AUTHOR: Rebecca Marler info@bluemoonhorse.com

RATING: PG, some language particularly the F-word

CATEGORY: X

SPOILERS: None. However, the more you know of the X-files the more
enjoyable the read.

DISTRIBUTION: Distribution: just let me know and keep my name and email
attached. However, I would prefer that you reference this site address
instead: http://www.bluemoonhorse.com/rebeccastories.htm

KEYWORDS: MSR, S/O in the past, Alternative Universe, Profiler, X-Files

SUMMARY: A psychologist in private practice, Dr. Fox Mulder, is asked by
F.B.I. forensic pathologist, Dr. Dana Scully, for help in a serial
killing investigation that defies the Bureau's best profilers.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Samantha never disappeared, changing the course of Fox
Mulders' career and his destined meeting with Dr. Dana Scully. This story
explores what might have happened if other "trigger" events had not. The
conspiracy and myth-arc still exist but have taken a different path ­
however, they are not fully explored in this story. For purists, yes I
know that I have changed the character of Jack Willis, but this is an
alternative universe.

----------

Part I - Mulder

Sandra Matthews walked unsteadily, still trying to recover her composure,
as she shoved girl things back into her purse.

"Call meÖtonight," I requested. She nodded once, ducking through the
final office door to seek anonymous refuge in the elevator.

I turned, my mind full of what Sandra had said about her childhood, when
our group secretary, Trish, caught my eye. The counseling office was
operated as a loose partnership ­ we were all licensed professionals with
our own client list ­ however to save money, we shared a group of
offices, liability insurance and secretarial services. Our cost saving
Everywoman ­ Trish - silently nodded her head in the direction of two
people sitting in the waiting room ­ the only ones left as the lunch hour
was getting nearer, and the office was practically deserted.

For a moment I couldn't place who they were ­ couples' therapy? If so,
body posture was telling me that this was going to be a rough one ­ not
much friendliness left between these two.

The woman stood and I found myself looking down at a petite, redhead in
her late twenties/early thirties. I noted the condition of her hair,
nails and face. Well-groomed and put together ­ clothes neat. Not
experiencing a psychotic episode, probably not depressed or suicidal.

She was severely dressed in a gray turtleneck and black suit. Career
professional ­ possibly frigid? Rigid thinker? She had stunning blue eyes
and a small gold cross nestled into the hollow of her throat. Religious?
Dogmatic?

"Dr. Fox Mulder? I'm F.B.I. Agent Dana Scully and my partner, Special
Agent Jack Willis. We made an appointment for a consultation on a case
we're working on."

We shook hands. Her grip was cool and light, firm yet pleasant.

Her partner was quite a few years older, perhaps forty or more. Dark-
haired, and handsome he was also dressed conservatively, though a little
less neatly ­ unmarried or an uncaring wife, I summated. Neither had
rings.

"Please come into my office. We can be private there." While I turned a
look passed between them which my mind noted and filed it. One of them
didn't want to be here. Before closing my office door, I requested Trish
to transfer the phones to the service and reminded her to lock the outer
door before heading out to lunch.

My office is more than just a place to meet clients and as a refuge it
can be informal. The lack of desk seemed to bother them a bit.
Hesitantly, they settled in the large leather club chairs, the woman
close to my left, the man across.

"Yes?"

The woman seemed comfortable in the lead position (most women in couples
also speak first) and said, "We were wanting your opinion on a note left
at a crime scene."

She brought forward a stiff plastic evidence sleeve and as I reached
forward I had the strangest feeling of déjà vu I have ever experienced.
Although it's not unusual for me to have flashes of intuition, its one
reason why I make a good therapist, today's impression was tremendously
strong. The redhead registered my hesitation and looked at me curiously
as I took the note silently from her hand.

It didn't take but a moment to read through it.

"Ahh I see now why you have called on me."

Before I could expound, there was knock on the door and I was surprised
to see Trish again as usually she leaves promptly for lunch to meet her
boyfriend.

"Mulder, I think you better answer this call. It just came in before I
could leave. It was your last appointment yesterday..." Our secretary's
words can be so full of discrete innuendo; I'm sure that's why Samuel
hired her. Also, Sam has a fixation on the legs of Mary Tyler Moore from
the old Dashiel Hammet series, and Trish has legs that go all the way up.

"Of course. This may take a while. Please make yourself comfortable." I
excused myself to the outer office. After talking with Philip, enough to
calm him down and get him guided towards a decision about his lover (yet
again), I re-entered my office to find the temperature had changed.

The atmosphere between the F.B.I. agents had become a stony silence. Dana
Scully was admiring my eclectic mixture of books on various religious
philosophies (definitely an interest in the spiritual than), and Jack
Willis was flicking non-existent dirt off his polished shoe. I settled
myself again and I took a moment to compose my thoughts.

"Yes I can see why you've consulted me about this." I broke the ice this
time, as the other two seemed disinclined to discussion. "A woman
possessed by a demonÖ probably not typical fare for the F.B.I."

"But it is for you?" said Willis, offhandedly belligerent, sardonic and
dismissive.

"That's all we get around hereÖ demons, possessions, ghosts, voodooÖ
never a boring day at the office," I quipped while I thought to myself:
these uptight bureaucratic types are a real pain in the ass.

"A woman?" Red paused and seemed surprised.

"Oh yes, I'm sure your handwriting experts told you that. The writing
seems like that of a man's at first but you can tell hereÖ." I turned the
stiff plastic around and pointed to some of the strokes of the ascenders.

"Female. Probably posing as a man. Or perhaps she thinks she is a man. Or
perhaps someone who can change her gender at will. Her comments would
lead me to believe the last was most probable."

"Thank you for your timeÖ" Agent Willis stood and was giving his partner
the signal to end the meeting. I returned the note and she took it,
lowering her eyes before mineÖ disappointed than? Not what she was
expecting? I shrugged ­ you can't get too hung up on other people's
expectations. Pleasing others can ruin your life, as I well knew having a
ruined life myself. They left and I fully expected not to seem them
again, however, I should have listened to my intuition.

That weekend I was making notes from Sandra's counseling session and was
about to click off the end of the tape when I heard my own voice. My
surprise kept me from stopping the cassette.

"Don't. Don't start." This was the woman's voice, Dana Scully. I realized
than that I must have accidentally taped the time that two agents had
spent together when I had answered Phillip's call.

"I'm not saying anything but since you've brought it up. This is a waste
of time." Her male partner, Jack Willis, was the second voice.

"I think its time we considered other experts is all. This case has dead-
ended and we can't afford that."

"Dana, if you don't stop trying to work outside the party line Kersh is
going to kick your ass."

"Play by the rules, is that it Jack? You're so good at playing by the
rules aren't you?"

"I don't know what has gotten into you DanaÖ You're acting like Ö."

"What?"

"I'm your enemy or something. I'm not."

There was an exasperated sigh. My guess would be the woman.

"I knowÖ I know. It's just Ö can't you see we're hidebound ­ stagnate. I
might as well have joined the military. We need this man Mulder. He's
unconventional."

"A kook you mean."

Heartbeats of silence

"I'm asking for a transfer after this case Jack. I can't do it anymore."

"I seeÖ."

"Do you?"

"I see that you're trying to throw the baby out with the bath water. Just
because were not sleeping together anymore doesn't mean we can't work
together."

"Yeah sure, I'm fine with it. As fine as you are."

The sound of the door opening and than my voice again. I stopped the
tape. Interesting.

----------

Collector

Part II ­ Scully

The interview had been a waste. On the surface she fit the victim profile
and we had hoped she might be someone who had escaped the attacker that
had already killed five other people in the Washington DC area. However,
even I had to admit it was a loss.

Jack had refused to accompany me to the hospital and instead was playing
games with A.D. Kersh. When was Jack going to see that those late night
staff meetings re-hashing the same material got us no where?

As I was walking down the hall, a voice caught and held my attention. I
realized that it was the psychologist, Dr. Fox Mulder, whom I had
consulted about two weeks ago against Jack's wishes.

Mulder was sitting on a chair outside of a hospital room, his arm around
an elderly lady who was sobbing badly into her hands. The picture seemed
a snapshot of scenes I've played before ­ comforting the survivors. He
seemed a bit bewildered with a trace of desperation.

"Can I help?"

Dr. Mulder looked up and smiled. His face had a frank and open look to
it, which I instantly liked. However, I wondered than, and perhaps that
was the cop in me, if he did have secrets and where they were hidden? As
a psychologist he must possess more than a few, I concluded.

"Mrs. Matthews, this is Dr. Dana Scully. A colleague of mine." I was
surprised that he remembered my name as he introduced us. The older woman
took a shuddering breath as if to steady herself. "Dr. Scully can wait
with you while I talk with your daughter Sandra about our decision."

My eyebrows raised ­ Coward! ­ And his eyes begged me ­ Wait.

