By bellefleur
bellefleur1013@yahoo.com
 

DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: sure
RATING: pick a letter between Q and S; graphic imagery
CLASSIFICATION: A, casefile
KEYWORDS: UST
SPOILERS/SETTING: through Orison, then diverges from canon
DISCLAIMER: Not mine; they belong to CC, FOX, etc.  The
MPAA rating system is also not mine, and I have no desire
to own it.
SUMMARY: As Scully comes to terms with shooting Donnie
Pfaster, a series of murders makes her question her own
sanity.

Notes: Special thanks to my beta UnderMySkinner (a.k.a.
X-PhileChick#35) for catching my mistakes and for her
creative insights.  You go, girl!

This story is not a WIP.  It will be posted in parts over
the next two weeks, and nagging won't make me post any
faster--but it will let me know that you care. :)
 
 

******
Teaser
******

The night was thick around her as Scully stumbled through
the dark toward her bathroom.  Feeling her way along the
familiar path, she didn't bother to turn on any lights to
illumine the way.

Just inside the doorway, she halted.  Alarm bells were
ringing in her head as the hairs on the back of her neck
stood erect.  Something was wrong.  She couldn't see it,
but she could feel it.  Clad only in her pajamas, she had
no means of defense but her own strength.

Holding her breath, she crept forward in the darkness,
straining to see whatever intruder might be awaiting her.
Slowly she began to distinguish the outline of a head
across the room, and a pair of eyes gleamed back at her as
though generating their own light.  The form and its eyes
were not human, yet they were somehow familiar to her.
They brought back memories of being bound and helpless,
terrified that she might die a horrible death before anyone
found her.

The memories gave her chills as her own mind began to fill
in the gaps to recreate the face.  It was the visage of
Donnie Pfaster, yet not--it was the image of his true face,
the demonic persona that had convinced her this man was
pure evil.

In the stillness, she couldn't determine if he was aware of
her presence, but she decided that the dark was only to his
advantage.  Evil despises the light, so she would disarm
him with its brilliance and make her attack.  Groping for
the light switch at her side, she prepared to flip it on
and mentally readied herself for a fight.

The lights went up, and she gasped in realization.  She
would have screamed but couldn't seem to find her voice.

The monster staring back at her was not Donnie Pfaster but
her own face reflected in the mirror.

* * *

Abruptly sitting up in bed, Scully found herself drenched
in sweat.  The nightmares would not leave her alone; every
night they only got worse.  The Pfaster case may have been
closed, but to her the matter was not.  Although she had
been officially exonerated of all fault, one person still
held her responsible for his death: herself.
 

*****
Act I
*****

"For truly to pursue monsters, we must understand them. We
must venture into their minds. Only, in doing so, do we
risk letting them venture into ours?"
- Dana Scully, "Unruhe"

* * * * *

Scully stood in the produce section of the supermarket,
absent-mindedly squeezing tomatoes.  This was to be her
first night in several days back in her own apartment, and
she needed to stock up on fresh groceries before she headed
home.

The DC police had closed their case, and OPR had made its
ruling.  Donnie Pfaster was shot by Special Agent Dana
Scully in self-defense when he broke into her apartment and
attacked her.  She suspected that everyone involved knew
the truth, but no one was willing to point fingers at her
for ridding the world of such a monster.  She had even
received a pat on the back from one officer, and hushed
congratulations from the marshal for the money she had just
saved the taxpayers.  But she couldn't feel any joy at the
man's swift execution.  She could only hope to put it
behind her and move on.

As she stood there lost in thought, a voice behind her
returned her to the present.

"Dana?  Dana Scully, is that you?"

Scully turned to look into the face of a petite brunette
who seemed vaguely familiar.  In her current state of
distraction, she couldn't find the name to go with the
face.

"Dana, it's Megan, from the Academy?"

The name brought sudden recognition, and Scully extended
her hand in greeting.  "Megan Randolph, of course I
remember.  How are you?"

Megan had been Dana's roommate at Quantico when they first
started their FBI training.  However, Megan proved not to
be FBI material and soon washed out.  Scully had often
wondered how the woman had even made it past the initial
screening process, but there were rumors that Megan had
relatives in high places.

"Oh, as well as can be expected.  I decided to go to med
school after I left the FBI, so I had to go back and start
all over to get the necessary math and science courses.
So, you know, life is busy.  But how are you, Dana?"  Megan
stepped closer and lowered her voice, looking clandestinely
from side to side.  "I heard about the shooting on the
news.  I can't believe that man broke into your home and
attacked you like that."

Scully refrained from commenting that it wasn't the first
time such a thing had happened to her.  "He just wanted
revenge for us having caught him the first time."  She said
it nonchalantly, wanting to dismiss this line of
conversation as soon as possible.

"But you did more than just catch him, Dana.  You killed
him.  How did it feel to kill a man?"

The question was disarming, and from anyone else Scully
would have taken it as judgmental, but as she recalled,
this was simply Megan's way.  She asked it with a childlike
naivete and curiosity that had quickly set her apart at the
Academy.  But there was also an innocence to her that
Scully had once seen in herself back when the two women had
first met, and she regretted that that part of herself had
long since withered and died.

There was only one way she could answer the question.  "It
felt wrong.  It didn't matter who he was or what he had
done.  It just felt wrong to take his life."  She hastened
to end the conversation before Megan could ask anything
further.  "Listen, it was really nice to see you again, but
I'm afraid I'm in a hurry to get home.  Good luck with med
school."

The tomatoes were long forgotten as Scully darted toward
the check-out counter with her basket only half full.  She
hadn't waited long enough to hear Megan's parting words,
nor did she bother to look back.

* * *

Mulder had just come back from a long run and was ready to
hit the shower, if he didn't collapse on the couch before
he made it that far.  But the answering machine won out
over both options as he noticed the light blinking
insistently, informing him that someone had called while he
was out.

*Beep*   "Hi, Mulder, it's me.  Listen, I, uh, I've decided
to take some time off.  I just need a chance to regroup and
get my bearings again.  I think I might go out of town for
a while, somewhere where I can get away and think.  I'll
probably leave my cell phone behind, so if you call and
can't get a hold of me, don't worry.  I'll leave an
emergency number with my mom if you need to reach me.  So,
I guess I'll see you when I get back."  *Beep*

Mulder slumped down onto the couch and sighed.  He was
worried about his partner, but he didn't know what he could
do for her right now.  He had brought her back to his place
to sleep that first night--or morning, rather--after the
incident, but when it became clear that the police wouldn't
be letting her back in her apartment for a few more days,
she had insisted on finding a hotel room so that she
wouldn't be "inconveniencing" him.  He knew that she needed
to deal with this in her own way, but he couldn't help but
be concerned that she was distancing herself from him.

He wondered if somehow she was disappointed in him for
"lying for her" (her words, not his), but he only saw it as
covering his partner's back, just like any law enforcement
officer would have done in the same situation.  However, he
expected that her accusations were directed entirely at
herself.  She knew that she had shot an unarmed man after
he was already in custody.  The problem was, she seemed to
be the only one who saw it that way.

Listening to her message one more time before erasing it,
Mulder hoped desperately that this time away would do her
some good.  She obviously wanted her space, and he would
respect that.  He only hoped that she would come back
refreshed and ready to move forward with the same strength
and confidence that he had always admired in her.

* * *

It was two days after Scully had started her leave, and she
was exhausted.  Although she initially intended to get as
far away from this apartment as possible, the fighter in
her would not allow her to concede defeat and relinquish
her territory, and so she stayed to face her demons.

And demons there were.  They waited for her in the dark,
when she closed her eyes to sleep at night.   But she knew
from experience that they were not in this apartment alone.
They were in her own mind, and they had followed her for
the past week, from Mulder's apartment to the hotel room
and back here to their source.  Although she was brave
enough to remain in her apartment, she still feared these
evil spirits, and so she avoided sleep to keep them at bay.

And thus, she was exhausted.  She knew that if she kept
this up any longer, either the demons would follow her into
her waking hours, or sleep would take her anyway.
Regardless, her strength was now drained, and she would be
no match for either.

Television and reading both proved to be easy sedatives, so
the main task she had taken to was writing.  Five years
ago, when she first encountered Donnie Pfaster, Karen
Kosseff had recommended that she start a journal to help
her express the fears and uncertainties that she wasn't
comfortable sharing with her partner.  Scully had been
hesitant at first, since even writing such thoughts was an
admission that she had them; but eventually she acquiesced,
and the journal became a steady companion over the years.
By the time of her cancer, the entries had become personal
letters to Mulder, with the hope that by addressing him in
writing she might someday be able to share such
vulnerabilities in person.  But her pride always prevented
it.

