reach. Isn't that part of the Scientific Method, that nothing is sacred?" Stunned, she leaned against the upright cushions. "Yes, Mulder, it is. You *are* learning the language." He slid into his corner. "I guess the staying with you bit is on the money, too." Scully lifted one corner of her mouth. "Great. We'll be the oldest partners in the FBI, still writing separate reports, and delivering them in our dueling wheelchairs for an even more ancient Walter Skinner to sign off on." He smirked. "But mine will have racing stripes, Scully." She sobered. "For a while, at least, we should be considering what these nighttime mental musings mean." Stretching his legs along the edge of the sofa, he put his hands behind his head. "Yeah, and in a way, this is good. We *are* learning more about each other, plus this has turned into an interesting investigation." Startled, she stared at him. "You didn't think this was a real case when you dragged me down here, did you?" He shrugged. "You aren't hiding any football tickets, are you?" He regarded her with a look of naked anguish. "No, Scully, don't bring up Minneapolis. I worked as hard as I could to get you back, But I almost didn't make it to you in time." He crossed his arms over his chest. She reached down to pat his foot. "Hey, I was joking. That was no cake-walk for me either. At one point, Phaster was keeping me in a closet, and he came in to check on me. I thought I saw the faces of all the monsters this century has produced in his, Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini." She shuddered. He dropped his arm along the back of the sofa, pulling himself over beside her again, close enough to touch her fingers. "You were right, you know." She cocked her head. "Oh?" "Serial killers like Donnie Phaster didn't really appear until the late Nineteenth Century, until the modern era." "So somehow you think the capability for mass destruction with weapons of war and by stalking predators related?" He shrugged. "Other than that we have so many more people to kill with them, no. But, it *is* curious that we, as a species, only indulge in mass murder and ritual slaughter when we have a surplus of humans." He raised both hands in an 'I don't know' gesture. "I'm not saying it's an X-File, Scully, just that it's an interesting observation." She sighed. "Well, partner, on that cheerful note, I'm checking out. Someone has to sleep sometime." "Right." Settling back in their corners, they extinguished their lights. --o-0-o-- Oklahoma State Penitentiary Tuesday, 4:37 pm Dana Scully zipped the body bag closed over the remains of Kilmer Davies, the only dead convict she would autopsy today. Upon further checking, Mulder had discovered an error in the Behavioral Sciences records, that Alfred Hoskins was indeed alive and well, for the present, on death row in Kentucky. She stepped out of the morgue, dropping her surgical gear in the trash as she passed the container. Her partner was pacing by the outer door, alternately pallid and flushed. Davies had not been a easy autopsy for her to perform. After only fourteen months in the ground, the body was still recognizably that of the man in question, and Mulder had been forced to excuse himself after a cursory examination. Decay had morphed his features and the stench had been fierce enough to disturb even her professional composure, but for Mulder's sake, she endured long enough to verify the cause of death. Now they both hurried outside into fresh air, taking deep breaths to calm their queasiness. Scully looked up at her partner. "What about the others?" He shrugged. "I've had a video image of each prisoner sent to me via FAX, Scully." He thrust his hands in his pockets. "They're all the men I remember." He stared at the ground. "I need to go for a walk." She touched his elbow. "Feel like some company?" Mulder looked over at her flushed face. "That bad for you too?" When she nodded, he jerked his head towards the park they could see across the street. The weather was mild for this time of year, with temperatures in the upper fifties, so he held the door for her to retrieve their coats, and they headed out. --o-0-o-- Mulder and Scully stood on a small bridge looking down over a man-made lake. The wild greenery that would appear in the spring, and overgrow the banks in the summer, was non-existent now. They could see the original concrete siding in the conduits leading into the lake proper. "It's not red, Mulder." "I'm glad. That was the second time someone almost made a meal out of you, Scully." She grimaced. "I somehow don't think, even without a photographic memory, I'm likely to forget that." He glanced down at her, then gazed over the still water, his hands in his pockets. "Fordyce is nothing at all like Dudley. When we came down here, I was expecting a town of 5500 in rural Arkansas to be real Hicksville." He started down the bridge, waiting for her to catch up before pointing at three benches on the far side of the lake. "But I was wrong. The media hook-up to communicate your briefing to the rest of the county was first rate." She dipped her head once. "Did you know Fortner is trying to convince the city council to buy him a computer so he can convert the town's records to electronic media for historians to study?" Raising both eyebrows, he looked down at her. "And you offered to set up a LINUX box for him?" She lifted one corner of her mouth, then tucked her hand behind