I took a seat next to Mrs. Matthews and let her talk. That's what
survivors want to do ­ talk - so my role was not an onerous one. When
Mulder returned Mrs. Matthews rose heavily and put her hand on his arm.

"Has she agreed?"

"Yes, but a private sanitarium. Why don't you go in and visit while I
call you a taxi?" As Mrs. Matthews left, he turned to me, his boyish
charm more in evidence. Perhaps Dr. Mulder could turn it on and off, like
a faucet? Especially when he wanted something.

"Thanks. I couldn't think of a way to end that."

Down the hall he stopped and phoned for a taxi and than we both started
walking again ­ together, rather aimlessly ­ towards the front exit of
the hospital.

"How's your case going? I'm assuming I can mention it since you brought
me into it ­ a whole 10 minutes of consultation."

I wondered if he was bitter, but instead his voice sounded amused. His
hazel eyes twinkled and he opened the door for me, his hand resting
passively at my back as if to help me through. I thought about moving
away but was too curious. He didn't seem like a man on the make. Actually
he looked tired and distant - his mind off to somewhere else.

"We have some promising leads." Now that sounded like something I would
say to the press, however, he didn't seem to notice my coolness so I drew
further back and his hand fell away. As a cell phone rang I automatically
reached inside my coat pocket, only to discover it had been my
companions'.

"MulderÖ Hey girlÖ.Tonight? I'm rather busyÖ No, actually I'm with a
beautiful redheadÖ Ha ha, very funny Sam, I am not walking an Irish
Setter. I guessÖ YesÖ for a few momentsÖ Isn't it almost over by now? Is
mom there with hubby? <grunt> Okay, I'll try but don't count on it."

He rang off with a slight smile. Seeing my expression he explained, "My
sister, Samantha. I had completely forgotten but she has a gallery show
tonight. It's a big deal for her. Funded by the National Endowment etcÖ
etcÖ"

"You don't have to explain."

"Yes, I do because she was wanting me to bring some proof of this
redhead. SoÖ would you like to go see some modern art?"

Was this some sort of play on seeing "etchings"? However I agreed, as I
was feeling lonely. I could write a book about how many times I've been
told that my personal life had floundered after Jack and I had split.
Besides it would be interesting to find out more about Mulder and he
assured me that visiting the show wouldn't take too long.

"I've just got to put in an appearance. Kiss some faces and than pop back
out. I'll tell you frankly that you might not like her art ­ it can be
rather disturbing." I wondered what could be more disturbing than the
number of autopsies I've performed during my five years with the Bureau,
but left that part quiet. Men usually didn't want to hear about my work.
I did not expect Dr. Mulder to be an exception.

The gallery turned out to be a small shop not far out of the way. It was
the only lighted front on the block and you could see through the big
plate windows that the party seemed to be going full blast.

As we stood outside I realized that others were dressed formally. I
hesitated, looking down at my standard F.B.I. wear of white shirt and
black suit. Mulder didn't seem to notice my discomfiture and just guided
me in with his elbow. With his long legs we were inside in moments.

After Mulder procured me a glass of white wine he went off to find his
sister, so I took time to survey the art. He was right ­ her work was
disturbing. Since it was modern with little realism I couldn't decipher
why. Perhaps it was the violence of how the paint had been applied and
the savagery of the color that made me feel uneasy?

"What do you think of Sam's work?" Mulder had returned with his sister, a
tall willowy brunette with a nice face. She was a softer, gentler version
of her brother. I tried to think of something polite to say and for a
moment failed. The artist rescued me.

"It's supposed to make you feel uncomfortable," she assured me quite
seriously. She had a very quite voice and her eyes were noticing.

"Than I would have to say that it speaks true." Samantha Mulder smiled
and I returned it. She hugged her brother's arm tight to her and I
wondered if she was possessive but as the night wore on I realized that
she was terribly shy. Watching her, I wondered what type of demons she
had inside to inspire the work on the wall.

----------

Collector

Part III ­ Mulder

Although my life was consumed with getting Sandra settled after her
attempt at suicide, my mind would find itself drifting back to the night
I had spent with Dr. Dana Scully at Sam's show.

Occasionally I would pull out Scully's business card and wonder if it
would be right to call her. Sam had encouraged me to contact her in her
own delightful, sisterly way ­ "Hey mug when are you going to give that
Irish Setter a call?" but the repulsion of getting involved that I've
felt since Phoebe's death held me back.

Though Dana and I had parted on friendly terms that night, I didn't feel
as though a call for a date would really be welcome. She had an attitude
of self-contained aloofness that said, "don't touch." The fact that she
had accompanied me to Sam's show I put down to curiosity and boredom. As
my psychologist half would say, they still had 'unresolved issues.'

I was still wrestling with my decision when I received a call from the
lady in question thus putting me out of my indecisive misery. Her menthol
voice asked if I could come down to the Bureau headquarters for a private
meeting to discuss the "case."

Naturally I agreed. Not only was I curious about what she was working on
but the appeal of the redheaded packaging couldn't be denied.

After getting a visitors' pass I made my way through a maze of elevators
and cubicle passageways to a conference room. At my entrance, the
inhabitants looked up and having an innate but also trained curiosity
about people, I found their reactions interesting. Scully ­ welcoming;
Wallis ­ surprise; a partially bald man wearing glasses ­ questioning and
demanding; and from the others ­ relief for any diversion.

Scully quickly introduced me around the room and I took a seat next to
hers that she had reserved with her gun. She tucked the large and serious
looking weapon back into its holster unselfconsciously. I gingerly sat
down. I do not like guns.

A.D. Walter Skinner (the man standing at the wipe board, heavily written
upon) continued an overview of how they stood on the "case." While he
talked, Dana slipped a file folder my way and turned her attention back
to Skinner. I opened the manila folder to find a brutal, color photo of a
slain black man. To say that it didn't give me pause would be a lie.
However as I took in the details, I could feel Agent Willis' eyes boring
into my forehead so I continued through the file with an air of
manufactured nonchalance. Than I found myself too intrigued to worry
about impressing Dana's ex-lover.

Without asking, I appropriated (that's how the government always terms it
anyway) my companion's notepad and pencil. I started some quick sketches,
jotting words and a phrase, drawing circles and lines. I didn't realize
how intent I had been on my own project until the silence of the room
finally drew my head up from my papers, which somehow had spread and
taken over the entire conference table. Six pairs of eyes were staring at
me as if I had turned into one of my own worst-cases.

"Rgghh" I cleared my throat, just realizing that for the last 20 minutes
I must have been speaking all of my thoughts aloud.

"Agent Scully perhaps you can give us a little more introduction of Dr.
Mulder." His commanding tone made me freeze, but Scully must have been
more accustomed to her superior's manner as she answered with her usual
air of unconcern and calm.

"Dr. Mulder identified the handwriting as being female sir about a month
ago. I had privately consulted with him with the permission of AD Kersh."

"You obviously have thoughts about this case, Dr. Mulder. Would you like
to share them with the rest of us?" Although Skinner's voice didn't sound
like one who really wanted toys shared, I jumped up excitedly from my
seat anyway.

"Oh yes, here" and in my enthusiasm quickly wiped the board clean. I
ignored the in-drawn breaths, and instead jotted down the victims' names
and motives.

Robert Wilson ­ affluent businessman ­ avarice

Maxwell Ghent ­ chef ­ gluttony

Elaine Rogers ­ prostitute ­ adultery

Eli Goodswin ­ ??

Margaret Meyers ­ housewife - envy

Greg Brown ­ musician ­ pride

"Their sinners. She's taken them on to the next life. Perhaps they've
even sold their souls to the devil for their success," I mused, drawing a
nice little diagram with a flourish of squeaky marker. "The ritual is the
important part. Each has to be prepared carefully beforehand and the
steps never vary. Very obsessive- compulsive character I dare say. Rather
anal, in laymen's terms.

She's probably knows quite a bit beforehand who she is going to kill as
she's chosen them due to their lifestyle and their 'sins.' She couldn't
be strong enough to overpower her victimsÖ. Perhaps a drug to get them
more compliant? The lure of sex?

I would think she has a 'preparation' area, very ritualistic, in design
where she kills her victims. This special area where she does the killing
will have a unique religious meaning to her. She would use the same place
over and over again and I would guess it is a location other than where
she lives so this might be the best point on tracking her down.

All the care is taken before the ritual. Afterwards the killer has no
more need for the body - it's a broken vessel, a shell ­ the soul is

gone. The bodies are dumped willy nilly away from the sacred place she
has chosen as the kill site."

I must have talked for several hours without a break. At the end before I
could veer off to another theory that had just surfaced in my mind,
Walter Skinner interrupted me by addressing Agent Scully, "He is
certainly a fresh perspective. Keep him."

Skinner's exit had apparently marked the end of the meeting. Wallis left
next, with an exasperated grimace towards his partner. The others all
escaped to bathrooms, telephone calls or some such need and leaving the
object of my early morning dreams ­ Dana Scully - alone with me.