So once again she pushed him away instead of leaning on him
in this time of uncertainty and weakness.  She knew he was
ready and willing to be of help, but she wasn't ready to
accept it.  She needed to prove that she was strong, to
everyone, but mostly to herself.  She couldn't let what was
eating her up inside get the best of her.  This was her own
personal battle, and she had to win it alone.

With her journal in hand, she freely let such thoughts flow
from her pen.  As always, the entry was addressed to
Mulder:

"As much as I'm afraid to be alone right now, I know that I
have to.  But what I fear most is myself.  There is
something lurking inside me that I don't fully understand.
I told you after the shooting that I wasn't sure what
compelled me to pull the trigger, and I'm still not sure.
You asked me if I thought it was God, but I can't accept
that God would ask me to kill a man in cold blood.  The
fact is, I pulled the trigger because I wanted to.  It felt
good to me, at least for the moment.  I told you that
Pfaster was evil, and that, I've never doubted.  In fact, I
think that's what drove me to kill him.  To me, he was pure
evil, the personification of evil, and so when I looked at
him, I saw all the bad things that have been done to me
over the years.  And I wanted him to pay.  All the hatred
and anger that I felt toward Missy's murderer, and Krycek,
and the cigarette smoking bastard, and all the rest of
them, was flowing through me at that moment, and it all
became focused on their incarnation standing before me in
my living room.  It was revenge, pure and simple.  I killed
him out of revenge.

"And now the evil continues to haunt me.  I was no better
than Pfaster in that moment, when I, like him, didn't
hesitate to take a life.  And I wonder if maybe I didn't
unleash something in that act.  If maybe I became like him
in some way.  Was the man born evil, or did he later become
that way?  And if it was something he became, how did it
happen?  Was there some external force that came over him
and compelled him to act as he did?  If so, could it have
lingered here in that moment when I stooped to his level?
Could it have recognized a kindred spirit in me and
lingered when he departed?  Is it still with me now?

"I fear what I may have become.  I feel that I don't know
myself anymore.  How could I be capable of such an act?
And if I can do it once, what will stop me from doing it
again?  Or, have I done it before and not felt the remorse?
That thought is even more horrifying to me.  After all,
this isn't the first time I shot someone.  I even shot you
once, without hesitation.  Was there something else driving
me that day?  Just an inch or two lower, and the shot
would've gone straight through your heart.  As a doctor, I
took an oath to do no harm, and yet I injure more people
than I save.  I spend more time around death than around
life.  What kind of person does that make me?

"My arm is growing weary with writing, and I fear that I
won't be able to stay awake much longer.  I know the
nightmares that await me.  I fear that my dreams hold
truths that I'm not ready to confront.  I wish you could
slay the dragons for me, but I know this is a path I have
to travel alone.  I just hope that I survive it."

Scully finally laid down the pen and stretched her tense
muscles.  She could no longer avoid the sandman.  Her only
hope now was to sleep so deeply that she wouldn't be able
to remember her dreams.  Although she seldom took sleeping
pills, she had a stash of sample packets she had picked up
at the hospital on her last visit, and she gratefully
delved into them now.

Within half an hour, she was dead to the world and deep in
REM sleep.  When she awoke in her bed twelve hours later,
she would have no memory of the intervening time.

* * *

A lonely man sat at the bar nursing the same drink that
he'd been working on for the last hour.  The truth was, he
wasn't much of a drinker.  Rather, he'd come here in search
of company.

The blonde who sat in a booth at the back of the room had
been scoping out the various customers since shortly after
the man had ordered his drink.  It was a busy
establishment, and most others had arrived in pairs or
already found a companion and left for other pursuits.
This lone man at the bar seemed to be just the person she
was looking for.

Few words were exchanged as she went in for the kill.
Taking the seat next to him, she made sure that her skirt
rode up a little too high on her thigh and watched
appreciatively as he noticed.  She placed her hand on the
back of his neck and massaged it gently, in an innocent yet
intimate gesture.  As his eyes met hers, she leaned over to
his ear to be heard above the moderate din around them.
Her invitation was simple, and he eagerly responded.  They
left together, in search of a convenient place to engage in
her proposed activities.

A motel down the street was familiar with such couples and
didn't ask for names but charged by the hour.  As they
stood at the front desk, the woman sized up her companion
and then leaned over to whisper something in his ear.  When
she pulled back, he was grinning like an idiot and paid for
two hours up front.  They disappeared up the staircase,
hand in hand.

When it was all said and done, the evening actually went
more smoothly than she had expected.  After all, this was
her first time, and she anticipated some initial problems
or uneasiness at her task.  But it had been easy enough to
find a man ready to accompany her and eager to spend his
money on what she offered him.

Her act was not born of necessity or desperation but was
rather for the thrill of the hunt.  She wanted to know what
it would feel like to do this.  She wanted to prove that
she could.

When they got to the room, the woman told her eager
companion to undress and wait for her on the bed while she
went into the bathroom to freshen up.  Everything she
needed she carried in her small handbag.  She was sure to
pack plenty of latex since it was essential for her plans.
Quickly slipping out of her clothing so it would be clean
and unsullied when she was done, she took a deep breath and
forged ahead.

Peeking out of the bathroom, she called out in a coy voice
for him to close his eyes.  He readily complied, and she
quietly slipped up beside him.  He jumped slightly at the
prick of the needle, but she managed to shoot directly into
his bloodstream, and the drug knocked him out swiftly.  She
then arranged his inert form on the bed and set to work.

With a scalpel in her steady hand, she began with a Y
incision.  Cutting into a live body was so different than
handling cold, dead flesh, and something about it thrilled
her.  The blood flowed freely and quickly coated her latex-
covered fingers as well as her blade before it trickled
down his sides and began to soak into the white sheets
beneath him.

She really had no distinct pattern in mind once she got
past this point, so she let inspiration move her as she
freely invaded the man's torso and explored his various
organs.  As much as she longed to remove her gloves and
feel him with her own flesh, she knew how foolish it would
be to take such a risk.

For the next hour, she sliced and diced to her heart's
content.  The life slowly bled out of her subject, and she
held her breath in anticipation at the moment that his
heart stopped beating, right before she cut it out of his
chest.  She longed to take such a trophy with her, but she
knew she couldn't dare.  Nothing of his should be found in
her possession.  Strangers they were, and strangers they
should remain.  In fact, she still didn't know his name.

Nor did she want to.  For now, it was of no consequence.
She would hear it soon enough on the news.

With their time swiftly ticking to a close, she returned to
the bathroom to clean up.  Removing her wig, she then
stepped into the shower and used the bar of motel soap to
scrub off the blood stains from her skin and out from under
her nails.  She used only the small hand towel to dry
herself off, and then she tossed the towel, soap, and wig
into a plastic bag that she withdrew from her purse.  They
would be disposed of, but only in a dumpster far away from
the motel.

After putting on her clothes, she snapped on a glove and
used an antibacterial wipe to sweep over any surfaces and
doorknobs that she might have made contact with.  She took
care that there were no hairs left in the bathtub.  All
remaining items, but the one glove that remained on her
hand, were sealed up in the garbage sack or in her purse.

With one lingering look at her masterpiece displayed on the
bed, the woman quietly slipped out of the room and down the
back stairs.

Fifteen minutes later, when the key was not returned and
the couple had not left, the desk clerk went upstairs to
inform them that they needed to pay cash for another hour
if they intended to stay any longer.

Nothing could prepare him for the sight that awaited him
there.
 
 

******
Act II
******

"Is this evil something born in each of us? Crouching in
the shadow of every human soul waiting to emerge, a monster
waiting to violate our bodies and twist our will to do its
bidding? Is this the monster called madness?"
- Fox Mulder, "Grotesque"

* * * * *

For the first couple of nights, the sleeping pills helped,
but by the third night the dreams returned.

On the fourth day, Scully dreaded going to bed and stayed
up past eleven, unlike her early retirement on the previous
evenings.  She had been watching TV for hours to try to
provide a diversion for her mind, but after the first few
minutes of the evening news, she turned it off in disgust
and finally decided to face the inevitable.

In a way, it was a good thing that the sleeping pills had
become ineffectual because her small supply was running
low.  But she took one anyway, in hopes that it might work
tonight.

Sleep came quickly, but so did the dreams.  In past nights,
they had taken various forms, but all had the same result.
She would be in various locations around her apartment, or
even at the office, and she would see her demonic
reflection in a mirror; once, she even saw herself through
Donnie Pfaster's eyes.

Tonight, the scenario started in her apartment again.  It
was dark, and she was sitting in a chair in her bedroom.  A
noise sounded in the bathroom, and she crossed quickly
through the blackness to confront her intruder.  But this
time, she didn't bother to turn on the lights.  She knew
from past experience that the only horrific visage she
would encounter was her own.  Instead, she turned and
headed for the front door.