his elbow. Scully had worked long enough with this man to read his emotional states properly, most of the time, and the way he pressed her hand into his side reassured her that this was not his 'I can't stand the rest of the world leave me alone' frame of mind. Had that been his mood, he would have charged off the police station steps without a word, and she would have had to let him go. Rather, this was his ceaseless 'I need to know I'm not crazy' introspection that required her active participation. After walking in silence for a few minutes, he looked down at her, hesitancy written in his lips and eyes. Scully had been waiting for his unspoken request. "Spill, Mulder." He glanced at the water. "You mentioned last night that it will be good, as you so dramatically put it, to 'nail a perp.' I don't know about that." They locked eyes. "Have you ever read 'Busman's Honeymoon'?" His heel knocked loose a piece of gravel in the path and they stopped while she picked it out of her black flat pump. "The fourth Peter Wimsey-Harriet Vane mystery?" "Um-hum." She looked up at him as they continued circling the lake. "You're thinking of the scene at the end, where Wimsey is nervous while he knows the execution is taking place?" He nodded. "You know me too well. I didn't find those until after I left Behavioral Sciences, and I understood how he felt. Most of the men I profiled ended up on death row, Scully, but because of our extensive appeals system, except for Boggs, none has had his sentence carried out." He stepped over a low fence and extended his arm to her. After she passed over, he tucked her hand back under his elbow before they resumed walking at a pace that was almost a stroll, for Mulder. Scully checked her partner's eyes. While they were dark and brooding, as they were now, he would continue to share his torments with her, even though she had expected him to quickly terminate their discussion with a jibe. His repossession of her hand told her he needed her full attention and cooperation, so she continued, "Unlike Wimsey, who had to suffer almost immediately." "Right. I don't know which is worse, Scully. Even though I'm sure they were all guilty, I still worry I might be sending an innocent man to his death based purely on my intuition." She shook her head. "But it wasn't only your intuition, Mulder. The rest of the unit used your profiles to gather evidence to back you up." As he sighed, she raised an eyebrow. "Didn't they?" "Most of the time." He was staring out over the water as they walked, so she found herself guiding his steps to keep him on the dirt path. "Oh?" "Yeah. For four of the cases, the accused fit the profile so well, and there was so little physical evidence, the prosecution went on my work-up alone." When she stopped suddenly, he looked down at her. "Did you win?" "On two yes, and on two, no." They had reached the three wood and steel benches set at right angles to each other, so she sat where she could look at him and out over the water. There was a run-off pipe for cooling water from the nearby coal-burning power plant in front of them, and the browned winter grass was slightly green around the lake's edge. He stood for a moment, watching steam curl out of the pipe, then sat down on a bench opposite her. "Mulder?" He raised his eyes to hers. "Tell me about the two who got off, even with the physical evidence." "Yeah, you may have been right, Scully. If it's no one I convicted, then it must be one of those four. We had good psychological and physical cases for both of them. More tangible proof in each than we've managed to collect in all our X-files put together." "But?" He shrugged. "Defense lawyers. One was an ex-judge who did all the classic bits." He waved his arm. "White suit, slow drawl, witty asides to the jury, until by the end, he had those twelve people eating out of his hand. We didn't have a chance." "And?" "The other was a blindingly brilliant woman who tore me to bits. She looked like Phoebe, acted like her too." Standing, he walked to the lake's edge, picked up a stone and threw it across the water. "I think she spent more prep time figuring out what made me tick than what was wrong with our evidence. She had me saying something I didn't believe in the morning and denying I'd said it in the afternoon." Scully nodded. "Once she had destroyed your credibility, she could insinuate the data were fabricated to support your 'faulty' profile." He kicked the grass before sitting again. "Yeah. Paterson was livid. I was already a wreck from her, then he parked me in his office and tanned my hide for two hours." He hunkered down in the long trench coat. "What was weirder was that when it was over, she shook my hand, said she hoped there were no hard feelings, and," Mulder finished as he looked up at Scully, "asked me out." She rolled her eyes. "Just what you needed, I'm sure. But the first two, the ones with no supporting evidence." "Yeah?" Scully stood now, crossing over to sit beside him. "I think it was one of them. Don't you see, it was you against the defendant. If they were all serial killers, one of them might have been unstable enough to see this as a mano-a-mano thing. He would feel it was a personal duel between you two that he couldn't consider won until you were as dead as he felt you wanted him to be." Her partner was nodding at her analysis. "Maybe, Scully. It's all we have to go on right now." As his cel phone