----------

Part IV

Collector ­ Scully

I didn't know if I should laugh or cry. Dr. Mulder was definitely a non-
conformist and a cage-rattler. If I had been finding myself bored and
restless (Mom called it a mid-life crisis but I didn't think you were
supposed to have them when you turned 30) I had picked myself a runner
for win, place and show.

After the others left, he waited expectantly, perhaps not realizing what
a stir he had created just an hour ago when he casually wiped away about
six months worth of work away and interrupted A.D. Skinner in his
debriefing. He stood tall, his hands held out limply to his side, his
hazel eyes slightly puzzled and questioning.

"I guess the party is over," he said and started piling up his own notes.

"I think the 'party' is just beginning," I said softly, but as it seemed
that Mulder missed my remarks, I continued louder, "It looks like we will
be working together after all."

"Call me Mulder," he said and than turned abruptly, startled. "You were
going to ask me that weren't you?"

"Don't you have a first name?"

"Disliked intensely."

"What about a middle name?"

"For personal reasons, that's even less preferred."

"Okay." I felt at a loss at how to proceed.

"You know we have never talked about how the F.B.I. is going to
compensate me for my time." It surprised me how quickly and intensely I
became angry. Here it comes, I thought, the leer, the touching and
leaning over to look down my blouse.

"What do you think is fair?" I said, my voice cold as the Antarctica.

"Dinner for sure." I agreed to his wish but if Mulder was to be in my
care and turned out to be a sexist bastard I was going to make matters
very uncomfortable for him.

The first surprise was where he chose to eat. It was a small bar and
restaurant, a "pub" run by an old English acquaintance of Mulders, named
Scott O'Calahan. When we entered the bar, it was obvious that my pet
psychologist was known as he gave a few waves and hellos before we found
a spot back behind the bar area. We slid into opposite-facing booths.

"Fish and chips," he ordered without looking at the menu. I placed mine
for a large chicken salad.

The next surprise was that he only wanted to talk about the case. He had
a boyish excitement over being brought into it all and found the killer
an interesting psychological study.

"Someone is going to be able to write a paper on this one all right," he
commented, nodding his head sagely. His hands were clasped together on
the countertop and his gaze wandered around the room while he talked. He
seemed restless and overflowing with energy. The tired and drained man of
about a week ago was gone.

"What did you mean that she could change gender 'at will'? You brought
that up when you saw the note," I asked, honestly curious.

"Gender can be represented in two ways: the biological and the
psychological. All of us are a mixture of traits that would be labeled
female or male. Usually one set of gender roles dominates the other
making us male or female. Our killer could be biologically female but
find herself acting as a male if given certain stimuli."

"You mean an out-of-control lesbian?" I scoffed.

"No, I wasn't thinking of homosexuality in this case. Perhaps a multiple
disorder personality. I would put my money on a hermaphrodite. Someone,
who for whatever reason, feels just as comfortable being wholly female as
being wholly male." As the food was brought out he switched subjects.

"You said you had been recommended to me. By who I wonder?"

"My sister, Missy ­ Melissa ­ had recommended you as a possible source.
She met you at aÖ." I could feel my cheeks grow hot. I had deliberately
not brought that up in our first meeting.

"Öa New Age Conference. Melissa Scully. She was very interested in my
paper on UFOs."

"Do you always do that? Complete sentences? Answer before your asked?"

He smiled in reply. He continued to doctor his fish and 'chips' with
vinegar between bites.

"I have an eidetic memory. It makes it very easy to remember names and
faces for instance. I only finish sentences of people I'm close toÖ"

I let that personal comment drop unnoticed in the still waters of our
conversation. I brought the topic back to the case.

"Why couldn't the crimes be committed by more than one person, a man and
a woman?"

"That would be a possibility except for the note that you showed me. The
words emphasized a conspiracy, a group of people committing these crimes.
It was too obvious a diversion to make us think that more than one person
was involved. A mental giant this person is not."

We drank our beers in silence. They were healthy glasses with a huge
mound of foam on the top. Ordinarily I'm not a beer drinking person but
the deep amber liquid and the British atmosphere of the place seemed to
demand it.

"This place feels as though it was transplanted directly from England," I
mused, voicing my inner thoughts out loud as I gestured toward the Rugby
sports paraphernalia and photos of the Royals on the walls.

"Yes, it does. Scott came over about eight years ago and started this
place. We met when I was taking exams at Oxford. He loves England but not
the unemployment ­ hence the move."

Mulder waved someone over, whom I soon learned to be his English friend.
Scott was a lean and tall man, with dark brown hair and pale cheeks. His
friendly and intimate manner was a pleasant surprise as I expected a
reserved nature. Mulder introduced me as a colleague, and after a few
moments of idle chitchat, excused himself to the bathroom.

"Are you and Mulder involved?" Scott asked bluntly as soon as Mulder
disappeared around the corner. I blinked once in surprise but answered
anyway.

"No. We're working together. I've brought him in as a consultant to a
very difficult case of mine," He took no notice of my "back-off buster"
tone of voice and just eyed me up and down with a thorough going over
measuring look.

"Too bad. It would be good for him if you were a decent sort." Before I
could protest or argue my merits, Mulder had returned and Scott went back
to his duties, his job of chaperoning over.

For the third surprise that night, I went home alone with no suggestion
from Mulder that it should have been otherwise.

----------

Part V

Collector ­ Mulder

The next time that I heard from Special Agent Dana Scully it was an
invitation to accompany her to a late night autopsy.

"I see your partner isn't here, " I observed as she was doing the
preliminary scrubbing up before beginning the autopsy on the sixth
victim, the talented jazz musician Greg Brown.

"No." <we're rarely together anymore> "Are you going to be okay with
this?" <your not going to faint or something silly like that are you?>

Sometimes I have an odd way of hearing speech that is left unsaid. I
call it "shadowspeak" and it happens rarely except with Samantha. I was
surprised that Dana Scully seemed to be one of those rare people I could
also understand under the surface. Which was fortunate for me for without
that ability, her guarded face and low emotional output would have put me
at a loss.

"It's okay. Although I'm not a psychiatrist, I did watch autopsies being
done in graduate school ­ usually for abnormal psych classes."

Dr. Scully was wearing green scrubs and huge glasses that masked most of
her face. As I watched her work she pointed out several things of
interest about Mr. Brown and how it related to how he had been tortured.
Discovering that donated and carefully preserved medical cadavers were no
match for the reek of Greg Brown I found it easiest just to concentrate
on Red than the surgery itself.

"Brown was tied at the hands and wrists with something organic, either
leather or cotton rope. Further examination of the fibers found in the
cuts will reveal which."

"I would guess leather. If she dipped them in water beforehand and than
tied the victim it would cause quite a litigate by the time the leather
started to dry. That would account for those wrist marks. Leather would
also have more ritual significance since it is the hide of an animal."

Scully seemed pleased with my answer and continued her investigations
into Browns' inner workings. It was obvious she really enjoyed her work
and though many would have commented upon the grotesque aspect of it all,
Dana Scully performed it all with the beauty of a diva performing an
aria.

When I didn't faint during the removal of the internal body organs I felt
that I had passed some sort of unspoken test, winning her approval.
Finally she clicked off the dictation tape and let the two lab boys slid
the body back into a morgue storage drawer. I followed her back to the
scrub up sinks.

"I didn't hear you give a cause of death?"

"That's the frustrating part of this business, Mulder," she replied as
she stripped off her gloves, hair net and glasses. "Six bodies and we
still don't have a definite method of how she is killing them. The knife
work, though spectacular, was done after death. I suspect some sort of
drug, perhaps one that can't be detected after so many hours but without
more forensic evidence we are at a standstill."

"How did your team figure out the killer was female? I'm assuming that
you thought it was a male since you and your partner were surprised in my
office the first time we met."

She paused for a moment, eyeing me speculatively, and I saw her weighing
how much to reveal to me. However, it was only for a moment ­ I had
already read the case file and there wasn't much, except her private
thoughts on the matter, that would be something I didn't know.

"There were a few false fingernails found at the dump site of Elaine
Rogers. It was first assumed to be hers but checking with the spouse we
found that she didn't wear them. It was enough to have the note re-
examined by Special Agent Henderson and your deduction was confirmed."

"I see," I murmured and thought over what she had said while the F.B.I.
agent left to the women's locker to change into street clothes. In a few
moments she returned, dumping the scrubs into a white tub labeled
Biohazard Waste. We started out the morgue and went to wait for an
elevator. Meanwhile, Scully continued the history of the case and my
involvement.

"Originally, this case was under the jurisdiction of A.D. Kersh. He was
against me using any outside resources but reluctantly agreed to me
initially contacting you. However, when the matter was transferred under
A.D. Skinner, I gambled and asked him if I could bring you in with us on
a more permanent basis. Your estimation that the suspect was female stood
greatly in your favor." <I took a risk to bring you on board. My career
goes down with yours>

"I think we should ask your sister, Melissa, for some advice."

