The Fox and the Howned - The Collector's Edition by K. D. Enriquez Rating: R Classification: Story-Angst Summary: A psychotic serial killer from Mulder's past returns for vengeance. Contains: The Fox and the Howned The Hunt Home From the Hill The Howneded The Hownded's Bark Author's ramblings.... Well, here's another one. This one disturbed *me* when I was writing it so I figured I'd warn you. There is at least one *very* disturbing scene and the entire concept is disturbing but what the heck, it came out well. Part of this story takes place *before* Mulder trips over the X-files so keep that in mind. Thanks go out to MacWombat who helped me over some writer's block, I hope you like. My sister, aka Phenyx, who verbalized, succinctly, Mulder's change in character and also "boiling poultry". And also to the member's of my EMXC (E-mail X-creative Club) who patiently waited through serious delays waiting for stories while I was lost in writing this. Any comments, praise or flames should be directed towards me so please... let me know what you think! As always: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and "The X-Files" are property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and 20th Television/Fox Broadcasting. All characters used without permission and no (I repeat, NO) infringement is intended. The Fox and the Howned by. K. D. Enriquez (SciNut@aol.com) 12/11/94 What a wonderful day! Special Agent Fox Mulder thought for the hundredth time as he sat on the steps of the Jefferson Memorial. The sky was the bright blue that usually accompanied spring instead of the dull gray of early December. Though the now beautiful sky had threatened it yesterday, DC still awaited its first snowfall. Mulder sank deeper into his coat as a slight breeze blew across the river. But even the chill would not be able to freeze his good mood today. He and Scully had returned to DC yesterday after finally being released from quarantine. They'd spent four long weeks in a large, sterile, white room. After twelve hours, he'd started to miss, of all colors, green: grass, leaves and little flowering plants. Mulder shook his head and allowed himself a nice long gaze at the grass. (The trees had long since lost their leaves.) He'd become so damned philosophical during quarantine. He sighed. It really didn't matter anymore. They were out and he felt great, for once. He felt like celebrating. Suddenly, he bounded to his feet. He'd take Scully out for a victory dinner. She'd be surprised that he was actually going to buy for once. She'd been acting sort of strange after she'd finally returned to work, but that was only to be expected. He really didn't want to think about it right now, though . That was one train of thought that could blow his good mood right out a window. And he was really feeling just too damn good. *** Todd Howned watched from the shadows of the Jefferson Memorial as the fox quickly stood and began to walk, with an easy and relaxed stride, back towards the J. Edgar Hoover building. He laughed, quietly, to himself. He couldn't wait to see the look on his face when the fox realized the Hunt had begun again. *** Dana Scully sat at her desk and fumed. There was no way the Bureau was going to do this to her. She read the memo once more just to be sure: From the desk of Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner Special Agent Dana Scully, It has been recommended by the FBI psychiatrist that you take an extended leave of absence. Effective immediately. She wadded up the bit of paper angrily. Nope, she hadn't misread the memo. How could Skinner do this to her? She wanted to work, she needed to work. She sighed and leaned back in her chair. The day she had first returned to work, Scully thought she would be able to put the ordeal with Duane Barry behind her. Not that she'd never been kidnapped before. Hell, she'd been abducted once by one of her closest friends. But that wasn't what was bothering her. Besides, Duane Barry was dead. But she couldn't remember. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to remember where that month had gone nor what had happened to her during that time. It had been taken from her and that's what disturbed her most. The time was gone and there was no way to get it back. Her inner voice chided. But that wasn't the point. So much had happened in that month. Her mother had told her about it during long phone calls while she was in quarantine. She could see it in the people around her. She had told Mulder that she'd lost too much time already and now they were going to force her to lose more time. She shook her head, sighed and realized she'd really need a shrink if she actually took a vacation right now. She was about to see if she could flick the wadded paper onto Mulder's desk (he would never notice it) when he burst through the office door. "Hey, Scully," he said with the largest smile she'd ever seen on his face. "Let's ditch work and celebrate." She couldn't help but smile. "Celebrate what?" "Anything, everything... pick something. I'm in a great mood so it doesn't matter." "What, are you buying?" "Of course," he replied, then paused. He eyed her briefly. "What's wrong?" Scully sighed and tossed the wad of paper at him. "Sure, we can cut out of work early. I've been forced to take some time off." Silence settled in the office as Mulder read the short memo. Suddenly, he grinned, "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it." He grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the office. "What do you mean you'll 'take care of it'?" "Don't worry, we're celebrating. Where do you want to go for dinner?" *** Todd Howned watched them exit the FBI building. He followed them across town to a semi-decent restaurant. He sat at a table behind them and listened while they ordered, ate and conversed. He could barely contain his excitement. The Hunt would begin again and, this time, Todd Howned would win. *** "It's a great place," Mulder said as he and Scully left the restaurant. He had wondered if he could talk her into going for a couple of drinks. She'd agreed rather easily and he was relieved that her earlier dark mood had vanished. "I already said yes, Mulder." She replied with a smile. "You don't have to convince me. Besides, it's been awhile since I went bar hopping." "It's not a bar," Mulder said defensively. "Bars are nasty dives. This place is a pub." "Whatever you say, Mulder," she said in submission as she watched a man, some distance ahead of them, turn into a dark alley. She turned back to find Mulder staring at her again. "Would you please stop that?" "Stop what?" Mulder asked with false innocence. "Staring at me like that," Scully said, a little uncomfortably. Guiltily, he looked away. "Sorry." "Mulder," Scully began. Placing a hand on his arm, she stopped walking, bringing him to a halt. "I thought we covered this already. We should have dealt with this fully during the quarantine but we weren't alone then." She sighed. "It's over, it's done with. Move past it and get on with life, all right?" He met her eyes and she saw a sadness there. "I've tried, Scully." He paused and seemed to come to a decision. "You may not remember what happened to you, but *I* remember what happened to *me*." "My mother told me about it... as well as Melissa," Scully replied. She understood that he was trying to be honest with her and that he realized how selfish he sounded. But she knew that wasn't what he meant. "I'm sorry, Scully," he said gently. "But you weren't there." "Then you tell me," she pushed. This was what he needed. He needed to talk. He looked away and she could see him forcing himself to relive that month. "I went with your mother to pick out your headstone." He closed his eyes. Scully just stared at him quietly. Her mother hadn't told her that part. They had actually given up on her and it was clear that Mulder hated himself for it. "I tried to give her hope," he said, his voice full of self loathing. "But I'd already lost mine. And then, poof, you were back. No one knew how or when and 'they' refused to give me any answers. But I dug anyway." He met her eyes and the rage she saw there scared her. "I know who was behind it, Scully. I nearly murdered him in the name of 'justice'." He made the word sound vile. "Why didn't you?" She replied shocked to hear this from him. "Because if I were to cross that line, I'd be him. Besides, revenge is a bitter tasting dish no matter how it's served. When I realized how much we were alike... I couldn't stand it. I resigned. At least I tried too. Skinner, of all people, talked me out of it." "Who was it, Mulder?" Scully asked finally. He sighed and looked away again. "Take your own advice, Dana," he replied after a lengthy silence. "Let it go. Don't dig any deeper, it's not worth it. Believe me, I know and it nearly ruined me." She felt her anger rise. How dare he not tell her! "What happened to the 'cause', Mulder?" He tried to met her eyes and couldn't. He knew she didn't understand, couldn't understand. He sighed again, wearily, and studied his shoes. Scully watched, half angry and half fascinated, as grief and sorrow passed behind his eyes. Her anger won as she bit out, "What happened to finding the 'truth'?" She was ashamed at the small feeling of pleasure she felt as pain took dominance over his features. She knew he didn't deserve this. She could imagine the downward spiral that he had described to her. She did know how he felt about her, after all; she'd have to be blind not to see it. But his reply sapped out her anger, squelched her feelings of guilt and pleasure at his expense and made her realize just what kind of hell he'd seen. "Sometimes..." He paused and took a deep breath. "Sometimes the truth isn't worth the price." He was silent and then he turned to her again with a forced smile. "Anyway, I thought we were supposed to be having fun, so let's go." He turned and began to walk up the street once more. Scully watched him for a moment before following him. She sighed, knowing that he'd tell her only when, and if, he felt ready. She knew she could never force him and now, she wasn't sure she wanted to know. Finally, Scully decided to do as he had said. She let it go. She caught up to him fast enough, though Mulder felt his forced desire to have fun begin to fade. He had known that particular topic of conversation would kill his good mood. he told himself. He sighed and listened to himself. Damn it, he was going to enjoy himself. He had nearly convinced himself when he passed a darkened alley and his paranoid nature surfaced out of instinct. He pushed the emotion away and tried to ignore it. He didn't see the man lurking there until it was too late. He didn't feel the blow to his head that sent him to ground, stunned. *** Todd Howned drew his .45 and pointed it at the woman before she could get her own weapon out. He shook his head and gestured to put her hands in the air. She complied as he knew she would. He'd read the FBI manual too. Sticking the police baton under his arm, he tossed a pair of handcuffs at her feet. The fox moaned from the ground and started to get to his knees. Todd grabbed him by his coat lapel and dragged him into the alley. God, Todd loved DC. There was no one on the street to see anything. He threw the fox back to the ground. He turned back to the woman, who had finished putting on the handcuffs, and liberated her weapon from her. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her further into the alley as well. Todd giggled as the fox pushed himself unsteadily to his knees again. He grabbed his baton and delivered a powerful blow to the fox's shoulder. "Do you remember me?" he asked watching as the fox's vision cleared. "You should remember me." Todd smiled as he saw recognition and fear cross the fox's features. "Sleepy-time for the fox," he said raising the baton. *** Fox Mulder sat at a desk that was still too new to him. He looked at the pile of paperwork that had already been completed and just awaited his signature. Bless Reggie's heart, Mulder thought. He was glad he wouldn't have to deal with writing up any more reports on his first day back. The investigation into his actions during the confrontation with John Barnett was over and the Board had declared Mulder did have justification for shooting Barnett. While Mulder felt the investigation was rather silly, considering Barnett had killed two people, including Agent Steve Wallenburg, he knew that it was important when the time came for Mulder to testify. Mulder sighed and played the incident over in his mind. He should've shot sooner; then maybe Wallenburg would still be alive. He could still hear Steve's wife after she'd been told. She didn't blame Mulder, even though he blamed himself. A rough slap to the back startled him out of his thoughts. "Well, Mulder. I can see you're daydreaming again. I thought I told you to think about the ladies off work when you could actually go and chase them," the gruff voice declared from behind him. Mulder smiled and turned to face the man who had been the first to listen to a 'Spooky' idea. "Hi Reggie." Reggie Perdue was a very large, intimidating black man. Taller than Mulder and twice as broad, he had taken Mulder under his wing when he first arrived from Quantico even though, and he told Mulder this quite often, he thought Mulder was full of 'it'. "Thanks for writing these up for me." Mulder added. "No trouble," Reggie responded as he grabbed a chair from an adjacent desk and sat. "I know how much you hate filling that stuff out and since anyone can do it... well, all you need to do is sign the stuff." Mulder made a show of grabbing a pen and signing the first sheet of paper. Reggie smacked the back of Mulder's head as if he were a misbehaving adolescent. Mulder smiled. After a long moment of silence Reggie spoke. "You know Mulder, I talked to the Bureau psychiatrist." Mulder looked up from the paperwork. "The one I had to see?" "Yeah, and he's right. You did what you could. Don't let it eat you, all right? You're too good an agent for us to lose because of your own damn guilt." Mulder looked down at the surface of his desk then smiled. "How do you know I'm good? I've only been on one case." Reggie smiled in return. "Oh, I've an eye for these things." He paused then glanced at his watch. "Come on, let's go to lunch." "It's only ten o'clock," Mulder chuckled. "Hey, I'm your boss. I make the rules here. Let's go." *** Scully glanced into the rear view mirror as she heard Mulder groan from the back seat. After the man had beaten Mulder into unconsciousness, he had forced her into the driver's seat of a tiny, old Horizon. He had then tossed Mulder's limp form into the back seat, gotten in the passenger side, stuck the barrel of his .45 in her side and told her to drive. She had driven for about twenty minutes before Mulder began to stir in the back seat. That was a good sign, she had thought. She'd been worried. He had received several dangerous blows to his head and, for a moment, she had thought the last one had killed him. "Okay, stop the car," the man said from the seat next to her. Scully complied and pulled the car to a halt. "Get out," he ordered. When she hesitated he shoved the gun barrel painfully against her ribcage. "I said get out." Scully glanced into the back seat and reached for the door handle, hands still handcuffed. She didn't want to get out. If she did, she'd certainly be leaving Mulder to die, and if she didn't there was no doubt this man would shoot her. She couldn't help Mulder if she were dead. She stepped out of the vehicle and gazed into the back seat. He was lying on his side, blood covering his face. That last shot to his head must have opened a very large wound. Seeing, from the corner of her eye, the man settle into the driver's seat brought her attention back to him. He met her eyes and grinned a smile of madness. "You tell Special Agent Reggie Perdue that the Hunt is about to begin and the Howned has the Fox." With that he giggled and the car took off with a squeal of tires. "But," Scully called realizing the man could no longer hear her. "Reggie Perdue is dead." *** When Mulder finally returned to his desk, he was in a better mood. Reggie knew him too well. He really did need to just talk to somebody other than a psychiatrist. Mulder was a psychologist after all and was quite qualified to analyze himself. But Reggie had a different outlook on life that he said he'd gained after his wife had been diagnosed with cancer. From what he'd told Mulder, she'd passed on sometime ago and it was obviously painful for Reggie to talk about it. Mulder never pushed. Mulder looked down at the top of his desk to see a file which hadn't been there when he'd left. He opened it and discovered it was his next case. Well, his second case. He read through it and, after each page, he felt himself growing more and more nauseous. "I see you found our next case, Mulder," he heard Reggie say, again behind him. Mulder was always amazed that the man could sneak up on anybody. "This... this is evil," Was all Mulder could say. He felt, rather than saw, Reggie's nod of agreement. Mulder continued to read. Six times in the last four weeks a child had disappeared from a local elementary school. They were all young girls between the ages of six and ten. However, a week after the first disappearance, a foot had been found in the small field between the school and the high school track. This foot, the coroner had discovered, belonged to the first girl taken. Her other remains were never found. So the pattern developed. A week after a child's disappearance a body part would be found, usually a hand or a foot, but never in the same place. The police had staked out the field where the first three parts were found but then the remains began to turn up in a different spot. The last child had disappeared five days ago and as yet nothing had turned up. The police then asked the FBI for assistance. The case had been assigned to Mulder and Reggie as a supervising agent. "Well... let's get going," Reggie said as Mulder slowly closed the file. *** Scully thought as the cruiser she had flagged came to a stop. Disgusted, Scully let the thought trail off. She'd been walking for several minutes looking for a public phone with no luck while her cellular was safely tucked into her desk drawer at the office. "Ma'am?" the officer asked, rolling down the window cautiously. "My name is Dana Scully and I'm with the FBI," she said as she held up her cuffed hands. "My partner has just been abducted and I need you to call in an APB and get me some backup." The officer didn't hesitate. "You have any ID?" he asked as he sprang out of the car and released her from the handcuffs. She withdrew it from her coat pocket while she began to give him a description. She was thankful that the officer was seasoned. "Can you tell the dispatcher to get someone at the FBI to get me information on all the cases my partner and Special Agent Reggie Perdue worked on, please?" she asked as he grabbed the radio and began to call in to the station. He nodded in response. Scully turned and looked in the direction the car had gone. She didn't think he'd kill Mulder, not right away at the very least. The man's cryptic final message gave her chills. *** Oddly, Mulder awoke to a ripping sound and a feeling of tightness around his left wrist. The fact that his face hurt, a lot, came as an afterthought. He couldn't open his eyes, which was okay because he really didn't want to. A place just above his right eye throbbed and he sucked in a breath, which brought to attention a stabbing pain in his chest. He heard the ripping noise again and felt something pull against his right wrist. He twisted his hands gently and finally recognized the sensation: duct tape. He took a deep, slow breath and concentrated on his surroundings, which was hard to do between the throbbing in his head and his apparent blindness. He knew he was sitting and, it seemed, restrained. His right hand was secured, vertically, to the back leg of a metal chair. He felt its coolness begin to sap the heat from his body through his clothing. His left hand, however, was secured on what felt like a stool, at about his chest level. It felt like the position the Red Cross used when he had donated blood. He felt a cramp develop in his lower back and realized that the position of his hands made it impossible to become comfortable. The floor was made of concrete and its frigidness made him aware that his feet were bare. He wiggled his toes, relieved that his lower body had escaped any damage. His face throbbed again, reminding his brain that it was still there. Suddenly, he felt a warm, wet cloth gently wipe against his face, causing him to gasp both in fear and pain. He'd forgotten that someone had put him in this situation. "Wake-y, wake-y, Fox," he heard the deranged voice say, sounding like a three-year-old trying to wake his parents early on a Saturday. "Your face got all dirty and that just won't do. Will it?" Mulder found he didn't have the energy to speak. He felt the cloth wipe reverently against his left eye and wash away the dried blood that had kept it closed. Sight returned to him, and as it did he wished he were blind again. He had hoped that he'd been imagining the whole thing. He had hoped that the pain in his head was just the result of a Friday night bender that he couldn't remember. But it wasn't a delusion. It wasn't his imagination. Kneeling in front of him, gently washing his face... was Todd Howned. *** "Come on, Mulder, don't dwell on it," Reggie said, looking worriedly over at his friend. "You can't tell me it doesn't bother you," Mulder returned, still sounding nauseated. "Of course it bothers me," he fired back, only semi-serious. He did have a self-imposed duty to lighten Mulder up a little. "If it didn't... aw, hell you've heard this speech a thousand times already. But I don't dwell on what happens to the victims of my cases. They're not men. They're not women or children. You can't think of them that way or you'll go nuts. They *can't* have names. That makes it personal. They're victims or corpses or bodies while you're on the job. If they're anything else, you won't be able to think clearly. You understand me?" Reggie finished from the passenger seat of the FBI rental. "I'll try. It's easier for you though... you are a *little* older than I." Mulder said with a small smile as he turned the car into the elementary school parking lot. "Hey, I'm a *lot* older than you and don't forget that," he replied sternly. Mulder and Reggie stepped out of the car and greeted a short round man at the entrance. He wore glasses, a tie and definitely suffered from male pattern baldness in a bad way. He took a step forward and introduced himself. "Hello, I'm Paul VanHuess... the principal." He spoke nervously. "Special Agents Perdue and Mulder with the FBI," Reggie answered, flashing his ID. VanHuess shook their hands gratefully. "We can speak in my office." "Have you considered closing the school?" Reggie asked from a chair directly in front of the principal's desk. Mulder sat by the door, dutifully taking notes even though he didn't need to. The principal shifted in his seat. "Yes, I've thought about it. What with many of the parents keeping the children at home the attendance is barely enough to keep the doors open. But the school board doesn't think we should. Bureaucrats." "You mean some parents are actually still sending their kids?" Mulder asked, somewhat dumb-founded. VanHuess' answer was merely a shrug. "As far as we know, the children were being taken during recess. That was probably the best time because we don't have enough teachers to watch them outside. The first class after lunch is generally when they are missed. We've kept the children indoors since then." "No one has seen any strangers?" Reggie asked. "No, no one out of the ordinary." "Could we see the school yard, please?" Reggie said as he stood. "Certainly," VanHuess replied, standing as well. *** Scully sat at a desk in the nearby police station surrounded by numerous agents. Some time ago, someone had set a cup of coffee in front of her, but she had only stared at the steam rising from the dark liquid. The steam had long since disappeared as the coffee had cooled. She prayed Mulder was still alive. Scully couldn't explain why, but she had a feeling that he was. He would call it a hunch, she called it instinct. His voice echoed in her head and she found herself smiling. The maniac's parting message confused her. Who was he? What was going on? And why? But she could do nothing until those back files had been dug out and brought to her. She felt as useless as the other agents standing around drinking coffee and eating doughnuts. "Agent Scully?" a voice called out from the far side of the room. "Over here," she replied, standing and turning in the direction the voice had come. A young man, probably in his early twenties, raced to her desk and handed her a stack of case files. "Assistant Director Skinner had me hot foot these over to you." "Thank you," she said, already dismissing the man and turning her attention to the files. Mulder and Reggie had obviously worked well together. There were at last twenty cases sitting before her. She picked one off the top and immediately put it aside. She *knew* John Barnett had nothing to do with this. Barnett had been Mulder's first case with the FBI. Barnett had been robbing armored cars and going on a killing spree as well. Mulder had finally helped to catch Barnett, only to have him presumably 'die' in prison of a heart attack. Instead, Barnett had been experimented on and had been made younger. Then he'd come back for revenge. In the process, Barnett had killed Reggie Perdue. Mulder had taken Reggie's death badly, even though he had held a tight rein on his emotions when he was in public. Too quick to judge himself, Mulder felt guilty for Reggie's death. However, when Barnett had tried to kill Scully, Mulder had