The scene in her mind's eye flashed to her wandering the
streets of DC.  She didn't recognize the neighborhood, but
it was obviously a seedy one.  Drug deals were going down
on the streets, and every corner was populated with
hookers.  Drunks stumbled down the sidewalks, and there
wasn't a cop in sight.  No one paid her any notice as she
walked among them.  She blended right in.

Scully found herself stopping on a street corner and
standing there alone.  She was waiting for something,
although she wasn't sure what.  After a pause that seemed
an eternity in her dream state, but was likely almost
instantaneous, a black car pulled up in front of her.  The
windows were tinted, so she couldn't see the driver.  The
passenger door before her suddenly popped open in
invitation, and she didn't hesitate to get in.

Even from inside the car, it was too dark to make out the
features of the man beside her.  Somehow, it didn't seem to
matter who he was or where he was headed.  She suspected
that eventually he would turn out to be Pfaster, or even
the devil himself.  She was probably in a taxi to Hell.

The scene shifted again, and she was in a white room,
almost blindingly bright, a stark contrast to the darkness
from which she had just come.  On a table before her lay a
body draped with a white sheet.  She looked down at her
hands and saw that they were covered with surgical gloves.
On a tray next to the table stood the instruments that she
would need to perform an autopsy.  The room held no other
distinguishing features to indicate where she might be.  In
fact, the light beyond her was so intense that she couldn't
even make out the walls.

It was obvious that she had come here to do an autopsy, so
Scully stepped forward to remove the drape from the
deceased.  To her chagrin, she recognized the face: it was
Pfaster.  But her dream self was not deterred from moving
forward.  As usual, she could distance herself from the
case and do her job.

Picking up a scalpel, she started to cut the Y incision.
At the first puncture, a slow trickle of blood began to
pool in the cut.  This was not common when working with the
dead, but it was not unheard of.  Undaunted, she continued
to slice--until she saw the chest cavity rise and fall
underneath her hands.  This man was still alive.

She jumped back in horror as Pfaster's eyes opened and
looked directly at her.  It was a look of accusation, but
it soon turned into triumph.  He was no longer the death
fetishist: now she had taken his place.

* * *

Mulder had spent more hours at the office in the past week
than he had for months, but it was not due to a heavy work
load.  The fact was, he had no life apart from his job
unless it involved Scully, and she was out of town.  So, as
he usually did when she was gone, he spent most of his
hours in the basement of the Hoover building.

In the middle of a lively session of wastepaper basketball,
the phone rang, summoning him to Skinner's office.
Although Mulder dreaded the idea of a big case without his
partner by his side, he hoped that his boss would offer him
something juicy to help break up the monotony.  As it
turned out, that was what happened, although the case did
not qualify as an X-File.

Having been ushered in by Kimberly, Mulder took a seat
across from the A.D., who proceeded to explain the
situation.

"I'm assuming you've heard something about the murder a few
nights ago, the one that involved the mutilated body of a
legal aide?"

"I haven't been following it closely, but it's kind of hard
to miss with all the exposure on the news."

"The press loves that kind of sensationalism, although the
police have tried to keep a wrap on the exact nature and
extent of the mutilation.  Unfortunately, I don't think
they'll be able to contain this much longer.  There was a
second homicide last night."

Skinner slid a file folder across his desk, and Mulder
picked it up and started thumbing through it while they
continued to talk.

"Are you concerned that this wasn't done by a human?"

"Actually, no, that's not why I contacted you.  The DC
police are concerned that a particularly heinous serial
killer may be getting started, and so they called in the
FBI to help catch him before this guy takes any more
victims.  The BSU is putting together a profiling team, and
since your caseload seems to be a little light right now, I
suggested that you might join them."

Mulder raised his eyes in question, hoping that his boss
would elaborate.  Skinner didn't miss his look of surprise.

"The fact is, Mulder, this is no ordinary killer.  You can
see for yourself the carnage left behind in each murder.
For all the disrespect you've been shown over the years,
you're still a living legend for your work on the Monty
Propps case.  Someone high up requested your assistance,
although no one's willing to claim responsibility."

Mulling this over, Mulder continued to examine the file,
but Skinner couldn't tell whether the papers and photos
held his attention or he was really stalling while he
considered his options.  Then something before him seemed
to catch his eye.

"You implied that the killer is a man.  Is that the
assumption that the FBI is working with?"

"You know as well as I do that a female serial killer is
practically unheard of.  With the lack of evidence, they're
starting with the standard serial killer profile as their
foundation.  Why?  Do you think this could have been done
by a woman?"

Mulder closed the file and looked his superior in the eye.
"I think this case will require more than just conventional
thinking to solve it.  Let the BSU know that I'd be happy
to draw up a profile, but only if they agree not to assign
me a temporary partner for the duration of this case.  If
I'm not working with Scully, then I work alone."

Skinner hesitated and then nodded his head in agreement.
As Mulder rose and returned to his office with the folder
in hand, the A.D. reached for the phone to inform the BSU
that their former golden boy would be joining the team.

* * *

Mulder spent the rest of the day visiting the crime scenes
and talking to witnesses.  His initial stop was at the
first motel room, which amazingly had already been cleaned
up and put back in service.  The investigators had been
over the room twice but gathered a combination of too
little evidence and too much.  For a room that was rented
by the hour, one would expect an overwhelming amount of
trace evidence and DNA samples of all variety, which is
exactly what was present on the carpet and bedding.

The bathroom, however, was another matter.  It was
virtually spotless.  Only a few hairs and fibers were
discovered tucked away in corners, but there was little
hope that any of these matched the UNSUB or could be of any
value in suggesting a suspect.  So, the police had hauled
off the mattress, which was the only real piece of
evidence, the owner brought in a new one, and the otherwise
unsullied room was already being rented out again.

The interview with the desk clerk from that night was
equally useless.  With such regular turnover among the
guests, and a television next to the desk with free HBO, he
had no distinct memory of the man in question.  All he
could verify was that the man didn't arrive alone and paid
for two hours, and that he thought maybe the woman was a
blonde, but he couldn't offer any more details.

This first victim, Timothy Hawkins, had been traced back to
a bar earlier that evening.  Thus, Mulder's next stop was
the establishment in question, where he was able to
interview the bartender on duty that night.  Again, little
information could be offered.  The man himself had been
rather nondescript, ordered just one drink (which the
bartender only remembered by consulting the credit card
records), and stayed for no more than an hour.  He left
with a companion, possibly a blonde, but the bartender
didn't really get a good look at her.

The second crime scene proved to be much like the first,
only it was fresh enough to still be cordoned off by police
tape, and the mattress and bedding were still in place.
Most of the investigating staff had completed their work
and left, but there was one agent wandering around when
Mulder arrived.  It was a member of the profiling team, but
he didn't know his name.

Apparently, however, the unknown agent knew him and felt
free to address him by nickname.  "So, Spooky, you got any
ideas yet as to who we're looking for?"

Not bothering to return the man's gaze or acknowledge his
question, Mulder spoke while he walked around the room to
take in its details.  "Do we know any more about this man's
itinerary last night?"

There was a brief silence, but when Mulder looked over at
Agent X, his cocky smirk dropped, and he finally answered.
"He arrived with company, and his car was parked outside,
so as far as we can tell he picked her up somewhere.  Our
guess is that he was cruising and looking for a quick date.
One of the girls that works a street corner just two blocks
down identified him as a repeat customer, so we have agents
asking around for anyone that may have seen who he picked
up last night."

Mulder emerged from the bathroom, which he had been
inspecting as Agent X finished talking.  "Were the victim's
car keys found with the body?"

"Uh, no, I believe they were downstairs in the car."

"Let me guess: the passenger's side was spotless."

"The car's been towed for inspection, so I'm not sure what
they've found, but I could call--"

"Don't bother.  There's nothing to be found.  This woman
was meticulous.  She was very careful not to leave any
clues behind."

"Woman?  Agent Mulder, do I need to remind you of the
statistics--"

"No, you don't, Agent..."

"Collins."

"...Agent Collins.  I'm quite aware of the standard
profile.  However, this is no ordinary killer.  Both of our
victims were last seen with anonymous female companions, so
unless we're looking for a cross-dresser, the most likely
suspect is a woman."

Collins looked like he was about to respond with a smart
remark, but Mulder cut him off.  "Is the desk clerk still
downstairs?  I'd like to talk to him."

"I believe so.  Knock yourself out."  Collins stepped aside
and let Mulder pass by him to the door.  All in all, it
wasn't the most hostile conversation that Mulder had had
with another agent, but it wasn't exactly congenial either.
And it provided a good representation of the type of
conventional thinking that the BSU had become crippled by
in recent years.

Ever since the incident with Patterson, Behavioral Sciences
had become overly cautious and profiled by means of
statistical charts and personality quizzes rather than
delving into the killer's psyche.  Mulder knew all too well
how Patterson's method could damage a profiler, but he also
knew it was the best way to get their man--or woman, in
this case.