"What?" <are you crazy?> Scully turned towards me and allowed a mixture
of puzzlement and dismay to show on her face.

"I'm thinking a good place to start would be with some New Age shops that
sell items for satanic worship. From the little I know of your sister I
think she might be able to give us a lead on a few back alley shops of
this type." At the sight of the anger building in her eyes, I hastily
reassured her. "Not because she practices those arts, but that she would
know friends of friends sort of thing."

"I'm not sure that that would be good ideaÖ." <I don't want to do this>

"The person committing these crimes is going to need supplies. She could
either make them or buy them. Some of the herbs needed for the best
results ­ and this is someone who believes in doing a job well ­ can't be
grown very easily here in the United States."

"That does make some senseÖ. I'll be seeing her tomorrow at a family
thing. I'll ask her than." < I still think you're crazy>

----------

Part VI

Collector ­ Scully

Of course Melissa was happy to help especially when she found out I was
working with that 'fascinating psychologist' that she had met last summer
in Connecticut. Missy commented about Mulder's cute glasses, mock turtle
shirts and some mumbled thing that sounded like 'leather jacket.' Though
she tried angling some sort of group meeting into the bargain, I was firm
with the statement that this was 'government business.'

I love Melissa. Truly I do. I love her dearly. However, whenever Melissa
is around I don't stand a chance with a man. She has an outgoing yet at
the same time mysterious personality that seems to attract men like moths
to a bonfire. Missy has said in the past that my intellectualism scares
men off and I guess that she is probably right as the only double date I
had with her both men ended up taking her home.

Only Jack had been resistant to Missy's powers of attraction and perhaps
that is why I fell for him so quickly ­ he actually did NOT like Missy,
and called her a lunatic several times for my benefit. Because Missy had
recommended Mulder it was the initial reason for Jack's dislike of our
new colleague.

So was I interested in Mulder than after all? Was I concerned that he too
might fall for her charms? He had asked about her specifically, which
might have denoted a personal interest in her. However, it was really too
soon to tell what I thought about Dr. Fox Mulder ­ and I had learned from
Jack to move slowly.

Ignoring those thoughts, I met Mulder the next day with Missy's list. I
eyed him curiously and did admit silently that he had a cute little
puppy-dog face that could be considered attractive. He also was a sharp
dresser, if you took his ties out of the equation. Now, if only he would
get a better haircutÖ

We started our search at some of the seediest places I've ever seen.
Mulder seemed to enjoy going down dark alleys, knocking at doors without
signs and peering through dusty windows into vacant shop fronts. Being
with me gave him literally a license to pry.

I also discovered that Mulder's personal style was full of sexual
innuendo and jokes about relationships, though I seriously doubted that
he had the ability to carry any of them through. His comments smacked of
the sexism I had received from the male-dominated Bureau, and I at first
bristled at his presumption until I soon realized that he was innocent of
any real or implied harm. The poor man didn't seem able to stop himself.
Besides most of the jokes seemed to be leveled at his own expense.

By the time we had reached the third shop I decided to enter into the
spirit of the game. We had once again been mistaken for a "couple" so I
asked the man at the counter ­ a rather gorgeous and exotic specimen
actually with dark brown skin and long shoulder length black hair ­ if he
had anything to recommend to boost male virility.

"Form doesn't always follow function does it, honey," he said sotto
voice, speculatively eyeing Mulder up and down.

With that I felt that I had gotten my own back but instead of being angry
Mulder only laughed good naturally. He shelled out the forty bucks for
the vial of evil looking pills that the storekeeper had brought out for
examination.

"For later," He commented, leering and giving me a good-natured wink. I
quickly took the bottle from him and stuffed it into my purse, sincerely
concerned about it's vile contents. I admonished Mulder in a matter-of-
fact way of the dangers of taking over the counter, non-FDA regulated
drugs. My lecture about his health seemed to amuse him greatly, for
though his mouth remained straight, the crinkle lines around his eyes
folded with humor.

It was at the seventh shop that our luck took a change. The shop was a
little better organized than the rest and a small bell tinkled,
announcing our entrance. A tall woman greeted us with an innocuous remark
and than let us alone to browse. I could sense Mulder's excitement beside
me; something had caught his eye and he cast a knowing glance to me along
with a nod. We approached the counter.

The clerk greeted Mulder and I with an unusual, pronounced drawl that I
could not place. What I found to be most curious was that she didn't seem
to notice me. She addressed her remarks to my male partner, showing him
several items of silver jewelry under the counter, as if I simply didn't
exist.

Now when you've been a woman in the type of job I have, it doesn't come
as a surprise to meet this reaction especially from those that are busy
casting eyes at my male partners. However, her attitude seemed to be
hiding something more. Once or twice the salesperson caught my eye and
her gaze skittered away in a frightened manner. Had she noticed the gun's
bulge under my jacket?

I closed the space between the three of us and she certainly moved away.
Mulder raised a questioning brow towards me, silently asking if I wanted
to push it further. I gave a slight nod.

"Actually I was looking for a ring for my friend here." Mulder indicated
me with a vague wave of his hand and the salesclerk obediently removed a
group of rings from under the counter. Mulder put on a pair of glasses to
better admire them (Points to Missy on that one, I thought) and than
picked out one ­ a snake eating it's tail ­ and asked the woman to
measure my ring finger.

Once again the shopkeeper met my stare, with hers sliding away. It was
with obvious reluctance that she reached forward and placed the ring on
my hand. As she began to slide it down past my knuckle, all hell broke
loose.

I can't tell really what happened -- of course Mulder has his own version
of events. However, this is what I know.

My hand was on fire and I found myself flying backwards, off my feet.
Slamming into a display case, it tipped over with me skimming across the
top. Glass shattered - specimens for arcane rituals went tumbling - and
hazily I saw a taxidermist specimen of a stuffed owl fly over my head.

"After her Mulder!" I screamed. He hesitated for a moment sparing a
glance at my prone figure before he dashed through the swinging shutter
door located between the counters.

"Mary, Mother of Jesus!" I swore, as I hugged my hand to me. It felt as
though I had suffered at least a first-degree burn. I staggered to my
feet and more glass shards fell about me.

It was than that I remembered that Fox Mulder was not my partner, not an
agent and that he had just chased after an extremely dangerous subject
with no gun, no badge and no training.

----------

Part VII

Collector ­ Mulder

Scully found me alone in the alley. She immediately whipped out her cell
phone and started talking.

"The stores' name is Haven and Hell. It's located over at 45th and
Richmond. The suspect is a Caucasian female, 5'10", dark hair dyed
blonde, shoulder length. Brown eyes. She was wearing a one-piece dark
gray dress with some sort of black shoe or boot. She left the scene with
us in pursuit but we lost her in the back alley. That was about," here
Dana checked her watch, "around 4:15 p.m. All right. Yes. Okay. I'll meet
you at the hospital. No, just a few stitches. Right."

"Here let's go to the car where you can sit down," I said when she
clicked her phone shut with an aggrieved air. Dana used my arm and
hobbled gingerly around the building, back to the front street. Sitting
sideways with an open door she finally got a chance to examine her leg,
which had a good-sized chunk of glass stuck in her calf.

"Just superficial. It missed the tendon." I wasn't sure what to say to
that matter of fact evaluation. Dana was obviously tough but it didn't
seem to be a false macho toughness. When you're in pain there isn't much
left for an act.

Luckily a police car pulled up in a few moments. We updated them on the
situation, and we're able to leave. The drive was slow due to the
afternoon rush hour traffic and as the adrenaline wore off the pain level
for Dana increased. During one long traffic light she reclined the seat
and closed her eyes. I thought I should say something but didn't know
what so just gave her an awkward pat on her shoulder. She responded with
a slight smile but didn't open her eyes.

We finally made it to the emergency room where I discovered that FBI
agents have to go through the long and boring process that the rest of us
have to do. Because of her hand injury, holding the clipboard was awkward
for her, so I filled out the form.

There's an amazing amount of information you can learn by filling out a
hospital form. For instance I discovered that her father was deceased due
to heart disease, her mother was the contact person (so no boyfriend or
husband in the picture for sure than), she was Catholic and had type O
blood.

After all the paperwork was processed we finally got into a bay where a
doctor took a look over her various scratches and dents. Agent Scully
quickly informed him that she was a doctor. She summarized her injuries
and their degrees of severity. He didn't seem impressed by her
credentials and said something about, "doctors making the worse patients"
before ordering a x-ray of her hand.

Scully returned from the x-ray department and got a few wounds flushed
out with ionized water and stitched. When her partner Jack Willis found
us it was obvious by his mood that it was time for me to take myself off.
On the other hand, I really didn't feel ready to leave Dana's side until
I knew more about her condition so I compromised with a trip down the
hall to the coffee shop.