shot Barnett and, finally, the man was dead. Scully reached for the next case file. It was Mulder's second and the first thing in the folder was one of Mulder's profiles. She stopped, confused. Psychological profiles usually went near the back of the file but for some reason this one was out of order. she thought. She lifted the profile out to look at what should be the first thing seen in a properly organized case file, the picture of the suspect. She froze as a steely glare greeted her. When the man had first jumped her and Mulder in the alley, she had noticed the eyes. They had gleamed with an evil madness. This was him. Scully opened Mulder's profile and started to read. *** Mulder turned the corner first and bumped into a wall of a man. Barely shorter than Mulder, the man was solidly built, with dark hair, dark eyes and an army tattoo on his right forearm. "Sorry 'bout that," the man said moving out of the way. "That's Todd Howned, the school janitor," VanHuess offered. "Todd, these are the two FBI agents who are looking into the kids' disappearances." "Oh," Todd answered. "Well it's about time. Those poor kids... and the police not being able to do anything." Something in the man's tone set off bells in Mulder's head. It was a subtle emphasis on a couple of the words. Mulder wondered if Reggie had heard it. Mulder stuck out a hand, "I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder and this is Reggie Perdue." Todd shook his hand firmly. "Fox, huh. Cool name." Mulder involuntarily took a small step backwards. Something was wrong. All his inner alarms were going off. This guy scared him even though he seemed very pleasant. Mulder gave the guy another once-over. Todd Howned was dressed in the blue coveralls that were typical of janitorial work. He stood, rather relaxed, in front of a mop bucket which, mysteriously, had no mop. His boots were a worn and faded shade of black. He looked like the type of man who'd wear lots of gold chains but instead had a gaudy pink thing, that looked like it was made of plastic, around his neck. At the end of the 'necklace' hung a flat charm with a sticker of a unicorn stuck slightly uneven on its surface. "It's from my niece," Todd said, fingering the charm. "She gave it to me for Christmas last year. She made me promise to wear it all the time. The little girl is just precious." Mulder smiled, "I'm sure she is." For some reason Mulder couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that settled over him. "What's the tattoo from?" Todd glanced at his arm. "Vietnam," he said but offered no more than that. *** Mulder thought as he returned to consciousness. He slowly opened his left eye while his right had swollen painfully shut. The memory slowly returned and he felt an uneasiness surface at how long it had taken. The blackouts and short memory losses told him he had a bad concussion. He needed a hospital, he thought as the right side of his face pulsed. Needed it badly. "'Bout time you woke up again," he heard Howned say from behind him. "This won't be very enjoyable for me if you can't stay awake." "Sorry," Mulder croaked through split and swollen lips. "Oh, that's okay," he offered cheerily, as he moved in front of Mulder and patted the injured side of Mulder's face, causing his head to explode with flares of pain. Consciousness wavered and Mulder unsteadily fought to stay awake. "What do you want?" Mulder asked, after the pounding subsided. Todd turned cold eyes toward him. "Revenge, of course. I want the Hunt back but first, I want you to feel what I had to feel in that pit of Hell you call Greenside. Agent Perdue as well. Where is he anyway? I couldn't find him." "He's dead," Mulder offered weakly as consciousness again threatened to leave him. "Oh," Todd said, sounding disappointed. "Well, that puts a little cramp in my plans. I can't have a Hunt unless there's someone to chase and be chased by, now can I?" He sighed and sank into a chair across from Mulder. "Well, I'll have to change my plans then. But first, the fun part." Mulder followed Todd with his eye as Todd bounded to his feet and crossed to a cabinet along the wall. The room was only about ten by twelve and Mulder didn't see any windows. Todd walked back over to him, holding a syringe. "What's that?" Mulder asked nervously. "Unfortunately, not Thorazine. Do you realize how hard it is to get a hold of that stuff?" "What is it?" Mulder repeated. "Well, in Greenside, they gave me Thorazine. I wanted to give you Thorazine too but I couldn't find any. But, I'm told this has some of the same effects and will work just as well. It's a lot easier to get, too." He bent over Mulder's left arm and slipped the needle into his skin. "What is it?" Mulder asked again, fear beginning to grip him. "Heroin," Todd answered with a self-satisfied gleam in his eyes as he pushed down the plunger. *** "So, Mulder, any thoughts?" Reggie asked from across the table. They had gone to a diner after they had left the school. It was an ancient, battle scarred place, but still served good food. Mulder sipped at his coffee. "The kids were taken in broad daylight without anyone seeing anything. I think it's someone on staff." Reggie smiled to himself. The kid was good. "And why do you think that?" "Kids are too observant not to notice a stranger and none of them saw anyone who didn't belong there. But someone who works at the school wouldn't be considered out of place or out of the ordinary." Reggie nodded in agreement. After all, he'd already come to that conclusion as well. "Any suspects?" This was the question that Reggie really wanted to hear an answer for. Mulder always saw more than anyone else. He picked up on the subtleties that even Reggie missed. "Well," Mulder paused. He had an entire list of suspects and decided to narrow them down. "One would be the principal, VanHuess. He was just a little too nervous I think." "Yeah, his hands were a little too sweaty." Mulder smiled. "You decide on suspects by how sweaty their palms are?" Reggie shrugged. "Everyone has their own methods. Any others?" "The janitor, Howned." "Why?" Reggie asked. He didn't think Howned was all that suspicious. Mulder shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know. He just rubs me the wrong way... I can't explain it. He..." Mulder's voice trailed off. "He what?" Reggie prompted. Mulder sighed, clearly uncomfortable discussing this. "I don't know... he scares me." "What about Durren?" Reggie asked, changing the subject. He was unwilling to push Mulder into conclusions. Mulder could come up with good ones given a little time. Besides, Reggie hated to see him squirm. "The PE teacher?" Mulder shook his head. "Why not?" "He doesn't seem the type." Mulder answered. Reggie laughed, "Not the type? Just what is the type? The nice, quite boy next door?" Mulder smiled. "That did sound silly, didn't it?" He paused. "I don't know. It's like with the janitor... it just doesn't *feel* right." "Okay. Anyone else?" Reggie asked, accepting the explanation for now. He agreed that Mulder could be 'spooky' at times, but no one else had his insight. Reggie guessed that was probably how the stupid nickname had come about. Mulder thought silently for a few minutes before shaking his head. "I want to talk to the last girl's family, though. 'Nothing' has turned up yet and we could get lucky. This one might not be connected." "All right," Reggie agreed, even though he knew better. Mulder was still 'green' and he'd grow out of that kind of 'hope' soon enough. *** Scully shut the profile, disgusted. she asked herself. Mulder had begun the profile by calling Todd Howned evil. Scully had thought, at the time, the opening sounded a little too emotional and spontaneous, coming from Mulder. As she read further, however, Mulder had clinically and logically described what evil was and used Howned's actions as his model. He had backed everything up with strong evidence, including his own eyewitness account that still left her stomach feeling a little weak. By all rights, Todd Howned should have fried in the electric chair. However, as she dug further into the case file, she found that Howned's defense attorney had gotten the consultation of a 'more experienced and more reliable' psychiatrist. This psychiatrist had, supposedly, interviewed Howned and had him declared 'incompetent to stand trial'. Howned had been locked away at the Greenside Mental Institution. Scully opened Mulder's profile again. "...Todd Howned served two tours of duty with the 101st Airborne Division of the U.S. Army during the Vietnam war. According to Howned, he found a growing lust for violence. While most soldiers face this same blood lust during battle, Howned confessed that he enjoyed the 'sport' of 'hunting' the enemy more than the 'kill'. Though he does admit to having felt a certain degree of fulfillment at the act of killing. "Upon his return to the States, Howned attempted to relive the 'Hunt', as he calls it, by going on camping trips and hunting deer and quail. When this approach failed to have the desired effect, Howned resorted to a more violent method. "According to Howned, his first real 'kill' was a vagrant in 1981. Since then, he states that he scheduled a 'Hunting season' for himself to coincide with deer season, thus making his killings less conspicuous..." Scully shook her head. Howned sounded perfectly aware of his actions to her. But, since Mulder had been an agent with less than three months experience and just off the Barnett case, the judge had listened to the 'qualified expert witness' for the defense. She felt herself grow angry at the miscarriage of justice. she asked him silently. *** For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Mulder returned to consciousness without pain. In fact, he was feeling damn good. Nothing hurt and, with the exception of a little weakness, he felt like dancing a little jig. he chided himself. He attempted, somewhat unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle. For one, the thought wasn't quite that funny. Secondly, he didn't think he was the type of person that would giggle. Mulder suddenly found himself wondering what he'd thought was so funny in the first place. He inhaled deeply. He was finding it harder and harder to get a lung full of air. Mulder thought, and quickly felt the coherent question slip away. Between the concussion and the heroin it was impossible to think straight. "Well, good morning again, Fox," Mulder heard a voice say. "'Mornin'," Mulder slurred. He had a strange feeling that the source of the voice was important but he couldn't remember. He leaned his head back. He was really starting to feel weird. "And how do you feel today?" the voice asked, pleasantly conversational. Mulder thought about the question for a second before answering. "Fine, I think." "You think? You're not sure?" There was a pause. "Perhaps we should discuss this a little further, don't you think?" Mulder was momentarily confused. There were too many questions, too fast. He couldn't concentrate. "I... my head hurts," he finally answered, realizing that it *did* hurt and it was getting more and more painful. He started to wince and stopped as a streak of fire raced across his face. Then Mulder felt a stinging in his arm and a soothing warmth spread through his body, easing the pain. He let his head slump to one side as a numbness settled over him. "Sorry 'bout that," the voice said apologetically. "Your medication started to wear off there. I'll have to keep a closer eye on the time. So... where were we?" Mulder lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "WAKE UP!" the voice shouted suddenly. Mulder didn't feel the blow that nearly broke his jaw, but the taste of blood in his mouth brought his memory back. "What do you want from me?" Mulder asked weakly. "Hey!" Howned shrieked. "I ask the questions here!" "Why don't you just kill me and get it over with," Mulder responded, proud that his drug fogged brain got all the words out. The cold stare Todd turned on him made his stomach turn. "Oh," Todd said too quietly. "The patient is not cooperating. That does not bode well for his treatment." Mulder watched as Todd walked to the cabinet again. He returned with what looked like a car battery and a set of jumper cables. Mulder closed his eyes and forced his brain to think, but to no avail. "What's that for?" he asked, not really sure he wanted to know. "I saw this done in a movie once," Todd answered with a grin. "Time for shock therapy." *** "Are you sure you want to do this, Mulder?" Reggie asked him as they approached the front door. "Yes... absolutely," he replied as he raised his hand to knock. "What do you hope to find by interrogating this poor girl's parents?" "I don't know... maybe the suspect has been stalking her. Maybe they saw something?" Mulder asked, rapping lightly on the solid wooden door. A slightly disheveled woman answered. She was attractive even though dark circles marked the skin below her red rimmed eyes. She sniffled and wiped her nose with a tissue. "Excuse me, please," she said gesturing to her rumpled state. "May I help you?" Mulder shook his head at her apology and withdrew his ID. "Special Agent Fox Mulder, FBI." He paused, allowing her to get over her shock. "I'm very sorry, Ms. Mason, but I was hoping that you could answer a few questions about your daughter." She wiped at her nose again before opening the door wider and allowing the two agents to enter the house. "Thank you," Mulder said stepping through the door. "This is Agent Reggie Perdue." Ms. Mason nodded and shook both their hands. "Please, sit. Can I get you anything? Coffee?" "No, thank you, we're both fine," Reggie replied. "Ms. Mason," Mulder began gently. "Before your daughter disappeared, did you notice anyone near the house? Maybe walking up and down the street?" Ms. Mason thought about it for a few seconds. "Not that I recall, why?" Mulder crossed the room to a fireplace with photographs adorning the mantle. "We thought maybe the suspect might have be stalking the kids before taking them," Reggie offered. "Have..." She paused, collecting her courage. "Have you found anything yet?" Mulder felt his heart turn in pity for this woman. She had no illusions about the fate of her recently missing daughter. She knew her daughter would never be *entirely* found and the look in her eyes was one of wishfulness. Wishfulness that she'd soon be able to put her daughter to rest. Mulder wondered if he would ever be that strong. "No, nothing yet," he heard Reggie answer, as he turned to look at the pictures. Mulder's gaze was drawn to one picture especially. A young blonde girl smiled out at him. He knew from the police report that Jennifer Mason had only been six years old, but the girl who stared at him from the picture looked much younger. Her shoulder length hair curled around her neck and ice blue eyes seemed to bore into his soul. Again, Mulder felt an uneasiness surface. There was something in the picture that was important and he stared clinically at the figure. Reggie and Ms. Mason's conversation faded into the background. "Oh my God," Mulder whispered, drawing Reggie's attention. "What is it?" Reggie asked, coming up behind Mulder. Mulder pointed at the picture, his finger brushing the glass. There, in the picture, hanging around Jennifer Mason's neck, was a pink plastic necklace with a unicorn stuck unevenly on the surface of its charm. *** Scully sat, staring at a map of Washington DC. She had forgotten how long she had been sitting there, thinking. Todd Howned lived for the Hunt. Mulder had stated that fact over and over in his profile. The hard part now was to decided where he had gone. She had to keep in mind this guy's thrill of the chase. she thought. They hunt, the other half of her that always pointed out the obvious answered. she scolded. Well, her father had always gone to a lodge or a bar with his friends. Mulder's voice added in her mind. She shook her head. Maybe she *did* need a vacation. "Hey," she called to the nearest officer. "Can you get me a list of bars that have shut down in the last couple of weeks?" "Sure thing," the officer replied bounding to his feet. He returned several minutes later with a printout. Scully took it from him and began to scan the names. "Hey, why'd this one close?" she asked the officer who had been reading over her shoulder. "It's called 'The Huntsmen'." "A health code violation," he offered. "Something about dead cats, I think." She checked it's location on the map of DC. "The Huntsmen" was near where Howned had forced Scully out of the car. In fact, it was only about two blocks south of the police station. "You think that's where this guy has your partner?" the officer asked. "Pretty sure, Officer..." She glanced at his name tag. "...Burke. Let's get everyone suited up and over there." *** Mulder pulled the car to a stop by the curb in front of the small house rented by Todd Howned. He reached inside his jacket and checked that both his gun and the search warrant were still where he'd left them. As he stepped out of the car, he felt all his senses sharpen as adrenaline began to pump through his body. He made his way up the walk to the front door with Reggie right behind him. Other police cars began to pull up to the house, their officers pouring onto the street. Mulder knocked on the door as the police brought up the 'door opener', a huge steel ram that brought doors down with little trouble. Silence answered Mulder's knock. "Todd Howned," Mulder called at the door. "This is the FBI, we have a search warrant. Open the door." Mulder motioned at the door and the police broke it down with no effort. They entered the house and began to search the first floor. Mulder eased into the kitchen, glanced around and froze in his tracks in shock. Several pots were boiling on the stove. The aroma that drifted out and filled the kitchen reminded Mulder of boiling poultry. But the sight that greeted him made his stomach turn and he fought down the urge to vomit. Todd Howned stood behind a cutting table whistling while he dismembered the body of Jennifer Mason. He was calmly de-boning the thigh and placing the flesh into the boiling pots of water on the stove when he spotted Mulder in the doorway. Abruptly, the whistling stopped, and Howned harrumphed in disappointment. "Well, I guess Hunting season is over for the year, isn't it?" Mulder stared, horrified, over the barrel of his gun that he held pointed at Howned's chest. He nodded slowly. He heard an officer behind him retch. "You know, you could've waited 'till after dinner," Howned remarked, putting down the butcher knife and pointing to the pots on the stove. He picked up a strip of bloody meat, popped it into his mouth and began to chew. "Mm... this one's good. Can I just fry this up and take it with me?" Mulder shook his head, slowly, unable to look away from Howned's deranged eyes. Howned sighed. "All right, just let me wash my hands before we go. 'Cleanliness is next to Godliness' you know." *** Mulder awoke to a semi-lucid state of consciousness. He could feel the skin on his chest beginning to blister from the electrical burns inflicted by the car battery. It was a pain that the injections of heroin couldn't quite mask. In a strange way, he was thankful for the dope. He wasn't sure how much pain he'd be in otherwise, and the amount he was feeling now was quite enough. It hurt to think. It hurt to move. It had begun to hurt to breathe. A chill draft blew across his hypersensitive skin and he shivered involuntarily, causing all kinds of new pain to shoot up his body. The shivering turned into small convulsions and he began to whimper in pain. His head throbbed and all memory of why he hurt, how he hurt, where he was and what had happened fled. All he knew was that *everything* hurt. He heard a voice but could not be sure if it was addressing him. It was vaguely familiar and sounded slurred to his ears. He couldn't make out what it was saying and it hurt too much to concentrate on the sound in order to figure out what it was. Then he realized he didn't care who was speaking. For a reason he couldn't remember, he didn't want to know who it was. He didn't want to feel this pain anymore. So Mulder gave in willingly, once more, to unconsciousness. *** "Mulder?" Scully said worriedly as she stared at his convulsing form. He was strapped to a metal folding chair with duct tape. The right side of his face was completely swollen, with a nasty laceration above his right eye. His shirt had been unbuttoned and hung from his shoulders, giving her a clear view of the dozen or so large, red, blistering burns that dotted his chest, as well as the ugly black and blue patch that suggested broken ribs. She shone her pen light into his left eye. The pupil was dilated and barely responded to the light. He was going into shock, and she covered him with the blanket Officer Burke handed her. She briefly considered cutting him out of the duct tape but decided it would be safer for him to stay confined until the paramedics arrived and made the convulsions subside. Scully could hear the sirens wailing in the distance, background noise to the sounds of other police and FBI searching the condemned "Huntsmen" bar. The sirens began to grow louder and she prayed that they'd move faster. Mulder's left arm jerked weakly and she noticed several puncture marks dotting his inner elbow and forearm. "Officer Burke," Scully called hurriedly. "Look around, Mulder's been injected with something and the paramedics are going to need to know what it was." She heard the EMS unit pull up outside and she went out to hurry them inside. As the paramedics went to work on him, Officer Burke approached Scully. "I think it was heroin," he said from behind her. She turned to see him holding most of the material needed to have 'a good time'. "Oh, Jesus, Mulder," she whispered as the paramedics strapped him to a gurney and took him out to the ambulance. *** Mulder came to three days later in the Intensive Care ward of a hospital. He blinked in confusion. His mouth was dry and his throat felt like sandpaper. He tried moving but realized he didn't have the strength for it. And he felt... warm. He remembered being extremely cold before, but couldn't remember where. He was completely numb, though he was beginning to feel the early stages of a massive migraine. He shut his eyes tightly against the slight throbbing that had started. He heard a door open and recognized two distinctive feminine voices. "When?" he heard Scully ask with a mixture of concern and relief. "Just a couple of minutes ago," a voice answered. It sounded like Scully's mother, Margaret. Scully came into his line of sight. "Mulder?" she asked worriedly. His first attempt at speaking failed. He licked his dry lips and finally whispered, "Where am I?" Scully sighed relieved as her mother put her hand on Scully's shoulder. "You're in the hospital, Mulder. Again." He closed his eyes as a wave of dizziness hit him. "How you feeling?" He took a breath and pushed down the nausea. "My head hurts and I feel like I'm gonna be sick..." His voice trailed off weakly. "You sustained a skull fracture, Mulder. Just don't move around too much and I'll call the doctor." Scully turned but her mother was already on her way out the door. Scully looked back to Mulder. He was looking a little green around the gills, but that would eventually pass. There was a white gauze bandage that covered the seventeen stitches above his right eye. Hopefully, he wouldn't scar too badly. Plus, the doctor had said that the three broken ribs were knitting well. But it had been the skull fracture that had everyone worried. Just then, the doctor walked into the room. "Good, you're awake. Now we can see how bad the fracture was," he said picking up the chart at the end of the bed. "My name is Doctor Ryan Johnson... Do you remember what happened?" Scully watched as fear and pain entered his eyes before he answered quietly, "Yes." "Do you know the assailant's name?" "Todd Howned," he croaked. "Do you know what he injected you with?" Mulder paused before answering. "He... he was upset at not having Thorazine but I don't really remember what he did give me." Dr. Johnson sighed. "This is important, Mr. Mulder. Howned gave you heroin and, because we don't want to risk any kind of chemical dependence, we are going to have to limit the amount of pain killers we give you. You can heal without them. As soon as the medication we used to sedate you wears off you will, no doubt, suffer withdrawal. Just a warning, try not to shout at the nurses, they're being nasty today. Do you know what the burns are from?" Mulder sighed weakly. "I have a vague memory of a pair of jumper cables." The doctor nodded. "Good. There doesn't seem to be any brain damage. The slight memory loss is normal, under the circumstances, but I'm going to order another CAT scan anyway. We'll move you to another room and keep you until Thursday for observation, but I think the fracture will heal fine on its own." He stood and wrote something in the chart. "I'll be back in a little while to check up on you." Silence descended in the room following the doctor's departure. Mulder lay with his eyes closed, looking too pale. Several minutes passed and Scully thought he'd drifted back to sleep. She began to make her way towards the door when she heard him whisper, "Where is he?" "Who?" Scully asked, a little startled. Eyes still closed, he repeated, "Where's Howned?" "I don't know, Mulder," she answered. "He wasn't there when we arrived. He's gone." Mulder opened his eyes and slowly turned his head towards her. "Get some more rest, Mulder." She said. "I'll see you later." Mulder watched her leave. Get more rest, she says. Sure, he thought, he'd need it. He had a feeling that Todd Howned was willing to wait. The End. (or is it?) ------- Author Notes: Well, here it is... the sequel to "The Fox and the Howned". This one is kinda gross too. So, you've been warned. This story is base on the