jangled, they looked down at his chest and he lifted it out of his pocket. "Mulder." He listened. "Okay, we'll start back now." She was on her feet before he terminated the call. "Yes?" They began jogging back to the car, moving together towards a solution. Once they reached their vehicle, Mulder panted in his partner's ear while he held the door open for her, "Fortner has a cassette with a message he thinks is from the man behind all this, Scully." By the time they pulled out of the parking lot, she had caught her breath, so she spoke in her normal tone of voice, "Actually my favorite Wimsey-Vane novel was 'Gaudy Night.' It was so complex, such a thorough discussion of the problems women have merging family and career that it could have been written in the Eighties, not the Thirties." She tugged at her shoulder belt. She was short enough that the strap to the overhead always choked her, and whenever possible, she would slip out of it, despite his fussing. Catching her sliding the fabric over her head, he scolded her through gritted teeth. "Scully! I will *not* be the one to tell your Mother why you're scratched to bits if we're in an accident." She glared at him, pulling the belt back in front of her. "Oh, I thought you would love the chance to say told-you-so." He shook his head, checking the side view mirror before pulling onto the Interstate. --o-0-o-- Somewhere over Arkansas between Oklahoma City and Little Rock Tuesday, 10:37 pm Mulder looked out the small window over the left wing of the commuter plane. Once they landed, he and Scully would be driving back to Fordyce to hear the voice on the tape. Fortner had summarized the message over the phone when Mulder had called to inform him of their itinerary. The speaker rambled about vengeance and foxes, hunting hounds and spirits of the night. Mulder rested his head on the seat back, closing his eyes for a moment. He could hear Scully's relaxed breathing next to him, so he opened the right one to look down and check her. Her head had fallen over on her left shoulder, her hair catching in the black wool of his suit coat. By mutual agreement, they had detoured to drive by the site of the Alfred P. Murrah Building, paying silent tribute to those who had lost their lives in a single horrible moment almost two years earlier. Langly had connected the new Group to that terrible bombing, and it made him shudder. It was easier to chase mutants or ghosts, in a way, than to track perfectly normal humans who had chosen to be monsters, killing for a cause, or for no reason at all. Scully stirred, raising her head and yawning. He thought back to their discussion in the car. "It was my favorite too, you know." She blinked at him, collecting her thoughts. "Really? But it was all about Harriet, about her thoughts and fears, her hopes and dreams." He nodded. "I know, that's why I liked it. Too often, only the male point of view is explored, even by female authors. I was disappointed when we stopped reading what went on in her head in 'Busman's Honeymoon'." He checked the pattern of lights on the ground before he continued, "Maybe we should give the book to your Mom to read." She sighed. "It wouldn't help, Mulder. She would skip all the contemplation, complain that there wasn't much of a mystery there, *and*, I'd get subtle hints about proposals in Latin from Oxford-educated detectives." They locked eyes. He smirked. "Oh, I should be writing you notes in dead languages if I want you to succumb to my charms, Doctor Scully?" She wrinkled her nose. He patted his right shoulder in invitation. "Go back to sleep. I'll wake you before we land." Shaking her head, she shifted around in the tight seat. "Ugh. Then we have a two hour drive back to Fordyce. But at least we've narrowed the list of suspects down to two. Tell me about them, Mulder." He nodded, staring out the window while she waited. He began speaking without checking her face. "One was Andrew Albert Phillips, the quietest guy you could ever meet. He lived alone on an old farm in Alabama with his mother. People only ever saw him at the feed store or church. His father had died under mysterious circumstances in an accident in the barn when Phillips was fourteen." "You think that was his first murder?" He looked down at her. "Yeah, I'm sure of it. It was the same MO as the five others who died. On the outside, the guy was perfect. And I do mean *perfect*. He had attended this little born-again church, the Children of God's Love, or something, every Sunday since he was five. *Every* *Sunday*, without fail. He had perfect attendance from first grade through high school graduation. He made all A's in every class, in every grade." She nodded. "And every murder was so perfectly executed it looked like an accident or suicide." Grinning, he tapped her shoulder. "Exactly. That's why I considered him the only possible suspect. It was my profile against the model citizen, and the jury was swayed by his character, thanks to another classic defense lawyer presentation." "So he was acquitted?" He nodded. "Every so often, I read about another accident or sudden death down in Childersburg, where he lives, and I know it's him. But, he's off, free for the rest of his life." He pounded the armrest between them. Scully frowned. "The other guy was the exact opposite, Steven Halberstam. His family was wealthy beyond any imagining, so on the surface he was the typical rich wild kid, but under it