He wasn't even entirely sure yet why he knew that the
killer was a woman instead of a man in drag or a third
party stalking the couple.  It was just a feeling that he
had.  He only hoped that his profile would provide the
support for that theory, and that his fellow agents would
be willing to accept his input.

* * *

Scully slumped on the sofa with her journal in hand.  The
TV no longer offered her sufficient distraction from her
own thoughts, so she didn't bother to turn it on.  She
would pick up a book every now and then, but her appetite
for murder mysteries and pathology textbooks unsettled her.
Once again, she was left with her journal as her only
comfort and companion--her lone confidant, in the guise of
her partner.

"My dreams have changed.  You're the psychologist.  You
could tell me what you think they mean, if I had the guts
to tell you about them.  I still see myself with the
demonic face, but now the images are no longer isolated to
places that I'm familiar with.  I've started to travel, and
I see myself doing things, as though I have become Donnie
Pfaster.  But they're not the crimes that he's committed.
They're different, and the victims are men instead of
women.  It's almost as if they're the victims that I would
have chosen if I were him.

"The dreams scare me.  I don't know what to make of them.
Am I losing my mind?  Did I unleash something that somehow
has become a part of me?  I'm afraid to be around people in
case whatever this is tries to use me to hurt others.  I
think I'm better off alone in my apartment, but I also fear
that that's where the demon resides.  I don't know why I
haven't called you yet to tell you about this.  I need an
outside perspective to help me see what's really going on.
But I don't want you to see this side of me.  I don't know
what it would do to you to know that I'm capable of this.

"Maybe the problem is that I always underestimated my own
capacity for evil.  I was raised a good Catholic girl, and
I committed myself to a life of fighting for justice.  I've
seen such horrors over the years, but I never considered
myself capable of committing them.  Perhaps I tried too
hard to deny the potential that resides in all of us.  When
other people look at me, they see the good Dr. Jekyll.  I
wonder if by struggling too hard to fulfill this persona, I
have given birth to a Mr. Hyde.

"I just don't know myself anymore."

* * *

Mulder stayed late at the office that night to finish his
profile.  A mess of crime scene photos, interview notes,
lab results, and autopsy reports covered the desk and the
walls.  The only illumination was his desk lamp, and
nothing visible within its range did not pertain to the
case at hand.

By 9 o'clock, he finally sat down with his notepad full of
chicken scratches (indecipherable to anyone but himself and
his partner) and began to process them into a coherent
profile.

His final determination was that the killer was indeed a
woman.  Physically, she was alluring enough to easily catch
a man's eye yet common enough not to attract unwanted
attention.  She most likely wore disguises for her crimes
and would not easily be recognized as the woman who had
approached these men.

She was meticulous in nature, possibly even to the extreme
of being obsessive-compulsive.  She had a certain amount of
medical knowledge, either by profession or by personal
study, although she likely had some kind of unfulfilled
dreams that she felt the need to act out on her own, such
as the desire to become a surgeon.  Through her job or
volunteer work, she had ready access to medical supplies,
and her used gloves and scalpels may even have been
disposed of with the biohazardous waste at that same
location.

In addition to medical expertise, she also had a knowledge
of crime scene investigations and forensics, either through
profession or personal study.  She was extremely careful
not to leave behind any fingerprints or DNA samples,
pointing both to her knowledge of investigative methods and
her pre-meditation and planning.  However, with the
detailed crime dramas on television these days, it was
possible that such knowledge could be derived from that
source without necessitating a personal connection with law
enforcement.

The woman likely had a certain amount of animosity toward
men or felt she had been victimized by them in the past.
She duped them into false security about her intentions, so
she possibly felt she had equally been used and betrayed by
men, possibly powerful men whom she had trusted.

He recommended that the easiest way to catch her would be
by posting surveillance in neighborhoods similar to the
locations of the first two homicides.  The profile alone
would not lead to the killer since she would easily pass as
a normal member of society, but it would be instrumental in
identifying her from amongst a pool of suspects.

When he finished typing, Mulder sat back and read over his
profile.  He let the comments gel in his mind to try to
discern a clear picture of their murderess.  Closing his
eyes, he reviewed the facts in a continuous loop.

An attractive woman with a medical background and
unfulfilled goals.  Meticulous in nature.  Used and
betrayed by powerful men.

Attractive...medical background...meticulous...disillusioned.

Scully.

Mulder's eyes shot open as he was shocked by the track of
his own mind.  True, the profile in many ways sounded like
his partner, but he knew that she was incapable of the
atrocities he had witnessed in these crimes.  Yet he also
knew that his profile was sound.  He only hoped that no one
else on the investigative team would make the same
connection.

Shaking off the unsettling feeling that this elicited,
Mulder took a deep breath and shoved these thoughts out of
his mind.  He was suddenly very grateful that Scully had
decided to leave town.  Even if someone else jumped to the
same conclusion, they would immediately eliminate her as a
suspect because she hadn't been anywhere near the area when
the murders were committed.

With a sigh of relief, Mulder saved and printed his profile
and then gathered his things to finally head home for a
good night's sleep.
 

*******
Act III
*******

"We work in the dark. We do what we can to battle the evil
that would otherwise destroy us. But if a man's character
is his fate, it's not a choice but a calling. Sometimes the
weight of this burden causes us to falter from the fragile
fortress of our mind, allowing the monster without to turn
within. We are left alone staring into the abyss, into the
laughing face of madness."
- Fox Mulder, "Grotesque"

* * * * *

The next morning, Mulder stopped by the A.S.A.C.'s office
to drop off his profile and spent a couple of hours with
the profiling team to explain his deductions and suggest
avenues of investigation.  After lunch, he returned to his
basement office to find a message that Skinner wanted to
see him.  Taking the elevator back upstairs, he was quickly
admitted into the A.D.'s inner office.

"Agent Mulder, have a seat."

Mulder complied.  After a minute, Skinner set down his pen
next to the page he was writing on, pulled out a folded
newspaper from a pile on the corner of the desk, and slid
it across to the agent.

"Have you seen this?"

The headline across the front page on the afternoon edition
of the Washington Post read: "Jill the Ripper's Trail of
Terror."

"Sir, I swear I haven't been talking to the press."

"I believe you.  But somebody's been talking.  Apparently
they got wind that we're looking for a female serial
killer, and they latched onto that title like a baby to a
nipple."

Mulder raised his eyebrow at the simile and tossed the
newspaper back across the desk.  Skinner set the paper
aside and then looked down at his folded hands before
turning to his true matter of business.

"I actually called you in here to ask your opinion on
something."

"Sir?"

"I'm wondering what you think about Agent Scully's current
state of mind."

Mulder immediately tensed at the question, hoping that his
fears of last night hadn't already been realized, and did
his best not to tip his hand.  "I don't fully understand."

Skinner unfolded his hands and leaned back in his chair.
"I'm thinking about calling her in to help with the
autopsies.  She's one of our best pathologists, and through
her work on the X-Files, she has a keen eye for evidence
that other people wouldn't think to look for.  Besides
that, with the type of incisions that have been used on
these men, and the fact that we're looking for a woman, I'd
like to get her insights on what the killer thought she was
doing to them.  So, what I want to know from you is whether
you think she's fully recovered enough from the Pfaster
case that I can call her back from leave."

Mulder was a bit uncomfortable attempting such an
assessment since he hadn't spoken to his partner for over a
week, and the last time he heard from her she hadn't
exactly come to terms with the ordeal yet.  So, he avoided
the question altogether and sought another way around the
issue.

"I'm not sure that Agent Scully is reachable.  She went out
of town and probably won't be back until sometime next
week."

"I wasn't aware that she left.  In fact, she distinctly
told Kimberly to forward any mail to her home address when
she stopped by the other day."

Mulder was surprised by this information and sat straight
up in his chair.  "Scully was here?"

"Just a few days ago.  She came by to get her paycheck and
chatted with Kimberly for a few minutes."  When it became
clear that the agent was lost in his own thoughts, the A.D.
addressed him.  "Agent Mulder?"

"Sorry."  He shook himself out of it.  "She must have come
back early.  I've been so busy on this case, I probably
missed her call.  Listen, why don't I talk to her about
this in person, and then she can give you a call and tell
you whether or not she's ready to come back?"

Skinner had a feeling that there was more involved here
than Mulder was letting on, but he also knew how fiercely
these two protected each other.  He decided to let it slide
for now and acquiesced to Mulder's suggestion.  Even so,
after the agent slipped out of the office a moment later,
Skinner couldn't help but wonder what the man had been
hiding from him.

* * *

The first thing Mulder noticed as he drove up to Scully's
building was her car parked on the street.  He pulled into
an empty space a few cars down from hers and looked up at
her apartment.  Through an open blind, he could see a lamp
on in the living room.  While neither fact was concrete
evidence that she was home rather than out of town, he knew
she must be there.