characters created and owned by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Used without permission and no infringement is intended. The Hunt By K.D. Enriquez (a.k.a. SciNut@aol.com) 1/8/95 Sarah Baxter strolled down a semi-deserted street, one block west of Lincoln Avenue. She was oblivious to the lateness of the hour and the descending darkness. She breathed in the fresh, but slightly polluted, DC air, joyfully lost in her own happy thoughts. Sarah had never considered herself very attractive. She was light haired with a light complexion. Too light a complexion, her mother had often told her. But, her looks didn't seem to matter to Jonathan. Her smile grew broader as she fingered the still unfamiliar shape about her left ring finger. Jonathan had asked her to marry him tonight. Only a few hours ago, as a matter of fact. She had said yes immediately and she'd stayed for dinner. She would have stayed the night as well but, her mother would never approve. Sarah had insisted that they not sleep together again until the honeymoon. She wanted to make the attempt at propriety, least her mother ask. Jonathan had agreed whole-hearted. He cared a great deal for Sarah's mother and didn't want her to be hurt in anyway. Her mother, too, adored Jonathan. She would just flip when Sarah told her. She smiled again and tried not to run all the way home. For some reason, Sarah wanted to keep this a secret for just a little while longer. She didn't know why, after all, she felt she could hardly wait to tell *somebody*. The urge grew into something unbearable and she promised herself to tell the very first person she saw. As she turned the corner, Sarah saw a well muscled, dark haired man leaning against a building. She'd tell him. He'd be so happy for her. She walked towards him, excitement nearly bursting out of her. "Hello," she called to him cheerfully. "Hiya," he replied, turning steel gray eyes and a welcoming smile in her direction. "I'm sorry, you must think I'm crazy, but I just need to tell somebody," she paused and upon his nod to continue she finished, "My name is Sarah and I'm getting married!" The man returned a warm smile, "That's just wonderful Sarah. I bet you're excited." She grinned with barely contained joy. Telling this stranger didn't feel weird after all. She was glad she'd turned down Jonathan's offer to walk her home. After all, he had to work early tomorrow and needed the rest. Anyway, he'd have thought her insane to just walk up to someone she didn't know and tell them something like that. "I've never been married myself, but I can imagine the feeling. I'm sure you'll be happy." "Thank you," she bubbled. He looked up and down the darkened, deserted street. "But you shouldn't be out here by yourself. Let me walk you a little ways." She smiled gratefully. "Thank you again Mister... I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?" The smile he turned on her was knowing. "Todd Howned." *** FBI Building Four Days Later 9 AM EST Mulder sat at his desk and slowly closed his eyes. The "migraine that wouldn't stop" began to pound behind his eyes again. The aspirin he'd taken an hour ago had worn off already and he fumbled in his jacket pocket for the new bottle he'd bought yesterday. He seemed to be going through aspirin rather quickly since he'd gotten out of the hospital. The doctors had told him the skull fracture, that they said was "mild", was healing. They said the headaches were normal and they'd go away in about a week or so. Well, he thought, a week *has* gone by and the only noticeable change is the third bottle of aspirin. Disgusted, he popped open the bottle's lid and downed four tablets hoping they'd kick in before Scully walked through the door. His temper was on a short leash and lately, he hated to say, she'd just been getting on his nerves. He leaned his elbows on top of his desk and began to massage his temples. Even though the stitches had been removed, he could still feel the presence of the fading scar above his right eye. He shivered slightly as the memory of his ordeal with Todd Howned resurfaced. Even though he couldn't remember everything during those two days, the bits he did remember were of being beaten, drugged and electrocuted. The thought that Howned was still on the loose unnerved him even more. Howned had just disappeared into the woodwork. Mulder's head throbbed spitefully. As he swallowed a fifth pill for luck, Scully strode through the door. The clicking of her practical heals on the floor echoed through his head and Mulder felt the clamp on his temper loosen. She looked at him oddly as he recapped the bottle. "Still have that headache, Mulder?" She asked concerned. His answer was a piercing stare that warned her to leave it alone. "Maybe you should go back to the..." She began to offer before he cut her off by slapping the top of his desk. "I don't need a hospital," he snapped. He paused and took a deep breath. "Sorry..." "No, Mulder, it's all right. Just try to relax a little," she said sympathetically. She could see from where she sat at her desk that he was wound up tighter than she'd ever seen him before. "I'm going to get my coffee... do you want any?" The offer brought a weak but apologetic smile to his face. "Thanks, but I really don't think caffeine would be good for my mood right now." She smiled in return and headed out the door towards the Mr. Coffee. As she poured her usual, coffee with cream and no sugar, she found herself beginning to worry about Mulder, again. There were some days, she thought to herself, that worrying about Mulder was her job instead of being his partner. Not that she minded, after all, who'd worry about him if she didn't? Ever since he'd been released from the hospital he'd been moody. Well, moody for Mulder. His normally controlled anger seemed to have a free reign on his personality. She'd been on the receiving end of that intense anger on more than one occasion lately and she really wasn't comfortable about it. Normally, she could take the brunt of somebody's anger but this was different. This was Mulder. Mulder's emotions were always so tightly controlled that anyone who didn't know him considered him cold. Scully had thought that herself when she'd first met him. She had learned to see the subtle shifts of his emotions. Now, she could read him like a book. The first emotion she'd learned to see in him was his rage. It was always there, bubbling just under the surface with an intensity that sometimes frightened her. She had always wondered what would happen if his control on that rage faltered. Scully guessed that's what she was seeing now. Mulder was in an emotionally weak state. Having survived two days of torture, his control was slipping slowly away. Coming down off the twenty-four hour high hadn't helped either. Damn Howned anyway, she thought of the bastard that had caused this misery. He'd wanted revenge and Scully figured that the torture he'd inflicted on Mulder was just the beginning. According to the amount of heroine that had been in Mulder's system when she'd finally found him, Howned had most likely injected Mulder every three hours for at least a day. The doctors had been right, he had suffered withdrawal after he'd awakened in the hospital. Between the withdrawal, the precautionary limit of painkillers, the head injury and Mulder's dislike of hospitals in general, he'd been irritable and just plain nasty for the past week. Added on, for good measure, was the fact that he'd started taking a dangerous amount of aspirin. Scully knew the head injury couldn't *still* hurt that badly unless the skull fracture was worse than the doctors had originally thought. But, Scully was a doctor too, and she'd seen the x-rays and CAT scans. She knew that it wasn't bad. Scully thought. Even though she was a doctor, it was unsettling to watch her friend falling apart like this. Her mother would be able to help. Promising herself a long phone call at lunch, Scully headed back to the office. When she walked back through the door, Scully was shocked to find Mulder poking gently at a package, brightly wrapped with Santa Claus paper, on his desk with a pen. She stifled a grin. He was acting like the 'present' would explode at the least movement. Then the thought occurred to her that it just might. After all, who'd send Mulder a Christmas gift? "Where did that come from?" She asked trying to distract him from whatever thought was making him scowl. He looked up and curiosity flooded his features. "You didn't send this?" She shook her head. "This was just delivered from the mail room," he started then held up a tag. "It's from 'A friend'." "So, who's it from?" "Well... if you didn't send it, I don't know who did. You're the only real friend I have..." his voice trailed off, distracted, and he bent to scrutinize the package, missing the warm look that entered Scully's eyes. "Maybe Mr. what's-his-name? Your contact?" Scully offered. "I don't think so," Mulder answered coldly and picked up the rectangular box that was about the size of a loaf of bread. He turned it in his hands and felt something thump against the side. "Well, it doesn't look like the Unibomber's work... Go ahead and open it." "I dunno know," Mulder said warily, ignoring her attempt at levity. "Maybe I should take it upstairs to forensics." "If it *is* from your contact, Mulder, do you want those guys seeing it?" A frustrated sound escaped him as Mulder began to slowly unwrap the 'gift'. After removing the paper he was left with a plain brown cardboard box. He stared at the package for several seconds before lifting the lid. "Oh my God," he whispered in despair. Sitting in the box was a severed left hand sealed in a Ziploc freezer bag. Circling the third finger was a diamond ring. Attached to the baggy was a small note which Scully carefully turned so she could read but did not remove. "'I know you've had a rough time lately so Sarah Baxter thought she'd lend you a hand. -Merry Christmas, Todd'. Jesus, Mulder. It's Howned." Mulder just shook his head, shocked, then buried his face in his hands. *** Day 2 11:35 AM EST Scully followed Mulder up the steps to Sarah Baxter's apartment. Since yesterday, Mulder had been quiet and withdrawn. A mixture of horror, fear and guilt permanently graced his features. She'd tried to get him to talk about it but he refused and remained silent. Scully could understand his mood. She remembered the shear madness in Howned's eyes the night he'd abducted Mulder and beaten him. She shivered at the thought of what he'd done to Mulder after Howned had forced her out of the car and driven to "The Huntsmen" bar. The memory dissipated as Mulder knocked on the apartment door. Sarah Baxter had been barely twenty years old and still lived with her mother. The family had been notified the night before but there was only the hand to identify. Sarah's fiancée had recognized the ring as the one he'd given her five days ago when he'd proposed. Jonathan Williams had been unnaturally quiet through the whole process and the police had given him the name of a good psychiatrist. The fortyish woman that answered the door was obviously Sarah's mother. She was graying and rumpled from a sleepless night filled with grief. She was dressed in jeans and a baggy flannel shirt. "May I help you?" She asked while her voice wavered. Mulder reached into his jacket and withdrew his ever present ID and badge. "Janet Baxter?" Mulder began in an unemotional tone that could only be learned by experience. "I'm Fox Mulder with the FBI. We're looking into your daughter's disappearance. Could we ask you a couple of questions?" She blinked at them, stunned, before motioning for them to enter. "I didn't think the FBI handled kidnappings unless it went between states." "Usually that's true," Mulder offered. "But this is a special case." "You're the one who received her hand," she said with certainty as new tears slid down her cheeks. Mulder nodded silently as she lead them into a small living room with mismatching furniture. Janet Baxter sat in a well worn but sturdy easy-chair. "Is this Sarah?" Scully asked pointing at a photograph on an end table as she and Mulder sank into a sofa whose looks belied its comfort. "Yes... God rest her," Janet Baxter answered crossing herself. Sarah had hair so light Scully was forced to wonder if Janet was really her mother. Janet had the tell tale signs of Greek or Italian origins with dark hair that was only slightly graying with a dark complexion. The only resemblance between Janet and Sarah was the high cheek bones and the slender, imperialistic nose. Janet noticed Scully's scrutiny and offered with a slight smile, "My husband was Aryan. Why Sarah inherited his side of the gene pool I'll never know." Mulder leaned forward, purposely ignoring the photograph. "Mr. Williams said that he offered to walk her home that night?" "Yes," she nodded. "But she refused his offer... He always offered to walk her home at night but she always turned him down. She said he worried about her too much and that because we only live a couple of blocks apart that nothing could... ever..." Janet took a steadying breath before finishing, "...ever... happen to her." She sniffled, "Jonathan is such a nice boy." "Did Sarah have any distinguishing marks on her hands?" Mulder asked getting to the point. The quicker the better, he thought. Since he'd entered the apartment the room seemed to be getting smaller and smaller. The air had seemed to turn stale. He knew what was happening and if he didn't want to finish having the anxiety attack he needed to get out of there soon. "What do you mean?" "A birth mark or a tattoo, maybe?" Janet thought for a moment. "No. No birth marks or tattoos." "Could she have gotten a tattoo without you knowing?" "No, she would never get a tattoo. She's a good Catholic girl and it's a sin to mark the body with tattoos or piercing." She answered with certainty. Mulder took a deep breath as he removed a Polaroid photo from his jacket. He felt himself beginning to sweat. "What about this?" The picture was a close up of one of Sarah Baxter's left fingers. "There's a mark on the pad of the index finger. Do you recognize it?" Janet closely eyed the small photo. "No, but it looks like a 'D'. Did whoever took her do this?" "That's the theory. Thank you Mrs. Baxter." Mulder quickly stood and made a bee-line for the front door. "We'll keep you informed," Scully added, distractedly as she moved to follow Mulder. "Are you all right, Mulder?" Scully asked outside. Mulder took a deep, steadying breath. "Fine." He met her gaze and he could tell that she didn't believe him by the way she was eyeing him. Mulder felt himself growing angry. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately but it wasn't his fault. He couldn't help it. Why did she have to jump all over him anyway? He thought to himself. He'd never asked for her to butt into his life. Mulder blinked, once, in slight confusion. Why was he thinking like that? Scully was the best friend he'd ever had. No, he thought, 'friend' was too shallow a word to describe what she was. He felt the beginnings of the "migraine from Hell" clawing at the base of his skull and he blindly fished out the aspirin from his pocket. "Mulder," Scully said worriedly. "You just took some aspirin a little while ago. It's dangerous to take more than two tablets every four hours..." "You're not my doctor, Scully," he bit back and immediately regretted the words. "I'm sorry... again," he added before she could speak. He glanced at the half empty bottle in his hand before putting it back in his pocket. He sighed and looked down the street towards the car. "Maybe I should go back to the hospital and see Doctor Johnson." Scully smiled, relieved. "I think maybe that would be a good idea." *** 3:54 PM EST Day 2 Scully unlocked her apartment door and glanced over at Mulder who was half standing and half slumping against the wall beside her. They'd gone to the emergency room and Dr. Johnson had examined Mulder's head. Johnson had said everything was fine and the fracture was healing well. Though, the spot above his right eye, where the fracture was, would still be a little sore to the touch. For the pain, they'd given Mulder a little of everything with instructions to go home and to bed until tomorrow. So Scully had brought him to her place, unwilling to leave him by himself in his current state. Besides, he didn't look like he wanted to be alone. She couldn't blame him. The moron had ,basically, gotten himself addicted to aspirin, of all things. When the doctor had told them, Scully had rudely liberated him of the bottle he'd had though he didn't give much of a fight. Scully pushed open her door and allowed Mulder to proceed her inside, albeit unsteadily. He made it as far as the couch and collapsed into the cushions, quite willing to forget about the case, Howned and Sarah Baxter for a few hours of drug induced sleep. Five minutes later, Scully's mother knocked gently on the front door. "Hi Mom," Scully greeted as she embraced her mother. "Hi Hon. Where do you want this stuff?" Her mother answered gesturing to the bags she held. "Just there... on the chair, will be fine. And thanks for getting Mulder's things for me." "Well, what are mothers for?" She returned with a smile. "Now, where is the poor guy?" Scully smiled. Her mother was treating Mulder more and more like one of her own kids. "He's the unceremonious heap on the sofa." As her mother made her way to the couch, Scully went through the things she'd brought for Mulder from his apartment. They included assorted toiletries, a change of cloths as well as something to pass for pajamas. She smiled at her mother's efforts and went into the living room. "I hate to tell you this Ma, but Mulder usually just wears what he's got on to bed." Her mother looked up as she pulled off one of his shoes. "Well, the least you could've done was to take his shoes off." She said changing the subject as only mothers can. "Oh, I also brought over his mail. There was a package for him that looks pretty important." Scully felt all the color drain from her face. "Where?" "It's at the bottom of the bag. Why? What's wrong?" Scully practically ran to the other room and fished out the package. It looked almost identical to the 'gift' Mulder had received yesterday and Scully didn't have to guess what was in it. "Dana?" Her mother asked. "Mom, can you stay here for a while and keep an eye on Mulder? I need to take this down to the office." "Sure, you know I can. But, what's this all about?" "It deals with a case and I really can't tell you anything about it right now. Can you just stay here until he wakes up?" Mrs. Scully simply nodded and handed Dana her coat as she went out the door. *** 7:20 AM EST Day 3 Mulder awoke groggy and disoriented. He recognized Scully's couch as he sat up and ran a hand through his hair. He felt much better than he had yesterday and a little surprised that he felt no signs of a headache. He yawned as he stood and heard something clank in the kitchen. "I know you're awake in there," he recognized Scully's mother's voice. "So, for once in your life, come and eat breakfast." He smiled slightly and made his way to Scully's modest kitchen. "I eat breakfast every morning." He answered in mild protest. "I've heard what you eat." She replied. He sank heavily into a chair at the table, yawned and asked, almost as an after thought, "Where's Scully?" "Dana's not here." "And...?" he added as he took a sip of the coffee she placed in front of him. "She said she was going to the office, but that was yesterday. You got a package in the mail that I brought over with me and she took it with her." "What?" He said in disbelief as the click of the front door opening sounded through the apartment. He watched Scully enter the kitchen looking as if, for a change, she'd been the one up all night. She set her briefcase lightly on the table and withdrew a manila envelope from its depths. She held it for a few seconds as if she were deciding whether or not to give it to him. "So, how are you feeling today Mulder?" She asked setting the envelope on the table. He'd looked relaxed when she first had entered the kitchen but he was beginning to knot up. He was beginning to look as if she'd just put a poisonous snake in front of him. He met her eyes and replied warily, "I was feeling pretty good." He was half eager and half afraid to see the contents of the curse she'd set on the table. "How 'bout you just tell me so I don't have to look in that?" "Okay. I'm assuming that Mom told you about bringing over your mail," she glanced at her mother. "We were just getting to that, Hon." Margaret said as she poured three glasses of orange juice. "Well," Scully continued. "I took it to the forensics guys and let them open it. There was an ear in a Ziploc freezer bag along with a note..." "The left ear?" Mulder interrupted as he reached over, unable to resist, and removed the contents of the envelope. "Yes and it had a gold earring through the lobe..." She'd long since given up asking him how he'd figured things out so quickly. "What letter?" Mulder glanced through the pages seeing the answer before she said it. "' I '. And the note says, 'The Hunt has begun...'" "'...so keep an ear to the ground.'" Mulder finished reading from the report. He set the papers on the table and glanced at Scully. "So, did you figure out who the ear belongs to?" She shook her head. "No, but the DNA results should be back by this afternoon. There's a couple of possibilities." Mulder began to get to his feet. "We should get going then..." he started. "Huh uh," both Scullys answered in unison. "I've been up all night." Dana added. "I'm not like you, Mulder. I'm going to bed." "And you," Margaret said to Mulder with a tone of finality, "are going to sit back down and finish your breakfast." *** Todd Howned stood behind the row of waist high shrubs with an electric clipper. The clipper vibrated gently in his hands as he ran it along the tops of the plants being sure to cut them evenly. It was tedious work but he liked it. Being a grounds-keeper was better than the interior of the Greenside Institution and he had no plans on going back. The thought of the 'Doctors' there asking him mundane questions about how he felt and what he thought he should do with his unresolved anger made him sick. The only unresolved anger he had was being taken away from his Hunt. He had missed it so much during the time he was locked away that he had cried. He had sworn that he would get even with the people responsible for taking away his happiness. He'd promised himself that he'd start with the two FBI agents who'd arrested him. The only thing was that Reggie Perdue was dead. That was too bad, because Todd had wanted Perdue to try and hunt him. This was the fun part... luring in the prey. He'd gotten even with the Fox but since Perdue was dead, Todd had been forced to let the Fox live. According to his original plan, he was going to leave the Fox for Perdue to find though he'd be missing a few 'parts' that Todd was later going to mail to Perdue. But, since the man was dead, Todd had been forced to let the Fox go so the Hunt could go on. Also, he had to pick other prey off the streets for his plan to work. Though Todd was unhappy at having to let the Fox live, he had found it more stimulating having to hunt down other prey to lure in his primary prey. He was glad that the Hunt was turning out even better than he had originally planned. He'd have his revenge. Todd turned the clipper in his hands to shape the sides of the shrubs. He had to make the place look good. There was going to be a party tonight. He'd be able to find his next prey here. He smiled, happily contented. *** 4:00 PM EST Day 3 FBI Forensics Lab The bread box sized package sat on the lab table. Mulder gazed hatefully at the plain paper that covered it's surface. His address was written both as the 'To' destination and as the return address. It's postage had been paid and, according to the post office, dropped into a public mailbox. The package had been shipped from a different branch of the Federal Postal Service than the other two and Mulder had received it when he'd gone home at noon. He'd called Scully en route to the office but Mrs. Scully had told him that she'd still been asleep. He had been tempted to ask her to wake Scully and then thought better of it and just left a message. He would wait for her before the lab guys opened it. He didn't want to face this by himself. Mulder still had no idea how Howned had escaped from the maximum security facility at Greenside. The officials there had still thought he'd been locked in his 'room' and hadn't known that Howned had abducted and assaulted a federal agent. Mulder's thoughts were interrupted as his cellular phone shrilled in his pocket. "Mulder," he answered and then sighed as the FBI central operator told him that Assistant Director Skinner was looking for him. "Yeah, look... I'm really busy right now and I'll beep him later, all right?" He then disconnected the conversation. It wasn't that he didn't like Skinner, they'd come to a sort of understanding in the last couple of weeks, but he didn't want to face Skinner's questions right at the moment. Questions that he had no answers for. Plus, until Mulder *had* answers, the inevitable conversation would only frustrate them both. The door to the lab opened and Scully came into the room. She glanced around seeing the nondescript package on the table, an assorted group of forensic agents sharing coffee and jokes that'd make any feminist shudder and Mulder who was staring hatefully at the object on the table. "...and so the guy says, 'Your mother... I thought she was *my* mother.'" She heard Agent Moorcock say before the group of guys broke into laughter. "Hey, you guys just waiting for me?" Scully said loud enough to announce her presence. "Yeah," Mulder said breaking out of his reverie. "I found this in my mailbox this afternoon." He added pointing at the box on the table. "Well, we can get started now," Agent Moorcock put in as he crossed the room. "Any bets on what's in it?" Moorcock took out a knife-like letter opener and began to cut away at the packing paper around the box. He then cut at the tape that sealed the corners. Beside her, Scully felt Mulder tense. She could tell that he really didn't want to find out what part Howned had sent him out of twisted revenge. "Let me," Mulder said coming to a decision and stepping forward quickly. "It is addressed to me and we wouldn't want to break any federal laws." Moorcock grinned and stepped aside as Mulder reached for the lid. He lifted it open and slowly removed the Styrofoam packing material to revel a Ziploc freezer bag. Mulder lifted the bag out to see a severed left foot with a note stapled to the baggy. "'The game is afoot'." Mulder read out loud. He turned the body part in his hands, searching. Scully moved to his side and watched as he turned the bottom to face up. "There," she said seeing what he was looking for. He nodded in agreement at the letter 'O' tattooed on the heel. He turned to Moorcock, "Find out who this belongs to." "Sure thing. Also, they found out who the ear belonged to. A woman named Justine Stasheff who's been missing for six days." Moorcock answered handing Mulder an in-office envelope. "Thanks," Mulder said as he took the envelope and turned to leave. Scully followed him out the door. Silence fell between them as they made their way back to the basement office. She was quite comfortable with the silence. It was obvious that Mulder didn't feel like talking and, in truth, there was nothing to discuss. As they approached the office door, a thought occurred to her. "Do you want to question her family?" He shook his head. "There's no need." Mulder stopped in front of the office door. Scully watched him as he scanned up and down the door's height. She saw his muscles tense and he reached back to rest his right hand on the grip of his weapon. The look he tossed in her direction told her everything she needed to know. Someone was in the office and it was someone who didn't belong there. Mulder flung the door open and quickly entered the room to see a man of about twenty gazing at the photographs on the walls. He kept his hand on his weapon as the young man turned to face him. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" Mulder asked seeing the 'Visitor' badge clipped to the man's T-shirt. There was a sadness in his eyes as he looked from Mulder to Scully and back again. "My name's Jonathan Williams. I'm... I was Sarah Baxter's fiancée." Jonathan Williams sat across from Mulder at his desk while Scully was in a nearby chair. After offering their condolences and a seat, Williams hadn't said a word. Scully looked at Mulder and could tell he was becoming impatient. She glanced back at Williams and admitted that Sarah would've been a lucky girl. Jonathan Williams had jet black hair but the bluest eyes Scully had ever seen in her life. He barely reached six feet in height and was dressed in black denim jeans and a plain white T-shirt. There were dark circles under his eyes and the faintest scent of alcohol clung to him. "What can we do for you, Mr. Williams?" Mulder asked, his patience at its end. "I want to know if you caught the bastard yet." He replied flatly. Mulder sighed, sympathetic to the man's grief. "No, not yet. But we will." Williams met Mulder's steady gaze. "I heard somebody else is dead now too." It wasn't a question. "That's true," Mulder glanced at Scully. "How'd you hear that? We didn't tell the press." He laughed. "Man, this is DC. I got connections." "Who doesn't?" Scully asked barely audible. "What are the letters on the... parts?" He demanded sounding slightly sick. "I can't tell you that," Mulder answered. Williams stood and placed his hands on the top of the desk and leaned menacingly towards Mulder. "I know the first one is a 'D'. Sarah's mother told me. Now, you tell me what the other ones are!" Mulder also stood, "Look, I'm very sorry about Sarah but, for your sake, I hope you're not trying to intimidate me, Jon. I can't tell you. It's against the law." Anger had begun to creep into his voice and his eyes hardened. Jonathan turned away angrily and stalked towards the door. "That's fine. I'll find the bastard myself. Justice *will* be served." He disappeared out the door. "Mulder, don't," Scully said as Mulder moved to follow. "He's upset and probably a little intoxicated." Mulder sighed, "Just one more problem to deal with." As he sat back down at the desk he remembered that Skinner wanted to talk to him so he pulled out his cellular phone and dialed Skinner's pager number. *** 6:30 PM EST Day 3 Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner entered Mulder's office without knocking and startled the two agents who were busily pouring through case files. He smiled as Agent Scully gasped startled and then frowned as he noticed Mulder had reached for his weapon. Then he saw Mulder relax though he hadn't gotten the gun completely out of its holster. "Sorry to page you so late," Mulder offered. "I didn't know you were busy." Skinner looked down at himself still dressed black tie. "No... don't worry. Actually, you did me a favor. I'm not too fond of these kinds of functions. I prefer beer and peanuts to wine and caviar." "So, what did you want to see me for? I can't be in trouble... I haven't done anything." "Yet." Skinner added with a straight face. Mulder returned a sarcastic grin. "Actually, I wanted an update on this case you're working on." Mulder stared blankly at him for a second. "Now, I *am* sorry I pulled you away from where-ever." Skinner shook his head. "No, you gave me an excuse to leave." He moved to sit in a chair and began to remove assorted junk from his front pockets including: two hotel keys, three phone numbers, a cocktail napkin and eighty-six cents in change. He shook his head again. "It's unbelievable what you can pick up at functions like this in DC." Mulder picked up the cocktail napkin. In the right hand corner were the words: "The Diogenes Club". He glanced up at his boss with a semi-respectfully disappointed look. "You go to this place?" Mulder asked incredulously. He had disapproved of the place when he'd heard it was opening. The Diogenes Club was just another of the snotty, elitist, society clubs. "No," Skinner replied. "There's a birthday party for Senator Hathaway tonight. And, since he helped get more funding for the Bureau, my attendance was required. So, as I said, you did me a favor." Mulder nodded and began to fill Skinner in on the case so far. The body parts in the mail, the letters and the notes. "Do you have any ideas on where he is?" Skinner finally asked. Mulder looked at his shoes, disappointment clear on his face. "No, but he's telling me." *** 5:15 PM EST Day 4 Mulder sat at his desk staring intently at the photo of the latest body part that he'd received earlier in the day. It was a tongue with the letter 'G' tattooed on the surface. The note had said, "The taste of revenge is indeed sweet." He shook his head tiredly. He knew Howned was spelling out where he was hiding. Mulder also knew that Howned was trying to lure him into a trap. What is a hunt without the prey? Mulder just hoped that he could turn the tables on Howned and make the hunter the hunted. Mulder laid the pictures of the other body parts on the desk to join the tongue. He put them in a row in the order the parts had been received. The first was the left hand of Sarah Baxter and the letter 'D'. The second was the left ear of Justine Stasheff and the letter 'I'. The third was the left foot of a young woman named Valerie Jones, 33 from Baltimore, with the letter 'O' on the bottom of the heel. Finally the tongue and the letter 'G'. Mulder was sure they'd find that the tongue belonged to a woman who had recently disappeared. Mulder stared at the letters and wondered if Howned might have scrambled whatever it was that he was spelling out. He tried rearranging the order. The only word that made any sense was DOGI, a shortened spelling of doggy. Which could mean 'Fox', Mulder thought to himself. But, Mulder was convinced that Howned was telling him where he was. That Howned really wanted Mulder to *find* him instead of telling Mulder the object of the Hunt. He sighed and gave into the realization that Howned hadn't yet sent him all the letters. He didn't want to get his mail tomorrow, he knew he'd be getting more than the bill for his rent. What would he get anyway? The right foot? The right hand? Probably the foot, he answered to himself. As he put the letters back in their original order, Scully entered the office with a sheet of paper. "The latest victim's name was Charlotte Black, an eighteen-year-old senior at Jefferson High School. She's been missing since she ran away from home four weeks ago." Mulder leaned back in his chair and stared even more intently at the letters on his desk. "I should've killed him when I had the chance," he whispered remembering the day he'd arrested Howned. His stomach turned at the memory of Howned standing over the partially dismembered body of six-year-old Jennifer Mason. The stench of boiling flesh wafted from the pots cooking on the stove. Mulder had been frozen in shock, staring into the eyes of a complete madman. He had watched as Howned had eaten a piece of the girl's raw flesh and then asked if he could cook some before they took him to jail. Mulder had wanted to shoot him then. To put the man out of his misery because it was cruel for someone so completely sick to live. It would've been euthanasia, not murder. Scully watched him silently from where she stood. She watched the anger in his eyes turn to an almost homicidal hatred and then finally to a look of pity. She could tell what he was thinking. After a moment of silence, Scully spoke. "Come on, Mulder. It's quitin' time and my mother is expecting you for dinner." He looked up from his desk with a ghost of a smile on his lips. "She is?" Scully returned the smile. *** 7:00 PM EST Day 4 Scully Residence Mulder sat on the plush sofa in Margaret Scully's living room, feet propped on the coffee table and staring at the screen of the television set. He wasn't paying attention to the old episode of _War of the Worlds_ that was airing on the SciFi Channel, his mind was still shifting and rearranging four letters. Margaret Scully turned to her daughter with a worried frown. "Is he okay?" "In the physical sense." Dana paused. "He's working." She shrugged. "Oh," her mother replied as she turned down the heat on the chicken. "How's Bill? I haven't spoken with him in a while." Dana asked of her older brother. "About the same," her mother smiled then turned as she heard the front door open. "There's Melissa." Dana smiled and met her sister in the hall. "Hi Melissa." "Dana," Her older sister smiled. "How are you feeling?" "Better," she answered taking Melissa's coat. The three of them returned to the kitchen. They chatted about the goings on at respective works while the vegetables heated. *** Mulder entered the kitchen and took a seat at the table. He felt out of place like he always did whenever he accepted Mrs. Scully's dinner invitations. He just didn't feel like he had the right to intrude on Scully's family. He always felt as if he were 'mooching' off of Mrs. Scully's generosity but he didn't dare refuse to come. To make things worse, Melissa was here too. He hadn't seen her since the day in the hospital after Scully had come out of the coma. He didn't know what she thought of him. He didn't really want to know because Mulder knew he'd made a bad first impression with her. So, Mulder said nothing as he lowered into the chair. The chicken smelled good, but it brought back memories of Todd Howned and those letters. His mind drifted again and he didn't care that the three women were now staring at him. D,I,O,G... the letters were familiar. Mulder knew he'd seen them somewhere but he couldn't remember where. He knew that he knew what they meant. He looked down at the plate of food in front of him. He should probably start eating before they asked what was wrong with him. He picked up his fork and his eyes settled on the napkin underneath. Dana watched him worriedly. She saw the distracted, frustrated glaze over his eyes. He had the 'look'. The one that she had described to him once as the look were he'd forgotten his keys and was trying to get back into the house. He was onto something, she knew, but he didn't quite have a grasp on it yet. The answers were just out of his reach. Her sister and her mother were watching him now as well, though it didn't look as if Mulder cared or noticed. Dana wondered if they were as fascinated as she was to watch Mulder think. As he reached for a fork, she saw the 'light' click on. His jaw dropped almost imperceptibly, his eyes turned more brown than green and he grew so still that Dana didn't think he was breathing. He met her gaze slowly. "I... I know where he is," he said in a whisper. "Where?" she asked quietly in return as if afraid he may forget if she spoke too loudly. He stood suddenly. "Where's my coat?" He asked and bolted to the hall. Dana looked first at her mother then at her sister, half shocked that Mulder had departed so swiftly. Then she too jumped to her feet and followed him out to the hallway where he was already halfway out the door, his coat half on. She grabbed her own topcoat from the closet and raced to keep up. She barely got the car door shut as Mulder pulled away from the curb. Neither noticed the car that was parked behind them start to follow. *** Mulder turned a corner at a speed that would awe any Indy 500 veteran. He floored the gas pedal pushing the car toward the Anacostia Freeway. "Mulder, where are we going?" Scully said as she clutched the door handle. "'The Diogenes Club'," he answered. "That's what Howned has been spelling. "D,I,O,G. Diogenes." "Are you sure?" She asked knowing the question was redundant. "How many places start with those four letters?" "The Diogenes Club is a society club. They go yachting, fishing, clay pigeon shooting and... fox hunting." He continued in a logical tone as he pulled onto the freeway. "Sounds plausible to me," Scully replied. Fifteen minutes later, Mulder pulled to a stop in front of the main building of the Diogenes Club. An expansive building of four stories, it looked more like a mansion than a society club. Even in the dark, Mulder could tell that the lawns were immaculately kept. "Mulder, don't we need a search warrant?" Scully asked trying to slow him down a little. He shook his head, "Not if they allow us when we ask." As they walked through the front doors, the car that had been tailing them, unnoticed, parked behind them. The driver, looking older than his years, stepped from the vehicle. His hand reached under his coat, reassuring him that the 9mm he bought the morning before was still there. Mulder approached the stuffy looking man at the reception desk. If Mulder didn't know better, he'd say the man pulled a second job as the matre dé at the expensive French restaurant near the Mall. The man put up a hand to stop them. Mulder pulled out his ID. "We're with the FBI. We have reason to believe that there is a wanted felon hiding somewhere on these grounds. May we have permission to search the premises and surrounding area?" The man blinked at him in shock and confusion before replying, "I will have to check with my superior, first." Mulder nodded. "We'll wait." The man turned a picked up a phone. After a short conversation the man turned to address them. "Go right ahead." Mulder pulled out Todd Howned's mug shot. "Have you seen this guy?" Scully glanced at Mulder in disbelief. She hadn't realized he'd brought the case file with him to dinner. The man looked closely at the photo. "Yes. That's one of the groundskeepers. He should be in the employee house." He pulled out a map of the grounds that showed an eighteen hole golf course, tennis courts, docks and stables. "Here, near the docks. You can use one of the jeeps to get out there." "Thank you," Mulder said taking both the offered keys and the map. He turned in the indicated direction to the garage with Scully on his heels. She pulled out her cellular and called for backup as they got in the jeep and headed for the docks. *** Night had completely fallen when the jeep came to a stop outside the employee house. Mulder stepped out of the vehicle slowly, drawing his gun and looking warily at the lighted windows of the building. Howned was in there and he could probably see them right now. Scully came around the car to stand next to him, her weapon also at the ready. "What do you want to do, Mulder? Backup won't be here for a few more minutes." "He could be sneaking out the back as we speak, Scully," was his response. "I figured you'd say that," She replied with a small smile. He grinned in return, "I'll take the back and I promise not to hurt myself." "Yeah, and I'll believe that when this is over." Scully said as she cautiously approached the front door. Mulder gave her a mock salute before he slipped around the side of the building and made his way to the back. The moon had risen shedding a ghostly light on the water from the Potomac only a short distance away. Adrenaline began to pump excitedly through his system causing his breathing to shorten and come out as white puffs in the December chill. As Mulder turned the corner to the rear of the house, he could see the light that shone over the back door and the shadow cast by the man trying to silently exit. Mulder raised his gun, recognizing the man who had tormented him for the past three weeks. "Howned!" He shouted, "Freeze, FBI!" Todd quickly turned and met Mulder's gaze. An evil grin spread across his face before he took off into the darkness. "Scully!" Mulder called as he gave chase. He could see Howned a good distance ahead of him. To far to attempt a reliable shot without risking Howned escaping. Even with the moonlight, it was too dark. Mulder would lose him if he got to far ahead. "Howned, stop!" Mulder called knowing Howned wouldn't but FBI training had taken over. He heard Howned start to laugh. He laughed one of those demented giggles that sent chills up Mulder's spine. "For once the Fox chases the Howned," the voice ahead of him goaded. "'Run, run as fast as you can. You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!'" Mulder looked to see where Howned was going and realized they were headed for the docks along the Potomac River. Howned probably had a boat stashed there. He pushed his legs to move faster. If Howned got to a boat, he'd be gone. His blood pounded in his ears and the sound of his feet changed pitch as the ground turned into the wooden planking of the dock. Still moving at full speed, Mulder raised his weapon and fired. Twenty yards ahead of him, Howned went down. Mulder slowed as he approached. Howned was laying on the wooden surface of the dock and he sat up slowly, holding his shoulder. He looked at Mulder in shock as Mulder stopped a safe distance away. "Nice shot," Howned gasped, out of breath and in pain. "...Don't... move.." Mulder returned, trying to catch his breath. "You're under... arrest." A distinct look of terror entered Howned's eyes, "I'm not going back. I won't." "Oh, yes you are. I'm going to see to it that they lock you so far inside the Greenside Institution that you'll never see the light of day." Mulder growled, the dark part of his soul enjoying the chance to torment Todd in return. "Now, stand slowly with your back to me, hands behind your head." Howned meekly complied, too terrified to do otherwise. Suddenly, Mulder heard a familiar voice behind him yell in anger and hatred. "That's not Justice! This is Justice you sick Son-of-Bitch!" Mulder dove to the ground as the repeated bark of a 9mm filled the night. He rolled, bringing his own weapon to bare on the form of Jonathan Williams standing on shore a few feet away. Training again took over as he fired three quick bursts. Williams dropped, still pulling the trigger though the distinctive clicking of a spent clip echoed over the water. Mulder glanced back over his shoulder at Howned. A peaceful smile had etched itself on his face as he staggered backwards and off the end of the dock into the water. *** 11:45 PM EST The Diogenes Club on the shore of the Potomac River Day 4 The Potomac river glowed eerily from the flood lamps that lit its surface. The red and blue strobe lights from the Rescue Dive teams out on the water gave the scene a sense of finality. Every few minutes, a figure would break the surface of the water, the light from shore reflecting off the neon wetsuit as they gave the thumbs down signal. Mulder stood on the end of the dock in the same place he'd been standing for the last three hours. Unable to turn around and face the white sheet that covered the body still laying on the shore where it'd fallen. Unable to face his guilt. He heard the various police and FBI officials taking notes and photographs of the scene. He heard them discussing his actions. He heard them all agreeing that he'd done the right thing. He had a duty to protect the public and he had a duty to protect the guilty. He was justified in firing upon Jonathan Williams. He was justified in Williams' death. He closed his eyes as another figure surfaced out on the water and gave another thumbs down. Mulder doubted they'd find anything. Howned had probably been taken out to sea with the current by now. For some reason, that fact gave him no solace. He heard someone approach him from behind and knew who it was. "You all right, Mulder?" Scully asked stopping to stand beside him. He met her concerned gazed with a stony one of his own. "Why wouldn't I be?" She glanced behind her at the form being put into a body bag by the newly arrived coroner. Mulder quickly returned his gaze to the water. "It was the right thing to do..." she started. "Only one person deserved to die tonight, Scully, and it wasn't Jonathan Williams." He turned to look at her again. "I know it was the right thing." He added softly. Scully gestured out at the water with her chin. "They haven't found anything?" "No, and it looks like they're ready to call it a night." As he spoke the words, they could see the divers starting to be pulled from the water. "Well, at least he's gone," Scully offered trying to pull Mulder out of his dark mood. He sighed, "I sure hope so." End. -------- Agh! This character just won't die! Email me comments. This is a work of fiction based on "The X-Files" and the characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully which are property and copyright of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting Company. All other characters and the rest of the plot is *MINE* so there! No infringement is intended in any way, shape or form on that copyright. But if you'd like for me to write a script, Chris, I'm free buddy. I give permission to freely distribute this work in its entirety as long as proper credit is given to me as the author. So, like, don't go changing the title or forgetting to keep my name on it. O'tay? "Home from the Hill" By. K Enriquez SciNut@aol.com 4/15/95 Fox Mulder slammed the door to his apartment closed and cursed. He should've known better than to push the subject with her. Hell, he *did* know better but that hadn't stopped him. It was really a stupid argument to begin with but because he'd thought he was right and she'd thought she was right, neither had backed down. What had started as a simple difference of opinion had turned quickly into a nasty exchange of regretted words. Of course, this was probably for the best. He thought to himself as he crossed to his kitchen without turning on the lights. They had both needed to let off a little steam since last week at the end of a hard case. He should've known better, then, as well. He just wished the steam letting had been done on another person. He wasn't all to pleased with himself for going at Scully that way. He hadn't meant anything he'd said. The words had been a product of anger. He felt a surge of guilt and wondered how he would be able to apologize as he opened his refrigerator to scan its contents. He was greeted by a carton of milk, three day old pizza, the remains of some stir-fry he'd experimented with and the untouched casserole Mrs. Bigsley had brought him from next door. A disappointing sight in the least but then again, he really wasn't hungry. Slowly, he closed the refrigerator door. He stood for a moment and wondered how much of what Scully had said she actually had meant. Probably the same amount as he, but the contemplation brought another thought: Why should *he* be the one to apologize? She'd been at fault too. He couldn't really blame her though, he thought as his brain shifted gears. He had to put the blame where it belonged starting with their last case. Too many memories had been stirred up. Too many old wounds re-exposed and re- examined. He'd been late. The whole thing was his fault. Another burden on his conscience and he no longer wanted to think about it. He turned to head to the couch for some television when he realized he wasn't alone in the apartment. *** Dana Scully knocked on the door again. She'd been standing outside Mulder's place for the better part of fifteen minutes without an answer. She sighed in frustration. He couldn't still be angry. Mulder never could stay mad at her long for which she was grateful. If there was one thing she could do without, it would be Mulder's short, intense temper. "Mulder?" She called through the door. "Don't be stubborn, answer the door." Silence. A slight uneasiness settled into the back of her mind as she retrieved her key. She unlocked and opened the door on his small, but modest, apartment. *** He awoke, face down, on the cold floor of a darkened warehouse. His head throbbing in pain and he shut his eyes against a wave of nausea. He swallowed slowly and wondered why he seemed to