all, he was cold as ice. He has a super-high IQ, so he would plan the murders elaborately, but could choose the victims on a whim, just like he spent money. The problem with his case was that four of the murders were meticulously planned, four were spur of the moment copies. All the pairs were different, so outside of their following the pattern of his life, there was no linkage between them." She touched his right fist, the knuckles white and raised. He had dug his nails into the palm of his hand, and she wanted to stop him before he drew blood. If they had been seated somewhere he had the freedom to move, Scully knew her partner would be pacing, trying to climb the walls in his frustration. But, in this confined space, all he could do was punish himself for his failure, so she began asking questions to distract him. "How did he get off, Mulder, more lawyers?" He nodded. "A veritable fleet, Scully. This was right after the woman barracuda, so I was a real basket case the whole time, which didn't help. Paterson was so angry with me he was ready to hang me out to dry, and he assigned minimal back-up to me." She slipped her left hand into the reclenched fist, relieved he relaxed his grip enough to admit her fingers. Scully felt sticky wetness in his palm, and forced her hand over the cuts. "He wanted you to prove yourself." His eyes unfocused, Mulder nodded. "I failed. I made one mistake in the profile by assuming the killer had a fear of heights. It wasn't important to the analysis, or in linking Halberstam to the murders, but that school of sharks had a feeding frenzy over my error. They grilled me on that point again and again, then sent Halberstam up to the top of a bell tower to wave at the jury." Scully nodded sympathetically. He gulped and hung his head. "That was it, Scully. The State's Attorney gave the best closing argument I've ever heard, but that image was all the jury remembered." He began to tighten the fist, stopping when he realized she had not taken her hand from his, then spoke in a whisper, "I lost it. For two months, I was nearly catatonic, didn't eat, didn't sleep." Scully looked up at his haunted eyes. He sighed. "I knew then I had to get out of there, even though it was a few more cases before I worked myself free." He uncurled his fingers. "Sorry, are you okay?" He felt the blood and cringed. "Oh. I didn't want you to see that." She closed her hand around his palm again, relieved when he didn't retreat from her touch. "That's all right. I didn't know how much that work affected you, Mulder. I'm glad you told me." He stared at their hands, thoughtful. "I think it's Halberstam. Phillips is too reclusive to be vengeful, but the method fits Halberstam's personality, like the other cases." She nodded. "He probably pulled the animals out of the field with a helicopter to make it look like a UFO." He met her eyes. "That would be like him, Scully. Expensive and elaborate. When we land, we'll find out where he lives now." She fidgeted in the narrow seat. "We can explain this all to Fortner. It's his turf, and his call, but I think he'll agree Halberstam's his man." He twisted his lips into a relieved grin, so she released her partner's hand. "Thanks, Scully." She lifted an eyebrow. "Thanks for listening. I've never been able to speak of that time to anyone." He lifted his palm to his mouth, sucking on the cuts. "Mulder!" She dove into her bag, pulling out antiseptic and gauze. He rolled his eyes and waited, allowing himself the pleasure of being a little boy with a banged-up hand. "Sculleeee!" He smirked, then fussed as the ointment stung him. --o-0-o-- Fordyce Sheriff's Office Wednesday, January 22, 1997 1:12 am Wallace Fortner jerked upright at the knock on the door. "Enter." The shadow, elongated and unnatural, of a woman in a trenchcoat, appeared on the floor of his office, as the illumination from the streetlight across the road entered the front room. "Sheriff Fortner? We saw the light. Are you still here?" The door swung inward, and the partners entered quietly. Mulder paused to close the door behind him, but they reached his desk together. Fortner rose. "Agents, I'm glad you stopped by. I've been analyzing the voice on the tape, and I think I've figured this guy out. Listen." A man's voice filled the darkened space, rambling from one topic to another, but always circling back to the theme of revenge on foxes. When he began reminding the listener of how Samson tied foxes together in pairs, with burning firebrands set in their tails, Scully punched the stop button. From the pinched expression on Mulder's face, she was certain her partner had heard far more of this abuse than he needed to. "Is it Halberstam, Mulder?" He nodded, looking over at the Sheriff. Fortner was frowning. "He's from Tennessee originally, right?" Mulder grunted, turning to explain to his puzzled partner. "The Sheriff has made a hobby of identifying regional accents." She tipped her head at the older man. "You said 'originally.' But he's not there now?" Fortner smiled at her. "Right. He's somewhere in the Tex-Arkana region, probably on the west side of the border. I can catch the slightest pure Texan twang in his speech. But, it's so late, we probably can't check him out with the FBI." The agents exchanged a glance, Mulder grinning as he dug in his coat for his cel phone. "No, Sheriff, but there are always unofficial channels." Fortner sat down, listening to the