He sat there for a few minutes deliberating over how best
to handle this.  His instinct was to go straight upstairs
and confront her, but he was angry that she had lied to him
about leaving town and that she hadn't talked to him in the
meantime, and he knew that the conversation wouldn't lead
to her opening up to him if he immediately put her on the
defensive.  As he contemplated his options, the situation
changed when he glanced up at her window and noticed the
light go off and the blinds close.  A minute later, Scully
emerged from the front door and walked over to her car.
Slumping down in the driver's seat, he watched her in his
side mirror as she started the vehicle and drove off down
the street.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Mulder got out of
his car and headed for her building.  As he had so many
times before, he used the key she had given him to open the
security door to the lobby, and he mounted the stairs to
her hallway.  When she was home, he typically knocked at
her front door rather than intruding on her privacy, but
this time he made use of the key since he knew she wasn't
on the other side to answer.  Once inside the apartment,
his conscience started to nag at him, but he quickly
squashed it into silence.

Truthfully, he wasn't sure what he was doing here.  He
already knew that she was in town, so looking around her
apartment wasn't necessary to prove that.  But there was
something else bothering him.  The profiler in him couldn't
resist looking around for any clues that she could be a
suspect in these killings; the partner and friend in him
who trusted her above all others wanted to find evidence
that she couldn't possibly have been involved.

The daylight filtering through the windows was sufficient
illumination, so Mulder began to look around the apartment
without turning on any lights.  Nothing looked out of place
or unusual.  The rug was missing from the living room, but
he himself had insisted on removing that before Scully
returned home the week before.  Other than the broken
furniture that had been removed from the bedroom and the
brand new door frame, there was no residual evidence of the
incident that had occurred here less than two weeks ago.

As he swept through the living room, his eyes settled on an
object on the coffee table that he didn't remember seeing
before.  At closer glance, it looked like a diary, a theory
reinforced by the pen that lay next to it.

Sitting down on the sofa, Mulder picked up the thin book
and turned it over in his hands.  The outside betrayed no
secrets.  It had a cloth cover and was unsoiled, but the
first half of the pages looked well handled.  After
deliberating for a moment, the curious investigator opened
it.  At first he didn't focus on the words but merely
leafed through the pages, acknowledging that he recognized
the handwriting as Scully's.  But as the pages wore on, the
quality of the writing changed.  The hand was still
familiar, but it was less smooth and sure.  The pen pressed
harder and the letters became shakier.  The writer was
clearly exhibiting a great deal of stress.

By the last few filled pages, Mulder became worried by this
shift in the writing, and as he studied the characters, his
eyes inadvertently began to read the text.  He was
disturbed by what he saw there.

"The demons continue to haunt me."

"I'm afraid of what evil I may be capable of."

"I just don't know myself anymore."

Mulder slammed the book shut and held it tightly between
his hands.  Sitting there in the muted light, he tried to
process the dissonant thoughts stirring in his head.

As his eyes continued to absent-mindedly rove the room, he
noticed a thin volume sitting next to the lamp on the end
table.  At first thinking it might be another journal, he
quickly reached for it, only to realize that it was a
novel.  But the title itself was no less unsettling: "Dr.
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde."  Mulder's attention was drawn to the
bookmark inside.  Inserting a finger, he let the book fall
open to the saved page and read the text that was
underlined there:

"I struck in no more reasonable spirit than that in which a
sick child may break a plaything.  But I had voluntarily
stripped myself of all those balancing instincts by which
even the worst of us continues to walk with some degree of
steadiness among temptations; and in my case, to be
tempted, however slightly, was to fall.  Instantly the
spirit of hell awoke in me and raged.  With a transport of
glee, I mauled the unresisting body, tasting delight from
every blow; and it was not till weariness had begun to
succeed, that I was suddenly, in the top fit of my
delirium, struck through the heart by a cold thrill of
terror."

* * *

Driving around in the steadily growing afternoon traffic,
"Jill the Ripper" hunted out the location for her next
project.  She liked to choose each place carefully and
wanted to have a full knowledge of its geography before she
made her move.  Her last two subjects hadn't proved to be
real challenges, so she decided to head somewhere a little
more upscale this time.  After all, there was no shortage
of senators and congressmen in this town looking for a good
time on a night like this, and they always had plenty of
money to spend on a girl who looked her best.

A politician would make a juicy prize and serve as a worthy
target.  They were corrupt beyond measure and regularly
used their power to destroy people they deemed beneath
them--not least of all their own wives.  Such a killing
would be high profile, so she would have to proceed with
extra caution.  She had already attracted the attention of
the press.  She rather liked the nickname they had chosen,
although she hadn't actually fashioned herself that way.
But, if she proceeded in the tradition of her new namesake,
the best thing about the Ripper is that he had never been
caught.

* * *

Nearly an hour after her departure, Scully returned from
the store with two bags of groceries in hand.  When she
placed her key in the lock and turned, she was surprised
that she didn't hear the familiar click of the lock
disengaging, yet the knob turned easily in her hand.  She
quickly dropped the bags and reached for her holster only
to realize that she hadn't brought her gun with her.
Pushing the door open rapidly, she remained in the hall as
her eyes scanned the doorway and living room.  Her fear
soon turned into relief as she saw a familiar head over the
back of the sofa.

Picking up her bags with sudden thanks that she hadn't
bought eggs, Scully turned on the light switch and walked
into the kitchen.

"What are you doing here, Mulder?"

She didn't bother to look in his direction as she swiftly
put the groceries away.  He didn't answer, and when she
finally turned to look at him, she saw him standing by the
sofa with her journal in his hand.  She immediately
blanched and wasn't sure whether to feel rage,
embarrassment, or fear.  The fear won out as she suddenly
felt naked before him.

Her sole defense was to lash out at him, but her voice
emerged merely as a harsh whisper.  "That's my private
journal.  What are you doing with it?"

But Mulder ignored the question and launched into his own
accusations, slowly moving toward her.  "Why did you tell
me you were going out of town?  Why did you lie to me like
that?"

Scully matched his steps by backing away from him.  "I
didn't lie.  I intended to leave, and then I changed my
mind.  I am entitled to change my mind without informing
you, aren't I?"

"What if there was an emergency and I needed to get a hold
of you?"  He continued his slow prowl as he spoke.

"Then you could have called me, and I would have answered."
Scully's voice rose in pitch as she continued her retreat.

Mulder was now only a few feet from her.  He lifted the
journal still in his hand and waved it in her face before
tossing it emphatically on the kitchen table.  "What's
going on, Scully?  Why won't you talk to me about this?"
He gesticulated toward the book he had just released,
although he referred to much more than simply that.

Taking another step back, Scully found herself trapped
against the counter.  Mulder moved the last few steps until
he was mere inches from her.  Only now did he notice the
look in her eyes.  It was pure fear.  Whether of him or of
something else, his partner was afraid with an intensity
that he had never seen before.  The fight suddenly drained
from him, and he found himself afraid as well, afraid of
what could be so powerful as to cause this unprecedented
reaction.

"Scully?"

Her hands flew up to conceal her face from him as she hung
her head.  He wasn't sure if her trembling was due to fear
or crying, but he couldn't help himself from wrapping his
arms around her and pulling her tight against him.

"Scully, talk to me, please.  I don't understand what's
happening."

Her voice was muffled against his chest.  "I'm afraid of
what I've become."

Mulder loosened his grip and pulled back a little to try to
meet her eyes.  "What are you talking about?"

"That I've become like Pfaster."  Her eyes rose but
wouldn't meet his.  Instead, she looked straight past him.
After a moment, Mulder looked back and realized where her
eyes had settled.  There on the table next to where the
journal landed lay the last item she had pulled from the
grocery bags, one which he failed to notice until now.  It
was the afternoon edition of the Washington Post, with the
bold letters of the headline fully legible from their
position.

Mulder looked back down at his partner, and she finally met
his gaze with a question in her eyes.  At that moment, he
was able to decisively answer the same question that had
been plaguing him all afternoon.

"No, Scully."

"But I've had dreams, Mulder.  Horrible dreams where I've
autopsied men who weren't dead yet."

"It wasn't you.  You're not capable of this."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know you.  You'd never do something like this."

She pulled away from him now and moved to stand next to the
table.  "How can you know me when I no longer know myself?"

Mulder walked over and turned over the newspaper and then
firmly gripped her shoulders to turn her toward him.  "I
know the killer, Scully.  I wrote the profile.  This isn't
you."

"Then how do you explain the dreams?"

"They were just dreams, Scully."  She pulled away from him
again, with a look of disgust, and he followed her across
the room.  "Look, the story's been all over the news.  You
heard the details, and your subconscious mind integrated
them with the disturbing images that were already haunting
you.  You started questioning whether you could be capable
of evil, and when a truly evil deed arose, your mind
latched onto that and made it part of your dreams."