Now there's something about emergency rooms. They aren't much of a room.
Most of the "walls" are curtains hung on a sliding system to gain a
semblance of privacy. This doesn't really do much except prevent anyone
from seeing your naked ass, which is so well presented in those revealing
hospital gowns.

Cloth walls especially don't prevent anyone from hearing a conversation
when they are standing right outside. I am not an eavesdropper by nature
but wasn't sure of the procedure ­ barge in or slink off? While I
debated, I felt a strange replay of the conversation that I had
accidentally tape-recorded earlier.

"You should have had your partner with you, not this idiot."

"Skinner wanted me to work with him. I think he can give us some valuable
insight into the mind of this killer." <just leave me alone> Dana's voice
was soft, tired and hard to hear.

"If you had your real partner with you none of this would have happened.
We would have her in custody and putting this whole thing put to bed."

"You weren't there. It happened very suddenly. Besides I don't see where
you could have done anything that he didn't." <just leave me alone>

There was a pause and I was about to enter when the Dana started again,
"Jack, why have you contested my transfer? Things haven't been good
between us for a long time. Can't you see that?"

"I can see it but forgive this stupid cop, I don't know why."

"You don't?" <just leave me alone> very softly.

"One day you were saying 'I'm fine' and the next day it was the cold
shoulder. I want to know what I've done so I can make it right."

"It was just a game ­ a game for both of us. But eventually our
expectations became different. You were happy having me there
occasionally ­ a friend, partner, buddy and lover. That was okay with me
too at first, but than it wasn't enough in the endÖnot after eighteen
monthsÖ" <I don't love youÖjust leave me alone>

After a pause when Jack must have made a gesture, Dana's voice became
impatiently angry, the tone you get when explaining the rules for the
umpteenth time to a disobedient child.

"I knew. I knew about them all. Vicki, Beth, and some girl I never
bothered to name. Why do you think I always insisted on protection with
you Jack? You just couldn't keep it in your pants. I gave up on 'us'
developing into anything for keeps." <don't you see how you hurt me?>

"I thought we had both agreed to see others."

"Sometimes women agree to things just to get what they want, not because
they ever figure they will have to ante up. That was my mistake and I
freely admit it. But don't try to stop the transfer ­ it's for the best."
<I don't even have the right to be angryÖ just leave me alone>

After a long pause, Willis asked in a softer tone, "Do you want me to
drive you home?"

"No, I rather have Dr. Mulder take me home." <hell, no, you idiot> She
must have thought that sounded cruel because she added, "I want to go
over the events of today ­ get a clearer picture of what happened before
I write my report up for Skinner." <it's over Jack, don't you get it?>

I decided it was time to make an appearance and handed out coffees for
all.

----------

Part VIII

Collector ­ Scully

My pantyhose were ruined so I rolled them into a ball and threw them
away. It hurt to walk in heels, so I carried my shoes and hobbled up the
stairs in bare feet, trying not to think of what unsanitary things might
be on the floor.

Fox Mulder hovered. That's the only word to describe it. His hand was
again on my back, in a place that it seemed he had staked off as his
personal territory.

At my door he fumbled with my unfamiliar keys and when we finally
entered, the comfort of home made me sigh. While I sat on the couch,
Mulder investigated my fridge and cabinets. Using the electronic
controls, I turned on the tape system to listen to Kathy's rehearsal. As
the deep strains of cello filled the room, I sunk downward into the soft
cushions and propped my feet up on another pillow.

I must have been pretty wiped out because I fell into a light doze and
only awoke when I heard my microwave beep. Mulder entered with a tray for
supper ­ a bowl of hot tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich, one
side slightly burned.

"Thanks, but you didn't have too." I struggled to sit up and took the
tray. He found a chair opposite, avoiding the couch, as if I had spoken.

"I've got to head out soon. Before I go do you need anything else? Any
one you would like me to call?"

"No, I'm fine." He didn't seem to believe me, so I compromised with
something he could do to alleviate his worry. "I think a hot pad for my
hand. It's still throbbing. I have one, under the bathroom sink."

I slurped some soup while he plugged the hot pad behind the couch.

"Did you want me to write up something ­ a report of the events?" His
hazel eyes were very green and gazing at me in a strange, curious way. He
had a very full pouty mouth, which somehow contrary to its architecture,
was masculine and appealing. I was too tired to puzzle out the paradox.

"Skinner will probably want to meet with you first thing in the morning
to go over what happened today. Hopefully, the team will have some
answers for us about who the shop clerk was, name and whereabouts. They
might even have her in custody."

Mulder made no response to my optimism and said instead, "I do have
clients to see tomorrow but could get away by 1:30."

"What if I meet you at your office and we can go over it together?" I
suggested.

"All right if you think you can driveÖ? Here is my cell phone number if
things change." He took out a business card from his wallet and scribbled
a number on the back with the stubby end of a pencil. He slid the card
across my coffee table towards me.

"I was just wondering if you could give me some further help."

"Sure." I replied, eyeing him cautiously over my sandwich.

"Do you have the name of a priest you would recommend to me? I need

someone well versed in church doctrine to consult."

I was nonplused. That was not the question I had expected.

"My address book is on the table, by the phone. It has the name of an old
friend of the family, Father McCue. He's at St. John's Church in
Alexandria. I think he could probably offer you some sort of assistance
or at least point you the right way."

Mulder gave me a beaming, enigmatic smile.

"That would be perfect."

----------

Part IX

Collector ­ Mulder

The next day appointments went smoothly and I was finishing up with my
last client when the door burst open.

"Trish you know betterÖ." I stopped, realizing that the intruder was not
our efficient secretary but instead was a young man aggressively dressed
in a punk get up reminiscent of my college days in England.

My patient, Mrs. Amhurst, a nervous type to begin with, clutched her
purse tightly and looked desperately to me for guidance. I figured this
incident would set us back about two months.

"I believe our time is up Mrs. Amhurst," I said calmly and reminded her,
"be sure to set your next date with Trish." Hugging the door's frame, my
elderly and graying client scuttled past the disturbing stranger and
practically ran for the outer door. I could see Trish's outraged
professional face hovering behind his shoulder but I shook my head
slightly at her and she slowly moved to the safety of her desk.

"Why don't you have a seat, MrÖ?"

"Fuck that and fuck you! I'm doing a job here man and I don't need no
bloody fuck up from your side!"

The stranger rubbed his hand, twisted with silver rings, through his
short blonde hair sporting dark roots. His nose was pierced and he wore a
heavy black jacket with a circular gang insignia I didn't recognize.

"Perhaps if you could tell me a little more about this matter I could
help you?" Of course during my clinicals I saw patients on drugs ­ this
man showed many of the same symptoms. He was sweating, eyes dilated, his
temper irrational and his hands held a pronounced tremor.

"Damn right. Damn right," the man started pacing up and down the length
of my office, shoving any furniture in his path aggressively out of his
way. Not much damage can be done to chairs on rollers, but it was
admittedly an impressive display of temper.

"Bringing that bitch into the picture ­ whose the hell's idea was that???
I'm just the fucking messenger man, I don't call the shots. You hear!?
You got that? I'm not the main man here!"

"So you're not the one responsible?"

"Hell no, are you crazy?" I almost laughed at his vehement reply but
instead just cocked my head in puzzlement. He looked at me if I was first
class idiot.

"I tell you I'm doing a job and I don't need no fuck up here. This gets
screwed, man, and I'm down at the bottom of the wheel and that ain't my
place no more. Some other fuck up can take that kinda heat."

My visitor was starting to cool off some. He seemed to notice the office
for the first time and took in the view across the city.

"Nice place. You see what kinda hole they dumped me into? It's all about
position isn't it? Who you knowÖ"

"I have to agree that favoritism does abound. But that doesn't mean you
still aren't as good, perhaps better than those that have."

"Your God damn right. Damn right." My visitor had found the 'refreshment
counter' and helped himself to a whisky and soda. I didn't think it was
the right time to mention the dangers of mixing drugs and alcohol.
Perhaps it would be more appropriate in a later session.

"I think there's been a mix upÖ?" I gently inquired. I couldn't place
this person in relation to anyone else that might be related to any
current or previous clients. Jackie's ex-boyfriend? That drug buddy of
Mitch?

"Might be." he swallowed his drink in one draft and wiped his face
messily on his jacket. "Damn good. You sure know how to live it up while
you're here. Now look here I have four more to go and they are going down
- they are history buddy ­ and nothing you or your sweet ass girlfriend
can do will change that.

Those folks knew the price ­ better than most and I feel no guilt about
making them pay up. But if there's been a fuck-up I'm not the one who's
going to pay for it. No way, Jose. I've done my time and I'm not going
down."