attract head wounds. He felt the lump at the base of his skull and, as his fingers came away sticky, he knew he was bleeding badly. Gaping head injuries tended to bleed more than they should. Slowly, he rolled onto his back, careful of the weight of his head, and stared up at the ceiling. He was greeted with the sight of, what he assumed, was an overhead light fixture. However, the florescent image was blurred and the edges of his vision had turned a dull shade of gray that continued to darken. He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing he should be alarmed but thinking when he opened his lids his vision would be normal. Once again, he attempted sight only to be rewarded with an even more obscure image. he revealed to himself. Then he heard the laugh. A deranged giggle that echoed from the catwalk. Mulder sat up too quickly and was blinded by the bright stars exploding in front of him. The laughter was impossibly familiar. He found himself denying his own ears as fear paralyzed him. The stars faded and he peered up at the shadowed catwalk. Mulder thought over and over as the voice reached him. "'Under the wide and starry sky, / 'Dig the grave and let me lie, / 'Glad did I live and gladly die, / 'And I laid me down with a will.'" "You're dead," Mulder said aloud, terror creeping into his voice. He could barely make out the shape of a figure slowly moving towards him. "'This be the verse you grave for me'," the other continued in anger and hatred as if Mulder hadn't spoken. "'Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea, / 'And the Hunter home from the hill.'" "You're dead," Mulder repeated as the blurred image of Todd Howned stood before him. *** Dana Scully glanced around instantly knowing the apartment was empty. She sighed in exasperation. He would have to hold a grudge over something so stupid. She quickly took back the thought, after all, he wasn't completely to blame. She'd had no right to say those things to him. He couldn't help the way he was. She wandered into his kitchen and opened the refrigerator. She knew he had nothing to eat so she wasn't surprised to see some old pizza, an untouched casserole (from his nosy neighbor, no doubt), a carton of milk and leftover stir-fry. Curious, she hesitantly picked out a piece of diced chicken and popped it into her mouth. She refused to allow herself to wonder how long it had been sitting in his refrigerator. Dana chewed thoughtfully on the morsel, pleasantly surprised at how good it was even cold. Probably re-heated take-out which meant it was older than she thought. She *knew* Mulder didn't cook. She sighed again, wondering where he would have gone. *** "How?" Mulder asked in horror and disbelief as he scooted another five feet backwards. Howned smiled, insanity making his eyes twinkle. Mulder blinked, quickly, several times trying, in vain, to clear his vision. "I saw you..." "Saw *what*?" Howned screamed in rage. "Saw that pathetic little man and his pathetic excuse for aim?" He broke off into a barking laughter void of humor. "He MISSED!" Mulder flinched in fear and moved further away. Howned shrugged and continued calmly, "I'm just a really good actor." Mulder continued to stare up at Howned with half blind eyes. He was shaking uncontrollably, fear paralyzing his legs. His eyes fixed on the .22 rifle in Howned's right hand. Images of his previous encounters with Todd Howned flashed in his mind's eye... ...Howned standing behind a cutting board mutilating the six-year-old girl's body... ...Howned standing before him with a set of jumper cables in one hand and a syringe of heroin in the other... ...the body parts Howned had sent him in the mail... ...Howned falling off the dock into the water, shot, dead... Mulder told himself as he stared at the figure before him. He needed to get a hold of himself. He needed to stop shaking like a frightened child. He needed to think. "So," Howned began in a light, conversational tone. "What have you been doing with yourself these days?" "Not much, really. And yourself?" Mulder answered, his voice betraying his fear. He had learned, through experience, not playing into Howned's fantasies brought pain. A knowing smile crossed his face. "Oh, I'm glad you asked. I've been preparing for Hunting Season." Mulder felt a shudder go through him. "R..r..r...really?" "Oh, yes. The best, most rewarding season." "What season is that?" Mulder asked knowing it was the question Howned wanted. "It's Fox season. I've been waiting a *long* time to Hunt Fox." He bent his knees, laid the rifle across his thighs and gazed deeply into Mulder's eyes. "I know that Fox is quick and cunning. Fox should make an interesting Hunt, don't you agree?" Mulder swallowed the lump of terror in his throat. "I...I dunno. I thought killing Fox was illegal." Howned laughed a genuine laugh. One with no trace of madness. "Since when did the Law mean anything to me?" Mulder shrugged, unable to speak. "Okay, here's the rules," Howned began as he sat cross- legged on the concrete floor, the gun still across his lap. "You get ten seconds to run then the Hunt begins." Mulder felt his jaw go slack. "What?" Howned sighed as if he were frustrated with trying to teach a slow child. "I count... one, one-thousand, two, one- thousand, et cetera. You run. When I get to ten, I shoot you. It's not a hard concept." Howned got to his feet and pointed the rifle in Mulder's direction. "So, stand up and get ready." Mulder, uneasily, got to his feet. His shaking had slowly subsided as adrenaline had pumped into his limbs. He glanced around him, peering desperately through tunneled vision. He was in trouble. >From what he could see, the ware house was at least 200 meters across in each dimension. He guessed he was standing somewhere in the middle and he felt his stomach clench. The nearest door was at least 100 meters away and, even though he ran everyday, gone were the days when he could run the 100 yard in five seconds *and* he was hurt. "Ready?" Howned asked. Mulder met his gaze. He felt dizzy as he nodded. He prayed Todd Howned had as good an aim as Jonathan Williams. "Okay." Howned replied adjusting his weapon. Clear was the anticipation in his voice and the excitement in his eyes. "On your mark..." Mulder tensed his legs. "Get set..." "GO!" Mulder bolted. Fear gave his legs an inhuman strength as he tore across the empty warehouse. He focused his blurred vision on the door handle in the distance. He heard his echoing footsteps on the concrete floor. In the background, he heard Todd Howned... counting. "Three, one-thousand..." Good God, he was on three? It was too far, he wouldn't make it. He'd only managed to cover about 30 meters. He willed himself faster. "Four one-thousand..." Blood pounded in Mulder's ears making him dizzy. The ground seemed to slant ever so slightly. He was halfway there. Just a little faster. "Five one-thousand..." Mulder's breath became shallow and he pulled in deep gasps trying to regulate his breathing. All those years of practice and the conditioning had left him when he needed it most. Almost there. He needed to go faster. "Six one-thousand..." The muscles in his calves were beginning to burn. "Seven one-thousand..." Mulder hit the door at full speed hoping that his weight would open the door faster. "Eight one-thousand..." It didn't open. He felt his heart sink as he realized it was probably locked. He leaned into the door again pushing with all his strength. In the same instant he glanced down at the red sign by the handle. "Nine one-thousand..." The word "Pull" looked innocently back at him in white blocked letters. "Ten one-thousand! Ready or not, here I come!" Mulder shifted his weight and pulled the door open. He dove through the opening in the same instant he heard the thunderous report of the .22. He felt the slug bury itself in his shoulder, passing between his shoulder blade and the joint and then out to fall somewhere in the night. The impact dropped him to the ground; pain exploding across his chest. The sweet taste of blood lingered in his mouth from where he'd bitten through his lower lip. The chill spring air assaulted his lungs and he coughed. Self-preservation ordered him. With great effort, Mulder pushed himself up to his knees and glanced around him. A weapon, he needed something to fight with. Fear added. A long iron pipe peeked out of a nearby trash can. He grabbed it with his left hand and pulled. The action drained him and he dragged it over to the door. He could hear Howned's footsteps as he approached at full speed. Mulder's right arm was numb. There was no way to fight Howned, he could barely hold the pipe. Even completely healthy, Mulder was no match for Todd Howned. Howned was the same height, more muscled and former Army. Maybe, the pipe could be used to hold the door shut. Gripping one end of the pipe with his barely functioning right hand, Mulder used his right leg to swing the other end up to his left hand. Then he slid the pipe horizontally through the door handle and wedged it up against the frame. The make-shift lock wouldn't hold long though. All it would need was a little jiggling and the pipe would become unbalanced and slip out. He heard Howned hit the door and the pipe creaked on the wooden frame as Todd pulled from the other side. I need time to think, Mulder said to himself as he gasped in the chill spring evening. He glanced around him. Quickly deciding on a direction, he staggered off down the waterfront. *** Shutting the refrigerator, Scully turned to head back into his small living room. She was greeted by the familiar couch, the dark television and the sound of the bubbling filter for his fish tank. For a moment she just stood, wondering why she felt suddenly so relaxed. She strolled over to the fish tank. She noticed it was still empty. The fish having long since died when she and Mulder had been in the arctic. There'd been no one to feed them. Why did he have the tank still? She knew fish were supposed to be relaxing but maybe it was just the comforting sound of the filter. She turned and gazed, unseeing, at the room. She found comfort in the silence surrounding her. Her roaming eyes fell on a discoloration on the hardwood floor. Bending down over the spot, she pulled the tip of one finger through what was clearly some liquid. She held it up to examine the substance and was alarmed to realize it was blood. She jumped as her cellular phone pierced the silence. *** Mulder pushed further against the wall trying to take the most advantage of the shadows. Even though his arm was completely numb, he could feel the blood from the wound trickling down his arm and dripping from his fingertips. His suit shirt was plastered to his skin and he realized there was no way his cleaners, the miracle workers they were, would ever be able to repair this suit. The lock hadn't held as long as he'd thought it would. He hadn't gone fifty feet before he'd heard the iron pipe slipping to clatter on the pavement. In desperation, he'd ducked into this recess between the two nearest buildings hoping Howned hadn't seen him. He struggled to control his breathing. He exhaled each breath painfully slow to keep it from condensing in the chill air. He needed to be as still and silent as possible. He saw Howned before he heard him. Howned had seemed to appear from nowhere twenty feet away. He moved with the silent grace of a well trained soldier underneath a dim, flickering flood lamp. His eyes scanned both the docks and the shadowed alleys between the deserted warehouses. Mulder felt Howned's gaze sweep the area where he hid. He froze out of instinct and sent up another prayer for protection. Seemingly satisfied, Howned moved on, disappearing behind a stack of crates. Mulder let out the breath he held, slowly, and closed his eyes in relief. He shuddered as he opened his lids to a still blurred and blurring sight. He glanced uselessly around until his unreliable vision fell upon the image of a public telephone. Looking in the direction Howned had gone, Mulder bolted across the pavement to the phone. Reaching it, he lifted the handset from its cradle and, in a panicked stupor, dug in his pockets for change. Dialing the number instinctually, he prayed again. "Scully?" she answered. "Scully, I'm in trouble," he whispered in desperation. Her voice cut through his panic. It was like drowning and having someone throw a rope. "Mulder? Where the hell are you?" He blinked again and glanced to the stack of crates where Howned had vanished. "I don't know. A phone booth by the water." He felt the fear creep into his voice. "Dana, Todd Howned's alive. I'm hurt, I don't know how bad." He sagged against the booth feeling weariness overtake his body. "Where are you Mulder? Tell me anything you can." Now she sounded desperate. He blinked again. "I can't see well, he hit me on the back of the head with something." He paused as an idea came to him so fast it hurt. He squinted at the phone in front of him. "The number on the phone is 555-8431. I can't give you anything else but you should be able to trace it. You need to come fast, Scully. I'm out in the open here. I can't see and he shot me." He was pleading for no reason. He knew she would be there as fast as inhumanly possible. Suddenly, a dreaded voice broke in behind him. "The Fox is out of cover? You disappoint me." Mulder dropped the phone, ducked and turned all in the same movement. The motion took him out of the path of the downward swinging rifle grip. The glass of the booth shattered and rained down onto his head and shoulders. A shard hit him on the cheek and opened a small gash. Mulder glanced up, seeing the dark blur of the rifle. He brought up an arm to block the swing intended for his head. The impact hit him near his left elbow and he twisted his arm so the blow became only a glancing one. Then he leapt at Howned, connecting with his midsection. They both went down in a heap, both grunting in pain. Mulder heard the rifle hit the pavement and slide but he couldn't see where it went. Adrenaline flowed freely through Mulder's veins and he didn't feel Howned's knee hit him in the abdomen or the fist connecting with his chin. He rolled clear of the blows beginning to rain down on him and struggled to his feet. He could hear Howned scrambling for the gun and he did the only thing that came to mind. He ran. "I knew this would be a worthy Hunt!" Howned shouted from behind him. Mulder chanced a glance over his shoulder. He saw Howned, still on the ground, bringing the retrieved weapon to bare. Mulder dove to the ground and the shot whizzed over his head. He climbed to his feet again and turned in a different direction heading for the very crates Howned had used. With Howned still on the ground and off balance, the second shot went wide. Mulder skidded around the crates to relative cover. Changing direction by 90 degrees, keeping the stack of crates to his back, he made a bee-line for an alley. Having reached Scully, his brain started to function. Now he knew he only needed to survive until she reached him. He had never been so happy to hear the wail of sirens beginning in the distance. *** Dana Scully froze in horror as the sound of gun fire echoed through the handset. Quickly, she disconnected the line and dialed the FBI surveillance department. "This is Special Agent Dana Scully. I need the location of a number." She rattled off her ID number and then the number Mulder had recited to her and waited. Todd Howned was alive and had Mulder, again. Her mind flashed back to the first time Howned had come for revenge. She'd been with Mulder that time. She watched helplessly as Howned had beaten him into pulp. She had never felt so useless. She could still feel the cold steel of handcuffs about her wrists and could still hear his voice as he had told her a message to give to Reggie Perdue, Mulder's first ASAC and friend. Howned hadn't known Reggie was dead. Two days had passed before Scully had found where Howned had taken him that first time. Two days, Mulder had been tied to a cold chair in an abandoned bar while Howned had done what he pleased. When she found Mulder, he'd had second degree burns from a car battery. There had been track marks up and down both arms from where Howned had injected him with ungodly amounts of heroin. Howned had gotten away that day only to return to torment Mulder further. Scully blinked out of her reverie only to realize that she was in her car and speeding through a red light. It's not fair, she thought to herself. No one should have to suffer as much as Mulder had. The rising sound of sirens penetrated her thoughts and it warmed her. Every cop in the DC area sounded like they were on their way. He may be "Spooky" Mulder, she thought, but he was still FBI. *** The wail of the sirens in the distance grew louder. Mulder guessed the closest was only about five minutes away and he headed in the direction he thought it was approaching. Five minutes could be a long time, he told himself. Battles had been won and lost in less time. He knew Howned was closing on him. There was more to this situation than Mulder had first realized. After all, Howned could've killed him while he'd been at the phone. So why hadn't he? The inquisitive part of his brain was toiling over the question while he tried to find a secure place to hide. Seeing a shadowed recess by a doorway he slipped into it and looked apprehensively behind him where he still heard Howned's pounding footsteps. The first time Howned had come after him, it had been solely for revenge. Howned wanted to make Mulder pay for putting him away at that mental institution. He wanted Mulder to feel what he felt and suffer through what he suffered. Howned went as far as "shock therapy" and "calming" drugs. At the end, Howned left him alive and he still wasn't sure why. The second time, Howned had taken victims and mailed Mulder their body parts to taunt him. Howned did it in such a manner that it was clear he wanted to be found. Even when Mulder had caught up to him, cornered him on the dock, he merely cowered on the wood in surrender. Until, of course, a grieving Jonathan Williams had emptied a 9mm at Howned. Mulder thought him dead then and he should've known, when the divers didn't find a body, Howned had escaped. And now, Howned had plenty of opportunities to kill him but didn't. After all the years of killing, the military training, Howned shouldn't have missed. Even on the ground and off balance, Howned should have been able to drill Mulder through the back of his head. The thought wasn't comforting but it was the truth. The footsteps grew louder and Mulder, once again, shrank further into the darkness. He froze as Howned bolted past him close enough to touch. Mulder counted slowly to twenty, listening intently as Howned continued away from him. He waited five more seconds and then slowly peeked around the corner. Howned was nowhere in sight, but considering his vision, Mulder decided now was not the best time to trust his eyes. He slipped around the corner and ran in the direction he had come. It would not take Howned long to realize what he had done. As the thought completed itself in his head, Mulder heard Howned laughing somewhere behind him. "Very good," Howned roared with mirth. "Very good indeed." Mulder stopped, knowing from the distance at which Howned's voice traveled he had a few seconds to catch his breath. He drew in deep breaths, gasping at the pain in his lungs and the fire blossoming across his chest from the bullet wound. Mulder again listened for the sirens. They were still some distance away. He didn't know if he would be able to avoid Howned until they arrived. But, they would be heading for the phone booth where he called Scully. It was the most logical place to start a search and Mulder knew he needed to make his way back there. He also knew that Howned knew the same thing. Gathering his courage and his strength, he began to run. *** Scully turned a final corner and was greeted by vacant, darkened buildings. The lights from the street reflected off the Potomac. The masts of moored sailboats were barely distinguishable in the darkness. She slowed the car and rolled down the window. The chill breeze from the river gently caressed her face while the urgent sound of police sirens eerily broke the night. Straining her ears she was surprised that the familiar sounds of crickets and newly awakened frogs were absent. The semi-silence was terrifying. Scully braked the vehicle. Turning on the highbeams she scanned the open dock before her. To her left was the river, a black nothingness broken only by the reflection of equally spaced dock lights. On her right were the warehouses. Somewhere here, Mulder was running for his life... if Howned hadn't caught him yet. Suddenly, her eyes spotted the phone booth from which Mulder had desperately called her. She pulled the car up next to it and examined the evidence without getting out. The glass was shattered and scattered about the ground. The handset was swinging slightly in the breeze; the metal cord squeaking unnaturally loud in the stillness. Dark red blood was smeared over everything from the buttons on the phone to the post on which the phone was bolted. He was hurt, she thought with fear taking hold of her soul. He needs you, she told herself immediately pushing the feeling away. Now was not the time to be afraid. Then she heard it, the laugh. The frightening familiar sound of Todd Howned laughing at something only he found humorous. "Very good," she heard the faint voice praise. "Very good, indeed." She floored the gas and turned the car in the direction of the voice. Hope filled her being as she knew Mulder was still alive. She turned a corner and headed down a side street. The headlights of her car cutting into the darkness. Suddenly, the familiar figure of Fox Mulder burst into the street ahead of her. Time stopped as he turned, the instantaneous realization of being on the wrong end of a car flashed in his eyes. In that instant, she took in his appearance and hit the brake. The tires locked and slid the car into a 180-degree spin before it came to a stop. Mulder dove out of the way and up against a far building. She threw the parking brake on and was about to leap out of the vehicle when another figure burst out of the alley. Recognition flared in Todd Howned's eyes and the smile that crossed his face froze her. "Learn to keep your head down!" Howned shouted at her, bringing the rifle up. *** Mulder plastered himself against the wall as the car skidded past him. He'd never been so happy to see Scully's car. He was about to breath a sigh of relief when Howned appeared from the alley and stopped in front of the car. "Learn to keep your head down!" He said to Scully and brought the gun to bear on her. Mulder watched in stunned horror as Howned fired six shots into the windshield. He stared into the car hoping she'd hit the floor... ducked... anything... but his eyes failed him. The headlights of car blinding what vision he'd had of the driver side of the vehicle. The thunderous bark of the rifle echoed in his ears. He felt something in the back of his mind snap. The monster in his soul breaking free of the tight restraints he always held on it. His gaze focused on Howned as he turned and looked at Mulder with triumph. Reality faded as a red hue settled in his vision. *** Dana Scully dove to the floor of the car as Howned began to fire. She felt the bullets hit the windshield, passed through, and bury into the seat. She counted six shots before it stopped. Her blood pounded loudly in her ears. Then she heard a noise that sounded like something between a growl and a scream. She sat up in time to see Mulder leap onto Howned, knocking the gun away. His face was a mask of pure rage as they fell to the ground. She jumped out of the car and froze once more in shock. Mulder had straddled Howned and was pummeling him in the face with his fist. The sound of crushing cartilage made itself heard as Howned's nose became a bloody smear. The next blow fractured his jaw and the next landed just above his left eye. There was an accompanying crack Scully belatedly registered as Mulder's right hand. But the broken bones did not slow his blows. In desperation, Howned threw a punch of his own which, miraculously, connected with Mulder's chin. Immediately, Mulder leapt to his feet and took a small step backwards. Scully breathed a sigh of relief that changed to one of pure horror. Mulder drew back a foot. The animalistic blows began to connect haphazardly about Howned's chest, head and upper body. Mulder kept kicking, showing no signs of slowing. Scully caught a glimpse of Mulder's eyes. They were glazed with a rage she'd never seen before, even on Mulder. She knew, in that moment, the anger always clouding Mulder's features was merely a shadow of what he fought to control. Pure, unhindered, murderous rage had taken the place of the friend she knew. He wasn't going to stop. She knew it like she knew the sun rose and set. He would not stop until either Howned was dead or someone stopped him. She also knew she was the only person in the position to try. The crackling sound of shattering ribs catapulted her into action. She ran the few short feet to Mulder's back. He was completely oblivious to her presence and for a short moment she debated on whether or not to just let him kill Howned. But the thought came and went quickly; Mulder would never forgive himself. Scully reached out, one hand grabbing Mulder's left wrist and the other clamping onto his injured shoulder. She felt his blood ooze between her fingers as he grunted in barely registered pain. She pulled on his wrist, trying to pin it behind his back, but he turned drawing back a fist. Scully was grateful that anger slowed the reflexes. The swing was clumsy and slow enough for her to duck underneath. She side-stepped his left handed counter-punch and was again behind him. She didn't want to hurt him, but she realized she had little choice. She grabbed his right