Scully sank onto the couch and buried her head in her
hands.  "How do you know they were only dreams?"

Kneeling down beside her, Mulder swept her hair back so
that he could see her face.  "Because you said they were.
Your mind knows the difference between dreams and reality."

Her head sprang up at this.  "But that's just it, Mulder.
I can't be sure of what's real anymore.  If I've learned
anything by working on the X-Files, it's that I can't
always trust my own perception of reality."

Mulder couldn't deny this, and he didn't know how to refute
her when she took his usual side of an argument.  She took
his pause as agreement and dropped her head again in
defeat.

"Then you'll have to trust me."  This got her attention,
and she looked up at him again, with both hope and
skepticism.  "You'll have to trust me when I tell you that
you didn't do these things.  The Dana Scully I know is
incapable of this kind of evil."

Her response sent a chill down his spine.  "Maybe I'm not
the Dana Scully you know."

* * *

Because of his partner's state of mind, Mulder refused to
leave her alone that night.  She simply accepted his
presence rather than fight him on it.   After they shared
some tea together, she turned in early, and he soon fell
asleep, feeling emotionally exhausted from the events of
the day.

Early the next morning, he straightened himself out the
best that he could, considering that he was still fully
dressed and had squeezed his lanky frame onto her sofa that
felt barely longer than a loveseat.  He moved around the
apartment quietly, careful not to wake her, and found her
still sound asleep when he peeked in on her before he left.

Hurrying to his car, as he was already running late for the
office, Mulder failed to notice the vehicle that slowed in
front of the building and then sped away as the driver saw
him emerging from the door.

As Mulder traced his usual path from the parking garage to
his office through the halls of the Hoover, he grew
increasingly uneasy at the way the other agents were
looking at him.  He was used to stares and whispers since
few people around there showed him much respect, but this
seemed more concentrated than usual.  He tried to act
casual until the last person exited the elevator on the
stop before his, but then he quickly checked his fly and
the rest of his appearance.  He could only guess that the
comments were about his rumpled state and the fact that he
showed up to work wearing yesterday's suit and day-old
stubble, but he still didn't think that he looked bad
enough to evoke this kind of reaction.

When Mulder got into his office and checked his voicemail,
he found an urgent message from the Assistant Director
himself calling him up to his office ASAP.  The agent knew
immediately that something significant must have happened,
and after smoothing over his suit one more time, he headed
upstairs.

Upon his entry, Kimberly immediately ushered Mulder into
their boss's office, and he soon discovered that this
meeting was not a private one.  Assembled there were
several lead members of the profiling team, along with at
least one member of OPR, and a few others that were
unfamiliar to him.  None of them looked very happy.

Skinner gestured his agent to sit in the chair at the end
of the table and then stepped back rather than head the
inquisition as Mulder had expected.  The man who spoke
first sat opposite him and was one of those present whom he
did not recognize.

"Agent Mulder, can you inform us of your whereabouts last
night?"

Mulder kept on his best poker face, although his heart sank
to his stomach.  This couldn't possibly be about him
spending the night at his partner's apartment, could it?

"As far as I'm aware, sir, when I leave the office at
night, my business is my own.  Am I under suspicion for
something?"

The Inquisitor did not look pleased with his response, but
the interrogation was now taken up by another man, this
time the head of the BSU.  "Are you aware that another
murder took place last night?"

Shifting in his chair, Mulder began to wonder where they
were going with this.  "No, I was not aware of that."  He
looked at the man in confusion.  "Does this have something
to do with my profile?"

Skinner now intervened.  "Agent Mulder, an eyewitness
provided us with a description of the woman seen entering
the hotel room with the deceased."  He paused out of
discomfort, which only created a dramatic effect.  "She was
petite, about 5'2", with short red hair."

Realization settled upon him with the horror of the
implications.  "Sir, you can't possibly think--"

The Inquisitor interrupted him.  "Not only does the
description match that of your partner, Agent Mulder, but
several points brought up by your own profile suggest a
person with her medical expertise and training in law
enforcement.  Which leads us to suspect that after
completing your profile, you already had a very good idea
of who the murderer might be and proceeded to conceal that
fact."

Mulder tried his best to control his rage.  "You said it
yourself, sir.  It was my profile that provided those
facts.  If I really thought my partner was to blame, why
would I write a profile that pointed directly to her?  Why
not hand in something that sounded completely different?"

The A.S.A.C. now spoke.  "Because you know we would've seen
right through it.  You had to write something that would
sound plausible but was still vague enough not to lead us
to an actual suspect."

Mulder was beside himself with the incredibility of all of
this.  "Agent Scully is an exemplary agent with a clean
record."

The OPR member continued his sentence: "...who recently
faced a hearing regarding the fatal shooting of a suspect,
and then took a leave of absence.  It has not escaped our
attention that the killings began shortly thereafter."

Mulder could no longer control himself at these accusations
and began yelling.  "That man wasn't a 'suspect,' he was an
escaped convict who broke into her apartment and assaulted
her!  She shot him in self-defense, just as your own
hearing concluded!  It's only understandable that she
needed some time off before returning to the field, but
that certainly doesn't make her a murderer!"

It wasn't until Skinner came up behind him and gently
pushed him back down into his chair that Mulder was even
aware he had stood up.  The smug expressions around the
table in response to his tirade contended that they'd hit a
sore spot and now had him on the defensive.

The room remained confidently quiet while Mulder composed
himself and Skinner moved away.  Before the accusations
could continue, he raised his own question.  "What time did
the murder take place?"

The A.S.A.C. exchanged glances with the head of the BSU,
and then glanced at the report in hands and answered: "The
couple checked into the hotel room around 10:30, so the
murder must have occurred shortly after that."

"Then Agent Scully couldn't be responsible."

"Oh?  And how's that?"

"Because she was home all night."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because I was with her."
 

******
Act IV
******

"Most of us walk around thinking we're incapable of any
acts of evil, and we are....  We can stifle that momentary
urge to kill or to hurt.  We have some kind of immunity to
it.  But I think it's possible that there's an occurrence
in somebody's life, a tragedy or a loss that leaves them
vulnerable, hurts their immunity to evil, and all of a
sudden at that point in their lives when they're weakened,
they're open to evil, and they can become evil."
- Fox Mulder, "Empedocles"

* * * * *

As Mulder should have expected, his alibi for Scully was
not accepted as reliable and only led to further
questioning.  It was almost lunchtime when Skinner finally
called a recess and asked the beleaguered agent to step
into the reception area.  After a few more minutes, during
which time Kimberly would not look directly at him but
continually stole surreptitious glances when she thought he
wouldn't notice, Skinner summoned him back into a now empty
office.  The others had apparently exited directly into the
hallway, and Mulder was grateful not to see them again.

The A.D. sat heavily into the chair behind his desk, and
Mulder followed suit across from him.  They remained in
silence for a moment before Skinner picked up the
conversation.

"I have a very hard time believing that Agent Scully is
capable of this, but I admit that it looks bad for her."

"Is she going to be arrested, sir?"

"Not yet.  I asked them to hold off until I could bring her
in and question her myself.  I also argued that since the
eyewitness testimony is the only concrete evidence for now,
she'd have to be identified in a line-up before they could
obtain a warrant."

"The eyewitness is nearly worthless.  This is the first
mention of a redhead.  The previous reports were of a
blonde and a brunette.  The killer is most likely wearing a
different wig each time.  If she's wearing a disguise, we
need a lot more to go on than hair color."

"I know that as well as you do, Mulder, but we're going to
have to tread very carefully here.  I need to bring in
Agent Scully so she can address these charges directly.  In
the meantime, I'll send a couple of agents to canvass her
building to see if anyone can corroborate her alibi."

Mulder was about to say something regarding this, but the
look from Skinner stopped him short.

"As for you, I want you to go down to your office and stay
there until told otherwise.  And don't even think about
calling Scully--it will only look worse for both of you."

"Just promise me that you'll tell me immediately if they're
going to arrest her."

Skinner hesitated and then responded.  "I will.  But in the
meantime, you're going to have to stay out of trouble and
leave things to me."

Mulder didn't exactly offer a resounding agreement, but he
didn't argue either as he nodded curtly and then headed
back to the basement.

* * *

The interview with Scully yielded no new information.  She
could only offer that she had gone to bed early and slept
soundly all night, and that Mulder was still at her
apartment when she went to bed but was gone when she got up
that morning.  She had no one to substantiate that she had
been at home alone, also sleeping, at the time of the
previous homicides.  She claimed that she only knew of the
murders through the media and could offer no additional
information about how they were committed.

In contrast to Mulder, she didn't disavow her culpability
with impassioned pleas.  Although Skinner knew it would be
out of character for her to make such an outburst, the
other agents at the interview only thought that her
composure made her seem more cold and calculating.