autodial. Mulder paced in the corridor of filing cabinets, suddenly feeling very much at home. A groggy Byers answered, "Office of the Lone Gunmen." "Hey, Byers, it's your favorite government employee again." A sigh. "Mulder, do you never sleep?" The tall agent smirked. "Good to talk to you, too." Another sigh. "Okay, what is it? Is Agent Scully all right?" "She's fine, standing right here. Since you're up, we need the latest you have on a Steven Halberstam. He was one of my cases when I was back at Behavioral Sciences, one I lost. We think he's been terrorizing the good folk of Fordyce to lay a trap for yours truly." "Ah, one from the BDS years." Mulder snorted. "Yeah, the Dark Ages." He sent his partner a quick grin of gratitude, lifting an eyebrow as Frohike started speaking in the background. "The FAX number? Hang on." He looked over at Fortner, who was scribbling on a piece of paper. Scully carried it over to him. "Here goes: (501) 369-3262. Okay, you'll call back when you have something? He's living in Texas now, the Tex-Arkana area. If you need suggestions, start with the criminal records in Tennessee, then try any exotic animal sales, especially large canines. Great." A pause. "Thanks, guys." Fortner had clapped his hat on his head before Mulder terminated the call. "Why don't you folks head back to the Inn? I have to make my rounds now." Before she spoke, Scully glanced quickly at her partner, who was frowning. "No, Sheriff, we'll be here when you return. The sooner we can move on this guy the better. We'll need to coordinate with your counterparts in Texas when the information comes through." Fortner shrugged. "It's up to you, but those old chairs aren't very comfortable. See you in a couple of hours." --o-0-o-- Sheriff's Office Wednesday, 4:03 am Holding his ring of keys to keep them from jangling, Fortner re-entered his office through the front door, feeling better than he had in weeks. He believed the partners had found his attacker, just as their superior had said they would. The light on the FAX machine was blinking, so he checked through his office for the FBI agents. As he suspected, they had foregone the chairs for the sagging wooden floor. Mulder was stretched out on his back, suit jacket draped over his chest with his tie hanging out of one pocket. The crown of his head was aimed towards the green board, his face turned to his left, looking into the front room and towards his partner. Scully was lying on her left side at right angles to him, her long coat loose over her, her bare feet pointing at the door between the rooms. Her left arm hugged her partner's trench coat, balled into a pillow. Her right hand rested against his upper left arm. Fortner smiled to himself. Their relationship was just what he had deduced the first night of the case, closer than many lovers, bonded by the difficulties life could bring two troubled people. He approached them carefully, kneeling by the tall man's head. When Fortner touched Mulder's shoulder, the agent opened his eyes to demand, "Is it here yet?" The Sheriff nodded, standing to head back to catch the pages as they fell from the machine. He heard a soft sliding sound and a grunt as Mulder sat up. It had Fortner glancing back over his shoulder just as the agent reached out to touch his partner's back. Mulder called softly the woman beside him. "Hey." Scully pushed herself off the floor, inhaling deeply while waking. "How's the rib?" He grimaced, bending carefully. "I'll live, Doctor Scully. It's here. The guys came through." As Fortner was catching the sheets, he watched Scully help Mulder to his feet. Then the information on the papers caught his eye, confirming that Steven Halberstam was indeed their man. "Agents, I don't know who your sources are, but this is all we need." He flipped to the third page. "See this?" He pointed to copies of receipts, one from 'Arctic Animals Unlimited', and one from 'Whirlybird Transportation'. The partners nodded. Scully looked up at Mulder. "A timber wolf. They're huge, and would leave the larger set of teeth marks. Many are pitch black, so eyewitnesses wouldn't necessarily spot them in forested areas at dusk." Mulder took the sheets from Fortner. "Yeah, this is his MO. He had an employee purchase the wolf for him. The helicopter was bought through a holding company. If the guys hadn't known where to look, it would have taken forever to put all this together." He grinned over at the Sheriff. "He lives outside of Maud, Texas, Sheriff. Good ear." Fortner shrugged. "This is what I need for a warrant. I'll call the local police chief there, and he can get the paperwork together. You two want to be there when we make the bust, I presume?" Nodding heads. "We can't really move on this for another three hours, so get washed up and comfortable, all right?" Wrinkling her nose, Scully lifted an eyebrow at Mulder. "We'll definitely work on the washed up. My partner has a strange definition of manly charm." His hand on his chest, the tall agent feigned offense. As Fortner preceded them to the door, he heard the quips begin to fly, then shook his head. They exited. He locked the door while they walked to their car, still teasing. The Sheriff sat in the elevated cab of his four-wheel drive, watching the tall man hold the car door for his partner, then walk around the back of the Taurus, grinning and sending a distracted wave in his direction. --o-0-o-- End - Rustic Suite - Saraband