Midnight's Sorrow By Semantics Semantics@writeme.com Rating: NC-17 for violence, language and sexual situations. Category: X-file, MSR Spoilers: Seasons one through six. Keywords: X-file, MSR Summary: Agents Mulder and Scully search for a serial killer responsible for the murder of several young women while investigating unexplained visions of a mysterious young boy reported as being seen at the crime scenes. Feedback: Encouraged, responses given. E- mail me at Semantics@writeme.com. Disclaimer: The X-Files and the characters of Mulder, Scully, Skinner, The Lone gunmen are property of Chris Carter and 10-13 productions/Fox. I am only borrowing them for this completely non-profit, fictitious story. No infringement is intended. Authors Note: Thanks again and again to my very patient, thorough and all around wonderful Beta's Brandi, Foxcat and Memento1. Chapter 1 Ramona Stark Residence Harper's Ferry Virginia July 6 10:42 p.m. Ramona fumbled her lipstick then heaved out an annoyed sigh as she bent to retrieve it from her bathroom floor. She immediately observed the small dent in its top and the orange smudge that had resulted across the yellowed linoleum. "The desert sunrise smudge." She corrected herself. "Shit." That was her favorite color and at ten dollars a tube she needed to be less careless with it. "Girl, are you done in there?" Her sister's voice traveled in to her from the living room on the other side of the wall. Jerry Springer threatened to drown out any reply she would have immediately made so she rolled her eyes and waited for the roar of his audience to subside. "I'm almost done, get off my case and turn that crap down or you'll wake Jordan!" Ramona frowned at the hiss that followed. The volume lowered to a murmur. She recapped her damaged tube of desert sunrise and slipped it into her black leather handbag, a cheap Chanel imitation. She stood back to survey her image in the small mirror of her metal medicine cabinet. Her long black hair fell in gentle waves over her bare shoulders, the ends just brushing against the swell of her breasts where her glittery strapless, dark dress began. With midnight black eyes she scanned the coffee and cream colored skin that lie exposed. The short dress and stiletto high heels emphasized her long, shapely legs and ample curves. She nodded silently at her reflection and ran a manicured hand over the curve of her hips before flicking off the light. Jodi sat bathed in the blue light of the television, the worn brown sofa sagging more than her 80-pound frame was responsible for. "You gonna be back late again?" She asked the question without turning around to face her sister. "Its not a day job, you know that." Ramona walked around to the front of the couch, blocking her sister's view of the t.v. show. Jodi had covered herself with a black and green plaid fleece throw and had pulled it up tight to her chin so that only the tired dark eyes on her 14- year- old face were showing. Ramona knelt in front of her. "I'll be back before breakfast. Get some sleep." She guided her sister onto her side readjusting the blanket around her then kissed her gently on the forehead. "Maybe we'll make some blueberry pancakes in the morning. I know you and Jordan both love those. He may just show you up with how many of them he can eat this time." She watched the tension melt on Jodi's face as she spoke. "Close your eyes and I'll be back before you open them again sleepy head." Ramona said turning off the t.v. set. She stood and walked towards the door, purse in hand and turned back in the darkened room, sure she could see her sister's eyes closed and listening to the rhythmic breathing of her son, fast asleep in his bedroom. Satisfied she left, locking the apartment door behind her. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Bubbles N' Fizz Pub 11:30 p.m. He sat quietly at the bar listening to the inane, inebriated drone of adulterers, philanderers and alcoholics. All in search of their weekend fix. Surely they had come to the right place, Bubbles N' Fizz was crawling with cheap prostitutes and stunk of hard liquor. The smells of Cuervo tequila mingled with the heavy, sickly sweet smell of discount perfume, burning the inside of his nose. He shifted a few stools closer to a smoker, preferring the lingering stale ashtray smell. He watched the man sit there in faded blue jeans and a frayed denim jacket, grasping a tumbler of caramel colored liquid with two large, stained hands. He smelled of smoke and booze and of manual labor, of sour sweat and the musty smell of freshly tilled soil. His short brown hair sat disheveled, his weathered face covered with about two full days' worth of stubble. His green eyes were glazed over, seemingly staring past the multiple colored bottles lining the bar shelf into some place only he knew, some place he likely frequented. His Morely sat beside him in a filthy metal ashtray with about an inch of ash hanging from its top. Thin ribbons of gray smoke swirled around his arms and face and disappeared into the smoky cloud that hung to the low ceiling. He felt a familiar ache rise within him as he watched the man with his stupefied gaze, an envy for how easily he had found his oblivion, a calling to find his own. He glanced down at his glass of flat beer, untouched since he ordered it. He wished he could find his amnesty at the bottom of a bottle but that had never done for him. Agitated, he rubbed his hand over the smooth skin of his clean shaven face. The coolness of his class ring had a soothing effect on him and he brought his hand back down to look at it. Antique silver with garnet and the symbol of the red raiders embossed on the side. It had been a graduation gift from his mother, one of the few gifts she had given him and he still cherished it. He sighed and surveyed the bar with obvious boredom. Drunkards and loose women, the same crowds of them as when he had come in. No one in particular grabbed his attention. He had turned on the stool deciding call it a night when he heard the hinges creak loudly on the front door. His breathing became shallow as he watched her walk in. "Twenties", he immediately observed "and gorgeous. Long black hair and skin the color of milk chocolate with a reveling little black dress and lips an intriguing shade of orange. She's the one, she's it." He tried to calm himself as he thought this, to act nonchalant. She saw him looking at her and she smiled at him, a playful little smile. He smiled back, heart racing in his chest and gestured towards the empty stool to the left of him. His hands trembled as she took the seat, her dress shifting further up to reveal more of her curvaceous legs. "Hello." He offered, leaning in closer to her noticing the absence of a wedding ring. "Hi there. You alone tonight?" Her voice was deep and smooth and obviously practiced. The whole bar seemed to fade as he focused in on her. "Yes", he answered sadly, "alone again." His eyes never left hers, he felt lost in their inky darkness. He knew what she hid in there, her secret, he was almost certain of that now. He'd become so good at spotting it. He'd ask her, he always asked them, just not here. "Well, I think I could help you with that. If your interested." She gave him a wink and a naughty little smile as a selling point. "Yes, yes, of course. Just, not here. Let's go elsewhere." His mouth went dry, his head spun a little as he stood and offered her his arm. She took it, smiling. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx The Road King Motel Route 340 12:32 a.m. He removed the keys from the ignition of the Ford Taraus and clenched them in his left hand. "I have to be honest with you about something..." He looked over at the dark- haired woman on the passenger side who glanced warily at him waiting for him to continue. "I don't want to have sex. But don't get me wrong I'll pay you, up front if you prefer." The plastic on the key tag for the rental car began to cut into his hand so he loosened his grip. "Listen, I don't do any of the strange underground stuff so if that's what you're looking for forget it." She turned pulling the handle of the door to leave. "No, it's not that. Its nothing like that." His palms began to sweat causing the metallic scent of the keys to transfer on to his hands. He dropped the keys into his jacket pocket and brushed his hands across his pants. She hesitated, undecided, eyeing him cautiously. "I'm just lonely." He hung his head as he continued, stared down at the dark red stone on his class ring, offering her an occasional glance off to the side. Her expression softened and she released the door handle. "I guess that's fine, just unusual. So, what did you have in mind?" "If its okay with you it would be nice to go somewhere private where we could just walk and talk. Do you know of a place?" He had her now, he knew it and he began to feel the intoxicating numbness spread throughout his body. "Actually there's a path behind the motel that leads to a park. My sister and I used to play there often. She smiled sweetly as if through a memory. "That's perfect." He followed her lead, after they left the car, as she wound past trees and bushes, past the yellow light of the motel sign. She rambled around, mumbling about childhood games that she had played in the park as they walked on and he chuckled occasionally, pretending to be interested. The evening was warm and humid; the sound of crickets chirping soon became the only other sounds besides their talking. The moon shone on her raven black hair giving it a silken appearance as he allowed himself to catch up with her. Winded, she stopped and he decided to seize the opportunity. "So, what is a girl like you doing in this line of work?" She regarded him seriously for a moment, handbag clenched in one hand as she rubbed a shin with the other. "It's a living." "Well, surely there must be other ways to make a living?" He prodded intent on getting his answer. "Nothing that pays enough to keep a roof over my son's head and food on the table. Nothing I can do at least." "I see." He swallowed hard. He had his answer, now it was time to move. He patted first his pants pockets and then his jacket pockets, being careful not to jingle the keys that rested there. "Oh, no!" "What?" She looked up, quickly concerned. "My keys, they must have fallen out of my pocket somewhere along the path." He groaned for added emphasis. She ran a hand through her hair thoughtfully and turned to look back at the path that lay behind them. "We've stuck pretty much straight to the path, they must be back there somewhere." "Would you help me find them? You seem so familiar with this place." "Its pretty dark but I suppose I could try." She sighed and proceeded to search the trail in the moonlight. As she did so he started a search of his own. He ignored her distant complaints of aching feet and dim light, his breathing grew heavy with excitement as he looked along the path for just the right sized rock. Not so large that he couldn't carry it easily but it had to be large enough...Soon he found it and quietly slipped on a pair of latex gloves he had hidden in his pants pocket, then picked it up slowly, carefully. "Did you find anything?" He could barely hear himself call out past the roar of blood rushing through his head. He peered back over his shoulder, concealing the rock in front of him. "No, I've found and old shoe by this tree but that's all." "Are you sure because I think I may have brushed up against it?" She knelt back down to check again; her back turned to him. He crept closer. "I still don't see it..." He held his breath now as he came closer still. She dropped her shoulders, lowered her head. "No, nothing else is here." He raised his weapon above her almost noiselessly, patiently lined it up with his intended target and then brought it down swiftly with great precision. The rock met the back of her head with a great thud she slumped face forward towards the tree, leaves crunching loudly as she fell. He dropped the rock, now wet and warm and grabbed her under her arms and dragged her limp body back and laid it out neatly. He took a deep breath, noting the warm coppery smell that now filled the surrounding air. He felt a calm coming over him as a sort of autopilot kicked in, a familiar and comfortable sensation. He removed the soiled latex gloves, carefully turning them inside out and exchanged them for a fresh pair. He methodically pulled a black fabric case from his inner jacket pocket, carefully untying it and spreading it out in front of the motionless body. He admired the silver glint of the blades in the pale moonlight, tried to take it all in, to make it last. But he knew he would have to work quickly. Daylight was only hours away. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Denise Neilson Residence July 7th 6:42 a.m. Denise Neilson had started her Sunday morning in much the same manner as she had faced weekends for the past three years after having her husband unexpectedly pass away. She awoke early, the empty spot beside her on the queen bed too difficult to ignore. By six a.m. she showered, casually dressed and admiring her flowerbeds from the kitchen window as she brewed her coffee for one. Breakfast was a simple bowl of bran flakes with skim milk and banana slices, her usual. And as usual Mr. Bones joined her beside the table, the soft clicking of his toenails breaking some of the early morning's silence as he trod across the dining room to greet her. At six years her English sheepdog had lost most of the spunk that he had had as a pup but he still seemed to look forward to their morning walk together. At six-thirty they were out the door. Mr. Bones waited obediently at her side as Denise stretched in the driveway, her 63-year-old body slowly limbering as the heat of the day gradually built. The bright morning sunshine gleaned off the dew as it began its task of re- warming the earth. The morning had started out beautifully, she would remember, mild temperature, blue skies, certainly nothing ominous about it. Denise and Bones started down Peach Street at six-forty-two. Denise walked briskly enjoying the sounds of chirping birds, the noise of traffic buffered by the small patch of woods that lie between them and the much busier 23rd street. That was just one of the reasons she had chosen to remain in her large house in its residential neighborhood. Being able to take long walks with her dog and plant her flowers helped her to keep it together when things got rough. She continued to follow Peach to the walking trail that branched off into the trees. Mr. Bones tugged excitedly at his leash as they turned onto the path and Denise tightened her grip. He'd broken free from her before to chase up rabbits and squirrels and there were plenty of them out here. She'd recently put up wire fencing around her small vegetable garden to keep their damage at bay. Bones snorted as they continued, his large black nose nudging at and sniffing the decaying leaves that crunched beneath their feet. He darted forward, yanking Denise's right arm as he did so. She tugged back quickly, ordering him to heel as a squirrel scolded them loudly from his hiding spot in the treetops, rustling the leaves. Bones whined and danced, wet eyes pleading as he cocked his head to look back at his mistress. Denise sighed to herself, her dog was agitated, uncharacteristically so. She scanned the area, sunlight swirled in spotted patterns across the forest floor, a woodpecker hammered away in the distance and a small furry animal scurried off to the left of the path taking cover under a patch of thorn bushes. Bones stayed oblivious to it all, fixed forwards and softly whining. She reached down with her free hand to pat the thick gray hair that dominated his head and he tilted back to look at her once again, whining loudly as he did so. Something inside of Denise told her to listen to him, a visceral sensation that spoke more loudly than reason. "O.k., Bones, lets go." She told him, allowing some slack in his leash and he took off with an enthusiastic bark. He pulled Denise off to the right of the trail and crashed through the brush with a dry panting sound as he struggled against the collar in his rush. Denise followed, alternating between a jog and a sprint with her left arm held in front of her face to protect her from the tree branches that slapped as she was pulled along. The woods became a whir of trees and ground as Bones raced on with Denise in tow, her knees throbbing, and right hand raw and tingling where the leash had wrapped tightly around. As he continued, unrelenting in his pace she began to worry about finding her way back. He seemed to stall all at once circling slowly and sniffing so deeply that dried bits of papery leaves clung to his damp nose. Denise looked around, somewhat relived to see the trail that led off 22nd street to the park not far ahead of them. Bones sneezed loudly with a shake of his head as Denise tried to slow her breathing. Her lungs burned, her sides ached and she didn't want to think about the trouble her knees would be giving her likely well into the week. Bones tugged again and started for the trail ahead of them, this time giving up his break- neck pace for intensified sniffing as they continued. She had no doubt he was on to something and that they were getting closer. She searched the area closely as they walked, her heart still racing from the run, not knowing what to expect. A twig snapped underfoot and Bones jumped back, an uneasy expression in his eyes as a breeze ruffled his heavy fur. Denise stopped and listened. There were forest sounds, distant traffic and something else as the wind blew. The sound of plastic crinkling as the wind whipped through it. She walked behind her dog with guarded curiosity, the sound intensifying as she approached the path. Trees thinned as they closed in and she saw something. Just a small patch of brown, moving slowly, though not with the wind. She took a few more quick steps and stopped shocked. It was a boy, a young boy not more than eight years old kneeling beside a tree on the other side of the path. His back faced her, brown hair stirring in the breeze. He appeared to be barefoot and in pajamas, cream colored ones with brown cowboys, like the ones her older brother had worn some fifty years ago. "Honey, are you lost?" Denise called out and the boy turned back to face her, tears streamed from his large brown eyes, rolling down onto his pale cheeks. He looked tired, thin and frightened. Denise's concern quickly turned to fear for the child. Something seemed very wrong. "Sweetie, do you need some help? I can help you find your parents." Mr. Bones backed up, intent on turning back and forcing Denise to pull him along as she started towards the boy. The little boy stood as they came forward and turned, darting off into the woods ahead of them. "Wait!" Denise yelled, breaking into a run after him but she stopped abruptly as she crossed the trail, her eyes fixing on the object the boy had been kneeling over. Beside a tall oak tree was a sheet of plastic, black like an oversized trash bag but split open on the sides to make to make a sheet that loosely covered something. Large rocks had been placed around the edges to hold it in place, one of them appeared to be covered in blood. Denise looked up for the boy. He was nowhere in sight. She stood quietly for a moment hoping to hear him, uncertain if he was hurt or traumatized. No new sounds, except for the plastic in the breeze. Reluctantly she looked back down to where the wind had lifted an edge and she peered under. Denise cried out in horror, the sound of her terrified cry sounding foreign to her own ears, her mind reeling as she fought to remain conscious. Mr. Bones twisted, frantically trying to pull away from her and Denise, shocked, lacked the presence of mind to hold tight to him. Mr.Bones escaped what Denise at that moment could not and he ran through the woods, leash dragging, without a look back. XXXXXXXXX J. Edgar Hoover Building, Employee Parking Garage July 9th 7:42 a.m. Dana Scully brushed at the beads of perspiration that had formed on her forehead and shoved back the dampened strands of her coppery red hair for what seemed like the sixth time in the last five minutes. The temperature had reached a sticky 98 degrees Fahrenheit, not too unusual for a summer day in Washington, D.C., but definitely made less tolerable by whatever affliction it was that she had managed to contract. Sweltering heat gave an added edge to what had been intermittent nausea, causing her to swallow at about three times her usual rate just to keep down the meager blueberry muffin she had eaten for breakfast. The building's doors across the parking garage seemed to be growing further away with each step rather than closer. She checked the gold Omega on her left wrist; 7:45, 15 minutes early. She had allotted herself plenty of time as usual to get there. Scully was especially thankful for that habit today; she would need the extra time to freshen up as best she could. She had shed her suit jacket before the drive over but still her white blouse clung stubbornly to her chest dampened by sweat that she could still feel running between her breasts and soaking into her satin bra. She had already loosened as many buttons as she felt she could without becoming risque. The newly parked vehicles offered assaulting blasts of hot air as she trudged on, keenly aware of the sensation of her nylons, warm and wet against her overheated skin. Visible waves of heat rolled across the pavement giving the cars and building a rippling, hazy appearance. The air smelled heavily of hot asphalt and softened tires, the combination of the two caused Scully's stomach to lurch and she quickly pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a gag. As she did so an irritability that had been building all morning rose within her. She had woken groggy and cranky with a gnawing pain in her stomach that she had unfortunately mistaken as hunger. Then, the air conditioning in her Toyota Corolla had picked this particular morning to fail, wheezing out warm, musty puffs and leaving her to choose between its stale breath or to roll down the windows and allow in the summer morning's thick, humid air. Scully chose to unroll the windows and after an uncomfortable drive she arrived at work sticky, hair disheveled and deodorant melted into a sticky slime on her armpits. She did a quick visual check of her underarms. Large, dark rings under both, just as she had suspected. "Damn it." She muttered under breath, hoping not to attract any attention from the various federal employees as they found their way in to work. Scully entered the building silently, slipping her way through the morning's hustle with practiced ease and grabbing no one's attention. This particular ability, she attributed more to her life style choices and less to her division assignment. Although working out of a basement did little to promote one's social life, she noted. She headed straight for the nearest ladies' room with her suit jacket tucked under left arm as her stomach continued it's loud complaint over her breakfast. xxxxxxxxxx Mulder's Office 8:05 a.m. Mulder stood in front of the slide projector, immersed in thought. With hands on hips and a half eaten egg and sausage biscuit lying on it's crinkled yellow wrapper on top of his already cluttered desk, he mentally calculated the time it would take to arrive at Denise Neilson's house via automobile from Washington D.C. He'd already filled out the necessary paper work earlier that morning so that when Scully arrived he could fill her in with the morbid little slideshow he'd put together along with the usual facts, details and speculations and then off they'd go. That is if she'd arrive. Mulder confirmed her tardiness with a check of his Timex Indiglo. He sat down on the edge of his desk, facing the doorway, grabbed a folder and began rummaging through its contents with a husky sigh. He soon heard the familiar clips of her high heels on the floor as she approached and he let the file rest on his lap crossing his arms over his chest as he watched for her. Scully entered the office in rare form. She carried her wrinkled suit jacket under her left arm, her normally neat red hair windblown, her brow shiny with perspiration and her silky white blouse unbuttoned further then Mulder remembered it ever being and clinging tightly to her breasts. Mulder regarded her momentarily, uncertain how to address her on her disarrangement. He cleared his throat feeling suddenly uncomfortable on his desktop and shifted. From his slight movements a pile of papers pushed free from their folder and spilled over the edge of the desk scattering like white leaves across the office floor. Mulder chose to ignore the mess and remain seated. "Where ya been Scully, I've got stuff just piling up here?" Mulder asked choosing to skirt the obvious. "Suffice to say that it hasn't been my morning so far Mulder." Scully answered walking past him to drop her jacket on the table, carefully avoiding the spilt papers. "Well, I hope going on a road trip is in your definition of a better morning Scully. Cause we've got ourselves a case in West Virginia." Mulder leapt off the desk and began gathering the former contents of his folder. "What's in West Virginia?" Scully queried, joining him in the pickup. "A town called Harper's Ferry but more specifically there is the matter of all of this..." Mulder added handing the newly reassembled folder to her. He made adjustments to the slide projector as she read, bringing into focus the heavily marked, naked body of a young women who lay lifeless on a forest floor. Scully looked up from the reading her gaze going immediately to the blatant image and reflexively she breathed out a small huff of air in disgust. Mulder faced Scully, a sober and thoughtful look overtaking his countenance as he launched into his briefing, reciting facts by memory in his usual rapid pace. "We are looking at the late Ramona Stark. Found early Sunday morning next to a local walking trail by a Mrs. Denise Neilson. Ms. Stark is one of seven women found in this fashion. Now, Scully, most of the injuries on her body as with the injuries on the others are believed to have been made post- mortem. Cause of death on all of the victims appears to have been from a single blow to the back of the head so that chances are they never knew what was about to befall them. After death a single incision seems to have been made from the base of the throat to the pubic bone. These women have all been found with their eyes taped shut, bodies concealed under a plastic sheet. There has been no evidence of rape on any of these women and no signs to indicate a struggle." Mulder ended his small speech by clicking through the slides of the other six victims, all very similar to the first. "So exactly what are *we* doing then Mulder?" Scully asked him dead pan. Mulder's eyes widened in an expression of disbelief then shook his head. "C'mon Scully," he complained impatiently, "We just went over this, besides that, the files right there in your hand." Scully laid the folder back on his desk and crossed her arms over her chest as she explained herself. "Yes, I've been through the file Mulder. Photographs, police records and coroner reports of seven women all murdered and mutilated in a ritualistic fashion. The accounts were disturbing at best. I also understand that we are potentially dealing with a serial killer. And I hardly consider a rushed briefing first thing Tuesday morning as being *over this*. Moreover, its not so much the case details that perplex me Mulder, it is your interest in this case that I have yet to understand." Scully raised an eyebrow in question as she waited and attempted to brace herself for the colorful explanation that was sure to follow. "My interest Scully, lies in what motivated Denise Neilson to call me, in a factor that we can not see in these pictures..." Mulder gestured towards the screen behind him as he continued. "But one that has been present upon all of the seven victims being discovered. An apparition of a small boy has been reported as crying over these bodies." "A ghost?" Scully sighed. She lowered her crossed arms to stomach level and pressed them tightly against her torso hoping to squelch some of the angry rumblings that had started there. "Well, that's where things get a little fuzzy." Mulder flipped the projector off and reclaimed his seat on the edge of the desk. "Its not clear if this boy is an actual *ghost* or just a residual imprint resulting from some past tragic event." "Dare I ask?" Scully ventured. Mulder smiled softly, undaunted by her incredulous nature. "Like the entire phantom armies that have been seen marching across battlefields. It's a play back, if you will, of events that have already happened. The soldiers are not actually spirits, their images have just been captured, their energy recorded and then played back when the atmosphere is receptive to it. The principle deals with physics, Scully." "Paranormal physics, I guess that I must have missed that day in class Mulder." "That's alright Scully," Mulder stood and grabbed his navy blue suit jacket from off the back of his chair and retrieved the folder from his desktop. "Because I'll have plenty of time to catch you up on it on the way to Mrs. Neilson's." xxxxxxxxxxxxxx He stirred in his bed, still dreaming, the sound barely registering at first. Until it came again this time more loudly. He opened his eyes wide to the familiar darkness of his bedroom and pushed back his blue chenille bedspread straining to hear. Silence now. But he could have sworn he heard it before, the straining sound the wood made as someone walked up the stairs. He held his breath waiting to hear sounds of footfalls as they approached his upstairs bedroom. The grandmother clock ticked softly downstairs in the living room, and the muted sound of the leaves rattling as the wind shook the maple tree beside his window, nothing else. He felt his heart pounding, shaking the soft cotton fabric of his favorite cowboy pajamas and he swallowed against the lump of fear rising in his throat. He sniffed loudly and ran a trembling hand this bed ruffled brown hair. "Mommy!" He called out, his voice shaky. No reply came so he tried again. "Mommy! I'm scared!" Silence followed again. His sniffling intensified as he wiped at his eyes with a pajama sleeve. Cautiously, he swung his legs over the side of the twin bed. Moonlight cast dark shadows that crawled about his window, scattered onto the floor and crept dangerously close to the edge of the bed. He jumped off, carefully avoiding the shadows lurking on his floor and sprinted to his doorway. "Mommieee!" He called out into the darkness of the hallway. His rapid breaths were the only sound that followed. He swallowed again before turning into the hall and starting down the stairs walking stiffly, eyes scanning rapidly. As he neared the living room the sound came again, a creaking sound not coming from the stairs. He followed it noiselessly down the remainder of the steps, behind the sofa and past the grandmother clock into the entryway. Moonlight bathed the cream colored rug in a warped rectangle giving the appearance of a pale yellow runner that led from the beginning of the entry straight out through the front door and onto the porch. The wind blew again, a warm gust of summer's night air that swept through his hair and tousled his pajamas. The wooden door swung on its hinges, groaning loudly under it's own weight. His feet carried him across the threshold without his mind's consent. He traveled numbly down the porch steps and into the night. The walkway felt cool and coarse on his bare feet, the grass along side the path brushed against the cuffs of his pajama pants leaving them soaked with dew. Crickets chirped somewhere off in the distance, beyond his yard and the white picket fence. The wind had blown the gate open leaving it to crack loudly against the fence with each gust, beckoning him further out into the darkness. He crossed the road and walked into the field beyond rustling through a sea of dampened hip high weeds focused on the small grove that lie ahead. With breaths that came in shaky intervals he closed in on the oak tree. Light broke through its heavy branches spilling onto the motionless figure that lie below it. He knelt down beneath the tree, hot tears spilling onto his cheeks carefully touching the still hand beside him. Nights faded light gave a strange dimension to her pallor that caused him to shudder. "Mommy?" He cried softly, his voice a hoarse whisper. Her hand felt cool against his, a stark contrast to the warm summer air. A dizzying mix of fear and denial filled him and he shook her. "Mommy, mommy, mommy!" Choked sobs escaped him as he continued in vain. The weight of her limp body caused an ache to burn through his arms and shoulders, tiring him. "Mommy, please, please." He pleaded, exhaustion washing over him like a giant wave. Crying, he reached out gently wiping away the orange lipstick that stained her mouth with his pajama sleeve before curling up on the ground beside her. "Don't ever leave me again mommy, just don't leave me again..."He rested his heavy head on her shoulder, stroking the cool skin on her cheek. His breathing slowed. His eyes fought to stay open. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx House of Pancakes Morris, IL July, 9th 9:24 a.m. "More coffee?" The question startled him out of his trance. The young waitress stood poised, a black and silver thermal carafe in hand with fingernails painted the color of lima beans. Errant strands of bleach blond hair framed her youthful face. He imagined that she had probably practiced the failed upsweep on her Barbie doll before trying it out on her self and wondered if the skirt of her brown and orange checkered uniform had been a couple of inches shorter if he would have been looking at a couple of skinned knees. "Sure." He told the child tiredly and she quickly filled his mug before skipping off to the next booth. He stared down at his plate, the big country breakfast, most of it sat there cooling. An orange twist swam in a combination of imitation maple syrup and bacon grease doing little for his appetite. He rubbed aggressively at his eyes, attempting to chase away the groggy sensation that had been weighing him down. He needed to be back in to work the next day but his inability to get a good nights sleep had chased him throughout his time away. If he could just figure out a way to get the nightmares to end... but nothing he tried seemed to help. Sunday morning had been the worst of them, graphic, greatly upsetting. Last night was disturbing and left him exhausted but still paled in comparison. He knew from experience that eventually they would faze out, until the next time. He had hoped with each woman that she would be the one to end it all but he found himself let down once again. The last one had been so beautiful, dark skin and hair but she proved to be the same as all the rest. He sighed and grabbed his steaming cup of coffee. His class ring made a clinking noise as it hit the mug, a sound to him that was more lovelier than wind chimes or a bubbling fountain could ever be. He drank his fourth cup of coffee quickly hoping to keep the sleepy feeling that threatened him and the nightmares that resulted away. It would likely be nights before he could find peaceful rest again, and it would come just in time for the need in him to start to rise again. He set the mug back down, staring at the dark maroon of the garnet on his ring a far away feeling tugged at him, a sensation that had plagued him in his youth, to escape inside of himself. He shook it off. Such complicated feelings always followed the nightmares. Such was the price he paid for a moment's release. ~~~ Denise Neilson Residence July 9th 10:30 a.m. "Can I offer you anything else?" Denise Neilson carefully set two steaming mugs of coffee on the small sofa table in front of Agents Mulder and Scully. "No, this is fine, thank you." Scully smiled politely at the elderly lady. Her stomach burned and gurgled, the smell of the hot coffee adding insult to injury. She had spent most of the ride over fighting to keep her breakfast down. "Mrs. Neilson, why don't you sit down. I have a few questions that I'd like to ask you about what you experienced." Mulder reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew his note pad and a black pen. The psychologist in him broke through, his face showing a complicated blend of concentration and attentiveness as he waited for her response. Denise, relieved of her hostess duties, sank into a nearby gray recliner, her cheerful expression becoming worried. Mr. Bones rounded the corner from the next room, ignoring the guests, and took his spot there next to Denise, nudging her hand with his black nose. Denise smiled softly at him although her eyes stayed troubled and distant as she began to stroke the heavy fur on the top of his head. "Bones just came back home to me last night." She explained. "He was so startled and upset by all of this that he just took off. I was afraid that I'd never see him again." Her faded blue eyes brimmed with tears. "It must have been a very frightening and upsetting experience for both of you." Mulder added sympathetically. "Yes, yes it was." Denise cleared her throat as she looked back up at Mulder. "So, how can I help you to figure all of this out?" "Well, Mrs. Neilson, you could start by telling us exactly what you saw on the morning of July 7th." Scully turned slightly on the sofa to face Denise as she did her best to ignore the acrid scent of the coffee. Denise nodded understandingly and folded her hands in her lap. Mr. Bones lay his head on her right knee with a low sigh, likely protesting the withdrawal of her attention. "Like I explained to Agent Mulder on the phone, Bones and I were taking our morning walk when he seemed to pick up a scent. I let him track it and he took off like lightening. He led us almost all the way to the park. That's when I saw him, just on the other side of the walking trail." Denise sat as if in thought, gently rubbing the knuckles on her right hand. Scully looked over at Mulder, who sat one leg crossed over the other, writing. "Saw who?" She prodded. "The little boy." Mulder looked up, refocused on her. Denise began to look a little embarrassed and shifted in her seat, straightening the folds on her peach polyester blouse as she did so. "I know it sounds strange, I was shocked to see him there as he was, bare feet and pajamas. But that's how I found him, knelt down and crying his little eyes out." "Did he seem to notice you?" Mulder asked, pen ready. "Yes, I called out to him, to ask if he was all right. He turned around and looked at me but he never answered, never spoke, just cried. I walked over to him to help but he just ran away. I would have chased him then but that's when I found the woman." Denise lowered her head to face her dog as if to break from the memory. "Ramona Stark." Scully interjected. "Yes, that's who the police identified her as." "Tell me Mrs. Neilson, did you smell anything that seemed strange or out of place?" Mulder asked. Scully shot him a quizzical look from her end of the sofa, which he did his best to ignore for the time. "No." She replied. "I don't remember anything like that." "How about visual disturbances, flashes of light, a wavy appearance, anything like that?" Mulder quickly continued. Denise shook her head. "No. Nothing like that." "Mrs. Neilson," Scully interjected, " You sound as if you are familiar with this area. Are you certain you haven't seen this boy before? Is it possible that you may not have immediately recognized him due to the way he was dressed and the intense emotional state that he seemed to be in?" "No, I know the neighborhood children here and I am certain that I have never seen him before." Denise sighed to herself before continuing. "You must think I'm crazy too. The police tried to tell me that I just thought I saw him as a result of shock but I saw him *before* I found the body. They searched the missing children database and no one matched the description of the child I saw, I think they just did it to humor me anyway. But I'm not crazy, I know what I saw." "No," Mulder replied promptly, "I don't think that you're crazy, I believe you and I believe in what you saw. What I think is that we are dealing with something supernatural, all though I'm not entirely certain what yet." "Mrs. Neilson," Scully added, "Not everything holds an obvious explanation but there are answers to what you experienced, they just remain to be found." Denise nodded appreciatively at the agents and began to stroke her dog again, nervously. Bones closed his eyes, enjoying the affection. "Mrs. Neilson, I'd like to talk to you now about Ramona Stark." Mulder started. "Did you know either her or her family?" "No. People come and go a lot and Harper's Ferry is very busy this time of year, lots of people come here to vacation. I am familiar with the families in this neighborhood but I don't know too many outside of it, not since my son left home at least." "There hasn't been any one person hanging around lately that might have grabbed your attention?" Mulder asked. Denise frowned and shook her head, no, slowly. "Sorry." Mulder rose from the sofa, replaced the pen and Notebook, and retrieved a business card. Scully stood with him, her stomach groaning audibly with the movement. "My numbers are on here," he explained extending the card towards Denise, "including the one for my cell phone. Please call if you can remember anything else that might help." Denise stood cautiously, slowly distributing her weight to her stiff, aching knees before moving to take the card. Mr. Bones stretched lazily with a slow yawn before joining her. "Thank you for your time Mrs. Neilson." Scully smiled and offered her hand to her. "I hope that you'll find whoever is responsible for what happened to Ms. Stark promptly." Denise said, shaking hands with the agents, her brows furrowed. "And please," she added, " let me know what you find about the little boy, if you do find that he's some type of vision or if he's an actual child. But in the meantime, I'd rather continue to present myself as a crazy old lady then believe that there might be a frightened little boy all alone somewhere." "We'll keep you posted." Mulder said softly and gave Denise's hand a gentle squeeze before releasing. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Crime Scene Walking trail off 22nd street 11:15 p.m. "Mulder, what are we looking for?" Scully allowed the question sooner than she had previously planned to ask it, her patience worn thin as her stomach continued its war against her. Mulder knelt within the yellow square made by the police tape, poking around at the forest debris with a gloved hand. He hung his head, his concentration broken. "Well, what *I'm* looking for, Scully, is for any evidence that may help us determine exactly what type of entity it was that Denise Neilson encountered Sunday morning." "Mulder, the police have already combed this area, plus this is day three and it rained last night. I don't know what kind of evidence it is that you are expecting to find here." Scully stood behind him, arms folded tightly across her chest, visions of her cool air-conditioned bedroom and her comfy bed dancing through her head. "Chances are," Mulder started, standing to face her, "that the police were not looking for the same type of evidence that we would be interested in. Besides, Scully, whatever happened to the good old Girl Scout try?" Scully sighed and resumed her aimless search of the surrounding area. "So what, then, am I to be searching for, Mulder, ectoplasm?" Mulder mocked a smile of hopefulness. "Well, that's not what I'd had in mind Scully, but if you find any please share." He resumed his own search upon seeing her wry smile; he had her help and for the moment that was all he needed. He knew not to expect an enthusiastic Scully but he didn't mind because a dedicated one was just as good. Scully smiled despite herself. She continued to look, uncertain what type of vestige an apparition might leave behind, but looking none the less. Had she been feeling a little better the notion might actually have been amusing but at the moment, thinking it seemed to be adding physical weight to her already aching body. The police tape sagged on its stakes, the leaves below dampened from the evening's heavy rain. The sound of songbirds and chattering squirrels filled the air. Nature seemed intent on reclaiming the area, undaunted by the heinous events that had marked the trail only days earlier. The afternoon heat of the mid-summer's day continued to build, its humidity amplifying the damp sensation of the already wet forest. Mulder removed his glove and rubbed the back of his neck behind his shirt collar. He'd been over and over the crime scene and surrounding area and there was nothing unusual, nothing at all. Whatever it was Denise had seen it left no trace of itself. And as Scully had so kindly pointed out, the police had already gathered up what little evidence that they had found from the murder. Scully sifted absently through twigs and wet leaves further down the path, her hair falling in stubborn strands across her face as she bent forward. "There's nothing out here but acorns and maple leaves, Scully." Mulder called out to her. She looked up at him, expectantly. "What do you say to getting out of here and grabbing some lunch?" Lunch wasn't particularly on her current list of priorities, but relaxing in an air-conditioned booth sure beat digging through forest debris. "Mulder, I'd say that sounds like music to my ears." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Karen's Kitchen Nook 12:05 p.m. Mulder broke from his southwestern burrito wrap to watch Scully stir her chicken and dumpling soup for the hundredth time. She regarded the spoon with obvious revulsion as she pulled it from the ceramic bowl and watched the thick yellow grease slide slowly off of it and back into the soup. Mulder held up his wrap. "You wanna split some?" Scully promptly dropped her spoon back into the bowl. "No, thanks Mulder, I'm not that hungry." Her stomach chose that moment to loudly express its discontent with a drawn out groan. She pressed her left hand tightly to her gut in embarrassment. "Are you alright?" "Yeah, I'm fine. Its probably just a virus." Scully turned away from his prodding gaze and started refolding her paper napkin. She felt like hell but there was no way she was going to start whining about it to him. They were miles from home and she was still capable of working despite the discomfort. Her common sense had certainly not suffered any ill effects from it. She chose then to take the emphasis off of her gastric disturbances and to state her take of the case. "Mulder, I know Denise claims that she saw the boy before discovering Ramona Stark but it's not unreasonable to think that she may be remembering incorrectly." Mulder dropped his dinner back onto his plate, and sat back in preparation as she continued. "It is not uncommon for people who have witnessed a traumatic sight or event to hold false memories of the occurrence. In fact, entire groups of people have been documented as sharing a common distortion of incidents in times of distress. I believe that *she* believes she saw the boy, but I am still inclined to believe what the local law enforcement accepts, that this vision is simply a stress reaction." "Yes, Scully, there has been documentation of group hallucinations and shared misinterpretation of events but this is different, the people who have found these bodies have never even heard of one another. The same apparition has been witnessed at different places and times by completely diff..." Mulder sighed as he broke from his argument to retrieve his ringing cell phone from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. "Mulder." Mulder paused, listening. "...no, we're in Harper's Ferry, we just finished looking over the crime scene... You have? Where?" Mulder's eyes widened. "Wait, just a minute..." He pressed the phone against his ear with his shoulder and grabbed a clean napkin and the pen out of his jacket pocket. "Okay, now where was that?" Mulder scribbled something down as he listened. "Alright, we'll be there a.s.a.p." He lowered the phone from his ear and it beeped quietly as he hit the end button. He turned to Scully, his voice hopeful. "That was A.D. Skinner, there's a survivor in Bloomington, Illinois, Sheryl Porter. She was attacked by some guy who followed her out of a bar last night, says he attacked her with a knife. She's at Grace Memorial Hospital and in relatively good condition considering what happened to her." "Illinois?" Scully questioned, her fatigue finding its way into her voice. Mulder fished a few dollars from out of his pants pocket and tossed them onto the table beside the glass salt and pepper shakers before meeting her eyes. "I hope you packed your overnight bag, Scully." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Grace Memorial Hospital Bloomington, Illinois 4:15 p.m. Whatever Bloomington, Illinois lacked in similarities to Harper's Ferry, was made up for with the stifling heat that held the city in a choke-hold. The thick, wet air prowled slowly about the city like vaporous spirits, clinging to all who dared to venture from the air-conditioned comfort of their homes or business. Scully found her way to the hospital entrance through the fog of heavy humidity. Nine hours since the start of her work day and she found herself in much the same position as she had been upon arriving to work; hot and sticky with a cranky digestive system and her hair and wardrobe fighting her every movement. The flight to Illinois had done little to help any of it. And Mulder had managed to score the air- conditioned police station. This certainly had not been one of the highlighted aspects of joining the FBI as a forensic pathologist. Scully slowed as she reached the hospital doors. People pushed past her hurriedly, some obviously annoyed in their rush to and from the looming building. She fixated on the glass of the automatic doors as they opened, closed, then opened again. Anxiety spread through her as if her ultimate fate would be decided just by walking through them. She had walked through similar doors before with nothing but their hydraulic whoosh and rush of antiseptic scent to herald that the life she had known would be forever changed. Even with her cancer in remission now, she couldn't help but remember how quickly it had come into her life. How it had threatened everything she knew. Scully was shaken from her thoughts as someone shoved abruptly into the back of her left leg. She looked down to meet her chubby-cheeked assailant. "I sowey." The little girl offered. Her pigtails curled into chocolate colored ringlets and she smelled faintly of peanut butter. She couldn't have been more than three, Scully realized. "Katie Leigh!" A panicked voice called and a lady in a white tank top, cutoffs, and curly dark hair pushed her way to them through the crowd. She pulled the girl away by her arm, scolding her as she did so. "I can't have you running off like that, you had me frightened to death!" Scully heard her continue as she guided the child through the entrance. Scully shook off her previous thoughts. She was well, except for what was most likely a case of viral gastroenteritis, which didn't warrant such strong emotion. She continued her way into the hospital thinking of Sheryl Porter and the possibilities that she held to reveal something that may well turn the case around. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Bloomington Police Department Bloomington, Illinois 4:25 p.m. "Pretty nasty, aren't they?" Mulder looked up from the police photographs of Sheryl Porter as Detective Larson stood over his shoulder, coffee mug in hand. "They're not my idea of good pinups if that's what you mean." Mulder quipped. Detective Larson snorted back at him. He pointed to the picture in hand. "See that knife work? This guy just really likes to cut. Now isn't that what you've been finding with the other victims?" Mulder sighed to himself as he slid the photographs into their file folder and handed them back to the detective. "No, not really." "What do you mean?" He asked, his posture taking more of a defensive stance as he placed his hands on his hips. "I mean that this guy is disorganized and lacking the kind of control that the killer has been demonstrating. He is most likely a lot younger then the killer too. He's not our guy." "I disagree; I think he was just rushed." Detective Larson reached to close his office door behind them, muffling some of the sound of ringing phones and the slur of many people trying to talk over one another. "When he followed and attacked her at her apartment, I don't think he realized she had room mates or he at least didn't think that they would be home so soon. He was surprised and he had to work fast. He left her for dead and then ran for it. Even the pros get sloppy at some point." "Yeah, and I expect that this guy will mess up at some point too, but I believe the actions that you are describing are uncharacteristic to him. You said he left Sheryl Porter for dead?" Mulder asked. Detective Larson set the file down and took a seat behind his small desk. "Yes, her room mates found her lying in a puddle of her own blood in the middle of the living room with all the lights in the place still off. One of them thought she was dead, with her lying there still all covered in bruises and bleeding." "How did they find her, how was she lying?" Mulder pressed, an intent look on his face. The detective sat forward, resting on his elbows. "Face down, arms and legs sprawled out which doesn't seem too unusual considering she probably passed out struggling. She took quite a knock to the back of the head." Mulder shook his head. "None of the other victims were found prostrate; they were all on their backs, all meticulously placed. Also, there were no signs of struggle in any of the others; they were likely dead before they knew what was happening to them." Mulder approached the detective's desk and tapped on the file folder. "I think you had it right before with what you said about this guy who attacked Sheryl Porter." "What's that?" "This guy just really likes to cut." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Grace Memorial Hospital Intensive Care Unit Fourth Floor 4:35 p.m. Scully waited impatiently in front of the intensive care unit desk for the one nurse who wasn't running around to end her phone conversation so she could tend to her own business. She checked her watch. Ten minutes had already passed since she had entered the ward and she was still waiting. The nurse hung up the phone and turned around as if to leave the nurses station. "Wait, I could use some help here." Scully called out after her. She returned to the desk, her thin lips pursed. "What do you need?" Scully pulled her credentials from her pants pocket and held them out for her to see. She read the nurse's nametag as she did so. "Nurse Miller, I am Special Agent Dana Scully with the FBI. I'm here to investigate the attack that was made on Sheryl Porter. I would like to review her medical chart and then speak with her, please." Nurse Miller shook her head; her tightly curled, short, gray hair held its place perfectly as she did so. "I can't do that." Scully paused briefly. "I'm also a medical doctor." She added replacing the credentials back in her pocket. "Is that so?" Nurse Miller asked her voice flat and clearly unimpressed. She began straightening papers on the desk. "Well, you'll have to speak to the admitting physician." Scully sighed exasperated. "And who is that?" "Dr. Voight but he was on supper break last I checked." Scully rubbed a hand over her throbbing forehead. "Do you have any idea what proper protocol is for this situation? " She started. "What's going on here?" Scully turned to face the older man in the white lab coat who had come up from behind her. "Dr. Voight, back from supper already?" Nurse Miller asked. "Yes, I just grabbed something at the cafeteria quickly. What's going on?" He repeated. Scully retrieved her credentials from her pants pocket. "Dr. Voight, I'm Dana Scully with the FBI. I am investigating the attack on a patient of yours, Sheryl Porter." Dr. Voight nodded approvingly at her credentials and she returned them to her pocket. "What can I do for you Ms. Scully?" He smiled warmly at her, his deep brown eyes locked on hers. "I would like to take a look at Sheryl Porter's chart before I speak with her." "She's also a doctor." Nurse Miller added dryly without looking up from her work. Scully decided to bite her tongue in the interest of the case. "A doctor as well as a federal agent?" Dr. Voight ran a hand over his well -combed, steel gray hair. "Yes, well actually a forensic pathologist." Scully added with slightly embarrassed smile. She really didn't feel up to discussing her career decisions with strangers. "Well, by all means then Dr. Scully. Let us know if there is anything else that Mercy Memorial can do to assist in this matter." Dr. Voight placed his right hand on her shoulder before continuing to approach the nurse's station. "Nurse Miller, please get Ms. Porter's file for Dr. Scully." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX End of Chapter 2. Continued in Chapter 3. Author's Note: Many thanks to Brandi, Foxcat and Memento1 for being the greatest Beta's ever and for being one heck of a good cheerleading squad. Midnight's Sorrow, Chapter 3 Disclaimer in Chapter 1 Mercy Memorial Hospital Intensive Care Unit Bloomington, Illinois July 9th 4:50 p.m. Scully knocked twice on the door for room 392, before slowly pushing it open. She stood in the open doorway. "Sheryl Porter?" She asked the young woman that roused in the hospital bed. Sheryl nodded at Scully groggily and slowly sat up, revealing a gauze bandage that covered most of her left cheek. She pulled the blue knit blanket tightly to her chest as she regarded her intruder. Scully produced her credentials under Sheryl's unwavering scrutiny. "I'm Agent Scully, with the FBI. I'm sorry to wake you, but there are a few questions that I would like to ask you." Scully explained. "What's this about?" Sheryl interrupted, her hazel eyes large and glazed. She dropped her gaze from Scully, tugged again at the hospital blanket and began to spin the identification bracelet on her left wrist. Scully watched her closely; according to her chart the head injury she sustained produced little more than a small lump on the top of her head. The knife wounds were more serious, requiring numerous stitches and a regimen of antibiotics, but her internal organs were spared, as was her vascular integrity. She was under the influence of her pain medicine but the staff had reported her as being lucid. Scully replaced her credentials and stepped further into the room, thankful for the reprieve that the dim lighting provided from the harsh florescent lights that lined the hallways. She made a mental note to stop at the hospital pharmacy for some ibuprofen tablets on the way out. "They're beautiful," Scully replied, motioning towards a large arrangement of white and red long stem roses on the table beside Sheryl. "They're from my fiance, Scott." Sheryl smiled proudly at the flowers, some of the initial alarm leaving her face. "How long have you been engaged?" Scully asked, noting the tension easing with her mention of him. She pulled up a seat to Sheryl's bedside. "Two years: we decided right after graduating from high school but we both wanted to go to college first. We go to Wesleyan University together now." "What's your major?" "I haven't chosen a major yet. Scott is going for accounting." Scully nodded at her again, preparing to switch gears. "You reported being attacked by a man who followed you out of a local bar yesterday afternoon. You talked with the police about it earlier." Sheryl clasped her hands together and set them on her lap; she watched them as she answered. "Yes, like you said, I already spoke to the police about that." Scully nodded at her, attempting to understand her reservations. "If it's all right with you, I'd like to go over some of that again." "Yeah, fine," she replied shortly. "May I ask what you were doing at Charlie's Lounge yesterday evening?" Scully watched Sheryl squirm in her hospital bed, seeming suddenly very uncomfortable there. "I was having a quick drink after work." Sheryl snapped. "Were you alone?" Scully asked softly. "Yes, I already went over all of this with the police." Sheryl sighed impatiently and began to fidget with the edge of her blanket. "I realize that but I feel it's important that we go over it again." Scully crossed her legs. "Did you recognize anyone there?" Scully continued. "No, I just went for a quick drink." Sheryl's voice took on more of a defensive edge. "The man who attacked you, did he speak to you inside of the bar?" Scully continued. Sheryl wrinkled her face in disgust. "Yes, he hit on me. He offered to buy me a drink but I told him no. I explained that I am happily engaged but he just got pissed off and knocked over some bar stools. I thought he left then but he must have been waiting in his car so he could follow me." Her bottom lip trembled slightly as she finished. She finger-combed her long blond hair angrily, fighting off the urge to cry. Scully shifted in her seat slightly; her pants suddenly seemed painfully tight around her sensitive abdomen. "And you've never seen this man before?" "No, I've never seen him before. I've said that, I've been over all of this. There's some kind of fucking freak running around attacking women and you're in here asking me redundant questions." She shouted. Sheryl blotted at the tears that streaked her exposed right cheek with a shaky hand. "I'm tired; I just want to rest now. If there's anything else you need to know you can ask the damn police." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Charlie's Lounge, Parking Lot 1460 College Boulevard Bloomington, Illinois 5:45 p.m. "Sheryl Porter is hiding something, Mulder." Scully asserted from her seat on the passenger side of the rental car as they pulled into the parking lot for Charlie's Lounge. Mulder pulled the vehicle into a parking space alongside the front wall of the decrepit brick building and stopped the car before turning in his seat to face her. "Based on what you've told me, Scully, that may be so but I still don't believe that her attack ties in with any of the murders." Mulder spoke softly but insistently, his eyes focused on her. Scully leaned in further to argue her point, choosing presence over volume. "Mulder, I wouldn't dismiss it at this point, something is amiss here. I believe Sheryl Porter's behavior is indication that there is something more to this attack then what we are seeing and what we are being told." "It's possible, Scully, but it doesn't necessarily mean that whatever Sheryl Porter may be hiding is even pertinent to our investigation. Besides, there was something else that turned up at the police station. The women who have been murdered have all had a history of prostitution. I don't know if its even relevant, if this guy holds an actual preference for these types of women or if they're just easy picking. Either way, Sheryl Porter doesn't seem to fit that description." "Mulder, the only description that I find that Sheryl Porter fits under right now is suspicious." Mulder sighed, momentarily defeated, and leaned back in his seat. Scully watched him silently as he slid the rental keys into his pants pocket. "Well, Scully, shall we go and mingle with the good folks at Charlie's Lounge then?" He asked from his semi-reclined position. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Charlie's Lounge 6:20 p.m. "I don't feel like I'm blending with this crowd too well, Scully." Mulder leaned over in his booth seat and spoke directly into her ear in hopes of being heard over the rambunctious crowd that had gathered at the lounge. A sea of local college students had overwhelmed the tiny, aged building within the last half-hour. People stood in the corners of the room, behind barstools and at the bathroom entrances. The small window air-conditioner rattled, failing to keep up with the challenge of cooling the over-crowded building. Cigarette smoke seemed to have gathered into a collective cloud that covered the inside of the room: making it difficult to clearly see anyone who wasn't close. "Well, you might stand a chance, Mulder, if you can get your head under the beer spigot." Scully yelled back to him over the noise. Mulder smiled and nudged her foot with his. "You'd know Scully, you've got me beat on college years. You should be the life of the party by now." "Which one of you ordered the shredded beef sandwich?" The waitress stood poised, with a dinner basket in her right hand and a tray of beer balanced at shoulder height with the left. "That would be me." Mulder pushed his soda aside to make room for his supper. "Can I get you anything?" She asked Scully as she set the basket of hot food in front of Mulder. "Just another cola, please." Scully replied and placed her empty glass near the edge of the table. The crowd directly behind them roared in laughter. "Do it again!" Someone shouted and the gathering backed closer to the table, still chuckling and hooting. A brief moment of silence was followed by vigorous clapping and cheering at whatever performance had occurred within the encasement of the crowd. People stumbled away, drinks in hand, in various directions, shoving past one another. The waitress fought to keep the tray upright as people bumped into her on her way through. A young man with spiky blue hair and black jeans attempted to stagger past, clearly finding the act of walking alone challenging without the maze of people that congested the way. He tripped across someone, who loudly declared his disgust, and landed against the booth, his glass of beer splashing its contents onto Scully. Scully gasped in surprise. "I am sooo sorry, some asshole must've pushed me." The blue-haired guy apologized to her, slurring heavily as he attempted to stand back up. "But I'm a nice guy, tell you what I'm gonna do, I'm gonna buy you a drink. Whatever you want. Just you say the word." He continued, swaying as he stood over her. "No, thank you." Scully replied coolly, reaching for the box of napkins. "I'm fine." She grabbed a handful and began dabbing at her blouse. "Oh, shit, you're all wet. Its my fault, let me help you out with that..." He grabbed a napkin from the box and pressed it onto her chest. "No!" Scully abruptly backed away from him. Mulder grabbed his wrist before he had a chance to react, and stood, pulling him away from the table. "She said that she's fine, now get out of here." He released his wrist and the blue haired guy stumbled away, his hands raised in a submissive gesture. "Are you alright, Scully?" Mulder asked, reclaiming his seat in the booth. "I'm fine, Mulder." She replied, shortly. "And, I could have taken care of that guy on my own." She continued to blot at her beer stained blouse. "Another minute, Scully, and he would have been all over you." "You think I would have let it go that far, Mulder?" "That's not what I'm saying, I just don't think you saw the way that creep was looking at you." Mulder sighed and poked at the red and white checkered, waxed paper that lined his basket. "I'm going to go and get cleaned up." Scully said, dropping the soiled napkins and sliding out of the booth. Mulder tapped her gently on the wrist before she left the seat. "Are you sure you don't want anything, you haven't eaten much today?" "No, thanks, Mulder, my stomach is not up to bar food at the moment." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX The ladies room at Charlie's Lounge proved to be just as crowded as the rest of the establishment. Scully waited in line for a chance at the hand dryer in the small, two-stall bathroom. "Oh, my god, what happened to you?" A woman in a pink and white, mid-riff shirt and hip huggers questioned loudly, noting Scully's wet blouse. "Someone spilled their beer on me." Scully replied, deadpan. "That happens. Things can get a little wild around here but usually it's nothing major, just people trying to have some fun. Except for yesterday, that was frightening." She added, flipping her long brown hair back and rearranging it. "You were here yesterday?" Scully asked, her interest peaking. "Yeah, I come here a few times a week, except for during midterms." She added while digging through her black, crocheted purse. "So, you saw what happened then?" "Yes, I did. I can't even believe that Sheryl was talking to Mark and then to think he freaked out on her and later she was found all messed up in her apartment. I would just stay clear of that guy, nothing but trouble." She stopped searching through her purse and looked up at Scully. "Do you have any hairspray?" "No, sorry. Now, you said that the name of the guy she was talking to in the bar yesterday was Mark?" Scully moved ahead with the line, following the woman in the pink top closely. A bathroom stall opened up. "Do you have to go?" She asked Scully. "Cause I just came in here for some touch ups." She fished a tube of lipstick out of her purse as she spoke. "No, I was just waiting for the dryer." She nodded at her before continuing. "Yeah, his name is Mark Russell. He's not very well known around campus, unless you're into hard core partying. He's been banned from campus actually." She stopped to apply the berry red colored lipstick. Scully stepped out of line completely, forgetting the dryer and stood beside her at the mirror. "Why has he been banned from campus?" She prompted. "Drug charges, from what I understand. And he's not even a student at Wesleyan U. anyway, I mean, he's gotta be 30 something." She paused and looked at Scully. "No offense." She added. Scully crossed her arms over her chest. "None taken. So what was it that Sheryl and Mark Russell were discussing that escalated into the scene that it became?" "I don't know. They were quietly speaking and then the next thing I knew he was throwing barstools and calling her a lying bitch. Like I said, beats me why anyone would want to speak to him in the first place." She exchanged the tube of lipstick for a compact of translucent powder. "May I have your name?" Scully asked her. She stopped applying the powder and turned to face Scully, her face questioning. "I'm Agent Dana Scully with the FBI, and what you just told me may be helpful information for the case on Sheryl Porter's attack." She explained while showing her identification. "They called the FBI in on this?" "Well, it's more complicated then that actually but you may be called in for questioning on what you have told me." She slipped the translucent powder back into her bag, her interest on Scully. " Yeah, okay. My name is Angel Forester." "Here is my card, Ms. Forester, please call if you can think of anything else that might helpful into this case." Scully offered her a business card from out of her pocket. "I will *so* do that." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX The Economy Inn Off of Highway 51 Bloomington, Illinois 7:45 p.m. "Well, I just got off the phone with detective Larson." Scully turned on the edge of her bed to face Mulder who had been lingering at the doorway during the phone call. "They plan to re-question Sheryl Porter based on what Angel Forester claims she saw in Charlie's Lounge last night. Also, it seems that Mark Russell has quite the history: assault, battery, theft, drug use and they suspect that he is involved in dealing as well." She explained, pushing the rotary phone back onto the small, wooden, nightstand and kicking off her shoes. Mulder nodded, still leaning against the battered doorframe, hands shoved deep inside of his pants pockets. "And you found this out in the ladies room?" "Strangely, yes." Scully shivered and pulled the orange and brown plaid bedspread loose from the bed and wrapped it around her, tightly. "Maybe I should start using the ladies room." He quipped, expressionlessly. "Mulder, I doubt you'll find a break through on the existence of a conspiracy involving government knowledge of extra terrestrials in the ladies room." Scully replied as she curled up on the side of the bed facing Mulder, only her face peaking out of the bedspread. "Then I guess I'll have to stick with my usual connections." He stepped away from the door to sit on the corner of the bed. "Speaking of which, Scully, I'm thinking of calling the boys in on this one. Perhaps our nimble fingered computer geniuses could turn something up on the killer." "Do you think so?" Scully questioned tiredly from her blanket burrito. "Well, if the killer is indeed one guy then he's been doing some traveling. Something's got to come up somewhere. There has to be some kind of trail with all the technology that's involved in going someplace these days." Mulder's voice softened in response to Scully's sleepy state. "Connect the dots." Scully mused, her voice hoarse and distant. "Yeah, kind of." Mulder smiled down at her. "Okay." Scully smiled back detachedly. Mulder reached over and gently patted the wrapped up blanket that sat over her legs. "Get some sleep." He whispered and stood, turning, to leave the room. "And Scully," He started, turning back to face her momentarily. "Yeah?" She asked, her voice deep, eyes heavy. "You reek of beer." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX He sat up in his bed with a jolt. Thunder rolled through the sky, rattling the windows throughout the darkened house. Rain pounded at the rooftop, only feet above his head, as he stared, wide eyed, into the darkness. Lightning struck suddenly with a painfully bright flash as it illuminated the neighborhood, giving the momentary appearance of daylight with an eerie blue glow. He watched from his window as his tire swing swung freely in the maple tree as if inhabited by some ghost child; before darkness once again claimed the night, taking the tree and all of its surroundings from his view. Thunder rumbled again and he hugged his blankets through its final vibrations as his heart pounded in his chest. "Momma?" He called out into the darkness with a hoarse voice. Seconds passed slowly as he waited. Lightning bolts streaked the sky with white, bony fingers that sprang out from the clouds, and reached for anything within their grasp. Angry growling immediately followed their failed attempt and the ground trembled. "Mommy? Mommy, I'm scared!" He listened for her response, hearing the sounds of pouring rain between his own shaky breaths. Lightning crashed overhead, a vibrant, white vertical bolt that was immediately followed by a loud snap and crackling. He held his breath as he watched the street's lights, off in a distance, dim, and flicker before going black. He jumped from his bed and ran to the light switch beside his door. He flipped it once, twice, three times: no lights. "Mommy!" He rounded the corner from his door into the hallway, hands on the wall, to guide himself along. With bare feet he padded down the hall, the distance to his mother's room impossibly long in the darkness. The driving rain continued creating the sound of sand pouring through a giant hourglass. Lightning flickered offering an occasional source of momentary light as he made his way down the hall. He stopped in front of his mother's doorway, hands meeting the closed door. "Mommy, I'm scared." He called, rapping on the door. "I'm scared, I wanna come in. Please, momma." He pleaded from the doorway, and shuddered in the darkness that surrounded him. Thunder rumbled again and he quickly swung open the door and ran in, shutting the door and closing out everything that lay behind him. The room seemed dark and unfamiliar in the storm. He walked cautiously through, narrowly avoiding the looming dresser that sat against the wall. He held his hands out to protect himself as he continued. Lightning flashed, giving him a view of the bed, and the woman who lay bundled in the covers, sleeping soundly. "Mommy!" He walked more quickly now, approaching the edge of the bed in the dark, from memory. He stopped at the side, watching her in fleeting glances as the flashes of lightning continued, her presence soothing him. He reached out his hand to stroke her hair; so soft and silky, the coppery red color barely visible in the light of the storm. She stirred as he touched her, moaning softly beneath the orange and brown plaid bedspread. Her skin felt hot to the touch and clammy but real. "I'm so glad you're here mommy..." He whispered, not wanting to wake her. "I'm just so glad you're here." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX End of Chapter 3. Continued in Chapter 4. Author's Notes: Thank you to Brandi, Foxcat and Memento1 for their ongoing help and support. I have been Beta-blessed times three. Feedback is always welcomed and I'll even send a note back your way. Feel free to e-mail me at Semantics@writeme.com Midnight's Sorrow, Chapter 4 Disclaimer in Chapter 1 The Economy Inn Bloomington, Illinois July 10th 1:45 a.m. Scully stirred in her bed, not ready to let go of the sleepy sensation that still grasped her, but plagued by a nagging feeling that something was wrong. Thunder rumbled somewhere outside of her dreamy state; a storm had crept in as she slept. But there was something else, something that kept her teetering on the edge of sleep and wakefulness although she desperately craved the deep restful state she had just known. There was a quiet sound among the noises of the storm, so soft, like a child's whisper. Hotels housed many night noises, she knew that well. But this sound was faint yet so clear, when it should have been lost in the noise of the thunder; unless, of course, the source was close to her, very close. She turned over onto her left side with a low groan. The clothes she had failed to change out of rubbed against her skin like sandpaper. She hurt, she realized as her dreaminess faded away, and she felt cold, very cold. Scully pulled the bedspread tightly to her chest, her head throbbing, as she reached for the hotel alarm clock on the small nightstand. No red numbers indicated the time, just a black face. The power was out. She began to settle back in, wrapping the quilted blanket around her as tightly as she could when she heard it again: a sound like a low sigh. Scully sat up and stared into the darkness, searching blindly for the source of the strange noise. Her eyes struggled to make out the shapes in the black of the room, scanning over barely visible borders of furniture that she was unfamiliar with. Nothing seemed out of place but she couldn't see clearly, couldn't shake the eerie feeling that now held her. Lightning flashed. Beside the window, she quickly made out the empty table and the chair that her suit jacket lay draped over, before the light faded from the room. She sat still, straining her ears; listening to the sounds of her ragged breaths, and to the rumblings of the thunder. Another bolt illuminated the room. She scanned things over. The dresser was still untouched, and the door, still closed and locked. Darkness reclaimed the room. Scully sat, poised, ready for the next flash, her hand outstretched for the drawer in the nightstand. She opened it slowly and reached inside until her hand made contact with cool metal. She grasped her gun, feeling the weight of it in her hand, and feeling the weight of her impending decision in her head. She slipped the gun under her blanket. Another faint sound and lightning flashed again, multiple times but only seconds long, the flickering blue light giving the room the choppy illusion of an old picture show. Scully's breath caught in her throat: something appeared to be moving by the right side of the bed. Scully strained to see in the darkness; her eyes seemed to be picking up on a slight form beside her, small like a child. Her heart raced in her chest as she leaned forward, breath held, trying for a better look. Thud, thud, thud. The sudden sound startled her from her trance. Thunder crashed again outside the window, fading with a low guttural growl. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX "Scully, are you in there?" Mulder called out and knocked harder. Thunder crashed loudly as he waited in the darkened hallway for her reply, a mag-lite in hand. "Scully?" "Mulder!" Her reply came, urgent, though slightly muffled from the other side of the door. "Scully!" Mulder paused to listen to the sound of someone running inside of the room. "Scully, open up!" He called hoarsely as he reached out to test the knob, shaking the locked door in frustration as he did so. The lock rattled from the other side and the door finally swung open. "Scully?" Mulder directed his flashlight beam into the open doorway. Scully stood there in trained defensive posture, her back to the wall with her gun pointing into the darkened room. "Scully, what's going on?" Mulder asked cautiously stepping into the doorway. "Mulder, something is in there." She stared back nervously over her shoulder at him as lightning lit the room temporarily. "What, Scully, what's in there?" He asked her, concern rising within him as he joined her side. "I don't know what it is, Mulder, but I heard something, I saw it moving beside my bed." She spoke quickly, agitated, her bottom lip trembling slightly as she stopped to look up at him in the dim yellow glow from the flashlight. Mulder held his hand out motioning for Scully to stay put, and he walked into the dark of the room. He unbuttoned the holster for his gun and slipped it free. Thunder rumbled, its echo sounding more distant now as he swept his flashlight beam across the floor and over the furniture. The dresser, table and chairs, and night stand, all as they had been when he'd left Scully's room earlier that evening. The windows were closed. Mulder turned back towards the bed, kneeling, directing the light from his flashlight underneath it. "Oh my god!" he exclaimed, still peering under the bed, "I can't believe this." "What is it?" Scully asked from beside the doorway. "Scully, I don't think housekeeping has vacuumed underneath here for months," Mulder replied from his kneeling position. Scully sighed to herself, disgusted. "I'm looking Scully; I'm just not finding anything here." Mulder stood and walked into her bathroom to examine it. "Is it possible that you dreamt this?" He asked shining the light into the empty shower. "Mulder, I was awake. I had been sleeping, but I woke up," Scully insisted lowering her gun into a neutral position. "I just don't see anything unusual here except for the heat, Scully. Damn, it's hot in here," he continued, stepping out of the bathroom and joining her at the door. He felt the damp circles that had begun to form on the underarms of his tee shirt. "I turned the air off before I went to sleep." She explained. The alarm clock started to blink 12:00 from across the room. "The powers back on." Scully observed and reached over and flipped the light switch, wincing at the sudden brightness. She pushed past Mulder, feeling embarrassed at how she felt she had presented herself only moments before. She made her way to the bed and began to rearrange the bedspread. Mulder followed her over to the bed. He watched her quietly as she neatly turned the covers down. "So, what is it that you thought you saw, what did it look like?" Scully sighed and dropped her head. "I don't know Mulder, you were probably right; I probably dreamt the whole thing." Scully wrapped her arms tightly around herself, shivering. Mulder nodded at her, portraying a type of solemn agreement. Whatever had frightened her, she had signed it off now, he realized. "Are you feeling alright?" He asked, reaching out and nudging her crossed arms. Her arms felt hot to his touch. Mulder gently brushed a hand over her forehead and down her cheek. "Scully, you're burning up." He pulled back for a better look at her, noticing her flushed cheeks and pale face. "I'm fine, Mulder, I just need some more ibuprofen." Scully backed away from him to reset her alarm clock. "So, why were you knocking at my door in the middle of the night, Mulder?" She asked. Mulder shoved his hands into his jean pockets. "That guy that Angel Forester claims she saw arguing with Sheryl Porter, Mark Russell..." He started. "What about him?" Scully turned back to face Mulder. "The police picked him up about forty-five minutes ago for creating a public disturbance at a local Value-Shopper." Mulder explained. "He was shedding clothing all the way down the produce aisle. Perhaps needless to say, he was higher than a kite, and although his altered state suppressed his inhibitions, it had no such affect on his mouth." Scully raised a questioning eyebrow from her place beside the nightstand. Mulder smiled softly at her and continued. "He pretty much confessed to attacking Sheryl Porter without even being asked. Thanks to his self-medicating, he was so paranoid, he thought the police already had that on him, and he started defending his actions before they even reached the station." "So, what happened then?" Scully asked. "Well, the police played into his fears to keep him talking and it worked to some degree. According to Mark, he and Sheryl Porter were romantically involved. Also, he's convinced that she stole a large amount of money from him, which is strange since he has been unemployed for the last eight months and he has no bank accounts anywhere." Mulder continued. "And that's why he claims to have attacked her?" "Basically, yes, although there is likely more to it then that but that's where his cooperation ends. So, the next step here is to approach Sheryl Porter with this." "At two in the morning?" Scully questioned, doubtfully. "No, she's still a patient in the intensive care unit, it'll have to wait until a more reasonable hour, but I thought you might want to know that your tip from the ladies room seems to be holding some water. No pun intended." Mulder paused briefly. "I tried to call you, Scully, but you didn't answer and I started to wonder if everything was okay." "Mulder, I never even heard the phone ring." Scully sat on the edge of the bed, facing him, her eyes feeling heavy once again. "I tried both your cell phone and the phone on your nightstand, Scully." He sat down beside her. "Maybe the noise from the storm drowned it out." "When did you try calling?" Mulder checked his wristwatch. "About ten minutes ago." "No, Mulder, I was awake then, I was listening to the storm, that's when I thought I heard something in the room." Scully reached across to the nightstand and grabbed her cell phone. She shook her head. "I must have accidentally turned it off." She explained looking at its blank screen. "Well, what about the room's phone?" Mulder motioned towards it from his spot on the bed. Scully picked up the receiver and held it to her ear. Silence. She pressed the button to hang up a few times and waited for a dial tone. No tone or static. "I don't understand, it worked earlier when I spoke to Detective Larson. Did he call you on your cell phone?" "Yes, Scully, but I called for a wake up call on my room phone when I saw the power had gone out." Mulder stood and walked over to the nightstand. He pushed the wooden stand back away from the wall. The phone line lay disconnected on the matted green carpeting. "I think we just ruled out storm damage." Scully's eyes grew large in disbelief, her mouth slack. "Mulder, I didn't disconnect the phone." Mulder plugged the phone cord back in and picked the receiver up. The dial tone hummed. "Are you certain?" He dropped the phone back onto its cradle and turned back to Scully. "Scully, you're feverish and tired; it's possible you did it while you were still half asleep." "Mulder, I doubt I would forget doing something, especially when presented with it. If you are implying that I am so ill that I can no longer account for my actions..." Tears of anger threatened to spill down her cheeks. Mulder shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "Scully, no, I'm not implying anything..." He rested his elbows on his knees and looked down to the floor as if seeking inspiration in the aged green shag. "Listen, we're both tired and I realize that you're not feeling well. So let's just get some rest, and we'll talk about this in the morning. Alright?" Scully nodded, still avoiding his eyes. Mulder stood and walked towards the door. He turned back as he opened it. "Get some sleep, Scully, after Sheryl Porter ties up some lose ends tomorrow; it's back to D.C. for us." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX July 10th 9:50 a.m. "Lose the monkey suit, man," was the greeting Melvin Frohike received from his longhaired associate as he poured his first cup of coffee for the morning. "It's out of respect, you ingrate." Frohike quipped, replacing the thermal carafe that they had situated between the fax machine and one of many computer hard drives. Langley and Byers both turned to him from their work sharing similar blank expressions. Or at least what he presumed was blank on Langley; his glasses reflected back the computer screen. Frohike took his first sip of coffee. "I'm going over to the Hoover building..." He continued confidently. Byers and Langley shrugged shoulders and returned to their work. "Since when are you trying to impress the Feds?" Langley grumbled, his long blonde hair covering up the AC/DC logo on the back of his black T-shirt as he clicked away at his keyboard. "Well, I can think of one fed Frohike would want to impress..." Byers retorted straight-faced. Langley nodded to himself, an amused smile forming on his lips. "Frohike, you didn't tell us you were meeting with Agent Scully; I thought you were just talking to Mulder." "Should have known, I mean, the suit's a dead giveaway," Byers responded, once again spinning from his work. His dark hair, moustache and beard as well manicured as the lawn on a posh estate. With his tidy dark suit and perfect posture, he looked like someone's butler. "That coming from the monkey himself," Frohike directed back at Byers, setting his coffee cup down and folding up a laptop. "What? I always dress like this," Byers exclaimed, showing the first signs of becoming unnerved as he shook his head and returned to his work, his eyebrows furrowed. "And you..." Frohike continued, on a roll as he looked over at Langley. "Could stand to lose these duds..." he tugged on the shoulder of his AC/DC tee for emphasis, "and dress up for a change." "No way, man!" Langley protested. "Hey..." Byers interjected "if Langley's got something on over his tighty-whites he is dressed up." "Yeah, that's right." Langley agreed as Byers nodded at this affirmation. Well they were ganging up on him now, time to split. "I'm outta this geek squad." Frohike proclaimed, tucking the laptop under his arm and heading for their heavily secured door. He opened the locks quickly with the ease of familiarity; temporarily blinding everyone as the light of the outside world came flooding in as he stepped out. "Say hi to Agent Scully for us..." He heard Langley say as the door closed behind him. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX J. Edgar Hoover Building 10:15 A.M. The elevator doors opened up to the basement and Frohike stepped out, the laptop still tucked under his left arm, and nervously adjusted his wire rim glasses and yellow bow tie. Relief settled in as he approached Agent Mulder's office. Walking through that place gave him the heebie-jeebies. The whole damn building was run by extortionists, murderers and conspirators under the guise of a government agency meant to protect against extortionists, murderers and conspirators. It was just the kind of thing his publication was filled with. Hell, they could have offered a money back guarantee that each and every issue of The Lone Gunmen would be filled with government conspiracy. He owed his meager restitution to the fact that the government was corrupt. The whole place could go to hell as far as he was concerned; except for Mulder, he was cool. And Scully, she was hot. Beside that, if Mr. Trust- no-one could trust her, well, that was really saying something. Frohike stopped in front of Mulder's door and rapped twice before opening. Mulder sat reclined in his office chair, his feet on top a pile of papers on his desk, the phone pressed to his left ear. He appeared to be either listening or on hold, a pensive look on his face as he rolled a sharpened pencil between his thumb and forefinger. He dropped the pencil as Frohike stepped in and held up his right hand, wiggling five fingers at him. Frohike nodded in understanding and backed out of the office, closing the door behind him with a sigh. Well, he could either hang around in the basement or go bump around with the sharks upstairs. He preferred the first option. Frohike settled in for five minutes of tapping his fingers on the laptop as he took a seat outside of the office when he heard the elevator ding followed by the unmistakable clip-clap of high-heels on linoleum. His heart flopped beneath his tweed jacket and he rubbed at the gray stubble on his chin, a nervous habit he was no longer aware of. "Here comes the leggier half of The X-Files Division," he thought to himself. His mind raced as the footsteps came closer to rounding the corner to him while he tried to think of a suitable greeting for a redheaded bombshell that packed heat. A basement room full of file boxes offered little inspiration however, and Melvin Frohike was more than just a little out of practice. Frohike stood, tucked the laptop under his arm once again, and straightened out his jacket and bow tie with his free hand. Agent Scully rounded the corner to the office. Frohike watched her approach, entranced. Damn, she was a looker. She was dressed professionally yet enticingly in a knee-length tan skirt and matching fitted jacket with just a hint of silky white blouse peeking out from above the lapel. His eyes dropped to the bottom of her skirt, tracing the curves of her legs down to the black high heels that covered her feet. Scully made eye contact with him, waking him from the daydream that had promised to soon play out in his head. "Hi, um, hey, uh, hello there, Agent Scully. You're looking as, uh, lovely as always." Frohike's greeting came out much less smoothly then he had hoped for. He extended his free, gloved hand to her, wondering what it was about beautiful women that could render a man a mumbling idiot. "Frohike, hello." Agent Scully took his hand, offering him a smile. "Agent Mulder contacted you about the case?" "Yes, he called us yesterday evening from Bloomington, Illinois." Frohike motioned towards the laptop he was carrying. "The boys and I found a few things on the Internet that may be of help. Mulder was on the phone when I got here." He explained. Scully nodded at him. "Well, I'll go let him know that you're still waiting." She said before disappearing into the office. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Mulder sat back, reclined in his office chair. His large feet rested on top of his paper-scattered desk, and his arms crossed over his chest. What appeared to be pencil shavings covered most of his red and yellow striped tie and the front of his blue dress shirt. He didn't seem to notice that Scully entered the office, his head tilted back as he admired his sharpened pencil collection in the suspended ceiling tiles above his head. "What took you, Scully?" He asked, his gaze still on the ceiling. "I was in the ladies' room, Mulder." Scully walked over to the front of his desk. Mulder nodded. "Well, I won't complain about that if you keep getting such goods tips from your restroom excursions." He swung his legs down off of the desk and faced her, his expression suddenly all business. "I just got off of the phone with Detective Larson." Mulder brushed the shavings off of his shirt as he sat up. "Sheryl Porter confessed to selling drugs with Mark Russell. The police told her that they had Mark in custody and that they were giving her this one last chance to come clean before the proverbial shit hit the fan. Ms. Porter will be facing prosecution once she is released from the hospital." Mulder rummaged through the top layer of paper on his desk, grabbed a piece of scratch paper, and crumpled it into a ball. "However, that leaves the matter of the seven murder victims unresolved." Scully took a seat in front of the desk and crossed her legs. "In addition to the visions, Scully." Mulder added, tossing the paper ball with an overhand throw into the wastebasket off to the left of his desk. "Yes, that's right, seven victims, seven visions." Scully recited flatly as she watched the paper fall into the trash. "Now you got it, Scully." Mulder stood from his seat. "Let's see if Frohike has found anything that might shed some light on this." Mulder walked over to the door, brushing off the remaining pencil fragments as he did so. "What have you got for us Frohike?" Mulder asked as Frohike stepped into the office. "Just the usual crap off of the Internet, but it just might have something to do with this guy that you're after." Frohike replied setting the black laptop up on the desk. Frohike went to work typing, trying to bring up a specific site. "The guys and I got wind of a vigilante group that seems to hold a special interest in intimidating prostituting mothers. According to the buzz online, this assembly has been responsible for terrorizing more than just a few working mothers." Frohike continued typing and searching as he explained. " Word is that these women were approached by members posing as clients but that's when things began to take a turn. As soon as they were out of the public's eye, they were then rendered unconscious by a blow to the head only to awaken bound, gagged and naked in a field with the word 'whore' printed in red marker across their foreheads." Frohike pointed to a site he had retrieved. Mulder sat perched on the edge of his desk, studying the screen. "I won't debate that this bares some similarities to the case; nevertheless these online accounts may be impossible to distinguish from urban legend." "Moreover, I can't imagine that if these women actually existed that many of them would have pressed charges, given the circumstances." Agent Scully added from her seat. "It could be looked into." Frohike pointed out. Scully's stomach gurgled loudly in the silence that followed; she shifted in her seat and cleared her throat, doing her best to avoid the quizzical look Mulder gave her. Mulder ran a hand through his hair and stood from the desk, shaking his head. "I just don't think this is it. I have the strong feeling that this guy is solo on this and that he has been from the start. I can't see him joining a group to help spread his opinion on prostituting mothers. It's likely that he has never confronted his feelings enough to understand why he's killing these women. He's satisfying an urge, not sending a message." "Sometimes you've gotta go with what your guts telling you." Frohike began shutting down the computer. Scully stood. Mulder walked over to Frohike and slapped a hand on his shoulder. "I appreciate your help on this, and I'm not tossing anything out yet. I'll look into it. Thank the guys for me." He shook Frohike's gloved hand firmly. Scully pushed passed them abruptly, her hand pressed to her abdomen as she headed out the door. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX July 10th 12:05 p.m. The dreams had returned full force and with them the agitation that had always followed. He had attempted to pass some of it off on last night's lightning storm, believing the inclement weather could have lent to his nightmares, but the nervousness he felt had followed him well into the day. He ran an uneasy hand through his thinning hair. This state could not be tolerated. He had begun to suspect that others could see it in him as well, this disquiet that seemed to saturate his very being. He tossed the remainder of his lunch aside, a roast beef sandwich on wheat with radish slices and extra mustard, usually his favorite. He left it lie on the wax paper next to the crumpled brown bag from Larry's Deli as he stood from his avocado-colored recliner. The floor creaked from beneath the matted brown and tan carpeting as he paced the span of his small living room. He couldn't let this continue or all that he had would be put at stake. He'd lent a suspicious ear to every hushed conversation he had heard among the staff at work, fearful that they might be on to him. He tightened his hands into fists, painfully forcing the sides of his class ring into his adjacent fingers on his right hand. The pain of it momentarily beckoned him back into intellect. The discomfort his cherished ring created, so real and sobering to him. There seemed no way anyone could know, he reasoned in the moment's lucidity. No matter how he felt, he'd been too careful. He needed to sort this entire situation out, to rethink things. That was all. Another vacation was out of the question. He could lobby for another business trip but that wouldn't bring him the relief he needed soon enough. He would have to work from here. It would take exceptional caution but he could manage that. The muscles in his hands and his body relaxed as he walked towards the adjoining kitchen. He was more than capable; he had proven that time and time again. He grabbed a heavy glass tumbler from the dish-drying rack and swung open the door on his chocolate colored refrigerator. He had made a mistake; obviously he had expected too much to come of the women he had chosen. Perhaps their moral fabric had been too loosely woven; he would do well to choose more wisely this time. He poured orange juice into his glass, carefully filling it a half of an inch to the top, just as always. He had the evening to work with; it wasn't very much time, but he would make it work. He would make things right again, and the dreams would stop soon after. Then he'd be rid of this affliction. He pulled open a cabinet drawer beside the sink and withdrew his black fabric case. He set it carefully on top of the chipped orange countertop and untied it easily with one hand. The blades sat neatly in their respective places, the immaculately clean silver shining brightly against the velvety black case. Satisfied, he closed and retied it. Everything would have to be in order for tonight; there was no room for mistakes. He slipped the case into his pants pocket. Things would soon change for him, he would be sure of that. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX End of Chapter 4. Continued in Chapter 5. Midnight's Sorrow, Chapter 5 Disclaimer in Chapter 1 The Kitchen Kottage Washington, D.C. July 10th 12:45 p.m. "So, I take it you're feeling better, Scully?" Mulder asked with an unusual amount of question in his voice. Scully looked up from her spot at their small table, oblivious to his tone. "Yes, actually I am. Although, I am certain I owe most of the credit for that to the anti-diarrheal and Ibuprofen that I took earlier," Scully replied while unfolding her napkin. Mulder sat silently, a strange look on his face as he regarded her. Scully followed his eyes down to her dinner, a sirloin steak freshly grilled and piping hot baked potato wrapped in foil with steamed baby carrots, no butter. She smiled self-consciously. " I haven't eaten well in a while, Mulder, I'm starving." Scully placed the napkin in her lap and began to cut into her steak. "Whatever happened to broth and toast, Dr. Scully?" Mulder asked her, picking up half of his bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich; its mayonnaise and tomato juices dripping down his fingers and onto his plate. "Doesn't stand a ghost of a chance against this " Scully held out a slice of her steak that she had forked before popping it into her mouth. "Mmmm." She rolled her eyes back in feigned ecstasy as she chewed it. Any witty comments that Mulder had meant to make were quickly lost as he pushed back an indecent proposal that rose swiftly in his mind like an untethered balloon. He watched helplessly, waiting for her to finish the dramatized chewing of her piece of steak. "Dis is sooo goodh. " She continued. "Scully, didn't your mother teach you not to speak with your mouth full?" Mulder asked in frustration. "Oh, bud I'sh nod full. Dhere's mush more room in here." She insisted, slicing another piece of steak as she chewed. Nice touch, Scully, he thought to himself. If things continued like this he would surely have a reaction that would not be appropriate for a family restaurant. Was she intentionally trying to torture him? That would definitely not be good partner etiquette. With the types of thoughts that he found creeping up on him from time to time, he didn't exactly subscribe to that practice either. Mulder sighed loudly and dropped his oozing sandwich half back onto his plate. He picked up his napkin and wiped the opaque juice off of his hand before it had the chance to travel to his shirt cuff. Scully began to carefully peel back the foil on her baked potato. "Mulder," Scully started, her mouth thankfully empty now. "I have to agree with what you said earlier, back in the office," she said, slicing into her potato. "Scully?" Mulder questioned. Scully looked up from her dinner. "Yes?" "Did you just cut a Y-incision into your baked potato?" Mulder asked, bemused. "Well, yes, actually I did." Scully replied casually, continuing her potato preparations. "You should have seen me in medical school, Mulder, I was tying surgical knots into the laces of my gym shoes. The repetition really makes it a force of habit." Mulder smiled and nodded before the subject changed back. "This information Frohike has presented us with will likely prove indistinguishable from urban legend. Mulder, people throughout history have created fables to pass on their views of morality. Modern day fables still exist, just sometimes in different forms, such as stories passed along the Internet." Mulder's face grew more solemn. "Scully, this guy will kill again and it's going to take a lot more than an allegory to lead us to him. However, I can't just sit back and wait for a substantial clue to fall upon us while he takes victims: I need to do something about this now." "Mulder, what are you planning on doing?" "I'm not certain yet, but there has to be something that I am missing, something pivotal that will turn this case around. I just need to keep looking, Scully." Scully looked up from her plate, her expression sympathetic. "Mulder, I would also like to see this case resolved before any one else has to be hurt, but you and I both know that is rarely the case, as frustrating as it may be. There may not be anything to do but wait." Scully's stomach gurgled, an annoying symptom that hadn't been suppressed by the medicine she had taken. She briefly considered pushing her meal aside, but,damn, she felt hungry. "I can not accept that." Mulder turned his head away from the table, his eyes distant and his jaw set as he pulled inside of himself to think. Scully reached out to him and placed her own small hand over his, her fingers gently brushing his in a gesture of reassurance. "Mulder, whatever it is you need to do to find this guy, I am with you all the way. But there is something I need to know." Her voice was soft and warm. "What's that?" he asked hoarsely. "Are you planning on finishing that sandwich?" Mulder laughed softly, in surprise and turned to look her in the eyes. "Scully," he said playfully, "keep your hands off of my sandwich." .XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX The Quality Market Pontiac, Illinois July 11th 1:45 a.m. Sarah McKay pulled her rattling 87 Ford Escort into the desolate parking lot at The Quality Market, thankful that her worn out car had successfully made yet another trip. She pulled her keys from the ignition and pocketed them, allowing her key chain version of the game of Twister to dangle just above the frayed edges of her jean shorts. She bent over in her seat, searching in the dim light of the parking lot for her shopping list. She had placed it in the passenger seat but a couple of sharp turns later it was missing. She grumbled to herself as she sorted through sticky, discarded soft drink cups, crumpled bags and cassette tapes that littered the floor. The last time she had gone shopping without her list she had ended up making macaroni and cheese without the margarine for two weeks thanks to her forgetfulness and lack of funds. That was not about to happen again. Bad enough that she needed to pull ten hour shifts five days a week all summer at Betsy's Burgers just to get by until college restarted in the fall, she was not about to make things any worse by suffering through any more macaroni with watery cheese sauce. Reluctantly, she slipped her hand underneath the seat, searching blindly for the piece of paper. Thwack! Something suddenly hit the glass on the driver's side door and she jumped, pulling her hand back out from under the seat, bumping some unidentified gooey mess in her haste. Her legs trembled as she let out a yelp of surprise as she turned to meet the face pressed up against her window. The face broke into a fit of laughter as it pulled away. Anger flared within her and she swung the driver's side door open as hard as she could, hitting the owner of the laughing face, causing him to holler loudly and hop backwards. "Jason, you asshole!" She stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut, her hands on her hips as she approached him. "You scared me!" "Yeah, that was the point." He replied, rubbing his right knee, most of the humor gone from his voice. "You didn't have to break my knee for it though." "You're standing just fine." She commented as she watched him continue to massage his leg through his jeans . "What are you doing here at this hour of the morning anyway?" Jason straightened up a little and ran a hand through his short, bleached blond hair. "The guys and I decided to head down to Mexico Jacks for some tacos and I saw this big, smokey cloud heading towards the supermarket and I thought, hey, that must be Sarah." He lifted his head up and shouted over Sarah's head at the small group of guys that waited across the street. "Hey, three minutes!" One of them waved back, dismissive. "Very funny. And thanks for going out of your way to scare the hell out of me." She pulled off her black scrunchie that was slipping out, and attempted to twist her straight, mahogany colored hair into a knot at the back of her head. "Yeah, sure." Jason replied absently, as he watched her midriff top raise as she reached behind her head to fix her hair. Sarah watched his gaze lower to her chest. She gave him a swift kick to the left shin, hoping that she'd leave a visible imprint from her canvas mule to remind him to mind his wandering eyes. "Owwww!" He shrieked, hopping once again. "Why are you so damn mean?" He reached down and grabbed his injured shin. "Cause, you were scoping me out!" Sarah tugged her grey and white swirled top back down and crossed her arms over her chest. "I think that you're pretty, so what?" He snapped defensively, forgetting about his leg, and staring into her light brown eyes. Sarah hugged herself, and lowered her head, uncomfortable with where the conversation was heading. "Its just creepy, I mean, we've known each other since we were in diapers." Jason's voice softened. "So, what's so wrong with that?" "Hey! Let's go!" One of the guys called, his voice echoing from across the street. Jason sighed. "Hey, I'd better get going or they'll leave without me and lock me out of the apartment again." Sarah laughed softly at this. "Some friends you've got there." "Yeah, well at least they don't beat me up." He joked, rubbing his sore shin. "You might want to add some bandages to your shopping list, I'm probably bleeding." He gently squeezed her arm as he walked past her to leave. "Big baby." Sarah teased as he walked away. She turned to stare into her car window at the mess. Sarah groaned, frustrated. She wouldn't be adding anything to her shopping list if she couldn't find it. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Quality Market 1:57 a.m. He pushed his cart slowly, stopping to examine a reduced price bunch of overripe bananas in the flickering florescent light. He held the softened bunch up as if for closer inspection, but stared just past it, at the woman ahead of him who had finished carefully selecting a bag of yellow onions. She dropped the mesh bag, of her approval, into her cart sending papery peel fragments to spin their way to the lime green linoleum floor as she wheeled her squeaking cart further down the aisle. He slowly replaced the browning fruit, following her with his own cart just closely enough to track her, but keeping enough distance that he would not arouse her suspicions. He checked his watch, read the ingredients on a box of stone ground wheat crackers, only looking up occasionally. She moved to the dairy section, placed a gallon of skim milk into her cart and moved on to the yogurt. He put the box of crackers into his cart, for show, and picked up a brightly marked package of animal crackers, his interest on her. She bent over the refrigerator case, her long, straight blond hair falling over her left shoulder as she chose her yogurt. Most likely dyed, he noted, but attractive on her just the same. Her aqua colored dress suit clung to her small frame, showcasing her hourglass figure. She outstretched a slender, olive toned hand, making her selection. He held back, lingering over boxes of crackers, contemplating. She turned his way, her green eyes bright as is if in recognition, a smile brightening her face. He looked around quickly, just as a tall man with thick brown hair that curled at the nape of his neck brushed past him. He refocused on his cracker box, stealing glances as the man approached the blond lady he had been watching. The man kept one hand in the pocket of his grey suit pants, the other triumphantly holding out a home pregnancy test kit. The lady blushed but her smile held as the man approached. They embraced at their meeting and he turned his attention away from them, disappointed. In search now of a new prospect. Much of the late night and early morning hours he had been out had been filled with disappointment, but he would continue to wait patiently. Without patience he was certain to make a mistake he couldn't afford. The right woman would come along, he believed that, he just needed to be observant enough to spot her. He pushed the cart past the hopeful couple, ignoring their excited chatter. He stared down the aisles as he passed them, recognizing the few other people he had spotted in the store thus far. He hadn't been in there for long and he didn't plan on staying much longer. If things didn't soon turn for him here, he would be on to the next place. A scrawny teenaged boy with just a hint of facial hair, pushed a mop across the floor underneath the condiment shelf, sending a strange scent of antiseptic cleaner and garlic dills throughout the small store. He continued past that aisle, clicking his ring against the handle of the shopping cart as he searched. He added a box of Bran Crackles to his cart as passed the cereal. The crying baby could be heard throughout the store but the high pitched whining and shrieking of the red faced child was almost ear piercing as he approached the health and beauty aisle. The child kicked and arched against his mother's hold, thick yellow snot oozing from his nose as she attempted to read the instructions on the side of a package of children's cold medicine, her eyes heavy and dark rimmed. He turned into the pasta aisle, pretending to scan the spaghetti noodles. He grabbed a small box, his stomach fluttering. He had found her. She had to be it, he felt it deep inside of him. He did his best to control his breathing, to act disinterested as he stole another look at her. Brownish red hair that was tied back behind her head, but he was certain it was long, and hazel eyes with little flecks of green and gold. Her cutoffs flaunted her long slender legs, and a tight, stretchy top clung to her chest and showed off a silver navel ring. He watched her carefully choose several boxes of discount macaroni and cheese as she consulted a ratty piece of paper grasped in her left hand. He turned away, satisfied with his decision and left to check out. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Sarah hurried to finish the rest of her shopping quickly. She was beginning to feel exhausted and the noise of a baby crying somewhere in the store coupled with her fatigue was causing her head to throb. She checked her crumpled list again, she had picked up almost everything on it but she still struggled to make out an item she had written down that was now mostly covered with a dark yellow smudge of unknown origin. Not surprising considering she had found it deep underneath her car seat. Jason had teased that she would likely disrupt the growth of a new life form if she cleaned her car out now. No fear of that, she wasn't sticking her hand under those seats again anytime soon. She strained to decipher it again. Moose steaks? Heck, she couldn't afford a mouse steak on her budget. Match sticks? Well, that made more sense but she had no use for matches. Damn it, what was that? She pushed her cart aimlessly through the market as she tried to recall her last item. Geesz, this was the last time she would write her shopping list three days in advance. She stopped at a sales display for macaroni and cheese, checking to see that she was getting the best price. Macaroni... A light flickered in her head. Margarine sticks! Oh good grief, she had almost gone and done it again. She felt the red rise in her cheeks as she turned back around to head for the dairy aisle. Sarah picked up a box of generic margarine and headed promptly for the checkout. She would drive home, unpack the perishables, make herself a cup instant chicken soup and go straight to bed to drink it. Tomorrow would be her's. No work, no college to worry about, just her day alone. Sarah felt her shoulders relax as sleepiness crept its way into her body, making her feel warm and pliable. She waited patiently in line behind the woman with her crying baby, toying with ways she could spend her free time. Sarah spread the contents of her cart across the conveyer belt and waited as the cashier totaled and bagged her purchases. She paid her grocery bill, significantly lightening the pocket where she had carried the cash from her paycheck, and grabbed her bag. Sarah reached for the Twister game that dangled from her pocket as she stepped through the automatic doors, balancing her grocery bag on her left hip. She drew the keys from her pocket, focused in on her Escort across the mostly empty lot, a maroon colored van now sat to the right of it. Crickets chirped somewhere in the distance, a silver truck headed down the street as an older man with mostly grey hair placed his cart in the outdoor cart return . The hinges groaned loudly as Sarah swung open the passenger door and withdrew her key one handed. She placed her bag on the seat, hoping it would not suffer the same fate as her shopping list and closed the door. Sarah rounded her car to the driver's side, her keys in hand. The older gentleman headed towards the van beside the car, he nodded politely at her as he approached, his right hand shoved inside of his pants pocket. Sarah smiled weakly back at him and turned to open her door. He continued to approach still digging in his pocket as Sarah fumbled with her keys. He smelled strange, antiseptic, she noted. Sarah inserted her key and turned. He bumped into her as he approached the side of his van. "Sorry...I'm sorry." He mumbled to her, his body blocking her from opening the door. "I'll just be a moment." Sarah sighed impatiently as she waited. He slid open his van door and turned, bumping into her again. "I'm so sorry." He apologized, his body pinning hers against her car as he fumbled about. "Sorry..." Sarah felt a sharp jab in her left thigh and the muscles in it grew hot and tense.. "Ouch!" She cried out and looked up at him, confused. "Sorry..." He continued without further explanation and backed away from her slightly, his right hand behind him. The parking lot lights blurred before Sarah's eyes. She leaned up against her car, her legs suddenly felt very weak. "Do you need some help?" She heard his voice ask her. He sound distant, the words canned somehow. Sarah turned her head in search of help. The lights streaked across the sky with her movement, as if she were traveling very fast, like on a carnival ride, she thought. Sarah felt herself sliding down and felt him picking her back up and putting her some place. Some place dark. This isn't happening she thought to herself, fighting to keep her mind from letting go, this just can't be happening. XXXXXXXXXXX July 11th 3:00 a.m. She was moving. Not on her own, however. All of her muscles held stubborn as stone, but in some type of a vehicle. A van came to mind, burgundy with black trim, but the image seemed distant like a dream. She drifted in and out struggling to hold her thoughts, trying not to surrender to the invisible chasm that threatened to swallow her mind. A strong sense of urgency had roused her each time she had drifted away but she knew she would need much more than that to save her. She needed to take action; although she strained to completely remember why. She willed herself to think past the thick fog that clouded her mind. Time was passing quickly. She lay still, feeling the heavy vibrations traveling through the vehicle's floor and into her numb, uncooperative body. Her mouth was free from restraint, no tape or gag. She realized screaming was a possibility, but not from here. She would be better off if the driver didn't realize she had clung to some lucidity. Darkness surrounded her. She couldn't see a possible way out. Not that she felt certain her body would allow for that if she could. Her erratic thinking became further interrupted as the ride became rougher. She was tossed from side to side, her barely responsive body bouncing along the cool, metal floor. She wondered why the carpet had been removed but quickly pushed the thought aside; the possibilities that sprang to mind were too disturbing. The bouncing seemed to turn suddenly into violent slamming, throwing her about like a rag doll in a wheelbarrow. The van was no longer on the road. She fought with limbs of putty to brace herself, to keep from hitting the sides of the vehicle. Time was almost up. Her mind raced frantically searching for anything at all that might offer her hope of escape. The van slowed and the engine turned silent. She strained to listen for the sound of the door opening, poising herself. The sounds of her ragged, panicked breaths filling the silence that followed. Her stomach began to turn sour, churning as she waited. She took deep, raspy breaths attempting to calm herself. Jason's sweet, playful face came to mind. She willed herself back to the parking lot with him in vain. Her sobs grew louder at the sound of the driver's door opening. She felt the adrenaline surge through her body, and she worked to use it to its full potential, pushing and struggling to right herself but only managing to squirm further into the van. The door to the back rolled opened suddenly, allowing in a sliver of silvery moonlight. She tried to look in the dim light to see where she was, where the driver might be, but her head remained heavy and leaden. She kicked ineffectively, aware of her impending attack, crying and struggling against her own body. She screamed, feeling the sudden firm grasp on her ankles, noting how easily her earnest attempts to kick free were instantly stilled with one tight grip. Her body scrapped against the bare metal as she was pulled into the unknown, her unrelenting screams shattering the stillness of the night that awaited. Her cry sounded foreign and animalistic, unlike any sound that had ever escaped her. Her lungs burned and her chest felt as though its collapse was imminent, but she continued screaming, her only defense the moment offered. She screamed past the coppery taste that rose in her raw throat, past the banging her head took as she was dragged by the feet along the dew laden field, past the heavy sensation that burned in her gut. Just screaming, intent on continuing until she could no longer draw a breath to do so. XXXXXXXXXXXXXX She woke suddenly, her heart pounding. Listening. Someone was crying, sobbing. She was almost certain she had heard screaming as well. Her hands shook as she pushed back her blankets, uncertain of her next move. She listened again to be certain to the soft, uneven cries. Her throat ached, and her chest trembled, shaking in time with the crying. Jolted, she placed a hand to her cheek and wiped at the warm liquid that streaked her face, shocked to learn that she had cried herself awake. Scully shivered, the dream coming back to her all at once. Her throat tightened again, and she fought back the strong urge to scream, a reaction she credited to the intense unresolved emotion the dream had left her with. It had all felt so real: the van, the inability to move, and then being dragged through the field. She shivered again and hugged the blankets back up around her unable to shake the unsettling feeling she had been left with. She had a strong urge to take action to do something about it, but it was just a dream. There was nothing to be done. Scully looked over at the alarm clock, toying with the idea of calling Mulder. He would understand, Mulder was like that. He wouldn't hold it against her even if it was completely ridiculous; he had a gift for seeing past that kind of thing right into the heart of the matter. Thump, thump, thump. Scully grabbed her satin robe from the chair beside her bed and tied it on. Three-thirty a.m., a strange time for someone to be knocking at her door. Unless, of course, that someone was Mulder. Scully quickly padded through the dark of her apartment to the door. She stood on tip toe to look through the peephole and found herself disappointed that it wasn't Mulder's face that peered back at her. "Mrs. Johnston?" She questioned as she unlocked and opened the door for her elderly neighbor. "Dana, honey, are you okay? I thought I heard screaming." Mrs. Johnston stood wrapped in her blue chenille bathrobe, her short silver hair in disarray. Her face a mix of concern and sleepiness. "Yes, I'm fine." Scully sighed and lowered her head in realization. "I had a bad dream, I'm sorry to wake you." "Do you want to talk about it sweetie? Sometimes that makes you feel a little better." Scully smiled warmly at her neighbor's kind offer. "No, thank you. I'm fine, really. I think I'll just go back to sleep." Mrs. Johnston nodded and tightened the tie on her robe. "You rest well now, Dana." She added as she made her way back down the hallway. Scully closed and locked the door behind her before returning to her bedroom. She still felt unsettled, not as much so as when she had first awoke, but the darkness of her room had brought back vivid memories of her dream. She hadn't felt an urge to sleep with the light on since her childhood when she had stayed up way too late listening to her brother Bill tell ghost stories; but she was half tempted to do so now. Deep inside she still wanted to call Mulder, still sought the comfort that hearing his rough voice would bring. But, it was now past three- thirty a.m. and it was bad enough that she had disturbed her neighbor by screaming in her sleep. Her bad dream had taken enough casualties for the night, she would allow Mulder his sleep. She did her best to ignore her raw throat and the heavy feeling in her stomach, instead focusing on getting some rest. Scully turned on to her side pulling the blankets up tight to her face and trying to drown out the memories of the nightmare with thoughts of the new day that was already starting. Daylight was only hours away now. XXXXXXXXXX End of Chapter 5 Continued in Chapter 6 Feedback is always welcomed. Feel free to write me at Semanitcs@writeme.com Thanks again to everyone who has helped this story to continue: Thanks to Brandi, Foxcat, and Memento1 for their time and work as Betas. Thanks also to my family to supporting me throughout this. You are my true inspirations. Midnight's Sorrow, Chapter 6 Disclaimer in Chapter 1 This story is rated NC-17 J. Edgar Hoover Building July 11th 8:19 a.m. "Where the hell have you two been?" Skinner snarled as he stepped unannounced into the doorway of Mulder's downstairs office, a file folder clasped tightly in one hand. Scully immediately turned in her seat in front of the desk to face him, an eyebrow arched in question. "Sir, we have been here all morning," she phrased cautiously. Mulder's eyes rose from Scully, back to Skinner, awaiting his response. "Why?" Skinner snapped back, thrusting the folder out to the two of them. "Because we work here," Mulder interjected straight faced, before Skinner had a chance to continue. Skinner shot him a sideways glance. "I wouldn't say that with such confidence Agent Mulder." He placed his hands on his hips, pinning the folder against him before continuing. "I would like to know how it is that the day after two of my agents return from Bloomington, Illinois I wind up with a call from their local police saying they've got a dead body on their hands. They're telling me this looks like the work of our killer, and now I need to explain to them how the hell this happened when the two of you were just out there looking for this guy."Skinner paused, his mouth slightly agape, looking almost as if he was considering grinding his teeth. Frustrated, Mulder pushed his seat back from his desk, inadvertently shoving a precarious pile of paperwork towards Scully before he stood. "What we were investigating was the attack on Sheryl Porter. Her attacker turned out to be her lover, Mark Russell, not the serial killer." He asserted, his red and yellow striped tie hanging loosely around his neck. "Save that for the D.A. I've got your report," Skinner grumbled, extending the file to him again. Mulder took it from him and began to page through its contents with a sigh of disgust. Skinner started for the door, his jaw set. He stopped just before he reached it and turned back to face them, his free hand on the door frame as he looked back at the agents. "Just do us all a favor and get your asses back in the field before I have to start making excuses for the FBI's ineptitude in this case," he added, a look of tense impatience troubling his face, before stepping out the door with a disapproving shake of his head. "What was that about?" Scully questioned with Skinner safely out of earshot, gently tugging at her plum colored jacket to straighten the wrinkles out that had formed as she had sat. Mulder looked up from the folder, his face grim. He removed a faxed copy of a police photo and placed it on the desk in front of Scully. "Sarah Mckay, found dead in a field near Gardner, Illinois. Eyes taped closed, same vertical incision as the others, only no head wound on this one." Mulder closed the folder abruptly and slammed it down onto the desk, causing Scully to jump and his paperwork to further scatter across his desktop. "Twenty years old, Scully, about to start her last year of college. She didn't have a chance to begin her life before it ended."Mulder paced the span of the room twice before stopping to place his hands on his hips. He stared down at his shoes, clearly agitated, but remaining still as he thought, his eyes wild. Scully looked down at the blurry copy of the photograph. She made out the deep contrast of the young woman's reddish brown hair lying in messy strands across a colorless face devoid of life. She felt her throat tighten. Forensic pathologist or not, the first glance was always difficult. The copy was so fuzzy it almost seemed surreal, like something from a nightmare. Scully pushed away from the picture, attempting to divorce herself from the chilling sensation that thought had left her with. She picked up the folder Mulder had set down before walking away from the desk, beginning to read. "Mulder," Scully started, still absorbed in her reading, " Sarah Mckay has no known history of prostitution. Apparently, she was working full time at Betsy's Burgers during her summer break." "He's changing, Scully," Mulder spoke, still staring down at his feet, the urgency in his voice unmasked. "He's not finding the release he sought, so he's moving on. What he doesn't realize is that this need in him is insatiable and that he can't stop what he's feeling by killing these women. Instead of facing what is inside of him that is driving him to do this, he has just changed the type of women he is killing." Mulder broke free of his trance, walked past Scully to the desk, and picked the phone off of the receiver. "I hope you've replenished your overnight bag, Scully." Mulder replied restively. "Because, It's back to Illinois for us." XXXXXXXXXXX 10:23 a.m. "Mommieee!" She barely made out the sound of his distressed cry. It came so distant, so muffled. She followed it as best she could through the field's thick fog, trudging blindly ahead through the tall, wet grass. She stopped to stare, hoping for some clue as to where she was going, where he was taking her, but the sky seemed to bow down and touch the ground. White vaporous clouds hung just above her dampened feet, blocking all but the dewy, field grass from her vision. She continued ahead, walking slowly, listening for him, uncertain where he was or where she was going to. "Mommieee!" He called out again, this time sounding somewhat closer, but far off to her right. She quickly turned to follow, her pace picking up, her heart beating faster. The grass rustled underfoot as she continued on, and she felt certain she heard it rustle just off to the side of her as well. Why wouldn't he wait for her? She continued after him faster yet, her nylons soaking wet and cool as she made her way towards the slight noise. A lone cricket chirped somewhere just ahead of her in the moment's silence, undaunted by his trespassers. She listened again. Quiet, other than the lonely sounds of the field but then came the crashing noise of someone darting off just ahead of her. She felt she saw something then, just a small flash of white through the morning's thick haze, and she went for it. She broke into a run, the thick, cool, air stinging her nostrils and clumping her hair into tangled, messy strand. She felt the wetness of the clouds of humidity as she broke through one and entered another. She saw him, just ahead, although his image appeared blurred through the dense fog. He stared down quietly, waiting until she almost reached him before he darted off again, this time into the trees. "No, wait!" She called out to him, starting to run again when she bumped into something cold and solid on the ground. She knelt slowly down through the moisture clouds, looking to identify the heavy object her foot had made sudden contact with. The vapors parted gradually as she approached her feet, chasing away like passing spirits. A hand lay there, still, and white as the fog that surrounded it. Dark dirt lined the feminine fingernails, the grass beneath lay ripped up, the ground heavily scratched. She bent for a closer look, horrified, yet unable to turn away, needing to know more. The arm came into view as she knelt over closer still, dark bruises marking the pale skin. She felt goose bumps travel up her own arms and up her neck, leaving her to shudder, her teeth chattering loudly from adrenaline. She heard a mumbling somewhere off behind her, the voice insistent but not urgent. She turned briefly towards it, undecided, before turning back to the lifeless arm, her eyes traveling slowly towards the body. She saw the grass below the trunk, stained deep red, the heavy coppery scent hitting her suddenly with nauseating force. She gasped as her stomach rolled, threatening to spill its content's. She turned as she felt the sudden firm grasp on her left shoulder as she was shaken gently. "Scully, are you okay?" Scully awoke with a deep breath, her eyes slowly adjusting to the light in the airplane. Mulder sat beside her where he had been when they took off for Illinois earlier, his face concerned. "I'm fine." She immediately replied, her voice still heavy with sleep. She swallowed past the sour taste in her throat, the skin on the back of her neck and her forehead tingling. "Bad dream?" He prompted softly. She rubbed her hand over the delicate skin on her forehead. "Yes, I uh, I didn't sleep so well last night." She answered absently, turning away from him to look out the window at the clouds that lined the sky. Her stomach churned again. "My stomach's not doing as well as I thought it was." She added flatly still staring into the sky. "Are you going to be alright?" "Yeah, I'll be just fine." Scully turned back to face him with what was meant to be a reassuring smile, but her eyes avoided his. Mulder nodded at her before sitting back in his seat, unsold but not feeling an immediate need to pursue the issue any further. "Mulder," Scully questioned, "I didn't see any mention in the report about visions of a mysterious boy." Mulder shot her a look of sudden disbelief. "Why do you ask, Agent Scully?" He questioned, playfully suspicious. "It just occurred to me that may be an anomaly in this particular case." She rattled of matter-of-fact, turning back to face her window while doing her best to ignore Mulder's slack-jawed look of disbelief. "Yeah, I had thought of that too, but I am not willing to bet that means that there weren't any. I had planned to speak with the man who happened upon the body while you are doing the autopsy. This guy may not have come forth with what he witnessed for fear of what may be thought of him." Mulder added, his voice still retained much of the suspiciousness. "I suppose that's possible." Scully watching her hands as she folded them in her lap. She could clearly see Mulder was still turned in his seat, facing her with what she identified as his 'who are you and what did you do with my partner?' look. Uncomfortable with offering an explanation, she maintained her oblivious stance until he sat back in his seat again. Scully waited anxiously for the flight to end, anticipating the emotional escape that the tedious work the autopsy would soon bring. XXXXXXXXXX St. Joseph's Hospital Joliet, Illinois 12:42 p.m. "Time is 12:42 p.m." Scully spoke clearly into her voice activated audio recorder as she double gloved her hands. "Subject is a female, twenty years in age. Measurements show that the subject is five feet eight inches in height. Post mortem weight is approximately one hundred and three pounds, although it should be noted that the subject has suffered catastrophic blood loss." Scully replied, studying the body through her fluid shield. "Time of death has been initially estimated to be 4:00 a.m. Approximately nine hours prior to this examination." Scully set the recorder up above the autopsy table before proceeding with the external examination. "The subject was found with a large Y incision-like cut," Scully paused to push her fingers into the incision to gauge its depth. "that extends to the rib cage," Scully slid her fingers down, "and through the abdominal wall, again, not unlike a Y incision. However this cut was made above the breasts." She added, scanning over the neatly cut lip of flesh that protruded from the body. Scully bent in closer, examining the body for any less obvious abnormalities. She carefully examined the right arm, checking it from all angles before moving on to the left. "The subject also has numerous contusions covering both the left and right arms; the pattern resembling that of a large hand print, possibly male." Scully walked the length of the corpse slowly examining as she went. " A sample of the fluids has been sent for analysis although there are no physical signs of rape." Scully's protective gown rustled softly against her scrubs. Scully pulled a small transparent ruler from her instrument tray. "There are contusions present on both ankles." She remarked, measuring their distinctive blue and purple splotches. "They are similar in shape and size to those found on the arms and could indicate that the subject may have been dragged." Scully approached the right side of the metal table, her face mirroring her intense concentration. She grabbed hold of the right arm, and with what looked to be a rather aggressive maneuver, and broke its rigor. "I am now removing the bags that were placed on the victims hands at the crime scene." She announced, carefully sliding off the crude paper bag that had been secured around the right hand. "The right hand," she stated lifting it carefully, "has several broken finger nails, and there appears to be a dark matter lodged underneath the nails, possibly dirt. I will obtain a sample of that for analysis as well." Scully pulled a small knife and a plastic sample container off of her tray. She lifted the right hand again, which this time moved easily, and began to scrape out samples from underneath the nails. She extended the hand past what remained of its rigidity as if to give a post mortem manicure. Its ghostly white color, made even more obvious by the heavy bruising that lined the delicate arm. Scully paused from her work, as a chill crept suddenly up her back, causing the tiny hairs on her neck to stand up. She briefly considered it an effect of the cold room, but she had grown accustomed to working in this type of environment long ago. She bent back down to return to her work, when her mind presented her with a fragment of the image that had troubled her subconscious. A lifeless hand with dirt laden fingernails, lying on a patch of scratched up field. Scully shook her head and took a step back, as if that would help to separate her from the disturbing image. "It was just dream." She immediately reasoned with herself. She wasn't feeling well, and she'd had a bad dream. There was nothing unreasonable about that. She could have been dreaming about the victim, perhaps the image from the police photo had stuck with her. Scully reasoned away the last of her doubts, chasing the eerie feeling with logic as she returned to her work. XXXXXXXXX Casper and Marilyn Tucker Residence Gardner, Illinois 1:00 p.m. "Mr. Tucker?" Mulder questioned, carefully peeking his head into the open door of the chicken enclosure. "Casper'll be fine." The elderly man replied past the clucking that surrounded, with sideways glance at Mulder as he scooped chicken feed out of a large sack and poured it into a galvanized dish beside the hen house. The top of his head shined pink through thin strands of white hair in the bright afternoon sunlight. The chickens crowded the dish, some standing in it and allowing the feed to pour onto them as they ate. Mulder nodded to him as the man approached, the chickens scattered, squawking and flapping their wings, sending small dust clouds that smelled heavily of ammonia and chicken feed as he passed them by. He closed the screened in door behind himself. "Casper, Mrs. Tucker told me I might find you out here. I am Special Agent Fox Mulder with the FBI." He explained holding out his badge and a free hand. Casper regarded his own wrinkled, work worn hand momentarily before wiping it on the side of his blue work shirt, just below the large sweat stains, then offered it to Mulder. Mulder shook his hand diplomatically with a slightly amused smile. "I imagine you're here because of the young lady." Casper added tilting his head off in the direction of a large field to the right of them. The police tape was barely visible, just a small ribbon of yellow blowing in the grassy field. "Yes, I am." Mulder agreed solemnly, releasing his hand and replacing his credentials. "It's a damn shame." Casper added squinting in the sunlight as he stared off into the direction of the roped off area, deepening the already heavy creases that marked his forehead along with the rest of his