I was just starting to get the feeling I knew where we were headed with
this conversation when Agent Dana Scully walked into my outer office and
allÖexcuse meÖ hell broke loose. My visitor exploded with wrath, throwing
his empty glass with an explosion of glass fragments and a dribble of
stain down the wall..

"You've brought that fucking bitch here! Is this some sort of set up? I
mean what do you have to gain by it? You must be doing some heavy shit!"

"Scully don't come in here!" I shouted but of course that just encouraged
her to come further into my office, with a gun pointed at my visitor.

"Fuck youÖ I don't have to put up with this kinda shit. I have rights!
This beats the band, dontcha know?"

And before I had sense to really think about it I decided on a chivalrous
course of action and threw myself between Scully ­ who had a loaded gun ­
and the stranger ­ who I felt in my heart was the more dangerous. I've
been told I can be foolish, crazy, kooky and just plain stupid at times,
but even now looking back I still think what I did was the smartest thing
considering the circumstances as I saw them.

However, the next thing I remember was just sound - someone was sobbing
in the background and I could hear Samuel's voice calling my name from
far away. Once everything stopped getting fuzzy, I took in that I was
lying flat on my back, staring at a ceiling tile stuck with pencils.
Something was tickling my nose - a fluffy mound of red hair was on my
bare chest as my shirt had been opened. I blinked a few times.

"I've just finished giving you CPR, Mulder, as you went into cardiac
arrest. I'm checking your vitals now. So just do the routine by telling
me your full name and the last thing you remember."

"You mean I was unconscious when you were kissing me?" I asked stupidly
thinking of my open shirt and wondering if this was some sort of
distorted dream of mine where things were supposed to be fun but weren't.

"Not under, dyingÖ and CPR isn't much like kissing. So just keep talking
and tell me what I asked for like a nice little patient."

"Do I really havfta tell you my full name?" At her stern look I complied
and than continued with how this guy had burst into my office, and than
she had burst into my office, and than how I had 'fainted' or something
very girly like that.

"I can hear the ambulance," Trish stepped out of my line and vision to
look out the nice view of the parking lot. Her make-up was all blotchy.
"They're pulling up now."

"Okay now Mulder, just lay down here and wait. You're going to the
hospital for an EKG and more."

"Whoa there girlfriend," and I tried to roll to my side to get up and
found myself blocked by Samuel's hand. "Now look Sam I can't be carted
downstairs in a gurney ­ that's damn silly looking."

But as no one budged on the issue, and I really didn't feel like going 10
rounds, I just grumbled the entire way to the hospital. Scully was pretty
decent about it and a flash of her badge and credentials got her a free
ride whereas my insurance didn't cover too much of it as I still had a
deductible that had to be met.

----------

Part X

Collector ­ Scully

They didn't use the sirens since the immediate danger had passed and this
wasn't considered a life and death emergency. Mulder still looked pale
but was in good spirits and even tried to obtain the phone number of the
paramedic. At the hospital, we got our "old room" as Mulder fondly
nostalgically called it.

"We've got to stop meeting like this Scully," he said and winked.

"Mulder, I don't find anything humorous in the fact that less than an
hour ago you almost died."

He only shrugged, at what he called my "ill humor." Not only was Mulder
at his most infuriating but the staff wasn't much help either. The EKG
showed no interruption in the heart pattern and the cardiologist I spoke
with thought I must have imagined giving CPR to a healthy, almost forty-
something male.

Despite my request that they keep Mulder for observation, I found myself
dropping Mulder him off at the curb outside of his apartment. I floored
the Crown Victoria and tried to make it back to Bureau headquarters
before the meeting was over. No such luck. Jack had already left, running
down an old acquaintance of our suspect who now had a name ­ Celeste
Fremont.

However, my partner had had time to drop off a large manila envelope on
top of my desk with a post-it note marked "Read this about your hero."
With trepidation about this Trojan horse, I slid my finger under the flap
and discovered an entire mound of paperwork devoted to Dr. Fox William
Mulder.

He was born October 13, 1961, in Chilmark, Mass., to parents Teena and
William Mulder. His father died on November 27, 1973 during a break-in at
the family home on Martha's Vineyard. Jack had even managed to include
some stark black and white photos of the crime scene.

"Who would have thought he would have had so much blood in him," I quoted
in a whisper as I reviewed the stills of quite a violent crime.

The incident seemed to have a profound effect on Samantha, Fox's only
sibling, as she entered a private sanitarium from 1974 to 1976 under the
care of a Dr. Heitz Werber. This than was perhaps the impetus of her
painting? I mused. And perhaps that was the starting point for Mulder's
interest in the workings of the mind?

His mother remarried in 1978, to a C.G.B Spender. That was also the same
year that Mulder left for England where he attended Oxford University in
England graduating with a B.A. and later a doctorate "summa cum laude."

In 1986 he married a Phoebe Green, which ended in a quick divorce that
same year. Green turned up dead in 1990 and Willis had included another
dossier, detailing Green's murder.

She had been brutally killed with quite a personal touch ­ her body
showed myriad blows to the chest, groin and head. Glancing over the
abbreviated autopsy report it seemed most likely that death had been due
to repeated blows to the head, since some heavy object had crushed half
the skull and the nose. She had also been sexually violated.

Mulder hadn't been considered a suspect as he had returned to the states
and begun a private practice at the time of Green's death. However, it
was noted that his marriage to Green had been "acrimonious." As the case
remained open, a whiff of hostility and suspicion towards Fox Mulder, was
definitely reflected in the New Scotland Yard report.

As I shuffled the papers together again, a handwritten note fell out. It
was Jack's scrawl ­ "Crimes seem to follow him don't they?"

"Have some pity, Jack," I muttered as I viciously tore his note up and
threw it in the trash.

The rest of the seamy underside of Mulder's life I stuck back into the
file folder and tossed it across to Jack's in box. I hoped that I could
put it out of my mind and face Mulder with a clear conscience.

----------

Part XI

Collector ­ Mulder

My visit to Father McCue wasÖenlightening.

It was obvious that Dana hadn't informed the good Reverend Father of my
intent to visit. However he quickly spared some time for me and we sat
down in his quite comfortable office ­ Father Confessor 101 ­ with walls
of books, relaxing chairs and a benign, fatherly face to match.

"Dana Scully gave me your name Father as a possible resource for a case
that I'm working on with her."

"Are you with the F.B.I. too Mr. Mulder?"

"No. I'm just serving as an outside consultant." The stained glass window
speckled his desk with globs of colored light due to the setting sun. I
shifted my chair so I could see his face better.

"Actually Father I wanted to hear more about Dana. What do you know of
her exactly?"

"Dana?" asked McCue, obviously taken back by my line of questioning. He
eyed me suspiciously and I hastened to explain.

"You see I've just met her. We're associates as I've said. We were in a
situation yesterday that I thought was quite amazing and was wondering
about her."

Father McCue was now definitely looking uncomfortable and I realized my
mistake. He thought I was asking for some sort of personal revelation
about the family. Perhaps he thought I was potential boyfriend material.

"Oh nothing personal, I assure you. I was more interested in knowing her
religious beliefsÖ general things like that. I understand that you are
the family's priest?"

"Not exactlyÖ not any more that is. I was when I was in charge of a
different parish, closer to their old home. However, I have kept in touch
with all the Scullys. Dana especially likes to come in here and argue
theology with me."

"Yes, yesÖ that is what I'm interested in knowing about. For instance,
I'm assuming that Dana is Catholic?"

"A practicing Catholic Ö though I don't think she practices much
anymore," said Father McCue with a good-natured smile. "She has her
dilemma, reconciling science with faith. I imagine that Dana will always
wrestle with what is real and what can only be imagined."

"Do you thinkÖ.? Has she shownÖ?"

"I'm afraid that I really don't know where you're going with this Mr.
Mulder." His wooden chair squeaked as he rocked it forward towards me,
his hands held palm to palm in front of him.

"A few days ago, Dana and I were together and she was attacked. I had the
distinct feeling that she was under divine protection. I was wondering if
you ever had that feeling." I waited to hear Father McCue's laugh but my
punch line didn't seem to elicit that reaction. He eyed me seriously and
took a few moments to consider it, obviously ruminating through his
memories of the Scully family.

"I've always had a feeling that Dana had a guardian angel. Is that the
sort of thing that you mean?"

God, I felt relieved. Perhaps the only person you can discuss wild-hared
theories with were the clergy after all. If they didn't believe you could
always cast it back in their face about their lack of "faith."

"She's always been extremely lucky. I know from her mother that she's
been injured several times in the process of doing her job ­ hit in the
line of duty or somesuch cop thing ­ and has always emerged out of it
alive.

However, I always like to recall an event from her childhood. She was
about 10 and had gotten terribly ill. Spinal Meningitis I believe but you
would have to ask Margaret for the definite medical particulars. Everyone
was sure she was going to die.