hand and twisted. She felt the shattered bones grate against each other and he leaned to the right in pain. The motion put him off balance allowing her to pull the arm up behind his back. She wrapped her left hand around his wrist and put her right hand again to his injured shoulder. In the same motion she swept her left leg in front of his and pushed forward in a classic take-down. Mulder fell and she followed him down never releasing his arm. She landed with all her weight on his back, effectively pinning him to the ground. Reaching behind her she retrieved her handcuffs. After putting them securely about his wrists, she placed a knee to the small of his back, a hand on his temple and settled in to the task of holding him down. "Please stop, Mulder." She whispered to him as he continued to struggle. Several minutes passed before Mulder began to still. Scully wiped the tears from her face with her free hand. She hadn't wanted to hurt him, but she did. In grabbing his broken hand, she'd pushed the bones out of alignment and now he'd need surgery to repair it. She glanced over her shoulder to his hands, still securely locked in the metal cuffs. The right hand was beginning to swell and turn an unhealthy shade of purple. Flashing blue and red lights signaled the arrival of the police. A white cruiser pulled to a stop behind Scully's car and the officer leapt out of the vehicle and approached. Scully watched as he eyed first the still and bloody form of Howned and then herself. "That the guy?" The officer asked gesturing at Mulder with his weapon. She shook her head. "No, this is my partner. They both need an ambulance." He stared at her for a brief moment before moving back to his car and grabbing up his radio. Ten more minutes passed. The ambulance arrived and the paramedics swarmed around Howned. Scully watched from her position atop Mulder's back. She heard them rattle off his injuries: broken jaw, crushed nose, eight broken ribs, fractured left ulna, possible multiple skull fractures with bleeding from the ears and eyes. Mulder had done possibly fatal damage in such a short period. Mulder's breathing slowed and she felt him gradually relax. For the first time since they'd met, she had been truly afraid of Mulder. Afraid that he had no control and turned on her with the same fury he'd unleashed on Howned. She jumped a little in surprise when he finally spoke. "What did I do?" His voice was devoid of any emotion. It was a flat, saddening sound. "You caught him, Mulder. He won't be hurting anyone for awhile." She felt him take a deep breath and she began to ease her weight slowly off his back. "No." He said again, this time with a slightly wavering tone. "What did I do to him? Is he...?" His voice trailed off, not finishing the question. "He's still alive," she offered. For now, she added to herself. Howned's condition was critical and the ambulance was already on its way to the hospital. She felt the shudder go through his body. She was unsure if it was produced by relief, disappointment or fear. "What was the last thing you remember, Mulder?" She asked with a gentle tone. His shuddering increased, and Scully moved off to kneel beside him. "I saw him fire into the car and I thought..." she heard him swallow. "Then he turned and looked at me with this look... like he'd won and I'd lost..." "Mulder, it's not important," Scully soothed retrieving the keys to the handcuffs and releasing him. The tone of his voice was beginning to worry her and she gestured to the paramedic who was standing nearby. She had refused to let anyone near them until Mulder had calmed. He took a deep breath as he sat upright. A paramedic kneeled next to him and began to probe his hand. Shaking his head, he continued. "I don't remember anything else. How did I hurt my hand?" He asked. Scully didn't answer. The look in his eyes told her he had already guessed the answer. He continued to babble in a state of shock. "I lost it." He said more to himself than to her. "I've only lost control once in my life. I was fourteen and it scared me then." He turned to her. "I didn't...?" She gazed back at him. She could tell, by the despair in his expression, what the rest of his unfinished question had been. He wanted to know if he attacked her like he attacked Howned. She helped him to his feet and across to the ambulance before she answered. "You didn't even know I was there." He would never forgive himself if he knew the truth. In all honesty, her answer wasn't actually a lie. "Don't worry about it, Mulder." She continued while crawling in to sit next to him. "It's over." end. -------- The Fox and the Howned IV: Howneded by: SciNut@aol.com (K. Enriquez) 9/25/97 Rating: R Category: A Disclaimer: The X-Files property of CC, 1013, FOX yadda, yadda, yadda Summary: A year after their encounter on the pier, Todd Howned returns to reek havoc. Keywords: MulderAngst, SMT Well, it sure took long enough. This one was really tough for me I hope you like it. Let me know. Also, I'm told this should not be read while about to eat, eating or shortly after eating. Thanks to MareZX, editor extraordinare, for the story that is and to Windsinger, research maven, for the story that is not. -------- The ceiling was white. He could not call it a snow white or an ivory white or an almond white. Antique white, desert white, winter white, virgin white, pure white, glossy white, glacier white and flat white did not come quite close to the shade of white the paint appeared. He decided after two weeks that milky, chalky, bleached, frosty, flaxen and alabaster did not seem to describe the hue either. He took three weeks to decide it was a white that was all colors and no colors at the same time. A sterile white devoid of color and yet, being white, it was every color. Coming to this decision, he turned his head away from the surface above him. The equally sterile white walls driving his gaze back upward with their plainness. He blinked, his eyes feeling gritty and dry from the time between his blinking. The drugs made him a little spacey, as they always did, and it was hard to think most days, but the pain was gone. The blank, emotionless ceiling stared back at him and for the first time he noticed the cracks. They were faint, just beginning to complain that the surface needed a new coat of paint. They ran from the four corners of the room, criss-crossing each other. The more he stared, the more cracks he could see. He fancied he could see pictures in the patterns they made of each other like those ink pictures the men in the dark blue scrubs and suits showed him. There, in the corner, he could see the outline of a liver. Broiled, with onions and mushrooms. He knew it would taste a little bitter, the tang of the mushrooms leaking into the meat. In the other corner, the face of a young girl stared back at him. He felt his mouth water. It had been too long. He closed his eyes. *** The room was not a big one, barely large enough to hold ten uncomfortable wooden chairs arranged in two rows of five. They were perfectly, evenly spaced on the dark concrete floor. The walls, too, were constructed of the same dark concrete and seemed to absorb the dim light cast by a single row of florescent bulbs suspended from the ceiling. Opposite the chairs, imbedded in the concrete, was a large, double-paned piece of glass opening onto the bleak view of an equally dark, concrete room. The difference between the two rooms lay only in the number of chairs. In the second room, there was only one, exactly in the middle and bolted to the floor. Leather restraints hung from various points, swaying slightly in an unseen breeze. The metal buckles shone with an eerie, unworldly glow from bright lights, but the light still did not chase away the dark shadows from the corners. Fox Mulder entered the darker of the two rooms, staring in slight shock at finding himself alone. Briefly, he wondered where the other witnesses had gone. He quickly moved to sit in the front middle seat and stared apprehensively at the leather and metal buckles of the chair beyond the glass. A door opened on the far side of the opposite room and a trio of armed police officers entered. Two of the men went to the chair and began testing the restraints while the third man went to a panel on the wall checking various gauges and switches. Their entry signaled a flurry of activity as more men entered and began to complete various routine tasks. Mulder looked down and check his watch. Eleven forty-five. Fifteen more minutes until relief and assured safety. He felt a brief flash of pity before ruthlessly tamping down the emotion. He didn't want to feel pity for a monster who was finally getting what he deserved. Today was the day that would end a living nightmare. Mulder watched as the door opened again, admitting three more officers, a priest and Him. Mulder tensed as dark, steel gray eyes scanned the room and locked on Mulder's form through the glass. He smiled, nodded, and his voice filtered statically through a set of speakers mounted out of sight. "I knew you'd be here," he said, grin growing wider. "I knew you wouldn't miss the end. We're so alike, you and I." Mulder shook his head, slowly, feeling his own bitter smile twist his lips. He thought of all the people who would be alive now and all the pain he would've been without had this action been taken sooner. Mulder checked his watch again, five to midnight. Where were the others? Something wasn't right here. "We are. You'll see." The other man chuckled. "That's my purpose, you know, to show you the truth about yourself." It was then that Mulder noticed the man was absent of chains and leg irons. It was then that he saw the officers were making no move to strap him down in the chair. It was then that the man with the steel-gray eyes, who had been haunting Mulder's life, turned to the nearest guard and pulled his sidearm from the holster. In less time than it took for Mulder to blink, the six officers in the room fell in perfect synchronization with the bark of the high caliber weapon. The next bullet buried itself between the priest's eyes and before he had even slumped to the ground, the glass separating the two rooms shattered with the last two rounds. "It's you or me now," the man whispered, his voice hard. Mulder sat, unmoving, unbelieving. This wasn't happening.... ...and awoke in his dark apartment with the deafening sound of the telephone ringing in his ears. He sat up, rubbing at his face, and fumbled momentarily for the cordless handset on the end table. "Mulder," he barked still wiping at his eyes and trying to catch his breath. "Agent Mulder," an unfamiliar male voice rippled from the ear piece. "This is Detective Mueller at Georgetown University Hospital." "Yes?" Mulder asked, the name not immediately drawing up a face from his memory. Had something happened to Scully? He quickly brushed the thought aside. If it were Scully he'd be getting a call from a doctor or nurse and not from the hospital security. He must have said something aloud as the voice answered, "No, Sir, I'm with DCPD. You're familiar with a prisoner we had in custody?" The hair stood on the back of Mulder's neck as a chill swept through him. "What's happened?" "Agent Mulder, Todd Howned disappeared from his room at the hospital earlier this evening. We're not exactly sure of the exact time Mr. Howned left his room. We have conducted a thorough search of the facility but we're certain now that he is not on the premises. We contacted..." the rustling of paper filled in a brief silence, "Assistant Director Skinner and he said to call and inform you of the current events..." Mulder had stopped listening. Howned had still been in the hospital recovering from their last meeting, after Mulder had nearly beaten him to death. Howned had been left blind for several days due to swelling even after the coma. Mulder remembered seeing Howned before he'd regained consciousness, remembered the scars left from the surgery to repair Howned's fractured skull. They'd had to reconstruct his nose and part of his face. But now Todd Howned was loose again. He had disappeared and the authorities didn't even have a time frame. Mulder knew Howned would be coming for him soon. Mulder could only shudder at the anger Howned now felt and what lengths he'd go to for vengeance. For all he knew, Howned was waiting outside his apartment door even now. "Agent Mulder?" The voice called to him from the phone. "Yeah, I'm here?" "Do you understand? I would like for you to stay in your apartment until I send some officers over. The AD said he'd get some agents ASAP too. It's clear that he may come after you." Mulder nodded, still in shock and too terrified to chance leaving. "I'll be here." He disconnected the line and then hit the speed dial. *** Dana Scully's eyes opened slowly as she finally responded to the ringing of the phone. She sighed, turned slowly onto her side, and stared at the clock. Seeing the time, she reached for the phone already knowing who it would be. "Do you realize what time it is?" she said into the handset. "Sorry," Mulder answered. "Did I wake you?" The tone of his voice stilled her witty response. "What's wrong, Mulder?" She heard his shaky sigh. "I got a phone call tonight." "And?" she asked, now thinking someone he knew died. His mother? "And... Todd Howned is missing." For an instant, Dana felt everything in her body still. Fear for her partner chilled her down to her bones. "How long?" she asked after several seconds. "They're not sure. Since earlier this evening." She closed her eyes, remembering the sight of Mulder restrained by duct tape to a chair. "How?" "They didn't tell me." She could hear the fear in his voice and he had every right to be afraid. Howned was a psychotic nut fixated on revenge against Mulder. There was no doubt in her mind that Howned would be coming for her partner again. "The police are sending over some officers..." he trailed off, the slight hinting note in his tone bringing a warm smile to her lips. "I'll be over in a few minutes, too, Mulder," she said quickly. "If that's all right?" "Sure, Scully." Unmasked relief practically bubbled out of him. "I'll see you in about twenty minutes." "Okay. Thanks, Scully." As she hung up the phone and quickly began to dress, she sent up a silent prayer. Just this one time, they would pick up Howned again only a few blocks away from the hospital. Just this one time, Howned had not been gone as long as it seemed. Just this once, Mulder could get lucky. She sighed, a twisted knot of fear forming in her stomach. Who do you think you're kidding? she thought to herself, locking the door behind her as she hurried from the apartment. *** The knock brought him to the door faster than it should have, but twenty minutes was a long time to wait really. A length he'd never noticed before. With his hand on the knob, he paused. "Who is it?" he called, deciding that caution was the better part of valor but already able to hear the inflection and tone of the voice he was sure would answer. Instead, the door around the dead bolt lock exploded inward with the echoing thunder of a rifle blast. Fine splinters of wood buried themselves into his cheek, jaw and throat while bright stars bloomed behind his lids. When they cleared Mulder found himself on the floor, dazed, watching a pair of dark blue Keds swagger towards him, the soles squeaking softly against the hard wood. Fear seized him, paralyzing him, as it had before more than a year ago in a warehouse on the Potomac. "Together again," the deep voice rumbled down to him. "Looks that way, doesn't it?" Mulder managed to stutter. Howned grabbed Mulder by the shirt and pulled him into a sitting position. Frightened hazel eyes met insanely calm gray ones as they silently stared at each other. Mulder's eyes traced the pattern of scars on Howned's face; a pale white reminder of what had occurred that night over a year ago. One scar ran the length of his face from his hair-line down past his left eye, ending just under his chin. Another jutted upwards from his upper lip like a ghoulish tooth. The small scars had faded but could still be seen lightly marking the areas where the surgeons had attempted to reconstruct his face. The dim wail of sirens began in the distance. Howned slowly smiled, a lopsided expression now as the scar tissue prevented the movement of his features on the left side of his face. "My, you haven't changed a bit. The blood's an added feature but you still got all working parts though I'll wager, eh?" Mulder continued to stare, oblivious of the fluid slipping down his face and neck to dribble onto his shirt. "Are you a betting man, Fox?" Howned asked, his voice dipping a register to the calmly murderous tone Mulder recognized all too well. The one that said, 'Answer yes or I *won't* kill you.' He nodded. Howned's smile lost its dangerous twist. "Oh good... See I'm wondering who will arrive first... the police or Her? You did call Her, I hope?" Mulder's heart froze. Oh God, Scully would be here any second. "Ah, good," Howned sighed, glancing towards the door. "You still don't disappoint. All things considered, Fox, I must say that's one of the reasons I like you so much. Dependable..." In that instant, Mulder moved. He reached for his weapon, still securely in its holster at his hip. Fear for Scully drowned out the paralyzing lead in his mind. As the gun came up, Howned reacted. His fist connected with Mulder's torn face and his other hand grabbed the barrel. Mulder hit the floor again as the gun was torn from his grasp. The dangerous tone was back in his voice. "Like I was saying... dependable, predictable..." Before Mulder could resume a struggle, Howned produced a role of duct tape and had bound both wrists and ankles. "Not so quick anymore though... pity." He stood and strode to the window. "So, the cops or Her? Want to make a bet?" "This has nothing to do with Scully," Mulder stammered out. "This is about me." Howned moved back and knelt. "Yes, *it* does have to do with Her, or have you forgotten so quickly?" Mulder shook his head. "I saw something last time that I didn't think I would see from you," Howned continued, a new inflection to his voice that Mulder couldn't place. "I want to see it again. I want to show you what I already know about you. I want to get it for myself." Terror gripped him again, stronger than Mulder ever thought he could feel. It was awe. It was awe he heard in Howned's voice. *** Dana parked on the street, glancing up to Mulder's window as she got out of the car. She could see him standing in the window watching the street. The dim lighting of his apartment cast his features into shadow. She waved and watched him move away from the window. Taking the elevator to his floor she strode down the hallway to his door. As she approached she could see it standing open, and she drew her gun. "Come in and put the gun slowly on the floor or he dies," Howned's deep voice echoed out. She hesitated for a moment, trying to maintain her composure. This wasn't fair. No chance to fight, no time to try to apprehend Howned first. She knew Mulder wasn't dead yet. She knew she could count on Howned to stick to his MO. Slowly she entered the apartment, holding her gun by the barrel and her hands out. "Okay, Todd. I'm right here." Howned was standing in front of the door but back in the living room. A rifle pointed in her general direction. A glance down revealed Mulder, already bound and gagged by duct tape, the right half of his face a bloody mess. "The gun. On the floor," Howned calmly instructed. Slowly she placed the gun on the floor. "Now, you're going to drag him down to your car and we're going to go for a short drive." He smiled as he picked up her weapon. "Or I shoot you both." "All right," Scully answered and bent over to grab Mulder under the arms. Mulder briefly met her eyes before glancing away, but it was enough to see the dispair in them. Good God, what had already happened? She wondered as she began pulling him towards the door. "We don't have all day," Howned said, glancing nervously towards the direction of the sirens. He bent and grabbed the bundle of tape between Mulder's ankles with one hand, and lifted. "Move!" *** Assistant Director Walter Skinner plowed through the swarm of police officers surrounding the Brownstone building where Fox Mulder called home. Waving his ID at anyone attempting to stop him, he didn't even have to raise his voice to clear the path before him. A small entourage of agents followed in his wake almost as an afterthought. Outwardly, he was the picture of professionalism and calm, the text book image of an officer of his rank. But inside, he was seething. The growing anger had begun with the second phone call from the District's police detective that had informed him of the now missing status of one of his agents. Stepping off on the forth floor revealed the controlled chaos of a police department on the hunt. Uniformed officers lined the hallways, taking statements from the neighbors. Forensic officers dusted the doorway of Mulder's apartment. An uniformed officer stepped in Skinner's path, attempting to slow him down. "Sorry, Sir, this is a crime scene." "FBI," Skinner bit out through a clenched jaw. The officer peered at the badge carefully, "Oh, sorry, Mr. Skinner. Detective Mueller is in the apartment." "Thank you, Officer," Skinner replied, not having slowed his stride. The other agents following him spread out, professional and silent like a spreading shadow. He turned the corner into the apartment, quickly taking in the splatter of the blood on the floor, the damaged front door and the flashing of cameras. He stopped in the middle of the pandemonium, held up his badge and called, "FBI, I'm Assistant Director Walter Skinner. Who's in charge here?" A man in plain clothes turned. "I am, Sir. Detective Frank Mueller." "Let's get this out of the way now, Detective. I have no desire to step on any toes but this is my man that's missing. He is a valuable agent in the Bureau and a personal friend so I don't care about your jurisdiction. What have you got?" The detective scowled. "We believe Todd Howned escaped earlier this evening with the assistance of a hospital volunteer, Leslie Forth. At this time, we are unable to locate her. A thorough search of the hospital has shown Mr. Howned no longer on the premises. Sometime in the thirty minutes between dispatching officers to this location and their arrival here, Howned apparently arrived and abducted Agent Mulder. Witnesses say there was a shot fired. We assume that was the round Howned fired, blowing open the front door." Mueller walked over to the door gesturing to the pattern of splintered wood. "We believe he has a medium caliber rifle, maybe a shot gun." Skinner nodded in agreement. "Five minutes later, witnesses describe the arrival of a petite woman, red hair. The neighbor says she's his partner?" "Damn," Skinner whispered glancing back to the pattern of blood on the floor. "I take it that's a yes?" "Agent Dana Scully... yes." "So, Agent Scully arrives and then is seen helping carry Agent Mulder, bound and gagged, from the building just five minutes before my officers arrived. Agent Mulder's car is still parked downstairs. We had assumed they took her car. We've got a roadblock up in a five mile staggered radius." "No sightings?" "None, yet, Sir." Mueller turned from him. "We've got the situation as under control as we could under the circumstances. It's your call now, I guess." "I want photos and statements released to the press. Howned's not going to go far. The best way to find them now is through the public." "Sir," Mueller shifted nervously. "This was a man under tight guard on the maximum security level of a local hospital..." "Detective, right now the concern here should be Agents Mulder and Scully," Skinner interrupted. "*Not* the reputation of the DC police department." Mueller nodded, the angry scowl deepening on his face. *** The car hit another bump and Scully heard Mulder grunt as she elbowed him in the stomach. "Sorry," she said, trying to wiggle away and give him more room. Howned had locked them both in the trunk of her car after securely taping Scully's wrists and ankles. The darkness of the cramped space had swallowed them in silence and Scully had been trying to find a mutually comfortable position for them both as she was the only one capable of any movement. She finally settled on lying next to him with her head on his chest. In the darkness, and with Mulder gagged, it was the only way she decided they could communicate. "How's this?" He nodded. "Are you okay?" She felt him exhale shakily. He shrugged. "Your face... how serious is it?" He shook his head then shrugged. If she was deciphering his answers correctly, the injury wasn't bad, just painful, but emotionally he was not doing well. Now the hard part. "Howned," she asked. "I know something happened before I got there. Do you know what he's up to?" His breath hitched and he nodded slowly. Oh, this wasn't good, Scully thought. "Is this about what happened a year ago?" A slow nod. "Well, I'm here this time, so something that involves me now too?" Another nod. She sighed, her mind whirling over the possibilities. A year ago on the docks along the Potomac, she had interrupted Howned's game with Mulder. Mulder had managed to call her from a pay phone. When she had arrived, Howned had shot at her. She'd managed to escape injury but Mulder had gone off in a blind rage, beating Howned almost to death. Was Howned now including her in his psychotic need for revenge? Her presence here in the trunk seemed to suggest it. As she opened her mouth to ask another question, she felt the car begin to slow, pushing her more firmly up against her partner. The car came to a stop and she heard the driver's door open as Howned exited and came back to the trunk. The lid lifted and Howned pulled her from Mulder's side, slamming the lid back down. Loud thumps came from inside as Mulder began pounding on the