face. "Marilyn is frightened half out of her mind, afraid to go to sleep tonight. She seems to think the guy who did this might return." "He won't come back here." Mulder quickly added. Casper lowered his head back down to face him. "He's finished here, he has no reason to return." "I hope you're right about that." Casper turned, wiping his hands on his heavily worn and soiled jeans as he looked to the barn. "Do you mind?" Mulder stared over at the large building ahead of them, with its white paint peeling off the aged, greying wood. "No, that's fine if you don't mind me following you in there to ask you a few questions." Casper snorted loudly and wiped his face on the shoulder of his dirty shirt. He scanned over Mulder's suit and dress shoes with a look of amused skepticism, his faded hazel eyes momentarily lit. "There should be some boots that'd fit you in the mud room, Marilyn'll set you right up." He turned to head in to the barn, not waiting for a reply. Mulder watched him momentarily as he walked off with slumped shoulders across the tired dirt path and then headed back to the house to borrow some boots. XXXXXXXXX Mulder rapped lightly on the screen door of the pale olive farmhouse. "Mrs. Tucker?" He called through the door. He heard a cabinet door close as he waited before Mrs. Tucker appeared in front of the door dusting flour off of her hands with the bottom of her plain white apron. "Just Marilyn, Agent Fox Mulder." She asserted as she opened the screen door for him with trembling hands. "Come on inside." "Just Mulder, Marilyn." He replied with a warm smile, taking the door for her as he entered. "Your husband said something about spare boots in the mud room." Marilyn motioned for him to follow as she made her way through the small entryway and into the kitchen with slippered feet. "Casper always keeps a spare pair handy for when James stops by to help out." She stopped walking momentarily to turn back to face him. Her short white hair held in perfect small curls that clung tightly to her head. "James is our son, he's the youngest of our children. Although he's hardly a child anymore at 43. Has his own wife and children now." She smiled sweetly to herself, her damp eyes growing alight with memory. "He's a good boy, always has been." She ran a hand over her red and white floral house dress, her skin so thin it appeared almost transparent. "The mud room is just on the other side of the kitchen." She led them through her sunny yellow kitchen with white ruffled curtains that hung above the sink. A pie crust lay freshly rolled on the melamine counter top beside a large green and yellow speckled ceramic bowl with a sweet smelling mix of strawberries, raspberries and blackberries. "I've been baking, I'm afraid I'm still a mess." She explained brushing at dark berry stains that marked her apron as they passed through the room. Mulder winced as his empty stomach growled loudly. Marilyn opened a squeaky white wooden door off the back of her kitchen. "Here you are." She pointed him in the direction of a pair of large rubber boots that sat on a plastic tray in the small room, the bottoms still caked with dried mud. "Thank you." He replied stepping onto the blue outdoor carpeting that lined the room, the strong scent of cattle hitting him at once. Margaret nodded and headed back out silently. Mulder sat down on a wooden white bench beneath hooks that held various worn jackets and plaids shirts against the powder blue wall. He removed his shoes and grabbed the soiled boots, using their handles to pull them onto his feet and over his pants legs. Marilyn stepped back into the room as he was about to leave. "Here, this is a picture of my son and his family." She outstretched the picture, still in its frame as she approached him. Mulder carefully took the picture from her trembling hands to look at it. "Those are my two grandsons Christopher and Jake and that is my granddaughter Amber. She takes after her mother." She added. Mulder studied the picture of the happy family, the father with a hand resting on a shoulder of each son. The two boys, around 8 and 9 from what he could see, with barely contained mischief behind their hazel eyes and sandy brown hair. The younger looking boy with a buzz cut and his older brother with hair that looked as if it had just barely laid back despite the doubtless aid of styling products. The mother sat, smiling, holding a young toddler on her lap. Her distinctive red hair mirrored the color her mother's, curled in loose ringlets around her chubby pink face. Mulder smiled to himself, envisioning Scully as a small toddler, and then as a mother. Mulder swallowed hard and handed the picture back to Marilyn. "You have a lovely family." He said, his face flushed. "Thank you." She beamed staring down at the picture as Mulder held the back door open for himself. "And Marilyn," he continued from the doorway. She looked up at him, her tired blue eyes lined with fatigue and small skin tags. "I want you to have my card." He reached inside of his jacket pocket and retrieved a business card and handed it to her. "If anything happens here that worries you, just call me. Day or night. I'll make sure someone gets out here to check things out right away. Okay?" Marilyn smiled broadly, stretching the fine wrinkles in her rosy lips. "Okay," she replied hugging the picture to her chest. XXXXXXXXXXX Mulder made his way down the dirt path to the barn, the sounds of the cattle mooing, greeting him as he stepped through the wide doors. "Come on back!" Casper called out from the far end as he hosed down an empty stanchion. Mulder made his way through the barn, inches from the rear quarters of the large Holsteins that fed there. He avoided the swishing tails, swatting at large flies as he approached Casper, the smell of manure and hay heavy in the hot barn. Casper turned off the water as Mulder approached. Water dripped slowly out of the hose and onto the concrete floor before stopping completely. "Ask away." He grabbed a large push broom that had been leaning against the wall and began to scrub the floor of the stanchion. "Would you say you have a pretty regular schedule for getting things done around the farm?" Mulder asked past the whisking noise of the broom. "Tasks change somewhat, but yeah, I have to stick to schedule." Casper continued scrubbing. "You don't just take a break to go walking around in the field?" "No, not unless I had good reason to be there." "Was this morning an exception?" Mulder prodded. Casper stopped pushing the broom, jarred. "What are you getting at?" "I was just wondering what you were doing in the middle of the field just past daybreak?" "I saw the young ladies body there." "May I ask what you were doing just before that?" Mulder pressed. "Feeding and watering the cows. Like every other day." Casper took up a defensive tone, straightening his posture to the best of his ability. "And you noticed the body from where?" "Just outside of the barn, to the right." He said, pointing. "Would you mind showing me where you were exactly?" "Of course not." Casper set the broom back against the wall and pushed passed Mulder on his way out the barn. Mulder followed him out silently. "Right here." Casper stopped just to the right of the barn as he had said and pointed into the field. "Just how good is your vision Mr. Tucker, because I can hardly make out the police tape from here?" Mulder responded, straining his eyes to see the taped off area far in the distance. Casper stared down at his feet in thought. "I don't know what to say." "How about just telling me what really led you out into the field this morning?" Casper cleared his throat uncomfortably before continuing. "Its was foggy this morning, the field was just thick with it." He stared ahead as if reliving the morning, his eyes wide. "I was feeding the cattle like I said when I thought I heard something. Like a little kid crying somewhere in the distance. I stopped what I was doing and went to see what was going on. I thought I saw movement just ahead in the field, but like I said, it was terrible foggy, and I followed it for quite a ways out. I thought I heard the crying sound a couple more times so I just kept on going. That's how I found her." Casper cleared his throat again, this time more loudly, his eyes wet. "I didn't hear anything except for my cattle after I found her, didn't see anything either. I don't know exactly what happened so that I found her all the way out there and I didn't dare tell anyone that for fear I they'd think me senile. I may be an old man but I've still got my mind Agent Mulder." Mulder reached a hand out and clapped it on his shoulder. "I don't doubt that Casper." He replied seriously. " I appreciate what you have told me, it is important information into the case. Thank you for your cooperation. I gave my card to your wife, if you can think of anything else, please give me a call." XXXXXXXX End of Chapter 6. Continued in Chapter 7. Midnight's Sorrow, Chapter 7 Disclaimer in Chapter 1 This story is rated NC-17 St. Joseph's Hospital Joliet, Illinois July 11th 2:46 p.m. Mulder entered the cool room slowly, he'd worn disposable shoe covers to protect his feet, realizing the autopsy was likely in its late stages if not finished. He had made the mistake of entering without them before at that stage. He had opted to toss those pair of shoes into the garbage. "What have you found so far, Scully?" Scully looked up from her microscope on the far end of the autopsy bay, her face still fixed with concentration. "I am still awaiting the toxicology reports, Mulder, but my findings so far support the mutilations Sarah Mckay suffered were post mortem, as they had been on the other victims." Mulder made his way to her and stood just to the right of the autopsy table. Scully pulled away from the microscope to join him. "Her heart, Mulder, shows definite signs of contraction band necrosis. I do not have the toxicology reports to support this yet, but I am willing to bet that she died from myocardial infarction due to unnatural causes." "She had a heart attack?" Mulder asked, glancing down at the covered body that lay beside him. "Actually, I believe she was given a heart attack." Scully asserted. She turned back the bottom of the sheet, reveling the victims legs. Mulder winced, but looked anyway. Scully ran a gloved finger over a small area of bruising on the left thigh. "This appears to be an injection site. I may not have noticed it at all, however, she appears to have been injected more than once." "So, you're saying that the killer poisoned her?" "Essentially, yes. I believe he wanted her dead before he began on the mutilations. Mulder, I realize that there are no signs of any sexual assault on these bodies, but I still wouldn't rule out necrophilia." "No, there's more to it than that. This guy is complicated. There are things he does that suggests he's reacting to something inside of himself that we've yet to understand. Like taping the victims eyes shut." "Yes, I saw the tape Mulder, but it's possible it was used to conceal where he was taking them. Or, to help lower there defenses. He also could just have been trying to increase their fear." Mulder shook his head. "No, I disagree. I believe that it was applied post mortem." "Why?" Scully challenged, crossing her arms over her lab coat. "I think that he doesn't want to be seen." "Once they are already dead? Mulder, that doesn't make sense." "Not to us, no, but to the killer it's very important. Scully, despite these horrific mutilations, he lay's these women out very neatly. He covers there eyes and even drapes the bodies when he's finished. I'd even say he's obsessive about it." "So, you're implying he has a professional air ?" "Either that, or respectful." Scully's eyebrows rose, their position frozen high on her forehead as she waited for his explanation. "I think he sees them as his mother." Mulder spoke slowly as if to test the effect of what he was saying, although his expression reflected unwavering confidence. Scully sighed, her face instantly mirroring her disbelief. "Mulder,that sounds awfully Freudian." "Even a stopped clock is right twice a day, Scully." He asserted and took a step towards her when she failed to respond, making eye contact before he continued. "I think I'm on to something here. I feel like I am finally getting into this guy's head." Scully dropped her eyes from his, uncrossed her arms. "Mulder, I just don't understand. If he still holds respect for his mother, then why would he be killing women who remind him of her?" "He's obviously very angry at her about something." Mulder took a look at the sheet covered body. "Very angry." He added. Unsold and still task oriented, she began to turn back towards the microscope. "Scully...", Mulder quickly placed his hand on her shoulder to stop her. Scully turned back towards him, breaking the contact between them as she did so, her face tired. "If that's true, Mulder, then why didn't he just kill his mother?" She questioned, crossing her arms again, the frustration thick in her voice. Mulder lowered his tone in response, although his voice remained insistent. "I don't know the answer to that. Maybe he can't, maybe she's already dead, or maybe he just can't face her." "But why, then the acts of respect, and why try to hide what he's doing from them? Especially once they are already dead." Scully held her arms out to him in a questioning manner. "Does one ever stop seeking their mother's love? Her approval?" Mulder questioned. "I think he's still looking for that. On some level, I think he still feels he can find that. Despite the conflicting feelings he holds for her." Scully frowned to herself, uncertain yet of Mulder's new theory, but deciding to play devil's advocate. "So, how would we stop someone like that Mulder, how do we find him before he acts again?" "That, Scully, is the million dollar question." XXXXXXXXX 2:46 p.m. He stared blankly out the large window, watching the people in the crowded streets below scurry about like small insects. Hurrying somewhere, unaware of his watchful eye, barely aware at all. They were pitiful, all of them. The height at which he watched them, gave him the illusion that he could easily just reach out a foot and crush them, putting an abrupt end to their absent activities with one swift move. He quickly loosened his tie in an attempt to relieve the tightness that had begun to constrict his throat. He spent his life watching and waiting. Careful, always careful. One false move, one absent minded moment, and he would be done for. He had long begun to tire of it all. It had taken its toll. He was paying for his constant vigilance, for his searching and never quite finding. He was paying for it with his mind. He had waited for his relief, had cried out for it in his childhood bed, for what had stretched into years, but to no avail. This fight was his own. It always had been. He rubbed his palms into his eyes, pushing back the heavy emotions that threatened to spill from them. Tears were of no help to him, vulnerability was not something he could afford. He needed to find someone, but it needed to be the right someone. It was soon, he knew that, but it was necessary. He propped his exhausted head up on one hand, his elbow resting on the cool edge of his large mahogany desk. The dreams had robbed him of sleep once again, but they had offered him a small ray of hope, of relief. He could see her now, as he closed his heavy eyes; copper colored hair and cool blue eyes. And her voice, concern that rose above the fear. She was different then the rest. She seemed so familiar, so real. He would keep searching and looking, and he would find her. He had no other choice. XXXXXXXX Moxie's Motel Bloomington, Illinois 3:50 p.m. Scully stepped out of the small, tiled bathroom, a hand to her head to keep the hotel towel, that was too small to wrap tightly around her head, from slipping off. She sat down on the edge of her full sized bed and flopped backwards, stretching lazily across the well worn, green and maroon floral bedspread. The autopsy had seemed to stretch on and on. Her muscles in her back and her neck had become tight burning knots, but the ibuprofen and hot shower had done wonders for that. She pulled her legs up onto the bed, tucking them inside of the warmth of her bathrobe, so just her feet poked out . She pushed the damp towel from her hair aside, the urge to catch a quick nap winning over redressing. She had missed out on lunch, and heaven knew that supper didn't always come when it was expected, so in the scheme of things what was so wrong with a little catnap? She snuggled into the soft bed, blissfully accepting the sleepy sensation that washed over her as she drifted off. Thud, thud, thud! Scully's body immediately stiffened. She sighed loudly to herself as she sat up. Thud, thud, thud! "Just a minute!" She called out, tightening her robe as she stood. She stared out the peephole, momentarily, at Mulder's eager face before unlocking and opening the door. Mulder entered, swinging a large brown paper bag in front of her. "I come bearing food!" He announced with a smile as he passed her by. He sat on the side of the bed and unpacked the bag, setting white Chinese carry out boxes on the nightstand. "I hope you like Kung Poa Chicken." He added, turning to face her, smiling immediately at Scully's shocked expression. "I'm just kidding, I know your stomach's still a little iffy. I was hoping Chop Suey would go over okay." He laughed. "You brought supper?" Scully asked in disbelief. Mulder turned to her and patted the spot on the bed beside him. "Yeah, I know you missed lunch. So, I thought you'd be hungry." He loosened his tie and removed his suit jacket as he spoke. "Mulder, that was really nice of you." Scully remarked as she joined him, her voice reflecting her surprise. Mulder smiled wryly. "I just like to shake things up every now and then, keep you guessing." He bumped into her gently. "How are you feeling?" "A little better thank you, although my stomach's still burning, but maybe this will help." Scully helped herself to one of the boxes that Mulder had set on the table. She opened the flaps, savoring the warm and fragrant steam that escaped. "Any word on the tox screen yet?" Mulder asked, digging into his supper. Scully stared into her box. "Yes, actually, I got the report right before I showered. I tried to call you, but I couldn't get through." Mulder nodded understandingly but didn't offer an explanation. "Traces of Sodium Pentothal and Epinephrine were both found." Scully continued. "Mulder, I strongly believe that she was given the Sodium Pentothal to render her semi-conscious for the abduction and transport, and that the Epinephrine was used to kill her. My report will state that Sarah McKay's death was a result of a homicide by poisoning." "So who would have access to these drugs?" "Well, a lot of people could potentially have access. Surgeons, veterinarians, just about anyone in health care could gain access, although not always lawfully. We also have to look at the possibility of theft. The internet is another avenue that we need to consider." "That doesn't exactly narrow it down for us." Mulder added, disappointedly. "I think it would be a good idea to check with local hospitals for any thefts they may have occurred recently. That would still be a good place to start." Scully suggested, pushing a plastic fork int her Chop Suey. She spun it around and spooned up a bite. "Alright, we'll start there." Mulder watched her pop the forkful into her mouth, a bit of the brown gravy dribbled out of the side and down onto her chin. "Scully, you've got..." He started, motioning towards her mouth. Scully fought to finish her large mouthful, setting her dinner down as she reached over to search the empty bag on the nightstand for a napkin while fighting to keep her robe closed. Mulder sighed loudly and reached out to turn her face back towards him. He gently swiped the sauce off her chin with his thumb and then licked it off his hand. Scully finished chewing and swallowed, her eyes locked with his, her hair in damp curls around her face, her robe just starting to push away, revealing the creamy skin on her chest. Mulder's breathing quickened, his stomach suddenly tense as a warm sensation grew in an area of concern to him. He bit his lip, unwilling to turn from her and the soft wet look of surprise in her eyes, along with something else there. Expectation? Mulder threw caution to the wind, the fire spreading throughout him as if fueled by gasoline. He bent in closer to her, anticipating the taste of her lips, the firm yet soft sensation that they'd bring as they met his. He watched her eyes slowly close as he approached. Smelled the faint lilac and honey smell of shampoo and soap. Mulder met her lips with a surge of excitement that charged through his body like a jolt of electricity. He pulled her closer as he tasted her, her body warm and soft against his as they kissed, feeding the need he had long denied himself. Scully laced her arms around Mulder's waist, her bathrobe growing suddenly very damp in an area that had dried since her shower as her initial surprise gave way to pleasure. There must have been hundreds of moments she had half expected something to happen between them, but nothing had come of them. And now as she felt the weight of Mulder's body, pushing up against hers, she marveled at the sudden turn of events, reveled in the hot, needy kiss. Mulder pushed against her harder, laying her back, flat against the bed, smothering her neck and her chest with warm, wet kisses as he pushed at the loosely fastened bathrobe. Scully gasped as she felt his hand slide up her naked thigh. "Mulder!" She called out as the first hint of alarm rose within her, rivaling an intense wave of passion. "Scully!" He breathed back against her neck, his hand continuing its painfully slow journey up her inner thigh. "Mulder, no...stop." Scully grabbed the wrist of the offending hand, her voice trembling with a mix of emotions. Mulder abruptly pulled away from her, his eyes wet with concern. "Jesus, Scully, I'm sorry..." Mulder stood, at a loss for further words, he collected his suit jacket and quickly headed for the door. "I'm sorry." He continued, shaking his head, without looking back. Scully pulled her robe closed. "No, Mulder, wait!" Mulder paused, his hand on the doorknob as he turned back to face her. "Don't be sorry." Scully asserted. "I'm not." XXXXXXXXXX Midnight's Sorrow Chapter 7, Part B. Disclaimer in Chapter 1. This story is rated NC-17. Moxie's Motel Bloomington, Illinois July 11th 5:00 p.m. Mulder nodded at her, unconvinced, his expression solemn as he turned back to the door. Tears begun to sting Scully's eyes as a hollow, lonely feeling formed inside of her chest, a black hole that threatened to swallow all of the happiness that she had found. "No!" Scully called out, her voice breaking as the first of the tears burned down her cheeks. Mulder released the doorknob, startled. Scully quickly crossed the room to him, her tear streaked face concentrated. She reached up and took Mulder's face in both hands, smiling broadly at him even as the tears continued to mark her face. "Don't leave." Her lip quivered slightly as she spoke and her hands began an exploration of his face. Mulder closed his eyes slowly as a look of silent agony overtook him, as if her gentle touch were somehow painful to him. Scully stroked his forehead, gently caressing his temples, barely skimming his hairline. She stopped to trace his lips with one finger. Mulder's eyes reopened as he blinked back tears. Scully stroked his hair, her hands running over his ears and down his jaw line before pushing back up over his head again. Scully stared deeply into his face, her own sadness, her own loneliness stared back at her through hazel eyes. She smoothed away a tear with a delicate touch, as it spilled down his cheek. Scully lowered his face to hers, standing on tiptoe as she brushed against his mouth. She kissed him, slowly at first, then deeper, seeking the warmth inside, the feeling of his heart beating against her own chest as she pressed herself to him. Feeling the stirring of what was most intimately Mulder against her abdomen. "Please, don't leave..." She breathed against his neck as she parted from his lips. "Don't leave." She repeated, her lips seeking his again. Mulder took her face as she met his. His thumb brushed the side of her cheek as he pulled back from her, searching her face, attempting to understand her sudden change of heart. "I want this..," Scully started, her voice strained with emotion. Fresh tears formed in her eyes as she continued, trailing down her cheeks and over Mulder's hands as he held her. "But if things didn't work..," Scully winced at the thought and exhaled. " I just don't want to lose you." "No." Mulder replied softly, lifting her face slightly, so that she stared into his. "You could never lose me, Scully." Scully smiled back at him through her tears, her lip quivering. "Not even if you tried." He added, stilling her lips with a soft kiss. Scully laced her hands behind his neck, cradling his head with one hand as she drew him closer still, intensifying their kiss, craving more of his mouth, of his touch. Allowing her heart to guide her through what her mind had just only begun to accept. She stepped back, still facing Mulder, her mind made up. She tugged loose the tie on her bathrobe, allowing it to fall to the sides before pushing it off of her shoulders, causing it to fall in heap at her feet, revealing all that it had hidden. Mulder held for a moment, his eyes tracing each curve, memorizing her image as she stood before him. He stepped forward and pushed her drying hair back from her face. "God, you're beautiful. I could make love to you right now." He whispered, brushing his mouth across her ear as he tucked the strands behind. Scully closed her eyes against the faint sensation, her bare flesh tingling at his slight touch. Mulder kissed her swollen lips, his hands slipping down over her shoulders and across her naked back, as he dove deep inside of her mouth, her throaty moan vibrating his tongue as he did so. Scully's hands slid down his chest and across the flat of his tense abdomen. Mulder drew in a deep breath as she found and released his belt buckle. He broke from their kiss as he watched, trembling in excited anticipation, as she undid the button carefully pulling the zipper down over the throbbing bulge that had formed there. Mulder groaned loudly as Scully stroked him through the thin layer of fabric of his sports briefs before gently tugging his pants and underwear down in one easy movement. Mulder stood before her, exposed, his swollen member erect. Scully reached around, her hands firmly squeezing his ass before kneeling, her hands trailing around as she went. She took his penis in her hand, guiding it into her mouth without further presentation. "Scully!" Mulder's eyes rolled back in his head, a long moan escaping him as Scully began a pattern of sucking and stroking. Scully traced her free hand up his inner thigh until she reached the warm, prickly destination. She carefully ran her hand over his testicles, applying gentle pressure as she continued with her mouth. "Oh, god, Scully, that feels so good." Mulder moaned and ran a hand over her still slightly damp hair as she made love to him with her mouth, watching her as she brought him exquisite pleasure. "Hell yeah, Scully, yeah, just like that!" Scully sucked harder and faster, as Mulder's pleasure mounted, taking him deeper into her mouth. Mulder stopped her as the sensation grew in intensity, gently pushing back on her before he came and helping her to her feet. Scully licked her wet lips, as she stood before him, further aggravating the deep level of frustration he was feeling. He pulled her to him by the waist, softly kissing her lips before kissing his way down her chin, past the warm throbbing in her throat, and onto the smooth skin below her breastbone. He stopped briefly, smiling up at her as he ran a hand over the silky, soft skin of her breast before popping a pert, pink nipple into his mouth. Scully sighed softly as he teased her, taking her nipple between his teeth and flicking his tongue across it. She began to unbutton his dress shirt, tugging at the small white buttons in her hasty attempt to remove it. Mulder stopped to help her, tearing off his tie and dropping the shirt off his arms, exposing his chest. Scully smiled as she ran a hand through the coarse hair and over his own erect nipples, the feel of his skin brushing against hers as they stood there together, heightening her arousal. Scully grabbed his hand in hers, leading him back to the bed. Mulder kissed her, sucking her bottom lip up and gently biting it before letting go. Scully wrapped her arms around him in heated encouragement. Mulder continued kissing her lips, brushing himself softly against her as he did so. Scully moaned as the head of his penis nudged the moist, throbbing flesh between her thighs, and she thrust her hips in an attempt to meet him. "Mulder, please...," she pleaded between ragged breaths, her lips still touching his. Mulder guided himself into position and grabbed her hips. He penetrated her slowly at first, prompting her gentle moans as she accepted him. He lay still for a moment, tasting her lips, stroking her cheek and enjoying the warmth her body offered before she gyrated, sending him back into action. Scully's movements quickened as Mulder rocked her body in what felt like perfect rhythm from above. She bucked her hips with his movements, further intensifying the pleasure, well aware of her impending peak. "Mmmmmulder.." she crooned breathlessly, "mmm..." Mulder stroked her face gently in encouragement. "I love you, Scully, I love you..." Mulder repeated as he watched and felt her near her climax. "I love you." He swallowed her scream with his mouth, allowing her to snake her arms around his neck and ride out the last bits of orgasm. Scully felt blissfully lost in a world where all that mattered were closeness, rhythm and love. Mulder's movements and hers coordinated to create one common physical language. She waited, hyper-aware of each movement, each small sensation as Mulder's words were lost and replaced by something more primal. She stroked his cheek as he cried out against her shoulder, his body still shuddering from the aftershocks of their love. XXXXXXX Gordie's Fine Dining Bloomington, Illinois July 12th 8:42 a.m. Scully looked up from her cup of coffee as Mulder hit the end button on his cell phone and slipped it back into the breast pocket on his suit jacket. "Ten O' Clock at River Oaks Veterinary Clinic, Scully. Dr. Dexter was kind enough to squeeze a spot in between a neutering and a declawing." Mulder pushed his plate to the side of the table, the large oval dish, now empty except for a sprig of parsley and an orange twist that lay in a small puddle of egg yolk. Scully sat back in her booth seat, reaching into the pocket on her neatly pressed tan pants. "I'll flip you for Mercy Memorial." She offered, tossing a quarter that she retrieved to the center of the table, just past her own plate. Mulder smiled playfully at her. "That's alright, I'll take the veterinary clinic. Besides, Scully, you've been in Mercy Memorial before; you have the benefit of knowing your way around." Mulder took a slow sip of his coffee, before continuing. "How are you feeling today?" "I'm feeling fine, Mulder. Great, actually." Scully answered as she picked up her coffee cup with two hands to take a drink. "It looks like your big bang breakfast went over well." Mulder commented, staring at the empty, syrup scented plate in front of her. Scully lowered her coffee cup, a slightly annoyed look on her face. "Mulder, I did not order the big bang breakfast. I ordered the cakes n' eggs, and yes, it went over quite well." Mulder smiled, pleased with himself, as he toyed with green paper wrapper that had held the napkin on the silverware. Scully administered a quick kick to his feet under the table. "Ouch!" Mulder whined, shifting away from her in his seat. "You know, Scully, some people seek a career in law enforcement to satisfy their sadistic tendencies." He added. Scully rolled her eyes dramatically. "Shut up, Mulder." Scully smiled wryly at him as he met her eyes, a similar smile on his face. Mulder grew more serious as he pushed his mug aside. "Scully, call me if anything pans out at the clinic. If there has been a theft of the drugs used on Sarah McKay, then I think we need to move as quickly as possible." Scully looked to him for further explanation. "From the changes he has demonstrated, Scully, I think that this guy is coming unglued. Things are not going to be pretty if he starts losing any more control." Mulder slumped in his seat slightly as he reached into his pants pocket, his expression grim as he tossed a few dollars onto the center of the table, just ahead of Scully's plate. Scully nodded, understandingly. "I'll call you if I come up with anything. Otherwise, I'll meet you back at the motel, Mulder." XXXXXXXXXX Mercy Memorial Hospital Bloomington, Illinois 9:20 a.m. He readied the last of his preparations nervously, rearranging the chairs in his small office and neatly restacking books in their shelves. He broke periodically from his busy work to shake the thermal carafe that sat on its own small table in the corner of the room. This morning's turn of events had been almost dizzying. He had left Gordie's Fine Dining, not with the caramel pecan muffin that he had stopped in for, but with new direction and hope. She had been there, just feet away from the doily lined bakery case. He had strained to listen , past the buzz of morning chatter and the clinking of many coffee cups as they hit their saucers, catching snippets of her conversation. The man she was with leaned in close to her as he spoke to her, making it more difficult to decipher what was being said, but he heard him speak her name several times. She was more than just a dream, she was real, and he remembered her now. He had held her card in his wallet. He had called her just as he arrived, and soon now, she would join him. He drew his hands into tight fists, causing his class ring to cut into his finger. He realized his fortune, and had seized the opportunity, but this is not how he liked to work. He was a planner. He always planned things out in advance, sometimes down to immaculate detail. He realized this morning, as he saw her, that he would not be able to afford such a luxury. His plans had been conceived as he drove back from the dinner. He crossed the room anxiously, his stomach in a tight knot. He shook the carafe once again, lifting its lid and quickly smelling its contents before replacing it, satisfied. If he could just make this work, then he would have his time to plan. Once he had her, the rest would come easily. XXXXXXXXX End of Chapter 7. Continued in Chapter 8. Midnight's Sorrow, Chapter 8. Disclaimer in Chapter 1. This story is rated NC-17. Mercy Memorial Hospital Bloomington, Illinois July 12th 10:30 a.m. Scully left her meeting with the hospital board disappointed. Forty minutes had failed to provide her with anything but some random accounts of dosage miscalculations and a couple of unaccounted for bottles of acetaminophen. The rest of the thefts were trivial and not necessarily medicinal. A stolen case of Chapstick was hardly worthy of the federal government's attention. She walked quickly down the linoleum hallway, glad to be free of the stuffy, undercooled meeting room. Scully unbuttoned her tan suit jacket as she walked to the intensive care unit, straightening out the folds in her cream-colored blouse as she made her way. The hospital seemed fairly quiet at this late hour of the morning, except for the occasional intercom call and the squeak of shoes on the freshly scrubbed floors. She stopped in front of the silver doors of the elevator and pushed the button. The elevator doors opened and a young man, in his early twenties with neatly trimmed, sandy blonde hair and green