I had come to visit her ­ give her the last rites and in private she had
confided to me. She wasn't going to die. She knew it because the angel
that stayed by her bed had told her that God had something special for
her to do. Something only Dana could do and that it would save the world.
She recovered ­ and I'm still waiting for her to save the world."

I felt the hairs rise back on my neck and goose pimples go down my arms.
"Do you think that Dana is 'good'?"

"I wouldn't call Dana Katherine 'saintly'Ö she has quite a streak of
mischief though I think she has suppressed a good deal of it since
leaving medical school."

"Perhaps good isn't the wordÖ" I started, groping for some sort of a
question that would get the answers I wanted.

"Dana believes in justice. Justice and truth. That is what powers her. I
don't think she has much patience for those that don't see the black and
white, the right and wrong, of life. If your looking for an analogy to
faith, I would say she would make an excellent avenging angel."

I had the feeling that Father McCue was not so secretly laughing at me
but since that happens pretty often, I found it easy to ignore. I swerved
to my other topic.

"What do you know about demons? I mean agreements with the devil?"

"The Devil and Daniel Webster sort of thing?" I nodded my head
encouragingly.

"Well, mostly folklore. The bible does go into some depth about those who
traffic with Satan come to no good in the end, but most of the mythology
we have today of individuals making pacts and than having to get out of
them is from popular television. You can't make an agreement with the
Devil without eventually paying the price ­ with your soul."

"One last thing, Father, I was wondering if you would have a list of
abandoned churches ­ buildings that are not being used any longer for
worship."

"Actually Dr. Mulder, today must be your lucky day. I just received a
list from the Archdiocese of properties that our Parish, along with
several other denominations, is putting up for sale at auction next week.
I'll get my secretary to make a copy of it for you before you leave."

----------

Part XII

Collector ­ Scully

I started to worry about Mulder. I rationalized my concern that it was
because Skinner had put me in charge of him but something deep inside of
me kept recalling the incident in his office.

Who had been the strange young man yelling at Mulder? Mulder's secretary
Trish had told me he wasn't anyone she knew. However, he vanished quickly
enough after Mulder's collapse ­ the mysterious collapse that didn't show
cause or effect. Mulder thought the visit was connected to our case in
progress, but if so, how did the stranger get his office address?

The more I thought about it, the more concerned I became. I excused
myself during lunch and drove over to Mulder's office to confront him
with a dozen questions. Instead, I was disconcerted to find an unknown
black woman sitting in Trish's desk. Her smooth black hair was cut short
and so better revealed a face with strong and dark chocolate features.
Her large brown eyes turned me inside out in about two seconds.

Before I could ask about Mulder, Samuel Lebowitz came out of his office
door, holding a stack of papers. I hadn't had much time to study Lebowitz
during my last visit ­ the one that took me to the hospital by Mulder's
side ­ so I spared some time to analyze him.

He was a bit short for a male, under six feet, with a balding head and
tight wiry black curls that were turning salt and pepper. His face was
deeply lined on either side of his mouth ­ indicating a lot of time
smiling or frowning. I assumed the former because Samuel's gentle and
understanding brown eyes lit up when he saw me. His large hands took mine
into a warm welcoming and clasping, embrace.

"Hello, Dr. Scully. Looking for Fox?"

"Yes, yes I was. I couldn't reach him on his mobile and was wondering if
you could tell me how I could find him."

"So this is Mulder's friend?" asked the black woman. Her voice had a
thick southern accent.

"Dr. Dana Scully, meet one of our partners, Zuni."

"She has a very strong aura," was Zuni's how-do-you-do comment and than
she stood up gracefully and went through an office door, presumably hers,
and shut it behind her. Samuel seemed to think that was perfectly normal
and continued his discussion with me as if her abrupt leave taking was
nothing unusual.

"I saw Mulder talk with Venkat earlier today; he might know where Fox got
off to." He tapped on another office door and we entered after a low
"come-in" greeted us.

I now met the last partner of Lebowitz, Mulder, Chanak, and Zuni, as the
door aptly described everyone in Mulder's practice. He was an Eastern
Indian in his forties, of medium height, thin and angular with deep eyes
and black hair.

"We're looking for Mulder," Samuel stated as greeting.

"Disappeared again?" was Venkat's response, which told me much about my
wayward associate.

"I understand that you talked with him earlier this morning. I feel it
may be important to know his whereabouts as quickly as possible," I said.
If I had been the type that would develop a twitch under stress, I would
have been spasmodic. I felt a great need to hurry up with this discussion
and get on with it.

"Does this have something to do with Mulder's visitor from yesterday?" I
nodded agreement to Venkat's question. "I don't know if I could really
help you as we didn't really talk about that. Instead we discussed some
themes found in eastern religions."

"What specifically?"

"The concept of demons. We talked about the universal wheel of life."

"Can you expound a bit more on that?" Although I felt as though I was
getting nowhere, a tiny voice inside urged me to "hurry up and wait."

"Some people's religious beliefs contain the concept that we are all
located on a giant wheel, and as the wheel turns, we either rise in
status, or go down. Life is not seen as linear as many Western religions
view it but circular with a revolving theme of life, duty and service."

"Reincarnation?"

"It can involve reincarnation, but Fox seemed more interested in how
someone rises up and down the wheel. What you may be more familiar with
is the idea of reincarnation that we come back to right wrongs or to
replay a life in a better way. However, there is also the belief that
those on the wheel, the dead, can be given duties by which they have to
perform to gain a higher status on the wheel."

"Meaning you can buy your way out of hell?" I tried to hold back the note
of disgust.

"Not buy ­ there's no money involved. But through services, good deeds,
performing what the gods have asked of you ­ your rise higher." Venkat
added, eyeing my cross, "Unlike your Christian beliefs, it allows for
redemption even past life."

"How does demons play into this conversation?" asked Samuel.

"Western religions can view demons as evil, but in another view they are
just performing their duty ­"

"This duty beingÖ??"

"Collecting those that have sinned, erred against the gods, or who are
ready to have their souls be sent on."

I shot Samuel a look, which he didn't understand. The notes that Mulder
had shared with the FBI of his prospective of the case had leapt to my
mind.

"Did he say anything else about his dayÖ appointments? Meetings?"

"He did say he was going to Alexandria to consult someone about the
Western view of thingsÖ"

"Father McCue!" I whipped out my mobile and started dialing.

----------

art XIII

Collector ­ Mulder

It can be damn uncomfortable, ridiculous and frightening to be tied
spread-eagled. Especially when there is a dead body right next to you.

"I just don't think we should do thisÖ." Whispered a woman's voice.

"Shut the fuck up Celeste! Sometimes you have to have a little free will.
Initiative, that's what we need. Lack of initiative got us in trouble
last time so we are just learning from our mistakes."

"I think perhaps Celeste is right, Fremont. I mean you don't want to get
in trouble with the powers that be and all that." The body next to mine
was still steaming from the astounding number of open cuts on its body. I
struggled against the leather ligaments but they squirmed tighter around
me wrists and legs like live little snakes.

"Who knows man? Maybe it's your time. And we are here to help you along.
RightÖ rightÖ that's the party line. Now get it straight Celeste ­ we
thought it was time that this soul go on."

The personality of Fremont seemed to dominate the right hand, the one
named Celeste the left. Definitely there was a publishable paper about
these two (or one?) but somehow I was beginning to doubt that I would
have an opportunity to write it.

"But he seems like such a nice young man," Her voice was sad, as if she
had been disappointed in me. "It's always the nice ones isn't it
Fremont?"

"Damn right, baby. The more innocent they look, the more rot inside. But
it's not ours to judge, just Them. We just collect the garbage, not sort
it."

I had the misfortune to meet up with Celeste Fremont at the fifth church
I visited. As soon as I drove up and saw the large circular stained glass
window that dominated the front gable of the church I knew I had struck
pay dirt. Unfortunately, though my surreptitious sneaking around was
apparently not secretive enough. After hearing the muttered, "not YOU
again?" I found myself knocked cold and later awoke to find myself in the
non-envious position of being Celeste Fremont's eighth victim.

"You two aren't thinking. I could help you."

"What does he mean?" asked the soft-spoken Celeste.

"Ignore him baby, he'll promise us anything to get out of this. They
always do. Just help me with these candles."

"Don't I get any sort of explanation?" I begged, thinking of the
injustice of it all.

"This isn't some episode of Batman. There isn't going to be the long
explanation of our misdeeds." Fremont was getting out of patience with
Celeste who was refusing to help light candles. It does take two hands
for the easiest method.

"I just don't get Eli Goodswin. I mean I understand the others. Wilson,
avarice, because he had cheated on Wall Street. Ghent, as a fat chef, was
gluttony. Elaine's prostitution made her an adulator. Margaret envied her
neighbors. Brown was too cocksure of himself."

There was a moment of silence and than Celeste whispered, "We made a
mistake with Eli."

"A mistake?"