lid. "All right, let's go," Howned growled, dragging her across a gravel lot and into a small, one-story house. The lot was surrounded by small trees, the lights from the city shining brightly just over the tops. He pulled her through a door, into what looked like the kitchen. The floor was bare, without furniture, and the walls were absent of any appliances. The sink was overrun with rust and dirt lined the baseboards. He continued through a hallway past other empty rooms to a door. It creaked as he jerked it open and led her down a shaky flight of wood stairs. A faint smell of rot drifted up and Dana struggled to keep her footing as the taller man barreled downwards. He dragged her across the concrete floor to a metal ring imbedded in the foundation wall. "Sit," he ordered, biting out the word impatiently. She sank to her knees and said nothing as he cut the tape from her and rebound her wrists tightly with a length of twine, running it through the ring above her head as he did so. He tugged harshly, checking the security of his handiwork. He nodded, satisfied. "Now, don't go anywhere." Turning, he left. She could hear him as he strode quickly back the way he had come. She also heard his return, the dull thumps and scrapes as he dragged, shoved and pushed Mulder with him. The door opened and Mulder came tumbling down the stairs, landing heavily at the bottom. The rotting wood shuddered dangerously. He was no longer gagged. Either Howned or Mulder had removed the tape across his mouth. Mulder lay, stunned, as Howned trotted down happily after him. He lifted Mulder under his arms and dropped him unceremoniously into a wooden chair. In silence, he began to tape Mulder's wrists to the chair arms, oblivious to Mulder's struggles. "You know, Fox, it's been such a long time since we've spent any quality time together," he spoke as he finished, folding the roll in half and tucking into a back pocket. "I didn't realize your manners had gotten so bad. You haven't formally introduced me to your new friend over there." He bent slowly and whispered to Mulder's ear. Scully couldn't hear his comment but whatever it had been got a reaction from her partner. Mulder turned and spat in Howned's face. She watched, horrified, as Howned's expression contorted in rage and his fist snaked out to connect with Mulder's jaw with enough force to topple the chair over backwards. She heard the sharp crack as his head bounced against the floor. "Fuck you!!" Howned screamed as he towered over the prostrate agent. "I'll cut your fucking tongue out if you ever do that again!" Mulder, his eyes twisted shut in pain, said nothing. Howned strode to the far wall and began pacing nervously back and forth. His hands rubbed at his face, wiping away the spittle under his eye. His breathing was coming in great ragged gasps and Scully realized that he was trying to regain his tenuous control. She turned her focus back to Mulder, who was beginning to blink rapidly, trying to regain his balance. His eyes held a dazed glaze and his face had begun to bleed again. Scully wondered what he was trying to accomplish by testing Howned's behavior. Even she knew Howned's anger was not something to play with or tempt. Suddenly, Howned moved back to Mulder and, in one fluid movement, grabbed his shirt front and pulled him upright. The wooden chair scraped harshly against the floor with the force of the impact. Mulder glared with pure hatred as Howned retrieved his battered, nearly spent roll of duct tape from his back pocket and, without a word, began to tape Mulder's forearms to the chair at his elbows. Seemingly satisfied with the tape job, Howned turned towards Scully. She froze as she watched him move slowly across the floor. For the briefest moment, she met Mulder's gaze, and saw that fear had replaced the hate in his eyes, before Howned's form blocked all view of her partner. He crouched down to her. "Do you want to know what's about to happen?" Howned asked, his voice the barest of whispers. Scully's mouth opened to speak but nothing came out. She didn't know what to say to stop whatever Howned was about to do. He leaned in closer to her and his voice quieted further. "I'm going to turn that man into a monster." She could feel his lips brush against her earlobe as he spoke, his breath burning as it caressed her neck. "And you..." he continued, brushing the backs of his fingers against her cheek, "You are going to watch me do it. You are going to watch or his screams will be the last thing either of you ever hear. One glance away and it's over... he dies... slowly." He pulled back only enough to bore his gaze into hers. "Do you understand me?" Terrified for them both, Scully's only response was a strangled sounding whimper. Howned nodded. "Good." Abruptly, he stood and moved quickly to another corner of the room that remained deeply in shadows. Scully's eyes found Mulder's once more. A mixture of fear, concern, agony, anger and hatred swirled in his hazel depths, forming an expression that bespoke murder. [Whatever happens, just hang on,] she tried to answer with her own eyes. [Hang on, Mulder. No matter what.] *** Mulder broke his gaze with Scully as Howned, carrying a semi-small cardboard box, swaggered back into view to stand between them. His shoulders were beginning to tense from the strain of being bound in such an uncomfortable position. Howned dropped the box to the floor and it landed with a dull thump-rattle. Mulder glanced down but could see nothing through the dim shadows. "Nope, this won't do," Howned muttered to himself, glancing between the partners before grabbing the back of the chair. "There's no way She can see properly." Alarmed, Mulder sought Scully's eyes as Howned twisted the chair around. Scully now sat only six feet to his right. Such a short distance, he thought, looking back at Howned as he bent to reach inside the box. Its contents rattled and Mulder caught the sweet, metallic odor of iron. Howned stood, smiled and displayed a three inch nail. Its shiny new polish glinted wickedly in the light by the overhead bulb. Before either of them could draw a breath, Howned jabbed the nail into the soft flesh of Mulder's left hand in a blur of movement. Pain lanced up Mulder's arm but he held in the scream that rose in his throat. It died a short grunt as he closed his lids against the stars blossoming in his eyes. He could feel Howned continuing to push the metal into his skin. The pain built with a piercing pressure. Don'tscreamdon'tscreamdon'tscreamdon'tscreamdon't... The litany began in his head. He knew that Scully was watching and he also refused to give Howned the pleasure even as he felt the tip of the nail perforate his palm and dig into the wood of the chair. Through the pain, Mulder sensed Howned let go and step away. Eventually the agony faded into a hellish throbbing. Mulder opened his eyes to find Howned kneeling before him, grinning maniacally. He felt a sudden rush of tears but closed his eyes against them. "Now, that was interesting," Howned said, and Mulder opened his eyes once more to find the comment directed at Scully. Turning his head slowly he saw her. Anguish lined her face and creased the skin around her eyes. She shook her head and her eyes flickered down to his hand. Instinctively, his own gaze was drawn downwards, even though he wanted to do anything else but see it. The nail jutted straight up out of his hand from just behind the head joint of his metacarpals between the first and middle fingers. The flesh around it had turned purple and puckered up into a little mound as his body tried to eject the foreign object. It oozed blood that trickled across the back of his hand and down his fingers. "I bet that hurt, huh, Fox?" Howned asked and reached over to lightly flick the protruding metal. Once again pain blossomed running up his arm, spasming the muscles in his neck. He gasped at the sudden sensation. "But," Howned added reaching once again into the box and pulling out a hammer, "We're not quite done yet." *** Assistant Director Walter Skinner sat at a full conference table, ignoring the motions and conversations of the other agents and police officers as they coordinated the information coming in from phones that seemed to ring unendingly. On the television in front of him, the local network anchorwoman was broadcasting "Live" from outside Mulder's apartment complex. Below the network identification blazed the FBI hot line 800 number. "Police still will not provide any information on how Todd Howned escaped custody, only that he is considered armed and extremely dangerous," the woman was saying in a tone that said 'This is the same information we told you fifteen minutes ago but we think it's important enough to hear again.' "Again, serial killer Todd Howned escaped earlier this evening from the security wing of Georgetown Medical Center taking FBI Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully hostage..." Skinner hint the mute button and turned away as their photos were flashed onscreen one more time. Five minutes ago he was doubting this decision to go to the media. He didn't like them, they tended to get underfoot during the important parts of an investigation. Occasionally, however, they were necessary. His musings were interrupted by an excited voice calling over the din. "I've got a hit!" Skinner made it to the officer on the phone at the same time Detective Mueller did. "What it is it, Officer?" "I've got a woman on a car phone, saying she's following a car matching Agent Scully's. She's given a match on the license plate. I've got a car en route." Just as the words left his mouth the dispatcher across the room called out. "We got him. 54 has confirmation." "Let's go," Skinner ordered moving towards the door. *** Dana Scully finally allowed her eyes to flutter closed. A door closed at the top of the stairs marking Howned's departure. Across from her, barely six feet away, Mulder sat slumped in unconsciousness. Each hand was firmly nailed to the arms of the chair. She could still see, in her mind's eye, the methodical glee in Howned's eyes as he pushed a nail into Mulder's skin, twisting it to aid its progress through his flesh. The joy as he swung the small hammer down onto the head of the nail, pausing to watch Mulder struggle through the pain, only to bring it down again. The satisfaction before pulling out another nail to start all over again. She sat, unable to look away. Unwilling to let Mulder suffer through it alone and fearful of the slow death Howned had promised would follow should she flinch from the sight. So she'd watched as Mulder had clenched his jaw so tightly she could see the veins in his neck. His eyes screwed so tightly shut they'd paled from lack of circulation. His face purpling as he held his breath to keep in the agony. She'd quietly endured, as Mulder had, all twelve nails, six in each hand. Minutes had stretched into hours before Howned finally was satisfied with the results. She remembered as he'd bent over Mulder, still barely conscious, and whispered, "I'm not going to kill you, Fox, though I bet right now you're wishing I had." He'd pulled out a pair of scissors and cut away the tape binding his wrists and elbows to the chair. "You can leave whenever you want to," he'd continued with quiet encouragement. "Pull your hands free. I'm going to leave for a bit and give you a chance to get away. All you have to do is stand up." With that, he'd turned and left. Scully opened her eyes and looked back at her partner. She saw his body flinch weakly as the sound of another door slamming upstairs broke the silence. A ripple of surprise flickered across her mind that he was still awake. She thought he'd finally let go and fallen unconscious. She watched his eyes flutter open and turn to the ceiling, following the sounds from upstairs as a car door closed. An engine purred to life and gravel crunched under moving tires. "Mulder..?" she whispered as the sounds faded. But he didn't answer. Instead, he began a low whimper, his face twisting in pain. The sound grew in volume quickly until it was an anguished wail that went on and on only to finally die hoarsely when he ran out of breath. An eerie silence fell on them both broken only by Mulder's ragged, hitching gasps. Scully sat silently waiting for him. "Mulder?" She tried again after his labored breathing eased. He blinked once before turning to meet her. Trying to ignore the absent glaze in his eyes she spoke slowly, "We have got to get out of here." He blinked again and glanced down at his hands. "Are you hearing me?" she asked urgently, pulling at her own bindings. "Yeah..." he croaked. "We have *got* to leave, Mulder." He glanced back up at her, pain and tears welling in his eyes. "I can't." She looked down at the length of nails still sticking up from his hands and knew what she was asking him to do. Fighting her own tears she spoke softly, "I've been trying, Mulder, and it's not working. I can't get free." "You have to, Mulder," Scully continued, aborting his negatively nodding head. She spoke slowly, seeing telltale physical signs of shock on his features. "Howned will be coming back, Mulder. He'll be back any minute." *** Mulder glanced fearfully towards the stairs. His hands throbbed with a constant pain and it was getting awfully damn cold. He could hear Scully coaxing him from across the room but he just couldn't do what she was asking him. It hurt too badly and he wasn't even moving his hands now. A horrible weight settled on his conscience, a familiar feeling of worthlessness. "I can't." It came out half a sob and he struggled against the tears that threatened again. He could feel a numbness settling somewhere in the back of his mind. A place in his head separate from his body where nothing would hurt anymore. A place almost within reach. *** "Mulder, no!" Scully yelled to him. Being so close she could see a dangerous blankness in his eyes. "Mulder, come back." He blinked once, his head lolling to one side. "Mulder!" she called again. There were pros and cons to having him fade out right now but catatonia was definitely a con. She twisted her wrists against the twine binding her, wincing as it cut into her skin. "Mulder, don't leave!" "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." She could hear him mumbling over and over. She was losing him. Upstairs a door closed. "Mulder, wake up. Wake up, Mulder, Howned's coming back." She cursed in desperation. "Damn it, Mulder, I need you here. Don't leave." He blinked and she could see the terrifying blankness begin to recede from his eyes. Relief swept through her. "Come on, Mulder. That's it. Come back. I know it hurts." She crooned to him for several minutes with short, slow, calming phrases. Then the door at the top of the stairs opened and she froze. "Still here?" Howned called with a knowing smile as he came heavily down the stairs. He was gripping the back collar of a shirt as he dragged a body along behind him. "I was kinda hoping that wouldn't have been enough for you. You still live up to expectations, Fox. I admire you for that." Mulder blinked and followed Howned's movements lazily. A blessed numbness had settled over him, pushing the pain in his hands to a far corner of his mind. Scully's desperate pleadings still echoed in his head. Howned stopped just in front of Mulder and propped the body into a sitting position on the floor. It was a young woman, no more than twenty, Mulder guessed, her throat slit. She was wearing jeans and a blood soaked T-shirt, and her blond hair hung in tangled ringlets down her shoulders. The last inch or so of hair was damp and red with blood. Her brilliant blue eyes were open in final terror, her skin pale, while her mouth moved weakly around a silent scream. Her mouth... moved. Mulder blinked, startled. He could still see the blood moving as it oozed from the ghastly wound at her throat. Instantly, the numbness vanished and pain once again lanced up his forearms as he struggled to sit fully upright. As he pushed himself forward, the urgent, terrified gleam of life drained from her eyes. Her silent mouth slackened and a blue tinge faintly colored her skin. Somewhere inside himself, Mulder felt something die with her. That faint piece of himself that died over and over on every case he worked, with every victim he saw. That piece grew larger and larger each time. He slumped back into the chair in sorrow, his hands forgotten. "This is Leslie," Howned spoke, his hand supporting the corpse's neck, keeping her upright. "She's my newest friend. I met her at the hospital and she helped sneak me out. Isn't that right sweetie?" With a slight movement of his hand he nodded the head up and down in affirmation. He turned to look at Mulder. "I wanted to have a friend for dinner and I guess it looks like you'll be hanging around too, huh?" The meaning of Howned's words slowly sank through the pain and grief to Mulder's consciousness. His head snapped up and his eyes met Howned's. "I'm not hungry," he croaked out around the lump of fear in his throat. Howned frowned as he lowered Leslie's body to the floor. "I don't care." Mulder turned, looking to Scully. Her eyes told him she knew what was coming just as well as he did. She was twisting vigorously at her bindings, frantically trying to loosen them. He could see blood welling up around the twine and smearing the backs of her hands. Suddenly Howned was in front of him again. In the palm of his left hand sat a thick, bloody hunk of flesh an inch in length. "I bet you're a breast man, eh, Fox?" he chuckled, waving the piece of meat under his nose. The sick smell of death and human blood assaulted Mulder's nostrils and he turned his head away as much as possible. "No!" "Ah, come on... I know you want to," Howned cajoled, moving the piece back under his nose as if he were an errant child who didn't want to finish his vegetables. Mulder twisted away again, accidentally brushing the meat along his lips. Warm blood smeared across his skin as Howned followed his movements in a twisted dance. "Come on, Fox," Howned sighed after several seconds. Taking the flesh away from Mulder's lips, he popped the morsel into his own mouth. "What do you want from me?" Mulder whispered. Howned looked at him, anger growing in his eyes. "I want you to accept what you are." "What do you think I am?" Mulder asked. "We are so alike, you and I," he answered, chewing thoughtfully. The words from his dream echoed through the room and Mulder shook his head in denial. "I'm nothing like you!" Howned smiled softly, almost tenderly. "Yes. You have a great gift. I saw in you something I never had and I'm going to teach you to use it." "You can't change me into something I'm not," Mulder shot back, all pain forgotten. "I'm going to show you what you really are." Howned bent down over the body, slicing another piece from her exposed torso with the knife still stuck in the body. Turning back to Mulder he held up the fresh piece between two fingers and, with his other hand, grabbed Mulder's jaw. "You are going to eat this," Howned continued, his voice lowering again to a dangerous tone. Mulder shook his head vigorously. "You will," Howned said as he glanced over his shoulder. "Or I will kill Her." Mulder's eyes widened in horror. Howned smiled. *** Assistant Director Walter Skinner crouched low in the tall grass on the edge of the gravel lot. He adjusted the kevlar vest so it didn't press so tightly against his abdomen and looked to see if the rest of the team was in place. Closer to the house, he could see Scully's car and the officer creeping up to it. His hand touched the hood then came around in a thumbs up gesture. Still warm. Skinner turned to the FBI agent behind him. "We're first in that door, understand me?" The agent nodded and Skinner thought back briefly to the argument he'd had with Mueller. It hadn't taken long to "convince" the policeman that this was an FBI matter. "Sir, we're in place." Skinner nodded. "On three..." *** "Open," Howned said, tugging lightly at Mulder's jaw. Mulder felt his stomach drop into his feet as his eyes welled with tears. In his peripheral vision he could see Scully shaking her head, but there was really no choice to be made. He couldn't meet her eyes. He doubted he would ever be able to again. "Open or she dies." Mulder knew Scully looked on, horrified, as he slowly unclenched his jaw and his mouth dropped open. His eyes twisted painfully shut. Tears broke free from under the lids, creating tracks through the blood on his cheeks. In one swift movement, Howned popped the piece of flesh onto Mulder's tongue and then held shut his jaw. Quickly, he moved behind Mulder, bracing Mulder's head against his stomach. The morsel sat like a lead weight in his mouth and was warm on his tongue. The sweet taste of blood seeped onto his senses, filling his nostrils and drowning out everything else. In a moment of unreality, Mulder recalled a piece of article about the cannibalistic tribes of Africa. "Long pork," they had called human flesh, because of its remarkable resemblance in taste. His stomach twisted in vile recognition. "Swallow," Howned's voice ordered from above him. Mulder tried to shake his head but only managed in twisting himself in the chair, tugging painfully against his damaged hands. He began to kick against the ground with his feet, bucking backwards into Howned with the chair in an effort to loosen the iron grip holding his mouth closed. Anything to get that girl's body out of him. Howned's other hand closed down around his nose, cutting off his only airway, and Mulder immediately went lightheaded. He had already been short of breath from the struggle. Blood began to rush into his face and he knew he would pass out in a matter of seconds. This was Howned's last game. Mulder knew Howned would continue to strangle him until he died if he refused to comply and Scully would be quick to join him. Before he managed another thought, and with the life threatening loss of oxygen, Mulder's body made the next move. As if it were a reflex action, he swallowed. The bit of flesh slid down his throat with surprising ease and he felt its entire journey to his stomach. Suddenly, Howned released him and Mulder leaned forward, gasping in four quick breaths of precious air before his body convulsed and his stomach rejected the meat. He managed to lean far enough downward to miss himself and spent the next several minutes in dry heaves. When it was over, he leaned wearily back into the chair, eyes and nose streaming. He sniffled loudly and turned towards the source of the shadow that loomed above him. He barely met Howned's scowling gaze before looking for Scully. She still sat next to him, achingly out of reach, still watching but with tears openly on her cheeks. She made no move to wipe them away or hide the undisguised pain in her eyes. Howned sighed heavily. "Guess you don't like blondes huh?" He moved back to the body on the floor and removed the knife, wiping the blade across his pants leg. "Maybe you'd like to sample something else? Perhaps something in red?" Mulder's head snapped back to Howned as he moved menacingly towards Scully. He flicked the sharp edge of the blade lightly with the pad of his thumb. "I bet she tastes pretty," Howned continued, a trace of his own insane hunger lacing the words. As Howned dropped to his knees next to Scully, Mulder spoke. His voice was rough, barely above a whisper, but filled with so much loathing and anger it sounded like a gun shot through the dank basement. "Don't..." Howned smiled back at him. "Hmm? Which part do you want to try?" he asked, drawing the knife teasingly along her leg. "There's so many places here that taste absolutely wonderful." As Howned moved to trace the blade across her right breast, for the third time in his life Mulder felt the cage in his mind unlock and the monster that dwelt there break free. A blood red haze tinged his vision, conscious thought fled and, suddenly, Mulder was on his feet. Scully gasped as she saw Mulder stand. A faint tearing sound filled the room as his hands pulled from the nails, several of them coming free of the wood and still imbedded through his flesh. His normally brilliant hazel eyes had darkened in dangerous rage. Howned quickly glanced back to Mulder at Scully's gasp, just in time to see the blur of movement as Mulder came at him. The knife winked in the dim light, cutting the air as Howned swung the blade around in defense, his now lopsided grin baring his teeth. Mulder pounced, unconcerned or unseeing of the blade slashing towards him. Scully screamed a warning before the tip of the blade raked across his chest, opening a vicious red gash that stretched horizontally between his shoulders. Despite the wound, Mulder collided with Howned and they both went down. Howned rolled, coming back up to his feet. Mulder was slower in rising but Scully doubted it was because of his injuries. She recognized the glimmer in his eyes from last year and doubted he even knew where he was, let alone felt any pain. It was a warning slowness he stood with as Howned eagerly shifted in front of him. They circled each other slowly. Upstairs, a door banged open, startling them both. Howned recovered first. Leaping forward, he plunged the knife deep into Mulder's side. They both grunted and went down again, Howned landing on top. Pulling the knife out, he raised back to stab again. Then the door at the top of the stairs blew inward, the flying dust and wood obscuring the entrance of men in black SWAT gear. Shouts rent the air in a jumble of sound. "FBI! Drop the weapon or we'll fire! Drop it now!" The knife fell harmlessly from a stunned Howned's grasp. It barely had time to jangle against the concrete before the officers swarmed over him, pulled him roughly from Mulder and pressed him face down onto the ground. The men shouted to each other to restrain arms and feet, asking for extra handcuffs. Somewhere over the din, Miranda rights were read. The bindings were cut from Scully's