eyes, blushed at Scully. He pushed a large cart of laboratory supplies to the back of the elevator as she entered. "Hi there." He offered shyly as the doors closed behind them. He smiled smitten, gazing at her as if in a stupor, as he leaned on the side of his cart. Scully smiled back weakly at the young man in his white hospital uniform before turning from him to reach for the elevator button. "Oh! What floor?" He exclaimed, jumping away from his cart and darting to the other side of the elevator. "Fourth, please." Scully responded, slightly startled, but also a little flattered at the young man's obvious display. He reached a tan arm out and pushed the button for the fourth floor for her with an obliging smile. "Thanks." Scully replied with barely contained amusement. "Not a problem. I'm a phlebotomist here." He added pointing to his cart as if for proof. "My name's Marty." "Thank you, Marty." Scully commented, with a smile she couldn't quite conceal, turning away from him once again, somewhat relieved to feel the elevator come to a stop. Marty ran for the doors as they opened, holding them for her. "Here you go, fourth floor." Scully walked out past him. "Thanks again, Marty." She replied with a smile as she left. "Have a nice day!" She heard him call out from behind her as she stepped on to the ward. XXXXXXXXXX The ICU was always a little different from the other units in the hospital, the hallways mostly empty, and quiet. No noise from patients' television or talk, just the beeps, hums and hisses of various equipment. The nurses still chatted, but in small intervals between patient checks and care, paying close attention to their respective rooms. "Agent Scully?" Scully turned to the room she had just passed on her way to the nurses' station. Dr. Voight stood in the open doorway, his stethoscope draped over his neck. "Thank you for coming. If you don't mind, I would like to meet with you in my office." He smiled warmly at her as he stepped over to the nurses' station to replace the patient file, he held. "That would be fine, doctor." Scully replied, waiting for him. Dr. Voight crossed the hallway and opened the door, holding it for her. "Please..." He added encouraging her to enter first. Scully smiled politely at the older man, his smartly styled, gray hair gleaned in the fluorescent lights. Dr. Voight's office wasn't big in size, but it was immaculately and tastefully decorated. A large mahogany desk sat on the other end, just in front of the windows. Matching bookcases lined most of the sidewalls. He pulled out a dark leather seat in front of his desk. Scully sat, obediently. Dr. Voight crossed to a small, highly polished table, grabbing a black thermal carafe and two matching cups. "I hope you don't mind, but I usually take a small coffee break right about now, I am taking the liberty of pouring a cup for you as well. Do you take cream or sugar?" Scully looked away from a large painting of an autumn maple at dusk that sat behind her. "No, black would be just fine." She replied, still looking around the room. Dr. Voight sat the cup gently in front of her before sitting behind the desk with his own. "Agent Scully, I called you because I could use your professional opinion. As a federal agent and a doctor, I feel that you are exactly the person to help me with my dilemma." Scully watched as he toyed with a large silver and garnet ring that he wore as he spoke to her. She lifted her cup to her lips and took a sip as she waited patiently for him to continue. Dr. Voight had called her after she had left the restaurant, and she hadn't had a chance to tell Mulder that she wouldn't be making it back when she had anticipated. Moreover, hospital regulations did not allow the use of cell phones in the building. Scully winced as the bitter liquid hit her mouth. "I make it strong. I need to." Dr. Voight commented, tossing an individual creamer across the desk, and a stir stick, to her before he continued. "I feel that I am having some difficulties with a member of my staff. I believe that you met her, Nurse Miller?" "Yes, I have." Scully remarked, tearing the lid off of the cream and pouring it into the coffee. She crossed her legs, cup in hand as she waited. "I have been concerned for some time about her actually, but I feel things have only become a real issue recently." He removed the black stethoscope from around his neck and placed it into the oversized pocket of his white lab coat. Scully took another sip of her coffee. "Exactly what is concerning you?" She prompted. "I have reason to believe that she may have falsified hospital documents." He explained, straightening the pinstriped navy blue tie that he wore over his blue dress shirt. "What causes you to believe this?" "There have been some inaccuracies in reports signed by Nurse Miller over recent months. I have addressed her on a couple of occasions on this, but it appeared to have been little more then a mistake and nothing serious at that. But recently, there have been reports stating patients were given drugs while I was on duty that I have not prescribed." He explained, stirring his coffee with a small, red stir stick. "Dr. Voight, I realize that these implications are very serious, but I feel the consequences of not reporting this behavior would be even more so." Dr. Voight sighed and leaned back in his executive style chair as he spun to stare out the window. "You must understand, that Nurse Miller and I have worked together for many years and she has never been anything less then wonderful with the patients here at the ICU. I was reluctant to move on this without good reason." "I can understand your concern, but your patients may be in danger. If nothing is done.." Scully was interrupted by someone knocking on the door. "Dr. Voight?" One of the nurses that Scully recognized from the station swung the door open. "You have a patient coding in room four o' two!" She ran back out of the room after explaining her intrusion. "Excuse me Agent, please wait here for me." Dr. Voight motioned for her to stay as he rose from his desk and sprinted out of the office. Scully sipped some more of the strong, but now creamed coffee, listening to the incessant beeps of the monitors and the scuffle of the unit's staff as someone struggled to cling to life only doors away. She felt suddenly very sleepy, very heavy, but given last night's activities that seemed reasonable. Scully yawned and rubbed a hand over her eyes before taking a large gulp of the hot liquid. She hoped it wasn't decaffeinated, she could have used the boost, although it's unusually acrid taste made her wonder. She set her cup down and stood from her chair to look out the window as the people passed below. They all seemed so tiny to her from four floors above. She paced the span of the room, her arms folded over her chest. Her legs seemed to be growing more reluctant by the minute, feeling more like heavy logs than limbs. Scully yawned again, considering drinking some more coffee, when her stomach rolled violently. She swallowed hard, twice, before darting out of the office into the hallway. Scully forced her increasingly sluggish body into activity, barely managing to drag herself into the bathroom in time to vomit. She forced herself to pace her breathing as she bent over the toilet, trying to manage her nausea, fighting the sensation that her consciousness was suddenly attempting to give way. Scully planted a hand on the cool, white ceramic squares on the wall beside her, steadying herself. She had to get back to the hotel, something was wrong, she realized. She stood to leave, shaking, slightly confused, her symptoms barely under control. She used a hand to steady herself on the wide wooden rail in the hospital hallway, listening to the commotion still underway. Dr. Voight was still busy she realized, she would call him later. Scully left the ward, her head light, her stomach churning as she caught an elevator back down to the first floor. Her stomach rolled from the elevator's motion, and she fought to keep from throwing up as she stepped out. Scully wove her way through the crowded lobby, the faces she passed seeming to blur, her legs and arms burning from the burden, but she trudged on. Scully shoved her way through the automatic doors and back into the heat of the day, her forehead wet with perspiration before she even neared her car. She feared she would vomit in the parking lot or worse yet, pass out. The asphalt seemed to wave past her as she stumbled closer to her rental car, hoping that she was safely out of the way of the traffic, since her senses seemed dulled from her illness and exhaustion. She reached the blue Toyota Celica just in time to vomit beside the driver's side door. Scully crouched down beside the car, her head resting on the side panel as she attempted to recover. The sour smell of her lost stomach contents in the heat threatened to cause her to repeat the action. Scully stood reluctantly, her head swimming wildly. With a shaky hand, she fished the key out of her pocket and fought to get the lock open past her trembling. Finally succeeding, she swung the door open, allowing it to bear most of her weight as she flopped down onto the driver's seat. Scully rested her head on the steering wheel momentarily before deep sleep threatened to take her to the edge of oblivion. Still allowing the steering wheel to hold her chest, Scully reached for her cell phone on the seat beside her, where she had left it. She raked it into her hand and pushed the button to speed dial Mulder's number. Scully pressed the phone to her ear, listening to the distant ringing, hoping to hear his familiar husky voice before her lucidity slipped away and she entered into the deep, quiet world that beckoned her. XXXXXXXXXXX River Oaks Veterinary Clinic 10:50 a.m. Mulder paced the stained and faded linoleum in the waiting room of the veterinary clinic, checking his watch no less than every ten minutes. Dr. Dexter had been called into an emergency surgery on a dachshund who had eaten a nightlight before Mulder had even arrived at the clinic. So, he waited. He had given up on trying to brush the animal hair off of his work suit twenty minutes ago. He had begun his pacing then, just off to the left of the heavily scratched reception desk by a display for flea control, safely out of the way of a large rottweiler that had been staring suspiciously at him for the past fifteen minutes. He didn't even want to recall the incident with the toy poodle that had left his right foot and ankle wet. Scully owed him. Big time. Mulder toyed with a mostly dried up air freshening cone on the appointment desk, that had done nothing to cover the heavy ammonia scent in the small building. He was willing to bet that it's remaining green center smelled nothing like pine anymore. He had already reviewed the files on the theft. Ketamine had been stolen recently. Not shocking since special k was a hot item, but it certainly wasn't what they were looking for. Mulder sighed impatiently to himself as he continued his adjustments to the air freshener, finally succeeding in knocking the top off. The receptionist shot him an annoyed look as she continued with her phone conversation. "Sorry." He replied sheepishly, backing away from the desk and the broken air freshener, relieved to hear his cell phone ringing from inside of his jacket pocket. "Mulder." He answered, stepping to the wall beside the desk to stare out the small window. "I need help..." The voice on the other end breathed out, weakly, almost too soft to hear. Mulder plugged his free ear with an index finger as he spun back around. "Scully?" He questioned confused. "Scully where are you?" "I'm at...I'm in my car...the hospital. Please, Mulder,...something's wrong." Mulder's heart hammered in his chest. "I'm coming Scully, I'm leaving right now. Hold on." Mulder ran out of the clinic past the owners and their animals and into the hot parking lot. "Feel so sick..." Scully whimpered distantly. "I'm coming right now; I'm getting in my car." Mulder threw his car door open, jumped in and started the car, cell phone still to his ear. He threw the car in drive and squealed out of the parking lot onto the street, passing cars and changing lanes in attempt to reach her faster. "Scully?" He questioned realizing that the other end of the line had been quiet for awhile. "Talk to me Scully!" He demanded, searching for a quicker route to the hospital as he found himself stuck behind a huge red dump truck in a slow line of traffic. Her response came in the form of a low groan. "Damn it, Scully, you've got to tell me what's going on! Scully?" XXXXXXXX Mulder held his breath, waiting for some response, considering calling for help as he grasped the hot steering wheel, but not wanting to lose her on the line. "Scully!" He shouted frantically into the phone. "Sick, Mulder.." She finally sighed, so that the last part of his name seemed to lack the d. "Do you need me to call the hospital?" He asked, concern heavy in his voice as he sped in the direction of Mercy Memorial. "No, jus need rest." "Hang with me then Scully; I'm only about five minutes away." Mulder replied, turning the car one handed onto Cherry Street. XXXXXXXX Scully continued to lie over the steering wheel, listening to Mulder's voice from the phone she held pressed to her ear. It was becoming more difficult for her to remember why she was staying awake. Even the nausea seemed distant as she'd start to drift away, everything felt pleasant. But Mulder's voice had shaken her awake several times. He kept yelling at her, something about not wanting her to sleep. Scully closed her tired eyes to the sound of Mulder's insistent voice, the image of a lone maple tree jutting out in field, held in her mind. Scully smiled serenely as she slipped past the world with a stifling hot car and a noisy partner and into that field. She walked effortlessly towards the maple, past the rustling field grass, her hair whipping about wildly in the evening's cool breezes. The late summer's sun shone golden above her, warming her face and her shoulders and giving everything a rich amber tint. Cichlids sang their shrill afternoon song, invisible in the tall grass as she continued towards the tree. The grass felt soft on her bare feet, and brushed gently across her legs as she made her way through. The maple stood tall, it's branches dark as ink, shadowed by its own top. The wind shook the mahogany colored leaves with a sound soft as a gentle spring rain. Scully stood to admire it, wondering why she hadn't come there sooner. She felt at one with the sun, the tree and the outdoors, even the wind seemed to whisper her name to her as it rushed by. XXXXXXXX "Scully! Scully! Answer me Scully!" Mulder shouted into the phone as the looming hospital building finally came into view. "Damn it!" He yelled out, pushing the end button on his cell phone and throwing it into the passenger seat. She had stopped responding to him altogether several minutes ago. Mulder turned abruptly and sped into the parking lot, narrowly avoiding a collision with a white station wagon as it backed out of a parking spot and completely ignored the angry driver's vocal reprimand. "Where are you Scully?" He muttered to himself as he scanned the aisles for her midnight blue rental car. A hospital shuttle bus stopped in front of the aisle blocking him in as a group of people boarded. "Shit!" Mulder called out, slamming his hand against the top of his dashboard. Mulder checked over his shoulder and threw the car into reverse and backed up the length of the aisle before turning around. Pedestrians shifted nervously off to the side, some calling out loud complaints. As Mulder backed up, he spotted a blue car close to the building, one aisle over, with what appeared to be a woman slumped over the steering wheel. Mulder quickly assessed the situation, cars were pulling in and out of that aisle, and the shuttle bus still blocked him from ahead. Mulder parked the car where he was and jumped out to run to the blue Celica. He dodged traffic and pedestrians in the thick heat, focused on getting to the car. As Mulder neared his destination, Scully's hair came into view, her face turned away from him as she lay on the steering wheel. "Scully..." He muttered to himself, half afraid of what he might find. Mulder sprinted the rest of the way to the car. XXXXXXXXXXXXX Mulder quickly crossed to the driver's side door and opened it. He gently moved Scully back away from the steering wheel. Mulder panicked at the lack of resistance her body offered as he moved her. "Scully!" He called out shaking her shoulders, "Scully, wake up!" Scully moaned gently and opened her eyes so that just a sliver of them were showing, before quickly closing them again. "Scully, no, you've got to wake up!" Mulder continued shaking her. "No, do'n shake, Mul.." Scully replied weakly before fading out and falling asleep again. Mulder pulled her legs around and hung them outside the car and gently bent her forward over her knees. He shook her shoulders again when she failed to respond. "No, Muller, do'n..." Scully stopped mid-sentence, her eyes suddenly wide open, and vomited, further messing Mulder's shoes. Mulder regarded his soiled shoes momentarily with obvious revulsion before looking back up into Scully's tired face. Scully's head slowly fell back down to her lap as her eyes re-closed. "Oh, Scully." Mulder sighed, and reached out and stroked the back of her head. "Scully, I need to get you some help." Mulder gently wrapped one arm around her back, scooped up her legs with the other and picked her up. XXXXXXXXXX Mercy Memorial Hospital Intensive Care Unit 11:40 a.m. Mulder paced the hallways of the intensive care unit, making it the third place that he had paced in that morning. He had heard no new news since Scully had been transferred there from the emergency department earlier. "Mr. Mulder?" A nurse with curly dark brown hair, in a white uniform, with multiple colored balloons decorating the top, stood at the end of the hallway, holding a door open. Mulder nodded and headed towards her. "From what I understand, you came with Ms. Scully into the emergency room?" She asked him as he joined her at the door. "Yes, actually I brought her in, we work together." Mulder explained, trying to see around to the other side of the door. "Is she okay? Can I see her?" Mulder asked anxiously. "Actually, the doctor is in with her right now." She explained with a sympathetic smile. "I would like to know what is going on, I have waited patiently for almost an hour now and I would like some answers!" Mulder demanded, his voice gradually rising as he spoke. "Actually, I just finished, thank you Nurse Fueller." Dr. Voight stepped out of the room, his chart in hand. "What's going on?" Mulder demanded again as he regarded the older man. "As I am certain that they explained to you back in the emergency room, Mr. Mulder, your colleague is severely dehydrated. Furthermore, I believe she has been suffering from bacterial gastroenteritis, that would explain the dehydration and the symptoms that you described her as having recently." Dr. Voight tapped the folder on his hand as he explained. "So, how did this happen?" "This isn't uncommon in people who frequent eating places away from home, which I understand your profession causes you many such occasions." He responded, matter of fact. Mulder nodded understandingly. "She is being administered intravenous fluids and I have started her on some strong antibiotics as well. She had a close call, but she should be back to her self soon." Dr. Voight explained. "Can I see her?" Mulder asked, heading towards the open door again. "That would be fine." Dr. Voight momentarily blocked Mulder's way. "And son..." He added resting a hand on his shoulder, his ring shining like a serpent's eye in the florescent lights. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of her." XXXXXXXXXXXXXX End of Chapter 8. Midnight's Sorrow, Chapter 9. Disclaimer in Chapter 1. This story is rated NC-17 He padded quietly up the stairs, the muted noise of a shoot out playing on the black and white television behind him . He ran a hand through his ruffled hair as he climbed. He could never seem to get the cowlick to lie flat there. At least, not like his mother could. He tucked the ends of his red and white stripped tee-shirt into his jeans as he reached the top and gave his hands a quick inspection. Not freshly scrubbed, but not frog-catching dirty either, he determined. He walked, stocking footed, along the side of the hallway, careful to avoid the squeaky floor boards in the center. The door to his right sat ajar. Sunlight flooded into the hallway and spilled across the olive green and cream floral carpeting there. He pushed his ear to the crack, listening. A drawer opened and closed, along with small clinking sounds of something being set down. She was awake. Harold pushed the heavy wooden door open enough to allow his head to peek in. "Momma?" he called in, scanning over the lump of covers in the unmade bed. Another drawer closed from behind the master bathroom door. Harold walked into the room, tracing his hand across the white chenille coverlet as he approached the bathroom. He hesitated beside the closed door, finally deciding on waiting. Harold crossed his arms over his chest and flopped down onto the messy bed with an exaggerated sigh. "C'mon mom..." he muttered under his breath. Harold scanned over the room as he waited; a silky brown dress lay draped over the parlor chair beside the bed. The heavy brown curtains were pulled back, allowing sunlight to spill across the room in bright yellow patches. He watched the dust particles dance in the air above his mother's large walnut dresser before settling on it's top. Harold jumped off the bed and walked over to trace a finger through the dust on the dresser. He traced a squiggly line past the glass perfume bottles, around the lipsticks, and stopped at a small unmarked bottle of pills. Harold picked it up. The pills clinked noisily as he twisted the top, attempting to see what was inside. "Harold Jonathon Voight!" Harold dropped the bottle back onto the dresser at the sound of his mother's scolding voice. "What in the name of the world are you doing in my room?" she demanded, her hands on her hips. She stared down at him in her pink bathrobe, her dark brown hair still up in bristly white curlers. "I just wanted to see if you were awake, mom. It's lunch time, I thought maybe you could make us some lunch," Harold explained, backing towards the door. "Is something wrong with the peanut butter in the cabinet downstairs?" she asked, fanning her freshly painted, blood red fingernails. "No, it's just that I'm tired of that is all." Harold kicked at the rug as he spoke, avoiding his mother's eyes. She crossed over to her dresser, picked up the bottle that Harold had been messing with, and slipped it into the pocket on her robe before turning back to face him, her hands on her hips again. "Let me tell you something about tired, young man. I worked all last night, didn't get in until almost daybreak, and now I've got you standing here demanding that I make you some lunch. You don't know what tired is!" "I just never get to see you anymore!" Harold whined back at his mother. "Do you think that's my choice, do you think I like working long hours at night just to make ends meet for us? Besides, I got you that tv that you wanted so badly, didn't I?" Harold hung his head, refusing to respond. "It's not like I don't wish that we had more time together. It's just not that simple." She opened the top drawer on her dresser, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and placed one between her lips. "Is that why I hear you crying in the mornings?" he asked quietly, leaning up against the doorframe. His mother pulled the cigarette back out of her mouth. "I thought I told you not to mind that, Harold. Now go mind your own damn business!" she shouted crossly at him, her hand shaking as she held onto the unlit cigarette, deep circles lining her glassy brown eyes. Harold turned and ran into the hallway, tears stinging his eyes. "Go and watch that television that I spent so much money on for you!" he heard her call out behind him before her door slammed shut. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Mercy Memorial Hospital Intensive Care Unit July 12th 11:42 p.m. Dr. Voight lifted his head from his desk, pushing the sleep away as he rubbed his face with tired hands. He had worked a long shift, but voluntarily. The disturbing dream remained fresh in his mind as he regarded his ring, turning it so that the deep red gemstone would catch the light. Things would soon be different, he reminded himself. Fate had played a hand in that. Tonight would be long, but tomorrow would be a new day for him. He rearranged the release papers beside him that he had begun for Dana Scully. Tomorrow would be a new day indeed. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Mercy Memorial Hospital Intensive Care Unit Room 103 July 13th 8:32 a.m. "Good morning." Mulder peeked his head around the curtain to smile at Scully, who sat in a semi-reclined position, propped up with hospital pillows. Scully smiled back at him, although dark circles weighted both of her eyes. "Morning, Mulder," she replied, her voice hoarse with fatigue, as he approached her bedside. "How are you feeling?" he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder as he lowered himself onto the green vinyl chair beside her bed. "Tired," Scully started, pulling her blankets up tighter to her chest, while being careful to avoid snagging the i.v. needle that was taped down to the top of the right hand. "But better," she continued. Mulder nodded at her with a slight smile before continuing. "Scully, you seemed all right yesterday morning, what happened?" Scully rubbed her forehead gently and sighed. "I don't know Mulder, most of yesterday seems distant, like a dream." Mulder shook his head as if to dismiss the whole issue. "That's all right, the important thing is that you're feeling better now." Mulder looked down at his shoes as he changed gears. "Scully, I've got to go back to the veterinary clinic and speak with Dr. Dexter. I spoke briefly with your doctor, and he feels that you are pretty much out of the woods right now, so he'll probably be releasing you sometime today or tomorrow. I want you to go ahead and give me a call when he does, and I'll pick you up." Scully gave a nod of agreement and curled onto her side to face Mulder. Her eyes began to droop as her body sunk comfortably into the pillows. Mulder stood from the chair and bent in to give Scully a kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you later," he whispered. He allowed his hand to softly brush across hers as he pulled back to leave. Scully smiled broadly as her eyes closed, the sensation of Mulder's soft kiss still warm on her cheek. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Mercy Memorial Hospital 9:45 a.m. As Dr. Voight slowly pushed the door open to room 103, he noticed that the lights were out, and that the shades were still pulled. He closed the door behind him quietly as he entered. Dr. Voight stopped walking as the patient rolled over in bed, sighing softly in her sleep, and set the file he carried gently down onto her bedside tray. Carefully he reached into the pocket of his white lab coat and withdrew a small vial, a syringe, and a pair of latex gloves. He stretched the gloves over his hand, removed the violet colored protective cap from the syringe, and put it back into his pocket. Dr. Voight looked behind at the closed door, listening briefly, before plunging the needle into the top of the vial. "Dr. Voight?" Harold turned only his head, hoping to conceal what he held with his body. Nurse Miller stood holding the door open as she scanned the darkened room. "What's going on? I thought Ms. Scully was being discharged this morning?" she questioned in a hushed tone. "Yes, yes, she is. I'm giving her an extra dose of antibiotics before she goes. She'll be all set then," Harold explained in a whisper, pushing the syringe needle into the input valve on the intravenous line. "There, all set," he added as he disposed of the empty syringe in the sharps container on the wall beside the bed. Nurse Miller hesitated in the door as Harold approached her. "I didn't see you order any meds for her, I just checked her chart." Harold guided her out of the room gently, closing the door behind them as Scully stirred in her bed again. "I know, it was an afterthought, really. Just precautionary." She regarded him with a wary expression, her dry and wrinkled hands placed on her hips as she considered this. "You were on break, Kathlee," he added, further guiding her away from the room. "I didn't see any reason to bother you for this small matter." Nurse Miller stared into his face momentarily, and then nodded at him as she allowed her hands to drop back down to her sides. "Well, are her papers all ready?" she asked, removing her red stethoscope from her uniform's large front pocket. "They are, I'll go over them with Ms. Scully in just a minute." He smiled warmly as he guided her back to the nurses station with an arm around her shoulder. "Man the station, I can take care of this," he called back as he left her there. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Scully moaned, her brows arched to a peak above her closed eyes as she turned in her hospital bed. Somewhere beyond the familiar world of antiseptic and starched linens, something lurked. She felt it. With the same certainty she held that just behind her closed door, the hospital staff continued their work, that patients, like herself, lie in their beds; all apart from her view, but there just the same. Only this presence was different and closer. Scully turned over again, her body sluggish. Her mind fought to keep open a window of perception that seemed only to occur in the altered state that lingered somewhere between the beginnings of sleep and dreaming. If she opened her eyes, she would see him standing there and watching. She pulled her blanket, now twisted and tangled, tighter against her. Scully's mind tugged her relentlessly towards deep sleep, allowing her thoughts to slip from her for a moment or two before she jolted back into reasoning. She knew she should stay alert, that something very close to her wasn't right, but she was losing her ability to fight. "Mommy, no!" Scully's tired eyes opened wide at the unfamiliar sound. It was the voice of a child, close, but garbled, much of the clarity lost as if it had traveled through water or time to reach her. Scully turned her head towards the strange noise, jumping in startled surprise at the small form beside her. Scully stared at the brown-eyed boy in wonder. His voice seemed so strange and surreal, and yet he stood beside her, appearing as solid and real as any person she had ever seen. She blinked slowly, testing her eyes. "No, don't leave me." His odd, buffered plea caused her to quickly reopen her eyes. He stood just beside her, the plastic bed rail the only visible border between their worlds. He brushed a hand nervously over his ruffled brown hair. Scully studied the sullen faced child; lasso-bearing cowboys decorated his tan pajama shirt and pants, his feet were bare, his expression as distant as Scully felt. Her initial shock turned slowly to concern. "Why do you come to me?" She asked. The boy turned slowly to the door, his right index finger pointing as if the answer lay posted to it. Scully shook her head. "I don't understand." The boy stood fixed in his position, staring back at her. Light from the hallway flooded in as the door was pushed open. Scully watched as the boy faded to a dark shadow and then finally disappeared from view behind the opening door. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX "I'm sorry, did I startle you?" Dr. Voight looked up at Scully as he entered the room, shuffling through papers he held on a clipboard . "No." Scully shook her head, attempting to recover, "No, I'm fine." Her head seemed to swim from the motion, so she choose to remain in her reclined position. "Good, that's good." Dr. Voight stood at her bedside, his clipboard tucked beneath his arm. "I suppose you've been told that today is your big day?" Scully started to nod her head, but quickly stopped the motion. "Yes, actually, I have." "Alright then, I'll have you go over and sign your release papers then." He handed Scully the clipboard. Scully forced herself into a more upright position to read over the routine paperwork and added her signature. "I realize that you are still very fatigued, Ms. Scully, so I want you to take it easy for awhile." "Yes, I will agree to that." " I have already called an escort service. I will have a hospital escort take you to the doors, and you will be picked up by one of our vans and taken back to your hotel room," he added, retrieving the paperwork from her and turning to leave the room. "Thank you, but I already have a ride arranged," Scully asserted. Dr. Voight turned back to her, his face serious. "Ms. Scully, the van is already waiting, and the escort is on his way up. Please get yourself ready. If you need help, I'll send in a nurse." Scully considered arguing further, but the thought of waiting an extra forty-five minutes or so for Mulder didn't seem appealing. "That won't be necessary." Dr. Voight flashed her a warm smile. "Great. You make sure to take it easy Ms. Scully," he added as he left the room. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Mercy Memorial Hospital Main Entrance 10:10 a.m. "You sure seem sleepy." Scully's escort commented, and Scully's head snapped back up off of her chest. "Yes, I am a little sleepy," she remarked back to him. Scully felt dwarfed standing below the hulking man who held her wheelchair: he was built like a linebacker. Anthony, it seemed like he had introduced himself as. Anthony. Somewhere up that tree trunk of a chest, there was likely a name tag to prove that, but Scully didn't feel up to the chore of looking for it. "Well, I'm no doctor, but I wouldn't send you home yet," Anthony added, his large dark hand completely masking Scully's shoulder as he patted it. "But that's just me, I don't like to see folks go too soon. Insurance companies hold a lot of blame for that. Money shouldn't come before someone's well being." "No, it certainly should not," Scully remarked tiredly. She completely agreed with him, but her head found the challenge of conversation extremely difficult and rather exhausting. "Don't mind me, you just rest. I'll keep a look out for your ride," he volunteered, hearing the strain in her fatigued voice. Scully accepted the offer without further comment. Her heavy eyes quickly fluttered closed, and her head lolled off to the side before falling back to her chest. The sounds of her surroundings blurred before fading, replaced by a reverberating sound not unlike wind or waves. Scully stood in what was becoming familiar territory, and walked slowly towards the lone maple tree that sprang from the ground like an outstretched hand, and the small boy that stood below it, summoning her. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Anthony shook his head and rechecked the license plate number of the white van that approached the curb. RNV394 that was it alright. He wheeled the barely responsive patient out onto the hospital sidewalk. "If you could just help her into the seat beside me, please," the driver called out over the noise of the engine. Anthony nodded again. "I can do that." He opened the door to the van, then scooped Scully's limp body out of the wheelchair and placed her carefully into the passenger side seat. Her eyes rolled back in her head as he fastened the seat belt around her. "Is she going to be all right?" he questioned. "Yes, just fine, she'll be resting comfortably soon," the driver assured him. Anthony shut the door. and. Sunlight lit the bright red jewel that adorned the ring on the driver's finger as he waved to him in thanks. Anthony waved back weakly, his mind on the small slumped form of the red-headed woman in the passenger seat as the van pulled away. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX End of Chapter 9. Continued in Chapter 10. Feedback is welcome at Semantics@writeme.com Thank you to the usual team of people for their help and support. Brandi, Foxcat, and Memento1. My family and friends. Thank you all. Midnight's Sorrow, Chapter 10. Disclaimer in Chapter 1. This story is rated NC-17. Mercy Memorial Hospital Intensive Care Unit, Room 103 July 13th 12:10 p.m. Mulder knocked twice on the heavy hospital door. He held a Styrofoam cup of vegetable rice soup in his left hand as he waited for a response. It had seemed like something Scully had recommended to him once when his stomach wasn't up to the challenge of his ordinary menu. He had eaten his own lunch in his rental car on the way over: a bacon, chili cheeseburger, with cheese fries. Not something to be eaten in front of Scully without suffering a health lecture, and definitely not something to eat in front of anyone recovering from a stomach ailment. In retrospect, not something to be eaten in a rental car either. The chili stain on the driver's seat was sure to lose him his security deposit. Mulder knocked harder and finally pushed the door open when no reply came. A freshly cleaned antiseptic smell rushed out towards him as the door opened. Mulder's eyes quickly scanned over the vacant room and the neatly made hospital bed "Where is she?" he demanded loudly, turning towards the nurses station. A young nurse turned from her work to look up at him, but her response didn't come fast enough. "Where is she?" Mulder quickly demanded again, his voice booming down the hallway as he made his way to the station. Nurse Miller stepped out of a patient's room and approached him. "You'll have to keep your voice down, sir, this is an intensive care unit!" she warned in a harsh whisper. "Now, who are you looking for?" "Dana Scully, room 103. She was there earlier this morning." Mulder lowered his voice but remained insistent. He closed the normal courteous gap of personal space as he spoke, and leaned in close to the nurse, his eyes piercing. Nurse Miller crossed her arms over her chest. She had dealt with many difficult situations in the intensive care unit over the years; she wasn't easily rattled. "Ms. Scully has been discharged," she stated matter-of-fact. Mulder backed down somewhat on his defensive posture as he thought this over. "No, she didn't call me. I was suppose to pick her up. She wouldn't have just left without telling me." "I don't know what your arrangements were, sir, but I do know that Ms. Scully was discharged this morning at ten," she added curtly, turning to return to her work. "Where are your phones?" Mulder called after her. Nurse Miller pointed to a small hallway off to the right of him before disappearing into another patient's room. Mulder dashed down the hall to the phone booths that lined the right side of the wall. He set the container of soup on top of the nearest one and fished in his pants pocket for change. Mulder fed the coins into the machine and started dialing the number for her hotel room in what almost appeared to be one smooth motion. He pressed the phone to his ear, leaning up against the booth with his free arm. "C' mon Scully!" He groaned as the phone continued to ring past seven rings. Mulder hit the button to hang up, the phone still pressed to his ear as he reinserted the coins and dialed her cell phone number. Mulder waited impatiently as the phone rang, tapping his fingers on top of the phone booth until he received the recorded unavailable message. Mulder slammed the phone down. Two hours had passed since her discharge; there was no good reason that she shouldn't be answering her phone. Or at least no settling reason. Mulder made his way back up to the nurses station, forgetting about the soup. "Who did she leave with?" Mulder demanded loudly as he reached the desk. The young nurse looked up quickly, visibly startled. She shook her head at him. "I don't know," she replied softly. "Then find someone who does know!" he insisted. Bright red splotches formed on her cheeks. She pressed a call button behind the desk. "Kathleen?" "Yes, Angie?" her reply came back shortly. "I could use your help out here," she answered, eyeing Mulder warily. She twisted the light brown hair that hung down from her ponytail as she waited. Nurse Miller stepped back out of the room and towards Mulder. "Who did she leave with?" he questioned before she finished walking. Nurse Miller stopped in her tracks. "Hospital policy does not allow me to..." "Hospital policy," Mulder interrupted, "states that she has to leave the grounds in a wheel chair. Who wheeled her out?" "Someone from the hospital's escort service accompanied her." "Who?!" "Anthony Olsen," she replied, sighing in frustration. "Get him up here, I want to talk to him" Mulder insisted. The younger nurse spoke up from behind the desk, her cheeks still bright red. "Sir, I don't know if we can do that." "I've got an FBI agent that's missing after being discharged from your unit. Now, I sure as hell wouldn't want to have been working your shift if anything ends up happening to her." "Angie, go ahead," Nurse Miller directed. Mulder waited less than patiently as she dialed and spoke to the escort service, pacing the floor in front of the desk. "He'll be here shortly," she replied, looking up at Mulder as she set the phone back down. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX 12:20 p.m. Mulder paced the small span of hallway before the nurses' station, checking his watch frequently. He paused as the silver elevator doors to the left of him opened, and a large man dressed in a white hospital uniform stepped onto the ward. "Is this him?" Mulder called up to the desk, pointing at the man. Nurse Miller nodded back to him, her lips stretched into tense, thin lines as she returned to her work. Anthony stopped where he was as the elevator doors closed behind him. "Anthony Olsen, I work for the hospital escort service." he offered, extending his huge dark hand. Mulder took his hand, " Special Agent Fox Mulder with the FBI. I believe that this morning, you were escort to my partner, Dana Scully." "I remember Ms. Scully, small lady with red hair. Dead tired, could hardly keep her eyes open, not to mention, her head up." "Who'd she leave with?" Mulder interrupted. "Someone in a white van picked her up. It looked like it might have been her father." Mulder shook his head, his jaw tense. "No, her father is dead." Anthony slipped his hand into his shirt pocket. "I still have the license plate number, I left it in my pocket." he explained, withdrawing the small piece of paper. He handed it to Mulder. Mulder took the paper and studied it for a moment. "Who called for you to escort her?" he asked. " I believe the order came from a Dr. Voight." Mulder withdrew his card from his coat pocket. "Thank you. Please call me if you can remember anything else." he handed the card to Anthony and stormed up to the desk. "Get me Dr. Voight." He demanded. The two nurses exchanged uneasy glances. "I can't do that, he just left after working a double shift." Nurse Miller stated. Mulder motioned for the phone on the other side of the desk. Nurse Miller set it beside him. Mulder pressed the receiver to his ear and turned to them before dialing, the small slip of paper still in his hand. "I'm calling in this license plate number, and while I do that, you get him on the phone. Either he can return here, or I'd be more than happy to pay him a visit at home. He arranged this pickup for her, and now he can help straighten this all out." XXXXXXXXXXXXX Scully moaned and attempted to turn over; the weight of her body had seemed like an impossible load for longer then she could clearly recall. She knew she needed to take advantage of this moment of lucidity to try to get her bearings, to figure out where she was, but her mind's first battle was with her reluctant body. Her arms trembled violently underneath her, the muscles aching and burning as she tried to push up, before completely giving out underneath her. Scully's head slammed into the cold, hard floor as her strength was spent, sending a sharp flash of pain that spread like an electric shock throughout her face and forehead. She lay still, feeling the warmth spill out of her nose, her arms still trembling from exhaustion. Her mind felt ready, but her body remained an impediment. Scully let her heavy head fall to the side; grit stuck to her where blood had oozed its path down her face. It was dark and dank where she lay, probably a basement, but she had no way to prove that at the moment. She rested, trying to reserve as much strength as possible, realizing she may soon need it. She thought of Mulder, and wondered how much time had passed, wondered if he realized she was gone, if he was coming for her right now. Scully pressed her eyes closed, shutting out the darkness around her. In the years since she had known him, Mulder had talked about sixth senses and precognition, had believed in them as he had in many other pseudo-psychology practices. She had always argued against these, had filed them in the same place in her mind as she had mythical creatures. Her scientific background had taught her that such phenomena had no more basis then the Easter Bunny, and that is where she had stood, unwavering in her beliefs. She had held her beliefs in science, in herself, and in her own strength and ability to overcome. Today, things felt less certain. The visions of the boy that she had refused to share with Mulder, that she had explained away to herself, had now left her without any explanation other then the fantastic. Until her strength returned, until her body regained its ability to fight with all her being, her beliefs would have to lie in Mulder. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Harold Voight Residence 12:25 p.m. Harold set the phone back down on its cradle, his hands trembling. Things were not going as planned. He knew the FBI woman's partner would look for her, but he hadn't planned on it being so soon. He would have to go speak with him at the hospital now, or risk having him show up on his doorstep. He ran a hand over his brow where the first stinging droplets of a cold sweat had begun to form. He couldn't kill her now: it was too early, and he wouldn't have enough time. He had waited for her, had suffered many nights of confusing nightmares before actually finding her. He would not allow this to be taken from him now. Harold tightened his hands into angry fists; he would not lose this without a fight. If it came to it, he would fight, and he would win what was rightly his; but it may not need to come to that. He just needed to employ his diplomacy. He was clever and cunning, and soon she would see that too. Harold Voight was a man to be taken seriously. Harold walked into his small kitchen and opened a cabinet drawer. He grabbed a large roll of gray duct tape and threw it onto the orange counter top beside a dishrag. He pushed the side of the brown refrigerator, slowly scooting it off to the side and revealing the small latched door that had been hidden underneath it on the kitchen floor. Harold grabbed up the tape and dishrag and placed them in his pants pockets. He took a small silver flashlight from the counter top beside him and turned it on before flipping up the small door. A musty, mildewy scent filled his nose as he walked down the steep, creaking wooden steps. Cobwebs brushed his face and arms as he reached the bottom. He shone the beam ahead of him, onto the cracked concrete floor. A small animal scurried off to the left of him, just outside of the light . The room was mostly silent, except for the scraping sound of his shoes on the dirty floor, and swishing above him, as the water ran through the pipes to the clothes washer he had running. Harold shone the flashlight on a small wall built of field stone to the right of him. He walked through the crumbling doorway, sweeping the light across the empty, dust-covered wooden shelves that lined the small room, and then on the woman who lay sprawled out on the floor below them. He immediately wished he had more time, wished that her meddling partner had not disturbed him. He took a deep breath of the dank air, calming himself before proceeding. All things in due time, he reminded himself. Harold shone the light onto her face. Blood was crusted across her nose and mouth. She squinted and attempted to move away from him, managing only to squirm. The medicine was still working, he realized, but not for much longer. He wouldn't take a chance on her, he had already risked too much. Harold set the flashlight on a shelf so that it shone down on her, and withdrew the rag and duct tape from his pocket. She moaned as he turned her onto her back and straddled her, managing only to roll her head from side to side and attempting feebly to push him away. Harold forced the rag into her mouth easily, shoving it in until she gagged, before ripping a piece of duct tape off, and taping it over her mouth. He turned her back over and held her wrists together as he passed the roll of tape around them multiple times, and then moved on to taping her ankles together. Harold flipped her back over onto her side. He stared into her wide crystal blue eyes. "Don't worry," he crooned, stroking her cheek with his fingers, "I'll be back so soon. It'll seem like we were never even apart." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Midnight's Sorrow, Chapter 11. Disclaimer is in Chapter 1. This story is rated NC-17. July 13th Mercy Memorial Hospital Intensive Care Unit 1:08 p.m. Harold stepped onto the ward, a sense of detachment overcoming him as he navigated the small hallways. Fatigue was catching up with him. He allowed the relaxing sensation to sweep over him; things would soon be under control. He had long since taken the van back to the hospital and switched the license plates back. The noon hour had provided him the perfect opportunity to do so, with only one driver running, he was able to work without being noticed. He had then taken the bus home and had taken it again on his way back to the hospital. Mulder was standing at the nurses' station, the phone pressed to his ear. He turned around as Dr. Voight approached, quickly ending the conversation. "Agent Mulder, how may I help you?" Dr. Voight offered as the younger man turned to face him. "Who picked up Agent Scully; who was the driver?" He immediately demanded. "I don't know that. I called the for escort and arranged for her pick-up, beyond that I don't know. If you have questions about that you need to speak to the escort service." "I already did. The license plate for the van assigned for the pick- up was RNV394, the driver assigned to that van is Bernie Callaway, only Bernie Callaway never picked Scully up. He says that he never even got the order to. He was in the lounge with some of the drivers from ten to ten-twenty-eight," Mulder presented him with the piece of paper that he had compiled his recently acquired information on. Dr. Voight took the paper and studied it for a moment. "I'm sorry, but I can't explain this. I've never had any trouble with the escort service before. I'm not certain how I can help you with this," he added, handing the paper back to Mulder. "My partner is missing after you arranged for her pickup through the hospital's escort service. I want to know why she was even picked up by them in the first place, when she had already agreed to call me once you discharged her," Mulder demanded, his red and white tie hung loosely around his neck, his eyes searched the doctor's as he awaited his response. "If you and Ms. Scully had arrangements, I was not made aware of them. I discharged your partner at ten-o'-clock this morning, and she was anxious, as are most patients, to leave the ward. I arranged the pick-up for her at her request." "I find that hard to believe," Mulder snapped. "I'm not sure what else I can tell you then," he ran a hand over his neatly styled, steel gray hair. Mulder folded the sheet of paper and slipped it into the breast pocket on the inside of his suit jacket. "How about telling me how you left work today?" Dr. Voight crossed his arms over his chest. "Same way that I have for the past twenty years, I took the bus." "Immediately after your shift ended?" "No, I slept for a bit, grabbed a quick bite, changed my clothes." "Do you have any witnesses that can confirm this?" "Not while I was in my office, no, but Nurse Miller can confirm when I left, and the bus driver should certainly have been able to recognize me," Harold frowned to himself before continuing, "Agent Mulder, I am truly sorry for what has occurred. I wish I could be of further help, but I have recently finished working a double shift, so if you have no further questions for me I could really use some rest." Mulder sighed at the floor, his hands on his hips as he thought. "Yeah, fine. Just be sure to call me with any pertinent information that you might recall." He fished a card out of his pocket and handed it to him. Dr. Voight accepted it. "I'll be sure to do that," he replied as he slipped it into his pants pocket. "Agent Mulder," he added before turning away, "I hope that you find your partner soon. I assure you, my thoughts will be with her until you do." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Harold Voight residence 1:20 p.m. Scully lay in the relative silence of the basement, her wrists throbbing. The rag had dried out her mouth to the point where her tongue felt as if it was on fire, which her recent struggles to unbind herself had only further aggravated. The discomfort had helped her however, had kept her alert even as she rested between attempts to break free of her restraints. Scully repositioned herself on the floor, her body scraping across the grit of the concrete as she planted her back against the wall behind her and pushed herself up to sitting. She breathed heavily through her tender nose, steeling herself against the spinning sensation the movement had brought, the duct tape tugging at the sides of her face as she fought against it. The darkness enshrouded her surroundings in an inky blackness, leaving her to feel her way about. She remembered, from the brief time the flashlight had been on, that the walls around her had been made of fieldstone. She felt it behind her now. Scully breathed in a deep breath through her sore nose and held it as she rubbed her wrists against the rough concrete behind her that held the rock together, pushing up and against the wall with her weak, bound, legs, for further assistance. The motion quickly rubbed her arms and wrists raw as the wall bit into her exposed flesh, but she also felt the tape around her wrist grabbing and snagging as it slowly tore and stretched. Scully closed her eyes tight against the stinging sensation and hastened her movements. The wall burned hot against the chewed up skin on her arms as she rubbed frantically against it, before sliding back down to the ground in an exhausted heap. Scully caught her breath from her hunched over position on the floor, hoping her attempts to free her wrists would soon pay off. She summoned what little was left of her strength as she pulled her arms apart, straining the shredded and damaged tape that held them. Scully manipulated her hands as she felt the tape give away, twisting until she had freed the first one and then brought her hands in front of herself to remove the tape. She quickly shoved the broken wad of tape into her pants pocket. The skin on her arms and hands felt sticky and warm, Scully ignored her newest injuries however, and moved on to the tape over her mouth. She tore it off in one swift motion, wincing as it ripped off of her skin, and quickly pulled the rag out of her mouth. Scully placed the piece of tape from her mouth in her pocket, as well as the rag. She ran her dry tongue over her stinging lips as she began to work on freeing her ankles. She skimmed her fingers over the tape, attempting to find its edge in the dark. Scully stopped abruptly as she heard a muffled noise above her. She strained to hear, the sound of her pounding heart filling her ears in the seconds that followed. Scully quickly went back to work trying to unfasten the tape when she heard a loud scraping sound above her. She swallowed hard and backed herself into the corner farthest from view, uncertain of what to expect next, poising herself for action. XXXXXXXXXXXXXX 1:23 p.m. Mulder pressed the cell phone to his ear as he turned the steering wheel one- handed. He waited impatiently for a response on the other end of the line as Skinner once again considered the events that Mulder had relayed to him. Skinner groaned uncomfortably before replying. "Mulder, you know I need to ask this, it's a standard question: could anything have happened recently between the two of you that may have caused Scully to want to disappear for awhile?" He asked gruffly, the discomfort in his question made obvious by the strain in his voice. Mulder paused more than he had intended to, the rippling sea of cars ahead of him seemed impossibly longer as the question hit him. He was used to asking that question himself; it was a standard in these types of cases, just as Skinner had said. Sometimes people disappeared of their own will, he realized that, but the timing in the question left Mulder a little off guard. "Agent Mulder!" Skinner's voice demanded from the other end, "I asked you a question!" Mulder shook free of the initial shock that he had felt as he continued to stare out at the slow moving traffic ahead of him in the heavy heat of the afternoon. "No, no of course not." Mulder replied, twisting in his seat so that he could wipe some of the perspiration off of his forehead on the shoulder of his suit as he continued to hold both the phone and the steering wheel. The noise of the fan from the air conditioning had all but droned out the voice of the A.D. when he had first called him, so Mulder had been forced to turn the fan off and sweat. "Well, just the same, I don't think it hurts to have you go and check her hotel room and make sure that everything is still there." Skinner remarked. "I'll send out an APB on Agent Scully, just let me know if anything changes." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Moxie's Motel Bloomington, Illinois 1:35 p.m. Mulder swung open the door to Scully's room and replaced the key in his pants pocket. He had half-hoped, although not expected, to find her there, her room phone unplugged, her cell phone turned off, sleeping soundly in the bed. The first few words of the reprimand he had intended to give her sat on the tip of his tongue, just in case. It wasn't completely unreasonable, he had told himself, she had done just that a few nights back, but when he opened the door he could see that she wasn't there, hadn't been there since yesterday. Her bed was made, the comforter pulled tight across it, the sheets peeked out beneath it still tucked into the side of the bed. Housekeeping's card still sat undisturbed on the bathroom counter. Scully hadn't returned to the room. Mulder pulled the drapes open, allowing sunlight to spill in and fall across the bed, warming the spot that he and Scully had warmed only nights before. He allowed himself to sit on the edge of the bed. Anger, hurt, and fear swirled in a storm-like state inside of him, so strong that he swore he could taste their mix; a bitter taste on the back of his tongue. Scully was gone. Mulder felt it actually would have been easier if AD Skinner had been right, if Scully had just awoken that morning to think that today would have been a good day to break Mulder's heart and leave. If she had just decided to plunge her small, precise hands straight through his chest wall and present him with his own ruined heart, he would have felt less empty. She was gone, but it was not of her own doing, he was certain of that, even if his superior was not. She was alive, however. He couldn't explain how he knew that any better then when he had known years ago when she had been taken, but he did. For how much longer, was the question that troubled him, was what left his stomach raw and throat tightened. Her time was numbered, and his leads were almost non-existent. Mulder closed his eyes and was certain he could feel her, the urgency, the fear; they shared these together. Although he knew she didn't embrace the same beliefs that he held, he hoped, that she felt him too. He would come for her, no matter what it took and he would find her. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Harold Voight Residence July 13th 1:24 p.m. Scully leaned into the dark corner, forcing herself to take slow, shallow breaths, her heart rate accelerating with each new creak of the stairs. With the stone wall supporting her back, she bent over, trying once again to find the edge of the tape that bound her ankles together. Her fingertips searched in desperation as the footsteps grew closer still. She visualized his approach as she fumbled with the tape, his position, how he would approach, how he would possibly react to her absence. Scully needed the element of surprise, but she realized that it would do little good without full mobility. Scully took a slow breath, steadying herself as he reached the basement floor. She gave up on the tape and stood once again, realizing the surge of fear she felt was worth its weight in adrenaline, if she could just keep it under control. She listened to the scrape of his shoes on the concrete floor as he approached, concentrating and silent. The noise stopped and the flashlight beam swept the room. "Agent Scully?" Harold questioned almost playfully, as if they had been engaging in some innocent lover's game. He swept the beam across the room once again before taking a step in. Scully waited, hidden in the corner by the entrance, just inches from his side, her breath held. "Come on out now, Dana." He added, turning himself so that the flashlight beam illuminated her corner. Scully swung before the light reached her, knocking the flashlight out of his unsuspecting hands before he realized her position. She lunged forwards as it hit the ground loudly, knocking Dr. Voight to the floor. She landed awkwardly across his chest, her taped ankles making it impossible to restrain him, so once again she attempted to react before him. As he tried to push himself back up Scully grabbed a fistful of hair on his forehead and quickly slammed his head back onto the basement floor. Harold groaned loudly and easily knocked her off to the side as he stood, grabbing her up by the arm she had attempted to hold him with. Harold swung her around quickly, leaving Scully's restrained legs to drag across the floor as he did so, and slammed her face first into the wall. Scully cried out as sharp pain flashed across her face and nose, fighting to stay conscious as bright flashes of light sparked behind her closed eyes. "You've been a very bad girl, Dana." Dr. Voight warned from behind her, still holding her tight against the wall. "I think you could use a lesson on etiquette." He pulled her backward and slammed her into the wall again. Scully felt a warm sensation overtake her as the pain spread through her face once again. This time darkness followed the bright flashes of light, a hollow vortex of blackness that dragged her into itself and away from the pain and her fight. Scully felt her body grow limp as she was pulled away from herself into a quiet world. XXXXXXXXXXXXXX Harold watched her body slump to the floor, as the muffled sound of his telephone ringing upstairs momentarily gained his attention. He chose to ignore it; this women had caused trouble for him and he needed to decide the best course of action for her. He felt confused as he watched her lie there, motionless. The dreams about her had been so strong, he was certain he was right about them, about her; but now this? He had half a mind to kill her right now, before she regained consciousness. Harold bent down as the noise from the phone ceased, and turned her limp body over onto her back. "Muhler..." She moaned softly as he handled her, her eyes still closed. Blood oozed from the corner of her injured mouth, now slack. The mention of the name, although garbled, infuriated him. Harold felt the burning tension of anger form in his temples. He had taken so much time, had planned so carefully for her and she was intent on ruining it all. He reached a finger out and stroked the side of her neck where life still throbbed. He could change all that, he could take that from her easily. Just upstairs his black case waited for him in the drawer beside the fridge. His fingertips tingled in anticipation of the cool metal and the slight resistance that her flesh would offer. Harold was interrupted from his thoughts as his pager vibrated against his upper thigh. He removed it from his pocket with a disgruntled sigh and checked its lighted display. The hospital had paged him. Harold replaced the pager in his pocket. He had work to do at home. The only reason he had gone in before was to help satiate that meddling FBI agent, Mulder. Harold paused, what if it was about Agent Mulder again, what if he hadn't left the hospital, what if he was about to make good on his promise to show up at his doorstep? "Damn it!" Harold cursed into the darkness as he searched the floor for his small flashlight. He would have to call in, just to be safe. He nudged the body that lay in front of him. It remained still. He would switch over to twine and rebind her shortly. Dana would not be taken from him. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Mercy Memorial Hospital Intensive Care Unit 1:55 p.m. Nurse Miller quickly rose from the nurses' station to join Dr. Voight as he stepped onto the ward. "I'm so sorry to disturb you once again, but I'm not sure how to handle this. Everything is just a big mess." She explained to him, wringing her pale hands in front of her as she stood beside him at the elevator doors. "Why don't you just join me in my office, Kathleen, I'm sure we'll be able to figure it out." Harold led her down the hallway, his hand resting on her shoulder. He motioned her towards the dark leather chair in front of his desk as they entered, closing the door behind them. "What's been going on?" He asked, his voice casual as he took a seat on the edge of his desk. Nurse Miller ran a hand through her tightly curled gray hair. "It's the pharmacy. They've been calling since noon and inquiring about prescriptions that I have signed for here at the ICU. I haven't done any of that. They are saying that there has been an excessive amount of chloral hydrate and other sedative drugs ordered recently and they are somehow blaming me for this!" She ran a trembling hand through her hair once again. Harold cleared his throat from his position on the desk, his arms crossed over his chest. "This just started recently then?" She lifted her face to him, her eyes glazed with fear. "Yes, just after lunch." She continued to search Dr. Voight's face, waiting for some type of acceptable answer, some sign of her reprieve. Harold stood up and walked over to the small sink to the right of his desk and grabbed a black coffee cup from beside it, his back to Nurse Miller as he fished quietly in his pocket for what he had packed for her. "Kathleen, these accusations are absurd, I've worked with you for years and you've always been trustworthy and reliable, I can vouch for that." He slipped the contents of his pocket into the mug under cover of his position and added a plastic stir stick. He crossed to the black carafe on the small wooden table beside the sink and filled the mug. "I would like you to take the rest of the day off, I think that would be reasonable considering the circumstances." He ripped the top off of an individual powdered creamer and added it to the cup, stirring with a small stick. "I'll work on sorting this out. I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding." He approached the desk and handed the cup to Nurse Miller. "Cream, right?" She smiled as he handed her the coffee although tears still clouded her pale green eyes. "Yes, that's how I always take it." She remarked, touched by the small gesture. Harold patted her on the shoulder reassuringly as she took her first sips of coffee. "It'll all work out, don't you worry about that. It'll all work out." XXXXXXXXXXXXXX Java Joy Coffee House 2:23 p.m. Mulder walked into the coffee house, quickly scanning over the small, colorful, various shaped tables and intentionally mismatched chairs, looking for a familiar face. He saw her as he reached the back of the building, sitting behind a worn cafe table tucked into a shadowed corner. Her brown hair was still braided, as it had been earlier, but she wore a soft pink tee-shirt now with a pair of faded blue jeans. Mulder crossed quickly over to her. "Nurse Schnieder?" She waved him over to her table nervously. "It's just Angie, I'm off of work now," she added awkwardly as he pulled a chair out and sat next to her. She had wrestled with herself on whether or not to call him for the last hour of her shift; so many emotions had come into play during that time. Overall, her sense of sympathy had won out. She needed her hardened exterior for dealing with difficult situations at work, and she had dealt with many in the short time as a nurse in the ICU. However, she felt deeply for all of her patients and their families. The image of Mulder pacing the hallways, waiting for any kind of direction at all, had burned itself into her mind. He desperately needed help to find his partner, and she may now hold a piece of that puzzle. "I don't know if what I have to say to you will be of any help at all." She said, staring down into her coffee cup, a yellow Fiesta Ware look a like. Mulder nodded at her understandingly. The rest of the coffee house had disappeared the moment he had seen her, he desperately wanted to hear what she had to say. He was hoping for a miracle. He folded his hands together and placed them on the antiqued wooden table as he leaned in close to the young woman. Mulder spoke softly without bothering to mask the urgency he felt. "Angie, my partner, Dana Scully, could be in serious danger right now. If what you said to me on the phone is true, if you have some information that could somehow relate to her disappearance, then I need to know it." Angie nodded back in agreement, staring down at the heavily worn table as she responded She had begun to feel her eyes tear up and she choose to avoid his face. His large wet eyes were not unlike those she had seen in family members who had suddenly lost someone on the ward, mirroring the pain and emptiness that consumed them, with an urgency that for most would never see resolution. If eyes were indeed mirrors to the soul, then his was a soul that was haunted. "There is something going on in the ward with sedatives, or at least there would seem to be. Kathleen, Nurse Miller, was very upset by it all. She explained the situation briefly to me before she called Dr. Voight back in to the hospital." "Sedatives?" Mulder prompted, his eyebrows rising as he contemplated this. Angie tilted her cup back and examined its cooling contents more closely before setting it back down. "I don't completely understand what has happened, just that Nurse Miller is being accused of forging signatures on prescriptions for Chloral Hydrate, apparently on more than one occasion. She swears that she hasn't done it, and for the life of me, I couldn't even begin to believe that she did, but something is going on." "I'd like to get her phone number and address, it's important that I speak to her about this as soon as possible." Mulder quickly interjected. Angie reached for the brown leather handbag that rested at her feet. "I hope that she's feeling okay. She left the hospital right after talking to Dr. Voight, she looked just terrible. The strain of this must really be catching up with her." She said, searching in her purse until she found a black pen and a small tablet of paper. She quickly scribbled down the requested information. " I just hope that this can help you find your partner." She added. "Angie, what you have told me here could be the turning point in all of this." Mulder's eyes met hers as he told her this. Angie pushed the paper towards him and blinked at the strong emotions she felt in him. She rose, her purse in hand to leave, but stopped briefly, setting her free hand on his wrist. She attempted to find the words that would adequately express what she was feeling but settled for a teary-eyed, "Find her." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Kathleen Miller Residence 3:02 p.m. Mulder carefully dodged the small patches of pink and white Impatiens that lined the concrete walkway as he sprinted up to Nurse Miller's small, pale, lime house. He slowed his pace slightly as he made his way up the two small steps to her doorway, sweat trickling down his forehead in the afternoon's intense heat. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, hoping the house had air conditioning. He knocked open-handed, on the dark wooden door in front of him, surprise and alarm overtaking him as it swung open from the motion. Mulder swallowed hard and called out into the opening the door had left. "Nurse Miller, are you in there? It's Agent Mulder, from the FBI; we met at the hospital earlier. I need to talk with you." Mulder felt for his gun as he listened to the unnaturally long silence on the other side. "Nurse Miller?" He questioned again and forced the door the rest of the way open. It hit the wall and bounced back slightly. Mulder drew his gun as he cautiously entered the darkened room. The drapes were pulled shut, closing out all but an orangish glow from the bright sunlight outside. A small black purse lay beside a cream colored sofa, some of its contents spilled out onto the floor: a pen, some keys, a crumpled coupon. Mulder stepped closer to the couch, further bringing into view what had caught his eye. He exhaled slowly as his eyes confirmed his original suspicion. Mulder replaced his gun in his holster and bent down over the body. "Nurse Miller?" He shook her shoulders gently before turning her off of her stomach and onto her back, revealing a pool of vomit that her face had rested on. "Kathleen?" He shook her harder when she offered no resistance, her eyes appeared like two glazed slits on her face staring out into nothingness, a look he had seen before. Mulder carefully pushed aside the loosened collar of her soiled work uniform and placed his hand on her neck. Cool and still. "Shit!" Mulder removed his hand from her throat and closed her eyes. He pulled the cell phone from his pocket and quickly dialed before pressing it to his ear. "This is Special Agent Fox Mulder, badge number JTT047101111 I've found a possible murder victim at 2231 Vine Lane, I'm also going to need some back up at apprehending a Dr. Harold Voight." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX "Dana!" Scully slowly roused at the sound of her name being called. "Dana, get up!" the voice insisted. Scully fought to place the voice, but her mind was so thick from... from what? She couldn't remember. She groaned with the realization, turning her face away from the distraction as she did so. "Dana , come on! Your father will not be happy if you make us late for church!" Mom? Dana opened her eyes and turned her head back around so that she faced her mother. She stood over the bed in her navy blue and plaid patterned dress and nylons, prying white curlers from her dark hair. Although she couldn't quite understand why, Scully felt overjoyed at the sight of her mother standing over her bed. She reached out for her but quickly stopped as a sharp pain spread throughout her head from the movement. "I told you Mom, Dana's too lazy to get out of bed!" Melissa taunted from the doorway, tying the yellow satiny ribbon on her ruffled dress with the broad rainbow stripes. The one she had specifically told Dana never to touch. "No, something's wrong." Scully insisted, carefully reaching out for her mother again, this time cautious not to disturb her aching head. Melissa rolled her eyes and left the doorway. Her mother shook her head disapprovingly. "Dana, the only thing wrong is that there is no way that is going to cover up those huge, ugly scabs on your knees," she pointed to Dana's peach colored Sunday dress that hung ready for her over the top of her dresser mirror, "and I'm almost certain that you have ripped every pair of tights that you own this week." She turned to leave the room, removing curlers as she walked. "Get up Dana." "Mom, wait! I can't get up, I'm hurt!" Her mom stopped and turned back to her, holding onto the few curlers that she had removed. "Dana, I don't doubt that you are sore from your latest escapades, but that doesn't change anything. Perhaps it's time for you to start behaving like a young lady and give up all of this craziness with climbing trees and chasing around with your brothers." She scolded. Scully felt tears of desperation sting her eyes, " Don't leave mom, I need help." She cried, burying her face in the soft fabric of her well worn comforter. "Dana, I can't save you from what you willingly subject yourself to over and over. Heed my advice and stop while you still have something worth saving." Scully looked back up to her mother. The room and her bed had disappeared. Her mother no longer wore curlers and her plaid dress, instead she stood in tan dress pants and a cream colored turtleneck sweater, her dark hair streaked with gray, and permanent worry lines etched into her face. "Mom?" She questioned, the sudden passage of time sending her mind reeling once again as she attempted to grasp what was going on. A strange noise had started, like howling wind and her mother's hair whipped about her face as she stood over her, her arms crossed. Scully turned as the strange breeze blew through her own hair, growing in intensity as she sought its source. She pushed the hair away from her face, fighting to see past it as the wind tossed it about with unseen fury. She was in the field again, the large maple tree looming just feet ahead of her, its huge branches still even as the wind screamed relentlessly through the tall grass. She turned to look back over her shoulder, her mother was gone, an endless span of rippling field sat there instead. "You need to leave." Scully turned back abruptly at the sound of the small voice, amazed that it had carried in the strong wind. The young boy stood in front of her as if he had been there all along. His dark hair hung in messy strands about his pale face. He was in his pajamas again, just as he had been before. Scully bent down closer to him. "You shouldn't be out here." Scully strained to speak past the noise of the wind. She looked around the field as dark storm clouds rolled in ominously, so thick they seemed only feet above the lone maple tree. "I think a storm is blowing in." She explained to the somber- faced child. "It's happening again." He asserted expressionlessly. "If you don't leave, you will die." "What is happening?" She demanded of the boy. He looked about as if his surroundings and the impending storm were somehow proof of what he had said. He stared up as the dark clouds overtook the sky and the air took on an unusual chill. "You don't have much time left." He added, ignoring her questions as he looked back into her face. "You must go now." Scully felt a chill creep up her spine that she somehow felt had nothing to do with the sudden reduction in temperature. "What about you? You shouldn't be left here alone." She asked, turning her attention back to the boy. "This is my home", he added plainly, as if unshaken by the powerful storm taking shape above him. "Please, go now." He stretched his small hands out towards Scully. "Take my hands, I'll help you." Scully reached towards the boy, uncertain. She stopped just shy of his hands. "Wait." she instructed, quickly undoing the clasp on the crucifix that hung around her neck. She pressed the small cross and its chain into his small hand and balled his fist around it before taking his hands. He looked up to her, wide eyed. "Hold on to this for me." She instructed. The boy blinked back tears as he stared into her face and tightened his grasp on her. "Close your eyes, be ready, be strong." He coached. Scully closed her eyes and the storm sounds disappeared as slowly her reasoning returned to her. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX End of Chapter 11. Continued in Chapter 12. You are invited to send feedback to Semantics@writeme.com. Midnight's Sorrow, Chapter 12 Disclaimer in Chapter 1. This story is rated NC-17. July 13th 2:58 p.m. Harold Voight Residence Dr. Voight paced the span of his kitchen uneasily. Things had not gone according to plan once again. True, Kathleen Miller would certainly not be a problem to him any longer, but it had still not gone the way he wanted it to. Everything he had done to try and correct the situation would not be enough. When plans failed, there was always hell to pay. Hell, he was almost certain, would show up in the form of a pesky FBI agent on his doorstep. Harold gently pushed aside the ruffled, daffodil colored curtain above his kitchen sink. A white van with tinted windows sat just around the street corner; a change from five minutes ago that didn't rest easily with him. Harold strained to see from the side of the window while keeping his face out of sight. The van was labeled with large black letters on the side, Jack's Pest Control. Harold watched silently as the door of the van swung open and the driver stepped out. The man held a clipboard up against his black nylon jacket and glanced towards Harold's house several times as he made his way across the street. Harold slowly replaced the edge of the curtain and stepped away. He had a job to get done; and time was almost up. He opened the cabinet drawer beside his refrigerator and withdrew his black case, visualizing the instruments within as he held the soft case in his hands. The steel inside, that shone so bright yet was so cool to his touch, not unlike his beloved ring. Although the knives lacked the beautiful garnet that his ring boasted, they held within them the power of release. Harold slipped the case into his pants pocket, some of his initial apprehension giving way to a powerful adrenaline rush. Harold grabbed up the oval brown and cream woven rug that lie in front of his sink and tossed it over his shoulder. He pushed the side of the deep brown refrigerator, shoving it to the side to reveal the door underneath it. Harold tossed the rug over the top of the door, carefully folding back a corner as he opened the it, and held the rug in place as he climbed down the first couple of steps. Harold straightened the upturned corner of the rug, and gently shut the door behind himself. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Scully felt as if she had been slammed back into herself. She lay still, waiting as pain returned full force into her heavy body, her reasoning awakened. Her wrists and ankles were bound tightly again, this time with rope that bit into her already raw flesh. She held still momentarily, listening as the stairs began to creak above her. She tried her wrists and ankles again, but there was no leeway to slip free, and from the sound of the footsteps quickly approaching, she didn't have enough time to attempt to. Scully pressed her eyes closed tightly, attempting to think in what little time she had. The image of the boy came to mind. He had freed her from the storm in her dream, but she had been sent back to this. It didn't make sense. Scully inched her way into the corner, trying to think of something, anything, that would ensure her next autopsy would not be her own. As the footfalls grew louder, she concentrated on Mulder, on his relentless, dedicated nature. If any hope existed for her at all, Mulder would be the one to find it. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Harold Voight's Residence 3:04 p.m. Mulder watched as Special Agent Mason Mackenzie knocked again on the front door. He shifted slightly from his position alongside the house, beside a 7- foot evergreen in the shape of an upturned rectangle as mosquitoes swarmed angrily around him. Agent Mackenzie shook his head 'no'. Mulder watched him then as he spoke softly into the tiny microphone he had clipped beneath the uniform's collar, trying hard to ignore the flying pests as he awaited the order. "There is no answer at the door. Is everyone in position?" He then motioned for Mulder. Mulder joined Agent Mackenzie at the door, his gun in position as the other agent began to pick the lock. The door finally opened; the men stepped inside, covering each other as they stepped out of the sweltering heat into the cool air-conditioned house. "FBI! Harold Voight, come out with your hands up!" Mulder shouted out as he entered the living room. "FBI!" He heard as the agents' began to storm through the back door. Mulder quickly scanned the living room; the small TV balanced on a floral TV tray was turned off, no books lay open, no food sat out, the well - worn avocado rocking chair was still. No mail or newspapers were visible. He moved off into the hallway towards the bedroom as the other agents made their way through the small kitchen. Harold Voight's small, white bedroom was exceptionally clean; nothing sat on top of the large mahogany bureau straight across from the door. The full sized bed to the left of it looked as if it hadn't been slept in for days, its blue chenille bedspread was pulled almost impossibly smooth across its surface. Just to the right of the bed sat a small matching nightstand that held only a silver, wind-up alarm clock. Mulder made his way cautiously to the closet to the left of him, that shared the same wall as the door. He tossed open the door, his gun in front of him. A row of dark black dress pants hung neatly on wire hangers; a small space separating them from the row of pressed white dress shirts on the right side. A single pair of black dress shoes sat on the hardwood floor beneath. "He's not here," a voice informed from behind him. Mulder turned towards the agent, his irritation evident as he addressed the younger man. "His cage has been rattled; if he's not here then he's somewhere else that's important to him," he replied shortly, his trained eyes still scanning the small bedroom. Agent Larson pulled the sleeves on his black nylon jacket back down from elbow level as he sized up Mulder's remark. "How do you figure? If I were him I'd be skipping town right about now." "For the same reason that I also know that Agent Scully is still alive, for now. He's very methodical, likely obsessive-compulsive. He won't leave until he's done with her, and he hasn't been allowed enough time to do it the way that he needs to so far. If we leave now, she dies. We need something here, something to point us to where he might be or where he might have her. There isn't much time left." Agent Larson held back a sigh; he was ready to agree with him more out of sympathy for the situation then anything else. If it was up to him, Agent Mulder wouldn't have been allowed here in the first place; he was just too close, and from the look of the pictures he had seen of the past victims, things had great potential to turn very messy, very quickly. Not a good situation at all. He placed his hands on his hips. "Alright, Agent Mulder, I'll tell the guys to start searching the bookcases; they're already in the trash." Mulder nodded to him as he left the bedroom and watched him make his way into the living room. Mulder closed the louvered closet doors and headed into the kitchen, his mind reeling. He looked over the whole area; the worn, orange counter tops, clean although damaged, the chocolate brown range sat against the left hand wall, immaculate despite its apparent age, no grease smears or charred rings around the burner bibs like his own had. The sink sat below a small window, just opposite the stove; a white and blue striped kitchen cloth hung over the faucet, still damp. Mulder bent in closer. Tiny droplets of water sat directly below the rag on the otherwise clean stainless steel basin. He had been there today, right where Mulder now stood. Mulder pushed aside the ruffled yellow curtain that covered the window. The white Pest Control van they had used sat clearly in sight. He let he curtain drop, adrenaline surging within him. Dr. Voight wasn't far, and neither was Scully; he couldn't explain why, but he was certain of that. "Is there an attic or a crawlspace in here?" Mulder called out, turning away from the sink. His forehead felt sticky, almost starched where the air conditioning had dried the sweat from earlier. He heard the commotion that had been coming from the other rooms come to a stop. Agent Mackenzie stepped into the entryway to the kitchen. "I didn't see any basement windows outside and no one saw any type of cellar out there either or that would have been stormed as well." His nylon jacket made a whisking noise as he placed his hands into his pants pockets. "If he's got anything inside, nobody's stumbled across it yet." He looked behind him, scanning the living room, the small crease lines at the corner of his eyes further exaggerated as he considered things. "This house is sterile, neat as a pin, too, only one damn picture on the wall. It would be hard to hide a thimble in here." He shrugged his shoulders slightly as he walked away, his hands still pocketed. "It's a nice picture though," he muttered, facing away from him and motioning towards the living room wall straight across from him. Several agents flipped through the last books that remained on the bookshelf. There, just above it, the solitary picture hung on the wall: a family photo, just an amateur's shot in a dark wooden frame, nice from a nostalgic point of view. Mulder stepped closer. The picture appeared to be of a picnic: what he assumed were mother and child sitting on a red and green plaid blanket beneath a large Maple tree. Both of them were smiling as if having the time of their lives; the young boy sitting nestled against his mother's chest, a toy cowboy hat in his hands. The young boy's hair was slightly messy, as if from a long day of playing. He held one hand tightly to his stomach as he rested against his mother, as if hiding something from the picture, or as if he were holding on to something very important. Mulder turned away, undecided and disappointed. The cheerful smile from the boy in the picture felt as if it were burning into the back of his head as he returned to the kitchen, a young Harold Voight boastfully gleeful about his future atrocities. The agents he passed up watched him for direction as he walked past, obviously feeling at a stalemate, but none of them ready to challenge him at the moment. Mulder left them to clear their throats nervously and fidget. They were wrong, there had to be something here, something tangible that would send them in the right direction. Hope for Scully was passing by the minute; he felt each one tick by with agonizing pain, in the tightness of his gut and with the increasing desperation in his heart, but he couldn't afford to give up, not when she needed him. Mulder stopped just past the entryway of the small room with his feet planted on the tan linoleum, its blue floral print mostly scratched away from years of use. He surveyed the room again, slowly. Everything seemed to be in perfect order, except for some of the kitchen drawers that hadn't been fully closed after they had been searched throughly, but Harold Voight had left no obvious trace of where he had gone. Mulder headed for the opposite wall, ready to view the room from a different perspective. "Damn it," Mulder muttered to himself as he accidentally kicked up the corner of the small throw rug beside the fridge. He bent down with a sigh of frustration to straighten its upturned corner. As Mulder flipped the edge back over, a small glint of light caught his eye. On the under side of the rug, something had caught in the rough threads - some type of necklace from what he could see of it. Mulder carefully pulled the gold chain lose from the rug, rolling more of it over to help as he freed it. As the last bits of it fell loose, he swallowed deeply, his eyes wide, his heart racing. He held Scully's crucifix in his right hand, and in the left, the throw rug that had been tossed over a small door. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX July 13th 3:05 p.m. Harold Voight Residence Scully whimpered softly, the faint sound even further muffled by the duct tape across her mouth. Her eyes teared as she turned her face away from Harold Voight, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of her desperation. Mulder was upstairs; she was certain that she had heard his husky voice announce the arrival of the FBI. She was also certain that Dr. Voight had heard it as well. She attempted to push away from him, wanting to escape him in any way that she could, to free herself of his body heat, his sterile, anesthetic scent, and his cold, angry hands. Harold further tightened his grip on her forearms and pulled her closer to his chest. He focused on the ceiling, temporarily, as the sound of footsteps grew closer overhead. The noise overhead moved away once again, and Harold returned his gaze to her. He leaned into her chest, his hands bruising her arms as he pulled her tightly to him, placing his mouth up against her left ear. "Not a sound," he warned, his lips brushing her ear as he slowly dropped his right arm from her to reach into his pocket. Scully felt his fumbling against her abdomen as she prepared herself for what new threat he may present her with. Harold skillfully manipulated his case from within the confines of his pants pocket and drew out the surgical scalpel of his choice. "No noise at all," he instructed, bringing the blade of his weapon to rest on her throat. "Lie back, slowly." Scully didn't need to see to recognize the object that had been placed against her throat; it was one that she used often, and she could feel its coolness against her flesh. She knew its contours well, well enough to recognize it when pressed against her jugular in a dark room. She lowered herself onto the basement floor, her bound arms trapped beneath her, with him guiding her very slowly. "Excellent, Dana," he whispered into her ear as he pressed her tight against the floor, his breathing growing more erratic. He straddled her, weighting her down with his body and slowly pulled the knife away from her throat. "Be still now." Scully felt a sickening mix of relief followed by immediate concern as the knife left her neck. Her shoulder blades and arms throbbed from beneath her. Her rib cage strained to keep up with her heavy breathing as it also supported the added weight of Harold Voight. Her nostrils flared as she bordered on the edge of hyperventilating. The duct tape tugging relentlessly at the corners of her mouth, her chest burned. Scully mentally reminded herself to slow down as her head begin to spin. Mulder was there, she knew that, it would only be a matter of time now. Harold lowered the knife to just below her shoulder blades and drew it through the delicate fabric on her blouse, easily slicing the fabric in half so that it fell to either sides of her body. He lifted the knife back up and placed it just above the small rosette in the center of her satin bra, stopping temporarily as he leaned in close to her so that his face almost touched hers. "If you just keep still, they'll be gone soon. They'll all leave, and I can get you some medicine. There'll be no pain, Dana, just sleep. Just like going to sleep." Scully shook her head violently from beneath him; tears spilling down her cheeks, mixing with small droplets of sweat that dripped off of his forehead as he leaned over her. She arched her back, attempting to push him off of her, rocking herself from side to side to try to throw his balance. Harold squeezed her middle tightly between his thighs as he allowed the tip of the scalpel to bite into her sensitive flesh. Scully's body jolted immediately in response to the sharp pain, her motions stilled, her eyes wide in the darkness, her breathing labored. "I hope that you have learned your lesson now, Dana, because I won't be so patient with you next time," Harold whispered in the silence that followed. He drew his scalpel down quickly through her bra. "I told you, this doesn't have to be painful," he added as the taut fabric gave way with a ripping sound. "It's all up to you." She avoided his face; the idea of him looking at her, even half undressed, disgusted her. Scully's mind fought to find a way out as a warm trickle of blood ran down the newly exposed skin on her chest. She pushed aside the images of Sarah Mckay's heavily mutilated body, knowing too well that his intentions were to do the same to her. She attempted to think faster and more clearly as he moved his scalpel to the top of her pants, straining to hear what was happening above her, hoping that very soon, the door to the basement would swing open and bring about an end to Harold Voight's plans. XXXXXXXXXXXXXX Mulder held his flashlight out in front of him as he stepped off of the last step, his gun drawn. He was painfully aware that his descent into the basement on the aged wooden steps had no doubt heralded his arrival. He crept slowly forward anyway, letting the small yellow arc of light illuminate the dark corners for him as he advanced. Grit scraped on the concrete floor under each step he took, the sound amplified in the confines of the dank room. Deep inside of him, he wanted to holler out for Scully like a madman, to end the agonizing suspense of where she was and if she was alive, but reason held him back. One wrong move at this point could easily cost her life. He moved ahead, stepping against the side wall as he swung his flashlight beam into a small room built of fieldstone. Empty wooden shelves sat to one side, some wadded up pieces of silver colored duct tape sat off in the far right corner. Mulder heard the crunch of sand against stone, just off to his left. His back up was still feet behind him. "FBI! Harold Voight, drop your weapon!", Mulder spun to his left, lighting the corner only feet away from him. Mulder swallowed hard as he saw he had his gun aimed at Scully. Dr. Voight held her from behind, a surgical scalpel against her throat. Her face was caked with dirt and blood, her mouth tapped, her shirt and bra ripped open with fresh blood on the exposed skin. Her blue eyes pleaded for help as she looked up at him. Mulder lined the gun up with Harold Voight's forehead. "Walk back out of here, and I won't slit her throat open." Harold Voight responded, his voice a low hiss as he clenched Scully against him. "Why? So you can butcher her, like you did the other women. Drop your weapon and you can still come out of this alive. Make one move on my partner and you won't live to have the satisfaction of seeing what you've done." Mulder cocked the gun without moving it from its intended target. Dr. Voight pressed the knife against Scully's throat more tightly, asserting his position. Scully's eyes teared. Mulder swallowed hard, his mind racing as he assessed the situation. He concentrated on not allowing the stress he felt to make its way into his voice. "Of course, I wasn't too surprised to find you here, Harold, hiding down here in the dark, using her as your shield. You were too afraid to face us, so you ran, you hid, just like a child. I'm sure you are used to doing that by now, it seems that you've been too afraid to face your own demons for a long time. That's what got you here, Harold, hasn't it? Hiding in the dark, like a frightened little child." "I'm not hiding!" Harold snarled, his arm around Scully's bare waist clenching her tighter against him. Mulder watched Scully's position change closely, hoping for an opportunity. "No? Because that's what you look like, a scared child hiding behind his mother. Only, she sure as hell doesn't give a fuck about you. So tell me, did you shit yourself when you heard the FBI enter the house?" A strong breeze tore through Mulder's hair, slapping his polyester jacket against itself and creating a small dust devil on the concrete floor. Harold's brow began to furrow, he shifted Scully roughly in his arms, the knife still pressed to her throat. "I am not a child!" He spat at Mulder. He rocked slightly from side to side as if trying to overcome an intense need to pace. "Well, you're sure as hell not a man," Mulder gesticulated slightly with his outstretched arms. "A real man would be able to get a woman without tying her up." The breeze grew stronger, an empty light socket swang from side to side on the ceiling above him as a low rumble filled the room. "A real man would have faced his problems." A loud slam came from the stairway as the door shut in the wind. "Just what the hell is going on down there? Open up!" Mulder listened to the muffled sounds of the agents on the other side trying fruitlessly to reopen the door. Thunder rumbled again, its low groan traveled slowly across the basement as if the storm was confined there. "Is this you causing this?" Mulder asked. Mulder watched Harold's agitation grow, his hands shook as he held Scully, the knife moved about only millimeters away from cutting her throat. His eyes darted from side to side and then back to Mulder, uncertain how to respond. "Just what are you, Harold Voight? Do you even know?" Mulder asked softly as the man in front of him visibly struggled with his own emotions, his face more like that of a despairing child then a man. "Mommmieee!" The child's voice carried eerily across the room as if it rode the thunder. "Stop!", Harold whimpered, he closed his eyes tightly, turning his head to the side. "It's you Harold, and it can't stop until you face it. Face yourself Harold!" Mulder shouted at him as the storm grew louder around him. The faint sound of footsteps behind him caused the tiny hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. "Mommy, what's happened?" The question sound slightly garbled, the pitch warped as if from traveling through some strange medium. "No, make it stop!" Harold shook his head violently, still holding tight to Scully. "You have to stop running, Harold," Mulder shouted to him, "that's what started all of this to begin with. He is you, you can not escape yourself. You need to face whatever it was that made you separate, none of this will stop until you do!" "I can't!" Harold whined, he shook as he held Scully. Thunder cracked crisply in the humidity of the small room as the wind continued to pick up in intensity. "I don't think that you have a choice anymore." Mulder remarked, his attention split between Harold and the bizarre weather phenomenon. "Mommieee!" The child's strange shreak broke through the noises of the storm. "Why are there empty medicine bottles all over the floor?" The distant voice asked. Mulder watched Harold raise his hands to his ears, attempting to block the sound, He quickly bolted forward and pulled Scully away, forcing his way across the room past the strong, howling wind. "Mommy, what's wrong? Answer me, mommy! Why won't you wake up? Mommy! Mommy!" The voice faded out and thunder rattled the small house. Harold slumped to the floor, holding his head, shaking. A small boy stepped out of the darkness of the corner, approaching Harold. He stopped in front of him as the thunder stilled and reached out a small hand. A bolt of lighting flashed brightly as his hand touched him. Mulder winced in the bright light, his gun still aimed at Harold as Scully stood silently beside him, watching as Dr. Voight writhed on the floor, the small boy gone, as if absorbed by the touch. The door slammed back open. Mulder moved in quickly to cuff him, the sound of running coming from behind him as several other agents moved into position. Scully watched the wall in front of her grow black as a strange sensation of warmth crept up the back of her neck. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX "Scully! Scully, are you alright, are you okay?" Scully became vaguely aware of the fact that her arms and her legs were now free, although still throbbing. She could still feel the coolness of the concrete floor beneath her back. She opened her eyes slowly. Mulder's face was above her, he smiled gently at her, his eyes teary. "It's over now," he assured her as he brushed a warm hand gently over her cheek. "Everything's going to be okay now." Scully closed her eyes again to the sound of his soothing voice and the softness of his touch, his words repeating in her head. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX July 25th 2:32 am Scully tossed in her bed, she pressed her face into her pillow, attempting to block whatever was threatening her sleep, drawing her quilt up tightly around her. Her movements were stilled immediately as she heard a noise, quiet, yet distinct. She sat up in her bed. Something wasn't right. She listened in the darkness, waiting. A shadow moved across the floor, just outside of her doorway. She held her breath, straining to hear. Footsteps followed, faint, but clear. Scully loosened the blankets from around her and left the warmth of her bed. She moved quickly but quietly across the moonlit living room, avoiding her furniture mostly from memory as she made her way to the kitchen. She saw him there, softly illuminated in a pale yellow light, his back turned to her, his dark hair bed-ruffled, in only a pair of pajama pants. She could see that he held something in front of him. Scully stepped slowly forward. She knew what she had to do. "Drop the cake!" She yelled out. Mulder spun around to face her, the evidence of his crime on a dessert plate in his hands, along with a few crumbs that stuck to his early morning stubble. "Scully?" He mumbled past a mouthful. "I thought you were sleeping?" He quickly shut the fridge door, killing the light in the room. Scully reached over and turned on the light switch. "You were drinking out of the milk carton, weren't you?" He wouldn't have had to had light to know that her hands were on her hips. "Uhhh, maybe..." He finished chewing the last of what was in his mouth and set the plate on the counter to the side of him. "So, Scully, what are you going to do about it?" He challenged in a silky smooth voice. Scully smiled to herself. "I don't know, Mulder, I mean, that was the last piece of cake, and you more or less admitted to drinking straight out of my milk carton, with the fridge door wide open no less," she watched him bite his lip in anticipation. "I think that you owe me now, big time." Mulder moved forward and slid his hands around the gentle curves of her waist, sliding them up and down over the satin of her pajamas. "I had better start paying you back right now then." He brushed his lips against the side of her neck, moving up to her left earlobe. "What do you say Scully?" He whispered into her ear. Scully ran her hands up over the tight muscles on his belly, making her way up to his chest. "I'd say, that you might just owe me a lifetime of that." "Over one little piece of cake?" Mulder pulled her waist closer until his hips met her stomach. Scully stepped up onto her tiptoes. "It was chocolate." She pointed out, wishing she were just a little bit taller. Mulder nodded and fingered a small satin covered button on her pajama top slowly, as if considering. "In that case, Ms. Scully, I guess that I had better get started right now." Scully smiled impishly and flicked the light back off. Tomorrow was going to be a rough day at work, but night's like this made it well worth it. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX End of Midnight's Sorrow Feedback is welcomed at Semantics@writeme.com I can not thank my betas enough, Brandi, Foxcat, Memento, for helping me with this story. I would not have been able to see this to completion without you. You have all gone above and beyond to help and I am so very thankful for that. Thank you a hundred times over.