Just after 3 o'clock, Mulder's phone finally rang and ended
his agonizing wait.  Skinner informed him that Scully was
being taken to the police station to participate in a line-
up and that while she was not officially under arrest, he
knew that if the witness positively ID'ed her, she would
immediately be placed in custody.

Without bothering to ask for permission, Mulder snatched up
his coat and headed out to meet them at the station.

* * *

Much to the partners' relief, the eyewitness had not been
able to positively identify Scully.  However, he hadn't
been able to identify anyone in the line-up, and so she
wasn't exactly exonerated in the eyes of the detectives and
her fellow agents.

They were sitting in the hallway, Scully in a daze and
Mulder quietly offering his support with his mere presence,
with the investigators discussing her fate in the
interrogation room, when the case took an interesting turn.

"Dana?"

Scully was drawn out of her stupor at the sound of her name
and looked up into the face of Megan Randolph.  If she
hadn't run into the woman only a week before, she might not
have remembered who she was.  Mulder just watched in
confusion as the two women conversed.

"Megan?  What are you doing here?"

"I heard you were taken into custody for these murders, and
I knew you couldn't have done it.  I'm here to tell them
that."

"How did you know--"

"I stopped by the Hoover building to see you, and one of
the agents told me where you were.  I need to talk to
someone in charge here."

Just as she was saying this, a door across the hall opened
and Skinner emerged.  Having heard the statement, he looked
at Mulder in question, who only shrugged, so the A.D. moved
forward to interrupt the conversation.

"Excuse me, miss.  You said you needed to see someone in
charge.  What can I help you with?"

"Agent Scully didn't do it.  She couldn't have.  I know she
was at home last night when the murder was committed."

Skinner looked to his agents in surprise and only saw
confusion written over their faces.  He led their new
witness back into the room he had just exited and shut the
door.

* * *

Half an hour later, the door opened again, and Megan was
the first to emerge.  Without a word, she smiled
reassuringly at Scully and reached out to squeeze her hand
before continuing down the hall and disappearing around the
corner.  After that, the remaining investigators filed out
one by one, some looking at Scully with suspicion, some
with frustration, and others not at all.  Finally, Skinner
stuck his head through the portal and summoned the two
agents inside.

Once all three were in the room and the door was closed,
Mulder spoke first.  "What was that all about?"

Skinner sighed.  "Well, Ms. Randolph claims that she came
by Agent Scully's apartment last night to talk to her.  She
says she came to the door and heard voices and realized
that Scully had company, so she went back down to her car
to wait for the guest to leave.  Eventually, she saw the
lights go out.  She waited for another half hour, but no
one left the building.  When she finally decided to leave,
it was after 10 o'clock."

"That's not exactly an airtight alibi."

"No, it isn't, Mulder, but it's enough of a corroboration
that we have no grounds for an arrest or a search warrant
at this time.  Agent Scully, do you believe her story?"

"I have no reason not to, but honestly, sir, I have no idea
why she'd be stopping by my apartment, or how she even
knows where I live, for that matter.  I hadn't seen the
woman in nearly ten years until I ran into her at the store
the other day.  She said she stopped by the FBI today to
talk to me, apparently since she couldn't get me alone last
night, but I have no idea what about."

"Well, regardless of that, she seems to have kept you out
of jail for now.  You're free to go home, although I
wouldn't be surprised if they put you under surveillance.
Needless to say, Mulder, you've been suspended from the
case, so don't make things worse by snooping around where
you don't belong."

"Me, sir?  I can't believe you think I'd do such a thing."

Both his partner and his boss rolled their eyes at him, and
Mulder smiled.  He then stood and extended his hand to
Scully.  "C'mon.  Let's go home."

* * *

It had been fairly late in the evening by the time they
left the police station, so Mulder had driven his partner
directly home and dropped her off at the front door to her
building.  The car surveilling them hadn't even tried to
remain hidden, and Mulder noticed that it stayed parked on
Scully's street after he drove off.

At 7 o'clock the next morning, Scully was awakened by the
sound of her phone ringing.  She managed to grab it just in
time before the answering machine picked up.

"Hello?"

"Scully, I think I know who the killer is."

"What?  Where are you, Mulder?"

"Last night after I dropped you off, I went over to the
Gunmen's.  We spent the night tracking down information
about your friend, Megan Randolph.  We found out some
interesting stuff about her.  I'm pretty sure she's the
killer."

"Wait a minute, I don't follow you.  Start at the top."

"Well, I found it incredibly suspicious that this woman you
haven't seen in nearly a decade suddenly shows up exactly
at the right moment to provide you with an alibi, so I
decided to do a little digging.  It turns out that she's
not a med student like she told you.  After she left the
Academy, she tried to go into medicine, but she couldn't
get accepted at a reputable school.  She eventually ended
up at a community college and got licensed as a CNA.
During the day, she works part-time at a nursing home, but
at night, she moonlights as a housekeeper at a local
mortuary.  But there's more, Scully, and everything I've
found so far fits the profile."

"But what's her connection to me?"

"That, I'm not sure about yet, but she may have some
fascination with your work as a pathologist.  I want to
bring her in for questioning so we can learn more."

"Mulder, Skinner told you to lay off the case.  You know
he's not going to be happy about this."

"I didn't go anywhere near the case.  I just did a little
background check and happened to run across another
suspect."

"Mulder...."  Her tone was chastising.

"Okay, I admit it's going to take some effort to convince
him, which is why I want you to go sit on her until I can
get a warrant."

"How is that going to help me?  I'm under surveillance.
The best thing I can do right now is stay at home and out
of trouble."

"But that's exactly why you should go.  While you're
keeping an eye on her, the surveillance team will be there,
too, so they'll be your witnesses if anything happens."

She sighed.  She wasn't convinced this was the best advice
right now, but it had a certain logic to it.  "Fine.  Just
give me her address, and I'll be there as soon as I can."

* * *

By 8 o'clock, Scully was parked outside of Megan Randolph's
apartment building.  She confirmed that Megan's vehicle was
still in the parking lot and then decided to wait in her
car until Mulder showed up with reinforcements or Megan
made a move.  It turned out that she didn't have to wait
long.

About ten minutes after Scully got there, Megan emerged
from her building and headed for her car.  As the blue
Volvo pulled out of the parking lot and headed east, Scully
cautiously followed at a distance.  A glance in her rear
view mirror showed a black sedan doing the same to her.  If
the situation weren't so dire, she mused, she might
actually find this comical.

Apparently oblivious to her tail, Megan made her way to
Georgetown.  As the streets became more familiar, Scully
realized where she was headed--to her own apartment.
Whatever Megan had come to see her about the day before was
evidently still on her mind.

As they pulled up in front of the building, Scully decided
there was no point in continuing her pretense, so she
parked in the vacant spot directly behind Megan.  The two
women emerged from their cars at the same time, and Megan
seemed genuinely surprised at their chance encounter.

"Dana!  I was just coming to see you.  My God, they didn't
keep you in jail overnight, did they?"

"No, I just had an early appointment this morning.
Actually, I guess I owe you my thanks.  It was your alibi
that freed me to go home last night.  It was rather
fortunate that you stopped by when you did.  I wasn't
really expecting to see you so soon after we ran into each
other at the market the other day."

Megan moved closer and put a hand on her arm, which Scully
found rather disconcerting, but she decided not to make any
moves that might scare the woman away prematurely.

"I keep forgetting that it's been so long since you've seen
me.  I'm just so used to seeing you that I feel like were
old friends."

Scully tried to keep the distress out of her voice.  "What
do you mean?"

"Well, I've kept an eye on your career over the years.
Some people are content to just watch these things on TV,
but I prefer the reality to the fiction.  Especially since
I got so close to being able to live it out every day.  The
FBI may be an old boys' network, but you're one woman that
they weren't able to force out, unlike me.  I wanted to
watch you succeed.  I've even shown up to observe at a few
of your crime scenes."

This turn in the conversation was not putting Scully at
ease, but she was at a loss how to respond.  Had this woman
been stalking her?  Her instinct was to get the hell out of
here, but she knew she had to use Megan's familiarity with
her to their advantage.  To her momentary relief, they were
interrupted as her cell phone rang.

"I'm sorry.  Can you excuse me for a minute?"  Scully
turned slightly and took a step away before she answered.
"Scully."

"Hey, it's me.  I talked Skinner into bringing her in for
questioning.  Where are you right now?"

Very aware of Megan's proximity, Scully decided it was best
not to show her hand.  "Uh, I can't really talk right now.
I'll call you back later."  She quickly pushed a button on
her phone and then slid it into her jacket pocket before
turning back to her companion.  "Sorry about that, Megan.
So, you stopped by to see me again this morning.  It must
be something important.  What can I help you with?"