wrists, bringing her out of momentary shock. "Call an ambulance!" A familiar deep voice shouted out. Only then did Scully see Skinner, identically dressed in kevlar body armor, bent worriedly over Mulder's prone form. "Man down, get the paramedics now!" Somehow she found her voice as she crawled over to them. "He's been stabbed and watch his hands." "We got a body here, Sir," a man called out. Skinner looked over at the dead woman. "Leslie Forth... Jesus, Scully, what happened here?" Scully met her superior's eyes and shook her head, still too stunned to process anything. Mulder groaned beneath her and her attention was drawn back to him. "It's over, Mulder. It's over," she whispered as she unbuttoned his shirt to get to the wounds. "It's not over," Howned laughed, drowning out all other noise as several of the officers began to lead him from the basement. His scar had turned an angry crimson red. "It'll never be over. He knows now. Look at him! He understands. He knows..." His rantings trailed off into demented giggling. Scully looked down into Mulder's eyes to find the anger gone, but leaving a gaping emptiness reflected through the tears trailing down his face. "Get him out of here!" Skinner shouted, but Howned was already being pushed out the door. "Calm down, Mulder," Scully called to him as his breath hitched. She pressed a compress to his side that someone had handed to her from an emergency first aid kit. "Howned's wrong." But Mulder shook his head, a numb, bloodied hand taking a handful of the fabric of her sleeve. "No... I am a monster." *** Outside, the police wagon started to move away. The lights in the back had been dimmed, casting into darkness the holding area where Howned sat dejectedly. At least, he thought, the setting matches my mood. He didn't know what had happened or where he'd slipped up. He had the night planned out, he thought, so perfectly. How had it all gone so wrong so fast? It must've been the car... someone had spotted the woman's car when he'd gone out that once. He would have to revise his plans for next time. If there was a next time, he thought as he looked around the paddy wagon and felt the chains about his wrists and ankles. It was unlikely security would ever be relaxed enough for him to escape again. Howned sighed, quickly becoming depressed. There would be no more Hunts. The sound of the partition between the driver and himself sliding open broke him out of his reverie. "Mr. Howned," a deep voice drifted back. He peered through the darkness, seeing the dim smoldering of a lit cigarette. "I want to make you an offer..." end. ------- The Fox and the Howned V: A Howned's Bark by SciNut@aol.com (K.Enriquez) 3/4/98 Rating: R Category: A Disclaimer: The X-Files property of CC, 1013, FOX yadda, yadda, yadda Summary: An epilogue, of a sort, to "F&H4: Howneded". Mulder recovers, sort of. Keywords: MulderAngst, SMT Other stuff: Okay, so I hope this isn't too disappointing compared to the last one. I had a couple people telling me I'd better write some kind of recovery cause not even Mulder can walk away from that. So, this is really like an epilogue only it didn't do what I wanted it to do so I'm a bit nervous that this one sucks. I could really use some... feedback?... Please...Story six is in the works so no worries. Howned shall return. The Fox and the Howned V: A Howned's Bark Pain. It crawled like ants across his palms and poked continuously at his side. They had taken the bandages off but he wasn't ready for this yet.. The sight of his own torn and mutilated hands had caused him to hide them whenever possible. He had used the sheets of his bed last night and now he hid them under the table at which he now sat. On the table, a neon pink tennis ball mocked him. He was supposed to pick it up but the echoing thump of its green partner as it bounced along the floor still taunted. So instead, he tucked his hands between his legs, waiting for the throbbing pain to pass and wrestling with his frayed temper. He shouted at everyone now. Every conversation became a confrontation. Simple tasks ended in tears of frustration. The same tears he was blinking away this very moment so the therapist wouldn't see when she came in. Damn Howned and his psychosis. Damn him for fucking with his life. He closed his eyes and began to breathe methodically in a long, deep rhythm. The skin around the gash across his chest tugged stiffly against the stitches. But the anger grew. Lately, none of his attempts at control worked. Behind him, the door opened. "Well, Mr. Mulder it looks like you decided to start without me." The soft, lilting Asian accent of Kelly Mathis, his physical therapist, drifted over his shoulder. He took a deep breath and tried not to growl at her. "I dropped it anyway." "Mr. Mulder, it just takes a bit of time and some hard work." He looked up to find Kelly's soft oval face looking down at him expectantly. He would have considered her an attractive Vietnamese woman if she didn't annoy him so much. Nothing against her personally, it was just that everyone annoyed him or angered him in some way, even Scully. Mulder slumped a bit further down in his chair as the argument from last night surfaced in his mind. She had only come to visit and he'd blown up at her. She hadn't even really said anything that would have normally set him off, but she had come in just after they'd taken the bandages off his hands and no amount of coaxing and reassuring could have convinced him they would ever be the same. The doctors had said he would regain full use of his hands with rigorous physical therapy. They said the scarring would be minimal, but their words were hollow comfort compared to the actual visual condition of his hands. Purple and swollen, with black stitches keeping the jagged holes closed, he could barely move his fingers without pain. His fingertips constantly tingled from damaged nerves, though he was also assured those would heal in time. He had only seen the damage, remembered the horror of what he had suffered and wanted to die. It was at this point that Scully had come in, asked how he was feeling... Mulder cut off the memory with a violent sigh. The anger was boiling up again. "Are you ready to continue?" Kelly's voice drifted to him softly and she crossed her arms across her chest. "Or are you going to be uncooperative again?" Mulder looked away sullenly and tried desperately to contain himself. The last thing he needed to do was shout at Kelly... again, but her patronizing tone was making this difficult. "I'll take that as a 'yes'." He sighed and she continued, "Now, I don't want you trying to pick the ball up yet, your muscles are still far too weak. Just put your hand on it and squeeze. *Gently*, you do it too hard and you'll damage the stitches. We just want to work on strength training." Mulder didn't move. "Mister Mulder... if you don't try you will *never* be able to pick up or hold *anything*." He looked at the floor, trying to ignore the numb lumps of flesh that used to be his hands, wishing Kelly would just disappear before he lost his temper again. "Mister Mulder.... Fox..." "Don't call me that!" Mulder shouted as he leapt up from the table, his tenuous control slipping away. "How many times do I have to tell you that! Don't you ever listen?" "I'm sorry," Kelly offered, taking a step backward. "Mister Mulder, please.. you have to try, at least." Mulder thrust his hands out at her, shouting, "How am I supposed to try when they look like this? They're not going to get better!" "The doctors..." "Fuck the doctors!" He was being illogical, he knew that, but lately only the anger mattered. "Mulder." The quite voice of his partner startled him and he jumped. Turning, he could only hold her gaze briefly before looking away. She was dressed in the standard dark suit but he found himself focusing on her left foot. He had not been able to maintain eye contact since the basement. Every time he tried the entire ordeal stared back at him. Crossing his arms, he tucked his hands deeply under his arms. "I'll leave you alone for a bit to visit," Kelly said, making a strategic exit. "Thank you, Kelly," Scully replied as she walked past her to the door. A minute of strained silence passed before Mulder spoke. "How long have you been standing there?" He winced as it came out an accusation. "Long enough," she answered. The compassion in her voice pierced through the anger. "I didn't hear the door open," he whispered back. "I know." He focused on her other foot. "If you don't do the PT you won't be able to return to work, Mulder." His control was slipping again but anger wasn't the emotion bubbling up. It was self pity. "Why should it matter? It's not going to heal this time." "Are you talking about your hands, Mulder? Or your soul?" Startled, he met her eyes briefly, but again looked away from their compassionate depths. "Let me see your hands," she said after several moments of silence passed. When he made no move to comply she strode slowly up to him and tugged lightly at his elbow. "Please?" Scully watched him anxiously as his eyes focused on a far corner. His unwillingness to maintain eye contact with her was becoming disturbing. He seemed to shrink further and further from her as each day passed and yet the staff had been telling her about his short temper and violent outbursts. The only outburst she'd witnessed until now had been last night as he'd ranted on about how he "felt". It had not lasted long until he realized she was still in the room. Then he had fallen so silent, so fast it was as if the sterile walls had stolen his voice. He'd met her gaze then, briefly, with such self hatred lurking in their depths she nearly wept openly before his eyes dropped back to the floor. He would speak to her shoes or the walls but his eyes infrequently traveled higher than her collar and only then when she said something to take him by surprise. The act spoke of submission and the more she saw him do it, the more it worried her. Maybe a different approach would be necessary, she thought, as he made no movement to expose his hands. "Since you don't trust your doctor's opinion, I thought that I'd take a look. You trust my medical opinion, don't you?" The question was irrelevant, she knew, as she watched him flinch from her as if struck, but she needed to break down his walls. Silently, she congratulated herself as she felt the muscles of his arm relax, tentatively surrendering, for her inspection, the body part in question. His face was lined with barely hidden anxiety. Did he think she would reject him on the condition of his hands? Schooling her features into a mask of clinical detachment, she glanced down at the appendage he now obediently held before her, and she was still forced to stifle a gasp of shock. It was swollen due to the removal of the bandages the night before and while the worst of it had decreased, his skin was a mottled white-red from his fingers to half way up his forearms. The purple areas around the nail puncture wounds still glistened with antibiotic ointments. Fine, black rows of stitches criss-crossed the holes and jagged gaps where the nails had torn through his flesh, the very edges of which had tinged a pale green. And suddenly, Scully found herself again on the floor of that basement, the horrible squealing of nails prying from wood and the tearing of flesh filling her ears. All she could do was watch as Mulder, caught in a blind rage, threw himself at Todd Howned. Dana blinked, bringing herself back to the present. She'd always know there was a violent rage buried somewhere in him. She could see its glimmer in the depths of his eyes but never had she thought she would see it. The first time, a year ago, it had scared her that he had turned to attack her as she tried to stop his assault on Howned at the pier. She'd managed to overpower him because his anger had slowed his responses, though when he did move it was with blinding speed. He had also been injured and she didn't like to think about what the outcome would have been had that not been the case. But this was the second time she had seen this violence unleashed, and as she quietly stole a glance at his face, watching him as he silently seethed, she wondered if maybe that anger had not yet been fully reined once more. "Well, I can see why you'd think it was hopeless, Mulder," she began trying to meet his eyes. As he turned his gaze from her, she sighed. "They look bad... but that's all it is, Mulder. Looks. They should heal fine and the doctor did a wonderful job with these stitches. If you don't tear them out too often, I doubt there will be any scars on your hands." Your heart is another matter, she added quietly. For the first time since their ordeal, Mulder's eyes tentatively met her own. A silent question burned in them. "All things heal Mulder, with time," she added, but she was flooded with disappointment as he glanced away again, resuming his submissiveness. She sighed and gently led him back to the table with an equally gentle but firm grip around his wrist. "Come on, I'll stay for your PT, okay?" He nodded meekly and sat. Scully glanced to the door and Kelly re-entered. "Kelly, your timing is suspiciously impeccable," she greeted again, smiling. "Yeah, blame the ENT." Kelly grinned back. "So, do you want to start the session over, Mr. Mulder?" His eyes flickered up towards Scully before finding a particularly interesting spot on the speckled surface of the table. Slowly, he nodded. "Well, that's an improvement. You sure you don't want a job here, Ms. Scully? You have a wonderful talent." Kelly grinned up at Dana but was shocked to see her brows knitting in frustration. Shaking her head, she cocked it slightly in a gesture towards Mulder who was beginning to tense. Lines of anger were etching themselves along his face. "Can we just get on with this?" Mulder growled out before either of the women could speak. He hesitated for only a moment before reaching for the pink tennis ball. His right hand closed over it and squeezed. Fire exploded along his palm and lanced up his arm. He grunted in pain and quickly brought his hand protectively against his chest. Sweat beaded along his brow and he doubled over, laying his head against the surface of the table. The excruciating tingling in his fingertips intensified as his hand began to throb. "Mulder?" He felt her arm around his shoulders. "Come on, Mulder. Your face is turning purple, breathe." He took a great shuddering breath and the pain faded into an ache. "There you go. Didn't he get his meds this morning?" "Yes," Kelly answered. "But these are severe injuries complicated with nerve damage. Physical therapy will be painful, even with medication. Mister Mulder, you have to start off slowly and gently or this is going to be the result every time." Mulder continued breathing... long, deep, slow... ignoring Kelly altogether. The woman just didn't get the hint that he really didn't want to listen to her. He left his head lying atop the table as the pain slowly subsided. "How are you doing, Mulder?" Scully's concerned voice washed over him but he couldn't answer her. He felt horribly unworthy of her friendship. He had only ever lost control three times in his life and she had been witness to two of them. Two times he had promised, a lifetime ago it seemed, would never happen. =You control youself.=This never happens again.=Do you understand me?=Give your word!=You promise this will never happen again!= Like the angry voices that followed him, the broken promise haunted. "Mulder?" Scully's gentle touch chased away the memory before it had an opportunity to begin. When he did not respond she called to him again, her tone changing to frustrated worry. He knew she would not leave him alone until he made some type of response, so he lifted a shoulder in a half shrug before slowly straightening. Fighting the urge to look at her, he denied himself the comfort he knew he would find in her eyes. "Ready to try it again?" Scully asked. He nodded and noticed that Kelly had moved back to a corner of the room, assuming the role of an observer. Maybe she might have finally caught a clue. But for no particular reason he could find, even this action angered him somehow and he fought to contain the rollercoaster his emotions had become. Scully seemed to recognize the signs. She moved away under the guise of retrieving the green tennis ball he had abused earlier. It gave him the space he needed to bring himself back under control. She set the bright green ball in front of him on the table easily within his reach and then sat across from him where it was difficult to avoid her gaze. "Let's try it again Mulder." No matter how worthless or dirty he felt, Mulder could not deny that tone in her voice. The one that said that, even though what she was asking was in your best interest, if you won't do it for yourself, then please, do it for her. He imagined she used to coax wounded animals to her when she was little with that tone. Reluctantly, he reached for the ball with his left hand, now that the right was still numb. Clumsily but gently, his hand closed around the sphere and he slowly squeezed. Once again pain lanced up his arm but no where near the extent or intensity as it had before. He increased the pressure of his hand until the pain was almost unbearable. Behind him, Kelly was offering instructions on maintaining pressure for sustained periods and as she droned on his temper rose yet again. "I do know all this, you know." Mulder snapped. "I have had physical therapy before. If you'd read my chart, like every other person in this place, you would know that." A full minute of silence settled in the room. "Kelly, I apologize for Mulder's behavior." Scully finally said. Mulder could feel the weight of her stare. "No need," Kelly answered, her tone flat. "However, since Agent Mulder is aware already of his techniques I'll move on to my next appointment and leave him in your capable hands." Silence fell between the two partners once more while Mulder seethed. They always talked as if he weren't there. "That was uncalled for Mulder." He concentrated on his exercises, welcoming the pain it caused. "Mulder..." He shrugged. "What, you want me to apologize to her?" She lifted an eyebrow in response which almost said, "Yeah, it wouldn't hurt" by itself. "Apologies don't mean much to me Scully, you know that. You can't change what was said or done or if it hurt anyone. One five letter word doesn't make it all better. It never will. You forgive it or you don't and move on with life." He glanced at her. She stared at him as if he had revealed some great mystery and it disturbed him to no end. "Besides, everyone *has* read my chart. Even the damn volunteers! Whatever happened to patient confidentiality?" "I'll talk to your doctor and don't change the subject." "I wasn't aware that I had." "Mulder..." She sighed. "Look around you. It's just you and me now so drop the evasiveness." Her tone surprised him and he met her firm yet compassionate gaze. He didn't want to do this now, but it was obvious that she wasn't going to let him run away. Once again, however, he found that looking at her for too long brought the very memories he didn't want to discuss. Suddenly, he was back in that basement, the pain in his hands an agonizing fire. The exercise ball slipped from his fingers as the memory washed over him. The rhythmic pounding pain of the hammer as it struck over and over, driving the nails further and further through his palms. The reverberations of the wood causing its own form of agony. It had gone on and on in never-ending torment that would last weeks afterwards. =Guess that hurts, does it?= Howned's voice echoed. Every nuance of glee and hatred was etched perfectly into memory. =Let's try over here... bet that's an even better spot...= "Mulder!" Scully's voice jolted him out of memory once more. He found he'd doubled over in the chair, curled almost fetal. His breath came in short frightened bursts and he looked frantically for a phantom who was no longer there. "Hey," Scully asked as she brushed at the tears on his cheeks. "What was that?" He shrugged, trying to blow it away as nothing. "Flashback... you get used to 'em." "Have you told the staff psychologist about them yet?" she asked worriedly. He shook his head, gaze shifting back to the floor. "Have you even talked to a staff psychologist yet?" "Yeah..." "And?" Busted... "I told him I didn't want to talk about it." "Mulder..." Scully sighed in frustration. "I still don't," he added, working a small measure of indignation into his voice. "I do." It was another surprising admission that was rewarded with his eyes meeting hers. It was so unlike her. Emotional confrontation between them had always been avoided as much as possible, usually leaving him frustrated, confused and a little hurt. Now it only angered him. After four years the rules could not just change overnight. It was too much. "You talk to a therapist then," he snapped before standing and moving away. He was nearly to the door when her response froze him where he stood. "I have." She said it matter of fact, making it sound far less important than it was. "Still am actually." He stood there, stunned, for several seconds maintaining that ever important eye contact. She felt like rejoicing. "Why?" "It was a traumatic experience for the both of us, Mulder. What he did to you..." He moved away from her to a corner, effectively cutting her off. Scully sighed, "You may not want to talk about it, hoping you can forget by ignoring that it ever happened, but that doesn't work, Mulder. You know it doesn't." He shrugged. Not really an answer but there was no answer to give her. She said nothing further, just watched him, waiting for him to make the next move. He looked down at his feet encased in his well-worn running shoes. He could say nothing and go back to his physical therapy. Continue on just as he had been by ignoring that this conversation ever took place. Move on with a fragile temper. Maybe he could get back to the place he'd been before all this had happened. His instincts told him to say nothing. He had spent most of his adult life dealing with situations like this alone. He had managed just fine so far. But his training told him otherwise. As an educated behavioral psychologist, he knew that everything he had been taught and everything he had learned said this path would only lead further into darkness. He sighed and looked towards the window and the bright blue sky of early afternoon. "We had pork chops the other night for dinner here." The words popped out softly before he had a chance to think it over further. "What?" Scully asked. Her voice only slightly betrayed her surprise. She did not think he would speak so soon and this certainly wasn't what she was expecting. "I barely made it to the bathroom... I could barely even stand the smell." Disgust laced his tone. "I don't understand. Why?" "It tasted like..." his voice faltered. "It reminded me of what I did." He glanced briefly at her only to see the pain he had seen in her eyes that same night. Quickly, he looked away. The phantom tang on his tongue began to make him ill. "What happened, Mulder... what he made you do... you didn't have a choice." "I had a choice," Mulder said, but the words lacked conviction. Scully just shook her head, bemused at his attempt but compassionate with understanding. "You were trying to protect me. I know that's not a choice for you." She was being remarkably open today, he thought as he held her gaze once more. This time, she was the one to break the moment. "He used me against you and I feel guilty for that, Mulder." A look of utter terror crossed his features and she jumped to reassure him. She crossed the room to him, taking hold of his biceps and holding him at arms length, looking him directly in the eye, forcing him to look at her. "It's one of the reasons I went to a therapist, Mulder. You need me to be here, not tied up inside my own head." He felt like he was crumbling inside under the honesty of her words and eyes. Flaking away like dust under her generosity. He felt more unworthy of her now than he did before. How do you accept an open gesture after you've done something that not even *animals* do unless mad with hunger or just plain insane? How could she be here, unafraid of the rage that threatened? As if she could hear his confusion she continued, "I was there with you, Mulder. We got through it alive together. We can get through rest of this together too. I'm here for you." He just stared at her before a smile tugged at his lips. "That must be one hell of a doctor." Scully practically beamed in response to his effort. It had barely upturned the corners of his mouth but his eyes had twinkled briefly. "Something like that, yes." "Do you think..." "I'm sure she could find time, Mulder." For the first time in weeks, the silence was comfortable. A knock at the door brought the moment to an end. Walter Skinner entered, the relaxed poses of both his agents giving him a moment of relief from the knot of dread that had formed in his stomach. "If I may say, you both are looking far better than the last time I saw you." Mulder had still been unconscious and Scully had been in shock. "Thank you, Sir." Scully answered for them both. A wary expression had begun to form on Mulder's face. "Unfortunately," he continued, trying not to look at Mulder directly. "I have some disturbing news. Todd Howned never arrived at Maryland State Penitentiary." "What?" Scully replied, stunned. "He was processed at the 4th precinct and then transferred. However, when I called to check that all procedures were being followed, he was reported to have never arrived. The precinct house officers are sure they put him on the prison transport but the driver doesn't remember having picked Howned up. He wasn't even listed on the manifest." "You mean he's escaped again?" Mulder asked, his voice tight. "I mean," Skinner answered. "We have no idea what happened to him." end.