"A mistake! Fuck you. Shut the fuck up. We're not infallible. I mean
that's not our job. Free will and all that shit. Why we've been given
carte blanche to make mistakes," said Fremont reassuring him and Celeste.

"But I'm not a mistake. You know that. So it would be wrong to take me,"
I explained patiently, while salty sweat dripped into my eyes.

"We should listen to him Fremont. He makes sense. Besides, he had that
woman with him that I told you about."

Fremont ignored her comments and squatted so it could see my face better.

"We've just got to fit you into the plan. Let's see we have lust, sloth,
and anger. Which one best describes you?"

----------

Part XIV

Collector ­ Scully

The fastest way to cover the area was to split the list and have teams.
To his credit, Jack came with me and didn't complain (much) about Mulder
or his crazy ideas. After several false leaders, we came to a church with
a huge circular window. I immediately had the feeling we were at the
right place. It reminded me of the talk of the wheel of life that Mulder
had discussed with his partner, Venkat. My hunch was helped by Mulder's
car parked out front.

Jack and I split, he was to go through the back, me through the front. It
didn't take long to zero in on some voices ­ a man and a woman arguing.

The scene I found at the altar front of the church was disturbing and
frightening. Mulder was strapped down to the floor, next to a body that
was not alive. Hovering above him was the violent man from his office. He
was holding a long knife that he moved rhythmically over Mulder's torso.

"Everyone's sinned at some time or other," he demanded. "So just make it
simpler and quicker for yourself."

"Quicker doesn't work for meÖ forget it." I could hear Mulder's faint
voice as he tried to keep it casual but there was strain underneath. As I
came closer, moving at a crouch up the aisle between the prayer benches,
I could see a line of blood dripping down Mulder's face.

"I just don't think this is the right thing to do Fremont."

I could see that Jack was coming up from the back of the altar. He noted
my position with a nod of his head. I stood up with my gun ready, and
cried, "F.B.I.!"

The figure threatening Mulder jumped up and with a clear view and I aimed
for a shot in the shoulder. Nothing happened. I mean nothing. I clicked
the trigger again. Meanwhile, Jack was throwing himself forward into a
tackle ­ he could never forget those football days, but instead of
bringing down the suspect he slid forward and uncharacteristically clumsy
- slammed headfirst into the front row pew.

"Stop right where you are. Federal Agent!" I repeated, coming forward, my
useless gun still aimed at the suspect's heart.

"Do the right thing Celeste!" shouted Fox Mulder from his prone position
on the floor. He was straining against whatever held him, still unable to
rise.

I hadn't thought that my attention had wavered, but now in front of me
was standing the woman from the New Age store. Her long, trashy blonde
hair hung in sweaty spikes down her forehead. She looked indecisive,
worrying the end of her lip while holding the knife that I would have
sworn her boyfriend had had a moment ago.

"Jack, there's two of them!" I yelled for his benefit as I came running
forward to take a second aim. "Drop the knife!"

Jack had already regained some composure and was pointing his gun also at
our suspect.

"I just see one! Dana, where's the other?"

"Don't know. He was here, up front, a moment ago."

"Do the right thing Celeste. Fremont's wrong. You knew the first time you
saw her," begged Mulder.

"I Ö."

"Don't listen to him, bitch. We've got to fill the quota to rise. Kill
this cop. He's got the crime of lust written all over him."

Before I could shout a warning, Jack fell in his tracks. I could hear the
hoarse breath of expelled pain as he clutched his heart. Mulder was
lurching to his feet, yelling and pointing behind my head. I turned and
saw the large rosette of stained glass, it's pattern of color shimmering
over our faces with the setting of the sun. We were all frozen, taking
our parts in some sort of play that I had just walked on stage with my
lines forgotten.

I shifted feet, aware that my gun might look dangerous but was probably
a poor defense after it's earlier failure. Mulder was standing yet
weaving. His face was pale with a streak of red dripping from a savage
cut through his eyebrow. He held out his bloodied wrists in appeal and
than spoke with a calm that he must have summoned from some inner
resource.

"You've already taken lust, Fremont. And adultery. Taking Jack Willis
will just compound the wrong to an extent that I don't think you could
rationalize it away."

"Don't Fremont!" The voice was behind me was the woman Celeste. As a
spared a glance out of the corner of my eye towards her, she looked
calmer, and her face held some sort of determination. Mulder squinted at
her with disbelief, slowly shaking his head.

"He's right. It was a mistake. I've made my decision. It's time we went
our separate ways."

"Celeste, don't leave me! We're twinned souls -- you can't go. We've been
together now too long!" Jack's assailant was screaming, his arms raised
in rage.

"Goodbye Fremont. And good luck."

Before I could react further Fremont lunged towards me, his knife
straight out. Instinctively, I brought up my gun again and clicked the
trigger. To my surprise I felt it recoil and the man went down.

"I guess Father McCue was right. It was my lucky day," said Fox Mulder.

----------

Part XV

Collector ­ Mulder

I didn't hear from Scully for some time. Perhaps after saving a guy from
death she was done with me or perhaps since the case was finished so was
our brief relationship. Zuni volunteered to read Tarot cards, or consult
my Chart but I couldn't bring myself to interest myself in her predicting
arts. What was worse were the silent looks exchanged between Samuel and
Venkat during our weekly staff meetings. Even Scott wanted to know what
had happened to the "Irish Colleen," as he had dubbed her.

I slumped into a depression. It's pretty bad when you listen to your
intuition and all that it has said is wrong. So late on a Friday
afternoon I was watching the heavy downpour outside my office window and
was wondering how I would get to my car without drowning when the phone
rang.

"Fox Mulder."

"Hi. It's me."

My heart started pounding. I licked my lips to get my mouth wet again. I
didn't care how she knew I would recognize her voice. I didn't have the
pride to pretend.

"Hello Stranger."

"I thought you might like hearing how the case ended?"

"Sure."

"Jack's recovering nicely. He's already back onto active duty." <not my
partner anymore>"

"That's good news." I responded politely. "I guess no one bought my
theory that you were dealing with a demon with multiple personality
disorder?"

"No, I'm afraid not. <I can never tell when you're jokingÖyou are joking
right?> However, you have quite intrigued Assistant Director Walter
Skinner. You met him at the briefing?"

"I rememberÖ"

"He wants me to be in charge of a new department."

"WowÖ A promotion than?"

"A department of one, actually. Something that we call the X-files around
here at the Bureau. I'm actually calling because I thought you might be
some help on a case I'm working on now. It deals with U.F.O.'s and you
said you were an expertÖ."

"Rather. Unfortunately for myself."

There was a pause before she began again. It must have been difficult for
her to make this call.

"I would like your opinion about it. Could we meet?" <I want to see you
again.>

And that is how we ended up at Scott's Pub to discuss our future.

----------

Epilogue

"Stop your fucking sniveling Celeste."

"Stop yours you big bully."

"I know you both tried your best," said The Presence. 'I understand there
were 'mitigating circumstances."

"Damn right. We can't be held accountable," retorted Fremont, quick to
take up the rallying cry that might save their butts.

"Everything happens for a reason ­ don't you believe that Celeste?
Fremont?"

"So there was a reason for this?" asked Celeste in her small little
girl's voice.

"Who gives a fuck about reasons when we are both going down, baby. Don't
you get it? We are going back to rung one, and that's if we're lucky."

"Fremont if you would just learn to manage your anger more constructively
you would be making better progress. However, I am not here to chastise,
but to let you know that Celeste is rising and you are, hmm, staying at
the same level."

"Rising?!" Celeste cried, overjoyed, she clapped her hands.

"Why does she get the reward," Fremont stated mulishly. "We didn't finish
the job."

"It was more important that Fox Mulder and Dana Scully meet than if the
number of souls were collected on this last journey."

"That's so sweet. How romantic!" gushed Celeste.

"We were a fucking dating service?!"

"Fremont you need to strive for serenity. This temper of yours doesn't
help your cause. However, to answer your question, our two friends needed
to meet to put certain things into action."

"Like what? Fucking? I mean did you see those two?"

"No, not fucking as you so delicately put it. The need to save the
world."

"Praise the gods and goddesses!" exclaimed Celeste.

"To save the world? Those two? Fucking help the world than."

"We don't need your cynicism, Fremont. I think it's time you two left.
The world hasn't stopped and there is work to be done."

----------

I

Love, Hugs, and Squeaky Bed Springs to L.T. for helping me with the
background on demons. My liberal interpretations of Eastern religious
beliefs are probably full of errors. Any faults are my own.

The most fun I had with this story was dropping in references to Scully
and Mulder's lives as we know them in the Chris Carter universe and than
relating them to this different "future." It was due to Deep Background
for names and data ­ http://deepbackground.simplenet.com/ that I could
even accomplish this task at all as I have a horrible memory for names
and dates.

And to the I in FBI site for police assistance -
http://www.gypsymuse.com/thei/index.html

Again, all mistakes though are mine.