* * *

Mulder was surprised by his partner's abrupt dismissal, but
he knew she cut him off for a good reason.  He was about to
hang up when he realized there were still muted noises
coming through the phone.  Turning up the volume, he was
able to distinguish voices.

"...You stopped by to see me again this morning...."

Suddenly he realized what she was up to and hit the mute
button on his phone as he turned to Skinner beside him in
the driver's seat.

"Turn around.  They're at Scully's apartment."

* * *

Scully hoped that her partner would be able to overhear
their conversation through the layer of fabric.  She had
turned down the volume so the line would sound dead from
her end, but she didn't know if the position of the phone
would mute the receiver too much for him to hear them
distinctly.  She tried to put this out of her thoughts and
pay attention as Megan spoke.

"Well, I've been fascinated with this recent string of
killings
--the ones they're calling 'Jill the Ripper'?--and I wanted
to know what you thought of them.  I mean, as an
investigator.  You must be privy to details they're not
releasing to the press.  What do you think of her work?"

Scully took the opportunity to move closer.  She hoped her
"guest" was too wrapped up in their conversation to notice
that she hadn't invited her up to her apartment.  "I think
that this woman has a morbid fascination with anatomy and
death.  But I'd like to hear what you think.  You've
obviously followed these crimes very closely.  Maybe you
have some insight that might help us catch her."

This seemed just the right thing to say as Megan's eyes
began to gleam with excitement.  "Well, Dana, since you
mention it, I was really hoping that you would let me
observe an autopsy.  With my medical knowledge, I think
that's where I could prove most useful to the
investigation.  That's the best place to start with any
homicide investigation, don't you think?"

"Megan, I'm afraid that my connections won't do you any
good.  Right now, I'm the prime suspect.  They won't let me
anywhere near the bodies, let alone bring in a friend to
observe."

"But they couldn't possibly think that.  Not after the
alibi I gave them."

Scully paused and decided to take the questioning in
another direction.  Lowering her voice to a more intimate
tone, she looked knowingly at Megan and said, "You didn't
really stop by my apartment last night, did you?"  Megan
didn't show any response but waited to see where Scully was
going with this.  "Then how do you know that I'm not
involved?  Megan, if you know something that can help clear
my name, then I need you to tell me."

Scully waited.  She could see the wheels turning in Megan's
head as she considered where to take this opening.  For
just a moment, the facade of innocence slipped to reveal a
more shrewd and calculating personality.  Then the faux
naivete returned.

"Oh, Dana, I was afraid to tell anyone because I might get
in trouble, but you're right.  I have to come forward.  You
see, I've been following this case on my own, so I was
poking around at the last crime scene--and I think I found
the murder weapon."

The uneasiness in Scully's voice could no longer be masked
as she answered.  "Where is it?"

"In the trunk of my car."

The women simply stood watching each other for a moment,
waiting for the other's response.  Scully wasn't
comfortable about standing in front of an open trunk next
to a murderer without backup, or being discovered anywhere
near a potential murder weapon.  There was an eagerness in
Megan's eyes that she just couldn't read well enough to
assess the situation.

Thankfully the brief standoff ended with the arrival of her
boss and partner.  As they parked and approached, she urged
Megan to make her next move.  "If you have evidence to
exonerate me, I think it's time you handed it over.  Why
don't you give me your keys so we can look in the trunk."

A look of apprehension briefly passed over the woman's face
before it was replaced with a satisfied look of arrogance
or pride.  She dropped her keys into Scully's outstretched
palm without hesitation and then stood beside the car to
watch the drama unfold.

As Scully handed the keys to Skinner, the two undercover
cops jogged over from their car to get a closer look at the
situation.  The small party watched as the trunk was
unlatched by a gloved hand and then lifted open.

What they found inside was much more than a discarded
scalpel.

* * *

In a surreal imitation of the night before, the two
partners once again found themselves seated at the police
department awaiting the verdict from the interrogation
room.  Although this time a suspect was actually being
interviewed, it still felt as though Scully's fate hung in
the balance.

After a long, tedious wait, Skinner finally emerged from
the room to address his agents.

Mulder asked the question on both of their minds.  "Did she
confess?"

"No, I'm afraid she didn't, but I think there's enough
evidence in the trunk alone to convict her.  She's got an
excuse for everything, of course--the surgical gloves, the
wigs, the scalpels--but nobody in there is buying her
story.  The one thing she does keep harping on, however, is
that Agent Scully is innocent."

"I can't explain it, sir, but the woman seems to be fixated
on me.  Apparently she's been watching me for some time."
Scully briefly looked at Mulder and then dropped her eyes.
"I only hope that she didn't kill these men as an attempt
to get my attention, or my approval."

Mulder gently placed a hand over hers and spoke in softened
tones.  "I don't think she was trying to get your
attention.  I think she wanted to *be* you.  You
represented everything she wanted but couldn't achieve.  In
some sick way, I think this was her attempt to imitate you,
maybe even to surpass you.  But the last thing she'd want
is for her idol to fall.  That's why she had to step
forward and divert the blame."

"And it's a good thing she did, too."  Both agents looked
up at him as Skinner continued.  "If she hadn't stepped
forward, we may never have connected her to these crimes."

Just then, the door behind him opened, and a hand-cuffed
Megan Randolph exited, accompanied by a deputy.  Paying no
attention to the two men in the hallway, she paused in
front of Scully and leaned in to address her.

"I never dreamed they would suspect you, Dana.  But don't
you worry, I won't let them think you did this.  Even if I
have to take the fall for you, I'll make sure they clear
your name."

The deputy nudged Megan to keep walking, and Scully offered
no reply as they passed.  Next to her, Mulder stood and
stretched.  "Well, I think it's obvious that her next
interview should be with a shrink.  I know it takes one to
know one, but that woman is a nutcase."

Skinner snorted softly and shook his head at the agent's
attempted humor, but no such reaction was elicited from
Scully.  A curtain of hair from her bowed head kept her
expression a mystery as she stared absently at the floor
beneath her feet.
 

********
Epilogue
********

"For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to
face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as
also I am known."
- 1 Corinthians 13:12, KJV

* * * * *

"Dana, it's nice to see you again.  It's been a while."

The agent smiled politely as she sank into the comfortable
couch.  Since her last visit, the small office apparently
hadn't changed much, but she idly wondered if maybe she
had.

Karen Kosseff settled herself into the opposing chair and
opened her file.  Scully knew that these records would
contain details of her intervening injuries and reprimands,
not to mention the recent encounter with Donnie Pfaster.
She decided to wait patiently until the counselor chose a
place to start.

"I see you've been through quite a lot lately.  After the
shooting, OPR cleared you of any wrongdoing, but you
decided to take a leave of absence.  Why is that?"

Scully looked down at her hands while she answered.  "I had
doubts about my state of mind and my own abilities.  I
wondered at my motives for pulling the trigger that night.
I felt that my actions had been dismissed because of who
the victim was, not because of what really happened, and I
started to let the guilt consume me."

"But you've decided now to return to work.  What's changed
for you?"

Pausing a moment, Scully contemplated her response.  "When
these brutal murders occurred, I wondered at first if I
could be capable of such a thing.  But then I learned the
truth about who committed them, and I was confronted with a
darker version of myself.  I saw what I would really look
like if I truly yielded myself to my baser instincts, and I
realized I could never become that kind of person."

Dr. Kosseff looked down at the file again briefly before
continuing.  "I've read here about Megan Randolph's
obsession with you, and how she emulated you.  When she
looked at you, she pictured herself.  But what about you?
Did you recognize something of yourself in her?"

Scully raised her eyes and shook her head decisively.  "No.
What I saw in Megan was a distorted image of myself, like I
was looking in a funhouse mirror.  I'm not sure exactly how
she saw me, but she couldn't have seen me for who I really
am.  If she had, she would've known that I would never have
approved of what she did."

"This incident followed very quickly after the ordeal with
Pfaster, and both events have clearly had a profound effect
on you.  You said that after the shooting, the guilt
weighed very heavily on you.  How would you describe your
feelings about it now?"

Scully couldn't help but think back to the question Megan
had asked her in the supermarket that day, about how it had
felt to kill him.  She mused that perhaps back then she
should have listened to her own answer.  "I feel that what
I did was wrong, and that I can't excuse myself for my
actions.  I have no doubts that Donnie Pfaster was evil and
that he deserved to die for the things he did, but it was
not my place to be his executioner.

"But I've come to realize that even though I may at times
feel compelled to take justice into my own hands, I still
know the difference between right and wrong.  The very fact
that I doubted my own actions means that I'm still ruled by
my conscience.  At first, I tried to escape my remorse for
killing him, but now I cling to it.  Because, in the end,
*that* is what separates me from Donnie Pfaster.  That is
why I can never become like him."
 

*******
The End
*******
 
 

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